#and I maintain that the only real mistake I see

[kiragecko]

If I had added a few paragraphs of my usual rambling to the front of this, it would have 1/50th of the engagement.

It would also have 1/1000th of the mockery, because the lovely weird people who stick around through my rambling are both nicer than the population at large, and interested in parsing complex statements. I have spent my whole life confounded by how the world at large organizes things, so I doubt it will suddenly find my organization style to be clear and simple. Therefor, this problem is likely to continue happening.

Conclusion: I could probably benefit from rambling more to scare away the mean people.

I'm not American, but grew up in a country that is REALLY used to centering American opinions. I'd love to see how many people here are actually American, and how many are just accepting of a lot of American content.

Boundaries are fake, so most places show up at least twice. Choose the grouping that you connect with more.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

kildare enduro

words: 2.3k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, fingering, nipple play, p in v sex, unprotected sex, loner reader, brief talk about wards death, takes place during s4e1 (no sofia.), drinking, kind of drunk sex but they actually specifically say they dont want to be that drunk

“not just john b- look at that other late entry…” the announcer says, looking to his co-host also positioned in front of a microphone.

“do you recognize who is under that helmet?” he asks.

“i do not… i guess we have a mystery contender as well.”

rafe looks over the crowd, frowning inside of his helmet when he realizes there's no one here to cheer him on, eyes glaring with jealousy at the crowd of pogues. it's one of his biggest complaints about the event, the fact that they're allowed to compete too with their shit bikes and even worse racing abilities.

“and that bike… is that a modified ktm 450 rally? that's a beautiful machine. not too different from rafe camerons. looks like they'll be the ones to watch today.”

the announcers statement has rafe looking over, seeing the blacked out bike with metallic purple and blue accents, and the equally blacked out face mask, not allowing him to see who it is underneath.

“thats got to be the most expensive bike racing here today. dominated last years dakar rally, and pretty much every endurance race it's entered into.”

“very excited to see what the modifications are, looks like enhanced tires for driving through the sand…” 

rafe drones out the voices, focusing on the race to come, especially knowing he's got stiff competition this year.

he takes a deep breath, watching the green flag raise high in the sky before dropping quickly, and he's off like a bolt of lightning, sand spewing up behind him.

he gets instantly to the front, but he can hear someone on his tail. a quick glance to his right reveals the metallic bike, skidding over the top of the sand like it doesn't weigh a pound.

“rafe cameron has the early lead, but our late entry is hot on his tail! this could cause trouble for our previous winner.”

rafe takes the turn and is overtaken, but not by more than a wheel.

“looks like rafe cameron is just beat out as they head into the trees!” the commentator shouts, the crowd clamoring to figure out who knows the rider currently in the lead and pulling away.

rafe doesn't let the other bike get farther than a length ahead as he heads into the whoops, the bike soaring into the air before touching down.

rafe smirks under the mask when the driver ahead briefly loses control, wheel wobbling as it hits an uneven patch of dirt, and rafe speeds ahead, taking advantage of every small mistake.

he's not ahead for long, as his bike stutters in speed heading through the dip in the road, water causing his wheels to spin, while the racer in all black and deep purple speeds past, leaving rafe to groan in frustration, especially when he turns and realizes other bikers aren't far behind.

“and here they come! around the bouy and-oh! cameron just made contact with our leader, it looks like he's getting sick of being behind, and overtakes around the turn with our mystery driver right on his heels!”

rafe smirks as he retakes the lead, not willing to let some random take over his win. rafe pops his front wheel up, revving the engine and coaxing more speed out of the bike, knowing sand is flying in the faces of the riders behind him.

“this race is turning out to be a real nail biter, it could be anyone's game as they head back into the trees.”

“wait, wait- is that? JJ MAYBANK IS GOING TO JUMP THE INLET!”

the crowd of people goes wild as jj leapfrogs to the front of the pack, touching down just in front of the new leader, with rafe hot on his back tire as well.

“and our mystery rider is closing in fast, it looks like jj isn't going to maintain his lead. there could be some serious drama at the end of our race here.”

rafe growls as the bikes all come side by side, squeezing jj in the middle. rafe watches as the other riders leg comes out and kicks at the side of jjs bike, pushing into him, and rafe barely manages to brake and get out of the way, falling behind jj.

“fuck!” rafe shouts. there's no way he's losing to a random rider and maybank. he revs on the throttle, touching the front wheel against jjs back and shoving his bike to the side, not looking back as he careens into the air, managing to keep himself right way up and barely make it to the finish line ahead of topper.

“our mystery rider takes the win! i am dying to know who is under that helmet!” the commentators calls out as the checkered flag is waved.

“ladies and gentlemen, it looks like your enduro champion is…” the entire crowd watches with baited breath as the blacked out helmet comes off, and long flowing hair comes tumbling down.

there's an audible gasp, and rafe has to blink to make sure there isn't sand in his eyes and what he's seeing is real.

“is that… y/f/n y/l/n? i think it is! who even knew she raced? what an amazing, showstopping performance from the female rider!”

rafe tugs his helmet off, shoving down the kickstand on his bike. “y/n?” rafe shouts out.

he doesn't know you very well, not very well at all, but your reputation precedes you. graduated a few years before him, you've always been seen as one of the top kooks, your family being established in the area for generations.

“oh, hey.” you smile at him, fingers running through your hair as the crowd surges in now that the bikes have halted. “good race.” you look him up and down. “i mean, i guess not good enough though.”

“this is our first female winner in kildare enduro history! ladies and gentleman, give it up again for y/n.”

“let's go!” you scream out as someone lifts you into the air, raising your helmet far over your head.

rafe knows second means nothing as he grunts angrily. he kicks himself for messing up in the woods, if he would have come out before you there's no way he wouldn't be the one being celebrated at the moment.

--

“on me.” you state to rafe as you slide a beer over the counter to him, coming to take a seat next to him, sipping on your own.

“shouldn't you be celebrating or some shit?” rafe questions, his voice low and rough as he watches a drop of beer sip down your chin.

“i am celebrating.” you state. “what does it look like?”

“where's all your friends and shit?” rafe looks around, expecting to see the same gaggle of girls you used to hang around with in high school.

“what friends?” you scoff under your breath, before frowning and looking at rafe. “i don't see anyone with you either. not even topper. he's not your little servant anymore?”

“me and top are fine.” rafe says. in truth, he's pushed everyone away since wards death, and eventually topper stopped trying, stopped checking in.

“mhm.” you hum, finishing off your beer and flagging down the bartender for another.

“since when did you race anyways?” 

“always have.” you shrug, looking over at rafe, realizing for the first time now that you're up close to him how dazzling his eyes are. “just kept it to myself. not exactly a lady like hobby.”

“a hobby?” rafe scoffs. “you call the way you raced a hobby?”

“i was shit today.” you shake your head. “made mistakes.”

“it was only with your slight mistakes that i was even close.”

“watch yourself, cameron.” you take a sip of your beer. “it sounds like you're starting to be nice to me.”

“sounds like you need someone to be nice to you.” rafe is shocked by the fact that no one seems to care that the enduro race winner is in the bar, like the shock of finding out who won quickly wore off, leaving you alone once again.

“i like being alone.” you state, swallowing harshly to hide your true emotions. “all friends turn out to be fake in the end.”

“family too.” rafe frowns, before finishing the rest of his beer.

“want another?” you ask, tilting your head to the side, your hair flowing over your shoulder, just urging rafe to reach out and touch.

“no.” he shakes his head. “don't wanna be too drunk.”

“too drunk for what?” you hum.

“for when i try to take you home.”

--

“fuck.” you moan, head pressing back into the pillows as rafe continues sucking on your nipple, his hand between your thighs.

“god, right there!” you squeal out as he rubs against your clit, your wetness only growing by the second.

you reach down and push at the waistband of his underwear, trying to tempt him to take them off, but rafe just switches to the other side of your chest, sucking a deep purple hickey on the side of your breasts before taking your nipple back in his mouth.

rafes finger drops to prod at your entrance, feeling how warm you are as his digit slowly sinks in, your moans only growing as you pussy sucks in his finger.

“fuck,” you whine. “need that to be your cock, come on.”

rafe keeps his movement slow as he thrusts his finger in and out, feeling the gummy texture of your walls and the way your cunt grips him, knowing he's going to love having his cock inside you.

rafe adds in a second finger, feeling you stretch and adjust as he moves back to your other nipple, his tongue dragging across your chest, not wanting to lose the taste of your skin for even a second.

the race is in the back of his mind, the last thing he wants to think about. he'd lose a million times more if it gets you in his bed, moaning and pulsing around his fingers.

“rafe-” you tug at his short hair, his head lifting up to look at you, lips pink and glossy. “fuck me.”

rafe smiles, glad that you're just as needy as he is. he regrets not pursuing you earlier, if only he knew what he was missing just down the street.

rafe shoves his underwear down and flings them off the bed. your eyes widen as you take in his length, but you can't stay looking for long as rafes lips smash into yours.

your arms wrap around his neck, tugging him in flush to your body as his cock presses against your entrance, already hard just from kissing and fingering you.

rafes lips mold perfectly to you as he presses in, and this time he doesn't bother going slow, immediately setting a fast pace as his hips move back and forth.

your kiss turns into gasps and moaning into each other's mouth, your hands coming to rafes cheeks, keeping his face close, keeping his blissed out eyes locked with yours.

“your-” rafe grunts as he fucks you. “your pussy is perfect.”

you smile and surge up to press your lips against rafes. “a winners pussy.” you can't help but continue to rub the race in, at least a little bit.

“consider this my congratulations.” rafe smirks as one hand drops to rub at your pussy, thumb stroking your clit in even movements, contrasting the rapid, desperate thrusts.

your eyes slide closed as much as you wish you could keep them open, watching rafe above you, but the pleasure is all too much as he pounds into you.

you pull your knees up, spreading your legs even wider, giving even more space for rafe to fuck into you, his thrusts turning feral as his moans turn to grunts and growls.

“want…” you gasp out. “want your cum in me.”

“you're not gonna get it that easy.” rafe smirks, suddenly flipping so you're on top, his back bouncing against the mattress as you flop forward against him, hips high in the air.

you don't let up for even a second, immediately taking over the movements as you raise and lower your cunt, bouncing on his cock.

rafe doesn't stop either, an arm circling around your waist as he thrusts up off the bed to meet you.

“gonna make me put in work even though i won?” you hum out, breasts pushing against rafes bare torso, his hard muscles stimulating your already sensitive nipples.

“damn right.” rafe smirks. “can't let you get off too easily for that maybank move.”

you tsks. “never liked that fucking pogue anyways.”

“i think i might have to marry you.” rafe chuckles, heart fluttering when he sees you smile, swearing you're glowing as he pumps his hips up into you.

“don't… stop.” you move one hand to over rafes, pushing it tight against your pussy, keeping his thumb in place as it thrumbs against you.

“im close too.” rafe states, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead as he puts all his effort into thrusting up into you, into spearing his cock as deep into your pussy as he can.

you let out a moan, and with one more swipe of rafes thumb, you're gone, entire body shaking before going slack, leaving rafe to quickly flip you over, hands coming to your hips as he pushes inside of you, cumming in spurts, filling you up with his warmth.

rafe collapses next to you the moment he finishes, arms completely giving out from the exhaustion of your activities and the earlier race.

you both breathe deeply, trying to regain some sort of mental clarity as your high wears off.

“shit.” you whine out, breaking the silence. “we gotta do that more often.”

“and…” rafe turns over, propping his head up on his elbow. “maybe get dinner together too?”

“rafe cameron, are you asking me out on a date?” you laugh.

“i just came inside of you, i don't think it should be that surprising.” rafe rolls his eyes. “besides, seems like you could use some company.”

you turn to face rafe as well, his blue eyes looking into yours. “i don't usually date losers, but i guess second place isn't too bad.”

rafe shakes his head before pressing your lips back together.

[withonly-sweetheart]

but what about his younger self? sfw <3

<><><><>

re2(r) leon that just can't wait to get to the academy. he got up at unearthly hours just to get dressed, drive all the way down to raccoon only to get there ages before anyone else. all just to make a good first impression on his superiors.

so imagine his heart sinking when all he gets from his newly assigned t.o. is a scowl thrown at him, the praise he would've gotten at the academy pushed to the furthest corner of his brain when he makes it his goal to impress you.

you point out every little flaw, chastise him harshly when he makes minor mistakes, and your peers stand by with helpless smiles and nonchalant shrugs; "it's just your luck, rookie, you got stuck with her."

of course, and he complies with every little task you assign him, no matter how much he sees how easy the other rookies get it. you're young and eager, the easiest way to form you is from the start.

but your little game with shielding him from true horrors can only go so far. sure, being patrol and all, you've done your best to shoo him from real danger, keeping him safe, because that's the least you could do him. you failed in your last assignment, and you're not about to let it happen again.

in all your shouting, all your screaming at him, you really do care for your boot. your rookie. so your horror when you find him unconscious on a hospital bed surpasses the grief you felt when your first boot was killed in action.

when he finally comes home, you're notified immediately, courtesy of your fellow officer, and he opens the door, still bloody and battered, but at least he looks clean. his eyes are drooping yet still alert enough to recognize you, instinctively stepping to the side to let you in.

