#he's such a rat i love him

[morbid-little-guy]

The cameras picked something up last night.

I've been playing HSR for the past like, week straight after leaving it for about a year. This wet cat of a man has captivated me. (PLEASE ignore the ticket i did my best T^T)

[ma-re-zo]

“Happy birthday you old whore🇵🇱”

(Loosely translated)

Happy 11th November Feliks I know it’s technically on July 22nd (I think) but y’know 🤷

[biggiesnails]

Have doodles of punk eclipse as an apology for me (temporarily) ditching tumblr to excessively play stardew valley

Also suggestive drawing under the cut

[brewed-pangolin]

MDNI 18+

Gym Rat Soap is so outrageously possessive of you that if he comes home to you pleasuring yourself, he takes it as a personal challenge and will go out of his way to make you come solely for him.

And he's not holding back. He'll pull out all his pleasure tricks (except pulling out. That's a possessive no no.)

He starts with his usual tried and true method of fingering you so good against the wall that your legs turn to numbed jelly within minutes. Holding yourself up against his chest while you moan his name into the fabric of his sweat ladened shirt.

"Tha's it, bonnie. Ya come for me. And only me."

Next is his feast. Tossing you onto the dinner table like a sacrificial lamb and delving immediately between your thighs. Lapping at your folds like a starved and dehydrated animal. Hell bent on consuming you whole for his own pleasured ego while you cry his name to the heavens and writhe in steady overstimulation.

"Oh my God, Johnny!"

"No God 'ere, lass. Only me."

To finally close out his pleasured torture and culminate in his ultimate taking of you, he throws you over his shoulder and stomps his way to the bedroom to begin his pièce de résistance. Your calves hoisted onto his shoulders, his hands griping like a vice into the sides of your torso as he pistons his cock at just right angle, making you see stars and completely losing the capacity for speech and all other thoughts until all you could think of was him. And only him.

"Jo-, Jo-, John-"

"Tha's it. Say my name, bonnie."

"JOHNNY!"

And with a series of roars that would undoubtedly have the neighbors calling to report an escaped lion, he empties himself completely into the silken walls of your cunt. Marking you as his own as his hips falter. His hands grabbing at your limp form as he cradles you against his chest and reassures just how good you are for him. For him. And only him.

Gym Rat Soap Masterlist

[esaari]

sullevan hours

[b0bbynash]

bobby nash has never had a day of peace in his life

[canisalbus]

gothic lolita machete came to me in a dream

.

[mccoyquialisms]

thinking about riz and his love for the bad girls, and how if anyone fucks with them, then sooner or later they’re gonna answer to riz gukgak

[morganadismay]

more doodles ft. the whole gang

[rosvyy]

[WIP]

ratgrinDers am I right???

PLEASE OISIN PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

[backpackingspace]

Odysseus with his head in his wife's lap, happily not paying attention to anything, humming one of athenas song and carving something

Some random guy: your majesty----

Odysseus: not bothering to sit up: whatever my wife decided is fine.

[evignonita]

[🔭]: (...) And the stars look very different today. Space Oddity, David Bowie.

V: Dude! Did you see what I saw?

L: Yeah bro, is that a...

P: W-What?! What happened? Guys, tell me. I was installing the telescope!!

L: Sorry bro, you lose it.

Don't worry, Pas, in a few more years you'll see that thing up close.

[shootingstarrfish]

If Solomon's soul was an animal it'd be a rat, if Barbatos' was an animal, it'd be a cat...

Rat Solomon and cat Barbatos

this explains a lot

[brewed-pangolin]

Tumblr deleted the ask because it's stupid, but to the sweet anon who requested Gym Rat Soap on the first night, this is for you.

MDNI 18+ just some unedited possessive Gym Rat Soap mumbo jumbo

cw: mentions of alcohol

-

Poor overly possessive Gym Rat Soap Johnny, who stakes his claim to you the first time you let him let him come inside you.

It all started with an innocent night out with the boys. Hitting up the local pub to rid the worries of the week away with a few strong brews down the gullet.

And those countless pints proved to be your downfall in the end. Latching onto him, losing yourself in the melodic brogue of his voice as he whispered the most tumultuous poetry into your ear.

Elegantly sinful promises laden with whisky fueled intent, the gentle brushing of his stubble against your cheek making your legs quiver as you imagined his mouth entangled with your most intimate lips.

It didn't take long to pull him away into the back seat of an unsuspecting Uber. His hands greedily clawed at your hips as you apologized profusely to the driver for the improper scene playing out in the backseat.

Still, the indecent show in public was nothing compared to the ravishing he bestowed upon you behind closed doors. Barely making it through the front door as he began to frantically tear off your risqué yet fruitless choice of apparel.

"Where ya wanna start, hen? The kitchen, or the living room?"

You barely had time to breathe before he swung your naked form over his shoulder. A thunderous laugh echoing from his chest as he planted a firm smack on your ass. Stomping up the steps towards the bedroom as you mentally prepared yourself for the vigorous workout he was about to put you through.

He shamelessly tossed you onto the bed, a wicked smile curling into the corners of his lips as your breasrts bounced from the force of the impact.

