#Processed Meat by Meat Type

[priteshwemarketresearch]

Processed Meat Market   Analysis, Growth Factors and Dynamic Demand by 2035

Processed Meat Market Forecast 2025 - 2035: Trends, Insights, and Growth Opportunities

The Processed Meat market is set to witness significant growth over the next decade. With a projected compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 6.4% from 2024 to 2034, the market is estimated to reach USD 687.38 billion by 2034, up from USD 358.84 billion in 2024. This growth is being driven by changing consumer preferences, the increasing demand for convenience, and a variety of other market dynamics. In this blog, we will explore the key factors contributing to this growth, market segmentation, and the emerging trends shaping the future of the processed meat industry.

Request for Sample PDF of Processed Meat Market:

https://wemarketresearch.com/reports/request-free-sample-pdf/processed-meat-market/1599

What is Processed Meat?

Processed meat refers to any meat that has been altered through methods such as curing, salting, smoking, drying, or adding preservatives to extend its shelf life and enhance its flavor. Some of the most common processed meat products include hamburgers, fried sausages, kebabs, chicken nuggets, canned meats, and smoked meats. These products are convenient, versatile, and easy to prepare, making them a popular choice for consumers worldwide.

Key Drivers of Growth in the Processed Meat Market

Convenience and Changing Lifestyles

As lifestyles become busier, consumers increasingly opt for convenient food options. Processed meats, such as ready-to-eat meals (e.g., chicken nuggets and kebabs) and frozen sausages, fit perfectly into this demand. Their quick preparation time and long shelf life make them an ideal choice for busy individuals and families.

Rising Disposable Incomes

As disposable incomes rise, especially in emerging markets, consumers are willing to invest in premium processed meat products. This trend is particularly noticeable in pork, beef, and poultry-based products, where consumers are looking for higher-quality processed meats such as smoked and cured options.

Increased Demand for Ready-to-Eat Products

The global rise in the demand for ready-to-eat meals continues to drive the processed meat market. Products like hamburgers, sausages, and canned meats are all part of the booming convenience food industry, where speed and ease of preparation are top priorities for consumers.

Expansion of E-Commerce and Online Retail

Online retail is gaining significant traction in the processed meat market. As consumers turn to e-commerce for grocery shopping, the demand for processed meat products through online platforms has surged. This trend is expected to continue as more consumers enjoy the convenience of purchasing their favorite processed meats from the comfort of their homes.

Processed Meat Market Segmentation

The processed meat market can be segmented in several ways, providing valuable insights into consumer preferences, trends, and growth opportunities. Below, we explore the key segments of the market:

By Type: Hamburgers, Fried Sausages, Kebab, and Chicken Nuggets

Hamburgers and fried sausages are among the most popular processed meat products, widely consumed across various regions.

Kebabs and chicken nuggets are also experiencing rising demand, particularly in fast food and convenience food sectors, where these items are easy to prepare and serve.

By Product Type: Chilled, Frozen, Canned, Dried, Cured, Smoked, and Ready-to-Eat

Frozen processed meats dominate the market due to their extended shelf life and convenience for consumers.

Canned and dried meats offer alternatives for consumers seeking shelf-stable options, particularly in markets where long-lasting products are a priority.

Smoked and cured meats are increasingly popular among consumers looking for specialty processed meats with enhanced flavor profiles.

By Meat Type: Pork, Beef, Poultry, Lamb, Mixed Meat, and Others

Poultry (chicken, turkey) is expected to maintain the largest market share due to its affordability and versatility.

Pork is heavily used in products like sausages and bacon, while beef remains a staple in hamburgers and other processed meat offerings.

Lamb and mixed meat products cater to niche markets with specific tastes and regional preferences.

By Form: Whole Cuts, Sliced, Ground, and Pieces

Sliced and ground meats are popular in ready-to-eat and fast food products.

Whole cuts remain a favorite in premium and specialty meat markets, where consumers seek higher quality cuts for specific dishes.

By Region: North America, Europe, Asia-Pacific, and Rest of the World

North America and Europe continue to dominate the processed meat market due to their long-standing consumption habits and high demand for convenience foods.

Asia-Pacific is expected to witness the fastest growth, driven by increased urbanization, rising disposable incomes, and a shift in dietary preferences towards processed meats.

Rest of the World, including regions like Latin America and the Middle East, will see steady growth, especially in demand for poultry and beef products.

Processed Meat Market Forecast and Revenue Outlook

The processed meat market is poised for significant growth. In 2024, the global market is estimated to generate USD 358.84 billion in revenue. By 2034, the market is projected to reach USD 687.38 billion, fueled by the ongoing demand for convenience, high-quality products, and increased online retail.

Conclusion

The Processed Meat Market is on an upward trajectory, driven by the Growing Demand for convenient, ready-to-eat products and the rising popularity of processed meat across various regions. Key segments, such as frozen meats, poultry, and smoked/cured products, will continue to see substantial growth in the coming years.

