#and sorry if there are any errors!

[egophiliac]

get 'em before they melt!

(the flavors are 99% vibes + first thought only thought, don't take them too seriously)

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

prowl and bulkhead humanformer deisgnss

bee and ratchet

[part-time-pixie]

that one b99 cold open

[daisynik7]

Nanami is super into fucking you with his watch on. 

He’ll strip himself completely nude except for his wrist, his fingers massaging your puffy clit until you’re whining against him, already on the brink of an orgasm just from that. He checks the minute hand on his watch, taking a mental note on when you first climax. It’s a fun little challenge he sets for himself: how many times can he make you come within fifteen minutes? Half an hour? A full hour? Sometimes, he takes guesses, and most of the time, he’s right. And when he's wrong, it’s because he makes you come more than he expects you to. Tonight is one of those times. 

He's relentless with his fingers, stroking your pussy up and down, in and out, coated in your arousal. He loves playing with your swollen bud, flicking it until you’re squirming from overstimulation. The slick that gushes out of you is so pretty, all shiny and glossy for him. So inviting for a taste. But no; he’ll resist until he can make you come once more from his fingers. Get you completely soaked so it’s juicy for his mouth. He knows just how much you love coming with his soft lips puckered around your clit, his tongue lapping at your greedy cunt, gaping and desperate to be filled with his cock. By the time thirty minutes pass, you’ve come twice from his fingers, and thrice from his mouth, eating you out sloppily until your limbs feel shaky, body spent but still so needy for him. 

When he finally puts his dick inside you, he uses his watch for another purpose: to edge you so that you can fucking squirt all over him. He pounds into your tight pussy from behind, slamming his hips against your ass, marveling at the way it jiggles with each thrust. You’re moaning from the pleasure, completely fucked out. You want to come again so badly, but he won’t let you. “Not yet,” he growls, turning his wrist to inspect the time. “Be a good girl for ten more minutes, okay? Hold it for me sweetheart. I know you can do it.”

And of course you will, because he’s so encouraging, so sweet, so fucking big inside you, filling you to the brim. When the ten minutes is almost up, he reaches around you, toying with your sensitive clit. You whine, twitching from the sensation, head buried into the pillow, damp with sweat and drool. He leans over you, breath hot on your ear, whispering, “That’s it, honey. Let it all out for me. Make a fucking mess.” 

So you do, spraying him in your juices, spilling onto the sheets below you. He absolutely loves it, seeing you so filthy like this. It’s just what he needs to reach his own orgasm, the one he’s been building up since an hour ago, continuously on the brink ever since your first climax. He comes inside you, stuffing you full of his creamy load only to watch it dribble out slowly as soon as he pulls out. 

His watch is soaked in your essence, but that’s alright. In fact, it’s exactly what he wanted. 

[smokbeast]

When you are your worst enemy

[holeforzenin]

Do NOT stop w step dad nanami PLS xxxxx

OKAY FINE I WONT

I feel like sex with stepdad nanami for the first time would be him brat-taming you bc he’s finally way too fucking tired of your teasing and the way you’d act like some embarrassing desperate slut whenever your mom isnt looking.

bending over in front of him to tie your shoelaces while the poor man is just trying to read his morning newspaper but instead he sees a wet, glistening mess decorating your pretty folds peeking out from under your plaid skirt with absolutely no panties in sight or whenever you’d “accidentally” send photos of your dainty fingers being knuckles deep in your drooling hole to his phone while he’s at work. Telling him “oops! Sorry nanamin, that wasn’t meant for you” and he tries to give you the benefit of the doubt and convince himself that you actually didnt mean to send it!!! But that definitely didn’t stop him from saving it to his phone and excusing himself to his workplace’s bathroom to furiously fist his throbbing hard cock to the lewd photo of his stepdaughter :0

[senipsenipsenip]

Eventually, the scrapbook ended. The sun had fallen beneath the horizon hours ago, and some nagging part of Stan's brain was telling him kids shouldn't be up this late. Unless they're breaking into a mini golf course. He jerked his head back, furrowing his brow. That was...oddly specific.

"Grunkle Stan?" a little voice - Mabel - questioned. He looked down at his knee to see where his great-niece was sitting, eyeing him with no small degree of concern. "Are you okay?"

He ruffled her hair. "'Course, Pumpkin. Just trying to shake some of those memories back in the right place, huh?" He gave an exaggerated shake of his head, smacking the side like he was trying to get water out his ears. "Got a straggler! Hup! There we go," he grinned, lowering his hand. "Good as new!"

