#Mud Mellow

[ccwpidsblog]

crashing out — onyakopon

⭐️: nsfw 18+ in which you learn why your fiancé retired from his old ways

cupids arrows: if you’re new here pls ignore my old post 🙏🏾

Onyakopon was the chillest man you’d ever met.

You remember the first day you met your fiancé like it was yesterday. Your puppy had slipped her leash and bolted after the two of you got caught in the rain. Mud was everywhere—on her paws, on the soaked sidewalk—and you watched in horror as she ran straight for the tall, dark-skinned man with deep waves and glistening golden grills, his baggy jeans and fresh Dunks standing no chance against the chaos she brought.

The muddy paws left stains all over his jeans, and you were mortified. You snatched her up quickly, firing off apology after apology, even offering to clean his shoes and pants. You were so embarrassed you swear you felt your soul leave your body.

But he just shrugged it off, his low brown eyes soft, paired with a small smile that eased your panic.

“You good,” he said simply, his voice calm and mellow, while you were seconds from collapsing in shame.

That day never left your mind, especially after you somehow ended up in a relationship with the man. Ony was so... nonchalant.

You yapped his ear off from morning until sundown, never running out of things to say, and he never once complained. When you accidentally knocked over his grinder, spilling his entire stash of weed, he didn’t get mad—he just kissed you on the forehead to quiet your babbling apologies. When you bleached his Chrome Hearts hoodie, almost crying over it, he shrugged and said, “It’s just a hoodie. I’ll get a new one.” And he did.

He was a sweetheart through and through. He spoiled you, listened to you, and made you feel like you could do no wrong. Even when he proposed—after three years together—it was the most emotion and the most words you’d ever heard him say all at once.

Most of your love lived in unspoken gestures. A look, a kiss on the temple, his hand resting on your knee when you ranted about your day. You always seemed to read his mind before he had to say anything. And you were okay with it—Ony’s silence spoke volumes.

So when his friends sat around telling wild stories—about your Ony chasing some guy down three blocks for stepping on his shoe—you just blinked, completely dumbfounded.

“That was not my Onya,” you said, shaking your head.

It was one of those late summer days where the air felt heavy with heat and conversation. You and Ony were at one of Sasha’s backyard barbecues—loud music, too much smoke in the air, and way too many faces you didn’t know. You didn’t mind, though. Ony always brought you along, hand warm in yours, whispering low in your ear, “You good, ma. I got you.”

But today, Ony had disappeared somewhere in the crowd. Probably off somewhere smoking a blunt to cool. You didn’t mind. Coco was leashed at your side, her tail wagging as she sniffed around, and you were content grabbing a soda from the cooler, letting the afternoon sun warm your shoulders.

Until you noticed him.

Tall, built like Ony but rougher around the edges. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and something about him set you on edge.

“Cute dog,” he said, nodding at Coco, who barked happily.

“Thanks,” you replied, polite but wary. “She’s a menace, but she’s ours.”

The man chuckled, eyes lingering on you. Too long. “Yours and Ony’s, huh? Never thought I’d see the day Ony got himself all... domesticated.”

You blinked, thrown off by his words. “Yeah. We’re engaged.”

For emphasis, you lifted your hand and showed off the engagement ring sitting proudly on your finger. Ony had picked it out himself, saying something about it being “the only rock that could keep up with you.”

The man’s grin faltered for a second before turning sharp again, something ugly flickering behind his eyes. “Man... Ony really cleaned up. Bet you don’t know half of what he used to be on.”

You shifted your weight, suddenly uncomfortable. “Do you know Ony?”

Before he could answer, you felt it. The shift in the air.

You turned to see Ony stepping up, shoulders squared, jaw tight. His calm, lazy demeanor was gone, replaced with something cold and dangerous.

“Yo,” Ony’s voice was low, sharp like a blade. “What the hell you doin’ here, Ricky?”

The man, Ricky, smirked, completely unfazed. “Relax, bro. Just catching up with your girl. Didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to say hi.”

Ony ignored him and stopped in front of you, his hand gently brushing your elbow, like he needed to feel you there, steady and safe. “You okay?” he murmured, voice softer now.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, searching his face. “Who is—”

“You don’t talk to her,” Ony cut you off, his voice sharper again as he looked back at Ricky. “Ever.”

Ricky barked out a laugh, shaking his head like the whole thing was a joke. “Damn, Ony. You really changed, huh? Wife. Dog. Family barbecues. You think this erases all that sh*t we did? Think it makes you better than me?”

You looked between them, confusion swirling in your chest.

Ricky’s smirk widened. “You ain’t gonna tell her? About Kev?”

The name hit Ony like a physical blow. His whole body went rigid.

“Who’s Kev?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Ricky grinned, ignoring you. “The one who didn’t make it ‘cause we were out there actin’ reckless. But you remember that, huh?”

It happened so fast you gasped. Ony’s fist collided with Ricky’s jaw, sending him stumbling back.

“Ony!” you cried as Coco barked wildly.

The crowd turned, the music seeming to dim as Ony’s voice rang out. “Keep my name out your mouth!”

Ricky spat blood and grinned like he’d won. “Same old Ony.”

Ony let Eren drag him back, but his face was still tight, his body vibrating with rage. He didn’t stop to explain. He just scooped Coco into your arms and pulled you out of the backyard, his hand gripping your waist.

“What the fuck was that, Onyakopon?” you hissed as you reached the car.

“Get in the fuckin’ car,” he snapped.

The tone stunned you into silence. It was the first time in three years Ony had ever raised his voice at you. Before you could argue, he lifted you off your feet, set you in the passenger seat, buckled you in, and slammed the door. 

The ride home was silent, the tension so thick it choked the air. Ony’s jaw was set, teeth gritted as his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. You sat stiff in the passenger seat, arms crossed over your chest as you stared out the window. Even the low hum of the engine felt deafening.

When you got home, the silence followed. Ony unlocked the door, opened it for you like he always did, and set your purse down, but his movements were robotic, like he was on autopilot. You didn’t move—just stood there staring at him.

Finally, you snapped.

“You don’t get to act like nothing happened, Ony!” Your voice trembled with anger, eyes blazing as you threw your hands up. “What the hell was that back there?”

Ony didn’t answer. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the couch, walking straight to the kitchen like he hadn’t heard you.

“Don’t walk away from me!” you shouted, following him. “Don’t you dare—”

“I said it don’t matter!” he barked, whirling around. His voice was sharp and raw, cutting through the air like a blade.

You flinched but stood your ground, refusing to let him shut you out. “How can you say that? That man knew you, Ony. He knew things about you I don’t! And the way you hit him? Who was that?! Because it sure as hell wasn’t the man I know!”

Ony ran a hand down his face, pacing back and forth. “You don’t need to know that part of me.”

“Why?” you shot back, stepping closer, fists clenched at your sides. “Because you’re ashamed? Because you don’t want me to see who you used to be?”

He stopped dead in his tracks, his chest heaving as he looked at you, eyes dark and stormy. “It ain’t like that.”

“Then what is it, Ony?” you pushed, voice trembling. “You can’t stand here and tell me you love me—ask me to marry you—and then keep this huge part of yourself locked away like it doesn’t exist.”

“You don’t get it!” he snapped, voice booming. “I was reckless, alright? I was a dumb kid, running around, doing shit I ain’t proud of. You really wanna hear how bad it got? You really wanna know the kind of man I used to be?” His voice cracked, his fists shaking at his sides. “I ain’t that man anymore. I can’t be.”

You stared at him, your chest tight with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “I want all of you, Ony,” you whispered fiercely. “Not just the version you think I deserve. I don’t care how ugly it gets. I’m not some fragile thing you need to protect from the truth.”

He froze, shoulders slumping as he stared at you, something breaking behind his eyes. “I’m tryin’, ma,” he said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m tryin’ so damn hard to leave that shit behind. You don’t know what it’s like, carryin’ that with me every day. Losin’ Kev... I don’t ever want to feel that again. I don’t want you to look at me like I’m some monster.”

Your face softened, tears spilling as you stepped closer. “I’m not gonna look at you like that,” you said, your voice shaky but sure. “But I need you to trust me. I need you to stop pushing me away.”

Ony’s gaze flickered to yours, the fight finally draining out of him. He let out a long, unsteady breath and sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his face.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice rough. “I’m sorry I scared you back there. I just... when I saw Ricky talking to you, all I could think about was keepin’ you away from that part of my life. Away from him.”

You took a deep breath, the anger still simmering but softened by his words. “I’m not going anywhere, Ony. But you gotta stop keeping me out.”

He looked up at you then, eyes raw and vulnerable. “You deserve better than the mess I used to be.”

You stepped in front of him, taking his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you. “You’re not that man anymore,” you said softly. “I see you, Ony. I see who you are now. And I’m here because I love you—all of you.”

His expression cracked, something deep in him finally breaking free. He let out a shuddering breath, his hands sliding up to rest on your waist. “Damn, ma,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I don’t deserve you.”

You shook your head, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Stop saying that.”

Ony’s hands tightened on your waist, his eyes holding yours. “Let me make it up to you,” he said softly, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

You blinked at him, breath hitching. “Ony...”

His gaze darkened, the tension between you shifting—charged and electric. Slowly, he stood up, his towering frame forcing you to tilt your chin up to keep looking at him. He leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss so soft it made your knees weak.

“Please,” he murmured against your lips, his voice husky and full of promise. “Let me make it up to you, baby. I got you. Always.”

His hands slid up your sides, slow and deliberate, his touch both gentle and possessive. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he deepened the kiss—soft and tender at first, then hungrier, like he couldn’t get close enough to you.

“Ony,” you breathed, your voice trembling as he kissed down your jaw, his lips trailing warmth along your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your neck, his words punctuated by soft kisses. “For everything. I swear I’m gonna be better. You just gotta let me show you.”