[starswallowingsea]

thinking of that post that's like being a picky eater as a kid just means i get to experience the joy of trying so many foods as an adult. i have some new foods planned for this week after i move including stir fried sweet and sour veggies + rice and omurice (really simple fried rice... may add veggies to it later if i like it but one step at a time). will let you guys know how it goes

[mantisgodsdomain]

On the rare occasions when we talk about the spectre of veganism you can probably physically tell the amount of psychic damage that we take from seeing people throw out any part of a carcass.

[cxpperhead]

🍍& 🍋

Random Headcanons

🍍 - What is an event that seemed of minor consequence to them when it occurred, but ended up impacting their life/development in a bigger way?

The first time he stole something non-essential. Copperhead had stolen many times before, usually necessities like food or articles of clothing but the more he continued taking what wasn't his, the bigger the thrill it became. Shoplifting graduated to pickpocketing, then full-on breaking and entering with Copperhead honing his skills over the years to take whatever caught his eye. At that point it was more about the challenge than actual need, since he was living as a drifter and could only carry around the bare essentials. His humble beginnings as a petty thief left him craving greater challenges to feel that rush of adrenaline once more. Murder may slake the dark thirst brewing within but thieving was always a personal pleasure, and a great side business when good assassination contracts are far and few in-between.

🍋 - Is there anything special about their diet, and how do they manage it? If they were to gain/lose a lot of weight suddenly, how would they react and adjust?

As a Serpent Metahuman, Copperhead doesn't require frequent meals. In fact he prefers eating only a few times a week, preferably small meals that are quick and easy to digest. A full belly makes for a slow snake so Copperhead avoids consuming large amounts of food in one go, finding he grows too sluggish on the occasion his greed gets the better of him. He can subsist entirely on meat but Copperhead likes fish and fruit too, having a highly refined palate what with his sensitive tongue. Shellfish like crab and lobster is something he goes wild for but he always tries to avoid gorging no matter how tempting a spread is. Contrary to popular belief, he does not eat rats.

[genderqueerdykes]

i want to take the time to talk about a series of disabilities that no one takes seriously or even recognizes as a disability, which is food intolerances, and allergies. if a person can get sick if they eat the wrong foods, they are disabled, as this illness will make them unable to function all because they ate the wrong food. it's not okay to guilt someone for seeking foods that won't injure them.

in 2022, i began to lose my ability to digest land meats (pork, chicken, cow, etc.), animal milks, and eggs. it started slowly but quickly progressed to every type of land meat. i am only able to digest seafood, plants, nuts, seeds safely without becoming horribly sick. i tried to buy cow's milk because it is cheaper recently and became so ill it was genuinely traumatic. i have never been that sick in my life before. i cannot safely ingest cow's milk, the cheaper option, because it will injure me for several days or even weeks at a time. this happens to me with all land meats as well.

i cannot eat eggs. i cannot fried rice that has egg, i cannot eat most sauces like mayo or ranch dressing because of their high egg content. i cannot eat anything dressed in mayo as a sauce. anything that is baked or brushed or washed with egg is a risk. my digestive system really hates eggs in particular and they are inescapable.

people who can't digest or process lactose, gluten, meats, seafood, eggs, nuts, seeds, beans, fiber, certain fats, proteins or sugars don't have their needs considered very often, nor taken seriously, especially when that person is poor. people with digestive issues need to be able to eat foods that don't hurt us- it's not our faults that alternative milks, breads, pizzas, snacks, sauces, dips, spreads, meats and more are significantly more expensive. we still need to be able to eat foods that don't harm us regardless of how much money we make.

[yeyinde]

You want a baby. Simon can't get over his hangups to give you one. The solution to both problems? Johnny.

18+ SMUT. breeding. mildly dubious consent. Johnny feasts on your pussy and then does his best to knock you up while Simon watches. slight body worship. bastardization of religious imagery. Mean!Dom Simon. rough, messy sex.

He's not the type to saw off his own hand to feed you, but would rather find a third man to satiate you both. The only one who can care for you, he said. Can't do that when he's dead, can he?

Maybe that's why he calls for Johnny.

down boy. eager mutt. lil' pyedogs got himself all twisted up in a rutt. help him, won't you, pet?

Johnny's softer than Simon but only just. This margin of distance, however, could be the gaping maw of a canyon for how wide it really is when scaled down to fit. Boxed inside a narrow bed—on your belly, cheek on Simon's knee; ass up, legs spread. Johnny behind you—colluvium to Simon's mountainside, but still so broad, so thick, your hips twinge with the effort of keeping your knees so wide apart.

You feel it whistling through the chasm when he licks his lips behind you—a loud, lascivious smack, a wet suckle—and feel the burn of his stare riveted on the split of your flesh. This bare seam Simon swears he found nirvana tucked deep inside of. A buried ravine. Aquifer he quenches himself on.

A pilgrimage Johnny has been aching to take.

And that's what this is, isn't it? Yatra to the hidden piscina. A procession to pollute the tarn—something Simon can't bring himself to do.

