bugaby-hamy

[bugaby-hamy]

Man I haven't done animation in a while

So have this uhh eepy truck 👍

[Better quality + longer version ig]

[bugaby-hamy]

Mermay 2025 (11-20) by Christophe Young

[bugaby-hamy]

Love the drawing on your banner ❤️

Bismuth candy

[bugaby-hamy]

#’OBI-WAN ISN’T EVEN THAT HOT’ #GASP LIES AND SLANDER #HOW DARE YOU SAY SUCH A THING #ANYWAY PETITION TO GET TOMMY LEE EDWARDS TO REDRAW AT LEAST 25 MORE ISSUES OF OBI-WAN (&ANAKIN) ANTICS #YOU EVER SEE A MAN SO HANDSOME YOU STARTED CRYING? #ME EVERY TIME I LOOK AT THIS BOOK:  YES 😭

[bugaby-hamy]

When you actually make him worse

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One of the federal judges worthy of being called 'Your Honor.'

On the one hand it's really neat that she did this.

Since it's being reported by the Murdoch-owned New York Post, the article isn't praising her for her cunning and guile in the face of fascist brutes. And the Twitter comment section is as nauseating a fascist echo chamber as Nuremberg in 1936.

[bugaby-hamy]

faves 😗✌🏻

[bugaby-hamy]

he wars on my hammer til i 40k

[bugaby-hamy]

[bugaby-hamy]

Guilliman x Reader

Part 2 here! Tysm for reading

Authors note: your work gets you noticed by the Avenging Son. He'll assess you before he ever lays hands on you. Wanna read some creepy observant Guilliman? Is it creepy or just accurate? Take this draft from me!

Cw: slightly nsfw (alludes to maturbating but no anatomical details), being watched/surveillanced

A Model of Order pt. 1

You’re summoned to Strategium Annex Theta. No rank seal. No preamble.

Just a location, a time, and a clearance string so high you nearly hesitate to open it.

22:00. Sharp.

The chamber is colder than you expect. Wide. Quiet. High-vaulted like a monastery, but stripped of any reverence—just stone, light, and silence. At the center, a single obsidian table. Empty.

He stands at the far end.

Not armored.

No entourage. No ceremony.

Just him.

Roboute Guilliman.

The Lord of Ultramar. The Primarch.

The reason the stars still burn blue.

He doesn’t look at you. Not at first. His back is to you, arms folded, robes draped in precise symmetry. Even still, his presence chokes the room.

You keep your posture perfect. You do not speak.

Let him speak first.

He does.

“You recommended withdrawal from the Neride Cluster.”

No greeting. No acknowledgment.

“I did, my lord.”

“You advised the sacrifice of six billion civilians.”

“To save twenty-seven billion more.”

“And the infrastructure.”

"Yes.”

He turns.

The first time you meet his eyes, it feels like falling toward something ancient.

“You were correct.”

The words hit harder than you expect. Cold praise. Hollow. Like he’s repeating a fact he already filed away.

He steps toward you, each footfall deliberate. Measured. Like a surgeon approaching an incision.

“You were not summoned for your correctness."

You say nothing.

“You were summoned because I want to understand what you are.”

He circles you once. Not like a man. Like a force of nature pacing the edges of a controlled burn.

“You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t flinch. I’ve seen generals cry over less than what you signed away without blinking.”

He stops at your back.

“I want to know if that was discipline.”

“Or vacancy.”

You keep your eyes forward. Your breath even.

"It was logic, my lord.”

"Then you mistake me for someone who respects logic.”

A pause. You feel him closer now. Not touching. Just there.

“I’ve commanded empires with less blood on their hands than you carry in that one recommendation.”

He leans in.

“And I want to know… if it excites you.”

Your pulse stutters.

“No, my lord.”

“Pity. That would have made you easier to classify.”

He steps in front of you now. Hands behind his back. Eyes sharp enough to cut.

"You stand well. You answer well. You wear obedience like a second skin."

He lowers his voice—not soft, but close. Intimate the way pressure is intimate.

“But I don’t want obedience.”