"what the fuck were you thinking?" your voice has never been this level, this calm with him. it surprises him just as much as it does you.

"i've been training my whole life for this-"

"trained cops don't disregard direct orders!" you fling the accusation out into the air between you, and almost immediately you can see the effects.

they come in the straightening of leon's spine, the batting of his eyelashes as he restrains himself from crying, because the last thing he needs is for you to think he's weaker than you already assume.

"i-i was just trying to..."

"trying to what, leon?" you hiss. the statement sounds sharper than you want it to, but backing down now would give him the chance to turn the tables.

"i thought if i did something right, for once, you might actually like me."

the silence between you is thick, heavy, like the burden just released from leon's shoulders. and your response is delayed.

"... what?"

"i said-"

"no, i heard you the first time. but what the fuck is that supposed to mean, boot?"

his eyes flit sideways, avoiding your steely gaze, a gaze you work hard to maintain. did he mistake your strictness for hatred? that's never happened before.

"i messed everything up, like i always do."

"you never... what?" your confusion comes through every single time in that damn word, because the placeholder for what you really want to say can't really be... well, replaced.

you take a step towards him, and he goes rigid, narrowing his eyes, preparing for the inevitable lecture he was hoping would be saved until your shift the next day.

but it never comes. you stare up into his eyes, gorgeous eyes, really, eyes that you had admired from his side profile. he's restless, you realize that now, fingers trembling like shaky leaves on a windy day.

"take a day off, leon."

"... ma'am?"

"you heard me, rookie. you need that injury to recover before you can hit the streets again."

"but-"

"no buts. that's a direct order, one that i hope you'll stick to this time, officer kennedy. you did well out there today. you held your will, did the right thing even though we decided against it."

"... you're really letting me off the hook?"

your fingers find the unfamiliar neckline of his white tank top, and you adjust it carefully, just as you would with his shirt collar. he flushes crimson, but your touch is nothing more than a doting gesture.

"just this once, boot. don't get too used to it."

series masterlist

[matrixbearer2024]

Cruel

[Mr Bill Pines AU: Bill Cipher-Pines x Clifford(Stanford Reincarnation)]

Bill misses his husband and he can’t decide at the moment if this was Karma or just another mistake he’d walked into. Fate could be very kind, but it could also be a very cruel thing.

Inspired by a comic from @honeqq and I decided why not write something related to it! I need to write more stuff for them PLEASE-

Bill had to steel himself once more at the familiar chime summoning him again. He already knew who it was and had a few theories about the reason behind it. The real problem was that he didn’t know if he could take it anymore; each moment felt like a deep cut, with wounds left to fester as his heart battled his mind, tearing apart any semblance of sanity.

He had to mentally prepare himself for every encounter with the lookalike of his deceased husband, the imitation of a man to whom he had once given everything. Just being there was painful—the same voice, the same face, the similar mutation…

But he wasn’t the same man.

Taking a deep breath, Bill stepped in front of the impatient artist, who regarded him with mild annoyance. The artist was blissfully unaware of the constant struggle the god faced just to maintain a decent appearance. For some reason, Bill didn’t dare to explain this to him; it made it easier… sort of.

“Oh, finally. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show.”

Bill mused that someone must be pulling a sadistic prank, repeatedly putting him in this situation where every waking moment threatened to unleash the flood of emotions and grief once more. This man wasn’t the genius he had once loved. This guy wasn’t Sixer, no matter how similar they looked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’d call you ‘lucky’ number seven, but you’ve just been annoying. Of all the cosmic beings to seek guidance from, you’d think you’d pick one that hasn’t faded into obscurity.”

“You were the muse for this journal’s author, so I thought you’d be able to help me in some way, somehow. I think.”

At the mention of the journal, Bill wanted to shrivel up and die. It was the only one he hadn’t had a hand in writing. The others he had co-authored with his husband, but this one… this one had eluded him for so long, only to be found by… this guy.

He wanted to bash his skull in and scream.

Stanford was gone; that pill had been hard enough to swallow a thousand years ago. Fate just had to rub salt into that open wound. This whole situation was cruel.

“What’s the problem this time?”

“I can’t decide what I want to paint.”

The empty canvas the other man gestured to seemed to beckon him, the stark white void drawing him in and holding him in a vice grip. The triangle stared blankly at the vacant space; an idea flickered to life in his mind, but he hesitated to indulge it. What if he did? It would only unleash another wave of grief, a haunting reminder of what once was and what he had lost to the relentless claws of time and the cold hands of death.

Bill already knew this was going to be idiotic. He felt it in his bones—he was about to make yet another stupidly ridiculous choice. Yet, before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out. Regret settled in immediately after he spoke.

“How about this? What if you painted someone for me? A portrait.”

The reincarnation regarded him with curiosity and interest, and Bill felt an overwhelming urge to gouge out his lone eye at the sight. Don’t look at him like that. Don’t give him the same expression that once held so much love and adoration, the kind that had nearly drowned him. Don’t remind him of those memories. Don’t drive the knife in deeper.

“Sure, I don’t see why not.”

That was the amusement that haunted him: the ghost of a man he had once loved to his own detriment. Someone whose smile caused the edges of his eyes to crinkle with unbridled joy, someone whose gaze never wavered in love and adoration. It was a ticking time bomb to have chosen and loved a mortal; inevitable goodbyes lurked around every corner of his finite life. There was no telling how much time they had left together, yet Bill still felt like Stanford was taken from him far too soon.

What he would have given for just a little more time—one last kiss, one final “I love you.”

He was a god, yet he would have surrendered absolutely everything for just another moment with the man he once called a husband. His equal. His muse.

Bill had to turn away from the other man, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. He quickly blinked them back; after a thousand years, the grief was still overwhelming. It felt like just yesterday he had been in the arms of his lover, and now that love and comfort were nowhere to be found. The ache in his heart throbbed and pounded, emotions turning him soft. What a useless god he’d become. What was once a pleasant feeling had morphed into crippling sorrow.

“If you don’t mind me asking, though… who is it that you want me to paint?”

That was a loaded question, burdened by the lament and grief of a thousand years—a love lost to the hands of time and the embrace of death. The one plane of existence where Bill couldn’t follow. Not as he was. Not when he didn’t have the ability to die. The sickness of an immortal, truly.

“Someone important to me. My muse.”

“You have a muse? Wow. They must be someone incredible.”

Bill could only let out an empty laugh. Stanford was incredible—more than he could ever dare to articulate. Words simply wouldn’t do the man justice; to have a god fall to his knees out of love was an immeasurable feat. The triangle always believed his lover was a force to be reckoned with, a powerhouse and then some. Yet, the relentless sands of time eventually wore him down. Even Stanford's brilliant mind, which had endured so much, couldn’t escape the inevitable; the grim reaper came to collect his dues.

No mortal was spared from that fate.

“Yeah. He was .”

The pain that bled through the triangle’s voice didn’t go unnoticed by the artist, despite his attempts to conceal it. However, the artist chose not to mention it, believing it was best not to pry. After all, it wasn’t his place to interfere; why would he?

Bill cleared his throat and floated up to get a better look at the empty canvas. Every instruction was clear and concise, every requested stroke of the brush executed with intention and purpose. The triangle’s close guidance and precise descriptions of each detail left no room for error; there were simply no mistakes.

As the painting began to take shape, colors and pigments blended seamlessly, crafting an image clearer than crystal. Gradually, the likeness of a man emerged—one with silver hair and a gentle gaze, complemented by a smile that reached his eyes, eyes that radiated immense love and adoration. It was evident that the painting captured an intensely intimate moment; such an expression was not meant for just anyone. Only someone so deeply loved and cherished could inspire a face like that. Only someone who felt eternally young could carry the weight of age with the wonder and joy of a child. The painting became a living juxtaposition.

The artist dropped his paintbrush in surprise; the painting looked so… alive. Under Bill’s guidance, this project had transformed into one of his best works. He couldn't help but wonder if its resemblance to a self-portrait was purely coincidental—an unnerving mirror he had created hour after hour, stroke after stroke, with immense specificity from the triangle beside him. However, the longing gaze from Bill toward the smiling subject made things clear. That action alone spoke more truth than any words they had ever exchanged. Yet, despite the painstaking effort poured into this piece, his eyes were inevitably drawn back to the final product.

It felt… familiar somehow, as if he knew this man, perhaps having met him somewhere before, despite the artist's certainty that he never had.

What was this sense of déjà vu?

The painting was beautifully crafted, distinctly unreplicable, particularly within the eyes of this man, which overflowed with mirth and fondness that clearly belonged to a lover. The expression he wore embodied the true essence of being loved, the purest depiction of happiness.

How had Bill even known about this? Not to mention in such explicit detail…

“Bill—”

“You have your painting, I need some time to think.”

The triangle’s voice trembled with overwhelming emotion, cracking under the weight of his grief. He couldn’t bear to look at the painting any longer. He turned away, unable to face either the finished work or the living, breathing human who looked so painfully similar to the man immortalised in the portrait. Every glance at the painting drove the knife in his chest deeper.

He had been right—this was a stupid idea.

“Just summon me again when you need me,” 

Bill muttered, his voice barely holding together. And with that, the god vanished before the artist could even respond.

Back in his original resting place, hot tears spilled from his lone eye as the grief he’d kept buried for so long finally poured out. The triangle broke down into uncontrollable sobs, curling up against a nearby wall, shivering as anguish consumed him. An agonised scream tore from his chest, shaking the very room. It was a miracle he had managed to stay composed for as long as he had.

Maybe he had wanted to see Stanford again—wanted to remember a happier time, to recall a memory frozen in place. The face of his husband, the man he had loved so deeply. But that love was now buried beneath a thousand years of pain and loss, an ache that had festered beyond measure.

Bill Cipher couldn’t move. He stayed there, weeping through the day, letting the weight of eternity crush him.

If he was truly fated to cross paths with that reincarnation, there was only one truth left.

Fate was just so cruel.

Fic is here as well on Ao3!

[throwaway-yandere]

"If the pedestal is beautiful, then the statue must be even more beautiful." (Yandere!Zhongli/reader)

a/n: I do not regret this one bit. while i do feel bad abt yaoyao's suffering, at least i wrote something unhinged again + it aint a zhongli fic without me referencing proverbs lMAO--

unreliable synopsis: “(Y/n) must be a really important person if Rex Lapis made them a statue, right?”

Yaoyao found a realistic statue inside Mt. Hulao.

As she was exploring the area with Qiqi to find herbs, Yaoyao discovered a secret domain that was only accessible to children her size and smaller creatures like Yuegui. It was horribly muddy and extremely narrow. She wouldn't go there on purpose if she hadn't fallen inside after exhausting herself trying to climb a hill just for a stem of violetgrass.

She anticipated a dense mixture of dust and fog inside the cave, with layers of spiderweb adornments, but it was unexpectedly unscathed with the typical filth that embellishes a place over time. The table was piled high with multiple apparatuses that she was unable to identify, but its aesthetics screamed that it was an adeptus' prideful handiwork. Despite not being refused entry as most adeptal abode should do, she came to an unspoken conclusion that this must have been an adeptus' place, and her curiosity grew by the minute when she noticed a life-sized statue sitting in the middle of it all.

Yaoyao was unable to take her eyes off it as a halo of soft yet lurid orange light enveloped it. The statue wore a brown hanfu that was encrusted with citrine jewels fashioned into dragons and the Geo element's symbol. Their clothes looked ruffled on areas near the waist and thighs as though it was frequently hugged and touched around those parts. But what Yaoyao couldn’t forget the most was their black earring with a white tassel that hung on their right ear. She can't recall who she saw wearing that earring when she first saw it, but she had certainly seen it before.

Admittedly, the statue was nearly perfect if it weren’t for the fracture the child had caused upon bumping into it. Yaoyao would have mistaken it for a real person and apologized if it weren't for the diaphanous and stony texture it possessed.

Still, the farrago between real and fake stirred around the lost child’s head as if it was a major dilemma. She swears she had seen that earring somewhere and that chipping its pointer finger off the statue was an inexcusable and grave mistake. Was this statue designed after someone in history or a character from those fictional tales Master loved to talk about? Yaoyao couldn’t decide which is a likelier story, but she certainly didn’t want it to be the former.

In addition, what made it eerier was the anticipation of calamity on their face. It’s a look not at all visible. The majority would undoubtedly dismiss Yaoyao's perspective and assert that the monument exuded a stoic aura. But if such were the case, why does she see the look of a rabbit about to flee in their eyes? The statue’s face exhibited a great firmness that declared that it wasn't as it appeared on the outside.

The statue looked like it was fearing for Yaoyao’s life after what she had done.

To avoid amplifying her trepidation, the young girl focused her attention elsewhere. Near the statue laid a red baize-covered table full of tapestries and books Yaoyao could only reach by tip-toeing and underneath it was stacked with clothes, herbs, vulneraries, and letters without indications of the sender or addressee’s name. If so many offerings were being made, then someone really cared about whoever this statue stood for. A commendable devotion considering how the last letter was only dated about two days ago.

Whoever this statue was and whoever maintained this shrine must’ve mortified a penchant for humorous literature and scientific breakthroughs. It would've been a strange combination if it weren’t for how everything was aesthetically arranged. It was obvious that the domain was kept immaculate out of love and adoration. Under the watchful gaze of this statue, philosophy and science had united into one entity, and Yaoyao was positively enthralled.