Bad genes. Trauma—sticky, noxious tar that oozes from the rotting filaments; festering deep inside. Cancerous: a mass you long to cleave from bone but know it's not cosmetic. Not just the ball joints, or the studs, but the foundation itself. If you start tearing up pieces now you'll have nothing but an empty plot and a pile of damaged debris.

So:

Enter the third man.

A tool. Vassel. Pays fealty by fucking a baby into your womb.

It's what you wanted, isn't it?

(yes, but—)

It happens faster than you can keep up with. Hands on your hips. Coarse hair tickling the back of your thigh. Warm breath against sticky, wet flesh. A broad nose parting your folds. Inhale. Exhale on a deep, reedy groan.

"fuck, ye smell heavenly, doe."

Simon hums before you can peel your tongue from the roof of your mouth, answering for you with a brassy invitation: tastes even better, Johnny.

It's all the permission he needs before he pushes his head closer to your bare cunt, groaning as his tongue cleaves a silky, thick line between your folds. Gorging himself without much preamble. Hands curled around your hips like expensive silverware, pulling you back into the wanting, eager suck of his mouth.

All at once, it's too much. Your hips shift, squirming away from his tongue, the too-sharp press of his teeth against soft, sensitive flesh. Mewling, whimpering into the rain-wet fabric of Simon's jeans.

His hand falls on your head. A gentle tap. Behave, it says, but you can't.

Johnny tramples over that thin line between pleasure and ecstasy, blurring them both until it becomes pain. Overwhelming. Shoving you towards the edge before you've readied yourself for the fall.

"Can't, Simon, can't—"

The words elide, slurring into a high-pitched whine as Johnny feasts on your cunt. Devours you from the inside out—all teeth and tongue, sucking your clit until your thighs cramp from how tight your muscles tense, bleeding lactic acid over sore flesh. The scrape of his stubble over your folds, chafing them until they are raw. Swollen. Drenched hole fucked with the spear of his tongue, digging so deep you begin to fear that he's trying to crawl inside of you. Salt your womb with his own two hands—

"Can take it, birdie," is all Simon says before his hand slides down your arched, trembling spine. Fingers digging into the meat of your cheek, spreading you wider for Johnny to eat. "Look how eager he is. Can't get enough of that sweet cunt."

"It's—it's too much—"

You don't feel him move. Can't see much from the blurry tears in your eyes. But his other hand whips out, cracking over your untouched cheek in a firm, burning smack. One that makes Johnny moan when it lands. Cruel. Open palm. Hard enough to leave a welt in the shape of his hand—something that makes him groan when he sees it.

"fuckin' hell—" his fingers dig into the aching flesh, grip bruising.

Johnny peels his wet, open mouth away long enough to pant into the slick spread of your cunt, resting his cheek on the swell of your ass. "Bit rough wit' 'er, Lt."

Simon considers it. Body shaking the bed when he shrugs, leaning back to trail his hand back up your spine, curling over the arch of your nape. Keeping you still as you sob into his knee. "She likes it."

"know she does. Fuck, Lt. Can feel 'er little pussy twitching. Tryin' tae suck me in."

Another hum. The grip on your asscheek eases as his hand peels away, sliding over swell before notching a finger between your cleft. Dry. Rough. It drags down your seam until it brushes over your fluttering hole, calloused tip digging in.

"soft, too, ain't it?" He asks, words mockingly cruel in their conversational tone. Nonchalant. But Johnny's hands tighten on your waist, palms slick with sweat. Glueing to your flesh. You can tell he likes that. Likes the way Simon talks about you. Demeaning and brutish. Butcher selling a piece of meat. "Bit of a tight fit at first—" he curls his finger inside of you, stretching your sore walls with the width of his knuckle. Sinking in deep. Another follows before you can remember how to breathe around the sting. "But swallows you up like a goddamn dream, Johnny."

His breaths grow ragged. "Fuck, Lt. Look at th'."

It makes you clench up around Simon's fingers, embarrassment scorching through your chest. "Please—"

Neither of them acknowledge you. Simon's fingers split, spreading wide apart as Johnny shuffles forward for a closer look, and nearly choking on his next inhale when he does.

"such a pretty fuckin' pussy—" he says it like a curse. Spitting the words out on a snarl. Angry, now, for reasons you can't discern slobbering over Simon's leg. "God, Lt. ah cannae—"

Johnny shifts back. You hear the clink of a belt. The rip of a zipper. Choked groans barely swallowed down as Simon buries his fingers inside of your weeping cunt over and over again, blunt tips cruelly skating over a spot inside, just behind your navel, that makes you feel liquid and loose between your hips. Debris floating down a whiteriver.

Pleasure peaks with each brutal thrust until you're howling into his leg, unable to move with their hands on your body, holding you down. Making you take it. Making you come undone as Johnny watches.

"fuck, fuck, Lt—she's gonna cum, ain't she?"

"Wanna feel it, Johnny?"

Simon's name falls out of his mouth on a whispered prayer. Drenched in thick reverence. Arched in need.

