#bc anon was right!!

[zhoras-bitch]

Love this new RC story

Angelik Lovers

[fallenclan]

I think the song "Like Him" by Tyler the Creator could fit Sleepydawn!

-🥄

GREAT MINDS THINK ALIKE!!! thank you spoon anon for motivating me to finally finish this animatic :D

[idyllcy]

MORE JAIME SMUT PLEASE YOUR LAST ONE WAS SO GOOD 🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️

pretty. - jaime reyes x reader (nsfw warning)

"Jaime, darling, ah—" Your fingers dig into Jaime's scalp as he licks at you, lower face a mess of your slick and sweat, his eyes half-lidded as he continues to eat you out, staring at you, eyes soft.

"Hm?"

The vibrations cause you to jolt slightly, oversensitive from the previous orgasms, legs shaking slightly as he blinks at you, doe-eyed.

"'s too much." You mumble, running your hand through his hair.

Jaime detaches himself from you, string of your slick on his lips, a pout on his face. "one more, please? mi vida? Just one more."

You whimper, shaking your head lightly.

"One more, please?" He drums his fingers against your upper thigh, pout pulling further down.

You grimace.

"Please?" He bats his lashes at you.

"Will you fuck me after it?"

"Of course, mi vida. Anything you ask for." He smiles.

"Last one." You mumble. "N then you fuck me, alright?"

"Yes, yes," Jaime hums, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "anything for you."

your final orgasm crashes down on you in waves, your toes curling and mouth hanging open as it hits you, and your moan is like music to Jaime's ears. He watches as you come down from the high, grinning from ear to ear. Only he's seen you like this. Only he gets to. That thought makes him happy on its own.

reblogs are appreciated (˵ •̀ ؂ < ˵ ) ✧

[tansypaws]

mmmmothwing and 15??? if no one has asked that yet

baby, though I've closed my eyes i know who you pretend i am i know who you pretend i am

washing machine heart ; mitski

[caffstrink]

T4t huntlow so real etc etc

[jesuistrestriste]

bestie okay hear me out. priest mike but like you're the one in control. STAY WITH ME!! like you go to church and flirt with him like crazy, wearing skimpy outfits making him dizzy in the head which eventually leads him to cave into his desires that he holds so dearly, basically begging for for your attention and your touch. idk but the thought of like "corrupting" (idk if that's the right word for it) him in such a filthy slutty way, man in thinking thoughts...(absolutely love your writing btw you're so talented fr!!)

(AHH?? anon?? woah, woah woah. im drooling. im definitely listening.)

i can imagine the reader going to the church in a short jean skirt that just barely covers her ass. and she knows people will judge her, but she doesn't care because all she needs is his attention.

the priest is up on the stage, giving a sermon, staring right at her, and all the reader does is maintain eye contact while she uncrosses her legs and holy shit she's not wearing panties.

he's sweating and burning up and almost stuttering in front of everyone as he pulls on the collar of his dress shirt and tries not to look at her, but he really can't tear his eyes away for more than a few seconds. mind you, he's popping a boner behind the pulpit. thank god for that fuckin' pulpit, pun not intended (sorry, god).

once the service is done, and everyone has flooded out, he quickly walks down to the reader in the pews and immediately gets down on his knees in front of her; his eyes all big and blue with pupils completely blown.

"what are you trying to do to me?" he whispers, desperation and anticipation and embarrassment wavering in his voice as his hands run up over the soft skin of her thighs.

and the reader just smirks, spreads her legs, and urges his face into her heat. "Shhhh," she hums softly, watching him look up to her as his lips and tongue make contain with her slick cunt, "be good for me.. we can ask god for forgiveness after you make me cum..."

and wow, he doesn't resist at all. he laps at her core until shes spilling and spasming in her seat, her leg draped over his shoulder as the broken AC in the church only exacerbates his guilty sweating.

should he stop? yeah. but he can't. and he won't. he wouldn't in a million years. not even if hell itself opened up beneath the floorboards of the holy building they're in and threatened to swallow him up if he didn't stop eating her pussy.

if heaven's doors opened up above right then, a golden staircase beckoning him in, he'd still choose her pretty folds + her hole over any sort of everlasting paradise.

after all, weren't heaven and her the same things?