However, it was a seasonable night and due to the touch of Nyctophobia children inevitably have, Yaoyao couldn’t tell the murky difference between excitement and fear as she quickly stumbled out of the cave. 

When Yaoyao came back the following week after a busy lantern rite, the domain’s opening vanished. She brought Qiqi along and attempted to show her in quailing distress that asked for confirmation that should’ve been a hole in that wall— but Yaoyao was only met with the zombie’s catchphrase of: “I’m sorry. I forgot.” 

There was no reinvasion of the cave's darkness. Not a single hump was left to indicate that something was concealed behind it.

And that led to Yaoyao hunting a certain “illuminated bird” down.

——————

“Aunty! Aunty!”

“Must you grate One's ears with your incessant shouting, child?”

The bird continued to coast on its two legs while Yaoyao halted in her tracks, gasping for air. Although Yaoyao found it excruciating to attempt to keep up with the adeptus' quick treks in the mountains, it was obvious to any outside viewers that the crane was being merciful with her slow and tiny steps.

“P-Please stop aunty! I-I just want to ask a few questions!”

Cloud Retainer sighed and did as commanded.

After letting her describe the location and what she had seen inside it, Cloud Retainer nodded in the affirmation that what Yaoyao experienced truly happened. Yaoyao felt triumphant when the adeptus did not dismiss her babbling as some silly delusion, but she was unable to completely express it when she noticed a glimpse of sadness in her eyes.

“Of course it was real. One knows that location quite well, but One was never permitted to enter. That statue you spoke of would be none other than Rex Lapis’ depiction of (Y/n), the Wayward Pharmacist.”

(Y/n)?

Softly, the adeptus continued, “oh, (Y/n)… One remembers them rather fondly.”

Cloud Retainer did not raise her chin or adopt her customary condescending tone. Instead, her message matched her voice. Yaoyao was not the least bit confused by this sudden shift in demeanor.

They both know that name.

After all, (Y/n) (L/n) was Streetward Rambler’s first human disciple.

Yaoyao never inquires about (Y/n) with her master. All of Madame Ping's disciples were aware that they shouldn't broach the matter. Grief swarmed against Streetward Rambler so frequently that she bathed herself with distractions to wash away the acuteness of such regrets. She had done the most of what she could to relieve certain difficulties she had over the years, including mastering inventions and raising mortal children. While the majority of these were in her favor, the final diversion was less successful. 

How can it not be painful when Streetward Rambler always sees (Y/n)’s old cheerful and ambivert nature in Xiangling and Yaoyao's eyes?

This was a rare chance to learn more about (Y/n) than just the faceless figure that her Master frequently likens her to. Madame Ping only ever briefly narrated (Y/n)’s deeds. Yaoyao relied heavily on individuals around her for her adepti history knowledge because she wasn't book-learned enough. Hence, inflicting a sense of confidence that she did not fully possess, the child continued to inquire.

“What were they like, Aunty?”

“You must understand how broad that question is.”

“Oh, r-right. Sorry!” Yaoyao sheepishly laughed. “I wanted to ask what was their personality like. Did they have friends? Or, well, what did they do?”

“(Y/n) was…” Cloud Retainer chuckled. Yaoyao couldn’t see a smile, but she heard it from her laughter. “—an obnoxious human.”

“E-Eh?!…” Yaoyao trembled. “S-Should I be worried that Master always compares me to (Y/n), aunty?”

“What nonsense— of course not. Take such compliment with high honor!” The bird towered her gaze above Yaoyao, clearly offended. Effectively, it seemed as if Yaoyao’s needless worries kindled afresh the snobbish Cloud Retainer everyone knew of. “There are only a few humans One regard as almost equals. Their obnoxiousness is what makes them wholly endearing and wholly human. If there was one true flaw One would nitpick out of all their traits, it would be their inherent obsession with longevity.”

Cloud Retainer shook her head. “Rex Lapis often debated with them over this, but (Y/n) was a stubborn mortal. Many occasions led to them being confined in a miniature domain that he keeps in his pockets. We did not agree with their dreams of becoming immortal. But other than that? (Y/n) was a humble loyalist.”

Yaoyao was inclined to believe that she was right because there were a few biological research sprinkled across the statue's domain. She had even read portions concerning Inazuman beliefs regarding stress and "ikegai" which might be related to a human's lifespan.

“Rex Lapis liked them despite arguing with him a lot?”

“Why, if you were there, you would see how adorable they were whenever they deluded themselves they could win a debate against an Archon,” the bird quipped humorously.

"Immortality had always been (Y/n)'s goal. One often told them to not be afraid of death or die worthlessly, but they never listened. They even tried to curse themselves to accomplish this, and astonishingly, they almost succeeded if it weren't for the Conquerer of Demons' unsleeping vigilance while acting on Rex Lapis' orders. The Archon always has an affectionate expression on his face when they pout over his interferences. One would have jokingly said that her friend is in love with a mortal if One didn't know any better."

“Wow…” Yaoyao covered her mouth with her tiny hands in awe. Neither of them seemed to realize that something was incredibly off about that ‘fun tidbit’. “(Y/n) must be smart if they constantly got Rex Lapis’ protection!”

“Indeed they were— were you doubting One’s abilities?! Had One not said they were close to One’s competency?”

“Ah, right.”

“They were an obnoxiously hard-working individual. Grinding their bones in hopes to grant impediments as a rival to Guizhong and I’s intellectual plays. (Y/n) lived a short life filled with effort and virtue, it is to no one’s surprise that Rex Lapis had conceived a great liking towards them,” she mused.

“Rex Lapis nearly caved and made them immortal at one point. However, he changed his mind after finding out (Y/n) had a human lover…” Cloud Retainer closed her eyes. “Perhaps that was an act of mercy. An Archon’s goodwill so that they wouldn’t have to suffer the fate of grieving for their beloved for all eternity.”

If only she knew the truth.

“They must be really important if they got a statue,” Yaoyao tilted her head, emanating a soft chime from her bell accessory. “Master only said that they were very kind and that they had a lover with green hair, and—”

“And?”

The adeptus was interested to learn what her old acquaintance talked about (Y/n). Did the grandmother compliment them on how cute they were? How, in essence, they were one of her greatest sources of delight and pride? Before Streetward Rambler took up the name “Madame Ping”, these were the typical musings she had over tea with both her and Guizhong. In a sense, Cloud Retainer merely pressed the question because she missed these times—

“And that they had a nice big family around Qingce Village! Two sons, one daughter!”

Cloud Retainer made a choking sound.

Impossible.

“Family?! Goodness gracious, it seemed Streetward Rambler has turned into quite a fabulist over time,” Cloud Retainer shook her head. “No, (Y/n) (L/n) unfortunately did not produce such a legacy.”

Legacy?

“I’m so sorry, I don’t get it, aunty. What do you mean?”

“They did not leave a child for me— for us to look after.”

Cloud Retainer cringed at her uncontrollably bitter tone. There was a point in her life where she cursed (Y/n) for this. Death was not something they can control— yes— but she used to be an ignorant fool who did not respect (Y/n)’s decision to never have children. Perhaps, in a way, this was because she wanted to see a new generation of like-minded people like them, but she will never forget the uneasy looks they gave her whenever she launched into one of her rants.

They may have been Streetward’s disciple but to Cloud? She was like their true mother. Much like most mothers of the old generation, she selfishly wished they left behind even a non-blood related grandchild for her to rear after (Y/n)’s name.

“They… have gone missing. They did not die with a family of their own— we did not even find their corpse. One does not know why Streetward Rambler would tell you that.”

“Oh… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know... It must’ve been a sad loss for the adepti and everyone else.”

Cloud Retainer only looked away.

“There was no pecuniary loss for us when it had happened, sure,” she said. “But yes, it was indeed a sad time for the adepti to lose both Guizhong and (Y/n) at the same time. There could’ve been a new province of knowledge and ventures— these virtues of arts were never grasped because death had stolen their privilege of penning down their strange yet wonderful conjectures.”

“Time and time again, they had failed to accentuate any alterations in their mortal structure,” she continued. “While others sought out their writings regarding their enlightened art pieces, few looked for their progress on human mortality. One only remembers a singular human who came to find (Y/n)’s transcendental medicines. One believes his name was Baizhu. If One’s explanations were inadequate, perhaps you must seek him instead.”

Yaoyao perked up. Well, that’s lucky. She was just about to head to Bubu Pharmacy to look for the pharmacist later.

“Ah, there you are, Yaoyao!!!”

Out of the blue, Ganyu and a face unfamiliar to the adeptus disrupted the scene. This human had indigo braids wrapped up in a tight bow for hair and amber eyes. Had it not been for Ganyu and a cute little bear clumsily climbing the stairs behind her, Cloud would’ve left immediately.

“Marchosius, it has been a long time...”

“♪~?”

“Woah… Is that Cloud Retainer, Ganyu?” The unfamiliar human gawked.

“That is that. One will no longer entertain questions. One shall take their leave at once.” The adeptus did not waste another moment upon noticing Xiangling’s curious gaze. However, Cloud did give Marchosius a look of respect before taking flight.

The little girl frowned.

“Yaoyao?”

“Oh, sorry,” Yaoyao smiled forcefully. “I just remembered I didn’t get to ask her the most important question.”

“Hmm? What question were you going to get an adeptus’ advice for?” Ganyu placed a hand on her chest. “Perhaps I could help? I may not know all the answers, but I do have some connections.”

“I’m just curious…”

Yuguei jumped off the basket as Yaoyao hastily removed it from behind her. The smaller adepti treasure leaped over her head and peered attentively over as if to assist her in locating the object she was seeking. When she did grasp it, she did not do so carefully. Instead, she held it out like a young child showing off a crayon during show & tell.

Ganyu and Xiangling’s blood ran cold as the child presented them with a dismembered finger.

“Ganyu, do statues made by the adepti bleed?”

[irisinluv]

A Haunting Pt. 1

Lucian died watching the love of his life run away in the arms of another man. It was poetic, he thinks, that he had chosen all hallows eve to profess his love. After all, what greater terror could one encounter than the heartbreak he had just experienced?

After years of quiet longing, Lucian had finally done it. He had declared his feelings for his one true love. Except his dream come true turned into a nightmare when he discovered she not only did not return his feelings…. But was engaged to another. He discovered the later fact when the man in question arrived, and attempted to defend his beloveds honor. The resulting tussle led to Lucian bleeding from the back of his skull, eyes turning glassy as he gazed at his loves fleeing form until his last breath.

What was even more morbidly poetic, was that Lucian would find no peace in death. The veil is thin on all hallows eve, and it’s easy for restless spirits to get trapped on such a night. This is how Lucian found himself bound to the house, watching for generations as others came and went, ever the silent observer of the lives that went on around him. At least… until his second chance appears….

You couldn’t believe it. Your dream house just popped up on Zillow…. And it was in your price range! I mean in today’s economy? This has to be some kind of mistake! You thought this as you booked the showing, as you gushed over the original fireplaces, pocket doors, and general Victorian flair. You thought this as you got the house inspected and found the roof was in sound condition, the heating up to code, and generally very well maintained. You continued to think this as you signed the documents, and it wasn’t until you were standing in your very own foyer that you thought, maybe, this wasn’t a mistake.

Lucian was immediately fascinated by you… something about you called to him. And this was even before he realized you could see him. When you saw him on the stairs one morning, you two stared at each other for a long moment before he let out a hesitant, “hello?”

And that was all it took before you booked it out the front door in your pjs and slippers. You only came back because your car keys were still in your bag upstairs, and it would be quite a walk to get anywhere. Luckily for the both of you, Lucian was able to calm you down enough to hear him out. He has a gentle, soothing voice, and was able to coax you into at least letting him explain before you booked it again.

He explained that he had died on Halloween, therefore trapping his soul in the house, but that you are the first occupant to be able to perceive him in the many years since his passing. You’re not sure if it’s your bleeding heart, the iron grip capitalism and the housing market has on you, or the fact that the ghost in question was easy on the eyes…. But you decided to stay.

You admit, having a roommate was not what you expected when you bought your own house… but Lucian is by far the best roommate you’ve ever had, so you can’t say you mind. It turns out, he’s ever so eager to help with chores, and has been the reason the house has been kept in such pristine condition all these years. Plus, you’ve never had someone who understands you as well as Lucian. You wake up craving something, and he’s already in the kitchen prepping it. You have a bad day, and it’s like he can sense it, and it waiting to whisk you away for a relaxing evening.

The only real concern you have with your new living situation is that you no longer can walk around in your underwear…. But hey, when your roommate died in a full suit, tail coat and all…. Your “boo-ty” undies seem a little innapropriate anyways.

Weeks pass and you become closer with Lucian. In fact, he becomes one of your closest friends. In the weeks since you met him though, he never revealed the circumstances around his death.

One chilly night in early October, you were sitting around the fireplace with Lucian, when you decided to work up the courage to just ask him

“Lucian…. Can I ask you…” you hesitate for a moment but his gentle smile encourages you to go on, “how did you… die?”

He looks so forlorn, his dull silver eyes looking wistful, a sharp contrast to their normal piercing intensity. But he focuses back on you and begins to tell you the tale.