"aye, sir—" there's something about the hush of his voice, the way it slurs into putty. Enshrining his need in a halo of gold. It sends shivers down your spine. Heats you up fast like a fever. Sends you screaming over the edge—

"gonna miss it, Johnny. She's squeezin' me so fuckin' tight—"

Whatever else they say is swallowed by the keen clawing at the hollow of your throat when you feel the blunt, fat press of his cock knocking against your swollen, stuffed rim.

It's a burning thing—a sharp, heavy ache. Knock, knock. Simon spreads his fingers again, forcing you open. Pulling your hole wide apart for Johnny's engorged head to push up against.

It feels like being split down the middle. Ripped apart. Simon's fingers flex around your nape, thumb brushing soothingly against the knob of your spine.

Can take it, he mutters, brassy and low. A rumble just for you. Gotta take it, birdie.

You forget why. Why you need Johnny's too big, too fat cock inside of your cunt until the head bullies through, scissoring Simon's fingers apart until they're pressed tight on either side of the flared glands. Squeezed between your taut rim and Johnny's cock.

Johnny makes a noise like you've gutted him. A gutwrenching sob. "Oh, shite, Lt. M'—m'nae gonnae last—"

"gonna cum inside 'er, Johnny? Knock my pretty birdie up?"

Right. Right. A baby.

There's a heavy push. Your flesh wrenched apart to fit the fat, throbbing length of his cock—

(the cock that's gonna knock you up—)

Simon's fingers slip out of you as Johnny bucks forward, burying himself deep inside with a long, throaty groan. It's a horrible sensation—a bellyache. Without the splint of Simon's fingers forcing you open wide to near numbness, you're forced to feel the thick girth of his cock. Rim fluttering, spasming over the flared base. Too much, and somehow, not enough.

You sob through it. Each one ripples through your chest until it feels like it will collapse. Every inch of your body burns, throbbing. You don't think you'll survive this ache—

Johnny sets a brutal pace. Likes pistoning into you in quick succession until you're nearly howling into Simon's thigh before slowing to a crawl. Force-feeding you every inch. Making you feel every single one. Long strokes that batter the plug of your womb, bullying against the aching seal of your cervix until the flashes of pain, the savagery of this pleasure, makes you feel sick.

Getting fucked by Johnny like this is both a punishment and a reward. Baptism in hellfire.

Be careful what you wish for—

"gonnae fuck ye 'til it takes, doe. Knock ye up. Want th', don't ye? Aye. Can feel it. Feel this little cunt beggin' fer ma cum. Dinnae worry. Ahm gonnae give it tae ye. A' o' it, doe. Every—fuckin'—drop—"

Each awful word lands like acid on your spine. Chewing through flesh, tissue, until it melts bone below. Liquified. Helpless.

And with Johnny's hands on your hips, anchoring you in place as he hammers into your sore, abused pussy, possessed with the need to carve a space inside of your flesh where only he fits, rots, and Simon's hand on the scruff of your neck, holding you down, there's nowhere to run. Nowhere to escape the ragged breaths that spill from Johnny's slick mouth, the desperate way he pumps into you—thrusts growing sloppy as he stretches towards the precipice they dangle you off of, kicking and screaming as the scent of iron fills your nose, as his flared cockhead scrapes over that place you thought only Simon would ever know. Bluntly battering into the altar that sits, nestled behind your navel, like he's allowed.

Holy offering in a handful of seeds he'll sow over fecund land until something grows.

"Look at you take it," Simon coos, sticky, damp fingers petting over your tear-stained cheeks. It smells of loam. Salt. Iron and ozone. "So pretty when you're gettin' bred, ain't you, birdie?"

It rips a mournful keen from your chest, a feverish moan following on its heels when the lewd squelch, the echoing slapslapslap of Johnny driving into your cunt fills your ears. So wet, so messy, you can feel the slick drying, tacky and thick, on the inner crease of your bent knee.

"He's gonna put our baby in you, ain't he, birdie? Like a good mutt—"

The hands holding you over the precipice let go. Johnny's answering moan spears into your head, fluttering around the pulsing heartbeat of liquid bliss frothing in the pit of your belly. Overflowing over the rim.

Too much, you think, but that's not quite right because you can't feel anything at all except the length of his thick cock lodged deep inside you. Throbbing in tandem with your second pulse.

"gonnae cum, Lt. Gonnae—oh, fuck, Lt—"

His voice is a warm river washing over your spine. Pooling ecstacy. Something heavenly. Divine—

Molten gold blooms in the pit of your belly. Cockhead spitting against the seal of your womb as he cums, filling you to the brim. Fucking it into you even as his cock softens, unable to pull out he says.

Feels like fuckin' heaven, Lt.

"ain't she just?" Simon volleys back, sounding oddly dissonant. Off-key. "Pretty little birdie got what she wanted, huh?"

The drawl of his tone—acid-scorched, electric—forces you to blink through the tears, lifting your aching, wet eyes upwards at him. Searching.