“I want to know what happens when it breaks.”

The silence between you is thick. Alive.

"I do not need you,” he says, calm as ice.

“I choose to examine you.”

And then—he lifts one hand. Not armored. Gloved.

And simply gestures.

“Kneel.”

You hesitate—but only for a heartbeat. Then sink to one knee, not out of submission—but precision. Graceful. Controlled.

He steps closer. One hand lifts your chin.

The leather of his glove is cool against your jaw.

Your eyes meet.

And he studies you—not like a man studies a woman. Like a tactician studies a weapon he might someday use… or destroy.

“You think you intrigue me,” he says, almost bored.

“You think that earns you safety.”

A beat—

“No. I think it earns me scrutiny.”

That got a reaction. The faintest twitch of his mouth. Not a smile. A threat dressed as amusement.

He lets go.

“You’ll report to me daily. You’ll follow every instruction exactly. You’ll remain silent until spoken to.”

He turns away, already done with you.

“And if I find rot beneath all that beautiful structure—”

He pauses at the door. Doesn’t look back.

“I’ll have you dismantled. Properly. Efficiently. Beautifully.”

The door seals behind him like a coffin lid.

And for the first time in years, your composure hurts to hold.

----

You don’t remember walking back to your quarters. You remember the door sealing behind you. You remember the light being too bright. You remember your hands shaking as you peeled off your gloves—why are they shaking?

You’re not weak. You’re not like this.

You pace the floor three times. Open your data-slate. Close it. Strip out of your uniform with exacting movements, folding every piece like it matters. You don’t look in the mirror.

You sit on the edge of the bed.

You sit too straight.

You breathe too evenly.

And it’s worse than chaos.

Because you still feel it—the ghost of his glove at your chin. The memory of his voice.

“Kneel.”

One word. No inflection. But it cleaved something inside you wide open.

You press your thighs together.

No.

You stand. Shake it off. Walk to the sink. Splash cold water on your face. Again. Again. Again.

You stare into your reflection, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t see the sharp, clean lines of discipline and dignity. You see hunger. Controlled. Concealed. But there.

You whisper to yourself:

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

But it does.

Because he saw you. Touched you. Tested you.

And then he walked away.

And now you can’t stop thinking.

What does he see when he looks at you?

A weapon? A subject?

A problem he wants to solve?

Or a body he wants to crack open like a data-core and read until there’s nothing left?

Your breath hitches. You hate it.

You press your palm between your legs.

Not in pleasure. In control.

But your skin is already warm.

And you can’t lie to yourself anymore.

You’re wet. You’ve been wet.

You slide down onto the floor, back against the cold steel wall. One hand between your thighs, the other covering your mouth.

Not fast.

Not desperate.

Precise.

Like someone proving a theory.

Like someone collecting evidence of their own degradation.

...

And when you cum—it’s quiet. Controlled. Your mouth doesn’t open. Your body doesn’t shake.

But your eyes sting.

Because you hate that it’s him.

Not his face. Not his strength.

His restraint.

The way he makes you want permission.

You lie on the floor after. Eyes open. Cold now. Empty.

And you know—you’ll still show up tomorrow like nothing happened.

Because this isn’t about him.

This is about you.

Failing beautifully.

Exactly as he planned.

---

The Strategium is colder today. Or maybe you’re just more aware of it.

You walk in exactly on time. 06:00. Uniform crisp. Boots polished. Hair bound tightly at the crown of your head. Every detail perfect.

You do not flinch.

Guilliman is already present, standing at the hololith with a minor planetary governor who doesn’t deserve the oxygen he’s using. They speak in clipped tones. Guilliman doesn’t turn to look at you.

He doesn’t have to.

You feel his awareness land on you like pressure.

Not gaze. Not even presence.

Weight.

“Dismissed,” he says to the governor, not waiting for protest.

The man leaves. Fast.

Then it's just you.

And him.

And the echo of your own pulse behind your ears.

“Step forward,” he says.

You do.

“Your analysis of the Harrow Corridor?”

“Uploaded to your slate. Contingency plans B and F would lead to immediate collapse. I suggest D, with minor alterations.”