You swallowed hard, your hands gripping his shoulders. “Show me, then.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes searching yours. “I will,” he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “Starting right now.”

And that’s how you found yourself lying back on the bed, your body a tangled mess of need and warmth as your fiancé, lost himself in your ocean. His hands gripped your thighs with a possessive force, pulling them up and against your chest as his tongue worked in ways only he knew how to, bringing you to places you’d only ever reached with him. Every motion was deliberate, skilled—each flick, each touch of his fingers pushing you further, deeper into pleasure. His strength held you in place, leaving you no space to escape the sensations he stirred in you. His mouth, hot and insistent, tasted you, marked you, as if he couldn’t get enough, as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

The pleasure became too much. Your body jerked, squirming away from the relentless skill of Ony’s tongue, but he was quicker, stronger. His grip tightened on your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. His large palm landed on the side of your thigh with a sharp smack—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you freeze and gasp.

“Where you think you goin’, mama?” His voice was low, husky, as he leaned up, his lips and chin glistening with your essence. His golden grills caught the light, making him look both dangerous and divine. “Why you runnin’ from me? I’m just tryna apologize.”

Your whine came out incoherent, the words caught in your throat as his dark, smoldering eyes stayed fixed on you. He towered over you now, his body an imposing figure as he crawled over you, caging you beneath him. His breath was hot against your cheek, and you stared up at him, dazed, your vision swimming with glassy tears of overwhelming bliss.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his lips pulling into that half-smile, wet and sinful. His smooth, dark skin gleamed, catching the dim light in a way that made him almost unreal, too beautiful to belong to one person alone—but he was yours. Completely yours. “So fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he praised, brushing a thumb over your cheek to catch a stray tear.

Your body trembled as he shifted, lining himself up with slow precision. Then he pushed into you, your shared groans filling the room as he sank in deep. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as he stretched you perfectly.

“My pretty fuckin’ wife,” he growled against your lips, his voice thick with possession and reverence.

You didn’t have the strength to reply—just a soft moan as your legs locked around his waist, anchoring him to you, letting him take you to where only he could.

The slow, deliberate roll of Ony’s hips sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you trembling beneath him. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispered, “You feel so good, baby. Perfect—just for me.”

You could only moan in response, your hands sliding down his back, nails raking gently across his skin. Every movement he made was precise, deliberate, and meant to unravel you. His pace quickened, his control slipping as he pushed deeper, his grunts mixing with your cries.

“Ony,” you gasped, your voice breaking. Your legs trembled as you wrapped them tighter around his waist, desperate to feel all of him.

“I got you, mama,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Ain’t lettin’ go. You hear me?” His words were both grounding and intoxicating, pulling you further into the bliss he created with every stroke.

The heat built between you, your breaths turning shallow and ragged. Ony’s forehead rested against yours, his dark, hooded eyes never leaving your face. “Look at me,” he commanded softly, his voice deep and low.

Your glazed eyes fluttered open to meet his, and the intensity in his gaze made your chest tighten. “I love you,” he said suddenly, his voice raw, almost breaking.

The words hit you like a tidal wave, a sob catching in your throat. “I love you too,” you whimpered, your voice trembling as your hands cupped his face.

His lips met yours in a searing kiss, his pace growing erratic, matching the desperate beat of your heart. “You’re mine,” he growled against your lips, his movements growing sharper, deeper. “All mine.”

Your body tensed, pleasure coiling tight in your core until it finally snapped, sending shockwaves through you. Your back arched as you cried out his name, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Ony wasn’t far behind, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep, a guttural groan escaping his throat. His body shuddered against yours, his head falling to the crook of your neck as he whispered your name like a prayer.

For a while, neither of you moved, the only sounds in the room your mingled breaths and the faint rustle of the sheets. Ony’s weight was solid and grounding on top of you, his hands still gripping your thighs as though he was afraid to let go.

Finally, he shifted, pressing a gentle kiss to your collarbone before rolling to the side, pulling you with him. He tucked you into his chest, his large hand splaying across your back.

“You good, mama?” he asked softly, his lips brushing against your forehead.

“More than good,” you murmured, your voice still shaky. You tilted your head up to look at him, your heart swelling at the tenderness in his gaze. “I love you, Ony.”

“I love you more,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. He kissed you again, slow and sweet, before resting his forehead against yours.

As your breathing evened out and sleep began to tug at your senses, Ony whispered, “Ain’t nothin’ in this world I wouldn’t do for you, baby. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you replied softly, nuzzling into his chest. “And I’d do the same for you.”

The last thing you felt before drifting off was Ony’s fingers tracing lazy circles on your back, his lips pressing one last lingering kiss to your hair.

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GOJO x FEM READER

Gojo Satoru likes his girls clingy. 

wc — 1k

tags — confident reader 

He lets you loop your arms around his neck and whine for kisses, gifts, everything he has. With an unlimited budget and the deep pockets of a man in love, he spoils you rotten. 

Here’s the problem with being the strongest: you will always be the strongest. From the day he was born, there was no competition. Gojo didn’t even have to begin to outstrip his peers. He was simply born better than them. 

But eventually, even that level of talent grew exponentially until he went from being simply unbeatable to untouchable. His growth was incomparable, leaving him a lonely god on his own plane of existence. 

That’s why he needs you: sweet and soft and demanding. Everyone else had it all wrong. 

The Gojo clan spoiled their young head rotten. Knowing that he would bear the burden of the world from the moment he was born and those blue eyes opened, his mother demanded her child grow up in peace. Nothing was asked of him, no demands, no pleas for help. 

The outside world relied on Gojo as their saviour, but within the Gojo compound, he was just a spoiled little boy whose mother adored him. 

The way he acts within the walls of the Gojo stronghold is a carefully kept secret. He’s as soft as a newborn kitten, hair carefully washed by his childhood nurses and left out to sun in a patch of light. He’s sleepy and warm and mellow, hardly the strongest anymore. Without knowing any of this, you somehow bring that back out in him years later. 

An auxiliary manager in training, you first met him when you were tagging along with Ijichi on one of Gojo’s missions. Ijichi was flustered, even more so than usual, at the thought of having to care for a mentee when he could hardly take care of himself.

It only made matters worse that your first mission would be with Gojo. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach, despairing at how he would inevitably fail to shield you from his barbed comments and wicked teasing. 

In the end, he needn’t have worried. The two of you turn the tables on him. 

Poor Ijichi. 

It started off as a way to bully him more, because Gojo could be such a little tyrant. 

“Come on, Ijichi. Let her tag along, what’s the harm!” 

“You heard him,” you had announced self-importantly, and thrown yourself promptly into the passenger seat. 

That was usually Gojo’s seat, but he was willing to give it up for some amusement. 

You hadn’t been given permission to go on this mission, but you had insisted. First you wheedled, then you whined, finally you outright demanded. You wanted see the powerful Satoru Gojo in action. 

He leans forward, arms draped over the back of your seat. He pokes your cheek playfully as he says, “Oh, are you a fan?” 

“As if!” You scoff. “I don’t care about you, I care about your cursed technique.” 

Gojo takes your bluntness in stride. Maybe it’s the way your eyes sparkle when you talk about his technique (he caught you demanding details on Hollow Purple from Ijichi once) or maybe it’s the way your cheeks puff out when you pout. He knows you’re lying. Part of your assignment to Ijichi is because you begged Masamichi to be placed where you could watch Gojo work. 

It’s easy work for him. The curse is vaporized in seconds. He makes it look so weak you wonder why they even bothered with it at all until you remember that this curse had been failed to be exorcised by a first grade sorcerer who had come back licking his wounds. It’s not that it’s weak, it’s that he’s too strong. 

“Anyone up for lunch? My treat,” Gojo says, still immaculate as ever. 

Ijichi, who had been standing so close he got covered in some strange muck, not even from the curse but from Hollow Purple cutting through the mud, looks at him suspiciously. Gojo is never this nice. 

You have no such reservations. Ijichi yelps and protests when Gojo brings you to a luxurious restaurant in the heart of Tokyo without a reservation, relying on the strength of his name alone. He doesn’t even eat much, content to watch you order whatever you like on his dime. It amuses him, the way you’re so confident about it, as if you know he won’t refuse you. 

He won’t. 

By the time you order dessert - for you and Gojo, telling him he’ll like whatever you choose for him - he can’t bear the burning question that’s been lurking in the back of his mind anymore. 

“Smoke break!” He demands cheerfully. 

“You don’t even smoke!” Ijichi says, terrified, as if Gojo is some high school bully dragging him out under another pretense to shake him down for cash. He might, just for fun. 

You smile and wave them off. You wouldn’t let Gojo do that seriously, but Ijichi is just so fun to tease. You’ll come rescue him later if it looks like he’s really miserable. 

“Alright, spill the beans,” Gojo says, leaning against the doorframe and blockading Ijichi from going back inside. “What’s her deal?” 

Ijichi just stares at him slack jawed, open mouthed, terrified, clearly still waiting for some kind of attack. 

“Oh, come on! I’m not that mean to you, am I?” Even Gojo can’t resist a twitchy smile at what he’s saying. “Who is she? Where’s she from?” 

Ijichi blinks. “She’s just some girl. Masamichi hired her.” 

“She’s a right little princess,” Gojo murmured. “What, is she the daughter of a clan head or something? Maybe even the Three Clans?” 

Ijichi sighs. “You would think so with that attitude, but she just comes from a normal non-sorcerer family.” 

“Her?” Gojo asks disbelievingly. “A girl like that? Impossible.” 

“It’s true,” Ijichi says. “I don’t even know where Masamichi picked her up.” 

Gojo returns to his seat with a overly sweet parfait waiting for him. You’re right, he does like it. Or maybe he likes it because you’re finally giving him your full attention, waiting with rapt delight to see if he’ll give it full stars. 