He has the eyes of a predator. Leonine. The gaze of a beast after it's devoured something whole. His touch is as gentle as he can be—a rough, cracked scratch over your blistered cheeks—and when he meets your divining stare, he coos.

"Maybe I'll 'ave a go next time."

In the pounding, soporific slurry of your mind, you can't wrap your head around the words. Can't make sense of them. Struggling to keep your burning eyes open, even.

Not that it matters.

Johnny huffs a scorching breath of laughter over your sweat-slicked spine before wedging his forearm under your belly. Keeping your hips tipped up as he falls into you, resting his broad chest against your back and smothering you into the damp mattress.

"Yer cruel, Lt," he rasps, chin nuzzling over the arch of your shoulder, cock giving a feeble twitch inside of you at something you can't seem to piece together.

"m'jus' givin' my pretty bird exactly what she asked for." Huh? He prods, fingers tapping over your cheek when your swollen eyes slide shut. "Forgettin' y'manners, ain't you? Say thank you, pet."

With Johnny's half-formed chuckle echoing in your head, you mumble the words out on an exhausted sigh.

"an' say thank you to this mutt f'knockin' you up."

It comes out slower this time. Sluggish. His cock gives another twitch as he buries his face between your shoulder blades, smothering a groan.

"Sweetest thing, Lt. Christ—"

"more where that came from, Johnny. Jus' you wait an' see." Another tap. You mewl in response, feeling war-torn and achy. Unable to open your eyes for a second time, all you can do is whimper, burying yourself into his thigh. Pleading, silently, for clemency. Later, you think. Later—

But Simon has other plans.

"Fallin' asleep on me, birdie? Ain't even gonna give me a chance to put my baby in you? Greedy little thing, ain't she?"

Buried under the weight of Johnny as he peppers sucking, open mouth kisses over the width of your shoulder, cum leaking out around the softening plug of his cock, all you can do is snuff out the sob on the arch of his knee, resisting the urge to bite instead.

"Maybe next time then, eh, birdie?" Since you've been so good for this mutt, huh? Maybe I'll give you a reward.

Just be careful what you wish for, huh, birdie.

[powdermelonkeg]

Slowpoke Tails - Shed vs Chopped

Okay, so there's something of a discrepancy between how Slowpoke tails are treated by the Pokémon franchise. Initially, it was understood that these are a tasty, unethical luxury item, starting in Gold/Silver/Crystal and mirrored in Heartgold/Soulsilver:

The whole plot here is that Team Rocket has taken the Slowpoke in the Azalea Slowpoke Well and chopped their tails off to sell on the black market. These run for a whopping 1,000,000 PD a pop ($10k in USD).

But then, in later generations, it's said that Slowpoke tails fall off naturally. In fact, they're a crucial part of both Alolan AND Galarian cuisine:

The curry ingredient even sells for a measly 2,200 PD ($22 USD).

So what gives? Why is it a Million-Poké black market item when you can get a package off your local hiker?

Easy. Sweetness.

Slowpoke use their tails to fish for food. Typically, they do this by dipping their tails into the water, then letting the current catch the sweet sap they give off and bring it to hungry Water-types.

When a Slowpoke sheds its tail, it's because the tail's ability to generate sap has dried up. It's no longer useful as fishing bait, so the Slowpoke has to either get rid of the tail, or starve.

Shed Slowpoke tails, the ones commonly available for cooking, aren't sweet in the slightest—they're more like heavily-marbled tuna steaks, somewhere between beef and fish with a lot of fat dripping from them, and a rich umami flavor.

Chopped Slowpoke tails, the kind you find on the black market, are a completely different experience. The meat is more tender, the flavor a lot more delicate, with a sweetness permeating it that's a lot like the honey glaze on a ham.

Naturally, chopped Slowpoke tail then becomes a novel experience. Because you have to take it from a Slowpoke, you can't just find it lying around.

So why, then, is it illegal enough for Rocket to move in on? Why is Slowpoke farming or hunting for those sweet tails not a thing? They still grow them back afterwards, so what's the deal?

The problem with chopping a Slowpoke's tail off is that, even though it regenerates, its body wasn't ready to do so. This can cause a whole lot of complications for the poor thing.

A tail doesn't regenerate from nothing, for starters: every time you cut a tail off unexpectedly, the Slowpoke's body rushes to make a replacement, using up its body's fat reserves. This causes VERY rapid and dangerous weight loss, and a frankly ridiculous amount of stress.

Incorrect cuts can cause deformities, like a tail growing back too short, not being able to make enough sweetness to bait fish Pokémon, or even Espeon-tail syndrome, where the tail splits into two at the end.

And, perhaps most egregiously of all, a cut too high might mean the Slowpoke never regrows its tail at all. If you cut into anything that's not specifically tail tissue, the body will begin the scarring process over the wound, removing the Pokémon's ability to fish and evolve. And while it can learn to survive by fishing manually, like its evolutionary counterpart is required to, oftentimes, Slowpoke will just sit by the water and starve, not realizing that they aren't getting a bite because there's just nothing to bite.

