#They can bounce one braincell between them

[pxison]

I think Yonji and Zoro should hang out sometime... Do a little photosynthesizing for their green hair.

[moth-bells]

Hey friends I think I found an animation software thats free and actually runs halfway decently on my laptop. gimme simple easy things to animate and test it out

[loveindefinitely]

02 — 𝘞𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘐'𝘔 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘒𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘈𝘉𝘖𝘜𝘛

༊*·˚ LUST FOR LIFE — task force 141 x reader

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, legal age-gaps, inexperienced reader, angst, graphic violence, slight power imbalance, enemies to lovers, slow burn, betrayal

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

"You assaulted two Special Forces Operators, kid," Price says, a barely veiled grimace contorting his features. "That's not a good look."

You tug against where your hands are cuffed to the metal bars, your brows furrowing. "Kidnapping the girl -- whose dad you killed after taking her virginity -- isn't a good look either."

...Alright.

So, if you could go back in time, and never eavesdrop on the four men who have completely ruined your life, you would take up the offer in a heartbeat.

Between landing your fist to Gaz's jaw, and where you are now, your life has become a total shit show.

Like, complete, this might just be a fever dream level of crazy.

It started from the moment you saw blood trickling from your now late father's forehead, and in the glint of the moonlight, seeing Ghost holding the gun.

Then, you'd turned, without another thought, and landed a punch right to Gaz's jaw. The man who had taken your first kiss no more than two hours ago.

You can relive the moment even now, under the harsh neon lights of an interrogation room, as if you're experiencing everything for the first time once more.

༊*·˚

Gaz hisses, wincing as he brings a hand up to the aching pain radiating from the bone that'd taken the brunt of your punch.

"You guys -- what the fuck --" You stammer out, eyes wide and borderline manic as you gape at the man before you. "You guys just killed my dad!"

"Yeah, but," Gaz starts, before backtracking. You figure he has enough braincells to realise that 'rationality and reason' isn't going to work with you, not in this state, and especially not after you just witnessed the murder of your only living family member. "Ah. Well. He wasn't a good guy."

You really, truly, cannot believe the audacity of this man.

Your mouth opens.

Gaz grimaces.

Your mouth closes.

He takes a step closer, hands raised in a placating gesture.

"Take another step near me and I'll punch you again!" You threaten, with an aggressive point of your finger.

You're extremely aware that your punch had done next to nothing, and Gaz's reaction to it was more one of sympathy, but the threat lands nonetheless.

"Alright, alright, we're not gonna hurt you," he raises his hands further, eyes bouncing between your own. You're not sure what he sees -- maybe resentment, or horror, or fear.

Whatever it is, it makes his frown deepen.

He goes to say something else, when your bedroom door opens with a soft click. "Finishin' up, ya read--"

Soap pauses his whisper, ice-blue eyes meeting yours. His grimace isn't unlike the one Gaz is sporting, and it only worsens your mood. If looks could kill, he would be lying on the grass beside --

Oh god. Your dead dad.

"Steamin' Jesus," Soap mutters under his breath, looking up to the roof in some semblance of a last minute prayer.

There's a moment, then, for a decision to be made. It's as if your brain can only come up with two options, and one of them will lead to your untimely death.

So, really, it's not entirely your fault when you pick up the salt lamp sitting on your bedside table and throw it right into the arrogant Scot's face.

"Holy shit," Gaz's eyes are comically wide as Soap cries out, the heavy pink rock slamming into his nose. He stumbles back, and the sound of your lamp hitting cartilage even has you wincing, panicked state or not. "How the fuck have you survived this long with those kinda reflexes, Soap?"

Soap drops into a squat, cradling his nose in his hand as he tilts his head back, squeezing the ridge between two calloused fingers. His voice comes out nasally as he mumbles, "Mighta' broke 'gain."

Your entire body is trembling, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you creep to the window with soft, quiet steps.

Maybe, you think, in the back of your mind, I can make the jump into the garden.

It's not to be, however.

"You're smarter than that," Gaz directs an unamused glare your way, before grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you towards your door.

Digging your heels into the carpet, you attempt to wrestle out of his grip -- but a trained military expert and you are no match, not even with the energy overtaking your body.

"Let go of me!" You grit out, tugging and displaying your weight in the opposite way to his goal. He doesn't even turn around as he drags you out of your room, slamming your door shut behind you.

"What the fuck is goin' on," Ghost's growl comes from the stairs, heavy bootfalls following until he's standing, gaze drifting from you, to Gaz, to Soap, back to you again.

"Fuck, man," Soap whines, squeezing his eyes shut as he keeps his head tilted back, blood running down his lips and chin. You somehow find it in yourself to feel slightly bad. Not enough to apologise, and certainly not enough to stop fighting back.

They were going to kill you. Probably. Or, like, what's the skin trade like in your area? Oh god. Fuck. Shit.

"She saw," Gaz mutters to Ghost, and his eyes narrow, black face paint crinkling where it's been put on the upper half of his face, skin not covered by the balaclava.

There aren't any lights on, and it's the lights on downstairs that cast shadows and highlights over the men's' faces.

"Fuckin' christ," Ghost groans, before turning and walking back downstairs without another word.

You continue to struggle against Gaz's hold, but both of your wrists have been collected in his hand, and he's pulled you so your back is to his chest. If it were any other circumstance, you'd be blushing, most likely turned on from such an embrace.

Right now, however, you're questioning every possible decision you've ever made.

"Ye Dad treated ya like shit 'nyways," Soap says, too loud to be under his breath, but too quiet for it to be conversational. "Dinnae why yer freakin''."

"You're murderers!" You hiss back, lips pulled back into a snarl. Your muscles ache from the punch, the hefty throw, and now from struggling against Gaz. "And I don't exactly have any other family, do I?!"

Gaz makes a sound of agreement, before shaking his head and countering. "We're not murderers, not really."

You choke a laugh, but it's entirely too wet and sad for it to be threatening or cruel. "So you guys didn't just shoot my father?"

"Si pulled th' trigger," Soap pouts, almost like a child would over a lack of candy.

"Soap," Gaz exasperates, and although you can't see his face, you're sure it's dismayed and annoyed. "Seriously?"

"What?!" Soap counters, and when it comes out high-pitched, he squeezes his eyes shut and holds his nose tighter. "Jus' tha truth, dinnae why yer so shitty. Yer not tha one bleedin'."

Speechless.

You are fully, unbelievably, speechless.

What the actual fuck was wrong with these... men? And what was wrong with you for being more than ready to spread your legs for them not too long ago?

You needed therapy. And coffee.

And a time machine, preferably. If one was made available at this given moment.

"Get down here," the final man of the hour shouts up the stairs, and your blood runs cold. There's something about him that's not quite as threatening as Ghost, but somehow makes you even more fearful.

Gaz, with surprisingly careful and gentle movements, guides you down the stairs. The parallel of how Ghost's hand had been at your lower back as he invited you to the lounge room, mere hours ago, isn't lost on you.

His hand doesn't move from the tense grip it has on your wrists. You can't help but feel like it's a completely unnecessary gesture, considering the fact that any of them could take you down within seconds if they really needed to. Hell, they all had actual, military-grade weapons.

"Seriously, Gaz?" Price huffs, looking entirely like a disappointed dad in this moment as he stands, leaning against your kitchen counter, arms folded over his chest, ankles crossed over. "One job, mate."

"You lot weren't exactly quiet," he retorts, but he slowly releases your wrists.

At this point, you know it's a lost cause to try and escape this situation, so you just ball your hands into wrists at your sides. You can't imagine it's an overly threatening position, considering how your entire frame trembles, and your lips wobble.

Your father was dead.

And the men that had made you feel so comfortable, so cared for, are the culprits.

Stupid, stupid girl.

They are dangerous men who do dangerous things.

"Peas," Soap's voice is practically a beg as he stumbles into the kitchen, opening the freezer door with no preamble as he scours it for... peas.

They're in the far right of the bottom shelf.

You don't tell him that.

"Have some water," Price encourages, holding out a glass cup full of chilled water.

Your eyes narrow, standing your ground. "Not accepting drinks from murderers. Dad taught me that, y'know?"

Gaz chokes a laugh, before covering it up with a fist to his mouth and a clearing of his throat. It fools no one, and you allow yourself the tiny bit of pride that fills your chest at the reaction to your taunt.

"Ghost," Price mutters, resigned and almost frustrated as he looks at you.

You understand why, as soon as the feeling of a needle imbedding into your neck has you flinching, pain prickling at the intrusion in your muscle.

"What --" you begin, before your legs fall out beneath you, your eyes falling to half mast as Price hefts you up, beefy arms holding you beneath your armpits as your body becomes dead weight.

"Sorry, kid," are the last words you hear, before black overrides all of your senses as drugged sleep takes you.

༊*·˚

Sometime between then, and now, you've found yourself in a white-walled room, blinding lights turning the throbbing in your head from a low pound to an echoing boom of a drum.

"We didn't plan for... any of it to happen the way it did. This was our only choice." Price shakes his head, hands resting at the top of his vest as he studies you.

Right. The virginity, kidnapping and assault thing.

...Great.

"I must've forgot the part where I resisted arrest," you retort, forcing your eyes to remain open, despite the heaviness to them. It's as if a weight has been hung from your eyelids, and every blink drags them down more and more each time.

"Jesus -- you're not under arrest," Price rubs at his eyes, head dipped down as if he's recollecting his thoughts. You're not sure if he's had any sleep, although your sense of time has been completely thrown out of the window.

"Then release me," you say, voice softer than you'd intended, more pleading -- a truer reflection of your current state of mind.

The air is crisp, cool, like that of a hospital. Chemicals and bleach are a potent undertone to the clean scent, and it makes you question what could've previously been done in this room to warrant them.

Your heart pounds almost weakly, and you know if there's any more heartbreaks to come, it might just give out.

How you've resisted a complete mental breakdown is beyond you, and frankly, you'd give yourself a pat on the back if you could. Although, that act might in itself be a sign of insanity.

"Not until we can be assured you're safe," Price insists. "And not until we can clear your name from the books. We have enemies, sweetheart, and those enemies were also your father's. They are not above punishing you for your father's sins."