----

ive honestly been thinking about writing a pt 2 to "kneel" where the reader takes a bit of control? like a tiny bit? i just don't think that the priest!mike faist character i've built up in that fic would necessarily enjoy her doing that LMFAO.

he'd be like "hm. ok. ill do it for u". but when she starts to coo at him or deny him release he's suddenly like >:( this isn't fun anymore.

---

but no, im seriously all about corruption. i think it's insanely hot. so i raise u one more: priest's son!mike...? priest's son!art donaldson..?

mmph

[nonomives]

OMG KYLE MADE AN ANIMATRONIC WALLY AND I WAS THINKING IF YOU CAN DRAW THERE ANIMATRONIC AU AND MENTIONED THEM,SINCE ITS ALMOST THER BIRTHDAY (june 2)

ADVANCE HAPPY B-DAY!!!

@kyletheodred

[fatuismooches]

I feel like fragile!reader would be genuinely upset with how literally none of the segments spend time with them. Or even try to make time with them. Especially Prime. Like, there's like 20+ of them, not even 1 can spend at least 15 minutes with them? Me, personally, I wouldn't leave my lover to fend off with themselves after 400+ years of silence. Maybe that's just me though...

Oh fragile reader would absolutely be crushed. In the beginning, you would be delighted by all the attention you got, considering you just woke up. But as time goes by, it slowly changes. Obviously, you know that the segments have a lot of work to do, and you don't expect them to spend hours with you, but there are days you struggle to even get ten minutes of attention. Yes, you know they're busy, their research is incredibly engrossing, they have a lot on their plate, but you were their lover. The one who loved them above anything else, and the one they loved more than anything too, well, supposedly.

Their actions just don't show it sometimes, and it hurts you. You're confined to your body, to the lab, you're not like them. Sure, you have some things to keep you occupied, but you aren't free to do what you want, because you literally can't. That's why their company is so desperately important to you, but it seems like you're cursed enough to not even receive that. Prime has no place to talk because he does the same thing as them at times. You love them so, so much, and you do acknowledge how much work they have but... it sincerely gets to you and yet they seem not to understand. Yeah, you love burying yourself into one of your interests, but you need interaction from time to time, something that's sorely different from Dottore.

The only segment that always has time for you is Zandy of course, and while you love him dearly, you just wish you could spend some more time with one of your lovers. I imagine you start finding a lot of solace in your Harbinger friends, like Bina, Pantalone, and Childe, because for some reason despite how busy they are too, whenever they come over, they always make an effort to speak with you. Columbina often visits solely for you. You tell her all about your feelings and she comforts you, without interrupting or brushing you off. The segments would start getting annoyed by how happy you are around them, until you snap that they actually make time for you unlike them (argument time.)

You don't expect Dottore or the segments to be perfect lovers. You just expect them to try, because Tsaritsa knows how much you've tried for them.

(This would make for a really good angst fic, but I don't think I have the heart to write it.)

[u3pxx]

my only criticism of your swap omens designs is that aziraphale lost his gay little bowtie 😔

[bad omens] that's a very good point, anon, but don't worry! a crow demon can have a minor outfit change every now and then! >:^P

[oifaaa]

…what did the british do now?

What haven't the British done recently but specifically my grievance today is that someone at dc choose to give Jason and Alfred the same birthday which means I cant enjoy looking at cute Jason todd art without the old bastard eventually showing up oh woe is me

[clanborn]

i so happy that horizonshine is transfem i feel like ive never ever seen a xenofiction comic with a transfem protagonist before

xenofiction win! this kitty cat is transfem

[toxintouch]

hii!! I just read cold spots and it was AMAZING!!! Im not sure if you wanted to continue the fic, but if you don’t mind could you continue with Veres part? I don’t know what you would write about but I just feel like that fic has so much potential to be a little 3 part series or something 🙏

<- Cold Spots TYSM ANON!! I put the Vere End at the beginning for ease of reading. For the sake of folks who would like to read this as a stand-alone... I think u can? With the knowledge that the premise of Cold Spots is that Mhin and MC/Sparrow went ghost hunting. Vere is said to have been responsible for a handful of local ghost stories, so…of course he makes some mischief.🦊 Also MC needs some Winter wear, stat.  A very light Possessive Vere warning in this btw, though perhaps in a roundabout way.  Plausible deniability is so important to him.