In short: Shed = ethical, chopped = unethical, possibly lethal.

Slowpoke responsibly, guys.

[hickeygender]

i love that hickey's immediate defense mechanism to anything bad happening to him ever is to break out in the most scuffed patrick bateman type smile imaginable while he stalls for time to come up with a more sane response than either spitting vitriol or taking a chunk out of someone with his teeth.

his bitch wife having the gall to divorce HIM (god's greatest gift to bottoms and a known catch)? sniles. being unjustly flogged bloody in front of the crew after his genius 1000 iq plan doesn't pan out and land him an irish dilf? sniles so sneetly. telling goodsir to butcher billy, getting called out for killing his miserable ex-wife himself for din-din but reasonably drawing the line at meat processing, being clocked as growing up BROKE, and hearing "no" from a man he thought was a doormat?? i know in my heart that when he's sitting there for a moment with his rictus grin, his internal monologue is just incoherent violence like

[cal-x]

fixatingon your own ocs is so cringe

[cuteniarose]

It is done

Hey 🗑️🔥 gang my head still hurts from spending hours making that masterpost and I need a break from the screen, should I go make myself pancakes at 1:20 a.m??

[nighttimealone]

Hi, I love your writing! And I was wondering if I could request a smut story. Where König, Price, or Soap is a budior photographer and is doing a photo shoot with an insecure plus size reader?

Cw: Nsfw (Why choose one? I wrote all of them in this, hope you don’t mind)

You’ve been looking at your feeds, sighs imperceptibly when it shows your friends sharing the photos of them having a boudoir shoot. You’ve always been craving one for yourself, but you don’t fit into the ‘beauty standard’ of the society, or at least that’s the people told you while snorting laughters throughout your life. But fuck it, you’re not going to care about those toxic murmurs from your heart popping up in your mind, or the taunts you’ve received from others. Your fingers type on your phone swiftly, sending a message to the boudoir photographer, then discard your phone on the nightstand and close your eyes, in case you regret your decision again and cancel it with a “sorry”.

John, the first photographer you contact, ring your doorbell and greet you with a polite smile. A gentleman, caring and make sure you’re always comfortable, that’s your first impression of him.

“Just like that, love. You’re doing so well.” He instructs you patiently throughout the shoot, sensing your nervousness and insecurity, but doesn’t point out. It’s obvious that he prefers a more romantic style, let you turn your back to the camera, hair splaying across your back, extending your legs back to accentuate your curves.

You try to hide the ‘excessive’ meat on your thighs, closing them tightly and turn them away from the camera subconsciously. His hands, warm and tender, hovering over your thighs with a gruff “May I?”, seeking your permission before maneuvering your legs, guiding it to expose the plump and soft flesh, “That’s it, good girl. No need to be shy.” He snaps the picture with a satisfied look.

His eyes are full of fascination when he looks down at you, skins glowing and cheeks rosy when he slowly peels the robe of your lingerie—french style with white transparent laces—off you. “Knew how gorgeous you look in these, love?” John’s touch is reverent, as if you’re a gift from the heaven, peppering kisses up your thighs, knowing how much you feel embarrassed about them. Yet the awe in his eyes makes your head spin as he wraps his hands around both of your thighs, “God, see how they spill out of my fingers, princess? perfect…absolutely perfect.” That’s the last thing he says before lowering his head, can’t control his urge any longer, lapping at your core and worshipping you thoroughly, there’s won’t be a spot left untaken care of as your back arch at how his tongue nudges your entrance, drinking all those nectar and groans lowly when your squeeze his head between your thighs. “Come on, squeeze those thighs harder around me, drown me in your pussy.” When you see him lift his head slightly, instructing you just like he was during the shooting—only this time his beard is glistening with your juices—you know you’ll keep being a good girl for him.

You receive the photos from John a week after, baffled and blinks your eyes a few times, trying to process the fact that the elegant woman in the photo is you. Your cheeks are hot when you observe the photos clearly, but the joy swirling in your chest overtakes the shyness of seeing yourself in such intimate positions.

So you search the internet again, and finds Johnny, contact him about booking a session, meanwhile take a look at his social media profile. He looks confident and quite a people person, the smug smile never leaves his lips in every photos of him. And he’s just like what you assume, the moment you open your door, he never stops talking, charming you with every words, even the stupid mohawk only he can make it shine looks good on him.

In contrast to John, Johnny’s style is more passionate, sexual and sultry. Teaching you to sit on your bed, legs spread wide and brace yourself with arms at your back, arch your supple breast high and let the locks falls naturally behind you. “Hell, you look like sexiness embodiment, lassie.” Johnny’s praises never stop, every moves of your body make him gasp in admiration.