He thinks he might take you out to dinner more, if it gets you to look at him like that. You might not be a clan princess yet, but he can’t wait to make you one.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: On Colour

Describing Colour in your Poetry and Stories

BLACK Shadow Black, Dusk, Midnight, Blackbird, Blackberry, Ebony, Black Honey, Darkness, Jet Black, Ink Black, Soot, Onyx, Licorice, Ivory Black, Pitch, Char, Gloom, Outer Space, Creosote Black, Melanite, Goth Black, Gunpowder

BLUE Blueberry, Sapphire Blue Metallic, Tiffany Blue (Pantone 1837), Cobalt Blue, Denim, Aquamarine, Turquoise, Sky Blue, Topaz, Ultramarine Blue, Azure, Cerulean, Oxford Blue, Periwinkle, Electric Blue, Baby Boy Blue, Pthalo Blue, Robin's Egg Blue, Persian Blue, Marino Blue, Prussian Blue

GREEN Leafy Green, Olive, Moss Green, Jade, Lime, Sour Apple Green, Emerald Green, Mint, Kiwi Green, Phthalo Green, Praying Mantis Green, Viridian, Greenback, Shamrock, Sap Green, Chartreuse, Sea Green, Pistachio, Teal, Bamboo, Sea Salt, Celadon Green, Celery, Asparagus Green, Fern Green, Neon Green, Jungle Green, Pear Green

ORANGE Pumpkin, Burnt Orange, Carrot, Sunset Orange, Tangerine, Persimmon, Salamander, Tennessee Orange (Pantone 151), Jack-o'-lantern Orange, Florida Orange, Summer Squash, Pale Daffodil, Smashed Pumpkin, Saffron, Autumn Orange, Macaroni and Cheese, Cadmium Orange

PINK Pink Flamingo, Neon Pink, Bubblegum Pink, Salmon, Peach, Fuscia, Cotton Candy Pink, Rose, Carnation, Thulian, Apricot, Atomic Pink, Barbie Pink, Hot Pink, Amaranth, Flushed, Glitter Pink

PURPLE Lavender, Purple Haze, Grape, Eggplant Purple, Plum, Violet, Orchid, Psychedelic Purple, Amethyst, Lilac, Boysenberry, Mulberry, Wisteria, Bruised Plum, Indigo, Mauve

RED Blood Red, Copper, Maroon, Strawberry, Watermelon Red, Crimson, Candy Apple Red, Tomato, Brick Red, Scarlet, Cardinal Red, Cherry, Ruby Red, Coral, Sunburn, Hot Lava, Cadmium Red, Auburn, Blush, Alizarin Crimson, Fire Engine Red, Raspberry, Vermillion, Lipstick, Burgundy, Magenta, English Vermilion, Mahogany

WHITE Dirty White, Albino, Chalk, Alabaster, Cotton, Titanium White, Vanilla, Bone White Egg Shell, Marshmallow, Ivory, Pearl White, Almond, Champagne, Blond, Cream, Milky White, Corn Silk, Bleach, Navajo White, Ghost White, Light, Cloud White

YELLOW Canary Yellow, Lemon, Banana, Egg Yolk Yellow, Mellow Yellow, Chanterelle, Mustard Yellow, Corn, Goldenrod, Amber, Pineapple, Metallic Gold, Cadmium Yellow, Wheat, Tuscan Sun, Butter, School Bus Yellow, Yellow Ochre, Citron, Dandelion

BROWN Mud Brown, Beaver, Caramel, Rust, Macaroon, Toasty Brown, Coffee, Sandy Tan, Cocoa, Honey, Chocolate, Burnt Sienna, Mocha, Seashell, Antique Brass, Bronze, Brown Sugar, Chestnut Brown, Taupe, Burnt Umber, Khaki, Dark Sienna, Light Chocolate, Sepia

GRAY Stone Gray, Ash, Metallic Silver, Platinum, Smoke, Concrete Gray, Mercury, Steel Gray, Mist, Titanium, Charcoal, Slate, Sterling Silver, Tungsten, Old Coin Gray, Iron Gray, Chrome, Magnesium, Overcast

MIXED Candy Cane (red and white), Zebra (black and white), Chameleon (many different colours), Ladybug (black and red), Wildfire (yellow, orange and red), Tiger (orange, black and white), Yellow Jacket (black and yellow), Christmas Lights (red, white and green), Rainbow (red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet), Black Pepper (black and gray), Leopard (spotted gold and black), Creamsicle (orange and white), Candy Corn (orange and white), Iceberg (a bluish gray), Marbled

COLOURS: Symbolisms, Associations & Psychological Effects

Black. Especially in Gothic literature from the West, a black colour choice often represents death, evil, grief, and depression. Associated with fear, the unknown and often has a negative connotation. Black clothes can make you look thinner. A black background severely diminishes the readability of most type. Often the go to colour for funerals and grieving. It symbolizes stability and power, which gives a sense of authority. Thus, the black colour often represents professionalism and expertise.

Blue. Has positive and negative connotations in colour psychology. Some writers may use blue to represent serenity and tranquility, instilling a scene with a calming effect. Blue can also signify sadness, melancholy, or isolation. People who find someone very loyal and faithful are often called "true blue". Blue is often considered to be more masculine which is why it is often the colour of choice when choosing a suit. Lighter blues are associated with tranquility, softness and healing. Darker blues are associated with power, knowledge and seriousness. Blue is actually shown to suppress appetites a bit. The colour blue symbolizes wisdom and hope. It’s the colour of peace and confidence. Blue has been shown to reduce blood pressure and pulse rate. It fosters serenity and a sense of belonging.

Green. The colour green often symbolizes rebirth, growth, peace, jealousy, and greed. Green colours may also represent spring and renewal. It is a colour that is very easy on the eyes. Dark green is often associated with ambition. Green suggests stability, safety and hope. At the same time, it may denote a lack of experience in a particular field. Green symbolizes peace, growth, and nature. It is the colour of success, promoting healing and tranquility.

Orange. The colour orange often represents energy, excitement, joy, and creativity. Since orange is the colour of fire, it may also symbolize heat. Since orange is not as aggressive as red, it can actually stimulate brain activity. It is very useful to catch someone's attention, which is why it's used a lot to advertise food and toys.

Pink. The colour pink symbolizes love, kindness, femininity, innocence, and playfulness. Certain shades of pink can limit aggression. Pink may be associated with unconditional love and caring.

Purple. Often associated with royalty, the colour purple symbolizes bravery, spirituality, and luxury. Light purple usually brings up romantic or nostalgic feelings; while a darker shade can make you feel gloomy or sad.

Red. The colour red symbolizes some of the most powerful human emotions, like passionate love or lust. On the other side of the spectrum, this warm colour is also the colour of blood, often symbolizing anger, danger, and violence. It stimulates the appetite. Red is an emotionally intense colour associated with energy, danger, anger, passion and determination. The symbolic meaning associated with the colour red is passion, excitement, and love. It’s the colour of urgency, power, and desire. Red is said to boost hunger and is believed to inspire confidence and excitement. This colour has also been found to increase blood pressure and heart rate.

White. This primary colour traditionally symbolizes innocence, peace, and cleanliness. In Western cultures, the colour white also represents purity and virginity, while it symbolizes mourning in some East Asian cultures. Usually has positive connotations when used and thought of as safe. Associated a lot with healing, simplicity and sterility, which is why it's used in hospitals and healing centers as much as it is. The symbolic meaning of the colour white is truth and sometimes even indifference. It encourages feelings of safety and cleanliness. Clean, white clothes and linens show sterility since stains are easily visible. That’s why doctors and nurses frequently wear white lab coats and scrubs.

Yellow. Writers may use the colour yellow to symbolize creativity, happiness, optimism, and warmth—think of a yellow ray of sunlight poking out from a dark cloud. A common negative connotation of the color yellow is cowardice, popularized by the phrase “yellow-bellied.” Warming effect which stimulates body and mind. Gold is associated with the highest of luxury. When bright yellow is used with black it's one of the easiest colour combinations to see from long distances; when uses with lighter colours it's not so easy to see. Yellow ribbons are worn as a symbol of hope and used quite often to welcome home loved ones. Yellow is the colour of warmth, kindness, and happiness. It’s often associated with optimism and well-being and promotes energy.

Brown. This warm, earthy brown colour may symbolize dependability, comfort, and a sense of being grounded. Brown is also a neutral colour, and writers may use it to represent dullness and predictability. Brown is a colour that is related to very grounded traits such as simplicity, practicality, common sense and hard work. Can also be associated with those that are frugal and not too flashy.

Gray. Lighter grays are often thought of as more feminine while darker grays more masculine. Gray is considered by many to be a neutral colour; the perfect balance between light and dark / good and evil. Pop up the lighter grays and add a little shine to it, and thought immediately turns to silver, which correlates to wealth.

Sources & related articles: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

If these writing notes helped with your poem/story, please tag me. Or leave a link in the replies. I'd love to read them!

[bestanimal]

Round 2 - Chordata - Dipnoi

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Dipnoi is a class of Sarcopterygiian fish commonly called “lungfish”. While widely distributed since the Early Devonian, today only 6 species remain. They are the closest living relatives to tetrapods (amphibians, reptiles, and mammals).

Like other Sarcopterygiians, lungfish have lobed, bony fins and a well-developed internal skeleton. True to their name, they have a highly specialized respiratory system which includes lungs, subdivided into numerous smaller air sacs. Most extant lungfish species have two lungs, with the exception of the Australian Lungfish (Neoceratodus forsteri), which has only one. The Australian Lungfish can breathe through its gills without needing air from its lung, but in all other species the gills are too atrophied to allow for adequate gas exchange. Lungfish have unique dentition, bearing fan-shaped tooth plates called odontodes, which are used to crush hard shelled organisms. Some groups have ridges on these tooth plates that form occluding blades. They are omnivorous, feeding on fish, insects, crustaceans, worms, mollusks, amphibians, and plant matter. African and South American Lungfish are capable of surviving seasonal drying-out of their habitats by burrowing into mud and estivating throughout the dry season.