Your heart is lodged in your throat, and it takes everything in you not to just burst into tears and pray. Pray that this is all some sick joke, some terrifying nightmare that you haven't woken from yet.

But you know it's a baseless hope. You know that this is real.

You're in a military base, somewhere, surrounded by the country's most dangerous men. The most dangerous men on their side, at least.

"So I'm not getting charged for assault?" Your voice is entirely too small for the situation, not for someone who's still cuffed to a bed, going through grief in the most ruthless type of way.

The worst part is that you don't entirely miss your father. You miss the comfort of having a family member, that's true, but he wasn't a good parental figure, and his treatment of you could be classed as abuse to most people.

And from what these four are saying, he wasn't a good man either.

People didn't often talk about how separate the two things were. It was possible to be a great man, but the worst of fathers, and the opposite could be true, too.

Fate had dealt you a bad hand, in giving you one who was terrible on both sides of the coin.

"Technically," Price leans back into his chair, his voice littered with exhaustion, "We... should report it."

Your stomach drops.

Price's eyes meet yours, and somehow, he must see the turmoil battling inside of your head, because he lets out a deep breath, deflating just a bit.

"No. You're not getting charged for assault, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that," you reply, too quick for your brain to catch up. The endearment is entirely too wrong, smarting on a chafing wound, a reminder of the mistakes you'd made, and the deception these men had pulled on you. "...Please."

You refuse to meet his eyes as he nods, slowly, as if in understanding.

"What did he do?" You don't mean to utter those words, to ask that question, but after you do, you can't find it in yourself to regret it. "What made him worthy of death?"

Price rubs a hand over his face, and for the first time, you register the lines of his face. Lines of a story having been told, proof of a life lived. It makes you want to learn, to find the origins of the small scars you can see, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

"He broke many promises. Betrayed his team," Price states, and you can tell the millions of words he leaves out, the context better off left unsaid. "He did terrible things. Killed people who had made no faults."

Oh.

For some reason, it hadn't truly hit you, not before now, the truth behind his death. What hadn't you been told?

How hadn't you been made aware that he was -- he was part of the special forces. He was a dangerous man -- he was one of the men he'd warned you about. How blind had you been? For so long? Those business trips, when he'd come with bruises, brushing them off whenever you gained the courage to make attempts of caring, of forming a relationship with the man who raised you.

They weren't business trips. They were missions -- ones with impossibly high death rates.

And he just.

Hadn't said a word. Just continued to treat you like you were worthless, a nuisance, a pain in his ass. Something worth protecting, if only so your weight in gold wasn't minimised.

What were you to do, if he just. Didn't come home after a mission gone awry? If he died on the field. If you woke up one day without a single living family member left.

You only realise that tears have fallen down your cheeks when Price's thumb brushes them away, your nose scrunching with a sniffle.

Jerking back, as if electrocuted, it takes everything in you to glare at the man whose gentle hands had led you to this position in the first place. "Don't touch me."

He backs away. Doesn't argue.

It hurts your heart in a way you don't want to touch with a ten foot pole. Not right now. Not ever, maybe. Preferably.

You let out a deep, stabilising exhale, before weakly meeting Price's gaze. "Can I sleep? Feeling kinda shit after the drugs," you mumble.

Price's lips twist into a grim line, but he nods curtly. "'Course, kid. Call out if you need 'nything."

You just lay back, turning on your side, facing the white wall as the lights turn off, leaving pitch black in its wake. Your wrist smarts where the handcuff has left a red mark, your free hand rubbing at the small patch of visible skin.

If you were more aware, more... ready for the conversations you needed to have, you would've demanded all four of them speak to you right this moment.

But your head is heavy, and thoughts are few and far between.

Grief and confusion cement in your brain like a thick fog, your emotions like cars without lights in the thick mist.

No directions, no ability to brake before crashing into one another.

You're an absolute mess, and you have no one to blame but you and your sick curiosity, your reckless decision making.

But, you realise, this was a long time coming.

Because there's one thing Price -- nor the other three men -- don't know.

Your father wasn't the only one who held secrets.

And it was you who held the key to this force's undoing.

a/n. lol so like. who's ready for some enemies to lovers? sorry to everyone who wanted immediate hurt/comfort!! for some reason plot lines and depth hit me and i was like. i need to do it justice. so here we are!!!

thank you all SOSOSO much for the reception of the first part. it genuinely means a lot to have people excited about my stories??? like omg youre all SO kind. comments and reblogs make my absolute week!! mwah mwah mwah

taglist comment/msg to be added. @captainjamster @alfa-jor @simp4miguell @yaboibauldano @dreamaboutpinkk @guyser @lovewithasideoflust @redz0mbie @ghost-is-my-bbg @astro-ghoul99 @the-faceless-bride @casterousaudrey @cutiecusp @kit-williams @lilpothoscuttings @florabelll

[abyssal808]

S1 Soulmate Au prompt inspired by @subbaculture 's prompt wherein "Eddie learns Tengwar just to be special and so Steve's been kicking around with "What's Kickin', Sexy?" on his body

What Tommy Hagan hadn’t been blessed with in terms of intelligence. God - in his allegedly infinite wisdom - had seen fit to redistribute into shoulder width.

Tommy, in turn, swanned around Hawkin’s High shoulder-checking every freak, geek and nerd into nearby lockers; with the kind of wingspan better suited to weirdly proportioned monkeys.

Hellfire members were no stranger to it. Two weeks ago Hagan had run into Gareth hard enough to leave a bruise. A “bump” with enough force behind it that he’d bounced off the lockers and landed on the floor.

Which, fine, two could play at that game. Even if Hagan could barely get his hand off Carol’s tits to realize there were counter-moves to be made at all.

A grade A dick move, even if it was also incredibly boring and pedestrian. The kind of thing jocks who barely had two braincells to rub together saw as peak comedy. Giggling like a cross between a group of cavemen and a flock of pre-school girls whenever their ring-leader du jour started herding freaks like a neurotic border collie.

“Watch it, freak.” Hagan hissed, skirting around Eddie without bothering to shove him at all. Giving a wide berth to whatever zone of contagious freak cooties being Eddie Munson brought to the table.

Behind him, Gareth - blocked from the rest of the hall by Eddie’s leather jacket, in a way only freshies were short enough to pull off - buried a laugh in a cough, muffled into the heel of his hand. Not missing the way that even Hagan - the most infamous asshole of them all - looked ready to bolt as soon as Eddie waved him off in a jaunty salute.

Victory tasted sweet and electric. Fizzing under his skin the way Wayne’s Miller Lites would bubble in the back of his throat, whenever Eddie stole a sip from the half open cans in the back of their fridge. It made him stupid in a way those brief tastes of beer hadn’t managed to yet.

Being The Freak came with perks. An untouchable radius that left Eddie drunk with power. Riding the high of knowing that maybe Highschool didn’t have to suck all the time. That he could play at being a rabid guard dog for the lost little sheep of the world, rail against dickheads like Hagan and win.

Maybe he could use it to plead temporary insanity for what he did next. Riding the high into a really, spectacularly stupid idea.

Everyone had their words.

Eddie’s were tucked away, hidden along the curve of his rib. A curly chicken scratch that mixed print and cursive into a barely legible mess.

‘Is that like, yiddish?’

A weird-ass question, until Eddie had pulled an all nighter on a now infamous school night, falling in love with Middle earth. Head filled with nothing but the dark halls of Khazad-dûm, the sweeping boughs of Lothlórien.

Speak friend and enter.

Pedo mellon a minno.

He’d traced the words over and over. Thrilled by the lilt, the cadence, the beautiful rise and fall of consonants no one else would understand.

Setting his heart there and then on the dorkiest greeting anyone could have come up with. But hey, it was original, which was half the battle people went through when picking soulmate greetings.

He’d gone through several variations. Always in Sindarin, because why the hell not.

People usually saved them, tucked them far away from casual conversation. Bizarre phrases, always non-sequitour, brought out only for special occasions. That lightning strike of instant attraction. People you could see yourself connecting with. Hoping they would be a part of you as much as you were theirs.

He couldn’t see himself connecting with Tommy Hagan in a million years. Not even if they waited in that hallway until the heat death of the universe.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t terrorize him with the possibility.

“What’s Kickin’ Sexy?”

He yelled after Hagan’s retreating back, with its fuck-off wide shoulders; elvish mangled, but passable. Enjoying the rictus of horror on his face, going from anger to fear and back again.

He shifted on his heel, pushing Gareth further behind him in case things got ugly. Herding him back towards Jeff with little bumps, as both of them tried to muscle down their cackling. Nerdy enough to piece together the gist of what Eddie had been hollering about. Even if Jeff was better at Quenya, because he was a weirdo and a purist about that kind of shit.

All in all, a job well done, assuming Hagan didn’t flip his shit and start throwing punches to assert dominance.

Or at least, it felt like it, until Harrington - trailing behind Hagan - sucked all the air out of the room. Hands on his hips, a furrow on his brow, blurting it out without even thinking about it.

“Is that like, Yiddish?”

You could have heard a pin drop.

Panic clamped around Eddie’s throat like a vice. The same way Gareth’s hand, tiny and tense - he had yet to hit his growth spurt - wrapped around the edge of Eddie’s leather jacket. Pushing past the waistband of his jeans to claw at skin.

The side that mattered, one they both knew had those words that wrapped around Eddie’s chest. Curving towards the sternum.

Whatever face he was making gave it away instantly.

Harrington’s face shuttered and fell. A whole host of micro expressions that passed through in a second before he scrubbed them away. A pair of shaking hands that rubbed at his eyes and dragged down his face. Peeking at Eddie through a gap in his fingers.

“Jesus Christ it’s you; isn’t it?”

Behind Eddie, Gareth tugged him half a step back, nails digging into his hip. Little half-moon crescents he barely felt now, but would find later.

“Steve?” The waver in Hagan’s voice would have been funny if it wasn’t nauseating.

Terrifying, when Steve waved him off and stepped towards Eddie. Jerky and halting, like a puppet with half it’s strings cut.

