#Could go for some deep-fry honestly

[maximumsneakyfoxxo]

I submit my initiation to the hellsite.

memeception

[ohsc]

Do you think you could do some Destiel fluff? <3

destiel, 1.1k, finale doesn’t exist, fluff, domesticity, background saileen, unedited

Honestly, it’s a wonder that Dean was able to breathe at all, sometimes.

He and Cas had been… whatever they were for two weeks. Kissing and cuddling and indulging in each other for two weeks. It was fucking scary, shoving past the part of his brain that said he was undeserving, that said he didn’t get to be happy, that eventually it would end like everything else good he’d ever had. But whenever he got too in his head, Cas was there with his stupidly soft smile and stupidly soft lips, and melted any coherent thought from his brain entirely.

His heart still stopped whenever he kissed him, sometimes he had to remind himself to keep breathing, or more embarrassingly, Cas had to remind him.

Whatever. Who fucking cares. He finally had what he wanted — Castiel.

Bacon was sizzling in the pan in front of him when he felt warm palms against his waist, and Dean honestly felt butterflies. And fuck off, he wasn’t a thirteen year old girl, but Cas had an unfairly huge talent at getting him speechless and flustered.

The arms slid forwards and around his waist, strong arms squeezed, and his heart stuttered in his chest when he felt a kiss pressed between his shoulder blades. Jesus Christ.

“Last time you distracted me in here we almost started a fire.” Dean scoffed, voice still a little deep with the lingering cling of sleep. Stood in an old tatty Metallica shirt and boxers, it was clearly the angel’s favourite look on him. In the mornings he was handsy.

“I promise to not let you start another fire, Dean,” he murmured into his shoulder blade where another kiss was pressed. Dean shivered. “I simply wanted to hug you.”

It should have been criminal how gooey he went inside. Cas had attached himself to his back like they were a pair of stickle bricks, and he didn’t have it in him to make him let go. He’d never been comforted by the touch of another before. On the hard days, days after bad cases or nights plagued by nightmares, the angel’s touch was enough to break through the fog in his head and soothe him entirely. He’d spend an entire lifetime in his touch if he could.

“Sap,” he scoffed instead, not mentally there enough to convey just how sweet it was, though his hand left the handle of the frying pan and reached down, squeezed one of the tanned arms snaked around him. “Gonna stay there all morning, facehugger?”

A soft huff of breath against the back of his neck. “I’m attached to your back, Dean, not your face.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, pity.”

The arms around him shifted, and before he could make the connection to his brain what exactly happened, a warm palm was on his cheek and tipped his head to the side in time for his mouth to slot over Dean’s easily, and it felt like his heart was on the way to just giving out. A breathy little sound escaped up and out of his throat and his hands clutched at his shirt, frying pan and breakfast and the fire from last time completely forgotten.

It wasn’t even a particularly steamy kiss. Cas’ mouth moved slowly against his own, a thumb stroked along the skin of his cheek like he was being committed to memory, and when the angel finally pulled back his expression was so soft.

“Dean.”

“Mm?”

“Breathe.”

His inhale was shuddery as he clung to the other’s shirt, absolutely detesting the way his ears heated up in embarrassment, even more so when he was being smirked at. “Asshole.”

Cas just kept smirking, amused. “I’m sorry, it’s just a very nice feeling, knowing that I can get you like that.”

His face was hot too by the time he turned back to the pan to flip the bacon again, grumbling as he did so.

There was a soft laugh behind him before Cas was velcro against his back once more. Warm palms that once held blades and fought in the battles of heaven dipped beneath his shirt and stroked the soft skin of his abdomen, and Dean couldn’t imagine the idea that his heaven could be anywhere else but right there.

They stayed in a comfortable silence as he plated up the bacon and eggs from the stove. Every now and then he heard a soft hum behind him, or a kiss to his shoulder blades, and every now and then Dean lifted one of the angel’s hands and pressed a kiss to his knuckles with a smile.

Fuck the white picket fence and the mortgage, this was the apple pie life he desired.

Eileen’s soft laugh from down the hallway drew Dean’s attention from the soft mouth on the back of his neck and his hands reached down to pry the arms off of his waist. “Let go, you’re like a weed.”

Castiel grumbled against his shoulder. “Why won’t you just tell them?”

“Because it’s funnier not to.” Dean snorted.

He and Cas had already been having sex for a whole week when Sam came to him and gave him a lecture about feelings and how much you mean to Castiel. And instead of spilling the beans on the whole relationship thing, he’d bit the inside of his cheek to hide his smile until he laughed about it to his angel later. In his eyes it was hilarious, he honestly just wanted to see how long it took his giant baby brother to figure it all out.

Cas huffed again, though that time he did let go, and stepped across the kitchen to turn on the coffee machine as Sam and Eileen wandered into the kitchen. His brother’s hair looked like a bird’s nest and she was wearing one of his shirts like a dress — something he teased her for with a wiggle of his eyebrows to get Sam to glare at him with pink cheeks — but it was just nice to see his brother so happy. All those years ago, he hadn’t got to see what Sam was like with Jess, the girl who had once been it for him. It left a warm feeling in his chest whenever he got to watch Sam smile all dopey at Eileen, sickly-sweet in love.

He dished out plates of food, meeting his angel’s eyes across the room whilst Sam and Eileen talked away at the table in their own bubble.

“You owe me.” Cas mouthed, and the look on his face made Dean’s insides go all silly stupid with want again.

“Love you too.” He mouthed back, grinning.

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Honestly if you could , how would you rate your yandere cooking for Darling (notably the yandere set 2). Like who would be at the tier having the most divine cooking , very talented to mediocre but still try hard for their darling to being banned from entering the kitchen forever cause of fire hazard from frying an egg?? (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

Also do you mind if i become 🐧 anon??

Yandere men and their cooking

I'll be answering this and my last ask, then i'll go write my last 3 yanderes, then opening inbox again! I'm still sick unfortunately, so it'll take some time.

YAN! DELINQUENT: 8/10

Liam is a good cook! He definitely prepares the meanest lunch meals out there. Househusband material, he literally has to feed himself by living through his wage and the money his parents give him, so he might as well enjoy! So rest assured he will feed you homely foods that you'll enjoy.

Fav food to cook: pepper beef on rice (quick, efficient, and tastes good!)

YAN! BULLY: 2/10

Eh.. Uno is pampered a lot. What he can probably only make is a scrambled egg, and that's on accident cuz he broke the yolk and mixed it to say "it's intentional". So, unfortunately, you have to cook, or a personal chef. Nothing in between. Unless you're okay with eggs everyday, every time to eat.

Fav food to cook: eggs. (That's the only thing he can cook)

YAN! NSFW ASMRTIST: 9.5/10

Rose definitely cooks the best stuff out there. He's been living by himself for a long, long time so he had time to read cook books, and he definitely watches Hell's Kitchen in his free time. So, expect food for the gods when he cooks for you.

Fav food to cook: Low and slow stew and soups. Meaty, hearty, and pairs well with rice (Full of love, affection, and time.)

YAN! ISEKAI'ED ADVENTURER: 5/10

Aeron is basic when it comes to cooking. He basically only cooks to make sure it's edible, non poisonous, and fulfilling. If he had a choice really, he would just do eat fruits and veggies raw. And when he does cook for you, unfortunately it's not anything remarkable. JUST LIE THOUGH AND SAY IT TASTES GOOD.

Fav food to cook: none... (It's a hassle)

YAN! PLAYER: 10/10

Surprised? He's blessed by the gods. How can this man be awful at cooking? Sure, he would prefer to not cook anything at all, but Amor would be extremely good at it despite not really cooking much because of his blessings. He would be really happy to cook for you though. Anything you want will be miraculously made close to perfection if it's not perfect already.

Fav food to cook: Any of your favorite foods gourmet style (he loves to spoil you while boasting about his... Ill-gotten skills)

YAN! PARASITE:6/10

Acheron knew how to follow instructions, so food is above average at most. As long as the recipe was good, and reviews are nice, then you know you are in good hands. Acheron will cook you food from your favorite cookbooks, so please, don't be shy and send him a link, or gift him a book. He'll be more than happy to cook for you.

Fav food to cook: The simple recipe ones (less chance of messing up the flavor)

YAN! EMPEROR: 0/10

"No. I will not do something like cook."

YAN! COLLEGE STUDENT:8.5/10

Alpheus is a great cook actually, but he never really enjoyed it. He usually does the cooking when Ignatius comes to his home to hang out or teach him how to adapt socially. But, he'll be happy cooking for you.

Fav food to cook: squid ink pasta, and margarita pizza (sharing food for when you or Ignatius eat with him)

YAN! DEEP SEA CREATURE: 0/10

"What is... Cooking?"

YAN! HUNTER: 7/10

Orion is one of those grill dads. Most of the time it's seafood too. But you can guarantee that it will be the most delicious grilled seafood you'll eat. Other meats? Meh... It's more or less okay. His specialty lies by the sea. He will not be opposed in cooking land or sky meat though, just say the word.

Fav food to cook: grilled oysters with cheese or caviar, and lobster with butter baste (best tasting food with low effort)

YAN! KING: 0/10

"A king doesn't cook."

YAN! GOD: 4/10

Well, Liviticus can't cook unless it's very simple like rice and eggs, or like... Ramen. Basically only 1-3 stepped cooking. Cuz essentially, with him being a god, he can just summon the food from thin air. So like, he's your automatic food dispenser. If you want to teach him though, then he would love to.

Fav food to cook: Ramen (Technically not cooking)

YAN! PROSECUTOR: 9/10

Yuta, of course, knows how to cook and he cooks well. Surprisingly, he's into baking. And that's his mastery. He just doesn't have time to cook or bake at all due to being a prosecutor. But if you ask him to, then he will gladly bake or cook for you.

Fav food to make: macarons (time consuming, delicate, and needs his full attention that can distract him from his job and reality)

-----------------------------

So ranking from basically perfect to definitely not

PLAYER>ASMRTIST>PROSECUTOR>COLLEGE STUDENT>DELINQUENT>HUNTER>PARASITE>ISEKAI'ED ADVENTURER>GOD>BULLY>EMPEROR=DEEP SEA CREATURE=KING

[yikesharringrove]

Billy has finally found Steve’s off switch.

It’s in his ass.

Steve had been goading him for fucking weeks.

Ever since that stupid fucking party, when Steve left the house with tears in his eyes and his (now ex) girlfriend was shepherded out by another boy.

On the basketball court, Steve was pushy. Shoving himself into Billy’s space, shoulder-checking him.

It’s not to say Billy didn’t like it. He loved having the excuse to get as close as possible to him. To press his hips up against Steve’s ass in the name of Sport.

It’s just, Steve was starting to look a little feral. A little like he might turn around and fucking pop Billy one in the nose.

Or bite him.

He thought he got the fuckhead to knock it off, finally slamming him to the ground. He gave him some friendly advice, but refused to help the poor thing up.

Steve repaid him by shoving his elbow so hard into Billy’s stomach he felt all the air woosh out of his body.

And then he had the audacity to play like Billy was being the annoying one.

(Even though turning off the guy’s shower was pretty annoying. But Billy can’t help it, he doesn’t like being ignored by naked pretty boys.)

Even that fight hadn’t stopped Steve from getting into Billy’s personal space.