(own work)

Propaganda under the cut:

The Australian Lungfish has existed in Australia for at least 100 million years, making it a true living fossil and one of the oldest living vertebrate genera on the planet. It is the most primitive surviving member of the ancient Dipnoi lineages.

The Marbled Lungfish's (Protopterus aethiopicus) genome contains 133 billion base pairs, making it the largest known genome of any vertebrate. The only organisms known to have more base pairs are the amoeboid Polychaos dubium and the flowering plant Paris japonica at 670 billion (possibly) and 150 billion, respectively.

The Spotted Lungfish (Protopterus dolloi) can aestivate on land by surrounding itself in a layer of dried mucus.

An Australian Lungfish named “Granddad” at the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago lived to be 109 years old, before he had to be euthanized due to an age-related decline in health. The current oldest Australian Lungfish is now “Methuselah”, who lives at the California Academy of Sciences, and is around 100 years old. Methuselah has been described as "mellow" by her keeper. She is also noted to like belly rubs, back rubs, and fresh figs.

Australian Lungfish are one of the cutest animals on the planet and I want a life-sized plushie/body pillow of one

[lunarw0rks]

slasher!graves 🩸 in honor of spooky season !!! w/c; 2.7k

warning(s): implied violence/gore, drugging, fem!reader

endless crop fields surrounded the dirt path, crunching under the tires audibly, overbearing the hum of the pickup's old speakers. as soon as you crossed county lines, only the two local stations played: gospel or vintage country. any tuning of the knob, and it was buzzing static.

mellow country music it is. preferable to a pastor lecturing you about the ins and outs of hell. don't worry father, i'm already there. or i've made it halfway to purgatory — east Texas backroads.

though, you don't need the faceless pastor; the decaying signs along the way are enough. hell is real, God bless, repent — every single one rusted, scratched, peeled in some way.

limitless, barren farmland; half-murky swamp the further east you go.

who's feeding the lumps of livestock you see grazing? what about the herding dogs that lay by rickety fences and intently watch your car pass? if it weren't for the occasional passing truck, you'd assume no one inhabited this county at all.

your pupils retract, blinded by the sun glaring off the hood. vibrant hues of orange and yellow, that would otherwise be soothing if you hadn't been in the driver's seat so long. for once, the lack of traffic and straight and narrow is a blessing, otherwise, you surely would've caused a collision.

the blinding sunset fades over time, indicating that you drove through golden hour instead of lying back and enjoying it. though, the thought of pulling over in this area sounded like a painful ordeal.

from straight, unpaved roads to skinny windy ones with taller grass on the border. as the sky darkens, the foliage is surely full of critters, snakes, and spiders that would crawl and tickle your flesh the second you stepped foot. the thought alone makes you shiver against the leather seats.

as the tires climb a particularly steep hill, the engine sputters, as if hacking and choking from the exertion. please don't let it happen here, is all you can think. the vintage pickup creaks and moans the further along you go — but thankfully doesn't let you down. it's any wonder you've made it this far in your trip.

your fingers reach across the seat, peeling back the page of your guide. the map you snagged at the first — and only — rest stop in the area. a few pages, tainted with coffee and grime, aside from hints of its original eggshell stain. the booklet is rough in texture but still partially legible, so you decided to take what you can get.

besides, once you finished up in the bathroom, bought water, and felt the judgment of the locals, you weren't in a position to ask for a clean map. and the geriatric clerk, brandishing a crucifix and eyes so blue they could pass for pearl, staring at you with grief.

for what, you couldn't wager. your unsaved soul?

your unwise decision to stop there? at least you can agree with the latter.

at last, your finger skimmed the section of road you were supposed to be cruising on. a straight one, like you had been on before. not the thin, windy dirt you're nearly stuck in — which doesn't exist on the map. either you're trespassing in some form, or you really have gotten lost in purgatory.

muttering a curse, you twist and turn your heads in hopes of finding an opening. somewhere, anywhere to turn the truck around and get back on your intended route.

once you spot the first opening, you turn into it. the truck travels down the short path, mud squishing underneath the overworked tires.

up ahead, the first residence you've seen that wasn't moldy or collapsed. three floors, milky paneling, original windows older than two of your lifetimes, and steps sure to give you splinters and creaks under the slightest movement.

from the outside, it's... average.

only slightly unsettling at best, which was a major improvement from the rest of town. frankly, it was shocking there wasn't a higher fence around the perimeter. you imagine this property being prime pickings for bandits and adventurous country teens.

after taking in its appearance for a few moments, you begin to reverse, now feeling the most resistance in the entire trip. the harder you push your foot down on the gas pedal, the deeper the back tires go into the thick mud.

the engine sputtered louder, beginning to spit out smoke from under the hood. considering your efforts, all you'd successfully done was splatter mud on the windows and kill the engine, hopefully not permanently.

you slumped forward and lightly smacked your head against the rim of the steering wheel, cursing yourself for literally ending up deeper in the mud.

through the cracked window of the truck, the windchimes sounded, reminding you of your only way out. raising your head, you laid eyes on the white farmhouse again, taking in its mystifying essence. the decor rustled in the gentle breeze, as did the fuzzy white clusters blowing off the cottonwood trees.

against the unforgiving summer elements, the outmoded residence stood still — as if the stoic constant stuck in the middle of a brewing summer storm.

motionless and deathlike; if a tornado dipped down through the dusky clouds, you were mildly convinced the residence would be the only structure left standing.

as it stands, your options are either to sit in the truck and sulk or take a gamble and knock on the old farmer's door. deciding on the latter, you step out, not bothering to shut the car door behind you, in case you're met with a cliché shotgun barrel for trespassing.

the rickety porch creaked under your weight when you stepped up, occupied with examining its every detail. there were the chimes you heard. some were standard, high-pitched jingles — others made from small animal bones were dull clicks — all suspended with twine.

aside from the roadkill and rocking chair, there were few signs of life in terms of decor. through the windowpanes, you were only met with pearly, lace curtains blocking any view inside.

caving, you raise your fist to the door. it's slathered in the same blanched paint as the rest of the exterior, only riddled with indents and scratches from age. three small knocks against the wood, and you're hoping whoever's behind it won't lead with hostility.

the house settles and croaks from inside, its joints as noisy as the deck you’re standing on. eventually, the door opens. behind it, the owner reveals himself; and it’s not the stereotypical image of an old man with overalls and a noisy coonhound at his side.

your prediction couldn’t have been more inaccurate.

“how can i help you, ma'am?” the voice speaks, oozing a subtle regional twang. casually, he leans against one side of the doorway, blue eyes sweeping you up and down.

younger than expected, and clean despite the gritty environment he lives in. his blond locks are carefully groomed and swept, and an aroma of musk and cedarwood permeates from him.

"i don't mean to be a bother," you stammer a bit, then motion behind you. the man's demeanor remains unbothered by the intrusion. "my truck is stuck in the mud, and i was wondering if you could get it... unstuck?"

he hollows his cheeks as if taking a few moments to consider your request.

but Graves already decided the moment he saw you. with a click of his tongue, a rumble rises through his chest, "no bother in askin' for help, is there? why didn't you just say so?" a faction of a smile spreads on his lips, easing the tension in your shoulders.

you return the break in tension with a small chuckle, biting back the urge to start twiddling your thumbs. he glances at the truck, "i'll pull her out for you. keys in the ignition for me?"

you nod, and he steps out of his relaxed pose. "i would really appreciate that. thank you, sir."

but instead of stepping out toward the vehicle, he moves to the side and flicks his head. "don't mind waiting inside, do you? 'sides, young lady like you shouldn't be shivering."

you really were helpless, or at least, that's how it felt.

the desire to reject is futile and forgotten. before you knew it, you stepped inside and followed him. the entryway was quaint with only a coat rack and mat, and open to the kitchen. the gray and white tiles were patterned like a checkerboard, blended with natural wood cabinets that matched the original wood everywhere else.

in the middle, a circular dining table with two chairs, brandishing hack marks — some fresh, some old. with a scrape, he pulled out a chair for you, and you settled on it.

rather than asking first, he went straight to the vintage refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher. he reached into the ice bucket and dropped a handful of cubes into two glasses, then tipped the pitcher and filled them with lemonade.

you stopped watching when he turned, instead setting your attention on the decor. it was as average as the exterior; a country kitchen that was slightly rough around the edges. Graves slid the glass in front of you, then set his own on the opposite side, sitting instead of heading straight outside to deal with the truck.

he sighed when he sat down again, holding onto the glass but not sipping from it. for a few moments, there was silence between you; a studying stare making you feel like you were in a fishbowl. swallowing dryly, you raised the glass and took a sip from it.

lemonade, a partial punch of citrus, coaxed by tons of added sugar. you let out a polite mhm and smiled, hoping to let your courtesy break the silence again.