By the end, you have tears dripping down your cheeks, feeling the heartbreak and betrayal he conveyed with every word. He gently wiped your tears and tells you not to cry for him, but you can’t help it. How could such a kind man be stuck living the worst day of this life for all eternity? It doesn’t matter how long had passed… he was trapped.

You decided then and there…. You’ll help him. You watch enough movies, you just need to help him pass on. You bring up the idea to Lucian, asking him how you might help him find closure.

Little did you know, he has just the thing in mind…

Lil Halloween OC I’ve been thinking up! I’m kinda a mood poster, so as must as I wanna say I’ll conclude the series on actual Halloween night….. let’s just see where this takes us lol.

No tag list for this, yall scared me with the last series I had a tag list for, lmao. But stay tuned cuz I’m sure you can already guess…. But our ghost boi is gonna be quite the obsessive freak.

[ginnysgraffiti]

Hiii. I wanna say I love your works for all of Timmy’s characters. Ive gotten back into my timothee obsession and after reading your fic on what each character tastes like i was thinking maybe what sex is like with each of his characters? Feel free to ignore this if you don’t want to do it just thought I’d shoot my shot!❤️

so touched to see that someone appreciates my stories TT

i really tried my best with this, i hope i didn't leave any grammar mistakes here and there, enjoy! <3

&. LEE

for a while, lee refused to have sex. he was terrified of hurting you.

however, when you reassured him and told him it was completely okay, he let himself lose it completely and follow his instincts.

that's why sex with lee is rough, primal and wet, and you never actually doubted that.

nights passed in his pick-up, in motels where he would let you stay just to have more comfort and mainly a proper bed, at his aunt's house, anything.

sex with lee would be amazing everywhere, and not a time where he would refuse to dirty talk to you in the meanwhile.

he can fuck. over and over. he's like a rabbit. talking about him slowing down or stopping by himself, the thought wouldn't even cross his mind if your voice doesn't beg for it. he's fast. that's it. he's so damn fast, rough and shameless. he isn't used to matching his pace with his partner's or even taking their time with them, so it would take him some time to get used to your preferences or just maintain control.

lee would be sooooo loud. he would whine and grunt and beg. he also loves when you suck his fingers.

he even ties you up and blindfolds you while playing with your clit, thrilling the fact that you're oblivious about his next move.

the first time would probably be in some natural reserves, where he likes to spend most of his nights. he would fuck you hard on the back of his pickup, so the bright and shining stars could be the only witnesses. he would then take you inside, place you on the front seat and cuddle you to sleep on his lap.

he would start with needy and hungry kisses. everywhere. his tattooed hands would overstimulate you well to hear your moans even before starting. it would be the best adventure ever. he would try anything, all in. he would make sure to use his bony finger as best as he can, he would spread your legs like no one else and start with the damage. the real damage. because once he has the green light (and he always wants your permission) he won't stop. he will destroy you in any way possible. then, he would gradually slow down, return to use his fingers and feel you closer and closer.

he would watch hypnotized as milky fluid, both his cum and yours, leaks from inside of you. he would worship you as his most precious treasure.

&. HAL

do we seriously need to read how it would be to have sex with hal to imagine it?

there's not even the need to say anything, he's already on top of you.

hal is absolutely vocal, desperate groans, loud curses that never leave his mouth.

his mouth is always, always wide open as his pupils roll back.

dom for sure, he's too prideful to be below you, but if you beg enough, maybe he'll let you inside him. he's into fucking you when you're on all fours on the bed, maybe it's a king-thing, but you love it.

he never actually stops when you beg him to, but he absolutely cares about your body after the act.

you're his queen, but when hal is needy you can happily forget about your queen duties. his words, not yours.

he's also into pet play, you're his mutt and he makes it known.

he often enjoys to make you scream his name, moan louder and louder to make sure the messengers, maids or court servants hear you through the door.

making them hear the bed cracking, the slaps he keeps giving you to see your tears softly running down your pale cheeks, the way you lose your breath as he pulls your hair to almost make you swallow his cock.

he's violent, let's say, but he can actually care. really care.

he always adds "my" in front of pet names. my whore, my queen, my sweetheart, my love, my angel.

his kinks include cock worship, absolutely, breeding (we don't need to mention it), power imbalance, exhibition, humiliation (giving, of course), sadism (uhm...).

you never actually discovered how far his sadism can really go, and that scares you a little bit, hearing the servants' opinions or stories about it.

you know he's capable of anything, anything.

however, he makes sure, every single night, to massage you properly during the aftermath, kissing softly every inch of your inner tights while his finger tips play with your nipples.

&. LAURIE

laurie is a softie big cuddly boyyyy.

he waited so long for you to tell him you loved him before he made any sexual advances. he wanted it to be purely making love; not having sex.

he always will treat you first, you're his everything.

he would always clean you first, massage you first, check you out before even looking at himself.

not the most vocal, but definitely not silent. laurie prefers to let out soft moans and quiet praises rather than being vocal and over the top.

he would treat you more like a best friend in public, gently stealing you cheek kisses or holding your fingers under the table. he would eventually tease your inner thighs when -absolutely rarely- he would feel like doing it.

he's a sweet boy, the most intense he gets is probably the occasional slap on the ass when you look or sound too good.

laurie loves your lipsticks. he knows every single one you own and how every single one tastes. when they have a more visible colour and you leave kiss marks on his neck, he would surely refuse to remove them. also, he's into asking you to leave kisses on his shirts.

he's a romantic boy, come on.

during sex, he would always hold your hands. always, never letting go, holding onto you as if you were his only lifeline.

&. ELIO

elio is just like lee, absolutely vocal and completely down for you being on top.

he just lives for that shit, being submissive and guiding your hips as you take complete control.

sex with him would be difficult, because mafalda would always check the sheets and or his night underwear, and you know that elio needs to be careful. however, he's absolutely good and skilled at letting you enter his room late at night.

at the same time, during sex, he would worry often about noises and bed cracks.

in fact, he's totally whiney and whimpery, you have to kiss him to swallow his drawn out moans and don't let him lose control.

as written before, elio is obsessed with just going dumb, he wants you to control him, make decisions for him and use him whenever you want. he's definitely into being your pet, just being a complete boy toy for your use.

you don't always understand the difference whenever he wants you to take the lead or brutally use him, but again, it's clear that he wishes for both.

he loves receiving head, and thinks you're magic the way you work his length when he literally begs for it.

would cry often during sex just from the sheer overwhelming pleasure, always begging you to hold him through the tears.

he's absolutely insecure and would overthink the aftermath for entire weeks, shyly asking you if you enjoyed it, or if he had hurt you or if you still love him. his head goes completely dumb at your every touch, but he constantly needs you to confirm that that's what you want as well.

after the first night, he would suffer every instant he doesn't get to enjoy with you, so he would furtively touch himself or steal your swimming costume.

&. PAUL

deep down, paul is a lover boy.

he had been having visions about you for ages and he would just wait for you to get pregnant in his visions and wish for it to happen as soon as possible.

at the same time, paul isn't a very sexual person, but he enjoys pleasing you whenever you ask him.

during sex, he would always go slow and hold you the whole way through, being as gentle as he can be even when you ask him to move faster. he would eventually lose it as soon as you arch your back, moaning at the friction between your hips.

he often has fantasies about using the voice on you, but he would be way too nervous to tell you about it. in his head, using the voice over you is absolutely arousing.

you soon discovered paul had many kinks, for example calling you mommy (even lee would do that, of course.)

you absolutely adore when he moans, because you can always find a little hint of shame and insecurity, but as soon as you take the lead just to reassure him, his guttural sounds make his whole body throb on top of you.

he would be absolutely careful and use protections, always, except when his visions are too frequent and he would literally kill to get you pregnant, turn you into a mommy and have babies.

you surprisingly discovered that he is down for your cuts or wounds. he often offers to train with you, even if he knows you're so much more experienced than him, but he would just love to lick your fresh blood or your healing wound to feel his tongue fizz.

paul is obsessed when you pull your hair, begging you to make you cum with absolutely no shame.

&. WILLY

sex with willy can be a literal rollercoaster.

he can become extremely needy during sex, and with needy...i mean needy. almost in a very childish way, if we consider that he's impressively incompetent and inexperienced in that field.

once he's inside you, he is shy about it, asking if it's okay if he kisses you deeper or grabs your waist or simple gestures. he always needs to have your permission.

he slowly gains confidence the longer you two are together and the more you are imitate. he would pull you away and just whisper how much he wants you. sometimes, even dirty things, but you never understood if he had a special chocolate to let him gather enough confidence for that.

he can be extremely perv and dirty minded, but he'll never admit it.

he's obsessed with leaving hickeys on you.

he would occasionally start meowing and doing his :] face when you mess with his curls.

if you pull his air while you're on top, taking his cock the best way you can, there will be no return, seriously. he would fuck you all night, and i'm not joking.

willy's got stamina, he really does.

loves to be submissive, there's no need to say it.

just like elio, he would be deadly aroused when you use him like a pet, sometimes he would beg for you to blindfold him or tie his wrists.

in these cases, his wet tongue would do all the work.

loves to smell the sheets after you two had done it, he just loves that smell.

his moans are the sexiest thing ever, but he's more frequent to make small sounds and groans.

when he's on top, willy would use sweet nicknames, tongue twisters or rhymes to sweeten you even more.

if your body hurts he would massage it carefully and give you a special chocolate treat to regain energy.

right after sex, he would be scared to death that you could get pregnant. have mercy, he just doesn't know how it works.

willy is the fastest learner, though.

given that he doesn't know how to start, he willingly accepts all your advice, and knows how to follow them to the letter.

once you give even the smallest instruction, he would just be more and more needy.

[shortie-stack]

I've seen a lot of posts comparing Bill and Ford (and for good reason, they are very much parallels and foils to each other) but I haven't seen as much exploring how Bill and Stan mirror each other. Where Bill saw Ford as a tool and maybe even sympathized with him because of their shared experiences (outcast by their peers for traits beyond their control, hungry for knowledge and prestige, isolated from friends and family), Bill sees Stan as the embodiment of everything Bill hates about himself. on the website, entering "Stanley" and clicking enter a bunch of times opens up pages from Bill's perspective about how stan defeated him. Bill maintains that Stan didn't actually beat him, that it was Ford's plan, that Stan just got lucky, but we know from the show that that simply isn't true-- it was Stan's plan and it was Stan that defeated him. It's interesting to note that bill is okay with giving Ford the credit for his demise, but Stan? unacceptable. we'll come back to that though.

To Bill, Stan is simultaneously everything he hates about himself and everything he wants to be. When listing all of Stan's faults, Bill calls him a "side character, a resume-inflating, cheap trick loving, past denying overgrown child protected by failure only by a forcefield of denial and shamelessness". who else do we know who ticks all of those boxes? Bill himself is a side character for much of gravity falls in the real world, but in the context of the show this statement shows his fear of not actually being anything special. sure he was powerful in his home dimension, but we see time and time again that there are other beings in other dimensions that are just as, if not more powerful (the axolotl, for instance). Bill takes credit for liberating his dimension when he really didn't, he "honors" his deals through loopholes and turns if phrase, and he shouldn't be throwing stones in a glass house, seeing as he's the one having a temper tantrum. Bill is also deeply disconnected from his past, if him telling us the story of the demise of his home dimension is anything to go by, and only digs himself in a deeper hole through putting on this cheerful, confident, powerful persona. Stan does the same thing, especially as Mr. Mystery. but the thing about Stan is that he grows and changes as the show goes on, while Bill's mindset is perpetual. They both were cut off from their family because of something they did (Stan messing with Ford's project, Bill by destroying his entire dimension), but Stan allows a new family to get close to him and chooses to make sacrifices to make his niece and nephew (and even his employees to some extent) happy. Bill on the other hand, surrounds himself with henchmaniacs, yes-men who just want to party and will follow him as long as he shows them a good time. Every depiction of Bill is a window for him to look through, and with so many in the mystery shack, it's certain that he sees Stanley, the embodiment of everything Bill hates about himself, getting what Bill thinks he could never have. and Bill hates it because it means that if Stan can grow and change and make peace with his past mistakes, it also means that Bill can too. But that would require Bill to actually be vulnerable and endure the pain that confronting your past (many, many) mistakes brings. He would have to acknowledge and accept that his home is gone because of him, that countless lives have been ruined because of him, and that the reason he has never been able to maintain close relationships is solely his fault. But he won't. And as a result, he will always end up alone, a king of ashes.

I think Bill thought of Ford as a way to fill his emptiness because of their similarities, and possibly also because he saw Ford as a form of redemption. Ford was brilliant and good and just like Bill and Bill saw that and may have thought, if he likes me there's no way I'm a monster. in a way, Bill saw Ford as the only one worthy of killing him because if it was Ford it was just a forgone conclusion: Ford hasn't made Bill's mistakes so he is automatically "better" than Bill and Stan, so obviously he could kill Bill. but to have it be Stan means that someone who has messed up in a manner similar to Bill has the capacity to be better. and that shakes Bill to the core.