Billy had fucking shown Steve he could overpower him in a goddamn second. If the stupid fridge hadn’t’ve popped open, Billy’s sure he would’ve beat Steve until he was unconscious.

A fact he’s not proud of.

But honestly, it has taken Billy until right this very moment, to finally understand.

Steve wants Billy to best him.

All this time, he’s been crawling under Billy’s skin. Pushing his buttons and riling him up, hoping that Billy will fucking snap.

And snap he did. Like a goddamn rubber band.

Steve’s legs were akimbo, one thrown over Billy’s shoulder, the other tossed over the front passenger seat.

Steve’s car was cramped, and the windows were fogged up, but the trees provided enough seclusion that for once, Billy wasn’t shitting himself about getting caught.

He had bigger fish to fry, after all.

Like the fact that he was knuckle deep in Harrington’s ass. Three fingers crammed inside, curling and writhing in his tight heat. Lube squelching and dripping out onto the leather seat below.

He’s not sure how they got to this moment.

One second, Steve is stealing Billy’s cigarette and calling him a pussy for reading Emily Dickinson, and the next, he’s whining and gasping underneath Billy.

“There you go. Not so tough when you finally get what you need, huh?” Billy said, giving a fake pout to match his condescending tone. “You just need something up your tight little ass, and you feel better. Don’t you?”

Steve nodded dumbly, his hair flopping into his face, beads of sweat building at his temples.

His eyes were huge, pupils blown wide. His mouth was hanging open, pink lips giving way to pink tongue. His cheeks were stained red, the blush spreading down near to his tummy.

Billy ran his other hand through Steve’s chest hair, tugging on it once before sliding to flick at a pink nipple, making Steve gasp and moan.

“There you go, Baby. Let me give you want you want.”

Billy pressed his fingers in deeper, curling them in and out.

He knew he was nailing Steve prostate, new from the way Steve’s thighs were shaking, from the way his cock was leaking. He was hard against his stomach, the head angry and red.

Neglected.

“All you need is someone to take care of you. Get you out of that pretty head of yours. You don’t need to think when I’m taking care of you.” He pinched at Steve’s nipple, giving it a harsh twist.

Steve made a breathy little sound, his cock blurting out more precum.

“You’re such a bitch, acting out all the time. Just waiting for someone to put you in your place. Isn’t that right?”

Steve nodded again.

Billy wasn’t sure he knew what he was agreeing with.

“But you don’t have to be such a fucking asshole, you know? You don’t have to pretend you’re anything but this. Anything but sweet.”

Steve’s fingers tangled in his own hair and he gave another breathy moan.

“You’re such a sweet little thing when you know I’m going to give you what you need. Not King Steve anymore, huh? Just a sweet little prince, begging to be stretched and filled.”

Billy grinned to himself as Steve thrashed, his moans filling the car as he finally came, ropes of thick cum covering his belly.

“There you go. Good boy.”

[itgetzweird08]

Okay But Imagine If Endeavor had a secret love child

(TW: Mentions of cheating, hints towards abuse, hints towards pregnancy)

Okay so just imagine. Me personally, Enji Todoroki does not seem like a loyal man in the SLIGHTEST with his track record. Like I could definitely see him going to clubs and hooking up with people while on missions out of the country to let off steam because he has a wife who he doesn’t love, a son that is a danger to himself and doesn’t know what it means to quit, and two other children who are ‘failed experiments’

Enji is hella motivated to accomplish his mission to create the most powerful kid, HOWEVER, he’s still human. I think deep deep down he might want some form of true love and human connection. And that’s where /she/ comes in. The gorgeous woman that he meets in a diner one late night in America, while trying to get a decent meal after a hard mission. Any place that would even come close to having something that fits his meal plan is closed, but he knows he needs to eat. So this seemed like his best option.

He enters the diner, and it’s sorta dark and is cheap as all hell. He had half a mind to turn around and just starve, but the smell of something fried hit his nose and he gave up that thought quickly. He picked his own seat, a booth in the back next to a window that hadn’t been cleaned in a while. His hand touched something sticky on the table, and his lip curled in disgust. But that curl turned into a small ‘o’ as his jaw dropped, his eyes catching the waitress that was walking towards his booth. He was never a love at first sight kind of man, especially when he gave up such a silly concept long ago, but this was enough to make him get on his knees and praise Cupid. It felt like an arrow of warmth and desire had been shot through his chest. He had a fire quirk but nothing had made him feel so hot.

Rei and the kids were nothing but a distant thought all the way in the back of his brain stem when the woman approached his table. She seemed other worldly, tall and full and brave and soft. Something about her full curls and dark skin gave nothing less than goddess. There was so much to look at but there felt like so little time to take in everything she had to offer.

A soft clearing of her throat though brought him out of his stupor.

“Can I get you anything, sugar?”

The nickname made him blush, heat rushing to his face. It was a miracle his skin didn’t alight with his flame. “Yes- my apologies. Let me get, um,” here he was, sweating and stuttering like a school boy. Pathetic- he was pathetic. Before he could get truly angry at himself, she laughed, and the sound was like a drug.

“Here, you seem like you’ve been working hard. Let me get you a coffee and a proper menu, and I’ll come back for ya. Sound good?”

And all he could do is nod with a fry mouth, his face so hot he could’ve sworn his quirk was activated.

When she came back, she poured him a coffee, asking if he was from around while he browsed the menu. He said no, and told her of his hero work and his home in Japan. She listened with open ears and heart, finding herself sitting in the booth to listen to the scarlet haired man. She took the extra mug on the table, pouring herself a cup and loading it with mini creamers and sugar packets. It was a complete contrast to Enji’s own pitch black cup. But he didn’t mind. He honestly found it cute. He wondered if the sugar in the coffee was apart of what made the woman so sweet.

One cup of coffee turned to two. And that two turned to three with two waffle specials and a bowl of fruit to share. That ended up being a free meal for him and a ride home for her after her long shift. And the kiss at the door, well…you can guess where that led.

He left in the morning before she could wake, as he had a flight to catch by that noon. But he left her with a parting gift: his cell number and the large jacket he gave her when the night breeze got too cold.

Their affair continued for a while. It didn’t help Enji that Touya was putting himself in more danger, Rei seemed to be increasingly more difficult to deal with, and like her body got tired of the constant trying for his perfectly quirked child. And he knew it was wrong, of course he did, but when had that ever been enough to stop him? He began making up missions and lies, just to fly back across the sea to see his gorgeous waitress. And every time he left her a gift. A diamond charm bracelet, a new pair of shoes, a heart felt note with Godiva chocolates. And all she did in return was make him feel alive, like his life was worth more then it ever had been.

Six months.

It all lasted six months.

That was until he got the call from Rei, mid flight across the ocean, that she was pregnant. All thoughts of love and happiness and the small whisp of desire to leave his family behind and start a new one with his lover was erased. He had a feeling. This was it, his perfect child. He had the pilot turn the plane around, leaving his doll with one last parting gift.

The baby growing within her.

This time? He didn’t look back.

[m1dnyt3-w0lf]

Chapter 5: In A Month's Time

2,638

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4

After the near mugging, I followed Miguel's rule to be accompanied by someone when I went out. Either by him or by Jess. It was usually Jess since she was taking me to different stores to apply to. I hadn't heard back from anyone after three days of applying. I was a bit bummed out, but it was expected that I would not get a job immediately. I still had the rest of the month to get a job, though. No sweat.

“Maybe you're not looking in the right places.” Jess offered after a bite of french fry. “Maybe try an office job.”

“I like being on my feet, and this may be the only social interaction I'll be getting. The last thing I want is to be sitting for hours staring at a computer screen when I'm already going to be doing that for my classes.” I told her.

“Fair point.” She agreed. She didn't let me pay for the meal.

I haven't spent a single dime since I've been here. Neither her nor Miguel would allow me to pay for anything. I was sure it was some kind of motherly thing for Jess. Miguel, however, I had no clue why he wouldn't let me pay for anything. He insisted he'd buy whenever we ate out, which was basically every dinner we shared. I had enough after the fourth day he paid.

“Miguel, I have money. Let me pay for it this time!” I crossed my arms.

“Save your money for school. That's more important.” He simply said as he handed the waiter the booklet that held the bill and his card. I huffed at that.

“That's why I’m getting a job. So I could pay for both necessities and fun stuff like this! And rent!” But he wasn't having any of my reasons, so he continued to pay for everything. It was mildly infuriating.

It wasn’t the only infuriating thing Miguel did. He seemed adamant that we shared at least one meal together. If it wasn’t breakfast, it’d be dinner. Never lunch since I was out job hunting, and he was…working. I think.

“What do you do at work?” I asked him over breakfast.

“Well,” he started slowly. “I engineer stuff.”

“What do you engineer?” I felt the space grow awkward.

“Biological stuff.” I frowned at his answer. He was being so vague, like he was hiding something.

“What kind of biological stuff?”

“Ah, that I can’t tell you. Top secret research, company contracts, that whole ordeal.” He sounded more confident than before. I pouted a bit at his answer.

“Aw, come on, not even a tiny bit?”

“Wish I could.” His weird watch lit up at that moment. He was quick to look at it, a deep scowl appearing on his face as he glared at his screen. “I have to get going. I’ll have Jess pick you up some dinner before dropping you off.” Then he was gone.

Many of my interactions were like this with Miguel. Conversations cut short, meals rushed, even being caught at midnight trying to eat shredded cheese just because he came home right then. I had no idea what being a bioengineer was like, but this didn’t seem right. He disappeared often outside his work hours. Honestly, it worried me to see him so overworked. I worried that paying for me forced him to need to make extra money. It made me more determined to find a job.

By the time the second week started, I had no calls, no acceptances, nothing. I was starting to get worried. I know things like this took time, but I was never good at being patient. I started finding myself pacing my room and willing an email or call to ring my phone. Obviously, that never happened.

A distraction had come in the form of a man. He was a little over average height with a long face, brown hair, and a bright pink robe. He had a child with him, a little girl with unruly, red hair and big blue eyes. The man had barged in and made himself at home.

“Is Miguel home?” He had asked. How many parents did Miguel know?

“Uh, no, he left for work about an hour ago. I’m sorry, who are you?” I asked. The man had his full attention on the child, so I wasn't sure if he had heard me. Right when I was about to repeat my question, he spoke.

“Aw, bummer! He always likes seeing Mayday, isn't that right?” He made kissy faces to her and made her giggle. “I’m Peter, by the way!”

“Okay…where’s Jess?” I asked him. He already established he knew Miguel, so he was good company.

“Jess is at a…baby appointment. Yeah, that's the thing.”

“Right.” I give a slow nod. Well, whenever you're ready, we can—”

“Oh, you wanna see some pictures of Mayday?!” Peter exclaimed, interrupting me.

“Well—”

“Ah, of course you do! Everyone does!” He interrupted again. Safe to say, I did not get to submit any applications that day.