"Tell me bonnie, ya been workin' on your yoga? Jus' like I told ya to?"

The mischievous glint in his eyes matched the dark tone of possessive desire in his voice. Forcing you to comply with his demand, nodding your head as the capacity for speech all but abandoned you.

"Aye. Good lass. Gonnae need ya ta center yerslef as I wreck this pretty little cunt a'yers."

You didn't protest as he proceeded to break you in the most beautiful way possible. Losing count at how many times he brought you to oblivion only to push your further as he neared his own blissful undoing.

-

You came home a few days later with a duffle bag and worn boots meeting you at the door. A half-naked mohawk crested man rummaging around the kitchen as he deftly put together a delectable feast upon the stove.

"Um, Johnny? What are you doing?" A perplexed expression formed into the contours of your face as he turned to meet your questioning gaze.

"Wha'? Cannae make my bonnie some dinner?"

Your eyes narrowed at him, trying to piece together the scheme he was shamelessly putting together.

"Dinner's fine, Soap. But what's with the bag?"

"Hm. Aye. There is that."

Soap turned around, coursing his arms over his broad chest with a crooked smile. His cerulean eyes roaming you up and down like a predator stalking it prey, poised to leap at any moment.

"Already signed the lease, lass. Might as well start moving in."

"What do you mean, signed the lease?"

It took you no more than five minutes to piece together his housewarming innuendo. Aided only by a swift encore as he threw you down and bent you over the kitchen table, implementing his down-payment as he thrusted another load deep into the welcoming walls of your cunt.

Gym Rat Soap Masterlist

[cecelovesrats]

gus patiently awaiting head scritches

[m1d-45]

bloodletting

summary: a budding god needs a place to test their new powers, and childe was always a little too eager to lose a fight... a match made in heaven!

word count: 1.7k

-> warnings : minor AQ spoilers ? just like, general gi plot.. fairly graphic depiction of blood + other injuries (might be classed as body horror???). generally obsessive tendencies (childe <--> you). i cannot stress this enough, reader is 110% a sadist.

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

power was not something that came easy. it was fought over, stolen, defended with teeth and claw, tides of blood shed just so one could have power over another. social, physical, financial; no matter the leverage it provided, power was hard won. to give someone power was to admit defeat, a certain death that tartaglia had learned and taught more than his fair share of times. nobody undeserving of power ever held onto it for long; it was an acknowledgement that you were better, that you deserved it, that you’d won. power was a fickle resource that childe would kill to keep, only ever laying down his blade for a precious few.

the tsaritsa, of course. his fellow harbingers, skilled both on and off-field, who themselves could rival the archons. his family, for whom he’d happily give the world.

and naturally, who would be more worthy to hold power than you?

you, not just a god but the, the highest authority across all of teyvat. you bore a hundred names and a thousand monikers, your worship the one thing the world could agree on. granted, nobody could quite agree on how, but that was fine. childe did not need external powers to tell him what to do. he knew, in his deepest heart, that he had gotten it right.

he knew—and, on occasion, flaunted—that he was your favorite. of all the vessels you had chosen, you returned to him time and time again, wishing on his stars until his vision gleamed. his bow shone with power, even his weakest weapon more than enough to push his strength to new heights. part of him wondered what he could do if you’d granted him swords, or a claymore… but that was speculation for another time. didn’t it say something that you had still chosen him at his weakest?

the thought always made him smile. thick in the heat of puppeteered battle, before the sun to after dark, your presence was a constant in his life. at every altar, with every offering, when his hands stung from the rash of leather and his blade was covered in rust, your name a prayer behind blood-soaked teeth. he could not remember a time when his pocket was not weighted with a charm.

his devotion was no secret. he wore your bow with pride, entirely phasing out his other weapons. it didn’t matter that he was technically more controlled with them, for you had chosen this path for him. your word was his guide, a polar star through bitter nights.

he did not doubt when your presence ebbed or flowed. who was he to dictate when or where you spent your attention? no, his faith did not waver. it had no reason to. he waited patiently, going about his regular duties, lingering in snezhnaya for no other reason that he just felt like he had to.

who was he to question to buzzing in the back of his head? who was he to decline when he felt an instinct to leave, to go for a trip far past the city gates? who was he to think himself better than the guiding light that had never led him astray?

for you, he was whatever you needed. and so he went, armed with a thick coat and snowboots, hands shoved deep in the pockets to hide the slight shake. down the main road, an arbitrary turn into an alley and down an abandoned path, into a part of the city he’d never traveled. but a golden thread had tied itself around his heart, pulling without hesitation. he easily hopped over the fence gate, not bothering with hauling it open through the snow. the path beyond was covered in a thick layer of powder, his foot crunching through a foot of it before hitting solid ground. still, he continued.

snezhnayan winters were not warm. they bit and dug into every gap in your clothes, stealing away the precious warmth within. and yet, with his half-done coat and incomplete guard, he was not cold. or, rather, he couldn’t feel it. his hands were pink with frost, stiff at the knuckles, but he couldn’t feel the resistance. his body was not important, not now.