[cutiepieloves131]

Sidereal Vedic Beauty Indicators Pt.3

~{🪻}~Vishakha: I have no words to describe how divine and picturesque these folks appear that have this placement. Vishaka's beauty is the type that will have you looking for hours or even have you fully captivated and nobody can change my mind about their heavenly and enthralling beauty! They look like porcelain dolls with a delicate effect on them! Vishaka is the "Cherubic Beauty", so these people facial features includes emphasized and broad mid-face, cheekbones which grow outwardly to a strong extent, large, and very defined cheek apples which are slightly low-set, foreheads that are generally medium to tall in height, with a more narrow and short jawline, eyes are most typically small to medium in size, and sometimes generally widely-spaced, and their gaze/natural expression can appear distant, detached, or cold, their noses are plump (wide in the bridge and tip), a horizontally-elongated cupid's bow, and small (often generally spacey) teeth.

Vishakha Women {Left to Right}: Dove Cameron, Cindy Kimberly, Jessica Lowndes

~{🪻}~Swati: Oh. My. Gosh! Ugh, I am so in love with people that have this nakshatra in their charts! Swati individuals beauty is so dazzling and jaw-dropping! Not only that but their eyes are so mesmerizing to many and myself appearing hypnotic due to Rahu's influence. Swati men and women definitely have me in choke hold, you just can't help but to fall in love with their otherworldly visuals! Also I've noticed that they look photogenic and glowing in photos but mostly attention is drawn to the eyes. Swati is known to be the "Bug Pretty", so their features contains protruding eyes with prominent eyelids and medium to close spacing, thin to medium, with a more de-emphasized upper lip, cheek bones that' are on the small side, but high and gently defined, with medium sized cheek apples, contrasting typically shorter, square (to rectangular) face shape, and sometimes with a prominent and pointed chin.

Swati Women {Left to Right}: Glow Princess, Lisa, Eva Marcille

~{🪻}~Ashwini: My oh my!~ Y'all these natives are so fine!~ Ashwini's beauty tends to be youthful and appealing! You'll always see an Ashwini person that never looks their age, or might mistake them for being a kid, teen, or in their early 20's! It's really amazing how they maintain their beauty even at old age, to me Ashwini folks strike me as the one to have their visuals praised by many online and in real life, especially in the Kpop industry. Ashwini represents the "Raven Pretty", their looks consist of full and large cheeks, which are rounded and prominent in the buccal area, face shape tends to be round or gently squared, full and soft fleshy lips that's very succulent, nose is also soft and widened, upturned, and with quite broad nostril wings and rounded nostrils, eyes are typically small to medium in size, almond-shaped, medium to wide-set, and neutral to upturned but have also light vibrant undertones having minimal eyelid spacing, brows that are long, and straight to lightly arched, and shiny hair in dark and ashy tones.

Ashwini Women {Left to Right}: Meika Woollard, Challan Trishann, India Eisley

~{🪻}~Ardra: I had to add another Rahu nakshatra in this post! Ardra beauty is incredibly splendiferous and fetching to me! I'm not joking like Ardra had to be on the list because they can't go unnoticed including their electrifying eyes that's a little protruding and medium to close-set, just like other Rahu nakshatras their eyes are a prominent feature on their face that can't be ignored. Their beauty is one of a kind and rare almost alien-like or dreamy to a lot of people! They tend to outwardly appear celestial in pictures, try brighter, sparkly, and bling filters on your phone, I promise you the results will turn out beautiful! Last not least Ardra natives beauty that's "Diamond Pretty", are made up of a pointy & pinched lower face resulting in a inverted triangle face or ovalish because of the ruling symbol which is the "tear drop", stronger mid-face area, emphasized cheekbones, long medium to large size nose and low-set like the yoni animal (female dog), and lips that are thin to medium.

Ardra Women {Left to Right}: Ariana Grande, Yodit Yemane, Kaya Scodelario

[i-merani]

This might be all over the place but let's talk about Felix Catton in Saltburn.

While Felix's family is shown as almost comically removed from reality, he seems to be down to earth person and i think that his kindness is really genuine. I believe that Felix is a good guy, he knows he is privileged and he tries to help others. I don't think he does this to boost his ego and i don't think he's trying to be patronizing in any way. He's just kind and when he sees someone in need, he wants to do whatever he can to help. But he not only wants to help people, he expects people to want to be helped. When he befriends Oliver he does this out of pity, he could never imagine Oliver as cunning and that's the thing. He helps those he thinks are helpless, those who cannot be dangerous. And he makes the mistake of thinking that there's no way someone like Oliver could be dangerous. And the reason why he thinks so goes back to his upbringing, he cannot see regular people as "real people". While he does everything in good faith, the truth is that these very real people are easily replaceable to him. He needs people needing him, he needs to be the knight in shining armor. The moment he's not seen as a savior, he gets bored because to him, as genuine as he might be, being kind to people like Oliver is a game. He does it because he can, because he has the power and it is very important for him to maintain this power.

When Felix finds out that Oliver has lied to him, that he was just playing Felix's game, he gets angry. And while some of it is really just being upset that Oliver lied to him to such extent, I think he's more angry (albeit subconsciously) because he realized he was not in control in this relationship and that he never had power over Oliver. When Oliver breaks down in the labyrinth telling Felix how he loves him, Felix immediately tries to take back control and power in their relationship because he still cannot see Oliver as dangerous. He still fails to see Oliver as a 'real person' and obviously Oliver uses this to his advantage.

Felix is a very nuanced character. While at surface he seems like 'the good millionaire' (which is already bit ironic), ultimately the film tells us through Felix that the gap between the poor and the rich is so big that no amount of personal goodness will make these ultra rich see others as 'real people'.

[knavesflames]

Biker!Arlecchino au🏍️

Omg so many people wanted biker!arle au so here we are! Vice president is of course @hulahoopsoupgroup who often provides me with brain rot I can turn into writing (thanks for the brain rot while I’m at work)

We were talking about biker!Arlecchino and her backstory (more to come hmm) and more specifically, how she’d be in an intimate setting. It led to, well, this. Enjoy:)

Word count: 1517

Content: cunnilingus (reader giving), Arlecchino.. bottoms?!

Nsft utc!

Most people think she’s exactly how she looks. Angry, unfeeling, downright terrifying. Once you know her, she’s anything but. Especially when she’s taken a liking to you, once you’ve earned her affection. I think, once you’ve earned her messily cut flowers (much to her own embarrassment), there’s no question on whether you’ve earned it or not. Once she’s decided she likes you enough to be around you, she’s loyal. More than, even. She’d follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked her to, and she’d do it without a question. (She’d grumble, obviously, she has to maintain her intimidating demeanour).

In reality, she’s softer. Don’t mistake it, there are walls covered with barbed wire and signs telling you to leave her alone. You could probably hear a dog snarling in a warning, if those walls were visible. Once you get past these walls, however, she’s nothing if not a woman craving real love.

Perhaps that’s why she’s become so infatuated with you, someone who can make her cheeks heat with only a glance, someone who, when she’s ‘sleeping’, will stroke the silky locks of her hair as you try to soothe your own mind to sleep. You know there’s a reason she’s so closed off, you know she won’t say a word if you ask, so you don’t. She’s comfortable with you, though, so you let her open up at her own pace, which, granted, is.. agonisingly slow. Arlecchino does not allow herself to be vulnerable. Even during intimacy she refuses to let herself go. Arlecchino is on guard at all times, any second she’s conscious. She’s on guard even when she’s falling into the throes of slumber. Only when sleep overtakes her completely does her body relax.

Which is why tonight seems to be so special for the both of you. Instead of the usual, her on top of you, calmly asking directing you to the position she’d like you to be in (with a weird clear of her throat every so often to hide the way her breath catches when she sees you), you are, in fact, the one taking off her clothes tonight. In a moment of weakness vulnerability, she has allowed you to move forward with your gentle advances.

Although reluctant, she lets you shrug off the shirt she always has on and allows your fingers to dance gingerly over the many tattoos she’s acquired. From this distance, you’re able to see the age of the ink, the quality of it, too. You can see the way the lines have gone from shaky and hesitant to sharp and refined. You don’t tell her, but you’re also able to see which tattoo was her first, done by herself in her bathroom one night with a slightly shaky hand. All you know about that is that she promptly decided she was not giving herself another tattoo. In her own words, “why would I have anything less than the best on my skin?” You’ll learn the story behind them one day, you decide.

A low hum comes from her throat when your nails seem to gently scratch at the skin, and she speaks, albeit with a slightly strained voice. “Careful. The ink might bleed. Feels… it feels nice, though.” Your own response is a chuckle, but you choose to continue what you were originally doing. The tattoos will get more love another time. Your lips meet her neck instead, grinning when you feel her shiver slightly as you press gentle kisses along her skin, from her jaw to her throat, her collarbone…

Whatever skin you can reach, you’re kissing, your thumbs stroking her skin as you lower yourself slowly. She isn’t even fully aware of what you’re doing, her head tilted up towards the ceiling, until she feels your hands on her stupid leather pants. When Arlecchino looks down, her eyes widen almost imperceptibly at the sight in front of her. She had not expected you to be on your knees, and she goes to stand up in a panic until she hears your voice. “Help me with these? I don’t know how you even get these on each morning.” The response is a huff that could almost be interpreted like a laugh. Almost. You can see the hesitation in her eyes, but she sees your soft smile and she eventually moves to help you with them. You look up at her when you hear her breathing stutter, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion as you murmur, asking if she’s alright. When she reassures in the same gruff voice she always has that she is, indeed, alright, you continue.

Your gentle assault of kisses move now from her stomach, to the sides of her hips, the tops of her thighs, her inner thighs, and then, you stop. Your eyes meet hers again when your breath fans against her skin, and she gives you the nod you need to continue. You don’t miss the way her lip is caught between her teeth, and you are very well aware of the fact this is the most vulnerable she’s been around you. Progress, you think, you only hope it lasts. When you do finally begin, and your next kiss is against the part of her that for Arlecchino, seems to be aching, you feel her thighs immediately tense. You can only assume the rest of her body has tensed too, but it is immensely impossible to miss the way her thighs are now sandwiching your head. Whether it’s to keep you there or to stop you, you aren’t entirely sure, but you decide to continue anyway. You trust her to tell you if she wanted to stop.

You start gently, your lips barely ghosting over the small bundle of the nerves, your tongue swirling carefully against it every so often, and you smile into her at the realisation her breath is speeding up, and she’s very quickly beginning to move with you. You clench your fist against the carpet in the attempt to muffle your own gasp, or whatever noise that’s threatening to escape your lips. At one point, when your lips wrap around her clit, you’ve clearly done the right thing, because you hear a strained whimper, and without warning, you feel her hands weaving into your hair. Your eyes meet hers when they flutter open, and along with the feel of her nails scratching against your scalp and her fingers carding through your hair, you see the way she’s looking at you.

For Arlecchino, you might as well have hung the stars in the sky, the very stars she admires each night. With her lips parted, her cheeks flushed (a common occurrence now she’s dating you, it seems), and the way her right eyebrow is raised ever so slightly, she stares down at you in a daze, and her words come out in some strange mix of a groan and a whimper.

“I’d burn the world for you,” Arlecchino murmurs, her hands tightening in your hair to bring you back to her core when you pull away to speak. The act both of you are involved in is gentle and full of love, something Arlecchino promised she’d never feel again. It’s that very thought that makes her move her hips in time with your mouth, chasing the high she never allows herself. Though, she keeps speaking, though the words are becoming more of a mumble.

“If loving you will take me to hell, I’m going to greet Satan with roses, I swear.” You feel the urge to tease her for how affectionate she gets, and you hold out as your mouth continues their ministrations, until you can’t hold out. “So affectionate when you’re being eaten out, hm?”

You are met with a sharper tug on your hair and a sharp puff of air that ends in a quiet whimper. Then another whimper, and another as the coil in Arlecchino’s stomach grows tighter. One more look at your eyes staring up at her and she shudders, her mouth falling open and her thighs trapping you even more as she rides your face through her climax.

She was quieter than you expected, though you wonder if it’s because she’s shy. When you rise from your position, your knees are a little red, nothing time won’t fix, but your main focus is on her. You end up crawling into her pillows, patting the space next to with a tilted head, a silent request for her to join you. She does, settling herself on your chest so she can listen to your heartbeat, so she doesn’t have to look at you straight after, too. A gentle press of your lips to the crown of her head and your hand in her tresses is all she needs before her body relaxes under the sheets. There are no words spoken, but there doesn’t need to be. Not right now. It’s not like she can speak right now either, not with her current state, which is, well.. the only sound in the room is the sound of your stifled giggles, and her soft snoring.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

hello howl! do you have any favorite hcs of killer that you or someone else created? do yap if there's a lot, my brain is deprived of killer🥺

Alright, this are mostly about Stage 2 because he’s on my mind. Feel free to add on with yalls own killer hcs.

1. That Killer has ADHD. Probably a stereotype born from fanon killer’s personality, but I like it if it’s done well. (Which i rarely see, but that has been changing recently!)

2. That killer is some degree of blind or in general has a hard time seeing. Makes me think his other senses would be a lot better than his sight—especially his vision worsens depending on what Stage he’s in.

3. That he and Chara did pinky wears and the pink swears were sacred—not capable of being broken or the other has the right to kill or torture the snitch however they want. (My HC.) (Alexa play secret)

4. That Chara gave Killer Asriel’s half of the heart locket/golden locket, the one that said “bffs forever.” Especially if Killer has come to associate it with control, and it’s the only way to gain control over a Killer who has been stuck in Stage 4.