He was very lively for a man who seemed to be in his late twenties, early thirties. He hovered over Mayday a lot and seemed so extremely aware of her all the time, even when he wasn’t looking at her. He moved with cat-like reflexes. No, he moved much faster. He was practically a blur. He moved almost as fast as his mouth did. He didn’t shut up the entire time he was over. Everything out of his mouth was either about Mayday or a joke. I wasn’t sure which I preferred to hear from him. He rambled so much that he was still talking my ear off when Miguel came home. He looked at my bored-out-of-my-mind expression and immediately kicked Peter out of the apartment, which still took another hour since Peter insisted Miguel should look at pictures of Mayday. Miguel had apologized with dinner, a fancier place than usual. For once, I didn’t complain. It wasn’t my only win of the night. I did, at least, convince Peter not to let me hold Mayday.

Around mid-week, my things started showing up in the mail. Three boxes had been delivered, none containing my clothes. I was a bit worried as the weather had started to cool sooner than I expected it to. With Jess's bike being my only form of transportation, I had to ask Miguel for a jacket.

“You don't have one?” He asked me past a bite of chow-mein.

“I have one, but it's too thin. I'd be a shivering puppy on Jess’s bike.” I told him. “I have jackets on the way, so I don't wanna buy another one. If I could just borrow one of yours, I'd be super grateful.”

Miguel had studied me for a few moments. I put on my best puppy dog eyes that would even convince my mother. He let out a defeated sigh.

“Fine, I'll see what I have.”

What he had was a dad sweater. The ones that zipped up to your chin and were nothing but fuzzy cloth. It kept me warm alright, but it also swallowed me. The dang thing went down to my thighs, and the sleeves were about two inches past my hands. I had to start wearing my belt over the jacket just to keep it in place. I had to roll the sleeves up at least three times just to have my hands peek through the holes. I had never felt smaller than I did when wearing his jacket. Jess tried, and failed, to hold back her laugh when she saw me. But it was all I had to work with until my box of clothes arrived. I checked with the front desk every single day for that box but came up empty every single time. No matter, I was sure the box would turn up eventually.

The third week finally rolled around, and I had nothing ready. I had no job, no furniture, and no clothes. The post office somehow lost my box of clothes. That was another two weeks' worth of clothes! I made calls and emails but came up empty. I didn't dare bring it up to Jess or Miguel. I didn't want them to worry about me. I could fix this. I just needed to buy more clothes…at some point. For now, I was stuck with my measly one week's worth and Miguel's jacket. I was glad I only packed pants.

Troubles aside, my first rent payment was due soon. I had money to cover it with no problem, but it didn’t stop me from worrying about next month’s rent or my school supplies now that I needed to buy new clothes. My funds would be taking a harsh hit if the prices I’ve seen so far were anything to go by. It worried me. A lot of things worried me. My worries began to build up in me and turn into anxiety. I wasn't getting sleep. I stayed up late and, in turn, got up late. I found myself bouncing my leg more often than not. I was getting distracted and lost in my thoughts during conversations. Jess had basically given up holding a conversation. Miguel, however, kept trying. He even went as far as—

SNAP, SNAP, SNAP

“Wha-?” I blinked back into the present and focused on Miguel’s snapping fingers.

“Are you listening?” He looked annoyed.

“Of course!” I lied stupidly. He didn't look convinced.

“What did I just say?”

“Okay, fine, I wasn't listening.” I huffed, giving in immediately. “What did you say?”

His eyes studied me for a few moments. The silence stretched a bit longer than what was comfortable. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak.

“Are you okay?” He asked with a strangely concerned tone. I was actually surprised.

“What? Of course I am. Why?”

“You're constantly spaced out, your shoulders are tense, you’re constantly bouncing that damn leg, and I’m sure your eyebrows need a divorce with how long they’ve been drawn together.” He stated. I was shocked with how attentive he was to my current behavior. I couldn’t tell if he was upset or genuinely concerned about it. He sounded like a cross between the two. “You’re anything but okay. What’s going on? Is someone bothering you?”

“No one’s bothering me! I don’t even know anyone here.” I said quickly. The last thing I needed was this giant of a man becoming my guard dog. A hot guard dog, but still the last thing I needed.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It has to be something.”

“No it doesn’t!”

“‘Nothing’ doesn’t force people into your state. It’s something.” It wasn’t even a question. It was a statement.

“I can figure it out. Don’t worry about it!” I argued.

“All you’re doing is worrying about it! You’ll worry yourself sick, let me help you!”

“I can do this on my own!”

“You obviously can’t if you’re this stressed about it!”

“I’m an adult, Miguel, of course I can!”

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Our voices had risen by now, our argument getting heated. Miguel’s hands had balled into fists, my own had started waving around animatedly.

“It means everything!” I shouted, slamming my fists on the table. The bang echoed louder than my voice in the small kitchen and silenced us both.The sting of the impact tingled the entire bottom of my fist. I glared at Miguel as if my stare could melt his skin off. His glare, on the other hand, disappeared. Something kin to realization crossed his face. His eyebrows had a different crease in them. He looked softer.

The silence stretched between us. It cloaked us and choked the air out of our surrounding space. In the silence, I calmed. The sting became a bit sharper. My heavy breathing now stuttered. My lip wobbled. The first tear fell from my right eye. Then another from my left. A sob barely left my lips when Miguel’s chair scraped the floor, and his arms were around me, pulling me into a hug. There was no room to push him away or to feel embarrassed. I don’t think I could’ve if I tried with how tightly he held me. I cried, no, wailed, into his chest and clung onto his shirt for dear life.

It was almost comical how, despite the obvious anguish I was exuding, I couldn’t help my wandering mind. I could feel every muscle of his body pressed against mine. Rock hard compared to my soft plush. He was also warm. His hold was comforting and enveloped me entirely. He was so gentle. I felt like a kitten in his arms. Something precious. It was an intoxicating feeling I wasn’t sure I was ready to indulge in. But, for now, it felt right. I found myself relaxing into his hold and calming down until I was only sniffling. I felt sticky and gross, yet Miguel continued to hold me.

Then, I heard it.

“Todo está bien.” I heard him mutter. My brain halted. Was he speaking to me? It was so quiet that I had completely missed it.

“Te tengo, chiquita.” He continued, rubbing his hand on my back.

Chiquita. It sounded so good coming from him. I listened to his reassuring words and let out a slow breath. I closed my eyes and leaned more into his chest. I heard his heart thump against my ear.

Thump-thump, th-thump-thump, thump-thump

“I’m sorry.” I mumbled.

Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He rumbled. The bass in his voice rumbled through his chest and into my body.

“I yelled at you. I’m sorry about that.” I said. “I’m…I’m in a bit of trouble.

Th-thump-thump, thump-thump, th-thump-thump

His hand found its way under my chin and lifted it so I could look at him. I was already missing the security of his chest.

“What trouble?” He asked with knit eyebrows. He’s only known me for a month, and he looked absolutely wrecked with worry. It made my heart flutter to see someone who wasn’t family care so much about me.

“Well,” I started with a huff of breath. “For starters, the post office lost my clothes.”

“We can get you more tomorrow.” He said immediately. I was a bit taken aback by his quick response but continued.

“I don’t have furniture.”

“I’ll get some for you. I didn’t mean to leave the room so empty, honestly, but I wanted you to decorate your room however you wanted.”

“I have to worry about rent.”

“Worry about school, let me worry about the rent.” He said with a caress of his thumb. I didn’t like the idea of him buying my furniture and paying both halves of the rent. That was so much money.

“I don’t have enough money for school supplies.”

“I can help out.” He replied. Now he was offering to help with my school supplies? How much was I going to owe him?

“I don’t have a job.”

Miguel’s eyes looked into mine, silent after my final words. He looked calculated. There was a funny crinkle in the corner of his eyes. His eyebrows finally eased, and instead, one of them raised. He tilted his head a bit as if to size me up. His gears were turning, and I wasn’t sure I was going to enjoy what he was going to say next.

“I have an offer.” He said. Dangerous words.

“What kind of offer?” I asked slowly, finally pulling away from his arms. I no longer felt safe in them if this talk was going down the road I thought it was going down. He let me move but held onto my arms, rubbing his thumbs lightly against them. He dropped the bombshell.

“Let me pay for everything.”

Translations

Ch 6

Tags: @crocs-blogs @madschiavelique @arithestrawberry @eveandtheturtles @obi-mom-kenobi @thelaundrybitch @symmetricalkazekage @raphsmuneca @tojishugetiddies @kazunewolfwood-blog

[cooperbutter88]

I'm seeing some other people share their mlp one piece designs so I wanna share my own here!!

I made the designs pretty simplistic- I wanted them to look like they could be background ponies inside the actual show of mlp. I also tried to make them look as show-accurate as possible!! I'll talk a bit about them under each picture, but you can just scroll through to see them all.

Starting with Luffy!

A purple earth pony! Also, I made it so all devil fruit users gain swirls on their hooves. His cutiemark is a treasure chest with some meat inside, next to his hat. (Don't... Don't think to hard on the implications of meat in the mlp world 😅)

Pegasus Zoro! Three sword style is so much easier with 6 limbs. His cutiemark is a thought bubble of three swords in the shape of a Z (to signify his constant napping) (Zoro will say it's to signify his name)

Nami is an earth pony, simply because if she was a Pegasus then her weather based attacks wouldn't be too impressive... Her cutiemark is a vine with tangerines attached, though if you look closely you see they aren't fruit, they're berri and a compass

Usopp is a unicorn with an extra long horn. I gave him some deep purple eyes that I think goes well with his coat

His cutiemark is mallet and a sling shot meld together.

Sanji is a unicorn with a slight curve of his horn. His eyes are magenta to reference his heart eyes. His cutiemark is a frying pan with four fish cooking, plus a smoke cloud that starts with a curly line that grows into a heart.

(couldn't get it to download with no background... Lame)

Chopper!!! He's a a reindeer that ate the pony pony fruit. He's smaller than the rest still, but when he transforms he either turns into a large stallion or his usual reindeer look. Also gave him some blue accents to go with his nose.

Robin! I gave her cuffed hooves, because I think it goes well with the cowboy aesthetic of Miss All Sunday

The hooves she makes with her devil fruit don't have her the swirls, but they do have the same cuffed look

Her cutiemark is a book, that also appears to look like a poneglyph (pony glyph?)

Super franky! Another unicorn, though he lost his horn in the train crash. He rebuilt it with metal but it doesn't work the same now. His different coloring represents the parts of his body rebuilt as a cyborg.

His cutiemark is a ship in a sea of cola. The top of the ship is also a hammer. The background sun also looks a bit like the sunny! I imagine he was a late bloomer of his mark, getting it after he recovered from the train accident.

Brook who looks honestly pretty creepy like this! I tried to replicate his goofy skeleton look but it's difficult for a pony... Anyways! I made him a Pegasus that can no longer fly (no feathers...)

His cutiemark is embroidered on his pants, a music note that's also his top hat.

...

There's all the strawhats!! If you're a fan of these designs, I actually have them all (+ another character) available as stickers on my Etsy!

They're three inches big and they stick wonderfully, I've had one on my water bottle for the past two months and it hasnt shown any signs of peeling!!

[blueseachelle]

Play For Me. Please.

Ominis Gaunt X Musician! MC! Hufflepuff! Reader

A cute little drabble. E for Everyone. I gave into the urges. Basic stuff. You can play instruments and you sing like a angel. Basic Fanfic stuff lol

The song used is I Hear A Symphony- Cody Fry

Ominis never had the best childhood. He was always a puppet used by his mother. He has grown tired of this fate he was forced into but, he would have to solve this problem after he has graduated Hogwarts.