"gets awful lonesome out here, don't it?" the man finally spoke, and you took another gulp to pass the time. "can't say i mind the company. not a lot of tourists in these parts, i guess."

you nodded in agreement, eyes darting toward the ticking clock behind his head, "i'm sure it does." you really should be back on the road by now.

he must've noticed your eagerness, because he gave his knee a slap and sat up, "here i am, talkin' your ear off again. should only take a few minutes if you don't mind waiting here."

his footsteps retreated back down the hall, leaving you in silence except for the ticking, which now sounded louder. you glanced down at the glass and swirled it around, deciding it best to finish your drink off before you left the man's seemingly good graces.

once the front door opened and closed, you took a better look around at the kitchen. the knickknacks along the wall, and the dusty china in one of the cabinets.

further along, you skimmed past the doors leading to the rest of the home. the l-shaped staircase came down to the kitchen, steep and rickety. adjacent, was a door similar to the one in the foyer.

when curiosity got the better of you, you stood up and crept over. pressing your ear against it, you heard no one behind it; not even the drone of a television.

you wrapped a hand around the knob and twisted it, pushing the door open. it led to a sitting room of sorts, or perhaps the only living room in the farmhouse. an old-fashioned wood fireplace in the corner, a brown couch against the wall facing the back windows, and the box TV posed on an end table.

the windows had the same sheer, white curtains as the kitchen, blowing gently from the breeze outside. custom shelves covered the other wall, filled to the brim with outlandish decor.

you first stepped closer to the window, seeing his figure outside. there was your truck, still in the same position you'd left it; the door still cracked, and its tires were embedded in mud. and the man, a distance away and moving toward the red barn in the distance — a more powerful, agile stride than he'd shown with you.

thinking nothing of it, you occupied your boredom with snooping. the shelves were what caught your attention, so that's where you ended up.

standing in front of them, you scanned through every item, growing more unsettled the longer you ogled. first, it was ancestral photos old enough to be in black and white, eerie but not abnormal. then, on the second shelf, the appeared uncanny.

quaint, mason jars and teeth.

fangs from coyotes and bobcats alike, mixed with bloodied molars that only could be pried from human mouths. the sight was akin to a gnarly car wreck, causing your morbid curiosity to overtake your sense of danger.

you glanced out the window again, seeing the barn door cracked open, indicating he was still occupied. crouching down, you examined the lowest shelf. the only clutter visible was VHS tapes, thick books, and small chests and boxes.

you took the first one that caught your eye, undoing the clasps and opening the velvety chest. newspaper clippings and passages alike, and a mini-Bible lay in the mess of words.

shaking your head, you set it aside and grabbed one of the tiny boxes, taking off the lid. your blood flow went icy, and your fingers trembled as you set the lid aside and continued processing.

possessions; watches, necklaces, wedding bands, and choppy strands of all hair types. when you noticed the hair, you gasped and ejected the box from your grip.

they weren't belongings; they were trophies.

the front door creaks from across the house, then slams shut again. you scramble to put the lids back on and pinch your finger in one of the latches, reflexively dropping it. all its contents clatter against the wood floor, compromising your cover.

"find somethin' you like?"

his voice appears behind you, effectively sending you into a startle. graves glances at the mess below you, still maintaining an eerie stillness about him.

frantically shaking your head, you begin to feel sweat cake your hairline. you ball your fists and go clammy, taking steps back, "this is my fault— i shouldn't have let my curiosity get the better of me." he remains untouched by your apprehensive shift, only worsening your instinct to run.

but he doesn't lunge or creep closer; all he does is linger by the shelves.

despite how dry your throat is, you gather saliva and gulp tensely, "i should get going. long trip ahead." that's hopeless; you know he didn't move the truck. you would've heard an engine. how far could you make it on foot?

your words come out sluggishly as if your brain is working at half speed. you peer down, stepping around every morbid souvenir — though all you do is stumble, rather than make any distance.

"won't be necessary, sweetheart." his voice echoes, stance unchanging while he observes your struggle.

you grasp at one of the walls, lids drooping as your feet drag. the lemonade he never once put his mouth on, laced with some sort of sedative. it all hit you too late; too late to retch it up or bolt down the hall ahead of him.

eventually, he steps closer, watching as you make an 'attempt' to swat him away. all you do is whack your hand at the air, thoroughly wasting more of your dwindling energy. instead of words, all that comes out are slurs or whimpers of intense turmoil.

your view of the doorway tilts and twists, turning blurred and doubled the further you stagger. a swirl of nausea erupts in your stomach, causing your knees to buckle. your head collides with the edge of the coffee table, leaving you stunned.

as the tranquilizer pumps through you, the drowsiness is indomitable. you roll onto your back and cough, lying at his feet. with the last of your remaining lucidity, you tug on his jean leg, as if in one last ditch effort to get to your feet again.

despite his opportunity to kick away your pleas, Graves stands idle, his neck craned down to watch every moment of it, a sick rendition of his favorite hobby. the most noticeable sensation — the tender skin of your temple throbs from the impact, until any and all discomfort fades away.

eyelids weighed with bricks flutter shut, squirming limbs cease, and the heave of your chest slows into gentle waves of slumber.

"atta' girl."

‧˚₊ divider cred. - cafekitsune ‧₊˚⊹

[shadowuserannie]

Accidental Brother-Sorry, Babysitter-Acquisition (Fic WIP)

Premise: After finding a kid outside his shop covered in mud, with no name, no parents, and completely nonverbal, Pigsy begins searching for who the kid is.

Tang suggests praying to the protector deity of children, Nezha, for luck in the endeavor.

They are not special.

And Nezha wasn’t even totally completely utterly lying to himself!

The little child nicknamed “MK” due to a firm lack of knowledge on any actual name (short for another nickname in itself, monkey, which had come from the scholar deeming the child similar to an excitable monkey, which was not at all irritating) truly was just like the rest Nezha had helped investigate, to find real names and homes and birth parents.

…that sounded stalkerish, which it both was, and wasn’t.

As a deity often prayed to for aid regarding children, Nezha prided himself on being able to provide satisfactory help. Throughout the centuries, prayers regarding lost children with no trace of the parents, or any homes, or even a name were thankfully rare but not rare enough.

And so Nezha helped. He would pry into dreams, cast seals and tracing spells and-on some occasions-when he was well and truly stuck at his guarding position he’d summon the simian from his imposed self-isolation within his spring-summer mountain paradise. Because even though he despised Sun Wukong, anyone with eyes who bothered to properly look could see the choice of the other pilgrims to reincarnate weighed heavily on the Monkey King and fed into the imposed isolation.

So astral projecting to him, masking concern with insults and veiled threats to help along some investigation? It truly wasn’t hard, and Sun Wukong had mellowed out enough that Nezha no longer felt the urge to lacerate him within a minute.

While guarding his half of the Samadhi Map was a task Nezha had resigned himself to for eternity until some being sent him to Diyu-or Realms forbid sent off his paranoia by reassigning him-sneaking away was something he did when he could get away with it. He still had prayers from home and public temples, and failing mortal parents to send a scathing dream-astral-projection to, and families to tie to his temples’ programs to receive financial aid, and-and-

(Sometimes he wondered if they had wanted him stuck doing nothing but standing in front of a piece of enchanted paper for eternity so his legacy would die, so his temples would burn again, and worship and power would whittle to nothing. Because perhaps he found a sort of kinship with Sun Wukong, more than the warriors who spent their time whispering instead of training, of being a demon child the Heavens wished to control.)

(Azure Lion had a point, but where he lost his power Nezha merely manipulated his status so his help could continue instead.)

Children needed help. Simple as that.

And so MK the monkey kid was nothing special-because Nezha had assisted thousands of children before him, and would assist thousands more in his eternity.

[hooter-n-company]

Since I mentioned him here, might as well officially introduce this big fella. Also because @twistedtummies2 is a big fan. 😉

No one knows exactly where Bubba came from, but ancient legend goes that he is the living essence of the primordial swamp, laying dormant beneath the muck for who knows how long before he was discovered by the local tribes. The humans noticed a section of the ground beneath their feet shifting, rising and falling with the beast’s breath. Believing it to be some kind of slumbering god, they created ceremonies, myths, and cautionary tales warning to never disturb the deity from his slumber, or risk incurring his wrath. However, a corrupt shaman thought that he could control and exploit the powerful “god” for his own gain and proceeded to cross onto the sacred patch of land where he slept before digging him out. Unfortunately, the shaman didn’t have much time to enact his plan as he was immediately gobbled up by the creature, who promptly vanished into the murky depths.

Despite his elusive nature, the amphibious creature can still be seen roaming the swamp, devouring all in his path. The tribes still revere him as a godly figure, providing him with numerous offerings to appease him…and to keep him from turning his appetite back on them one day…

More info under the cut:

Name: Bubba

Pronouns: He/him

Age: Unknown

Species: Unknown amphibian/fish hybrid/possibly a god

Role: Pred

Height: 10 feet tall, 17 feet long

Abilities: Elastic tongue, super sticky saliva, tissue regeneration, can hibernate for centuries, breathes both air and water

Personality: A lazy, greedy, gluttonous, and incredibly territorial beast. He’s a complete loner who is perfectly content living by himself and views all other creatures are potentially edible, incredibly annoying, or both at the same time. However, he isn’t a sadistic creature who goes out of his way to hurt people. He just wants to be left alone with some peace and quiet, so if you keep your distance, he will happily do the same. When Bubba is alone in his element, he can be surprisingly relaxed, mellow, and laid back, even jovial at times when he’s engaged in his own personal interests. His appetite heavily dictates his mood, as he tends to get irritable and short tempered when his stomach is empty. He is driven by simple motivations (mostly filling his belly), but he can be a surprisingly cultured and curious creature with a fair amount of intelligence.

Likes: Food (especially jambalaya and gumbo), cooking, discovering tasty ingredients, collecting unique trinkets and useful items, sleeping, mud baths, hot n’ humid weather, learning about the outside world, scaring people for fun, living a minimalist lifestyle, being alone, smoking

Dislikes: Bland meals, severe boredom, trespassers, poachers, pollution, rival predators in his territory, people interrupting his naps, an empty stomach, annoyingly loud critters, cold snaps

Other Info:

-Has a THICK southern accent.

-Has taken up cooking as one of his main hobbies. Despite not being picky in the slightest, he has developed quite a refined palate. He really loves gumbo and jambalaya.

-He begrudgingly tolerates the local tribes who worship him, mostly because they provide him with food and useful materials at his request. Although he does get a kick out of scaring the bu-jeezus out of individuals who wander into his territory.

-When injured, Bubba can regenerate large chunks of damaged tissue, including entire organs and limbs if given enough time.