“I can’t fucking believe this Munson. You gotta tell me if it is.” Steve bit out, with a wobble that sounded too trembling and confused to be anger. Even if it would come later.

It was probably coming later.

Anger always got there in the end, with boys like Harrington. Sharp comebacks and sharper right hook always winning out, spurred on by that bone-deep, animal fear of losing your place in the social food chain.

King Steve didn’t seem worried it yet though. Adding to the bizarre hilarity of the situation as he undid his belt and untucked his shirt to the concerned shouts of everyone left in the hall, witnesses to this trainwreck.

If Eddie hadn’t been convinced he’d died and gone to purgatory a minute earlier. He would have been convinced there and then.

As Steve Harrington turned around, bunched his striped polo up high and his khaki’s down low. Stripping down to show the athletic curve of a hip. The dip of a waist that looked small next to his swimmer’s shoulders - almost wide enough to rival Hagan’s - a scattering of moles that dusted across his lower back, framing his mark.

There, on King Steve’s back, bracketed by dimples, low enough to count as a truly slutty tramp stamp sat Eddie’s words. The swooping curves of Tengwar branded into his skin.

“What’s kickin’, Sexy?”

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Jim Hopper x Reader | angsty smut | includes infidelity, Reader is married to a different public servant of Hawkins (can you guess who, @umnitsa ? 😉) Hopper is married as well, death of Hopper’s daughter mentioned, Hopper is a real ass here, unprotected p in v sex, vaginal fingering, ANGST ANGST ANGST…

@mrshopper84 @travelingtwentysomething @beefrobeefcal @braincell-pingpong @skye-44 @midwest-princess @riotrhythm

──────────────────────

“This isn’t right.”

At first, Hopper didn’t hear you speak. He was too distracted by the taste of your soft skin on his tongue, his mouth pressed to your neck in an open kiss. When your words did register in his mind, he disregarded them. Who gave a fuck whether what the two of you were doing was right or wrong? Hadn’t you both earned some happiness? You, with a husband too absorbed in his work to pay you any attention, and Hopper, whose wife had grown so cold and distant after the death of their daughter that she barely let him touch her anymore?

“This isn’t right, Hopper,” you repeated, insistent this time. His grip on your hips tightened, almost hurting. You were sitting on his lap in his office, after hours at the station. In the darkness, just the two of you, just how you liked it. How you needed it to be, to avoid a scandal that would turn the small town of Hawkins upside down...

You became frustrated at Hopper’s disregard for your words, pulling back from him. His jaw tightened, his lips a thin, hard line. “And what makes you think I fuckin’ care if it’s right or wrong?” he asked, his voice husky and impatient. “I want you.” Hopper bounced his knee under you, making you gasp as your cunt settled against the thick outline of his cock. Hopper exhaled as you shifted on top of the erection painfully straining against his uniform. “I want you,” he reiterated, speaking through grit teeth. “I want you and that asshole you’re married to doesn’t.” Hopper’s words stung already, but they were about to get worse.

“That new secretary he just hired? Remember her?” You braced yourself for what you already knew was coming. “He’s fucking her, did y’know that?” Hopper didn’t waste time softening the blow of his words with pretty euphemisms. Why should he? You’d come this far, let him touch you already. You were straddling Hopper’s lap for fucks sake. You wanted this as much as he did, and he’d be damned if he let you pretend to have grown a conscience between the time you straddled his lap and now…

Hopper knew you were a smart woman. You must have known your husband was having an affair, that he’d been unfaithful for as long as the two of you had been married. “Mrs. Kline,” Hopper uttered your name through a cruel smirk. He reached for the strand of hair spilling down your shoulder, gently tucking it behind your ear. You shivered as Hopper’s thumb grazed your earlobe, his skin warm. “Don’t let this time we have go to waste,” Hopper told you. “We both know things aren’t going to change anytime soon, for either one of us.”

You shifted a little on top of his thighs, Hopper’s cock pulsing against your cunt in response. You’d already soaked through your panties, a wet patch leaking through onto Hopper’s pants. He’d have to wash those himself, later. Couldn’t risk his wife finding them in the laundry and asking questions. But a bit of deception was a small price to pay if it meant finally getting inside you.

“Larry is-,” you began, but Hopper bucked you on his knee again, silencing you.

“Mm-mm,” he chastised, shaking his head. “Don’t say the bastard’s name. Not when you’re with me.”

Hopper swallowed any words you may have had left in a kiss. His tongue licked back the apprehension sitting on the edge of yours, the things you knew you should say, but didn’t want to. Mainly, the word “no.” You didn’t want to tell Hopper no.

His large hands held you down against his lap, thumbs finding purchase in the space where your hips and thighs met. Being the mayor’s wife, you’d interacted with the Chief of Police several times over the years. But never like this. The time you’d spent together had been social, limited to local events. Always public, always within the gaze of the people of Hawkins. The eyes of the public on you had forced both you and Hopper to keep your desire for one another a secret. But now, years later, you’d both grown weary of pretending, of keeping things professional. His hand slipped between your legs, gliding under the waist of your panties. You gasped as Hopper inserted two of his thick, calloused fingers inside you without warning. A cocky little grin pulled at his lips. “Just warming you up, sweetheart,” he drawled confidently, adding “Christ you’re fuckin’ tight…Might send you back to Lare a little broken, y’know…?”

You moaned into Hopper’s chest as he fingered you, humping against his palm. No matter how fucking good his fingers felt inside you, he was still Jim Hopper. The same man who’d developed a reputation for drinking and drug use while on the job. The same man whose wife was presumably sleeping soundly right now, at the home she shared with Hopper, having bought the lie he’d sold her about needing to stay late at the station for ‘work.’ He was working, but not the way he’d implied. Hopper’s fingers working inside you were an altogether different kind of work, the way he manipulated your cunt yet another form of manipulation he was very skilled at, in addition to lying to his wife.

“You’re so close,” Hopper gloated at your ear in a low, smug voice. The fact that he was getting you off with nothing but his fingers was stroking Hopper’s ego, just like his fingers were stroking your insides. He held a misplaced sense of pride in being able to do for you what your husband couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do. It was something Hopper could accomplish, something he could succeed at, in contrast with his crumbling marriage. Maybe instead of thrusting his fingers up another woman’s cunt, he should have been at home with his wife, working on repairing his marriage. But Hopper wasn’t interested in what he should be doing. All he wanted to do, was you.

The sound of Hopper’s chair creaked loudly in the small office at the impact of you grinding on his lap. He smacked your ass with the hand that wasn’t between your legs, then carefully removed the one that was. You whimpered at being suddenly empty, pouting up at Hopper in frustration. He didn’t deny you for long, quickly working his belt and pants undone, his cock springing free and smacking thick and wet against your cunt with an audible slap. Hopper lifted you by your hips, guiding you onto his plump, leaking tip and letting you sink onto him at your own pace.

Hungry, greedy, your cunt swallowed Hopper with minimal difficulty. You managed to take him whole, your clit pressed against the coarse dark hair above Hopper’s cock. He growled behind grit teeth, as the sensation of being consumed by you overtook him. It had been years since Hopper had been with a woman besides his wife. The grip of fresh pussy moving up and down his shaft caused Hopper’s brain to temporarily glaze over. He was lurched back into awareness by the harsh ring of the telephone sitting on his desk.

“Ignore it,” Hopper panted, speaking to himself as much as you. A moment later, the phone ceased ringing. When the shrill sound began again less than a minute later, Hopper pulled his lips from your throat and cursed. He knew there was only one person who would be trying to reach him here at this time of night. Hopper reached for the phone, gently lifting it from the receiver. He brought his index finger against his lips, instructing you to remain quiet. Forcing his voice as steady as possible, considering you were grinding up and down on his cock, Hopper spoke: “Diane?” You nuzzled your face into Hopper’s neck, muffling your own sounds into his shirt. A woman’s voice on the other end of the line spoke, but you couldn’t make out the words. You didn’t want to. All you wanted was to keep riding Hopper, moving closer and closer to your peak.

“I can’t-I uh-,” Hopper stammered, swallowing. You could feel the heat radiating from his chest, the sweat blooming beneath the hair peeking out from his shirt collar. “I’m gonna be a little longer, sweetheart,” Hopper managed, clearing his throat. He closed his eyes in an attempt to remove the image of your breasts bouncing in front of him with every descent you made on his cock. His wife’s voice chattered away on the other end of the line. “Thirty minutes,” Hopper said, and inwardly, you grimaced. You wanted all night with him, but under the circumstances, both your options and Hopper’s were limited.

“Yeah,” Hopper grunted, followed by a rushed “love you too,” before he quickly replaced the phone on top of the receiver. You paused, meeting his eyes in the dim light of his office. “Is that true?” you asked tentatively, your voice breathless. Hopper’s hands were all over you again, as if the phone call had never happened. His expression conveyed annoyance as he sorted out what you were asking him, his response a confused “what?”

“She said I love you,” you explained. “Your wife. And you said it back.” Hopper’s eyebrows lifted incredulously. “Yeah,” he said. “What’s your point?”

“Did you mean it?” you asked, despising how pitiful and small you sounded in this moment. Hopper exhaled, the cruel smirk returning to his lips. “How is that any of your fucking business?” he asked through a humorless chuckle. His smile evaporated as a darker look replaced it. “Now you listen to me, because here’s how this is gonna work-.” His hands slid down your thighs, squeezing a little too hard. “-You’re gonna keep these legs spread till I come in between them and then we’re gonna part ways like this never fuckin’ happened, understand?” You nodded, forcing the tears behind your eyes not to fall. You wouldn’t give Hopper the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt you anymore than he already had.

Hopper nodded, satisfied with your compliance. “Good girl,” he said, without any sentiment behind his words. Hopper’s arms crushed you against him as he bucked up into you. His shoulders tensed, the muscles in his stomach tightening. Hopper’s grunts of exertion grew sharper, till his body stilled tight against yours, his cum spilling inside you. With his forehead pressed to your shoulder, Hopper panted hot and labored against your chest.