His Fifth year so far has been very eventful in his book. Sebastian friended the newest student, a late fifth year.

The fifth year and Ominis didn't have the best start to your friendship. He misunderstood your intentions and soon let you into his little circle. You gained the trust of Sebastian and Anne. Ominis didn't fully trust you but, he was slowly becoming more and more comfortable with you.

When you started at Hogwarts, you were sorted into Hufflepuff. Honestly, he and Sebastian thought Slytherin would have fit you better with all the trouble you seem to attract. But, when it comes down to it, you didn't fit into any house. You had every aspect of all the houses. You did show more Hufflepuff traits at times but, they really just wish you were sorted into their house so they could be with you more.

Ominis and Sebastian would spend all of there free time with you, of course, when you weren't on some assignment. Everyone in Hogwarts always saw the three of you together, be it breakfast, lunch, dinner, in the halls, class, etc.

As time went on, Sebastian soon deep dove into books and into searching for a cure for Anne. You both understood what Sebastian was trying to do and Ominis didn't want anything to do the the Dark Arts. You, on the other hand, were slightly enticed with the forbidden. You learned a number of spells just to know how to do them.

But, no matter how hard you tried to be there with Sebastian to go down the road he was traveling, you couldn't and he was straying farther away.

Soon enough, It was just you and Ominis. You keep getting brushed off and only talked to do things for Sebastian's benefit. With the distance, the two of you became much closer, to the point of Ominis revealing his past to you. You did the same. He seemed to become more and more reliant on your presence. He'd hate to admit it but, he has grown fond of you. He hates the idea of not being independent because of how far he has come in his life but, he loves you more than his independence.

You, on the other hand, has always been fond of Ominis. You found him to be very attractive and loved his eyes. They may be murky to others but, to You, you can see so much more. You love it all.

You found yourself alone one day on the castle. Ominis was in class. You sat nearby, bored out of your mind. A group of students walked by but, what they said peaked your interest. Hogwarts has a music room somewhere? You love music so, this peaked your interest.

You stood up and walked to one of the many portraits on the wall if they knew where it was. They pointed you in the right direction. The portraits and such in the castle really like you for some reason. You then asked the portrait to tell Ominis where you went when he got out of class for you. Of course, being courteous to the portrait. They agreed and off you went.

After a short walk, you found the music room. Some ghosts played with the instruments, other than that, you were alone. You saw a beautiful grande piano sit in the middle of the room. You saw a violin resting on it as well.

You walked closer to the piano in amazement. You haven't played an instrument since you cam to Hogwarts. You were so happy to find a room to play in again.

You sat down in the bench. You pressed down the pedals and play a few cords. Getting the familiar feeling of the keys. You shook the jitters out of your hands before clearing your throat.

The room soon seemed to pause the chaos of musical noises as the Hufflepuff girl began to softly sing,

I used to hear a simple song That was until you came along Now in it's place is something new I hear it when I look at you

After her first chorus, her hands began to cascade across the ivory keys. Her eyes closed as she started to feel the music flow through her. She pressed the pedals as she played the cords.

On of the ghost ladies gasped and whispered to the people around her. They flew to grab some stringed instruments. It was like it was rehearsed. They slowly joined the young girl in her song.

With simple songs I wanted more Perfection is so quick to bore You are more beautiful by far Our flaws are who we really are

She played with her heart opened and her eyes closed. As the song progressed, she didn't hear the door to the room gently open. Ominis made it just in time for the second chorus. He took the chair next to the door and listened to your angelic voice fill the room. His wand made out a slight picture for him to "see" what was going on. He knew you were playing the piano and the ghosts were playing the strings. He sat in awe as he listened to you.

I used to hear a simple song That was until you came along You took my broken melody And now I hear a symphony Ah-ah oh-ooh-oh ah-ah

Your hands became more dynamic and your motions became more filled with emotion as the end of the song came closer. Everything sudden paused, Y/n slowly opened her eyes and sang the last part of the song,

And now I hear a symphony

You finished the song. You felt eyes on your back. You turned and saw Ominis sitting there. You suddenly felt very shy,

"U-um, Ominis. I expected class to be a but longer?"

Ominis gave you a grin,

"We were released early. Who was the song for?"

He slowly stood up and made his way over.

You turned back to the piano and play some notes. Your face reddened,

"O-oh. You know. A p-person I know."

Ominis sat on the bench next to you. He turned to you,

"Do I know him?"

You nodded slightly. Ominis knew it was for him but, he wants you to come out and say it. So, he'll keep prodding until you admit it. He softly whispered to you,

"You're are more beautiful by far, Our flaws are who we really are."

You looked towards him,

"You are beautiful to me. Your flaws don't matter to me. It makes you more beautiful to me."

Ominis smiled and moved his hand to yours. He held your hand as you looked at him in surprise. He moved his other hand to your face and traced your lips with his thumb. He then leaned in and kissed you softly. You both were blushing as he kissed you. Once you parted, you sat hand in hand and forehead to forehead.

Ominis whispered softly,

"I'm in love with you. Please be mine."

You smiled,

"Of course. I'm in love with you too."

He squeezed your hand once more,

"Play for me. Please."

You giggled and slowly released your hands. You turned and started to play some more cords and songs you know. Ominis just sat with you and leaned his head on your shoulder with his arm around your waist. Finally, the fire can finally burn between you two. Nothing will be able to split you both apart, Not in a million years. Ominis will fight to protect this special connection you two have formed. He will protect you all that he can. He loves you and you love him.

[anticiiiipation]

Fruit & Time (Daryl x Reader)

In which (Y/n) is a pre-apocalypse pop-star dealing with the consequences of her social influence on those she meets. But what happens when she meets someone who has no idea who the hell she even is?

At first, the cold was a welcomed change from what had been torturing you for months, the humid air and destructive heat of the south. But the change of weather brought much more pain to you than relief.

For months, you had been spending your nights in the trees, fending for yourself deep in the forest. It was the easiest way to stay away from the dead, but more importantly, people. It was a hard lifestyle to adjust to, but worth it. Plus, you weren’t half bad at staying alive. Maybe a little bad at staying sane, but you kept most of it together all things considered. You had a system.

You would rise with the sun, untying yourself from the branch you’d made your bed and drop your backpack from whichever tree you had chosen the night before. You’d use your rope and rock climbing harness to lower yourself down the tree. (Both supplies you found in an abandoned nature retreat a few months back)

You’d then, if you were lucky, go find the nearest running water and freshen up as well as try to purify (as best you could) as much water as you could carry. And the rest of your day was spent scavenging through the woods for something to eat. Your favorite was acorns, or mushrooms. You only liked mushrooms if they were cooked though.

Sometimes you could dry out and fry some mushrooms and store them for later too. Like a little treat for later.

In all honesty, you didn’t find it to be the most exciting life, especially when you had to kill the already dead. But it was life now. Everything and everyone you knew from before was gone.

You sighed, looking up at a tall tree that shot straight up twenty feet.

You had found your bed for the night…

Tying one side of your rope to your harness, and the other side to one of the harness clips, you casted your arm back, aiming for one of the higher branches.

With a weak grunt, you threw the hunk of metal up..

And completely missed the branch.

In fact, the clip went up fifteen feet, then directly down over your big, vulnerable head.

You yelped and covered yourself, prematurely wincing as you awaited impact.

The clip made a thud as it landed in the dirt right next to you.

You sighed with relief, picking it up and trying again.

This time, the rope swung over the branch and you lowered it down from the other side, snapping the murderous clip into your harness.

You pulled, testing the weight of the branch. It didn’t budge and you smiled triumphantly.

Then you began the worst part of your day. Climbing the tree.

It didn’t take that long, honestly. But you wouldn’t call have called yourself a star athlete even before everything happened. At least some things really don’t change.

You used your lackluster upper body strength and the rope to reach a low hanging branch and managed to pull yourself up the rest of the way. Skillfully, you slithered your way to the desired branch and pulled your rope up.

The sun began setting and the cold was already setting in. God, this weather was an issue..

You reached around and pulled the ratty blanket? It was better described as a depressed piece of cloth. Regardless, you pulled it from your backpack, shrugging it over your shoulders.

Your feet swung in the wind, numbed by miles of walking and the beginnings of winter. You shuffled, wondering if sitting on tree branches every night was changing the shape of your butt. You frowned. You hoped not. You liked your butt..

As a treat, you even busted out your fried mushrooms and snacked on them like they were the worlds worst french fries.

Your snack was cut short when a herd of the dead began to stumble through the trees.

They were going west, and you watched their heads from above as they stumbled past you.

You were headed east. It was the only goal you had.

Its what you had agreed on…

You were high enough to avoid catching any of their attention, so you just watched and plugged your nose. It was like people-watching, but now it was a little more sad. Instead of looking at the woman with blue hair and wondering about her life, you look at her corpse stumble past and wonder how she ended up how she is.

Still, it wasn’t boring. "Morbidly fascinating" is what Daniel would call it. God, that pretentious dork would rant about the dead like he was the professor of it. After everything, losing his mom, his brother, and all of our friends, he would still talk about everything he could with the passion of the sun.

You wiped the sweat from your face, eyeing every movement surrounding your group as you moved through the empty streets of some abandoned So-Cal suburb.

"It’ll be a few more years of this at most." Daniel spoke generally to anyone listening.

"How’s that?" Bea humored him. You rolled your eyes.

"Well, these things are rotting, right? They have a shelf life then. An expiration date. Given a few years, at least in the hot places around the world, they’ll all be nothing but bones."

"Wow.." Bea awed. "How do you know this stuff?"

"Common sense?" You teased, a bit annoyed by Bea’s gawking. Daniel frowned at you. "He only sounds smart cause of that accent." You "whispered" at Bea. The brit in question scoffed.

"You don't think I’m smart?!" Daniel put his hand on his heart.

You gave him an exaggerated sympathetic smile. "Of course not, sweetie."

He grinned for a second, then scowled once he realized what you really meant.

He pulled you by your hips, stopping as the group continued forward.

His hand traveled up your arm and found your hand as he rested his head over your shoulder.

"If I’m the idiot, then you’re an imbecile." He pulled your hand in front of your face, the shiny engagement ring shimmering in your face.

You scoffed and leaned your head back on his chest. "Your defense is that I’m even dumber for wanting to marry you?" You asked.

"Yes, absolutely." He argued.

"Then that makes you the one who asked to marry an imbecile, making you, officially, a moron." You turned and poked his chest.

"Ooh, then you agreed to marry a moron!"

"I absolutely did."

He beamed like he was the sun itself and leaned down to kiss you.

You had to push him away after he kept leaning into you to the point that your back was bending.

"We have to catch up, you big moron." You teased.

"That’s not fair." He argued.

"What? We agreed you’re a moron, didn’t we?"

"See, no. You created a paradox when you said-"

"Daniel?"

"Yes?"

"Let’s go."

"Yes ma’am."

You wiped at tear from your face, deciding that the moon was a much better point of focus. Daniel was growing more distant in your memory as of late. You decided forgetting made you much sadder than constantly thinking about him. About losing him..

The wind blew and felt as if it froze the tear on your cheek.