Whatever he said must have been the right thing, because Mabel's eyes had lit up like he'd told her he was turning the Mystery Shack into a cotton candy emporium and Dipper had a sudden death grip on his other leg.

"Geez kid, you're clawing through my pants here," he grumbled, making no move to take away his nephew's hand. "Haven't you chewed your nails off by now? How're they so sharp?"

"You called me Pumpkin," Mabel whispered.

"You remembered I chew my nails," Dipper said in awe. Then he frowned. "Hey, how come Mabel gets a nice one and I get a gross one."

Stan shrugged. "'Cause she's nice, and you're gross."

"Ha! Zoom!" Mabel pumped a fist in the air before collapsing back into Stan's lap in a fit of giggles. Dipper rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he settled back against Stan's other side. Ford stayed perched on the arm of the chair, smiling fondly, but eyebrows still drawn together.

"What's the matter, Sixer?" Stan frowned as Ford grimaced at the nickname. "What?"

Ford waved off Stan's concern. "It's nothing. It's..." Ford sighed. "I'm sorry. It's not nothing. I just don't want to..." He pursed his lips.

"Don't leave us hanging." There was a shake in Stan's voice, and Mabel shifted closer to her Grunkle.

"I'm glad this has been helpful to you," Ford muttered. "But...you don't remember everything. Not really."

"Whaddya mean?" Stan asked. "I remember you, the kids, Soos. The freeloading jerk who steals my sandwiches." Stan glared at Waddles who simply oinked and started trying to eat his shoelace. Whatever. Free pass for jump starting his memories. He better not get used to it.

Dipper sat up. "Yeah, what do you mean, Great Uncle Ford?"

Ford frowned. "I just... Hm." He seemed to be weighing something in his mind before turning to Stan with some resolve.

"Stanley," he began slowly. "I hope you appreciate what I'm about to do for you."

"That's not terrifyingly ominous," Stan muttered, glancing around at the available exits.

"Do you remember my - " Ford cleared his throat. "My first kiss?"

Stan froze. "What?"

"My first kiss, do you remember it?"

"I was there?"

"Yes. Unfortunately a lot of people were."

Mabel squealed beside Stan. "Ooo! Romance memories! How old were you? Was it high school? Was it a high school romance? Was it star-crossed love between the nerd and the cheerleader?"

"Mabel, I think Grunkle Stan is supposed to figure that stuff out."

Mabel sat up and stared at Stan expectantly. "Come on Grunkle Stan! I need details!"

Stan shook his head, nose wrinkling like he'd smelled something rotting. "How should I know? Who asks their brother that sort of thing?"

"Precisely." Ford spoke with the same air of professionalism he adopted when explaining his theories, despite the alarming shade of red his face was becoming. "So far it seems that your memories are returning based on external stimuli, whether that be Mabel's scrapbook or our own prompting."

"So, wait, you're saying I won't get all my memories back?"

"No! No that's not what I'm saying," Ford held up his hands. "What I'm saying is we can't expect them all to come back at once. And at the risk of turning the Shack into the set of the Johnny Carson show, we'll keep asking you questions."

Stan frowned. "What if I don't wanna remember my brother smooching some babe?"

Ford turned redder. "You do."

"I do? Geez, I was a perv."

"In the meantime," Ford pressed. "It's important to take note of any stimulus you experience that makes you remember something. Even if it doesn't paint the whole picture for you, we can fill in the blanks. Or prompt you to remember more details."

Dipper grinned. "And then we get to learn more about the secrets you've been hiding, old man."

Stan lifted his hand to give Dipper a well-earned noogie, but paused before he could make contact. "Old man...did you...did you tell me to shut up one time and then punched me?"

Dipper balked. "What? No I - "

"YEAH no WAY that'd be CRAZY!" Mabel interjected a bit too loudly. "Anyway let's get back to that kissing story, huh?"

"Actually Mabel, I don't know if I want to hear about Great Uncle Ford kissing anybody either."

"Oh come on, Dipper. Are you jealous that The Author got someone to kiss him and you didn't?"

"What? No!"

"Some girls like nerds."

"Mabel I don't want to think about anybody in this room kissing anybody."

"You could learn from him Dipper! Figure out how to wield your nerdish charms. Soon you'll be like a kissing machine!"