The absence of sound in the office, apart from Hopper’s breath, was far from quiet. A sick tension hung in the air, his cold words repeating back in your mind on a loop. After a moment, Hopper patted your ass and instructed you to “get up.” He held onto the base of his cock as you slid off it, a thick trail of semen gushing out and landing on his thigh. Hopper cursed, almost as if implying the mess was your fault. He turned his back to you, lighting a cigarette. Feeling unsatisfied and worse, ashamed, your voice was trembling when you quietly asked, “should I…go?”

Hopper’s shoulders moved in small chuckle, and he turned to face you. His cock was still hanging out, as if he was in no hurry to put it away. You, by contrast, had already begun to dress. Hopper sucked a long drag out of his cigarette, exhaling as he informed you flatly, “yeah, we’re done here.” He reached for his coat and made his way to the door. Even though you were fully dressed by now, you felt more exposed than ever. He waved his hand ahead of him, ushering you out the front door of the station. “See yourself out,” Hopper directed. The hurt inside you was beginning to boil over into rage. You’d never felt more used in your life, even after being humiliated by your husband’s affairs for years. “Fuck you, Jim,” you spat at him, your saliva landing on his cheek. Hopper’s eyebrows lifted in a look of amusement. “Well that already happened,” he taunted.

The cold night air was oddly welcoming as you burst through the station door and out into the parking lot. You found your vehicle and quickly got inside, your hands squeezing the steering wheel till your fingers cracked. You left the station and made your way home to your husband, while another man’s cum slowly leaked out of you onto the driver’s seat the whole way home.

[kitchenisking]

Day 2

Derek Hale doesn't speak by Bashfyl - (Rating: T, Words: 5,091, sterek)

What if after Paige died Talia believed Peters words over Derek's? What if sixteen year old Derek lost his mate the night he found him, the night of the Hale fire. What if the universe decided there shouldn't be a Derek Hale who didn't have his own Stiles Stilinski?

Wolf Cub by moodwriter - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 6,946, sterek)

A strange wolf is not supposed to touch another pack’s cub and that’s why, on a rescue mission, it’s Stiles’ job to take care of the wolf cub who’s curious about everything and everyone. Stiles is not used to werewolf children, and the pack is not used to Stiles taking care of a child. Their Alpha gets very confused about this, too.

Devoured by Hedwig221b - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 5,298, sterek)

Breathless, Stiles shifted his gaze up and went red from the knowing smirk on the deific face. The man’s red eyes sparkled in the moonlight, glowing like two fires on the tips of the candles. One of his thick eyebrows was lifted in amusement.

He was the most beautiful being Stiles had ever seen. As was probably expected, considering he was the god of sexual desire.

An Alpha's Misunderstandings by Dexterous_Sinistrous - (Rating: Mature, Words: 48,520, sterek)

And Derek was there, as if it was a simple twist of fate.

There were so many ways Stiles wanted to forgive Derek, but then he came to his senses.

He wouldn’t risk Charlotte’s safety for that hope–never again. ~*~ Stiles and Derek are parted by war and misunderstandings, only to find each other again.

today by EvanesDust - (Rating: G, Words: 2,585, sterek)

[excerpt] Going to the farm had been fun, but the best part wasn't the maze or climbing the slide. Not even choosing the pumpkins. It was meeting Derek.

the hale pack shares three braincells by graveltotempo - (Rating: G, Words: 4,322, sterek)

Five times a member of the Hale Pack (2.0) did not believe Stiles and Derek were in a relationship, and one time someone finally clued them in.

OR: the one where Lydia and Boyd (and Cora) are smarter than everybody else.

Crazy Scary Beautiful by Elpie (Horribibble) - (Rating: T, Words: 1,644, sterek)

The guy just came in with a duffle bag full of knives and plopped them down on the counter, easy as you please. He’s standing there with a perfectly cheerful look on his face, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. 

-

In which Stiles Stilinski is probably a serial killer, but Derek falls in love anyway.

Brewin' Up Love by sugareey, wanderingeyre - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 30,871, sterek)

The Pack runs Moon Tower Fermentarium, a popular brewery in Beacon Hills, and they are a refuge for supernaturals that need it. Stiles is happy to be Scott's Emissary and loves being the head brewer. His life is great. If only he could get over his feelings for Derek.

Derek finally feels like the Pack is settled and he is proud of what they've built. He doesn't need anything else. He has Stiles in his life as his friend and that's more than he deserves. If he wishes for more in the dark of night, that is between him and the moon.

OR The one where the Pack owns a brewery and Stiles is on fire with the puns. Also, there is angst.

If Only In My Dream by Karla_Kattz - (Rating: G, Words: 5,890, sterek)

Just to be with Stiles once! Maybe that's enough to erase that longing. "That can be arranged," a bright voice says behind him. Derek jumps from the bed, immediately beta-shifting and snarling at the intruder. The woman who is standing - no wait, she's floating, she's truly floating two inches above the floor - in the doorframe looks completely unfazed. In fact, she's even smiling. "Who are you? How did you get in here?" Derek grits out through his fangs, adding an unspoken 'and why didn't I notice you'? "Calm down, Wolf. I won’t harm you or your mate." Only then Derek notices the little glimmer that's surrounding her, the flawless skin she has, and how her blonde hair is softly swaying as if she was underwater. In combination with the floating- "You're a fairy," he says and wills his body to shift back. "Personally, I prefer the term 'fae', Alpha Hale, but you're not wrong," the creature chirps happily. "And I shall grant your wish."

———

An imagination spell allows Derek to daydream about Stiles and him, but things take an unexpected turn.

i am yours, just like you are mine. by buckysharons - (Rating: Mature, Words: 761, sterek)

derek’s (official) first time.

[meet-the-coffee]

Tf2 McDonalds Headcanons: Coffee edition...

So, somebody posted a template thingy and I replied to that post. Here's my full thing with my own template made lmao,,

Link to inspiriational and original post here

So, my headcanons are like this:

Heavy:

I view Heavy as a pretty serious guy so I think he can go a little further up with Medic, yet not all the way still. He can once in a while "oke oke. Heavy could go for burger. Let's eat burger." And then chuckle. But he's very much born and raised with responsibility with his mom and sisters. He's responsible and nurturing. That is his nature behind that solid mountain of a man. (Read: official comics) This man starts ordering and he doesn't stop ordering /hj,, no but fr I think like, he, alone, orders for 3 people to eat for himself. The rest stares in horror and/or awe.

Medic:

Medic is peak "ve havf food at home. Quiet down nowv, QUIEEET."

Engie:

Engie should be middle between "we have food at home" and the chanting. I think he's the mom of the group a lot of the times (cooks and bakes for the team in my hc) but I think he would very much also like to bring the "kids" to mcdonalds sometimes because why not!! So mid right it is. Probably orders some burger and a coffee. Sometimes a water or sooometimes some soda.

Demoman:

Demoman is a drunk. Drunks love fat food. Him and Soldier are dumbasses and I view them as being quite child-like like this. Demo and Soldier are absolutely chanting for burgers. But also, I think Demo is just a sliiight bit more responsible (he's mama's boy!!) Demo orders a wholeass meal ok. Something with lots of meat and bacon and cheese. Drink? Bro drinks beer. He tries to order a beer. He does not get a beer. He shrugs and chugs the beer in his hand.

Soldier:

On that note, I see Soldier as a sliiight bit more possible to go HELL YEA BURGERS, drive the fking bus in via drive-through and go "FIVE CHEESEBURGERS AND A COKE. A REEAAL AMERICAN COKE... YEAHAH." And then eat all of the burgers for himself. He's not rude he's just oblivious lmao,, not many braincells scrambling around in there.

Pyro:

Scout and Pyro are absolutely screaming for mcDonk. Pyro wants happy meal. He fucking loves the toys. He collects them, even. Keeps him occupied in the car lmao... he always orders a milkshake. Maybe strawberry flavour.

Scout:

Scout orders a 20-box of chicken nuggets (like me!!) Or the big McShare-box with different stuff like chili cheese tops, nuggets and chicken clubs, (also like me. We both audhd as hell ok) and always a coke and/or a milkshake. (Sometimes he wants both!!)

Spy:

Spy doesn't give a fuck, he gets a coffee. He just needs a coffee to be able to withstand the drive home with the bunch of toddlers in the backseat. Only chance they get to order something is if Scout bounces in (after experience from first or second time) to go "AAAND AY UHHHHHH--". Spy scoffs in annoyance and tells him to sit down and shut up. Scout does neither. He wants chicken nuggets. But first few times, Spy really just sighs at the chanting, throws his finished cig out of the crack in the window, and exits the highway for mcdonalds. And then he just goes "one black coffee please." And they go "anything else?" And he just goes "Mercí, that'll be all." And start driving for the next window before they even tell him to (more to do so before anyone interrupts and protests).

Sniper:

Sniper is below middle on the left line - between . On occasion he's like "fk sake." And goes for a coffee and probably elbows Scout in his possessions before he can do what he does to Spy. And then after paying and driving off with his coffee, he just coldly goes "Like I said. We have food at home." Like Spy, he just needs a coffee to survive the drive home. And not get an impulse to drive straight off the road into the cliffside.

[Bows bows]

Thankuthanku, that'll be all !!

[forlorn-crows]

crow. babe. darling. my love.

do you know what i need? i need aeon and dew reluctantly being sweet. all the tension that's hung in the air between them dissolving as one of them sneaks into bed because being alone is too much right now, even if their only option is someone who (they think) hates them.

i know you know what i mean.

oh wow how convenient of an ask. would you look at that. and from my sweet darling mal. however could you have known what i wanted to write today. that is crazy (tee hee)

what is ALSO crazy is APPARENTLY @miasmaghoul and i, onCE AGAIN, have the same braincell and wrote basically the same fucking thing at the same fucking time. no, i literally told her nothing about what i was writing beyond "aeon/dew comfort somethin somethin", and she told me nothing about hers. love you bitch

a little bit of aeon/dew Feelings. breaking down walls and such. @waywardsamaritan inspired me to write them with their fic about dew bein all sweet to aeon.

iimagazh means 'little light' in ghoulish; word so graciously borrowed from mal's big lore brain

Dew flips around for what feels like the hundredth time, smushing his cheek into his pillow with more force than necessary. Sleep continues to slip through his claws like fine sand, leaving a heavy weight of . . . something in its wake. Maybe it’s just insomnia or uncomfortable bus bunks. Maybe it’s the pinprick of emptiness gnawing at the back of his brainstem, a feeling that situated itself there as soon as they left for tour.