You had maybe a month before it would be too cold to keep sleeping in trees. Then what? Any town or building you could find is an open invitation for people. You didn’t want to risk it. For you, being around anyone was like playing Russian roulette.

You wondered if there were any caves around, but scoffed once you realized in your eight months of traveling you hadn’t seen a single cave.

And then that made you wonder about bears. You wondered if there were bears around. And you wondered what it would take to tame a bear. You’d probably need to tame a baby, but that means you’d have to kill it’s mom. You frowned. That seems cruel. Plus, would the baby even trust you if you killed it’s mom in front of it? And how could you even kill a-

There was a noise you could only describe as.. sharp? that startled you, making you freeze and tuck your legs back.

Shuffling then came from the bush right in front of you, and about ten of the dead stumbled towards the noise from either side.

You had your back firmly against the trunk of the tree, trying to squint through the darkness, the full moon giving you a sliver of assistance.

Another sharp whizzing sound came, and a clearly living person emerged from ahead of you, large, shadow-concealed weapon extended as more of the dead staggered towards them.

You let out a sharp breath as the figure dropped the weapon and pulled out a knife, dropping the dead like flies.

To your left, you spotted at least five more of the things staggering through the trees, completely out of the person’s line of sight.

It was some sort of complex, instinctual force within you, throwing the open end of your rope down and clicking your flashlight on.

You illuminated the figure, a man with a crossbow, and he looked up to you with wide eyes.

"HEY!" You called, shining the light on the rope below.

He looked down at it then back up at you, and as more of the dead staggered into sight, he had no choice but to pull himself up the tree, swinging his feet over the lowest branch just before he was about to be made into a dead person’s dinner.

He began moving higher, and you kept your light trained on him, hand obviously shaking with uncertainty and fear.

The man noticed your fear and stopped climbing, situated on one of the lower branches.

The dead piled at the bottom of the tree, clawing at the bark from all sides.

"Are you okay..?" You said with a hoarse voice from months of not speaking.

He was breathing heavily, looking down at the small group.

He looked up towards you and squinted, light shining directly in his face.

"I’m fine.. thanks." He said, voice even more gravely than yours.

"Yeah.. no prob." You cleared your throat.

"Can you turn that thing off?" He asked, noticeably trying to be more polite than he was probably feeling.

You gulped, hesitant.

"That’s just gonna bring more of em here." He warned.

You knew he was right but it was still nerve wracking. You’d be plunged into darkness with a strange southern man without anywhere to go.

A reluctant click came, and you were casted in complete darkness for a moment.

You were frozen with fear as you waited for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. You didn’t really know what to expect. Your mind conjured up a huge monster lurching towards you, as if the world wasn’t scary enough already.

When your eyes finally did adjust to the darkness, he was in the exact same position, looking just as concerned as you.

You were too scared to consider it, but he was trying to see the mysterious, light shrouded figure who had saved him. Your breath began to steady as you watched him, unmoving. The sound of growls and gurgles on the ground was the only thing that let you know that the world wasn’t frozen.

You were able to clock the fear in his own eyes as the moon moved past the canopy of leaves above.

"I’m (Y/n)." You said, making an attempt at a polite smile instead of wide eyes and deathly silence.

"How’d you end up’ up here?" He asked after a second.

"Oh, I chose to be up here." You explained.

"It’s cold." He stated.

You shrugged. He saw the action as you were completely made of shadow, moon directly behind you, casting a glow around your mysterious form. It was almost ethereal looking, but your nervous voice made the scene more comical than anything.

"Are you alone?" You asked him, breaking through the silence.

"I have a group. A community."

You didn’t want to pry about any of that so you opted for silence again.

"You alone?" He asked, looking around the empty forest.

"No." You answered quickly, pitch rising. "I.. my fiancé is with me."

His head moved. He was looking around.

"He’s not here now. He’s getting supplies." You lied. "But he’ll be back.. and don’t try anything cause he knows how to hunt and he’ll find you." You were being cowardly, you knew that, but in a situation like this, better to lie then end up dead.

"What-? I ain’t-" he was taken aback. "You’re fine. I jus’ wanna know if I was gonna get jumped."

You squinted as the moon disappeared behind the trees next to you, casted into darkness with the stranger once again.

"If someone does, they’re not with me." I assured him.

I saw the shadow of his shoulders fall a little. Just a little though.

"What’s your name?" You asked.

Silence followed for a minute.

"Daryl."

You nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see you.

"How’d you get pinned like that?" You pried.

"I was drivin’ n a walker was in the middle of the road. Couldn’t see it until I had to swerve into a tree and ended up out here.." Daryl explained, almost sounding angry or ashamed.

"You were out driving alone?" You asked.

He hesitated. "Yeah.. I’m out here by myself."

Your heart sank, ashamed by your lie when he was so obviously willing to tell you the truth.

"Hungry?" You asked, shame manifesting.

"Nah." He said. "..thanks, though.."

"Mm." You nodded, pulling your mushrooms back out and quietly eating.

"Your fiancé, he comin’ back now?"

"Why??" You hounded, mouth full.

"Does he have a way to know what he’s gonna come back to?" He looked at the slowly dispersing herd below.

"He’s gonna be fine." You said with an unintentional bitterness.

"Right.." the man didn’t want to cause an issue.

You pulled your blanket tighter, pit in your stomach sinking even further.

"You two, when he gets back, n’ if you’re interested, might be able to come back with me."

"To your community?" Yoh asked.

"Mm. You’d both have to answer some questions first, but we’ve got almost forty people and it’s a big place."

"I can’t." You said quickly. "We can’t."

"Why’s that?" He challenged.

You didn’t answer, hoping he’d drop it.

"You’re alone out here." He accused. "That right?"

You huffed. "I told you-"

"I don’t believe that."

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

"I’m fine out here by myself." You admitted.

"We’ve got more than enough room. It’s getting too cold to sleep in trees." He reasoned.

"Thanks, really, but I can’t." You told him sympathetically.

"How many walkers have you killed?" He asked, ignoring what you had said in its entirety. Though at the time, you thought that he had just dropped it.

"Maybe a hundred? Why?" You asked.

"How many people have you killed?" He asked.

You shuffled uncomfortably for a second.

"Three."

"Why?"

"Two of them, they were both bit. Had to.." you picked at the bark in front of you. "One of them cause he deserved it." Your chest rose with anger.

"What’s that mean?" He pried.

"Someone who hurts women." You stated simply. He understood instantly and you could tell.

"You sure bout stayin out here?" He asked.

You blinked back your tears. "I’m sure."

"Right." He said, barely a whisper.

The night grew quieter and your eyelids became heavy after a while. Even as you dozed off you knew how dumb it was to sleep in front of this stranger.

Maybe it was the months of isolation, but you didn’t feel as if you were in danger and without intention, you slipped into a cold sleep.

When Ao3 eventually comes back, you can find 40+ more chapters of this there :,)

[barbwillbrb]

More blorbo doodles of my Tavs/ocs dealing with Act 1, feat. Lae’zel and Scratch. Rackal is having a certified Bad Time. Clairice doesn’t begin to realize they actually might be dealing with really serious shit until Vlaakith.

I also typed out the text below the cut for clarity.

Comic 1: Rackal, Scratch, Clairice

Rackal: God my head hurts. Fuck Volo. Fuck this. If Rolan finds out I did that I will never hear the end of it. Wait— why do I care? I don’t. I just want this fucking tadpole out so Meirin’s ghost stops fucking taunting me. But what if it’s right? What if I should “embrace my potential?” Whatever the fuck that is, it doesn’t sound good, but what does at this point? I need to get Clairice out of this. I need to get her home. But is home safe?

Damnit, I need to think. But how can I do that when everything is going to shit? Fucking Shadowheart and Lae’zel trying to kill each other, Astarion’s a vampire, Gale’s about to blow us all up, apparently the Duke’s gone and his son’s joined to a devil, Karlach’s gonna fry, and we’re all gonna die or who knows what. How the Hells can something be worse than death? Shit. We are in some deep shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How are we gonna do this. How? What the fuck.

How are we gonna pull this off? Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck.

We are fucked. Were those invasion plans in the goblin camp? The fuck did those come from?! Something is really wrong. We might have won the battle, but something is on the horizon. Everything is getting more complex. What is going on?! Shit, shit, shit.

Scratch: Yay! Friend has been petting me for an hour! *tail wags*

Clairice: *Found a cool hat and lute on side of the road; vibing*

Comic 2: Clairice and Rackal

Clairice: Why the FUCK did you let Volo do that?!

Rackal: *Fucking ready; pulls out list*

List:

- I want this tadpole out

- My dead lover is haunting my dreams/waking moments and I am NOT coping

- I can hear anyone’s thoughts at ANY time

- I COULD HEAR YOU AND LAE’ZEL

- AND ASTARION

- Honestly hoped Volo would TAKE.ME. OUT.

- Cool eye

Comic 3: Clairice, Rackal, and Lae’Zel; Vlaakith Reaction

Clairice: *Starting to realize they are in deep shit and this is BAD* “What the FUCK.”

Rackal: *Knew this was gonna get worse; acceptance.*

Lae’zel: Chk.

[fcukfodmap]

Day 42: Low-FODMAP Gluten-Free Strawberry-Custard Pie

This recipe came together because another recipe completely fell apart. I tried to make these graham-cracker waffle things for a whole s'mores situation, but, turns out, baked goods made from gluten-free flour completely lack coherence, and I couldn't get them out of the waffle iron intact. So instead of graham-cracker waffles, I had graham cracker crumbs. So let's turn that frown upside down and make pie with a graham-cracker crust!

Low-FODMAP Gluten-Free Strawberry-Custard Pie

Ersatz Graham Cracker Crust

1 c gluten-free flour

1/4 c brown sugar

1/2 tsp baking soda

pinch of salt and cinnamon

4 tbsp melted lactose-free butter

2 tbsp lactose-free milk

1/4 c maple syrup

1 tbsp vanilla extract

For the crust: 6 tbsp melted lactose-free butter

Mix together the dry ingredients into a bowl, then pour in the wet ingredients except for the 6 tbsp of melted butter for the crust. Stir until a dough forms, and let sit for 5 minutes. You could either pour this into a waffle iron or pan fry them like pancakes, cooking until the waffle/cakes have a nice brown crust. Let cool for a bit, then break up and pulse in a food processor until crumby. You should have about 1 1/2 c crumbs.

Melt 6 tbsp lactose free butter, and mix with the crumbs. Press into a deep dish pie pan while still warm, and put into fridge to set up. Meanwhile, make:

Vegan Custard

1 1/2 c plant milk such as almond or oat

2/3 c coconut milk

1/2 c cornstarch

1/3 c sugar

1 tsp vanilla extract

1/8 tsp turmeric

Off-heat, mix together everything but the turmeric in a sauce pan; whisk out the lumps. Over medium heat, cook stirring constantly until the custard thickens, 2-5 minutes. Turn off heat and keep stirring for another minute to keep it from clumping.

Let it cool for 5-10 minutes, then stir in the turmeric (which is for color, because the pudding is otherwise an unpleasant gray.) Spread custard over the graham cracker crust, and put back in the fridge. Meanwhile, make:

Strawberry Pie Glaze

1 pkg strawberry flavored Junket Danish Dessert

1 3/4 c water

1 lb strawberries, hulled and cut into quarters

Mix the Junket packet with the water, and cook over medium heat until boiling, stirring often. Boil for 1 minute, stirring constantly. Let cool for 10-15 minutes. Arrange strawberries in an even layer over the custard, then pour the pie glaze over the strawberries. Put back in the fridge to set up.