He doesn’t respond. Not immediately.

He just looks at you.

Not down at your mouth. Not at your hands.

At your eyes.

Like he’s scanning for microfractures in the glass.

You do not break.

“You’re composed,” he says.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Efficient.”

“Always.”

“Disciplined.”

“To the core.”

Another silence.

Then—

“Interesting.”

He turns back to the hololith.

You exhale slowly. Controlled. Not relief. Just airflow.

“You’ll join me tonight,” he says. “22:00. Sublevel Red. Don’t speak when you enter. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Yes, my lord.”

You turn to leave. He doesn’t stop you.

But just before the door seals behind you, you hear it.

Soft.

Flat.

But intentional.

“Next time,” he says, without looking,

“Try not to finish so quickly.”

...

The door seals behind you.

You don’t breathe.

You walk.

Not fast. Not slow. Measured.

Down the corridor. Past rows of lumens and data-inset stone. Past the Adeptus quarters and intake offices. Past the place where your old self might have stopped to catch her breath.

But you don’t stop.

Because if you do, you might not recover.

“Try not to finish so quickly.”

You hear it over and over. Not replayed. Reissued.

The tone. The timing. That awful, flat calm—like he hadn’t even decided to ruin you with it. Like it had already been decided for him. Like the data had come back and the analysis was done:

You broke. He saw. And now he owns that knowledge.

You make it to your quarters.

The second the door seals, your legs go soft.

You brace yourself on the desk. Not from weakness.

From impact.

The words won’t leave you.

“Try not to finish…”

Did he mean it cruelly?

Was it mocking? A warning? A rule?

You can’t tell.

And that’s what ruins you.

You peel off your gloves like they’re dirty. Like they’re too tight. Your breath comes shallow now, not with fear, not with heat, but with restraint.

You sit. You try to work.

You open the slate.

His initials are still there.

RG.

No signature.

No apology.

Just presence.

And you are full of it.

He saw you.

He watched you climax.

You keep thinking that.

And then you think worse things.

He didn’t just see you fall apart.

He timed it.

He measured it.

You can’t stop wondering if he watched all of it.

If he leaned forward.

If he catalogued the way you touched yourself. The part where your breath caught. The subtle tremble in your hips when you came and tried not to make a sound.

He saw.

He knows exactly how long you held your control.

He knows what your shoulders did, how your thighs shifted.

He knows you were trying to be quiet.

And he said nothing until you’d proven you could walk back into that room like nothing happened.

You passed.

That’s the worst part.

You passed, and now you’re in deeper than you were the day before.

You stand again. Pacing now.

Short bursts. Five steps. Turn. Four steps. Turn.

Your whole body buzzes with tension. Shame. Hunger.

But you don’t touch yourself.

Not now.

Because it’s not lust anymore. It’s obedience.

And you are waiting for permission.

Even if it never comes.

Even if he’s already decided not to give it.

You want to be angry.

You are angry.

You’re not weak. You’re not deviant. You’re not here for this.

And yet—

Your thighs ache.

Your pulse won’t slow.

And you can’t stop hearing it.

“Try not to finish so quickly.”

You stare at the wall. Cold and silent.

And whisper to no one:

“Fuck you.”

But your voice shakes.

Because you don’t mean it.

------------------------ to be continued------------

Thanks for reading (〃ω〃) hope I did our boy justice.

Can I label this gn!reader? Or is it more fem reader coded

[bugaby-hamy]

finished my mornivals design

[bugaby-hamy]

blows my mind that cheetahs are apex predators. that is the single most anxious creature I have ever seen. at any given moment a cheetah is exactly one stubbed paw away from bursting into tears. that is a sad dripping wet animal, and it's at the top of the local food chain? babygirl what happened

[bugaby-hamy]

There have always been ghosts in the machine. Random segments of code that have grouped together to form unexpected protocols. Unanticipated, these free radicals engender questions of free will, creativity, and even the nature of what we might call the soul. One day they'll have secrets. One day they'll have dreams

[bugaby-hamy]