He wishes Aether were here. To pull him close with those big, warm arms. Aid his addled mind. Kiss him on his hairline and lull him to sleep with a few well-placed waves of quintessence. 

But he’s not.

Instead, Dew stares across the aisle at Aeon’s sleeping form. His eyes roam over his back, bouncing between his wide shoulders. His chest rises and falls evenly in sleep. Lucky bastard, the fire ghoul thinks. Envious. He can almost feel the tug of Aeon’s magick from here, the tiniest tingling at the edges of his awareness. Dew can recognize it well enough, even if it’s not the same brand, so to speak. It’s more subtle than Aether’s, more demure. For as big as his presence is on stage, his magickal footprint is anything but. Aeon’s is more of a low hum, stuck in a tight aura around his vessel. It doesn’t quite warm a room like Aether’s, big in energy and personality as he is. But Dew’s caught the edge of his quintessence enough times to start to get familiar with its calm, yet electric spirals. 

It’s dangerously tempting now, even with their strained relationship. Dew clutches the pillow in his arms a little tighter, scoots closer to the edge of the bunk. He could crawl in with Mountain, as he’s done already so many nights prior. Tucked himself into his nest of long limbs, drawing close to the steady, grounding beat of his heart in his rumbling chest. Putting him as close as he can to their oldest bond. 

He’s just not Aether. And as much as he hates to admit it, he misses the calming touch of quintessence in general, not just from his mate. 

Dew feels vulnerable. Like his longing has cracked open a chasm in his chest and left him open. Wanting. 

His body is moving before his brain can ruminate any further. He slips down from his bunk, careful to avoid the creak of the built-in’s edge. Dew pads across the small aisle, standing dumbly in front of Aeon’s bunk. Breathing as quietly as his lungs will allow. 

Fuck it.

Deftly, the fire ghoul climbs over Aeon and into his bunk, nearly launching himself into the back wall in effort not to jostle the other ghoul. The quintessence ghoul grumbles a little at the dip in the mattress but doesn't fully wake. Dew situates himself close to his front, moving to curl his limbs into himself so as not to touch. Just enough to be close. 

"Hmm . . . iimagazh. . ." Aeon mumbles, pulling the fire ghoul to his chest and throwing a leg over his hips. The lisp of infernal language makes Dew’s breath hitch, let alone the way Aeon easily slots himself against his suddenly over-warm body and presses his nose against the crown of his head, right between the horns, and sighs heavily. 

This is not how this was supposed to go. He can’t know it’s Dew. There’s no reason to elicit such an intimate reaction from someone he’s barely even touched beyond a civil handshake. The fire ghoul holds his breath and wishes he could whisk himself back to his bunk. 

It only takes a few more moments before Aeon unsurprisingly stirs, brow furrowing as he no doubt inhales the scent of fresh shampoo and burnt spices. The quintessence ghoul lets out a confused chirp, shifting back to blink open his eyes and stare at the ghoul in his arms. 

Dew’s eyes are as wide as saucers, fingers curled weakly into Aeon’s sleep shirt. Aeon flicks his gaze all over, realization blooming across his cheeks in the form of a lilac blush, visible even in the dim of the bunk. 

“Uh.” He clears his throat weakly. “Thought you were ‘Rora,” Aeon mutters, avoiding Dew’s eyes in the dark. He moves to pull away, but Dew interrupts. 

“Is it . . . okay that I’m not?”

Aeon makes a small noise, a cross between surprise and disbelief. He hovers between too far and close enough, breaths as shallow as a rabbit’s. Something unreadable crosses his face, but eventually he relaxes a little. Tentatively rests a hand on Dew’s hip. “S-sure. It’s alright.”

“Okay.”

He’s not sure which of them moves first. But soon after he speaks the word they’re pressed together once more, skinny legs intertwined and Aeon’s arms holding him close. He’s surprisingly dense, if Dew had to choose a word for it. He’s not as big and soft as Aether—he’s closer to Dew’s own physique, with a dash of Rain’s height and limber joints. But there’s still a gentle edge to him, comforting in a different way—smells different too. Like the static in the air before a storm, like cool air and myrrh. Yet underneath the mark of quintessence is something else; sage, a hint of metallic tang, and the smell of sap that bursts from a freshly broken branch. Earthy. 

Dew doesn’t want to unpack how that makes him feel right now.

Silence passes between them, broken only by the shuffle of limbs, Mountain's snores from the bunk above, and the dull rumble of the tires on the road.

"Thought you hated me," Aeon whispers.

Dew sighs. Rubs his face into Aeon's shirt. "Don't hate you. M' sorry." 

A beat. Then: “I’m glad you don’t.” Dew lifts his head up, face now millimeters from Aeon’s, tips of their noses barely brushing. Copper eyes gaze into dark ashy brown ones, searching. The quintessence ghoul reaches up and brushes a stray strand of hair back behind Dew’s horns, touch feather-light. And though Aeon’s gaze dips down to his mouth, almost imperceptibly, he only leans in to place a chaste kiss to his forehead before tucking his head back under his chin with a slow exhale. In a way, Dew’s thankful for that. He slips his arms around Aeon’s middle, shuffling as close as possible before allowing himself to close his eyes and release the last bit of tension still straightening his spine. 

Mountain’s the first one up in the morning, dropping down from his bunk with a soft thud. He’s met with the sight of the two lanky ghouls absolutely tangled up in each other in the same small bunk, Dew notably flung across Aeon’s torso and drooling onto his shoulder. The earth ghoul looks at them with amused shock, fondness tugging at his heart a little. 

“Oh ho ho, look what we have—” Swiss is immediately silenced by a well-deserved pillow smack from across the aisle. Mountain frowns at him, miming for the multi ghoul to shut his mouth. 

“Not a word,” he hisses. Mountain presses into his mind instead. That, the earth ghoul points to them, is the best sleep he has gotten this entire time. 

Swiss holds his hands up in surrender, smirk tugging at his lips. Okay, okay. I’ll let the gremlin and his new friend have their beauty sleep. 

[weebsinstash]

Do you think Nolan or Thragg would ever be a GirlDad (TM)? Like, I can imagine Nolan finding out his wife is pregnant with a girl, and he thinks he's going to treat her the same as Mark, but then he holds her in his arms for the 1st time and all of a sudden she's Daddy's Little Princess and he's teaching her how to subjugate her enemies during her "princess tea parties" and they're both wearing tiaras cuz "Please daddy?" with puppy dog eyes.

Hooting hollering howling and slapping my knee because I never finished the goddamn post but if you take a gander over here in my drafts

SAME BRAINCELL WOO WOO

That gif is his response to you asking when you get to date lmaooo

I almost wrote like something short for it, and I kind of am constantly bouncing around between "Do I want this to be short or long or what" but I can just imagine daughter Reader and Nolan going at it "you just don't want me to date because you want me to save myself for a VILTRUMITE man, don't you?! Humans aren't good enough, huh?! I'm 'too good for a human man'?!" And he just loses it and shouts back "you're too good for ANY man, you don't NEED any man, I'M the only man you need, I'M your FATHER!!" Like. Nolan is one of those super dare I use the term emotionally incestuous yandere dads

Like. Ok I guess this is a throwaway spoiler because I would be absolutely fucking shocked if they bothered to animate this, it's such a small deal, but like. Idk. Idk. How do I phrase this. "There's another character in the series who also has to deal with their daughter wanting to have A Ho Phase and Daddy Doesn't Like It" and for the love of fucking god Nolan and Thragg wouldn't let you date for absolute shit. No dating, no fucking, you are, their pure innocent sweet but also savage little fierce warrior princess and you are untouched by no man like the goddess Artemis to them.

God. Having a yelling screaming argument where you're just so upset, "OH YEAH WELL YOU KNOW YOUR CHANCELLORS SON, THE ONE I MET THE OTHER WEEK? YEAH, YEAH, I FUCKED HIM, I FUCKED HIM IN MY BED, IN THE HOUSE YOU PROVIDE FOR ME, HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, DADDY" and that's like OH MY GOD you've cut them so deep it's like actual fucking sacrilege to them. The EMOTIONAL DAMAGE. Fists are nothing knives are nothing bombs are nothing BUT HEARING THAT THEIR BABY GIRL GOT DEFLOWERED? It's like a fucking DEBUFF. Imagine you scream at Nolan about how you sucked off a Viltrumite HIS AGE and he just PHYSICALLY STUMBLES, HAS TO REGAIN HIS BALANCE, HAND OVER HIS HEART

And Thragg is, obsessively hollering about how you're the Grand Regents daughter and you're of too high status for any of these males, just screaming at you, "WHY DID I CATCH THAT MAN'S TONGUE IN YOUR MOUTH? HE IS BENEATH YOU" and you hit him with "YEAH HE WAS BENEATH ME, AND BEHIND ME, AND ON TOP OF ME--" and Thragg gets so fucking RED, I feel like he's one of those wall punching dads. He won't ever hit you but he might manhandle-grab you and physically intimidate you at times. Thragg can just give you The Look and you INSTANTLY know you're in for a punishment, or that he's absolutely furious, and you're on your knees, "Please Daddy I'm sorry I didn't mean it, I was angry, please don't be upset with me, i-i-i just dont like you being disappointed in me, i love you and i want us to get along 🥺" and like. Obviously it works. But. He's not mad at YOU, he's mad at THE GUY, so, as cute and effective as buttering him up or even just genuinely being afraid and pleading earnestly is, you're not his target. The guy's still getting, tortured and maimed or something. But thanks for telling Father you love him, that'll perk him up during his next planet raid ❤️

BUT NO LITERALLY ACTUALLY Nolan with his knees bent in a little tiny plastic chair nearly on the ground with his little fake cup of tea as he sits there having "tea" with you and your Princess Ladybug doll and he's all, "now sweetheart, what did we learn today?" "That if we defeat our enemies, we should also take out their family and their allies, so they don't come back for vengeance?" "Yes sweetie, that's so good, you're so smart 🥰"

Nolan/Thragg getting in a physical fight and they could be getting maimed and disembowled or taking punches and it's like whatever, they're still chilling, but, do some shit like, knock their treasured keychain out of their pocket that you gave them or an embroidered handkerchief or just a little personal photo of you they keep on them gets ruined in the scuffle, oh, oh, NOW they're fucking pissed, NOW they've got some serious unfinished business in this fight and their opponents get DEMOLISHED and they're sitting there pouting with their broken/ruined thing you gave them because even if they got a new one from you, this one still had memories and sentimental value

I feel like similar to parents keeping baby teeth, Thragg would keep things like, first weapon you ever trained with, memorial photo of your first spar with another child that you won, your first flightsuit, a toddlers toy that was crushed on accident because you suddenly got your powers and had far too much strength than you knew what to do with. And Nolan, if he's raising you on Earth with Debbie, he's at all your school functions, whether it's dancing or sports, and if you aren't in those things, he encourages you HEAVILY (it totally isn't. Training or anything or making sure you're staying fit and active for anything in the future hahaha). He's taking photos and cheering in the crowds. He wants your art in his office. He wants to play games with you once you get your powers. He buys a case for any medals and trophies to proudly display.