"MABEL -"

The twins were silenced by a sudden gasp from Stan. His eyes were wide and unfocused, his jaw hanging open as if someone had knocked the wind out of him.

"Holy - " he choked out softly.

"Grunkle Stan?" Dipper sat up fully. "Are you okay?"

Stan didn't acknowledge him, eyes darting around minutely.

"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked softly. "Did you remember something?" Moisture had begun to gather in the corners of Stan's eyes, one of his hands covering his mouth as he began to shake.

"Great Uncle Ford?" Dipper turned to Ford, worry stitching his brows together. But Ford didn't look worried. If anything, he looked like he wanted to disappear through the floor. His face was an alarming shade of red, nearly identical to his sweater. Stan let out another choked sound.

"Are you..." Mabel trailed off. "Grunkle Stan are you laughing?" He was quaking now, his hand falling from his mouth to reveal a wide, open-mouthed smile. He began slapping the arm rest with his free hand, eyes squeezed shut and tears rolling down his cheeks. Dipper and Mabel shared a look. Sure, they'd seen Stan laugh before, but it was usually a loud guffawing thing. They'd never seen him like this. They shared a tentative smile. Either this was the hardest they'd seen him laugh, or he had really snapped.

Ford seemed to pick up on their worry. "He's fine," Ford offered. "He's just...remembering my first kiss." At Ford's words, Stan let out a loud cackle, burying his face in his hands.

Mabel cocked her head. "But what's so funny about -"

"You children must be exhausted," Ford blurted out, standing abruptly. "Come now, go wash up then head to bed!"

"Oh no you don't!" Stan shouted. He wiped tears from his eyes, still smiling. "You're not getting out of this one, pal!"

"Stanley, this conversation is hardly appropriate for children -"

"You brought it up!"

"And now I'm putting a stop to it."

Stan grabbed his head. "Ooooo ow," he gave an exaggerated groan. "My poor head. The mean man won't let me share my memories so they're all going away!"

"Stanley, please don't joke about that."

"I'm fading away - "

"Stanley."

Stan crossed his arms. "You know, you really know how to take the fun out of amnesia."

"Yeah! Come on Grunkle Ford," Mabel pouted. "You can't just leave us hanging!"

"Yeah!" Dipper joined in. "If it's a funny story I want to hear it."

Ford spluttered, pulling at the sleeves of his sweater and looking around for an exit.

"Come on, Sixer," Stan chimed in. His eyes had gone soft around the edges. "I think the kids deserve a funny story."

After today went unspoken. Ford met Stanley's gaze, already feeling his resolve melting before he even turned to his grand-niece and nephew's inquisitive smiles.

"Alright," Ford conceded. "But to maintain the integrity of the exercise, Stanley will be the one to tell it. Whatever he doesn't remember, I can fill in."

Stan rubbed his hands together. "Oh boy, this'll be good."

"I regret this already."

"It's alright Great Uncle Ford," Dipper patted his shoulder. "We have a whole summer's worth of stuff we get to make fun of Grunkle Stan for. This just gives us stuff to use against you now. Levels the playing field."

Ford frowned. "Is that meant to be comforting?"

Dipper shrugged.

"Alright you two, enough yapping." Stan grinned, leaning forward in his seat and spreading his hands out in front of him. It was the same way he started his campfire tales. Mabel and Dipper met each other's eyes and smiled.

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl named Kiss-Bot..."

[faggotisaacfloofs]

Okay I have been trying to sleep for an hour but can't so I think i have to name this and since tumblr is my public journal I'm doing it here.

Went to hardware store with caregiver today.

Got paint for living room. To get paint need to have person mix the color. Person was clearly queer and noticed me and caregiver as queer as well, had the "i see I'm among family" type interaction, was lovely

But

During the like. 10 minutes. They did not pay attention to a single thing i said (using AAC obviously). They talked a lot to my caregiver. But. They sure weren't talking to me or acknowledging or responding to a single thing I said even when I thanked them at the end.

And. It sucks that queer moments are ruined by ableism. I still am happy to see someone out and about being queer and having that lovely interaction

But I'd honestly rather interact with a cis-straight person who is communicating with me, than an lgbtqia+/queer person who isn't acknowledging my communication. Like. That's not even a question.

So.

I'm sad, I guess. That's what I have to say. I wish the interaction could have just been good, and not have such a sour center.