the snow began to thin. it fell from his knees to his shins to his ankles to his toes, until he was face to face with a thick wall of bramble, impossibly overgrown. he was beginning to overheat in his jacket. twin blades made quick work of the wall, and the sight behind it easily dispelled any breath left in his lungs.

the air that washed out of the bubble was thick and heavy, like a humid spring instead of snezhnayan woods. his breath came in short gasps, a shameful wheeze that he hoped was missed beneath the howling snow. he didn’t want you to see him as weak, as someone so easily tired by a short trip to a falling star; he didn’t want you to think of him as anything other than his best.

but you didn’t push him away. you helped him up—his head was buzzing with delusion, he could hardly see, when had he fallen to his knees?—and brushed the snow off his hair, not pushing him away when he leaned into your touch. he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could barely collect himself enough to recognize that he needed to get you inside, away from the wilds.

that was power. to so effortlessly take over every thought in his head, to hold his mind in your hands and pull it into your liking, that was the power he adored you for. gods were figureheads of power, a physical incarnation of their dominion. a god of the entire world would only naturally have power to manipulate that world to their liking. how blessed was he, that he could be the first you made yours.

he was with you when you first stepped into zapolyarny palace, looking around at the chandeliers and fine tile. he opened the door for you to her majesty’s throne room, sucking in a sharp breath as you brushed by. he was by your side when the tsaritsa swore you her fealty, delicately placing the gnoses in your hands.

and oh, how he’d fallen to the floor right then and there, dizzy from the wash of power that rolled off you in waves, an ocean that he willingly dove into. the floor was cool beneath his forehead, his hair sticking to his skin as sweat quickly began to bead. he didn’t bother pushing himself up on his hands, teeth sinking deep into his lip again to control his panting breath. copper bloomed over his tongue, filling his mouth and clogging what remained of his senses.

dimly, he was aware that he was being pathetic, that this would surely change your mind about him. he heard your voice, faint through the fog of his mind, your wisdom lost to his own inadequacy. and yet, despite his weakness, every part of him was tuned into you. he knew it was your hand whispering across his shoulders, he knew it was your influence that stole the breath from his lungs. he knew it was you, because it was always you. you were all he could think of, and now you were finally able to leverage your full power over his self.

he’d woken up in a hospital bed. saline dripped into his arm and the lights pierced his eyes, his head full of snow and iced over. and yet, the moment he was cleared for release, he found himself desperate to be back to your side, racing through the tiled halls of the palace and following the urgent burn in his chest. you would have been right to turn him away, to deem him too weak to stay by your side, but you didn’t. you smiled when he lost his breath and laughed when he wavered, brushing off his concern. you invited him with you—his lungs burned with the need for oxygen—as you twirled the gnoses between your fingers, as if they were toys or paperweights rather than objects of divine power.

divine to him. child’s play to you. a courtyard of snow was cleared in an instant, ripples of pyro melting permafrost while keeping the flora beneath intact, a lazy show of power that pulled little more than a slight hum from you in response.

he wasn’t so much a fool as to think he could teach you everything, or even something, about being divine. and yet he clung to your side like a sailor in a storm, watching as you grew familiar with the elements. he watched, stubborn and weak, as you stopped hesitating.

flowers bloomed as you walked by, crumbling to ash with the slightest look. electro jumped from your skin to his, a painful spark that drew his mind from his head, finally seeing your amused eyes instead of just mindlessly staring. you could—should—have just left him behind, but you didn’t. you instead asked for his help, taking his hand in yours and leading him to a quieter hallway of the palace. you didn’t comment on his thundering pulse despite the fact that you could certainly feel it, tracing a finger along the crease of his palm.

“i wonder…”

a claw of geo cut across his skin, a sharp sting that quickly welled with blood. he barely felt it, watching with detached awe as it filled up his hand, sliding over the edge and dripping to the floor. you didn’t show any emotion, just… watching. his heart beat in his hands, a pool collecting on the floor, and still, you just watched. your other hand moved over the surface, barely an inch away, the blood collecting in a bubble beneath it. with a hum, your fist tightened, pain lighting up his arm. a strained grunt slipped between his teeth, hand flinching closed, brushing against the ball of his blood you had pulled from his veins. his hand was stained red, shaking in your grasp, minutes stretched into hours.

all at once, it dropped, forced back into his body as forcefully as it was removed. with a snap, the skin stitched itself shut, and you were again dragging him along like a child did their favorite toy.

you did that a lot. pull him aside and experiment with whatever new reaction you had discovered that month, week, day, hour, watching his reactions with unabashed delight. and he let you. every time, without fail, he eagerly followed, knowing full well he’d end up rigid with lightning or with ice crystals studding his throat. it was worth it, though. you always fixed him up, squeezing his hand with a whispered ‘good job’ that never failed to make him dizzy.

it didn’t matter what you did to him. it never did. even when his mind was hazy with pain and he couldn’t quite stand on his own, he never regretted it. unconsciousness licked at the edges of his vision, burning black stains that lingered even after you stopped, but he never once hesitated.

if you asked him to jump, he’d ask how high. if you felt like holding him underwater, he’d cherish every bruise. to be kept as a toy was still to be kept.