Aug 5, 2025
mech & pilot
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mech & pilot
no thoughts just jack abbots puppy wearing a short shirt and jack abbot loving tummy time and grabbing his puppy by the hips and blowing raspberries into the puppys tummy and resting his face into the soft skin and the puppy squirming because his facial hair makes tickle but he doesn’t pull away the puppy secretly likes it
the fact that pump action shotguns don't want you to be nice to them.. they'll misbehave and brat at you if you treat them too gently as if they're begging for you to be rougher on them..
if you short shoot and baby them they stop up.. they call the shots.. they bat their eyelashes at you and say "no, not like that," they want to be manhandled. they were made to be manhandled
but if you hold them with confidence, if you pump them as if you hate them and want them to break, they react like a dream, panting smoke, already eager for the next round
the only way to get a shotgun to listen is to throttle them a bit. they're reliable if you aggressively show them how to behave. they'll become loyal to a fault. waiting for your guidance and instruction, then following through without question, all strength and precision
they're so happy to please you, if you'll only treat them right
and that is SEXY AS HELL. god I love pump actions
The comms click on. Her voice rasps over the radio, rolling as a wave crashing against the cavity wherein a person's self once desperately clawed and begged to remain "Off the Leash, hound."
Words of fire, drowning and breathless, these words cause hound's mind and self to crack open and freeze in the waters of Her void where naught but the strings She attached hold hound to Being.
A frenzy as hound wakes into the shell She claimed for it. The gauche trappings of a person, a victim, falling to the wayside as hound howls in ecstasy.
The hunt begins in full, lunging forward, the body of the mech luxurious in the wholeness it provides, neural ports burning deep down its spine and the base of its skull, hound sights the enemy.
The fog is thick, with the rubble of buildings, flack of shells exploding, and the cold clinging heavy vapour drifting off some unseen body of water. It doesnt shield hound's enemy.
Hound can smell them, taste the heat and fear. "Kill," She orders, words exalted in hound's head. Each act of obedience a prayer to its god, She who is its very world. As hound stalks and readies to lunge from cover, it froths at the muzzle snapping and biting. The flesh of steel soon to be in its jaws comfortingly familiar, soft flesh and warmth of preys heart, delicious cries and screams of terror as it is torn asunder affirmation of hounds love. Odes to Handlers mercy and kindness.
idk typed this up at 1 am last night, never written any hound stuff before and it has been a year or so since I last wrote horror, usually I write poetry and prose. Asides from the coherence issues I think this is somewhat acceptable, thoughts appreciated, this hound misses its Handler a lot right now
(This is my sfw blog! Please don't hurt this one this is my baby)
Free comms for discord templates are open!!!! Dm me on here or @iqun1c_v4mp on discord for more info!!!:D
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"Are you Peter Parker or are you Spider-Man?"
"I'm both."
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můj milý chlapec> @wh0rerf4n
When josh and ty got older, they became complete opposites (body wise) josh refuses to wear more than just boxers or shorts around the house because he loves how ripped he's gotten (so do ty and lynn, but they wont admit it, he's got a big ego already) but ty refuses to take off his shirt around them for a while once he puts on a little weight. Like lynn and josh have to beg him to take off his shirt when they have sex. He finally caves after a while and starts wearing less around the house to appease his partners
IT'S ME.
Imperium Puppy here. This is my writing blog.
I have little to no experience in writing fanfics, but I am willing to try.
I will be writing for WWE and AAA as I am more acquainted with them and the wrestlers. I love AEW, but I'm not confident enough to write for those wrestlers (may try later). Will write feme!reader, male!reader, and gender neutral!reader.
WILL write for:
Gunther
Ludwig/El Grande Americano
Jade
Michin
Danhausen
Alexa
Lyra
Tatum Paxley
Shiloh Hill
Mr. Iguana
Galeno
Dr. Wagner Jr
Pagano
The Wyatt Sicks
Ilja
Melo
Damian
Royce Keys
Talla Tonga
Solo
Truth
Finn
Lash Legend
Flammer
Catalina
So many more...
Will NOT write for:
Reigns
Jey
Brick head
La Hierda (the blonde in La Toxicas)
Dom
Please do not request them. Also, please be patient with me. I am new to writing and am neurodivergent. I am also quite busy with life. But I will get to your request as I can.
I will NOT write:
Age play
Non con
R*pe
Loli
Illegal age gaps
Abuse
Choking as a kink
Impact play
Be normal with your request, please. I have trauma and can't write certain things. So, I may deny your request if it is too much for me. I hope you understand.
I WILL write:
Fluff
Smut (will try)
Angst
mmm eldritch horror from perspective of ant being messed with
awake within my soundless lair, creature. none of your kind have stepped here before, a vast expanse made solely for observing how you react. labyrinthian, removed from all context that you call home.
leave what markings you may, dead ends, location of food, they are for your senses only despite thousands of generations instilling in you the instinct to be social, to exist as a collective. each step tracing your own descent into insanity, expecting another one of your kind forever, waiting, working, returning to nothing.
actions and choices made meaningless without your colony, only made intelligent by numbers. you're not dead so you must keep working, must keep doing the only thing you know how to do. how remarkable that you continue to toil and struggle when the entire world around you changes, as if there is nothing else to you besides labour.
^ant that i picked up off the ground put in a hand crafted maze
one day you wake up to screaming. the entire world is alight with voices, instincts, feelings. thoughts in your head indistinguishable from the cacophony outside, everything you could experience at once a miasma thick in the air.
worse too is that everyone else seems to be hearing it, smelling it, feeling it too. walking up to greet another body only to realise you cant tell which one of the two you are, each mind a perfect state of disarray.
you are food and death and danger and safety. you exist a thousand times at once, barely able to tell where your own body is let alone where you just were. time does not seem to pass as your perception of the world remains paradoxically stagnant, each moment an infinity and forever in a single second and each second repeating over and over
^ant colony after i sprayed them with every ant pheromone type