You putter around in your room at the Wet Wick as you go about your nightly routine. The occasional cheer or thud from below only accentuates your nervous energy, punctuating your reluctance to settle down and get into bed. You smooth the covers with your bandaged hands and fluff the pillow before extinguishing the lamplight. You tug the bedding up above your shoulders, fighting to get comfortable. As your eyelids finally start to droop, the flicker of a shadow catches your attention.   It dances and sways and bends and grows until suddenly it is right in front of you.  On top of you. Silken, blood red drips down onto your face, a knife gleam smile too close for comfort.  You breathe in a gasp, wondering if you should scream. “Vere, what–” “Shhh,” he coos, pressing a finger lightly to your lips.  His breath is hot against your skin. “I only came to keep you warm, pet.”

Heat Signature

“Poor thing.” Vere purrs.  “Your lips are so cold.”  He leans ever closer, his mouth hot over yours–hovering.  His other hand reaches for your face as well, nails trailing against your cheek in a teasing caress.

You feel even the thought of being cold leave your body, replaced instead by the unusual thrill he commands, that strange enthralling sway.

That heat you’ve come to associate with Vere; sweet tendrils of want that nestle in your bloodstream.

You squirm a little, though you can’t move much with him looming over you.

(You should probably do more to protest his intrusion into your room, you think to yourself, though, the majority of you is–curious, daresay even far too eager to–)

“Whatever trouble did you get up to that left you in such a state?”

At this you scoff, tilting your head back into the pillow and effectively knocking Vere’s finger from your lips.  

“As if you don’t know,” you accuse.

Vere looks entirely unperturbed by you shaking him off, his lithe fingers traveling freely along the newly displayed skin of your throat, making your pulse jump.

Vere chuckles at that, dark and silky.

“Being tight lipped about your adventures, hm?”  He angles your face just so, ensuring you meet his sharp eyes, his nose brushing up against yours.  “Not that it matters.  It so happens I do know what you’ve been up to.  Trespassing in places that don’t belong to you.”

“...It was an abandoned building.  I don’t think it really belonged to anyone.”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Vere says, “everything in this city belongs to someone, darling.  You just don’t know what belongs to who yet.”  He peers down at you with laughter in his expression, though there's a distinct edge to it that you can't quite place.

“So, you're here because that building belongs to you...?”

“Hmm, amongst other things.  However shall I make you apologize to me for this most egregious offense?”  He asks airily, shifting until he’s beside you rather than perched over you, resting his cheek in his hand and letting his eyes slip closed. He's the absolute picture of unbothered leisure.  

(You’re not fooled–he’s simply waiting for you to let your guard down before he pounces.)

You open your mouth to deny any debts on your part (though, if your ghost hunting spot was indeed Vere’s hideout, you really do feel guilty) but Vere cuts you off before you can speak.

“Alas, I suppose it’s not mine anymore.  Within a week it will reek of wet dogs and cheap booze. It's a lost cause now that those drooling reprobates know it's inhabitable.  A pity.  By Eridia's standards it really was divine in its heyday.  Good wine, music, dancing.  There was this portrait artist who would paint the performances…”

His tone remains light as he reminisces.  But the look he pins you with is dangerous: his eyes gleaming bright, his canines bared in an irreverent grin.

“I had such hopes and dreams of reviving the place myself.  Some of the dances were very scandalous.  You never did share with me your stance on dancing, did you?”

You stumble out an approximate answer.  It’s…harmless information to give, isn’t it?

Though, judging by how pleased Vere looks, you wonder if you should have refused to say.  He looks positively wicked as he ponders your answer aloud.  “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of talents to share.  In another life, perhaps I'd have put you on stage.  Though, I admit.  I find myself partial to a private show.”

And–as expected–the moment you let your guard down, he's in your space again, crowding you.  Heat and proximity and the softest brush of his lips against yours, light enough to send a thrill down your spine, curiosity and a want so deep it surprises you.

“Well?”  He purrs.  “Care to audition?”

You can't hide behind the excuse of supernatural sway or charm or the thrall of hypnotic sunglo eyes.  It's not Vere's power that controls you. It's your own gnawing desire; starvation and longing that draws you to him despite all sense.

Kissing Vere is heady.  Dizzying.  