Once the pie sets up, serve with vegan whipped cream.

So this whole project was ridiculous from beginning to end, but the results were pretty good! I liked the plant-milk custard, especially the hint of coconut from the coconut milk. I thought it paired well with the fruit, which was the sweetest thing in the pie. I like my pies not very sweet, so that was perfect. I could have used less butter in the graham cracker crust because it ended up being a little hard. It could also use a little ginger and cinnamon in the ersatz graham cracker crumbs. But really, no complaints.

Even though there was some dairy in the crust -- a little milk and some butter -- I decided I was going to make the filling vegan? Honestly, I have no idea why I committed to that, but you could easily make this recipe 100% vegan by using shortening and a plant milk in the crust instead. I had a bunch of plant milks and vegan whipped cream to use up, so that was that.

I'm not sure how widely available Junket Danish Dessert is. My Scandinavian grandparents used it often as both pie glaze and as a pudding. I've always used it as a vegetarian option instead of Jello, because Junket is thickened with tapioca starch not gelatin. In fact, you can usually find Junket by the Jello in the grocery store.

So! Pretty silly, but a pleasant way to spend an afternoon.

Evergreen disclaimer: I am no dietician. I'm doing my best to minimize FODMAPs in my diet, but it's possible for me to be misinformed or mistaken about various ingredients.

[mariana-oconnor]

The Bruce Partington Plans pt 1

I feel like I get this one mixed up with The Naval Treaty…

I don't hold out much hope for the police in this story as last time the entirety of Scotland Yard seemed to be experiencing the same mass delusion.

Maybe this time they'll show a little more knowledge of basic human anatomy.

In the third week of November, in the year 1895, a dense yellow fog settled down upon London. From the Monday to the Thursday I doubt whether it was ever possible from our windows in Baker Street to see the loom of the opposite houses. [...] the greasy, heavy brown swirl still drifting past us and condensing in oily drops upon the window-panes...

Victorian London sounds like such a great place to live. Honestly, the chain-smoking in the earlier story was probably still better for your lungs than the 'fresh' air on the streets. Air should, as a rule, never be 'greasy'. Unless you are actively deep-fat frying something, in which case I guess it has to be, but that doesn't mean we should like it.

Meanwhile, Holmes:

Was it Holmes who was desperate for the outside world, or Watson? One must imagine a certain amount of authorial leeway on his behalf. I can imagine being stuck inside with Sherlock Holmes on his newest 24 hour a day obession with 'the music of the Middle Ages' - bearing in mind this man does not understand circadian rhythms - Watson must have wanted to risk breathing in the grease himself.

“The London criminal is certainly a dull fellow,” said he in the querulous voice of the sportsman whose game has failed him.

I'm sensing a theme to all of these beginnings.

"The thief or the murderer could roam London on such a day as the tiger does the jungle, unseen until he pounces, and then evident only to his victim.”

I feel like his relentless coughing would give him away a bit. And his victim is as likely to have already keeled over from oxygen deprivation as be alive.

“Well, well! What next?” said he. “Brother Mycroft is coming round.”

Mycroft!

Actually... Mycroft, not a good idea. I doubt you have a particularly good lung capacity at this point. You spend most of your day sedentary in silence. Don't go outside Mycroft. Don't go outside!

"By the way, do you know what Mycroft is?”

So far he has been described as a train, a planet and a seal...

"You would also be right in a sense if you said that occasionally he is the British government.”

This is where that line is from. Ha. I knew it was around here somewhere. Also, even more reason for him not to venture forth into the greasy air.

"All other men are specialists, but his specialism is omniscience."

Mycroft is god, confirmed.

This does feel very much like a 'don't put all your eggs in one basket' kind of thing. Also the man has the most set routine in the whole of London. That's terrible security. The fact he hasn't been kidnapped and tortured is quite frankly madness to me.

"But Jupiter is descending to-day."

I can't decide if these are just our usual frilly narrative or if Sherlock is indeed making fat jokes this whole time. Selecting Jupiter specifically seems like a fat joke.

"The case was featureless as I remember it. The young man had apparently fallen out of the train and killed himself."

These days you would have to work pretty damn hard to fall off a train on the Tube. I know it was different back then, but imagining him trying to shimmy through the gap in one of those tube train windows is highly amusing to me. Although the purpose is not amusing, so maybe not.

“He left Woolwich suddenly on Monday night. Was last seen by his fiancee, Miss Violet Westbury..."

Another Violet to add to our ever growing collection. I've found some lists of the most popular baby names in 1870 and 1880 and apparently Violet was #100 in 1870 and #68 in 1880, then #43 in 1890, (this story is set in 1895, assuming that she's going to be somewhere around 20-25, so it is a top 100 name for the period and would have been even more common among women of that age at the time he was writing. It's still quite a high number of Violets to be knocking around. I guess ACD liked the name. It doesn't appear to be a family name, looking at his family tree I can't see a single Violet.

This is unimportant, we've just had three of them now.

"The body could only have come on the line in that way. Had it been carried down from any neighbouring street, it must have passed the station barriers, where a collector is always standing. This point seems absolutely certain.”

Were there no access tunnels in those days? I feel like I always see access tunnels to underground lines in films and TV shows. And it makes sense to have shortcuts to parts of the line that are more remote. But I don't know if they actually exist. I guess I just assumed that there would be midway access points for maintenance. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe the maintenance people have to walk along the long dark tunnel to wherever they need to get to... that does see dumb, though. You'd think there would at least be something near the points. Whatever, I am probably thinking about this too much.

“The trains which traverse the lines of rail beside which the body was found are those which run from west to east, some being purely Metropolitan, and some from Willesden and outlying junctions."

Willesden Junction is now on the Bakerloo line, btw, which is one of the lines Baker Street is on. Just saying. Although the Bakerloo line wouldn't open until 1905. At this point I think it was on an overground line? idk. The Metropolitan Line was definitely open at this time, though, and Baker Street is on that one, too. Baker Street is on a lot of lines.

"...at what point he entered the train it is impossible to state.” “His ticket, of course, would show that.” “There was no ticket in his pockets.” “No ticket! Dear me, Watson, this is really very singular."

The surprise is probably due to something else entirely, but the idea that Holmes is shocked by the idea of a fare jumper amuses me.

"According to my experience it is not possible to reach the platform of a Metropolitan train without exhibiting one's ticket."

Willing to bet that was not true at all. I bet people managed it. But for the sake of the story, let us say it would be impossible for him to get on a train without a ticket. These days, of course, dropping your ticket would be a bad idea because you have to use it to get out again at the other end (if you don't just tap in and out) But then he was thrown out of a moving train, apparently, it makes sense he might lose a ticket in those circumstances. Particularly if he was holding it rather than having it in a pocket.

"He had also a check-book on the Woolwich branch of the Capital and Counties Bank. Through this his identity was established."

Once more the tried and true method of identifying someone through the name written on something in their pocket. With a cheque book I guess it's more likely that it's actually him. But there's another version of this where he's a conman who avoids paying ticket fares and has stolen someone's cheque book.

A moment later the tall and portly form of Mycroft Holmes was ushered into the room. Heavily built and massive, there was a suggestion of uncouth physical inertia in the figure, but above this unwieldy frame there was perched a head so masterful in its brow, so alert in its steel-gray, deep-set eyes, so firm in its lips, and so subtle in its play of expression, that after the first glance one forgot the gross body and remembered only the dominant mind.

Oh hai Mycroft!

Just in case you have forgotten since last time Watson described Mycroft. Or since all those comments of Sherlock's earlier, Mycroft is fat. Did you know that he's fat? But you'll immediately forget after a moment, except for how Watson will never let you forget.

At his heels came our old friend Lestrade, of Scotland Yard—thin and austere. The gravity of both their faces foretold some weighty quest.

Oh hai Lestrade.

Love you two working together. Beautiful moment. Perfect. No notes. It's the team-up I've been waiting for.

Impressed that you both seem to be breathing properly as well.

“Surely you have heard of it? I thought everyone had heard of it.” [...] "It has been the most jealously guarded of all government secrets."

I feel like maybe they haven't heard of it because it's a jealously guarded government secret, Mycroft. Just an idea. If everyone has heard of it, it's a bloody terrible secret.

"The plans [...] are kept in an elaborate safe in a confidential office adjoining the arsenal, with burglar-proof doors and windows."

What exactly constitutes a 'burglar-proof' door or window? That sounds more like a challenge than a fact. Genuinely, don't think there is such a thing, particularly at Victorian technology levels.

Also, we know from previous stories that all anyone needs to do is wait for some clerk to take them out to make a copy, then wait a little longer for them to need a coffee break and the plans will no doubt be left unattended on a desk somewhere for you to walk in and grab.

Who wants to bet that Cadogan West was just a bit of an idiot, really? That seems to be the standard level of junior clerks in the civil service in this series.

"If you have a fancy to see your name in the next honours list—”

I find it odd that Mycroft would even suggest this when, on the whole, he knows his little brother pretty well. There's no way Sherlock would want to be on the honours list.

"The actual official guardian of the papers is the famous government expert, Sir James Walter, whose decorations and sub-titles fill two lines of a book of reference. He has grown gray in the service, is a gentleman, a favoured guest in the most exalted houses, and, above all, a man whose patriotism is beyond suspicion."

I automatically hate and suspect him.

But no vibes only facts.

“Yes; his brother, Colonel Valentine Walter, has testified to his departure from Woolwich, and Admiral Sinclair to his arrival in London; so Sir James is no longer a direct factor in the problem.”

Because we know from these stories that Colonels are the most upstanding of gentlemen.

“The senior clerk and draughtsman, Mr. Sidney Johnson. He is a man of forty, married, with five children. He is a silent, morose man, but he has, on the whole, an excellent record in the public service. He is unpopular with his colleagues, but a hard worker."

Now him, I like. 😄

No, seriously though, why do his colleagues dislike him? I feel like that is crucial information. Is it because he's a stickler for the rules, or is it because he's a creep? Or is it because he once ate someone else's lunch?

“Many circumstances could be imagined under which he would pass London Bridge. There was someone in the carriage, for example, with whom he was having an absorbing interview."

Talking to a stranger? On the Tube? No, sorry. Too unbelievable. I can accept rabbits being mistaken for humans, but this is too far.

I guess he doesn't specify that it's a stranger.

"He would naturally have made an appointment with the foreign agent and kept his evening clear. Instead of that he took two tickets for the theatre, escorted his fiancee halfway there, and then suddenly disappeared.”

Has no one in this room ever heard of spycraft? A trip to the theatre would be the perfect cover for a handover. You drop your program, someone else picks it up and hands it back to you with a few extra pages folded up inside it. Easy. Taking the fiancee makes it less suspicious. Sure, she might get caught up in things, but that's a risk you have to take. They then have the entire course of the play to sneak away and make copies/take photographs of the papers before returning them to you, perhaps in the pocket of your coat at the coat check, with a little bit of extra money tucked into your hat?