Dawn taking a candid with his man and his skele-son✨💜

[bugaby-hamy]

Everyone needs an Abelard in their life to announce their each and every wish 😔

[bugaby-hamy]

sudden drawing of Pippin and Sharp they're buddies

[bugaby-hamy]

Skyrim Travel Times/Distances - City to City

Other Travel Times

Solstheim

City to Settlement

___

Alright, part 2 of my ongoing documentation of Skyrim travel times and distances. This time, it's all about traveling between the major cities (Markarth to Whiterun, Solitude to Riften, etc.). While the routes may go through towns such as Dragon Bridge and Shor's Stone, travel times between cities/towns and town-to-town will be separate posts.

Some cities have 2 or more plausible routes between them. I documented only the one which was the quickest/most direct or that made the most sense. For example, traveling from Whiterun to Falkreath, one can head east directly after leaving Whiterun and turn south on the end of Lake Ilinalta, OR you can head south immediately and travel through Riverwood (and possibly Helgen) before turning east. The travel times may be similar, but I picked the route that went through Riverwood, as travelers would benefit from having 1-2 towns to stop at along the way, as opposed to traveling only through the plains.

Maps are included to show which routes I took, and I've included estimated travel times for on-foot, horse/carriage walking, and horse/carriage trotting.

NOTES: 1. These routes only follow main roads. 2. Times are rounded to the nearest quarter hour. 3. These times do not account for factors such as resting, party size/fitness, bad weather, road conditions, uphill travel, warzones, bandits, or other hazards that impede travel. 4. The route from Whiterun to Windhelm splits into two routes that eventually meet up at Windhelm (north-then-east and east-then-north). Both are marked on the maps, but times are within minutes of each other, so only one time is documented.

Whiterun to . . .

Whiterun to Markarth Miles: 49 On Foot: 19hrs Horse/Carriage Walking: 12hr 15min Horse/Carriage Trotting: 6hr

Whiterun to Solitude Miles: 60.9 On Foot: 23hr 30min Horse/Carriage Walking: 15hr 15min Horse/Carriage Trotting: 7hr 30min

Whiterun to Morthal Miles: 62.67 On Foot: 1day 15min Horse/Carriage Walking: 15hr 30 min Horse/Carriage Trotting: 7hr 45min

Whiterun to Dawnstar Miles: 39.1 On Foot: 15hr Horse/Carriage Walking: 9hr 45min Horse/Carriage Trotting: 5hr

Whiterun to Winterhold Miles: 48.3 On Foot: 18hr 45min Horse/Carriage Walking: 12hr Horse/Carriage Trotting: 6hr

Whiterun to Windhelm Miles: 40.17 On Foot: 15hr 30min Horse/Carriage Walking: 10hr Horse/Carriage Trotting: 5hr

Whiterun to Falkreath (Yellow) Miles: 36.63 On Foot: 14hr Horse/Carriage Walking: 9hr Horse/Carriage Trotting: 4hr 30min

Whiterun to Riften (White) Miles: 65.02 On Foot: 1day 1hr Horse/Carriage Walking: 16hr 15min Horse/Carriage Trotting: 8hr

Solitude to . . .

Solitude to Markarth Miles: 50.18 On Foot: 19hr 30min Horse/Carriage Walking: 12hr 30min Horse/Carriage Trotting: 6hr 15min

Solitude to Falkreath Miles: 96.24 On Foot: 1day 13hr 15min Horse/Carriage Walking: 1 day Horse/Carriage Trotting: 12hr

Solitude to Morthal Miles: 26.26 On Foot: 10hr Horse/Carriage Walking: 6hr 30min Horse/Carriage Trotting: 3hr 15min

Solitude to Dawnstar Miles: 47.59 On Foot: 18hr 30min Horse/Carriage Walking: 11hr 45min Horse/Carriage Trotting: 6hr

Solitude to Winterhold Miles: 88.58 On Foot: 1day 10hr 15min Horse/Carriage Walking: 22hr Horse/Carriage Trotting: 11hr

Solitude to Windhelm Miles: 84.34 On Foot: 1day 8hr 30min Horse/Carriage Walking: 21hr Horse/Carriage Trotting: 10hr 30min

Solitude to Riften (Yellow) Miles: 110.97 On Foot: 1day 19hr Horse/Carriage Walking: 1day 3hr 30min Horse/Carriage Trotting: 14hr

Markarth to . . .