-Croaks like an enormous frog to warn nearby creatures to stay out of his territory. Can also puff himself up for defense and intimidating enemies

-His first stomach is like a “storage pouch” to hold extra food, but also has powerful muscles to churn meals and coat it with enzymes. These aren’t strong enough to cause serious acid damage, but they work in tandem with the juices of the second, primary stomach, making it easier to digest tough meat and hard materials like shells and bone.

[voraciousvore]

The Tiny (Chapter 2)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Content Warning: Vore themes

Word Count: 1956

------ Chapter 2: The Beginning ------

I’m lonely. 

It’s a bitter pill to swallow. I should be happy, after all. I should be grateful for what I have, and pleased with my humble, peaceful little life. I’m blessed with a career with a good balance, that both pays reasonably well and allows me to pursue my passion. I don’t have to live a hateful existence in the crowded, grimy, bustling city. I’m lucky enough to inhabit a pleasant, rustic little cottage out in the woods. I’m surrounded by acres of fresh air, scenic hills, wildflowers, grass, trees—and solitude. A solitude that at one time I found blissful, but now cuts to my core like a knife. 

I have friends and family, of course. I was never much of a social person, though, and I allowed all my relationships to lapse and languish. And my father—well. The gulf between us may never recover. I can’t forgive him for mistreating me, and he can’t forgive me for being a disappointment. He’s mellowed out a bit since I was a boy, but the frigid, condescending gaze that he always gives me, boring into me with that cyclopean eye of his, wounds deeper than any beatings he bestowed upon me in the past. 

So now I lay here as I do every evening, in my lonely abode, struggling to hold back the tide of despair. Some days, I feel like giving up. I don’t know what I want, really. I suppose, just like everyone else, I want to be loved. I want to be valued, to be someone’s whole world, rather than being a worthless nobody, crumbling under expectations that I can never hope to fulfill. I want this terrible abyss inside me, this ceaseless hunger, to dissolve away. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I sigh as I stare out at the blackened sky, listening to the steady tapping of rain hitting the roof. 

Just as my eyelids begin to droop with resigned fatigue, in the deepest hour of the night, a bolt of blinding blue streaks across the window. I jolt up in bed, as if electrified, while the ominous crash of thunder rolls overhead. That was no ordinary lightning. In a flash as sudden as the light, my need for sleep vanishes, and my hunting drive is awakened. The magical lightning is rare, but it invariably brings bounty. My skin prickles with excitement as I throw on some clothes and boots. I don’t care if it’s raining. I hastily slide into my raincoat as I head out into the storm. 

I journey towards the general direction of where the lightning struck. It must’ve been close, judging by the timing of the thunder. I sniff the air, but all I can smell is water, mud, and vegetation. I huff with annoyance as I prowl through the trees. I didn’t bring a flashlight, for I wouldn’t want to scare off my timid and unwary prey, but I can see well enough through the misty haze. I’m a natural predator, after all. 

My stomach growls with anticipation as I patiently search. I haven’t eaten any fresh human meat in a very long time, since humans are so rare to find in the Land of Giants. They only come with the lightning, transported from their world unaware and unprepared, so they don’t last long with so many hungry giants around. It’s been years since I’ve eaten one, but I’ll never forget their special flavors, unique to each individual. I lick my lips at the reminder and swallow with longing. No other food sates like a live human in your belly. 

I’ve been walking for a long while now. Just as the sour tinge of disappointment begins to settle over me, I spot a faint light, hovering near the ground. I stop in my tracks and observe, not moving a muscle. My blood pulses faster as I recognize the familiar gait of a diminutive bipedal creature. A human. Oblivious to my presence, it walks towards me, the beam of light sweeping side to side. The human is lost and confused, as they always are upon entering our foreign lands. I take advantage of the cover of darkness and lie in wait, observing hungrily. My prey won’t escape my grasp. 

The small figure stops, directing the light down to stare at an oversized leaf beneath its feet. After an extended pause, the flashlight makes another round, illuminating pebbles and sticks that must look like trees to such a tiny being. The beam is too weak to reach me through the sheets of rain, but the human appears to notice my silhouette against the backdrop of the night as its head, smaller than a pea, rotates up. I remain as motionless as a statue, heart beating harder. I watch with fascination as the human approaches closer and closer, failing to show any sign of fear. It doesn’t understand what it’s viewing; it doesn’t know I’m here. 

I resist the compulsion to reach down, snatch up the miniscule being, and stuff it into my voracious maw. The minutest seed of doubt sprouts in my brain, dampening my enthusiasm. As much as I yearn to devour, to rip and tear and drink the blood of my victim and digest its flesh, I am myself torn. I recall the exquisite pleasure, the relief of finally scratching a ceaseless itch, but I know all too well that the satisfaction is fleeting. Such a luxurious and cruel indulgence leaves an aftertaste bitter with sorrow and regret. My father labored to eradicate those doubts from my mind, to raise me to be a proper man-eating giant as I should be, but my pesky conscience never departed. I was always too soft for him: soft and weak, yet not pliable enough to bend to his whims. 

My eyes focus like a laser as the smaller person reaches my feet, its head not even reaching the height of my toe. I’m turbulent with indecision as I watch with fascination. The fearless little explorer holds out a hand and brushes microscopic fingers along the leather of my boot. I can’t feel the delicate touch, but my neurons fire with excited sparks nonetheless. 

The human stiffens as understanding dawns like a sudden spotlight. The flashlight jerks upward, the narrow beam still failing to penetrate the darkness, obscured with drizzly mist, between us. A momentary flash of lightning, and the human bolts. My predatory instincts spring to life and I surge into action, dropping to my knees. The flashlight disappears into the mud while the human is swiftly mired in a murky puddle, with legs entangled in a web of fine roots. I scoop the person up into my hand and bring it up to my face to sate my curiosity. 

It's a young woman: a tiny, helpless woman, drenched in water, trembling violently, and wriggling against the superior might of my fingers. She’s so small; her entire hand is dwarfed by my fingernail as she slides it along the slick surface. I can’t stop a drip of sympathy from dribbling into my center as I behold just how microscopic and helpless she is, less than the height of my pinky. As much as my stomach clamors to be filled, I freeze up.  

I know I shouldn’t hesitate. My father taught me to be ruthless, to consume, to enjoy the hunt and the catch and the rare satiation of my bottomless appetite. I should eat and be fulfilled, and forgot my nagging, troubling qualms. I’m a giant; she’s a human, fit for a meal and nothing more, to be ingested, dissolved, and forgotten. I run my tongue along the inner curve of my teeth, imagining how she would feel inside my mouth, the delights of her flavor. Yet, I am paralyzed. I can’t do it, when I see her fighting for her life in my hand, tears streaming down her face to mix with the rain. 

I decide to keep her. I’ll eat her later. Perhaps I’ll prepare her for my breakfast in the morning. I’ll fry up some bacon and roll her into an omelet with cheese. My salivary glands approve of the suggestion, and I find I’m able to move again as I tuck her under the lapel of my jacket, against the dry warmth of my chest. I wrap my hand firmly around her soggy, shivering form, careful not to squash her into jelly. Like a fruit, I wouldn’t want to bruise her succulent flesh. 

I feel calmer, now that I’ve made my choice. I lumber back through the trees to my cottage, taking my time. The tiny woman squirms against my chest, but settles down as she seems to realize she has no chance of escape. I don’t allow the guilt to worm into my heart and rot it from the inside. No. None of that. She is mine to do with what I please, no longer her own person, merely a piece of meat that still draws breath. For now. 

The trek takes some time, but I finally make it home. The human hasn’t moved beneath my hand for a while, and I begin to worry. Did I hurt her without realizing? Snap her flimsy spine with a momentary pinch, or crush her skull under my thumb? My throat tightens. After I step through the threshold and close the door, I reach underneath my wet coat and cautiously wrap my fingers around her delicate form. She feels warm, yet fragile and small. 

I open my hand so that she’s laying supine in my palm. I hold her close to my face to examine her. I exhale in relief once I perceive the almost imperceptible rise and fall of her chest. I didn’t kill her. The revelation floods over me with an unexpected warmth. She appears to be unconscious—whether from exhaustion, fear, smothering, or a combination of the aforementioned, I cannot be certain. Either way, she is alive, albeit worse for wear: disheveled clothes, tangled hair, pale skin, and muddy shoes. 

I attempt to quash any sympathy I have. I can’t allow myself to feel that way towards my food; my father would be disgusted with me for my weakness of character. A gnawing hunger grows in my core, like a black void. I’m torn apart by potent, conflicting feelings. I’ll sort it out in the morning, with clarity of mind, once I’m better rested. I shed my raincoat and gently wrap the human in a dry washcloth to sop up the excess moisture and mud. I undress, removing my boots and throwing on a light shirt and shorts to sleep in, before laying down in bed. I set the sleeping human down beside me, a safe distance away so I don’t roll over her in my sleep. 

Before I close my eyes, I can’t help but stare at her, mesmerized. All I can see of her is her little head with her damp hair poking out of the cloth. Her fine features are untroubled, smoothed over in slumber. I wonder how she’ll react when she wakes up. Even if she runs away, or hides, she won’t be able to escape me. I imbibe her scent, subdued from the rain yet still potent enough to drive me wild. I will find her if she flees. 

That last thought troubles me slightly. I don’t want her to run. I don’t want her to fear me, to gaze upon me like I’m some sort of monster, even though I’m an obvious danger, and I plan to eat her. It’s an irrational sentiment, perhaps rooted in my deep loneliness, but for some reason I want her to like me.  

How absurd of me, to wish for something so impossible. 