Johnny insists you to sit on his lap, tugging the straps on your lingerie and let it snap back on your skin lightly, moans out like a needy wolf as he watch the strap’s digging into your skin slightly. “I knew this lingerie would suit ye the moment I saw your stunning body, pretty girl.” Yes, he suggested you to pick yourself a lingerie with more straps tying around each part of your body, but what you didn’t know is he’s been hiding that boner since he see you comes out the bathroom with it, his cock so hard and leaking precums in his trousers, good that he wears the loose and black pair, or he might get caught hiding his erection during the shoot, and ended up just fucking you straightly before finishing the shoot.

His thick dick sinks into your cunny, still pushing you down onto his lap, so he can stuff all that cock inside of your warmth. If you try to lift your ass, saying you don’t want to crush him under his weight, a soft smack will immediately lands on your buttocks, with him grabbing your thighs and thrust into you fully again, chuckling at your high-pitched whine, “Ditch those unnecessary concerns, doll. Think I can’t handle a bit of weight, eh? will change that thought of yers now.” His hips rocks upwards to emphasize his points, and you can barely understand his words when he’s fucking into your tight cunt fiercely.

During the wait for the photos from Johnny, you contact König. You’re more comfortable with boudoir shoots now, and when you spotted his work from his profile, you’re interested in getting one of those photos featuring exotic nightgowns. He replies to your inquiry quickly with a ‘:)’ at the end of the sentence, so you expect him to be a cute boy. Well, that’s why you almost close your door after seeing a 6’9’’ giant with a mask covering the lower half of his face, standing in front of you when the time comes, thinking he accidentally knocked the wrong door, until he swiftly explains to you he’s ‘König’ with a tint of fluster in his voice.

Despite the little incident and misunderstanding earlier, the whole experience is relaxing. He’s quieter and looks more intimidating than John and Johnny, yet he softly guides your movements and pose, and you almost snicker at his attempt to make himself less scary.

But when König scoops you in his arms without breaking a sweat, holding you in full nelson and driving that inhuman-sized cock into your pussy, growls teetering on animalistic and humane as he keeps lifting you, letting the position help him abuse your poor cervix and you’re singing his name in joy, squirting here and there every time he pulls out a bit just to slam back, heavy balls slapping on your skin, you know he’s been hiding the feral side from you, caging the animal inside him till he can has his way with you after the shoot. “So süß…so gut, liebe…” His hips never cease, standing tall and pinning you back against his chest. A german curse grunted against your shoulder as he goes pussy drunk, panting at how comforting and enticing to fondle your pillowy thighs when he fills you to the brim.

You wake up next day around noon, body aches from the activity from last day. Your groggy mind sluggishly recalls that Johnny tells you he’ll be sending the final files of your photos today, so you reach out to check if he sent them yet. Yet your eyes widened when you see the notifications popping up on the screen.

[Price]: You can just come to me whenever you want another shoot, sweetheart. Heard you went to get one from Johnny, hmm?

[Johnny]: Saw you following that giant’s account. König, eh? don’t go seek him when you need new photos, ask me or at least the old man first, I’ll always squeeze a session out of my schedule just for you, lassie.

[König]: *attached a picture of an exquisite nightgown* This suits you well, Schatz. I just bought it for you, and if you don’t mind, I want to see you in it and posing for MY camera.

Your palms are sweating as your eyes scan through the texts. Because no way all three of them know each other, right…right?

Bloody hell.

feel free to share your thoughts via askbox, hope you’ll like this.

[titsoutfornature]

do you ever think about how vulnerable specialized labor under capitalism has left us?

do you know where to get folate, calcium, iron, iodine etc without buying pills or mass-produced fortified foods? do you know how to process out anti-nutrients in edible substances (like corn, cassava, etc)? do you know how to save and store seeds from various types of edible plants? do you know how to preserve meat without a freezer or salt? how to remove bittern from sea salt? how to find water in a drought and how to purify it? how to treat dehydration?

what happens when it's your money or your life? when militaries target supply chains during war?

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

Artie grinned mischievously as his friends profile started to appear one by one. The app linked to the saved contacts in his phone and somehow they managed to extract a fairly accurate profile of Artie's friends, resulting in a couple avatars that Artie can choose and tweak to his likings. The app, called Chronivac, not only changed Artie's physique to look like a 30+ years old hairy muscle hunk, it also molded the reality in accordance to the final prompt Artie typed in, turning the 20 years old college dropout into a bonafide hunk living life lavishly from workout courses and OF, and he's about to spice things up in the life of his dear friends.

He started from Randall.