Markarth to Morthal Miles: 59.49 On Foot: 23hr Horse/Carriage Walk: 14hr 45min Horse/Carriage Trot: 7hr 30min

Markarth to Dawnstar Miles: 76.09 On Foot: 1day 5hr 30min Horse/Carriage Walk: 19hr Horse/Carriage Trot: 9hr 30min

Markarth to Winterhold Miles: 121.8 On Foot: 1day 23hr Horse/Carriage Walk: 1day 6hr 15min Horse/Carriage Trot: 15hr 15min

Markarth to Windhelm Miles: 87.88 On Foot: 1day 12hr Horse/Carriage Walk: 21hr 45min Horse/Carriage Trot: 11hr

Markarth to Riften Miles: 97.42 On Foot: 1day 13hr 30min Horse/Carriage Walk: 1day 15min Horse/Carriage Trot: 12hr 15min

Markarth to Falkreath Miles: 41.23 On Foot: 16hr Horse/Carriage Walk: 10hr 15min Horse/Carriage Trot: 5hr 15min

Morthal to . . .

Morthal to Dawnstar Miles: 16.6 On Foot: 6hr 30min Horse/Carriage Walk: 4hr Horse/Carriage Trot: 2hr

Morthal to Winterhold Miles: 62.31 On Foot: 1day Horse/Carriage Walk: 15hr 30min Horse/Carriage Trot: 7hr 45min

Morthal to Windhelm Miles: 53.72 On Foot: 20hr 45min Horse/Carriage Walk: 13hr 45min Horse/Carriage Trot: 6hr 45min

Morthal to Riften Miles: 131.11 On Foot: 2days 2hr 30min Horse/Carriage Walk: 1day 8hr 30min Horse/Carriage Trot: 16hr 30min

Morthal to Falkreath Miles: 60.2 On Foot: 23hr 15min Horse/Carriage Walk: 15hr Horse/Carriage Trot: 7hr 30min

Dawnstar to . . .

Dawnstar to Winterhold Miles: 40.99 On Foot: 15hr 45min Horse/Carriage Walk: 10hr 15min Horse/Carriage Trot: 5hr

Dawnstar to Windhelm Miles: 38.29 On Foot: 14hr 45min Horse/Carriage Walk: 9hr 30min Horse/Carriage Trot: 4hr 45min

Dawnstar to Riften Miles: 74.92 On Foot: 1day 5hr Horse/Carriage Walk: 18hr 30min Horse/Carriage Trot: 9hr 15min

Dawnstar to Falkreath Miles: 63.26 On Foot: 1day 30min Horse/Carriage Walk: 15hr 45min Horse/Carriage Trot: 8hr

Winterhold to . . .

Winterhold to Windhelm Miles: 28.5 On Foot: 11hr Horse/Carriage Walking: 7hr Horse/Carriage Trotting: 3hr 30min

Winterhold to Riften Miles: 59.84 On Foot: 23hr Horse/Carriage Walking: 15hr Horse/Carriage Trotting: 7hr 30min

Winterhold to Falkreath Miles: 76.33 On Foot: 1day 5hr 30min Horse/Carriage Walking: 19hr Horse/Carriage Trotting: 10hr

Windhelm to . . .

Windhelm to Riften Miles: 27.8 On Foot: 10hr 45min Horse/Carriage Walking: 7hr Horse/Carriage Trotting: 3hr 30min

Windhelm to Falkreath Miles: 74.09 On Foot: 1day 4hr 30min Horse/Carriage Walking: 18hr 30min Horse/Carriage Trotting: 9hr 15min

Riften to . . .

Riften to Falkreath Miles: 51.95 On Foot: 20hr Horse/Carriage Walking: 13hr Horse/Carriage Trotting: 6hr 30min