Chapter 3

[frizzle-mcshizzle]

@valentinerose529 this is easier to explain in its own post 

the triplets are like 9-10 here and yet they act like unhinged toddlers with the way they are constantly speaking all in caps and running around breaking things

then Lex is acting like a horny teenage boy when boys his age are fully in their “ewww cooties” phase most of the time.

not the mention that the way they also tie each other up and “prank each other” is borderline psychopathic, i mean tying Lex to a chandelier why he’s sleeping? tying up Lovise and trying to force feed her exliers.

it’s very obvious Shannon messager is a only child because thats not how younger siblings act, even the unhinged ones.

they would realistically try to break into the sleepover by trying to act mature, and try to talk to Dex’s friends because thats just how younger siblings are. Bex would probably start telling embarrassing stories about Dex, Lex would probably have a fart gun of some sort instead of grabbing Biana. the only thing they do thats age appropriate is Bex threatening to dunk Harry in mud.

what i would change about their characters specifically.

Bex would have less volume issues and would keep the lack of filter, but it would be used for telling embarrassing stories about her brother and saying things tnat way out of left field to the point that her parents are embarrassed.

Lex would stay the most “annoying one” but would probably just throw things and make gross noises, shoot nerf guns at the body gards, he would be the one to steal harry not Bex, and would be the biggest prankster.

Rex would be the most mellow one, getting blamed for what Lex does, just konda follows his brother and sisters lead, he would try to be friends with Dex’s friends but would end up being the little sibling they don’t want there.

[ayyyez]

For whichever Naruto characters you'll get inspiration for: how do they think they would do babysitting vs how they actually do. Who'd be overconfident and fail miserably? Who would avoid it at all cost but turn out amazing? Who is bad with kids and knows it? Who'd be a supernanny?

A/N: oh yeah, sure thing my friend! These were fun to do. Thanks for sending in a request!

TAGS: babysitting headcanons, fluff, soft headcanons, hehes, gremlin Madara

CHARACTERS: Neji Hyuga, Shisui Uchiha, Shikamaru Nara, Madara Uchiha, Tobirama Senju

NEJI HYUGA: Okay so genin Neji would not be thrilled at the prospect of babysitting. He'd also be a little cocky thinking he'd have no problem wrangling a bunch of kids. He underestimates these trouble makers however and has a woeful time dealing with their "backtalking" and "incessant questioning of authority." That's him— he's the authority. Neji sweetie they're kids. Won't lose them though with his Byakugan and kind of scares them into behaving with his demeanour.

Teen/Adult (Jonin) Neji now is a lot more mellow and less harsh. He's going to be a lot softer and understanding. Is actually less confident with the task but does a lot better. Bends down to the kids level to talk to them. Treats them the same way he does adults in the way he talks to them but his tone his gentler. Is patient with their questions. Reads to them. Teaches them life lessons.

Don't tell anyone but he gives them piggybacks.

SHISUI UCHIHA: The best damn babysitter you could ask for and he knows it too. If you tell him though he'll get all bashful about it. He's so good with kids! Talks and plays with them like he is one. Being around kids helps him reset and forget his troubles. He can't help but want to protect them and their childhoods. Because of this just wants to show them the best time.

Kind of sneaky about the games he teaches. The games teach them strategy and how to think on their feet. Real world shinobi skills to help them learn how to hide and escape if they ever need it. Shisui also picks the littler kids up and zooms them around. Piggyback rides and races. Rolling down hills. Lots of laughter and fun.

Always letting the kids win and encouraging them when he can.

SHIKAMARU NARA: Doesn't matter when this is Shikamaru's always going to think it's going to be a drag babysitting. He's going to look for the easiest way to mind these kids. Think smarter not harder is his motto. Doesn't think he'll do a terrible job nor exceed expectations. He's there to tick a box. What he doesn't expect is to be kept amused by the kids. Having back and forth banter. The kids telling him "jokes" and stories.

Ha. So maybe babysitting isn't so bad. The kind of babysitter who is like 'Alright, I'll give you some treats if you don't tell your parents.' Totally has a secret pact with the kids. Teaches them all sorts of cool things. As long as they don't have to go anywhere or do anything too annoying.

The kind of babysitter the kids think are cool.

MADARA UCHIHA: Do not let this man babysit your kids. He's a terrible influence (affectionate). I don't mean big bad Madara either I just mean regular gremlin Madara. He's going to have your kids running wild and promoting their chaos. He has a complex where he both thinks he's the best babysitter in the world and thinks he's also going to fail big time.

Okay in all seriousness though he's good for kids who have a lot of energy and need to run around. He'll match their energy and do what they need to do to get all of that out. Won't bring any negativity to the table either. Just encourages them to go go go. And is behind them the entire time. Doesn't care about the mess either. Those kids want to roll around in mud? Alright mud fight it is. It's war baby. Takes those wargames very seriously. The kids call him sir and everything lol.

He encourages chaos in order to keep that watchful eye on them. He actually does an alright job.

TOBIRAMA SENJU: Great teacher. Terrible babysitter. Terrible with teensy children. Good with school level children in a teaching environment. But he just can't babysit. He's so bad with children that aren't his own or his students. He's just so awkward. You know how people hold toddlers like they're wild creatures with their arms completely stretched out in front of them? That's him holding them.

Everything becomes lectures when he talks to them and he's so theoretical and awkward at connecting and knows it. He honestly chooses to just not babysit.

I want to point out though he is really good at teaching children when they're his students. When they're old enough to somewhat take care of themselves and he just has to teach them the rest and theres time to make a connection—he can't explain it—it's just different. Like tweens he's good with tweens. Genuinely enjoys seeing the next generations flourish he just doesn't have those babysitting skills.

[sparklingcid3r]

more cherrycola hcs bc i saw them get mentioned like once and got activated like a sleeper agent

- they’re literally penny and johnny castle from dirty dancing during the first dance scene at the hotel. they can absolutely tear UP the floor. doesn’t matter if they’re going solo or partners, everyone might as well go home if they pull up to the function, they’ll dance like nobody’s watching

- when soda wants a kiss he’ll ask cherry what kind of lip gloss she has on, and because he’s a man of follow through he’ll actually guess what flavor

- cherry lovessss going over to the curtis house. compared to hers and her friends’, it’s the warmest place she’s ever been. she notices the way every floorboard, every wooden picture frame, every blanket draped over the couch is worn down with love, and she gets along really well with pony obviously

- meeting darry as soda’s gf was kind of awkward. the last time cherry saw him, he was high-strung, pressed down by anxiety, and the most emotional he’s ever been in his life. so meeting him on a regular day, she was a little startled to find that he really was as intimidating as pony described

- (she has no idea about the actual history between him and paul, so she doesn’t understand that darry’s wariness stems from fear of seeing soda hurt like he was and not hatred of cherry’s soc status)

- as good as cherry looks in pink, soda is head over heels seeing her in a forest green dress for the first time. he’s stumbling over his words, blushing hard, just so in love with her

- RODEO DATES‼️ cherry brings marcia so they can barrel race together and soda brings two-bit and they are the biggest hype men. they’re dripped out in cowboy hats and ringing cowbells and cheering for their gfs. soda sees cherry covered in dirt and mud with her hair up and he’s down bad

- bc coffee makes his adhd brain sleepy, he drinks it to mellow out while watching movies at the drive-in with cherry. she thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world when he falls asleep on her halfway thru a film. she’s just glad he came with bc she knows movies aren’t really his thing

- when her stingray needs a repair cherry is BEGGING her parents to let her take it to the dx on the east side and they look at her like she’s crazy, my girl ain’t subtle. but like who wouldn’t want to see their bf with mussed hair and oil spatters on his face leaning over the popped hood of a car, working those muscles to fix it. cherry’s got priorities alr

[quillpokebiology]

Curious since my Mudsdale, Queeniebell, laid eggs, and the only male on my farm is a rhyhorn i'm taking care of for my uncle... What are the babies going to look like?

1st off: Queeniebell is such a cute name for a Mudsdale

2nd off: Have fun explaining this to your uncle, lol

Pokemon Crossbreeds: Highlander

(Name and Crossbreed by @pokemon-variants-pokedex )

Highlander is the name for Mudbray/Mudsdale with fathers who are members of the Rhyhorn line. They were first discovered in the wild, and while counted as a battle breed for their loyalty and strength, they can go a while without battles. The breed is loved by farmers for their strength and indurance.

Mudbray

Highlander Mudbray gain a more grayish fur tone and rugged body. While they're usually as mellow as standard mudbray, they can be more dangerous because they charge anytime they sense danger. Like stated before, they're a lot stronger than standard mudbray, so people love them for battling and physical labor. They eat mud, but they can also eat rocks.

Mudsdale

Not all Highlander Mudsdale have plates, but most do.Highlander Mudsadale gain the traits of both Rhydon and Ryhperior, most notably being their horn and plates. Their carapace helps with their already high defense, making them great for battles. Like Highlander Mudbray, they eat mud and rocks, but they are able to shoot the rocks out like Rhyperior can.

//My designs cam be used by anyone if you credit me for the original design!

[manyminded]

agere hermit!tommy (+ some reg hermit!tommy) headcanons!