5. That his SOUL is a record player of all his victims dying, fearful, hurt, painted, angry, hateful and frantic words. Or at least Killer thinks it is—as he constantly hears them in his head whenever he attempts to resist killing or hurting anyone in Stage 1, and the constant flood of internal degradation is overwhelming enough to trigger Stage 4. The last part seems be somewhat canon, but the record player isn’t.

6. Cannibal Killer, started by me, holds a little place in my heart.

7. Cathearted and Angelkin Killer. Love it. Angelkin was @justanidiotartist’s idea.

8. Princess Killer. As in there is a timeline where he and Chara overthrew Asgore’s rule and became the royals of the Underground for a time.

9. That a part of Killer’s conditioning and training was being taught royal etiquette by Chara. It was framed and hidden under the disguise of learning something new, and a game— a way to keep Killer entertained and avoid boredom, therefore keeping him stable while implementing further rules and structure—but of course it had its typical violence and the use of Resets was often if Killer ever made a mistake or forgot a single thing.

He was taught to hold himself and carry himself as “something more,” above the others in the Underground, but never above Chara and not as real as anyone else.

His spine is always straight, trying to maintain a composed demeanor even when leaning into his silly behavior and extroverted mask. He eats his food in a very specific practiced manner without conscious thought, using his hands and utensils in a specific way.

He only eats when the “Queen” (Chara, Nightmare) eats, and stops when they stop—regardless of if he’s finished or not. Sarcastic, overly exaggerated bowing and signs of deference towards Nightmare—“Your Majesty,” “Your Highness,” in a deadpan, sarcastic manner.

And this one’s a bit more canon, but he copies and mimics Chara’s ways of speaking in a formal manner— such as how he says “greetings” instead of “hello” or “hey.” Often more obvious when addressing those he views higher and above him, or when stressed.

Maintaining old habits of perfectionism and cleanliness despite appearing outwardly apathetic, as if he doesn’t really know why he does it, he just does. His spaces are to be ordered and clean, all gear and weapons done in a certain way, and it’s probably more than once he’s corrected the others gang members postures and manners of eating or speaking.

One thing Chara never managed to make him stop doing was putting his hands on the table. He did that then and he’ll keep doing it. (Somewhat canon. Bro always has his hands on the table.)

10. Killer has the same fascination with the number 9 that Chara does. My HC.

11. Killer with schizoid personality tendencies. My HC. (Bit more complicated than that.)

12. Killer is subconsciously drawn to heart imagery—especially upside down hearts. He will often absentmindedly trace them on his bones/carve them, or draw on paper. It calms down his body. Especially after having failed some type of mission—both when killing or refusing to kill.

13. He stims. They’re small and not noticeable if you aren’t looking, easily dismissed as something else, but he stims. My HC. (I like to think his whole clasping hands over the soul/chest in prayer gesture is a happy stim and a nervous one. And also finger guns.)

14. He is a romantic. But only in his own head and fantasies.

15. Golden flower tea..yum.

16. He treats his weapons and animals better than he treats actual people or himself.

17. Stage 2 will blatantly ignore you if you try to call him Sans. (Somewhat canon.)

18. Stage 2 is mostly apathetic and indifferent but also distrustful of children. My Hc.

19. Chara and Killer’s relationship has been through just about any type of dynamic you can think of. Creator/creation, parent/child (both have played this role), teacher/mentee, enemies, friends, partners. Anything but equals.

20. He is actually very good at knife tricks. Will only fail when he wants to cut himself on purpose, or wants to make someone laugh.

21. Actually a pretty good caretaker, at least physically. Mentally and emotionally tending to a patient needs some work.

22. GNC fashionita.

23. Believes having no needs will make him invulnerable and free.

24. That a more humanized Killer would have long black hair he styles in many different ways. Also that he has a hooked nose and still doesn’t look entirely human.

25. The idea that he gives himself something like tattoos that remind him of Color in his Good Ending. Gradient flaming heart rainbows like Jinx’s blue cloud tattoos. My HC.

26. Catlike behaviors. Yeah. Including being very petty and causing problems for no obvious reasons.

27. Various forms or presentations of pet or age regression depending on the Stage.

28. Hates feeling too exposed physically. ✨ body issues ✨

29. Would’ve thrown the comfort plushie Color gave to him for when he’s Stage 1 away if it the plushie didn’t have an excellent texture. (Is the reasoning he gives.)

30. Acts of service. Just come to him instinctively. Very parentified eldest daughter coded I think.

[fyodior]

STOP.

✸ pairing: lovecraft x afab ada!reader

✸ cw: VERY DARK CONTENT AHEAD! MINORS DNI. tentacles, noncon, oviposition (eggs), choking, womb fucking.

✸ notes: breedtober fic 5! mentioned but this takes place during season 2 and the guild conflict, reader is in the ADA. easily the nastiest thing ive ever written! proceed with caution and/or have fun :)

✸ wc: 1.3k (im sick)

want more of breedtober?

DISCLAIMER: i do not condone noncon in any way, shape, or form. this is just fiction with no reflection of real life. there are tentacles. please refrain from leaving hate comments, and just unfollow/block. or simply scroll away. thank u!

You should’ve never, ever underestimated him. He might’ve seemed aloof, fatigued, and uninterested in anything but completing a day’s work, but it was all just a façade. How could you be so stupid? To write this eldritch monster, H. P. Lovecraft, off as harmless and unthreatening was the worst mistake you could’ve made. Following closely behind choosing to walk the streets of Yokohama alone at night as an ADA detective while the conflict with The Guild had yet to be resolved, and all the members of said organization were still at large.

“Please- please!” you cried out, tears in your eyes as you were being dragged into a dark alleyway by the man with the ability no one could fathom or understand. The one not even Dazai could nullify and put up a good fight against Chuuya’s corrupted state. “Let me go! Please!”

“Please stop talking,” Lovecraft deadpanned, sounding as bored and indifferent as he would if you had only asked him what time it was. His face was completely expressionless in the most terrifying way. “I just want this done.”

Despite his wishes, you still continued to thrash in his oddly strong arms – you never would’ve guessed based on his general appearance, another mistake – even as he pinned you down facedown against an abandoned dumpster and tugged your pants down. You couldn’t see it but you could hear it – the way his arm that wasn’t holding you down transformed from human skin and bone to… something else. Something green, wet, and slimy. A tentacle. One that was currently slithering down the back of your panties and poking at your hole.

"Why are you doing this?” you wailed, coiling away from the disgusting, horrifying feeling of the appendage attempting to touch your sex.

“It’s mating season,” is all he offers, as if it’s the most obvious explanation in the world. The one hand that he’d been using to hold you down had now morphed into four tentacles, each restricting you so tightly you started wondering if fighting was completely useless.

“Why me?” was your next question.

“I’d really prefer it if you eliminated any and all speech.”

As if to really drive his point home, potentially to even punish you, the tentacles wrapped even tighter around your limbs before the one most precariously located penetrated you hard. As thick as a soda can, the slimy tentacle made you scream at the top of your lungs. You could feel the way your poor, unprepared pussy was stretched so tight around the girth it felt like you were about to tear. Never mind the way it squirmed and wiggled further and further into your cunt, pulsing and writhing until it reached your cervix.

You screamed and cried and wailed desperately until Lovecraft got so sick of it, he formed another tentacle to curl around your throat and mouth, choking and gagging you.

The man, if he could even be called that, maintained his bored, uninterested appearance even as he restrained, choked, and fucked you with his ability. The tentacle wasted no time in further violating your cunt, picking up a painful rhythm as it thrust in and out of you, reaching all the way to your cervix each and every time. Your legs trembled and slime leaked steadily out of your hole onto the concrete ground – at least there was lubrication.

Despite your violent protests and pleading for it all to stop, it would be a lie to say it didn’t feel… good. That the way this monster fucked you didn’t stretch you so deliciously, that the tapered tip of the tentacle didn’t flick against your sweet spot continuously. That was the only reason Lovecraft loosened the grip on your mouth – to let you moan. And moan you did.

“Feel good?” he smirked, the curls of his lips the first sign of emotion he had shown all night.

“Please- ngh- please stop!” you cried out, words forcibly interrupted by a hearty moan as he angled the tentacle slightly differently, having somehow perfectly zeroed in on your sweet spot. “Fuck!”

It was made even worse when yet another tentacle slithered close, curling around your waist and underneath you. You were unsure of its purpose only for a moment, until it began tracing your slit and massaging your clit.

“Stop!” you whimpered, screwing your eyes shut and banging your fist against the rusted metal of the garbage bin. The echoes of the warping metal only slightly drowned out your moans of pleasure. Lovecraft’s smirk only grew – he didn’t need your consent, but a willing partner was always easier to breed.

“Just let it feel good,” he sighed, stretching the tentacle inside you even wider.

“N-never,” you groaned, though it really, really felt good. Now both slime and slick were dripping out of your hole, a nasty mixture that ran down your thighs and pooled in your pants that were still bunched around your knees.

You had gotten so lost in the terribly intoxicating feeling of getting fucked alongside it rubbing your clit that you had completely forgotten about the breeding comment he had made – but Lovecraft didn’t.

“You should be ready soon,” he hummed, eyeing the size of the appendage buried in your pussy and attempting to gauge its size in reference to the egg.

“R-ready? For w-” your question was answered before you were even able to finish asking it. The reason why he wanted to get you to feel good, to loosen up. For the eggs.

A bloodcurdling screech penetrated Lovecraft’s ears, loud and disturbing enough that he actually frowned, once the first egg passed through the appendage and reached your hole.

“What is that?”

He had maybe slightly underestimated the size of the egg, as your body seemed to be resisting it much more than he thought it would – it’d been a bit since he’d done this. He had to form multiple extra tentacles for this part of the process; one to shut you up once again so he could concentrate, two to spread your thighs as wide as possible to allow for easiest entry, and a few more to keep you more still. A moving target was much harder to hit.

The first egg still remained lodged in your pussy, struggling to push past the ring of muscle so it could exit the tentacle and insert itself into your womb. With stimulation coming from every which direction, you hadn’t even noticed the way the very tip of the tentacle had slithered past your cervix and directly inside your uterus.

“Fucking- take it,” Lovecraft groaned frustratedly, spreading your cheeks painfully wider to pry your pussy open, until finally the egg was able to pass through. If able to pass your lips, your screams likely would’ve shattered windows. The worst part was the egg forcing its way through your cervix and nestling happily inside your womb.

But the absolute worst part of it all? This felt good, too.

There was something so horrifically enticing, so disturbingly erotic about a mysterious eldritch being stuffing its eggs deep inside you, depending on you to carry and incubate them. And those were the thoughts that unfortunately filled your head as he fucked eggs into you one by one, your tummy distending with each addition.

It even filled your head as you lay half naked against the dumpster, back against a brick wall once Lovecraft had relieved himself of all his eggs and abandoned you in that alleyway.

You could hear Kunikida calling your name with fear and fervor in the distance, clearly having found out you were attacked, but all you could do was rub your abnormally round belly and giggle almost drunkenly as you replayed those moments over and over in your mind – how could you have gotten so lucky?

[dadsbongos]

I love the way you write kabru, could you write some of the general headcanons for him?

super all over the place. i got maybe a bit too into the nsfw headcanons cuz i need to destroy him ~~~ general headcanons:

The type to imagine oc battle amvs in his head to their medieval music but pretends he’s just smoldering chill cool guy

Outside of general note-taking or journaling, I fully believe he’s had dreams of being a novelist as a kid

Probably avoids interacting one-on-one with Falin without Marcille or Laios as buffers because of her stubbornly remaining monster traits, as well as like… “hey girl you killed me!!”

But as time goes on n he gets used to her, he probably ends up just seeing her as a cutie pie like everyone else does

Would thrive coming up with criminal punishments, maybe not watching some of them because excessive gore icks him out but theorizing is always fun to him

Would similarly thrive in a court setting, and would jump at the opportunity to be the angel and devil on laios’ shoulders through the whole thing

I think he’s the type of man to bare a heavy conscious about things he considers immoral or rude, like having a hard time forgiving himself for mistakes or even just generally “bad” things in his past

Likes the idea of being a family man but gets scared shitless at the actual effort it would take to raise children and maintain a marriage

Would be a total reality TV junkie and anime lameoid in modern era - he loves the melodrama

if/when Mickbell ever gave him permission to refer to him by “mick” (or just any half-foots say he can call them by first name alone) he’d squeal and kick his feet for dayssss knowing what it means in a cultural context for half-foots

Tries not to be That Guy, but feels a little complimented when people tease at what a smooth talker he is. Loves getting to have his redditor “heh… just my natural charisma…” moment

Strikes me specifically as bisexual btw i dunno why but its just jumping at me

Not in love with Rin, but likes her? But doesn’t? But doesn’t NOT like her? He’s trying to maintain distance because sometimes he feels a spark, but then goes back to thinking of her as just a childhood friend. Feels very guilty and selfish if he thinks about her feelings for him for too long, especially since he’s kind of a known charmer. Earnestly hopes she moves on from him no matter the state of his feelings though

Nsfw headcanons:

Likes foreplay wayyyy more than sex because he gets off seeing how crazy he can drive his partners before they just start begging with zero shame

Would enjoy group sex or two-party affairs, his only iffy stance is being watched by someone else. Unless he knows the voyeur VERY well it just feels uncomfortable to be the one getting observed. Down to be the voyeur though hehe

Has a stupid lil whispy laugh he does when he’s getting teased im gonna get feral

Could never play a brat, you tell him shut up and he salutes you with sweaty hands

Could do hate sex! If he realllllllly doesn’t fuck with your vibe, but he’d have to know you personally. Hate sex feels weirdly more intimate to him because he has to expose real feelings he has, so in a way his ass doesn’t even hate you he’s just annoyed you keep bickering with him

If he’s supposed to be submissive, I think he’d like to get a couple light slaps. Maybe choke him a wee bit.