Also, it's a public place with witnesses, so the bad guy is less likely to just straight up kill you so they don't have to pay. Admittedly, if they don't pay you don't get the opportunity to directly threaten them... I don't know, I'm not a spy, but I'm sure the theatre would be a great handover spot.

“It seems to me perfectly clear,” said Lestrade. “I have no doubt at all as to what occurred. He took the papers to sell them. He saw the agent. They could not agree as to price. He started home again, but the agent went with him. In the train the agent murdered him, took the more essential papers, and threw his body from the carriage. That would account for everything, would it not?”

But why not take all the papers, Lestrade? Why bother taking the time to go through them to see which are the most important? Why leave any behind at all?

“The ticket would have shown which station was nearest the agent's house. Therefore he took it from the murdered man's pocket.”

And that would just be poor work on the foreign agent's part. Never do anything near where you live.

I was going to say 'if Mycroft could make it to Baker Street, why not just go to the scene of the crime himself?' but then I remembered that this is the London train system and therefore it is wholly inaccessible to anyone who can't or doesn't want to climb up and down fifty million steps (in 1895, especially, and still at least partially today). The sudden shock to Mycroft's system of that increase in activity, coupled with the fact he's already committed chemical warfare against his lungs by going out in the smog, would definitely shuffle him off the mortal coil. Far better if Sherlock goes, considering that apparently the entirety of Britain relies on Mycroft not dying.

[fastfur07]

It's Not Fresh

Finally getting back into fic writing? Maybe? I dragged this out of my drafts after someone's encouragement, so please enjoy.

Salmon.id pred, unwilling prey.

Of all things, why did they have to get a charger?

The Inkling had been excited to start their first shift at Grizzco. Mowing down Salmonids seemed simple enough, especially with a team to fall back on, but their assigned weapon was already draining their confidence.

Salmonids began slithering up onto the shore, and the employee hesitantly took aim. It was only the beginning of the first wave, but they were already overwhelmed. They didn’t know what to aim at, and what if some of the little ones snuck up on them while they were distracted? Their coworkers fanned out onto the exposed ground, not noticing a little squid climbing up to the highest point, too far from the action to be useful, but safe.

Could they snipe something at this distance? They caught sight of a Steelhead menacing one of their coworkers, but their shot fell short. The same happened when a Snatcher carried off some eggs. Dejectedly the squid looked back at the egg basket: the team wasn't going to make quota without their contribution.

They were going to have to face their fears. The employee took a deep breath, trying to convince themself that it wasn’t that stressful, and their coworkers would help them if they got in trouble. Mustering all their courage, the squid shuffled forward and prepared to step off the tower.

They were interrupted by a frying pan colliding with their head.

Slipping on ink, their head throbbing, the Inkling scrambled to sit up. They were staring at the scaly underbelly of a Cohock. Their gaze floated upward to see it staring back, eyes bulging and bloodshot. Some kind of grin formed on its misshapen mouth. The employee instinctively shrank into squid form and tried to swim away, but found themself scooped into the pan and lifted out of their ink.

Terrified as they were, the squid was unable to change back and defend themself. The Cohock dragged its tongue across its crooked teeth, before its maw gaped open. The employee only had a split second to realise what the Salmonid was planning before they slid out of the pan and fell, sliding across its slimy tongue and being forced down its throat with a wet gulp.

Finally regaining their powers of speech, the employee screamed and thrashed as they were shoved deeper into the darkness, enemy ink stinging all over them and a fishy stench overpowering them. Their coworkers were too far away to help them; why hadn’t they just gone with everyone else? Trying to keep from bursting into tears, they squeezed their eyes shut and waited for the inevitable as a disgusting belch rumbled around them.

Two weeks later

"Hey, check this out."

Leaning over to peer at the screen of a sea-cucumber phone, our Inkling was not prepared to have a terrifying memory resurface. They were looking at a crisp, level, award-winning-quality photo of a Grizzco employee's boots sticking out of the mouth of a Goldie, which looked surprised, but ultimately pleased, as it swallowed the rest of them. Two employees were in the background: one was getting on with business as usual, unfazed, while the other actually looked enthusiastic about their coworker being devoured. 

"... What the shell?"

"I dunno, everyone's been sharing these kinds of photos lately. Look." The Octoling holding the phone scrolled down, revealing photo after photo of employees allowing themselves to be eaten. One was diving from a Fish Stick into the gullet of a Maws, another had a Chum latched onto their head, and a third was in swim form being fought over by two Smallfry. There was a long silence as the two examined the photos, before the Octoling spoke again.

"...It's honestly kinda-"

"Being eaten alive is not fresh."

"I wasn't going to say that," the Octoling stressed. It's kinda, uh… impressive? To set it up and take the photo. I mean, the likes are rolling in. People must really like this stuff."

"How long have you been seeing it for?" the squid ventured.

"About two weeks," the Octoling replied.

The Inkling got up and gave a parting gesture, heading for the lobby exit. It was just a coincidence. It had to be. Employees probably got eaten by Salmonids all the time. It couldn't have anything to do with their own "incident", right? The question kept haunting them, and eventually they concluded that the only way to answer it was to investigate the trend - but with no leads, all they could do was ask around.

The Inkling asked everyone they saw, in the lobby, around the shops, even in matches, but couldn't find any real information. All anyone said, when they had any idea, was that they had seen those kinds of photos all over the Internet, but couldn’t identify the people behind them. It was only after a while that the Inkling accepted the fact they had subconsciously been trying to avoid: they were going to have to go back to Grizzco.

Unfortunately, they couldn't muster the courage to ask anyone while they were waiting for the shift to start, preoccupied as they were. They also couldn't say anything in the helicopter, nor in any of the three waves, where they continued vicariously participating, but remembered to stay with the group this time. Then, as the clock ran down and the final wave ended in a success, the Inkling finally took a deep breath and prepared to get their coworkers' attention. 

They were interrupted by a wail from overhead.

"Horrorboros? Oh, this is gonna be gold!" someone said. "If we can get up to that thing's mouth, we'll be famous."

"Who has Inkjet?"

Our Inkling didn't even have to look to know they had Inkjet.

In only a few seconds, the squid was in position at the highest point on the map, waiting for the King Salmonid to launch a bomb and leave its mouth open to fly in. They couldn't believe it - they'd had the perfect opportunity to talk to the people who were posting the photos, and now they were about to be the subject of one! But they had to do it, or they wouldn't be told anything.

The Horrorboros loomed closer, its bomb almost primed, and turned toward the trembling Inkling, who could barely maintain their balance, much less their composure. They heard their coworkers hurriedly preparing for the shot, and looked down. Everything seemed to be going to plan, but why were they staring back up with such an urgent expression? The Inkling looked back at the gigantic Salmonid just in time to see it launch its bomb straight at them, and sprang into action. 

They didn't remember exactly how it went; when they returned to the ground they weren’t sure if they had been revived or simply recalled from using Inkjet. They definitely remembered their boots skidding along the slick tongue of the Salmonid, and the sharpness of its jagged teeth, and the plume of its rancid breath, and the endless depth of its pulsing throat, but everything else was a blur.

Whatever had happened, the squid felt strangely calm, at least calm enough to keep up appearances while they returned to the foyer and the photo was uploaded. They had to agree it was a masterpiece: if you zoomed in a little, you could clearly see their resolute, almost heroic expression, along with how tightly they were gripping onto the Inkjet's handles. 

"Wow, this is really blowing up!" remarked the photographer, showing their phone around. "Oh, I almost forgot to tag you! What's your handle?"

"Oh, I'm not on social media," the Inkling smiled. "In fact, I was wondering how this trend even got started."

"Oh, you don't know?" another coworker chimed in. "Couple of weeks ago, someone got eaten by a Cohock while doing a shift. They didn’t even get splatted, they kind of just… sat in there, until the rest of their team took it out. They seemed really scared, but everyone else was like 'Yo, that's sick! Way to stick it to the man, huh?' So we all started taking these photos, and it became this kind of protest against Grizzco. Although, now that I think of it, it must have been kind of traumatic for that first person."

"Yeah," the squid replied with a fake laugh, "sucks to be them."

The end

[vaspider]

You posted about the laundry stripping thing I'd posted, and it reminded me I wanted to ask you about a NerdyKeppie thing but I didn't know if it's possible to reply to newsletters and then I forgot. Y'all said you're temporarily discontinuing some stock while you seek new suppliers because the current supplier had a drop in quality. As you can imagine with me having just deep-cleaned all my clothing I'm trying to keep it cleaner, and when I saw aprons in that letter I simultaneously went "they have aprons??" and "I need an emergency apron, I fry so much stuff...." so I wanted to know if you had flawed aprons onhand and if so, whether I could get one for a discount. I don't mind it being flawed, I'm learning how to cook some truly messy stuff and might as well destroy a less-good apron before getting a proper one for "well, sometimes I spill, but I'm pretty good at this by now." If not that's fine, I just. Am absolutely squirrelly about wasting anything, even imperfect product.

See, I really need to do a better job of making sure people know what we have. We've had aprons for years and years.

So, I don't have any flawed ones bc our stuff is made to order. The problem that pushed me over the edge in this printer's aprons was that they DIDN'T SEND ANY STRAPS TO THE CUSTOMER. Just... a fucking... piece of printed fabric.

I almost imploded.

Anyway, I may have one soon, depending, bc I just ordered samples from 3 other printers (including one with POCKETS which I am very hopeful about bc i really hate not having pockets on my apron when I'm baking) and who knows what I'll get? But I won't know until whenever they get here.

Honestly, I have a huge pile of samples we bought that didn't work out, including these maxi skirts that we decided not to go with bc they run really small and don't have pockets, and boots I bought as samples in styles I don't personally wear. I should get those measured and photographed and up. The skirts are really cute! But they run about a full size small, and ain't nobody got time for that, especially in non-stretch fabric.

Oh, and you can just reply to those emails. It'll hit our customer service inbox. :)

[cloudbattrolls]

Frankenstein's Nonsense

Ullane Wistim | Wellspring Clinic | Present Night

Note: The surgery mentioned is being developed for the sake of @contrastparadoxx's Tertet Virrus.

It was past the middle of the night, and the clinic was closed to visitors - its medic needed to do some preliminary work for a surgery she wanted to propose. Before she did, she needed a meticulously planned order of operations, list of materials, warnings of the risks involved - everything a troll required before any major surgery, plus a few extras. This was a custom job, after all.

The clinic was brightly lit, recently cleaned, and Ullane Wistim was getting to work.

She looked critically at the body on her operating table, its exposed muscles and organs constructed to mimic a specific living yellowblood’s, but it was all for show. Structurally speaking, the thing was more like a plant than anything, its cells living off light rather than food. It had a face blank of features, a head lacking a brain or even bones.

It spoke anyway.

“So, how’s it going?”

“I told you not to talk.” She said, voice slightly muffled behind her surgical mask as she adjusted her forceps’ grip on the layers of skin at the bottom of the mock ports they’d implanted in the arms and neck.

“I’m the one being cut into! I think I get to have an opinion.”

The body’s voice was cheerful, enthusiastic even. Ullane rolled her eyes behind her medical goggles.

“Can have opinion silently.” She grumbled, peering at where the connective biowire she’d used to approximate Tertet’s setup melded with Arty’s skin, muscle, and bone.