I wanted to do just agere but I couldn’t help but set up Tommy’s character a little more…oops! headcanons under the cut

Season: 10 (timelines? I’ve never heard of her) When did Tommy leave dsmp?: After his revival Is Tommy a hybrid?: yes, moth :] Who’s a little & who’s a CG?: little!tommy, cg!hermits

like most h!tommy fics, tommy ended up in hc by accident. the hermits themselves weren’t really worried - it’s 27 to one, after all. but tommy was. He put up an impeccable fight despite having no gear + numbers disadvantage anyways.

eventually it smoothens out and he becomes a “temporary guest” on the server “until they can figure out what to do with him” (sure. sure)

he builds his base out of cobblestone right on the world border. it’s a castle. cobble, because it’s his favorite block, and on the world border for two reasons - he’s a little insecure, on this server of grand building feats - and to stay hidden. he’s still wary. it’s instinctive.

the builders LOVE his base!! btw!! sure it’s crude and not that refined but no matter how hard tommy tries to conceal his pride/passion, they can tell. they try to subtly come over, give him resources/pointers/encouragement, etc etc. tommy doesn’t trust it (he does appreciate it, secretly. he won’t admit that to anyone [let alone himself] however)

Henry and Shroud have revived themselves. They have the same thing as Jellie goin’ on. They’re Tommy’s support animals <3 he doesn’t know know that it’s them, at least not consciously, but he named them after the old buddies.

now for agere time! mwehehe

Tommy’s been going “small” for a while now. Probably since pogtopia? he doesn’t have the words for it, never really did, but it’s been happening. he knows he’s not supposed to, but he can’t stop himself. (involuntary agere baybe!!!) He has a lot of unhealthy ideas around it - thinking it’s bad, mainly. a weakness.

he tries to hide it from the hermits. only doing it in the privacy of his own base, clutching a worn blanket in stubby and calloused fingers. he wanders aimlessly, babbling nonsense to himself. he hides whenever people find him during these moments. (Henry & Shroud try and protect him during these times.)

the first to find him is Bdubs. He came over to give some materials, and found a Tommy that is remarkably not-Tommy-ish. He catches on quickly.

Do the hermits have the words for it, either? Probably not, no. But that doesn’t matter. They’ve been across many servers, thousands of worlds, seen all the whims of the universe. They’re no stranger to this, even if they don’t know the terminology.

Tommy is mistrustful about this. He’s hesitant about showing this side of himself. He’s weak in this state - easy to take advantage of.

But this is Hermitcraft. They wouldn’t do that! Even if Tommy hasn’t internalized that, it’s true.

Tommy’s little self kind of has the inverse character development that his big one does. When he first finds himself in HC, he’s loud and reckless as a coping mechanism. Does he ever entirely mellow out? Not really. But the calmness does whisper in the waves around him. On the other hand - when he’s little, at first, he’s shy and quiet. Downcast. But as he gets more comfortable around the hermits he gets louder, braver, outgoing, and very silly.

Some of his favorite activities with the hermits: hiking (he gets to go in the MUD!! and play with BUGS!! and WORMS!!), building, making food, putting on puppet shows/plays, and in general just having fun! (most of these he’s just watching them do stuff. but, like, you get it.)

Stuffed Animal OBSESSION. he didn’t really have any in dsmp, but now that he has the space to express himself, he’s having SO MUCH FUN. multiple rooms in his castle are dedicated to his collection. The hermits love indulging him.

thinks redstone looks so so cool, REFUSES to learn how it works. like woaw prebby. you’re explaining 2 me what it does? hell to you! hell for one thousand years!!

has a pallet for warm foods, especially when small. angel milk, oatmeal, baked goods, you know. the one exception is ice cream (yummy!) and maybe candy

wasn’t very touchy at first, but now that he’s more comfortable, EVERY TIME he’s around a hermit he’s glommed onto them. It can be subtle, like hand holding, but more than not he’s koala-ed onto them. He’s defined them as “safe” in his head, so now that he’s around them more, the closer he is to them the safer he is.

very talkative. not usually words? Just random babbling. It’s how the hermits find him small most of the time - he’ll send random sounds into the server chat. Like “bla ba ba?” or “meep mrrp. grgrbr. pffff bla bla!!! keee!!!” and people are like. oh he’s baby let me fawn over him. he’s constantly blabbering. and like yeah the chat is just text but you can babble over text.

bedtime is HARD. he HATES IT and gets VERY FUSSY. it has to be SPECIFIC and WARM and NICE and PRETTY or he will NOT close his eyes!!! every hermit has a different way of handling this. and if the specific hermit does it different than the normal way they specifically do it it’s an AFFRONT TO GOD!!!

love love LOVES soft things. stuffed animals? yes. but also blankets, pillows, clothing, and secretly… fur. any hybrid hermits who have some are amazing because of this. He’ll fawn over them for hours, just petting them over & over.

loves the stars/nighttime. will stargaze for hours. it puts him into a trance, basically. probably because of the moth thing but like you know the stars are pretty !!!

that’s all I have for now. I hope you enjoyed :] I wanted a better concluding hc but I couldn’t think of one </3

P.S. if anyone wants to add their own ideas please do so. Might do a pt 2 w specific hermits or w the rest of the bench trio if enough people like this

[pupsmailbox]

STARTING WITH M

MASCULINE︰ mac. macaulay. macauley. mack. maddox. maitland. major. makai. malachai. malachi. malakai. malcolm. malcom. malik. malon. manley. manny. manuel. marcelo. marco. marcos. marcus. mario. marion. mark. marley. marlin. marlon. marlowe. marlyn. marshal. marshall. martie. martin. marty. marvin. marvyn. mason. mat. mateo. mathew. mathias. matias. matt. matteo. matthew. matthias. mattie. matty. maurice. mauricio. maurie. maven. maverick. max. maxie. maximilian. maximiliano. maximillian. maximus. maxton. maxwell. maynerd. mayson. mccoy. mckinley. mel. melville. melvin. melvyn. memphis. meredith. merit. merle. merlin. merlyn. merrick. merv. mervin. mervyn. messiah. micah. michael. micheal. mick. mickey. micky. miguel. mike. mikey. milan. miles. milford. millard. miller. milo. milton. mitch. mitchell. mo. moe. mohamed. mohammad. mohammed. moises. monday. monroe. montague. monte. montgomery. monty. moralis. morgan. morley. morris. mort. morton. morty. moses. moshe. moss. muhammad. munro. munroe. murphy. murray. musa. myles. myron.

FEMININE︰ mabel. mac. macey. maci. mackalya. mackayla. mackenzie. macy. maddie. maddison. madeleine. madeline. madelyn. madilyn. madison. maeve. maggie. magnolia. maisie. makayla. makenna. makenzie. malani. malaya. malaysia. malia. malinda. maliyah. mallory. malory. marceleine. maren. margaret. margaux. margo. margot. maria. mariah. mariana. marianne. marie. marina. marlee. marleigh. marley. mary. maryanna. mavis. maxine. maya. mckenna. mckenzie. meadow. meera. megan. melanie. melina. melissa. melody. mena. meredith. mia. miah. miana. michaela. michelle. mila. milani. miley. millie. miracle. miranda. miriam. molina. molliana. molly. monica. morgan. mya. myla. myra.

NEUTRAL︰ mace. madden. maddix. mage. magenta. magic. maim. maine. maison. majesty. major. makari. malak. malice. malware. maple. marble. march. mari. marigold. marin. marion. marley. marlin. marlo. marlow. mars. marsh. marvel. mascara. masquerade. masyn. match. mauve. maven. mayday. mayhem. mayson. maze. mazi. mckinley. meadow. mecca. med. mega. melancholy. mellow. melody. memphis. mention. mercury. mercy. merengue. meridian. merit. merlin. merrick. merritt. merry. meteorite. metro. metronome. meyer. micah. micaiah. michigan. mickey. middle. midnight. mika. mikah. milan. miles. miller. million. minus. miracle. mirage. misery. misfit. misha. miss. mission. misty. model. monday. monitor. monroe. montana. montgomery. moon. moor. morgan. morse. moss. moth. muck. mud. murphy. mutt. myka. mykah. mystery. mystique.

[hetalia-club]

What do you guys think about this for the next chapter of Hetalia?:

Alfred found wandering nude in the woods covered in cheez whizz disoriented and confused. He’s been missing for over two weeks. A hunter in some back woods town in the Appalachia has to call the US government and let them know they found him in the woods again with fear in his voice speaking in a low whisper. He’s reverted to being feral and will need to be rehabilitated again. He keeps muttering about the cheese caves and how his supply is dwindling and that he needs more. The response by the US secret service is swift and the entire town is locked down within a 40mile radius where the marines comb through the woods playing Toxic by Britain Spears on a boom box to try and lure him out of whichever crevice he’s crawled into. He’s found at night, his eyes glowing in the light of the flashlight. He hisses and moves to conceal a wheel of cheese half buried in the mud. They came unarmed he would take the sight of firearms as a challenge and bullets don’t hurt him and they just piss him off. In order to calm him down he needs to be tranquilized they put it in a little Debbie cake and toss it over to him shaking with fear hoping and praying he accepts the gesture as a gift and not take it as a threat. He eats it growling darting his eyes around wildly in the darkness. They need night vision to see him but he can see them. He can see everything. Every twitch, every ever involuntary movement. He’s searching for signs of fear. It takes three Debbie cakes spiked with enough tranquilizers to kill an elephant three times over. He’s not dead, he’s not asleep. It doesn’t knock him out but it makes calm enough to be baited and led with a Hershey’s and Almonds chocolate bar without attacking. The sight of the helicopter frightens him and he ends up spitting acid at someone in secret service. Their screams send him into a furry he kills three soldiers before he is subdued by someone wrapping him in a blanket and humming the star spangled banner putting him in a trance like state where he can the and muzzled and carried to the chopper. They get him back to civilizations he he just a sort of mellows out in his own and starts doing paper work again.

Idk what do you guys think? I think it would be a cute little chapter 🥰

[adobe-outdesign]

Can you do some ursaluna headcannons?

Not completely extinct, but extremely rare in the modern day due to many peat bogs being drained for more land. Recent conversation efforts have resulted in a small uptake in Ursaring evolving.

Ursaluna coat themselves in mud to protect themselves against attacks as well as thermoregulation. An Ursaluna without any mud on it is usually a sign that it's ill.

The moon-like pattern on their foreheads can vary from individual to individual, with some displaying waxing or waning moon-like markings instead. It's unknown what causes this variation.

Bloodmoon Ursaluna is thought to have evolved during an eclipse, which is what gives it its unique red coloration. Other changes are adaptions to Kitakami's climate.

Ursaluna can live for up to 80 years, sometimes longer in the right conditions.

Ursaluna tend to be a bit more mellow in personality compared to Ursaring.