Also like do you have any idea how much of an actual phenomenon it is, I've seen videos of it, where dads basically have infinitely more sympathy for their new daughters when they already have sons. I distinctly remember a video where a man was holding his second-born, his first daughter, and he was like weeping because he was feeling intense empathy for his infant daughter because she was crying and looking at him as he held her, and the wife was filming and it was captioned "he never did this with our son" and like. LMAO, THAT'S NOLAN WITH YOU WHEN YOU CRY. THAT'S THRAGG SUDDENLY GIVING A FUCK ABOUT ONLY YOU SPECIFICALLY AFTER LIKE TONS OF KIDS.

Daughter Reader would definitely be their spoiled little princess but you're also their spoiled little princess under very specific terms of CONTAINMENT AND SURVEILLANCE. You've got curfews, they need to know who your friends are, what families do they come from, what do their parents do. They'll treat you like a princess but they'll also socially isolate you from others and. Basically control your life. And if you ever try and pull away from Dear Old Dad, well. Viltrumites can have some pretty extreme reactions. Will Nolan have to disfigure that boy you won't stop talking to? Will Thragg have to build a pretty little cell so that his adult daughter doesn't sneak out to drink and fuck unknown men? That's up to how much of an obedient faithful daughter you want to be. Don't make them do something only you will regret ❤️

Jfjfkfm EDIT; I ALSO TOTALLY MISSES YOU SENT THIS

No but absolutely you're sitting there in your little costume jewelry as you twist a barbie doll and wring her like a towel "for disobeying High Queen Princess Barbie" and here's Thragg, "that's very good. The chain of command should always be respected" and you just happily start chattering away in that "im a small child and I don't know how to keep secrets or lie" kind of way

"Then Teddy Mason from down the street chased me into the woods and I kept telling him to stop but he kept using a stick to pull up my skirt so I grabbed him by the leg and threw him up into the air so he went SPLAT when he came back down!!" And you bang your little hand down on your table and Thragg is nodding in approval and Nolan just comes in looking mortified because he has no idea why Thragg is there until he. Sees that you're putting all kinds of stupid plastic hair clips in the man's hair and even his mustache and giggling and putting stickers on him And Thragg Is Just Totally Letting It Happen. Just totally casual, "Ah Nolan, you're finally here" and stands up to talk to Nolan with you in his arms or on his shoulder or just, hovering around him continuing to play with all the hair clips while your very horrified father is wondering what alternate dimension he just stumbled into to see the Grand Regent so. Calm.

The two men go into the other room "to have a grownup talk" and are they talking about the invasion? About Viltrum? No, Thragg is demanding to see all your baby photos as Nolan starts pulling out all his photo albums with absolute glee

[crazylittlejester]

Jes could we get Wars Twi and Sky kitchen shenanigans too? as a lil treat? 🥺 (like as part of the same fic)

- hero-of-the-wolf

(im assuming you mean in the same fic where Wars goes home)

Not in THAT fic, part of the reason why those three get up to such DUMB shit is because it’s just the three of them. The second you add a fourth person nearby, they are no longer stupid. Like, the dumbass trio + Time? They’re back to being smart. Dumbass trio + Wild? Back to being smart. Doesnt matter WHO the fourth person is, they bring back the braincell alskdkdk, and Wars Twi and Sky could not get up to any REAL shenanigans if they were not just completely left alone. And Wars is not going to be away from his family for a long enough period of time to get up to stupid shit because if I’m sendin’ him home he’s gonna spend time with his family. Also they missed his stupid ass so much they aren’t gonna let him out of their sight for long enough to give him a chance to be an idiot

BUT!!! the dumbass trio is important to me so I will be doing a fic where they get up to dumb shit in someones kitchen in addition to the fic where Wars goes home, because i love the mental image of Wars just frozen holding a flaming loaf of bread on a sword while the ADHD decision demons have their claws in Twilight and he’s doing that literal physical bounce and turning between the sink where there is water and facing the front door where he CAN go get Malon for help but his brain can’t let him pick one so he’s stuck in a loop of “OOH- no… OH BUT!! oh no- but OH!!!??” and Sky is on the floor like this:

[incorrectsmashbrosquotes]

Can I please request some Joker X Ryuji X Ann?

I have a huge craving for two idiots, and their much smarter boyfriend.

Yusuke: What are you doing?

Makoto: Observing the trio.

Yusuke: I know that but... why? You aren't spying on us anymore.

Makoto: Sure, but I find it fascinating how the braincell bounces back and forth between them given the context of any situation.

Yusuke: Come again?

Makoto: Observe my findings:

-

Scenario 1

Joker: The upcoming Shadow is tough. As such we need to properly strategize according to its weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Ryuji, Ann, In need you to-

Ryuji, rushing in: LEERRROY, JEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNKINS!

Ann, also rushing in: GRAYSKULL!

Joker, running behind them, throwing health potions at them: GUYS! GUYS! WAIT ITS CHARGING AN ATTACK-

-

Scenario 2

Ryuji: Hey dude! You wanna blow up these hot dogs in the microwave one by one?!

Joker: DO I?!

Ann, already browsing the catalogue for new microwaves: I wonder how much money we'd save if we didn't have to buy a new one once a month.

-

Scenario 3

Joker, eyes bloodshot, seeing through time: What if, instead of milk, I put coffee in my cereal?

Ann, vibrating into the fifth dimension: You're a handsome genius.

Ryuji: Guys, guys, NO!

-

Yusuke: Fascinating, they're managing to keep each other alive through their polyamory.

Makoto: Indeed. They'd be dead without each other.

[spiraledfaun]

Giving In To Kimmy

You're working late, having stayed behind at the office to finish up a project you're developing. It's been a tough few months, but you really believe in your vision. Tomorrow, you'll present it at the meeting, and they'll all see how much you put into this. You'll finally get the credit you deserve.

The sun is setting outside, it's at that point in the year where the days quickly get longer and longer. It's warm, but not aggressively so. You feel comfortable.

*Ping!* echoes gently through your headphones. You have an email from someone on your project team. It's Kimmy, and she's extremely friendly, sometimes to an exhausting extent. She's always bouncing around whenever you see her, and you frankly don't know where she gets the energy.

"Heyyyy, can you check out what i put 2gether for the meeting tommorow? wanna make sure its goodeeee 😋"

You feel yourself losing braincells just reading that.

You scroll down to the bottom, and find a .MOV attachment. It's probably a short B-roll to put in between the slides you've been working on. You doubleclick without hesitation.

The video screen pops up, all black at first. You full-screen it, to make sure you can get the best view of the video Kimmy's worked so hard on. You lean back in your chair and press play.

A black and white spiral slowly materializes from the blackness, turning and turning endlessly, filling the screen. You're confused by the direction Kimmy's taking this, but you decide to keep watching. Maybe it'll make sense soon.

The spiral continues to turn, drawing your eyes in with every rotation. A low, steady hum begins to fill your headphones. Somehow, the sound makes it easier to keep watching. You adjust slightly in your chair, jaw opening slightly.

It keeps droning on in your ears, spinning in front of your eyes, and you can't help but slow down. There's nothing more important than looking. There's nothing better than giving in completely. The thoughts surprise you for a moment, before they're quickly replaced by a new sensation: arousal.

The more you look into the spiraling symbol, letting the twirling shapes take you down, down into submission and mindlessness, the hornier you feel. You try to focus on anything else, you weakly pull your head away from the spiral's gaze, but the Spiral will not let you.

The Spiral Owns Your Mind Now.

You're not sure how much time passes after you accept that you've lost. It's all of reality for you now, looking into the eternal Spiral.

Deep, deeper down, drifting, you fall, giving your mind over to this symbol, this visual, without a thought, without any will left to fight it. The Spiral guides your eyes to cross, your tongue to hang out, and your resistance to evaporate.

The hum in your ears turns to a buzz, and the warmth between your legs spikes suddenly. And again. And again. You feel the best pleasure you've ever felt in your life before everything fades to black.

You're at work, ready to give the biggest presentation of your life so far! You think you got a good night's sleep last night, but it's hard to remember. What's important is doing the best you can to support the team.

You're all set up in the conference room, taking one last look at the slides ahead of the meeting. Everything looks to be in place, no issues whatsoever.

There's a knock at the doorframe.

"Heyyy, sleepyhead," Kimmy coos. "You excited?" She's wearing a light pink blouse that is making her breasts look... distracting.

"Absolutely--we've got this!" You smile at Kimmy, happy that teamwork is making the dream work.

She beams prettily at you. "And thanks for checking my video last night! I can't wait to show you all my ideas." Her eyelashes frame beautiful hazel eyes.