I am going to try to allow for the possibility that they just did not hear my AAC. It's possible I guess. It wasn't loud enough that I needed earplugs tho and that is usually the measure of if someone within 3 feet can hear my device at loudest volume! But some people are hard of hearing. So. Trying to give benefit of doubt since it had multiple sounds happening.

(But honestly like. If a person can hear what my caregiver is saying they should be able to hear what my device is saying at same range. They were not speaking loudly! We were so close! The store was was quieter than normal! I wasn't wearing earplugs in a public building that's how quiet!!! (I needed them in parking lot and every store ever more of the time!))

And also this kinda thing happens all the time which is why I am more jumping to sad.

It sucks being ignored.

It sucks not being able to speak.

It sucks not being able to partake in normal conversation when I want to!!!!

Everyone learn your local sign language and stop being a dick to people who you view as developmentally or otherwise mentally disabled!! We are still people and have thoughts!! Stop being a dick to people who can't speak. Be patient when someone is using AAC of any sort (speech device, letterboard, communication cards, gestures, etc). Make the effort to communicate with us.

[andsewingishalfthebattle]

Novice sewing pattern: Cut out shapes. Line up the little triangles on the edges. Stitch edges together. We've also included step-by-step assembly instructions with illustrations.

Novice knitting pattern: yOU MUSt uNDerstANd thE SECret cOdE CO67 (73, 87, 93) BO44 (63, 76, 90) 28 (32, 34) slip first pw repeat 7x K to end *kl (pl) 42 * until 13" (13, 13, 15) join new at 30 pl for 17 rows ssk 27 k2tog mattress lengthwise BO and sacrifice a goat to the knitting gods. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WANT "INSTRUCTIONS," I JUST GAVE THEM TO YOU

[sunnydayaoe]

Butcher and Song talk about birdwatching

[flwrkid14]

Some people leave. Others stay and burn.

Tim learns about Kon’s retirement like everyone else: through a press release.

The headline drops before dawn, tucked between articles about new power unit regulations and early rumors of lineup shifts for the 2024 season. Conner Kent Retires from Formula 1 After Historic Championship Win.

Tim blinks at the screen. Reads the title once. Then again. Then doesn't read the article at all.

He doesn’t need to. The announcement photo says enough—Kon in Ferrari red, gold confetti still tangled in his curls, holding up the number one. His first title. His last season.

And Tim wasn’t told.

Not the night of the win. Not in the weeks after. Not when they toasted to a Ferrari 1–2 finish in Monaco. Not when they kissed behind the motorhome in Austin, tired and drunk and stupidly hopeful. Not even when Tim stood next to him on the Yas Marina podium, clapping him on the back, pretending it didn’t hurt.

He should’ve known.

There was something in Kon’s eyes that night. Some finality in the way he looked at the crowd, at the car, at Tim.

Still—Tim had hoped.

He doesn't know what he expected. Maybe a conversation. A text. Something.

Instead, the article goes live. And the world celebrates.

—

Kon calls two hours later.

Tim doesn’t pick up.

He doesn’t pick up the second time, either. Or the third.

When he finally answers, his voice is flat. “Congratulations.”

Kon exhales. “I should’ve told you.”

“Yeah,” Tim says, and leaves it there.

“I wasn’t sure until I was. And then I couldn’t say it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t come with me.”

Silence.

And then: “I was going to ask you,” Kon says. “To leave it all behind. Come with me. Get that place in Lugano you always talked about. Grow tomatoes. Sleep in. Do nothing.”

It’s not even cruel. Just quiet. Honest. Hopeful in a way that Tim wishes he could hate.

But all he can do is close his eyes and say, “I can’t.”

He hears Kon’s breath hitch. Just once.

And still, Tim doesn’t say what he’s really thinking: losing the title to you didn’t feel like a shared victory. Not to me. Even when Ferrari called it one. Even when the media plastered both their faces across every headline like a fairytale ending.

But it wasn’t.

Not for Tim.

Kon leaves before pre-season testing. Slips away from the paddock like a ghost. No media circus. No long farewell tour. Just a soft, private goodbye to the team, a few lines in a press conference, and then he’s gone.

Tim stays.

—

The 2024 season begins under floodlights.

Ferrari unveils the new car with all the usual fanfare. Tim stands in front of it, smiling for photos he won’t remember being in, eyes scanning the paddock for someone who’s not there.

Next to him stands the new recruit. Danny Fenton.