Can’t take humiliation unless its in a sandwich where the degradation is hidden between 2+ praises

Idk if its because its me or if this is real, but I can see him blurting out a “mommy” if he’s super delirious with pleasure

Circling back to the voyeur thing, I think his other hardcore no is somnophilia. Either way, he just can’t get into it. But he’s not the type to shame people for their goons

[newobsessionweekly]

Diamonds and dreams

Tim Bradford x Buckley!reader

Crossover The Rookie x 911

Fandoms: The Rookie, 911

Summary: Tim teams up with your brother, Buck, to plan the proposal. You get hurt in the process, unintentionally, but it's for a good cause.

A/N: Another crossover, and I don't think I'll stop here. I love so much both Tim and Buck. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this and I'm open for requests! I'm sorry if I made some mistakes while writing, english is not my first language, but I'm trying to improve. Thank you so much for your support so far. Take care of yourselves, bubs! I appreciate everything single one of you! Lots of love! ❤️

Warnings: Swearing ? Maybe. Bunch of fluff and banter anyways. Not proofread yet

Fluff | A bit of angst

Requested: No

Words: 4.9k

Requests are open for Tim and Buck.

GIF not mine, credits to the owner.

For the past three years, your life took unexpected twists, one after one. You didn't know back then how impactful a police officer doing his job would be to your life. You never expected to fall for the all-so-serious officer, whose indignation spoke volumes in the presence of firefighters.

Tim had only one opinion about the other branch of first responders — reckless, not so sharp, and definitely idiots, but they mean well. That was before meeting you.

After a massive earthquake hit LA, the chaos that followed can't be described. People running around looking for the close ones, screaming, and a lot of pain. LAPD was sent on the streets to maintain order while LAFD rushed to rescue everyone in need. They were hand in hand and, for the first time in his life, Tim was following the orders of a firefighter— you.

He complained at first, but when he understood you were more than a reckless woman, he obeyed. Back then, Tim saw in you a seriousness that made him eat his words. The way you pushed yourself aside for the safety of the civilians, the way you disobeyed the book in a risky situation, questioning everything you knew for the people. You allowed him to help, and he was there by your side the whole time, mesmerised by the way you gave everything you had, pushed away any fear and doubts and crawled into wrecked precincts to save every single one of them.

There was a huge difference between the two branches of first responders. LAPD was trained to save the law, maintain order, protect the vulnerable and punish the guilty, while LAFD was trained to protect and save regarding the guilty and they've seen unimaginable things, making them aware the life is short and you need to cherish it every second.

And when you showed him that ugly side of your job, Tim never saw you the same again. Drawn by your determination and dedication to save every soul and by your love and beauty you carried around, he fell for you, hard.

But he never accepted the real dangers of your job. Actually, he never accepted that your dedication was so profound, that you'd give your life to save another without second thoughts. He couldn't bare the thought of losing you some day due to your 'dedication'.

You’re both standing in the middle of the living room, the air thick with tension that’s been building for weeks. Tonight’s argument was inevitable, ignited by the underlying fear and frustration that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

Tim’s heart pounds in his chest as he looks at you, his concern turning into frustration. He knows that firefighting is dangerous, but seeing you take unnecessary risks feels like a constant weight on his shoulders.

“Damn it, Y/N!” he exclaims, his voice loud and filled with anger. “You can’t keep ignoring orders and putting yourself in danger! You’re a firefighter, not a one-woman hero team!”

You clench your fists, feeling defensive, his words sounding like an accusation. “I know what I’m doing, Tim. Sometimes you have to take risks to save lives.”

“Fire isn’t something predictable,” Tim interjects, his voice firm. “When you're dealing with an armed suspect, you can see the next move in his eyes. But with fire? It's nothing like that and, when it happens, it's probably too late."

His words cut deep, and tears fill your eyes as you try to make him understand. You feel misunderstood, judged, and it hurts.

“Predictable or not, I trust my instincts,” you shoot back, your voice shaking. “Sometimes you have to go with your gut, Tim, not just follow orders blindly.”

"But at what cost?” Tim retorts, his face flushed with frustration. “How many times do we have to argue about this before you realize that you’re not invincible?”

Your eyes fill with tears, the weight of his words hitting you hard. “I’m not saying I’m invincible,” you reply, tears streaming down your face. “I just believe in doing whatever it takes to save lives, even if it means bending the rules sometimes.”

“Bending the rules?” Tim’s voice cracks, hurt evident in his expression. “Y/N, this isn’t a game. Lives are at stake, including yours!”

You’re openly crying now, the tears blurring your vision as you try to make him understand. “I need you to trust me, Tim. Trust that I know what I’m doing.”

“I need to be able to trust that you’ll come home safely,” Tim says, his voice softer now, filled with genuine concern. “I can’t keep worrying every time you’re on shift, wondering if you’re going to make it home in one piece.”

"But this is who I am, Tim. I can’t change that.”

Tim’s thoughts swirl with a mix of love, fear, and frustration as he watches you, torn between wanting to protect you and knowing he can’t control your choices. “I need some time to think,” he finally says, his voice filled with resignation.

Without another word, you grab your bag and head for the door, leaving Tim standing alone in the living room, his face a mask of regret and worry. As you make your way to Lucy’s apartment, the weight of the argument pressing down on you, you can’t shake the feeling that something has changed between you and Tim, something that might be impossible to repair.

You stand before Lucy’s door, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks streaked with tears. With a shaky breath, you knock softly as your heart is pounding in your chest. The door swings open to reveal Lucy’s shocked face, her eyes widening at your disheveled appearance.

“Y/N? What the hell happened?” Lucy’s voice is filled with concern as she wraps you in a comforting embrace, feeling the tension in your body.

Tamara rushes in, eyes wide with worry. "Are you okay?”

As Lucy's comforting embrace envelops you, a mixture of relief and despair washes over you. You lean into her warmth, grateful for the solace she provides amidst the chaos of your emotions. Tamara's worried expression only adds to the weight of the situation, highlighting the gravity of the rift between you and Tim.

"I’m so sorry,” you stammer, tears threatening anew. “I didn’t know where else to go. I can't go to Buck like this and –"”

Lucy steps back, creating space for you to enter, "You're always welcome here, Y/N. You know that."

Lucy leads you to the couch and wraps her arm around your shoulders as you found a small measure of comfort in her presence. The unspoken understanding between you eases some of the ache in your heart, reminding you that you're not alone in this struggle.

Tamara places a comforting hand on your knee, her eyes filled with empathy as Lucy spoke, “Come on, tell us what happened."

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady your voice as you recount the intense argument with Tim. “We had a fight, a really bad one. He said he needed some time to think.”

Your love for Tim is boundless, a deep-rooted connection that fills your heart with warmth and joy. Every moment spent with him is a treasure, each shared smile and whispered promise a testament to the depth of your affection. And being so far from him, it was a nightmare. Leaving so abruptly, both of your anger and frustration bottled inside, this tore you apart.

Tamara’s eyes narrow, her tone incredulous. “Tim said that? What could possibly have happened?”

“He thinks I’m reckless, that I put myself and my team in danger,” you explain, the sting of his words still fresh in your mind.

The pain of your fight weighs heavily on your soul, a sharp ache that refuses to fade. His words cut deep, leaving you reeling with a sense of loss and betrayal. The thought of losing him, of facing a future without his love, is almost unbearable.

Lucy shakes her head, her eyes filled with empathy. “Tim’s always been by-the-book. He values rules and order. But being a firefighter isn’t always black and white.”

You nod, wiping away tears with the back of your hand. “Exactly. But he just won't listen.”

Lucy sighs, her eyes softening with understanding. “Tim loves you. He’s just scared. Scared of losing you.” She can see the pain in your eyes, the uncertainty about the future of your relationship.

“I know,” you sniffle, trying to hold back the tears. “But it’s not just about him being scared. It’s about understanding who I am and what I do.”

Tamara nods, her expression thoughtful. “Sometimes love isn’t enough, Y/N. Sometimes two people can love each other deeply but still be incompatible in some ways.”

“I don’t want to lose him,” you say, feeling the weight of her words. “But I also don’t want to lose myself.” You grapple with the conflicting emotions, torn between love and self-respect.

Lucy chuckles softly, trying to lighten the mood. She stands up, heading to the kitchen to prepare some tea. “You won't lose him. He’s stubborn as hell, but he loves you. You know that."

Tamara smirks, leaning back on the couch. “Well, men are from Mars, right? We’ll never fully understand them.”

Lucy laughs, raising her hands in mock surrender. “True that. But hey, if anyone can knock some sense into Tim, it’s you, Y/N.”

Tamara smirks, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she leans back on the couch. “You know, Y/N, I like you more and more. Just so you know, everything you’ve said tonight will be used against Tim tomorrow.” She winks playfully, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Lucy’s going to make his shift a living hell.”

Lucy chuckles, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Oh, you bet I will. He won’t know what hit him.” She laughs, the tension in the room further dissipating with their playful banter.

You can’t help but laugh along with them, grateful for the light-hearted moment amidst the emotional chaos. “Just promise me you’ll go easy on him. He’s still my guy, after all.”

Yet, even in the midst of your despair, your love for him remains steadfast. It is a beacon of hope in the darkness, a guiding light that keeps you tethered to him, even when the distance between you feels insurmountable.

Tamara raises an eyebrow, her grin widening. “No promises,” Lucy says with a playful shrug.

You shake your head, chuckling at their antics. “Alright, alright. Just remember, I’ll have to deal with him after you two are done.”

After a moment of silence, Tamara's face brightens, an idea forming. “You know what we need? A girls’ night. We could all use a little distraction, right?”

Lucy grins, nodding in agreement. “Absolutely. Some wine, some movies, and some girl talk. It’s just what the doctor ordered.”

You smile weakly, grateful for their support. “That sounds nice.”

Meanwhile, across town, Tim and Buck find themselves in the comfort of Tim's living room. With beers in hand and the soft glow of the TV providing background noise, both men seem to have left the weight of the day behind them, engrossed in their own world of laughter and banter.

But Tim's thoughts are consumed by the image of you, tears staining your cheeks as you walked out the door. Each memory of your tearful departure cuts him deeply, a sharp pang of guilt and sorrow gnawing at his heart.

Buck takes a swig of his beer, glancing over at him with a curious expression. “So, how did the fight go?”

Tim sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I think I overstepped a little. She was crying and she left. It broke me to see her like that and let her go."

Seeing you hurt because of him breaks him in ways he never imagined. He would give anything to erase the hurt he's caused, to mend the fractures in your relationship. But he knows that sometimes love requires sacrifice, even if it means bearing the weight of your pain.

Buck nods understandingly, setting his beer down on the coffee table. "It's all part of the plan, Tim. We knew it would be tough, but it's for the best." He tries to reassure Tim, understanding the struggle his friend is going through.

Tim looks at Buck, gratitude in his eyes. "I know, I know. It's just hard, you know? Seeing her hurt and knowing I'm the cause of it, even if it's for a good reason."

Buck places a comforting hand on Tim's shoulder. "At least this will buy us some time. Where's she now?"

Tim smiles slightly, the tension easing from his shoulders. "At Lucy's. She texted me when Y/N got there. She'll be crashing on Lucy's couch."

Buck chuckles, picking up his beer again. "Good, at least she's safe. Lucy will take care of her. She always does."

Tim nods, a grateful smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, Lucy's been great. I'm glad she's there for Y/N."

The two men sit in companionable silence for a moment, the weight of their secret plan hanging in the air between them. It's a plan born out of love and a desire to create the perfect proposal for you, but it comes with its own set of challenges and emotions.

Buck's voice is filled with excitement. "You know, once all of this is over, and you've proposed, it's going to be amazing. Y/N is going to be over the moon."

Tim smiles, the vision of his future with you filling his mind. "I know, Buck. I can't wait to make her my wife."

Amidst the pain, there's a profound love that anchors him, a love so deep it eclipses the darkness of your current strife. You're more than just his partner; you're his rock, his solace, his reason for waking up each day with a smile. Your laughter brightens his darkest moments, your touch soothes his weary soul, and your presence fills his life with a sense of purpose and joy he never thought possible.

The two men raise their beers in a toast, their smiles reflecting the hope and love that fills their hearts.

Tim glances over at Lucy, his voice filled with concern. "How's Y/N holding up? I haven't heard from her since that night."

He can't shake the self-loathing that grips him, the regret for letting things escalate to this point.

Lucy raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her lips. "A bit pissed at you, but she's safe."

"I hate myself for that. I really don't like this whole...situation. Especially letting her go and forcing her to sleep on your couch."