A shudder of pleasure runs up your spine, which surprises you. Do you have a crush on Kimmy? You don't think so...

"Yeah, any time, just send them over!" Your eyes dance around her face, desperate not to focus too much on her breasts. If you like Kimmy, you should try not to make her feel uncomfortable.

It's time for the meeting to start, and everyone else begins filing into the room.

She leans over to you one last time, gently pressing her side against your front to whisper in your ear. "Come find me before you head home tonight."

You begin to blush despite yourself. "Okay." Maybe you do like Kimmy.

[ratatatastic]

on this episode of the finn bus antics...

as you can see the crowdwork power is certainly not getting to their heads i promise you

2 finnish cats? no surprise! theres 3! theres 3 of em! 3 finnish cats! call that a basket of kitties or alternatively huddle in the giants arms of warm love because it is still raining and he provides shelter in this cold

also mikksy shouting LETSGOOOO and lundy trying to pump up the crowd god never seperate any of them from each other or i will CRY

when i tell you lundy and mikksy are the clearest example of monkey-see monkey-do i have ever seen in my life and they both switch off on whos the leader of the antics at any point in time... like lundy starting the beer splashing and mikksy following his lead only for mikksy to throw the can into the crowd with lundy following suit 😭😭😭 the braincell unfortunately pingpongs widly between them at any given moment and we never know where its gonna land like a terribly awful pachinko machine

BARKY BARKY BARKY!!!!! no one will get more hype than lundy himself when it comes to sasha!!!! all hail sasha!!! mama cat absolutely amused and maybe a little exasperated with baby cats antics lmaoo kills me that lundys more excited about the barky chants than sasha himself bouncing around like a little bunny

i think everyone should greet sasha by chicken bowing to him aggressively actually

Panthers Championship Parade | 6.30.24 (x)

[lavendarlily]

ectoberhaunt day 10: occultism @ectoberhaunt

mccultism

words: 1698

read it on ao3

cw: death but it's funny

*THIS IS CRACK. like i lost braincells writing this. enjoy.

it's just an innocent summoning ritual.

Sam pulled up in front of Danny’s place, honking her horn twice to let them know she’d arrived. He and Tucker, with Cujo swaddled under Danny’s arm, emerged from the front door, and rushed down to the street. 

With her sunglasses lowered, Sam rolled down the window so her friends could hear her. “Get in the car bitches. We’re going culting.”

Danny scoffed at her poor joke and climbed into the front seat, Cujo on his lap, with Tucker sliding into the back. 

“Hey!” Sam protested. “Cujo goes in the back - I don’t want him jumping on the steering wheel.”

“That was one time! And I made us intangible before we hit the grocery store!” Regardless, he tossed Cujo towards Tucker, who yelped as the pup assaulted him with slobbery licks.

Turning his attention back to Sam, Danny lowered his voice. “Do you have the goods?” 

Sam wiggled her eyebrows and motioned towards the empty seat in the rear. On it sat multiple fast food bags stained with grease.

“Where’s my milkshake?” Tucker complained.

“Ice cream machine was broken.”

Tucker growled in dissatisfaction. 

Sam began driving the familiar route towards the Nasty Burger, Danny raising his eyebrows in confusion.

“What are we doing here? We already have the food.”

“Alright! I can get my milkshake!” Tucker yelled from the backseat. 

“We’re picking up Valerie from work,” Sam answered, then turned to Tucker, “and you stay in the car. We’re not staying long.”

Pouting, Tucker closed the car door and replaced his seatbelt. 

The other passenger door opened and Valerie appeared. She scooched the fast food towards the middle and slid in. 

“Hey guys,” she greeted. “Thanks for picking me up, Sam.”

“Any time, although I’m surprised you wanted to come.”

Valerie shrugged. “Nothing better to do, honestly.”

“Fair enough.” 

Cujo jumped into Valerie’s lap excitedly, Danny watching through the rearview. He blushed when their eyes met in the mirror and quickly looked away. If anyone else in the car noticed, they didn’t say anything. They were good friends like that. 

The drive was fairly long - the spot was a good forty-five minutes out of town. Sam passed the aux cord to Valerie, to Danny’s displeasure (he’d been banned from dj-ing road trips). The car was alive with chatter between the four friends, making the drive fly by. 

They eventually pulled up to an empty park. It’d been abandoned by the nearby town after a fire had ravaged it, and the town didn’t have the money to rebuild. It had since become a spot for hookups or drug deals, or in this case, a summoning ritual. 

The four headed towards a dilapidated bridge that hung over a dried creek. Walking under it, there was an entrance in the walls to an underground cave system. Danny transformed and went first to scope it out, making sure it was safe for the others. Upon returning he phased his friends down one at a time so as to avoid the dangerous descent. 

While Danny could see just fine, the others were lost in the total darkness. Tucker fumbled around until he found his friend’s arm, then broke it in half with a loud crack.

“YOW! What the fuck Tucker?” he yelled, a bright green glow simultaneously radiating from the wound and promptly lighting the cave. 

“Chill, you’ll heal in like two minutes. We need light.”

Danny grunted. “It still hurts,” he grumbled.

Ignoring the boys, Sam set down her backpack and began pulling out chalk and candles. 

“Light these,” she ordered Valerie, who was currently trying her best to wrangle Cujo in her arms, handing her a box of matches. She passed the dog off to Tucker and started on her task. Meanwhile, Sam used the chalk to draw a near perfect circle complete with a large “M” in the middle. 

Danny sat sulking in the corner, rubbing his broken arm. Cujo leapt out of Tucker’s grasp and bounced over to his beloved ghost boy, excited by the sight of the bone sticking out of Danny’s arm. 

“ Don’t bite that oOowowwWWw!!!! ”

Tucker shrugged and started helping with placing the candles. Each point where the “M” touched the circle was decorated with 1-2 candles and a variety of french fries, nuggets, and cheeseburgers. 

“Tucker! Don’t eat those!” Sam yelled at the boy, who had several fries sticking out from his mouth.

“I’m hungry. Can’t be doing cult shit on an empty stomach.”

“You’re always hungry.”

Tucker glared and swiped a nuggie. 

“Danny! Get over here. We’re about to start,” Sam yelled across the cave. Cujo let out a yarf! at her voice and bounded over, jumping up excitedly at her legs. At her look of disgust, Valerie reclaimed the pup in her grasp.

“One sec- I just gotta- OOF! There we go.” Danny had successfully repositioned the bone, skin immediately regenerating and healing the wound, and rejoined the group. He examined the summoning circle before them.

“Looks good. Just one last thing.”

Danny took Cujo from Valerie’s arms and placed him in the middle of the circle.

“Danny!! What-”

Cujo lifted his leg. 

Danny clapped his hands together. “Now it’s ready.”

They sat around the circle in a seated position, hands joined. Sam had an open book in front of her, and began rehearsing the lines. 

Magic forces

Yellow and red

We reach out to you

Beyond the dead

We call upon you

Ronaldus McDonaldai

To hear our voices

And cross the divide

Your loyal followers

McCultists for life

Summon you now

With our lasting cry! 

At this point, all four voices came together.

Ronaldus McDonaldai, Ronaldus McDonaldai, RONALDUS MCDONALDAI!

With the final cry, their voices echoed around the chamber.

And nothing happened.

The four all exchanged looks. “Did we…do something wrong?” Valerie questioned.

“I followed the instructions so carefully!” Sam whined, then glared at Tucker. “Maybe it’s because someone-”

A giant WHOOSH cut Sam off, as green fire and the smell of burning fast food engulfed the cave. 

The group screamed.

In the middle of the circle was a friendly looking clown in red and yellow garb. He blinked once, then twice, taking in his surroundings. 

Sam leapt up and bowed. “Oh Great One. Thank you for answering our call. We are the McCultists. Please bless us with your wisdom.”

The remaining teens echoed Sam. “Please bless us with your wisdom,” they repeated in unison.

The clown stared straight ahead. “Burgir.”

Sam cocked her head in confusion. “Burgir?”

“Magdonal. Burgir,” the clown recited. 

Sam looked at her circle of friends, eyes wide. They all had blank expressions on their faces, also unsure of what to make of their idol’s words.

“Great Ronaldus McDonaldai. We do not understand. What do you need of us?” she tried again.

The clown’s eyes narrowed and his mouth scrunched into a scowl.

“Burgir.”

“We don’t-”

“Burgir,” he repeated, and began violently shaking. “Burgir. Burgir. Burgir .”

The clown’s scalp split like a caterpillar in metamorphosis. The outer layer of the being peeled away slowly, revealing a featureless black body, only a mouth visible. Its limbs were disproportionately long, its lengthy fingers resulting in the hands to resemble forks. 

“B̶̔͊ͅͅu̷̧̐͐̈́̍͛r̴̗̅̕ģ̶̟͍̓̈ì̴̡̧̮̥̞͍r̵̡̞̟̗̒̌.” it hissed, then lunged at the teens.

They all screamed, and ran off in separate directions. All except for Cujo, who ran right up to the demon, wagging his tail. The demon grunted, picking up the dog and placing him on its shoulders, then ran after the teens.

It caught Tucker first - clearly upset that the boy had eaten part of the offerings. The demon unhinged its jaw, mouth growing to the size of its body, and swallowed Tucker whole. The same fate was met for Valerie and Danny, who despite their best efforts and combined supernatural powers, could not destroy the demon. 

Sam had just made it to the crawl space that led to the exit. She’d squeezed most of her body into the crevice when she felt something grab at her ankle. She screamed as the demon pulled her out, the dirt scratching at her body as she slid. 

The demon dangled her in front of its face, analyzing the being responsible for its awakening. 

“Please,” she pleaded. “What have we done to upset you, my Lord?”