He’s young. Sharp. Fast in a way that feels dangerous.

He’s already pushing the car past its limits in free practice. Discussing with the engineers when the setup isn’t perfect. Quick in the debrief. Calculated on track. Hungry.

Tim sees it instantly: the need to win. The thing Ferrari loves to chew on.

It reminds him of himself. Reminds him of Kon, too—before the victory, before the fatigue.

Danny doesn’t ask Tim how he’s feeling.

He doesn’t ask about Kon.

He just shows up to the track like it’s a battlefield. Slides into the car before qualifying, visor down, smile sharp.

Glances at Tim and says, “You ready to burn for it?”

Tim doesn’t answer.

Just slides in beside him, heart pounding like it did when it all began.

Because Ferrari asks you to give.

And give.

And give.

And in return, they feed you gold. They take everything and give you nothing but the win. The podium. The silence at the top.

Kon offered him peace. Danny offers him war. And Tim chooses war.

[vasoconstriction]

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[princescar]

oooo or mukie covered in blood just cuz

Join Despair

[patchworkcuddlebug]

Empty Spaces Walk Into A Bar

The mech pilot's handler orders the usual for it. It has been here before and it will return for countless tomorrows. It's a burn that cures, a painful reprieve from its emptiness. In the morning, it will become again, returning to its body, being filled with its blood and allotted its thoughts. Its targets.

The doll orders just as Miss commanded it to. The bartender was once cursed, afflicted with the arcane, so she feels pity for the magical. She breaks protocol and allows the doll to leave with a bottle of the witch's favourite. She is sure not to tell the doll it's breaking the rules. It forgets its change, or rather, the witch forgot to collect it using the doll as her tool.

The angel orders a glass of juice. The bartender hasn't seen its kind at this establishment in a while. With enough encouragement, it complains of its woes. How it was once an agent of heaven, a miracle worker, an extension of Him. Now it struggles to keep mere vices at bay, having already permitted itself to smell the ambient booze. The bartender remarks, silently to herself, that she's never seen an angel that fulfills its expectations.

The moth isn't sure what to order. All it knows is that it wants. Of the outlines of existence the bartender has observed tonight, this one seemed to be the most aware, the most active, almost as if it was a person. But the bartender knew better. This listless want was why it was empty. It had nothing for the want to fill, so it had no choice but to keep chasing. It orders the "brightest drink you have", something to try and fill the emptiness just a moment longer. Indeed, just for tonight, it feels alight.

The bartender closes for the night. She looks out on her establishment, an empty space defined by what it isn't. A store with no customers, a drink with no alcohol, a body with no self. She takes just a moment to mourn the day's activity. It takes just a moment more to cherish the silence.

[limboni]

"Children in the woods" 1/5

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[posts-from-pluto]

Humans are strange - willing hosts? (pets)

(This is just me exploring the idea of how it would go if someone requested permission to get a dog) (ft no names again bc I can't be bothered rn)

Edit: upon rereading this in the morning I've realized that the idea was floating around my head bc the post I reblogged before this so credit for inspo to them

----

Alien: Human.

Human: Yes?

Alien: Why have you requested permission to obtain a parasite?

Human: ....I haven't????

Alien: Ooh have I perhaps been mistaken? You were not the one who requested a small lifeform of the Canis lupus familiaris classification from your home planet be brought aboard?

Human: ....What's the common name for that classification?

Alien: Domestic dog

Human: Wait yeah that was me then... but they're not parasites?

Alien: There is no need to lie to me human for I have done the research.

Alien: You poor creatures have been subjected to harrasment from these lifeforms occupying your homes for far too long and I have been lead to understand that your species does not benefit from them.

Human: .... no wait we do benefit

Alien: Some of you do, having the creatures assist you with minute tasks, but the majority those who are being subjected to their exist are in parasitic relationships simply providing them with food and housing.

Human:.... Actually they do provide a essential service to all the people housing them.

Alien: And what is that???

Human: They make us happy

Alien:.... Is this the stockhold symdrome I have heard of?

Human: What no

Human: where did you even hear about that haha

Alien: That is unimportant. What is important is that you are safe here human, there is no need to return to a parasitic relationship.

Human: No I was being serious about them making us happy

Human: well, to explain it better they generally help us be more emotionally stable which is positive for our mental health

Alien: Oh I see, I will have to ensure that no occupants aboard the ship would be harmed by sharing the space with a 'dog' first, but I may approve your request then.