A short, blessed period of quiet ensued as she took notes on the elasticity of the wire and the nerve clusters it was most directly linked to. 

Unfortunately, Arty’s fake body couldn’t feel pain, even though it had imitation nerves, as the shell lacked a brain. So she couldn’t experiment with anesthetic or anything like that. 

It would immoral to ask it to feel pain for her, but it was a shame she couldn’t test as extensively as she’d like. Glas would never let her hear the end of it even if Arty agreed, most likely.

“I’m both impressed by how far ports have come and how invasive they still are.” Arty remarked. 

“I mean, honestly - you’d think in the last four hundred and sixty sweeps someone would’ve worked on that to make installation easier if nothing else. But no, still right into the bone, even if they are better with conductive efficiency these nights.”

“It’s a grounding technique.” Ullane said absentmindedly as she put her tablet down again (paper was no good when a stray blood splatter or fluid leak might get on it) and went back to examining the connections.

“Imagine if they only went as far as the muscle. It would be a much higher risk of frying the tissue if there was an excess of psiionic feedback. Bone is semi-conductive. Some currents, flowing in the correct direction, can pass through it safely, yes? Of course, also makes ports harder to remove.” She added, deadpan. “And more expensive.”

“Not to mention it complicates your job here.” Arty said with amusement. “You’re going to have his nerves spread out like spaghetti to make sure none of your repairs unsettle other existing damage while they’re in process.”

“Yes, thank you, Arty.” She grunted, plucking out some of its fake nerves and spreading them over a small board for examination.

Getting her assistant to make the body hadn’t been too hard, especially with her powers to assist it.

Now she had to simulate the damage done to Tertet’s nerves as well. She had the scans she’d done of the other yellowblood to help her, but it would still require a delicate touch with her powers and tools.

She took a deep breath, warm moisture filling the inside of her face masks, and projected a 3D model of the internal damage in the air as a reference for herself.

Her eyes sparked reddish pink as she withered and ‘burned’ the nerves as well as she could - not pushing so hard they were impossible to operate on, or so delicate they’d break apart. 

Then she intentionally disconnected some from the others and from the ports they had been tied to, further mimicking the upset done by the wrongly installed ones Tertet had once had. Fortunately, he had better ones now - that would definitely make things easier than if she’d had to work around the ruined set. 

Her model wasn’t perfect, but it was close enough. She knew anything she did wouldn’t be an exact re-creation; it wasn’t necessary anyway. This was about testing techniques ahead of time, to create the most efficient and minimally invasive surgery possible. 

Tertet deserved nothing less, after all.

Ullane respected him - a peer in the field, intelligent, and very much entitled to a better lot than what he had. 

She would have done her best even for a patient she did not like, but it felt especially important for a fellow, one suffering in a way that could have been so easily avoided.

Helming did not have to be painful.

It was not a popular opinion among other lowbloods, and Ullane understood why, rarely voicing it around any who had suffered as generators or were at risk to. They wanted to avoid the column completely, prioritizing that goal whether it hurt or not. 

Yet helming was not going away any time soon, and it could be far better of an experience than it currently was for all except the lucky few.

“What are you thinking about?” Arty said, curious.

“What do you think?” She muttered. “This is needless. Shouldn’t have to do this surgery at all. If only she’d been given proper ports the first time! Her psiionic type isn’t even rare, not hard to deal with. What were they thinking?”

“They don’t care, Ullane.” Arty said quietly. “You know what the answer is. Disposability. Machine, helm - we are both easily discarded. Or, if we are too valuable, we are never given any freedom.”

Then it laughed softly, the noise slightly static as it wasn’t speaking from a throat.

“But look at you, forceps like a sword of justice! Come on, see what you can do for me. Repair your work, Maledict.”

Ullane set down the forceps and took out a syringe, light gleaming off it as she held it in one medically gloved hand.

“Let’s see if Thrixe can do anything for this.” She murmured. “Diluted, of course.”

She’d been gone from crown clinic for a while now, but fortunately the Varzim signmates were happy to keep her supplied with regenerative serum regardless. She did miss Friday’s nanotech; she suspected Arty used some, but knew trying to ask for a sample probably wouldn’t go well.

Regeneration wouldn’t solve every problem here. The damage still had to be repaired with manual tools and her own psiionics, as the serum only regrew things as they had once been; it did not make any intentionally needed changes. Giving Tertet too many nerves would be an even worse issue than she currently had.

However, it might give her a little new growth to divide up and use to fix the damaged or missing parts, without having to worry about shortening them too much or her nervous system rejecting any implants.

She released a few translucent drops onto Arty’s damaged nerves, watching carefully. The dosage had been adjusted in mind of the patient’s psiionics, existing damage, calculated to not spread and regrow any other tissue that wasn’t needed.

Ullane grinned behind her surgical mask as the nerves began regrowing themselves, shedding dead matter she’d clean away later - yes, just as she’d thought; she’d still have to adjust the port interfaces and account for the misplaced clusters, but this would ensure she didn’t need to use any foreign matter to repair them! Rejection wouldn’t be an issue.

“Aaah, that feels nice.” Arty commented, confirming her satisfaction. “The power of growth, working its way through me.”

The entire nerve spread wiggled a bit, and Ullane scowled.

“Hold still.” She scolded.

“Oh, don’t fuss; I didn’t dislodge anything.”

She grunted because that was true, but she didn’t want to admit it; she’d see its smug expression later when it had a face again.

“We have more to do.” She said curtly, but without any real bite. Her movements as she took notes again were full of barely restrained excitement - a theory proven, a methodology paying off.

“We always have more to do, doctor, but I want a break, fun as this is.”

Ullane sighed, but put her tablet away and went to clean her instruments off, slightly disappointed but not minding too much. 

She turned around to see Arty weaving its nerves back into its body, growing a face out of the blank features the mock-up body had. Mouth, nose, and eyes built themselves, bone structure pushing forth from what had been smooth flatness.

She blinked, but it hardly bothered her anymore. Arty patched itself up with freshly grafted skin and stretched out its newly whole limbs before shaking its head and tossing its hair.

“That was nice.” It said, pleasant. “But I want to check on Wiggles.”

It threw a simple dress on and pranced off to visit its pet tiger shrimp in his tank near the entrance of the clinic. 

She shook her head, ears flicking in amusement. Such an oddly wholesome hobby for an entity like that. It really loved the bluish crustacean, fussing over his food, tank water and enrichment. 

Ullane looked at her notes and tools, dripping water after being freshly cleaned.

Hm. She should go find her lusus. Give him some attention. She’d made good progress; she could work more later.

The yellowblood discarded her surgical mask, walking off in search of her porcupine-firefly father to give him the scritches he loved so much.

[the-fiction-witch]

Not A Word P2

Media Maze runner Death Cure

Character Infected semi Crank Newt

Couple Newt X Reader

Rating Smut

Concept Animalistic

Smut Forceful / semi consensual/ full sex / against the table/ against the wall / Pantie ripping / choking / biting/ hair pulling / breast play / unprotected sex / cum inside

When I woke up for a moment I genuinely had to think over if last night was actually real or just something my sick mind had created in a lustful fantasy. But given my balled up panties Still sat beside my bed with the obvious traces of his seed across them where I'd used them to clean up the state I was left in. I blushed hard thinking of everything that happened as I got up and got dressed for the day ahead. I headed out and did my little tasks around camp. I hadn't seen newt yet as I did all my various tasks honestly I didn’t know if I wanted to see him or not as I kinda didn't know what to expect when I did see him, would he still be in his dark flare madness unable to control his violent sexual urges or had it pulled back and returned him to his normal quiet self, the little blonde brit from the glade who I could never even Imagine doing the sorts of things that happened last night. As I was doing some work I spotted fry heading over he smiled and gave me a wave so I waved back 

"Hey"

"Hey, what's up?" I asked

"Meeting with Vince" he says “you coming?”

“Course” I nodded, finishing up and following him along though the right arms camp, “Is uhh is everything okay? With newt?” I asked 

Fry turned to me seeing a little confused I could heard in his face he had no clue what I was talking about “Yeah?Why?”

“Just uhh with all this walking around? Uneven paths and all that sort of things with his ankle and all”

“Yeah I think so, seems it he just has to be a little slower” he says 

“Good, I just worry about him is all” 

Once we arrived at the small building sitting around the table vince going over the various plans for the next few months I had to admit it was strange glancing across the table seeing newt sat leant on the table with his cup in hand listening closely to vince and thomas’ discussions he listened closely his eyes the same brown as usual without the dark vines from last night, his sleeves down low clearly to hide his arm and his spreading infection. It was so strange glancing across to the boy who did so much to me last night I couldn’t help thinking of him loomed over me in his dark virus controlled state. He glanced at me and immediately I blushed hard looking down at the desk trying not to draw attention to myself. He returned his attention to Thomas and Vince and for a moment I questioned if last night had all been a dream? Once the boys had finished their meeting, they left me and Newt alone. I glanced up and he was staring at me with the same dark eyes as last night.

“i uhhh I didn't tell anyone. About last night” I stuttered 

“Good girl” he smirked 

“I uhhhh” I stuttered but he moved putting his finger over my lips silencing me 

“Very Good Girl” he smirked, grabbing my neck hard almost choking me “Guess you want a second round?” He smirked forcing me down onto the table 

“I was thinking more of a continuation” I blushed 

“Alright love.” He smirked forcing off my pants and ripping my panties off me completely stuffing them in his pocket 

"Newt i-" I began

"Quiet" he growled as he forced himself hilt deep inside me and I had to bite my lip hard as not to scream as he regained his rapid pace from last night I did my best not to moan or scream feeling him moving so fast, so hard his nails digging into my hips, his thrusts moving the table slightly causing pencils and paper to slightly move he grabbed my hair pulling it hard forcing me up off the table his other hand grabbing my breast aggressively fondling me as he licked my cheek and growled in my ear "your mine love. All of you" he growled letting go of my hair letting me drop back down his hands moved to spread my cheeks allowing him even deeper any time I let a moan or sound slip from my lips he would spank my ass hard causing redness and brusies in my skin as he worked in his merciless pace, his only sounds pure animalistic lust. Until he pulled out leaving me once again feeling empty without him but he grabbed my hair again pulling me up and throwing me against the wall it didn't take long for him to close the gap grabbing my thighs and holding my body up my back against the wall my thighs in his hands as he held me up so my feet didn't touch the floor he immediately slipped back inside me pinning me to the wall hard as he returned to his lusty pace letting me bounce slightly on him I held my arms around his neck trying hard not to scream or to cry from the overwhelming pleasure his nails digging into the skin of my thighs until one hand moved us stroking up my body until he pulled down my shirt and my bra revealing my bare breasts of course hard given our activities he immediately took my left breast in his mouth sucking and biting gently on my nipple often running his tounge across it as he ponded me, once he released it he began on the right doing the same harsh sucking and gentle biting until I suddenly hit my orgasum pulling his neck up so our lips connected mostly to prevent my screams as we did I felt him finish burrying his seed deep inside me making him pull back sweaty and gasping for breath "good girl" He says pulling out and dropping me onto the floor doing his pants and grabbing his jacket "not a word. I'll come see you after dark. Save me some time. Be naked" he demanded throwing my panties onto me before he marched out the building.