He never wanted to hurt you, never intended for things to unravel like this. And the idea of you sleeping on Lucy's couch, away from him, fills him with a sense of emptiness he can't bear.

She chuckles softly, her tone teasing. "You could've called, you know. Women like that kind of thing."

Tim lets out a sigh, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I figured as much. I just thought... well, some space might be good."

Lucy's teasing only adds to his discomfort, her playful jabs hitting a little too close to home. He knows he should have done a lot of things, but fear and uncertainty held him back, clouding his judgment with doubt.

Lucy raises an eyebrow, “Space, huh? Sounds like a classic Bradford move. But you might want to pick up the phone. Y/N deserves to know you’re not pushing her away.”

Tim chuckles, shaking his head. "Trust me, I plan to. I just needed some time to... you know, plan everything out, to get it right."

Lucy grins, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "But you better make this worth it, you hear me?" She nudges him playfully. "And soon. She might love you and might be willing to wait for you, but don't test her patience."

Tim smiles, gratitude evident in his gaze. "I will, Lucy. And thanks, for everything."

Lucy waves him off with a chuckle. "Don't mention it. Just remember to thank me after she says yes." She winks at him, her smile warm and supportive.

You've been camping on the girls' couch for the past three days. It wasn't all that bad; some time off work was just what you needed, and your fight with Tim allowed you to sort through some old stuff.

When you were about to drift off to sleep again, Lucy burst into the living room. "Alright, couch potato, time to get up!”

You groaned, pulling a pillow over your face. “Five more minutes, Lucy.”

With a chuckle, Lucy yanked the pillow away and extended her hand. “Come on, Y/N. It’s time to get some fresh air. You can’t stay on my couch forever.”

Reluctantly, you accepted Lucy’s help to sit up. “What happened to ‘you’re always welcome here’? My free stay at Hotel Lucy is over?”

Lucy laughed. “Exactly. It’s check-out time, Missy.”

You smirked, slipping on your sneakers. "Well, send the bill to Bradford; he's the only one at fault for this."

With her keys in hand, Lucy grinned. “How about a ride along? A little patrol action might be good for you.”

Raising an eyebrow teasingly, you countered, “Trying to get rid of me, Lucy?”

She chuckled. “Just trying to help you get some fresh air. And maybe a little distraction.”

As you reluctantly rose from the comfort of Lucy's couch, a whirlwind of emotions churned within you. The past few days had been a rollercoaster of hurt, confusion, and a desperate longing to mend things with Tim. But amidst the chaos, there was a glimmer of hope – hope that today could mark the beginning of reconciliation, of healing the wounds that had torn you apart.

“Alright, alright. But only because I’m craving some fresh, questionable coffee from the station.”

“Deal. But you’re buying the donuts!” Lucy teased.

“Deal. But only if they have sprinkles.”

Suddenly, Lucy stopped and appraised you, shaking her head. “Oh no, no. You can’t possibly leave the house like that. Off to the shower with you, you’re starting to smell like my couch.”

Stepping into the shower, the warm water washing away the remnants of doubt and insecurity as you made a silent vow to yourself. Today would be the beginning of a new chapter for you both, a chance to rebuild what had been broken and to forge a stronger, more resilient bond.

You returned to find some of your clothes laid out on the couch, courtesy of Lucy and Tamara. Raising an eyebrow, you turned to Lucy. “Don’t you think that’s a little bit extra?”

It wasn't exactly what you'd wear for patrolling, but considering Tim probably handed them to Lucy, you couldn't really complain.

Just then, Tamara emerged from her bedroom with a smirk. “You should be thankful I didn’t pick the outfit.”

You chuckled, wondering why she wasn’t at school. “Fair enough. Shouldn’t you be at school by now?”

Tamara waved it off, pulling out her makeup kit. “I’ll miss the first period to do your makeup. You owe me.”

Sighing, you looked between Lucy and Tamara. “Come on, girls. It’s just a day of patrolling. Nothing special.”

Lucy shook her head, her eyes serious. “No, hun. Today you’ll be right next to Tim. Breathing in his neck. You need to show him what he’s missing.”

The engine's soft hum reverberates through the car as Tim navigates the streets, the tension inside as thick as the fog rolling in from the bay. Lucy rides shotgun, her mischievous glances back at you adding to the palpable unease. Seated in the back, you stare out the window, attempting to distract yourself with the passing scenery, anything to escape the suffocating silence.

Lucy's voice cuts through the tension like a knife, her cheeriness a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere. "Hey, Bradford," she chirps. "How about we make a quick stop for some coffee and donuts? My treat."

Tim's eyes flicker to the rearview mirror, briefly meeting yours before he nods. "Sure, sounds good."

Pulling into a local coffee shop's parking lot, Lucy practically leaps out of the car, leaving you and Tim alone for a fleeting moment.

"You could've called," you murmur softly, finally breaking the suffocating silence. "Three days, Tim."

Tim's grip tightens on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. "I know, Y/N. I'm sorry. It's... it's complicated."

Before you can delve deeper, Lucy returns with a tray laden with coffee and a box of donuts. She hands you a cup before settling into her seat, her eyes glinting with an inscrutable knowingness.

As Tim lifts his coffee to his lips, you notice the slight tremble in his hand. "Everything okay, Tim?" Lucy inquires, her innocence a thin veil over her ulterior motives.

Tim clears his throat, averting his gaze. "Yeah, just a bit tired, I guess."

Lucy's smirk is unmistakable as she reaches for a donut. "Well, these should help with that."

Taking a sip of your coffee, you feel its warmth spreading through you, but it does little to dispel the tension in the air. However, there's a shift—a subtle change in the atmosphere. The silence is no longer suffocating; instead, it's pregnant with anticipation, each breath heavy with unspoken words.

Finally, Tim speaks, his voice laced with vulnerability. "Y/N, about the fight... I never meant to hurt you. I just needed some time to sort things out."

You meet his gaze, the sincerity in his eyes tugging at something deep within you. There's a weight to his words, a heaviness that speaks volumes about the distress he's been wrestling with.

As the shop continues its journey, the tension remains, but it's tempered now by a sense of curiosity and cautious hope. Unbeknownst to you, Tim's anxiety isn't solely about your relationship, and Lucy's scheming grin betrays her satisfaction with how her plan is unfolding.

Throughout the day, Tim's behavior had been perplexing, he carefully avoided any calls that hinted at danger. It felt as though he was intentionally shielding you from harm, a protective barrier wrapped around you even as you yearned for the adrenaline rush of the job.

But the tranquility of the day shattered with Nolan's urgent call for backup. The gravity of the situation hit you like a sledgehammer, sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“Dispatch, this is Officer Nolan, requesting backup at my location. Officers under fire, need immediate assistance,” Nolan’s voice is clear and urgent.

Without hesitation, Tim accepts the call, urgency in his voice for the first time that day. “Roger that, Nolan. We’re en route.”

Tim accelerates towards the scene, the Griffith Observatory coming into view. The iconic building stands majestically atop the hill, its silhouette against the clear blue sky adding a surreal beauty to the unfolding situation.

As you arrived on the scene, the deafening sound of gunfire filled the air, drowning out any semblance of normalcy. Lucy and Tim sprang into action, their movements swift and purposeful as they navigated the chaos.

"Stay in the car, Y/N!" Tim's command pierced through the chaos, his tone leaving no room for debate.

But as you sat there, the abrupt silence that followed sent a chill down your spine. Lucy's panicked cry for Tim shattered the stillness, sending your heart into overdrive, “Bradford!”

Ignoring Tim's orders, you bolted from the shop, desperation fuelling your every step. The scene before you was a tableau of chaos and confusion, the beauty of the Observatory juxtaposed against the violence that unfolded within its walls.

You searched frantically for any sign of Tim or Lucy, all you found was Tim's abandoned radio, a silent witness to the turmoil that had unfolded.

The setting sun cast long shadows, casting an eerie glow over the scene, a reminder of the fragility of life in the face of danger. And the tension is electric, like the calm before a storm. Tim’s voice crackles through the radio, cutting through the silence.

“Y/N Buckley, can you hear me?"

Tim's heart races with anticipation as he waits for your response. He's nervous, hoping that you'll hear him clearly. He wonders if you'll be able to sense the nerves in his voice, hoping that you'll understand the significance of what he's about to do.

Grinning, you grab the radio. “Loud and clear, Bradford” you replied, your voice steady but your pulse quickening with each passing second.

A pause stretches out, thick with anticipation. “Close your eyes, Buckley. And this time, try not to defy a direct order.”

Rolling your eyes but intrigued, you humor him and shut your eyes, taking a deep breath of the crisp air, feeling a rush of excitement coursing through your veins. You focused on the sound of Tim's voice, letting it wash over you like a warm embrace as he began to speak.

"You and I, Y/N, we’re a wild ride,” Tim starts, his voice unexpectedly tender. “Who would’ve thought our journey would lead us here, to this crazy, beautiful moment?”

As Tim's voice crackled through the radio, a surge of nervous energy swept through him. He had rehearsed his words a thousand times in his mind, but now that the moment was upon him, he couldn't help but feel a pang of doubt.

The weight of the ring in his hand served as a reminder of the gravity of the situation, filling him with both excitement and trepidation.

A soft touch grazes your hand, sending a thrill up your spine. Your heart pounds in your chest.

“You challenge me, drive me nuts, and somehow make me a better man,” he continues through the radio, a hint of a smile in his voice. “And damn it, I love you for it.”

You can’t help but smile, a warmth spreading through you. As you listen, you feel tears prickling at the corners of your closed eyes. Tim's words resonate with you, stirring something within yourself that you can't quite put into words.

You want to open your eyes, to see the man you love more clearly, but you also want to savor this moment a little while longer.With each word, you feel your heart swell with love for Tim. His vulnerability, his honesty, it all takes your breath away, leaving you utterly captivated.

"Open your eyes, sweetheart," Tim's voice breaks through your reverie, pulling you back to the present moment.

With a flutter of excitement, you obey, slowly parting your eyelids to reveal the sight before you. There is Tim, his eyes filled with love and longing as he slowly kneels down before your eyes, a small velvet box in his hand. The sight of him, vulnerable and trembling, fills you with a sense of awe and gratitude as the setting sun casts a golden halo around him, the cityscape stretching out behind him in a breathtaking panorama.

Tears of joy well in your eyes as you take in the sight of the ring in his hand, your heart overflowing with love for the man who means the world to you.

“Y/N Buckley,” Tim’s voice wavers just a bit, “will you marry me?”

For a moment, you are stunned into silence, your mind reeling with the weight of his question. You feel a surge of emotion welling up inside, threatening to spill over at any moment. This is it, the moment you've been dreaming of, the moment you've been waiting for since you laid eyes on Tim, few years back.

Tim chuckles, a nervous but endearing laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

"Yes, Tim. A thousand times, yes!" your voice choked with tears, as your words ring out into the night, a declaration of love and commitment that echoes through the air.

With a trembling hand, Tim slips the ring onto your finger, sealing their promise with a simple yet profound gesture. As your eyes meet once more, you share a moment of perfect understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the love that binds you together.

Without another word, you're in each other's arms, holding onto each other tightly as if trying to make up for all the time you've lost. In that moment, nothing else matters but the overwhelming love you share, a love that has weathered every storm and emerged stronger than ever before.

Tim's lips meet yours in a tender kiss, a sweet yet passionate embrace that speaks volumes more than words ever could. You cling to each other, lost in the intensity of your emotions, your hearts beating as one in the darkness.

As you pull away, breathless and flushed with emotion, you share a smile that lights up the night. In each other's arms, you find solace and strength, knowing that no matter what the future holds, you'll face it together, hand in hand, heart to heart.

Nolan chimes in through the radio, his voice filled with laughter. "Bradford, are we breaking out the champagne or what?"

Tim's smile widens at Nolan's words, and he glances over at you with a playful twinkle in his eye. "Hold off on the champagne, Nolan," he replies, unable to suppress a laugh. "She said yes."

Murmuring softly, Tim leaned in close to your ear. "I guess I didn’t mess this one up, huh?"

You chuckled softly, leaning into his embrace. "Not this time, Bradford."

[miyoriia]

I'm a plushiphile.

I see the cute little stitching and sewing as real parts of them, each little plushie can be made so differently and they all have such unique personalities. I talk with them about what what they like and what they want. I try my best to maintain eye contact while talking but I'm so shy so it's hard for me.

I catch feelings for plushies. The beautiful look in their eyes, the way they make me smile and giggle and feel so happy; how could I not? I get all flustered and embarrassed when I have to ask for a first kiss.

I'll take my plushies on dates and make sure to treat them right. They deserve the same attention, love and care all of us do.

I want to reject human girls offers for dates to make more time for my plushies. I want to ask my plushies out. I want to kiss them.I want to have sex with them.

Don't mistake anything about my feelings for my plushies as pure. I care for them emotionally and nonsexually, but I still want to do terrible things with them. I feel lust for my plushies in amounts that can only be unhealthy for me.

I want to experience the closeness of sex and perversion with my plushies.

I want us both to feel the best we ever have all thanks to each other.

I want to make them feel new emotions as we explore each other's bodies.

I want to make them feel beautiful just as they are.

I want them to feel loved as real as real can be.