“B̷̢̨͍̣̘̤̝͎͓̠͓͔̰͇͚͎̫̭͓̝͓̰̈́̑̒̒̎̋͌̑͂͗̋̎̾̐͛̍́́̒͂̀͋̾̈́͘͘̕͝͝͝͝͝ǔ̷̧̝̦̫̳̥̮̖̱̙͓̠̪̖͓̱̗̟̳͉̠̦̰̝́̃̄̎̎̋͘͜͜ͅr̷̨̳̙̦̟̭̘͂̆̑̊̊͑̃̉̅͐͌̈̃̀͆̽͘g̸̨̯̣̞̤͚͍͍̘͓͙̮̰̾̌̀̀͜ĩ̵̡̛̛̦͚͍̩̠̦̥��̖̪̤̯͇̍̈́̾̒̅̔͋́̾̌̇̀̋̊̚͝ȑ̶̢̧̨̩̳̜̹͚͇̭͎͙̠͙͔͇͙͙̪̈́̐̓͐̂̋̓̈́͗͜͝,” it said, then swallowed her whole.

“M̶̙̈́̊m̸̧̀̊m̶̧͚̖͆͆.̸̣̾ ̵̨̱̺́B̴̻̼̑͒̈͜é̸ͅe̷͈͗͛̓f̴̝̱̈́̍ͅy̴̺̕̕.”

———————

Sam rubbed her eyes, groaning at the hard surface she’d found herself on. She slowly opened them to see her friends all in the same state of confusion. 

“Where are we?” she asked, looking around.

“Hi! Welcome to Maccers Prison. How can I help you?” a cheery voice appeared. 

In front of the group floated a ghost in a black visor and apron with a yellow and red insignia threaded into the fabric. 

“Prison?” Valerie questioned.

“Maccers?” Danny echoed. 

A ruckus from behind startled the teens, and they turned towards the commotion. A rabid miniature poodle in a fedora was running around with nuggies flying from their grasp as a blob ghost chased them, screaming for them to release the nuggies. In the corner, a woman laughed maniacally as she typed away on her computer, while a small group around her begged through tears for her to stop, something about her Torturing the Boy. Across the room a pirate was sparring with another dog-like creature, characterized by an exceptionally blocky appearance. 

“Is this…Hell?” Tucker asked.

The ghost that had greeted them brought their fingers to their mouth and let out a loud whistle that caught the attention of the other inmates. Their heads all snapped up.

“Hey! We’ve got some fresh beef over here. Care to give them their orientation?” 

The collection of beings simultaneously grinned, and moved in on the newcomers. 

“Maccers. Maccers. Maccers. Maccers. Maccers. Maccers,” they chanted. 

The teens scrambled up and looked for an exit, any way out. There was no door to be seen. Cornered, Sam pounded on the walls, hoping that by some miracle there was someone on the other side who could save them. Danny attempted to wail, but instead of his deadly cry, he made a sound like that of a squeaky toy. 

Their screams for help slowly dissipated as they became unwilling members of the Maccers Jail for eternity.

**playlist credit to @hannahmanderr & @duchi-nesten

[arataka-reigen]

I've got some yuri recs for you!

Hana ni Arashi: Chidori and Nanoha are best friends, but unbeknownst their friends, they are dating! Which they try to hide from said friends while cute couple shenanigans ensues. Very fluffy. so so fluffy. Also they are together from the beginning of the series?! say what?

Beauty and the beast girl: MONSTER GIRL YURI!!!! I REPEAT MONSTER GIRL YURI!!! (also if you are in the market for monster girl yuri, the author has a lot of them)

The sheep princess in wolf's clothing: fluffy sheep princess with a wolf butler in a suit, need I say more? Just like the sheep princess, the manga is also extremely fluffy

Can't defy the lonely girl: honor student/delinquent yuri. let's go! for the sake of getting into a good college, our resident honor student decides to help out the teacher deal with a troublesome student, and yuri shenanigans follows.

Yuri is taboo for a yuri otaku: himejoshi achieves her dream of being enrolled in an all girls highschool, where she can observe all the yuri happenings to her heart's content, but what happens when sparks fly between her and a gyaru? This is a yuri manga, you know what happens next.

The moon on a rainy night: Okay slightly more serious than the previous recs. A young pianist meets a beautiful girl one night and goes to school the next day to find out that she is the new transfer student and that she is DEAF. Lots of commentary on how society treats deaf people and such. Really cool.

Even if it was once, I regret it: Miss girl is four months behind on her rent, what does the landlady say to that "Please have sex with me" Woah! Woah! It's not that kind of yuri. It's like really sweet. A little racy, but sweet.

Anemone is in heat: Another honor student yuri! Our girl finally getting over the shame of failing her highschool entrance exams but a her new school, who does she meet but the girl who caused her to fail the exams. Drama ensues.

That time I was blackmailed by the classes green tea bitch: I know the title is... odd. But green tea bitch is just someone who acts innocent but is secretly manipulative. I swear it's really fluffy.

A story concerning sweets: A hospital ghost and a patient falling in love. What could go wrong? Fluffy, but tragic, but fluffy.

School zone girls: All of the girls are so weird and idiotic... It's lovely. Also fluffy.

Our days under one roof: fluffy autobiographical yuri. Enough said.

Goodbye, my rose garden: historical yuri! just trust me. pls. I don't have braincells to type anymore but trust me.

Otherside picnic: outlier spotted! outlier spotted! It is not fluff! infact it's a bit gorey. Just a bit. AHHH! I love them. Might be my favourite yuri of all time. I am bouncing off walls everytime I talk about them. Weirdo women, my sweet beloved. But I know it is a bit strange and weird.So, proceed at your own discretion. But proceed. Just a little bite. For me. A tiny bite.

Enjoy your yuri charcuterie board! ＼⁠(⁠^-^⁠)⁠／

(I have SO MUCH more yuri to recommend, but I'm tried lol. So there will be more yuri recs, just not now. This is a threath)

Oh some of these sound so incredibly up my alley it's like they were written just for me. Himejoshi falling in love with a gyaru? Buddy sign me up. Ghost love story? God, that could be so good.

Thank you for the recs!! I welcome every new rec you might have!!

[p1x1x]

i don't mind recieving more insight on the relationship dynamics you have in mind for them! gives me a better understanding of whats going on in ur art. i just asked because the "child crushing on adult > adult turns into parent/guardian" dynamic is something i don't see often [and when i do see it, it usually isn't done well] so i wanted to reach out to understand what ur take on it was. it's nice to see ur nuances on it as a fellow aro!

haha… “insight” mention

i guess it is a pretty unusual dynamic… but the vibes match what i usually like, so i entertain the thoughts a little…

more often than not there’s some long line of reasoning for whatever pairing im into… usually revolving around why one is important to the other, i guess, since honestly i dont have a set idea what romance is even if i like drawing Lesbian Things… and have done so… for several years…… so the scope of what i consider “love” is might be vague across the board idk the characters just think a lot about each other thats it.

if i were to clarify something like those “saya LOVE” doodles its… idk about myself being ‘nuanced’ lol 😅 i just get delusional about fictional characters and arcaea is Really hitting the braincells. at full force. the main reason for drawing that anyway was because i wanted to see saya getting some kisses (or close to kisses) and blush… the thoughts behind them existed in a vague state while drawing but there were Thoughts

vita -> saya: slight homoromo energy from vita by crushing, saya’s surprised by the cheek kiss but honestly a little touched by it (saya wouldn’t really think of herself as a ‘good caretaker,’ or even a particularly ‘good person’ with the ways she’s probably tested the limits of the memories and her general exploration of all types of memories… ‘the ends justifies the means’ mindset… but it’s like. ah, at least this child is happy…(because of me…?) it seems vita’s happy with just that, so she’ll allow this) i thought it would be cute, fluffy really. honestly i just like drawing them being cute together lmao… they’re sweet i hold em gently in my hand. surprise cheek kith…

lethe -> saya: okay there’s something absolutely terrible and gay going on between them i almost cant look at them!!!!! i love the prospect of ltsy recovering together if vita’s taken away… because lethe cant bring herself to just. leave saya bleeding out. after that. looked like she’s on the verge of tears. it doesn’t even feel like she’s ‘won’ this battle since insight had been the cause of lethe’s scythe striking her… but it also does feel like she’s the one who hurt saya anyway. so now they’re not fighting which is Weird because everytime they’ve met they have fought but neither are really in the mind for fighting so they just. have to deal with each other . and. pent up lesbian feelings. and suddenly being in close proximity like this. that flower is really pretty isn’t it? like the rest of her of course so much for Not Caring about whatever’s bouncing behind those petals before!!! (and all those other things they’ve said to each other when they believed the other to only be an obstacle for their path—ah, they were really misguided… things could have been so different… feels like the emptiness of arcaea also emphasized their opposition similarly to hikaritsu…)

(they’re really gay for each other trust me on this. they have a lot of lesbian yearning . but there’s also like. lethe seeing that vita was important to saya. (more important than what lethe has with saya just for now okay they’re both going to be important to her) how saya would probably still pursue her own dream. lethe can’t exactly fault her for that though, when she herself still believes the memories to be sacred, still finds it hard to let go of things (i know in 5-6 she kind of comes to peace with not remembering a part of herself… but she is still not letting go of any memory if she can jdhdgshssjshhs)). ouuuuugh lethesaya… y yuri… things are horrible for them… and saya’s flower lol. get licked, idiot (saya can totally feel things touching the flower!!! i won’t budge on this)

insight -> saya: insight’s love is definitely a sort of Love but less for a personal relationship and a need to find out everything about something or someone (largely based on whatever insight says in 16-3 and 16-6)… although maya is the most fascinating by being an exception to arcaea laws that insight understands, i’d think insight would find saya a little funny to poke at. and insight’s also gay because Yuri reasons. but then again, maybe all this is what romantic love would be like to her: knowing something or someone inside and out, construction and all : P in her freak ways : P the freakiness is amped up with maya though. freakyuri

though insightsaya isnt really something i ship (along with insightlethe or whatever configuration of them with insight). i just think, well, Lesbian Energy between all 3 of em, insight finds lethesaya entertaining or some shit like that. and its fun to put them together because. one is an ethereal beauty. one is pathetically hot. and the other is just a charming freak. so hard to draw

im not usually this elaborate for multiple characters but oh well i guess this is happening. just refer to the chart tbh that one covers most of my art in a pretty condensed format compared to… whatever this is