Kissing Vere is like being in conversation with Vere–a constant of giving and taking, being chased after and running to keep up.  It’s enticing and alluring and decadent and never quite enough, over too soon even as you feel yourself losing air, the rush of blood and sensation threatening to overwhelm you.

He gives a parting nip to your bottom lip as he pulls away.

Then another one, playful, to your jaw.

When he presses his face into the side of your neck, you expect him to bite again.

What you don’t expect is for him to nuzzle into you, inhaling deeply before heaving a great sigh, his tail flopping lazily to land across you with a thump.

He’s officious as he rearranges the covers, ensuring your arms are tucked carefully away from him before he’s willing to fully settle into the bedding, pulling the blankets up around the both of you like a den.  He hums something low in his chest as he tucks himself up alongside you, long tail curled around your waist. 

It’s rhythmic–

purring.

And it’s…soothing, actually.

The weight of him, the warmth.  The incessant lamplight of the Amaryllis District, shining ever present through your window, is dim–tolerable, even, courtesy of Vere's magnificent shadow manipulations and the blankets sheltering you. 

The constant noise seems to fade away as well, obscured by the sound of purring. “Falling asleep when you have me in your bed, pet?  You really do try your luck…”

[starflungwaddledee]

Oooo starstruck dee has little stars at the bottom of her feet! Are they just aesthetic or would they make imprints into the ground? (like pawprints)

exactly like that! though she's not the only one...

edit: might need to add some additional dialogue to this to make it more clear, but a clarification in the interim; he knows about his own footprints. he's just surprised to see something similar already there when he knows he's only just landed. he lifts his own shoe to confirm that they're not identical (and also to reveal this to the viewer). seems his stoicism beat off the clarity in this one, sorry 😭

[milfygerard]

i still posit thered be way less inter-swiftie drama if we all stopped writing conspiracy theories and started making short-form psychoanalytical fiction writing exercises like a normal fucking fandom

[manchesterau]

can u write abt lazy mornings on the tour bus

Phil wakes up to a still bus and the sounds of Chicago traffic.

He doesn’t make a move to leave his bunk, too sleep hazed and cozy under the thick pale blue blanket Dan insisted he buy from Target because it’s getting colder and the bus takes a while to heat up. Dan mistakenly bought a matching black one and Phil tries not to laugh every time he makes a face when someone from their crew points it out.

In the end, it’s the smell of coffee brewing that has him stumbling out of his bunk without his glasses and into the buses small kitchenette. Dan is there, of course, dressed in sweats and leaning against the counter with his arms crossed peering down at the little coffee machine. Phil has to rub at his eyes and squint a little to see a clearer picture of this scene. His boy standing there amused and sleepy, making him coffee.

“Looks like the princess is finally awake,” Dan muses, voice gravelly from disuse.

Phil would make a quip but he just hums, stepping into Dan’s space and putting his arm around his waist, tucking his chin where his shoulder meets his neck. If he were feeling more playful he’d take a bite just because he can, but Dan starts swaying a little bit, mimicking the rhythm of the bus as if it's moving. The soft swaying and the smell of coffee lulls him, calms his busy mind that doesn't seem to quiet down these days.

"Everybody's already inside," Dan says. "I figured you could use some extra sleep."

Phil hums again, Dan stops swaying them and starts pulling out mugs and pouring coffee into two matching cups and Phil opens his mouth to tell Dan how he likes it but remembers he doesn't need to say it. It's something he hasn't had to say since their days living in Manchester. When he'd wake up with the morning halfway gone to a younger Dan perched onto the breakfast bar sipping coffee from a Hello Kitty mug, Phil's placed right beside him waiting.

Phil continues swaying them, and Dan has to coax him into letting him ago. "I don't want to rush you but we've got to start the day, bub." Dan says softly.

Phil nods slowly, stretching out his back before grabbing his cup. He takes a long sip while Dan watches with a smirk.

"Good morning," he says.

Dan rolls his eyes and heads for the door, "You're such a fucking millennial."

Phil just smiles and heads back to his bunk.

[fushitoru]

PLEASE AASHI I BEG BRIDGERTON GOJO UT CRUMBS 🙏

- zaynesbathrobe anon

anything for u bby <3

LOL this might be a jumpscare/confusing tho because reader and gojo are definitely not there yet. i do enjoy fantasizing about the freaky things he does to her tho