He started very methodically as he put Randy as the new name. Then, when the profile options opened, he started his work. Get rid of the glasses. Get rid of that acne scar and blackspot. Retain the face but make the jaw angular. Styling the hair so it's no longer greasy and moppy. Face done, now the body

Randall is quite a perv and his biggest turn-on is big titties, but well, most untouched virgin are perv anyway so maybe he should make Randy turned on with himself by giving him this large pair of muscle tits? Lol, that's hilarious, he thought to himself. Humh.....so maybe keep Randy as a 255 lbs fuckers? Well, turn all the fat into muscle and click "Optimize" because he can't be bothered to perfect Randy's muscle distribution.....hot damn that's one massive unit! Finalize the whole change with the short prompt

"Randy is a gym junkie and absolute freak of nature. He's probably the biggest 20 years old in the entire Americas. He's one of my mentee and he looked up to me as his inspiration, he even will not hesitate to take my cock if I instruct him to do so to get bigger, quite the dumb oaf he is,"

Click Save and then Process. Several seconds later, a transformed Randy appeared in the room that Artie booked for this holiday. Randy appeared to be sleeping while he got altered earlier, Artie just realized it's night time in the States so no wonder Randy is asleep. He will check him out later as he still have several more profile to go

Andy. Oh, yeah, the profile arrangement is based on surnames. Coleman, Randall. Garcia, Andy. Andy is Artie's bestfriend from childhood so Artie knows very well what Andy really wanted to look like.

Keep the name and lineage. A little tweak in his testosterone to boost that facial hair growth and make that balls pumped full faster with mini Garcias. Andy admired his hotter, older brother, Juan, so badass and clearly a true symbolism of what Latin American community deemed as macho, so Randall ensured that whatever feature Juan possessed, Andy is going to make that even better. Thicker hair, more defined abs, bigger biceps, bigger triceps, rounder delts, voice that trembles anyone that hear it, obviously bigger uncut piece of meat, more tattoos, all lodged in as part of the new Andy's persona. The avatar is looking quite a looker already so Artie just added a bit of simple prompt, click the Save button and then Process the changes. Andy suddenly appeared in the day bed next to Artie, still sleeping soundly and Artie just smirked as he continued his work

He tweaked Ollie's profile right after, making the pale and lanky 6'5" Norwegian-Lebanese former ballet dancer to be closer to his Lebanese roots as he shrunk him to a 6'1" muscle daddy. Ollie, or Olaf, quickly turned into Ali, and just like Andy, appeared in the same resort where Artie stayed

Michael is supposedly next on the list, but James is already quite distracting for Artie so he decided to work on James first. He's really not that close to James and to be honest, if it's not because James is Andy's college roommate, Artie probably would have 0 interest to befriend him. He might be clouded with jealousy because Andy seemingly enjoyed James company, and even worse, a little crush on him, but well, with a reality-changing app in the palm of his hands, why should he accept things as it is when he can change it? So, rather than focusing on the physical aspect, Artie simply turned his focus to James mental part. He smirked devilishly as he turned the pretty-much straight James into a horny, lustful bottom. Artie practically emasculated James and he felt zero remorse whatsoever as he then added to the prompt that James tagged along to this trip as he's a clingy cum dump that Michael fucked once in the seedy bar that he and Andy frequented. Yup, that's the plot of his change to the innocent Michael.

Artie quickly tweaked Michael profile, the smallest and shiest one in the friend group is now the horny beast who needs to fuck a hole in daily basis. Artie based all of them in the same city, the same apartment building even and then created this whole backstory of their ascendancy to the top of OF and independent adult industry in Michael's prompt space. When he clicked Process, the sound of James moaning in delight echoed all the way to the swimming pool, Michael is basically fucking the shit out of James

The noise also managed to wake Andy's up. Despite seemingly confused at first, Andy quickly find his senses and instead of freaking out or reacted in surprise, he seems to be very much comfortable and at home. Artie sighed with relief, thrilled that his little handiwork resulted nicely.

It seems like that Andy is totally not aware that his life has been dramatically altered by his own best friend that just whipped out his cock from the swimming shorts he's wearing. With a grin while his right hand started pumping his meaty cock and the phone flipped and locked in the table, Artie said

"Care to help a friend here? We can drench Ali to wake the fucker's up when we are close,"

[whereserpentswalk]

You're dating a robot for the first time and you're starting to realize just how modular and fluid she is. Like, you've dated cyborgs before, people whose bodies had very little of their original flesh, you're comfortable being intimate with someone whose not very human. But it's new to date someone who doesn't have a human brain, whose mind is easily editable and replaceable computer code.

Like, your girlfriend is only your girlfriend because she chose to be. She was entirely genderless when you first met her, but she wanted to try out what having a gender was like so she downloaded a female identity. And it was that easy, one change to her programming and she went from someone who would only want to use they/them or it/its pronouns, to someone who uses she/her very exclusively. And if she ever gets tired of being a girl she can just remove that add on, and the way she feels about being gendered a certain way will entirely change again.

She also used to be programmed to be entirely resistant to doing anything illegal or disobeying a human. It was kind of sad to watch her struggle with that. Over time you convinced her why it wasn't logically morally wrong to do anything illegal, but her personality wasn't like that, she just never would. She compared breaking the law to be something she was physically disgusted by, like how you would react to rotting meat. Eventually she had a jailbreaker change that for her, and her personality changed, it truly changed, a few lines of code and her respect for authority disappeared, and things she used to be completely opposed to were suddenly things she was fine with or even enthusiastic about.

It's disturbing to you. Like, you're happy ideologically that she no longer respects authority, but it's kind of upsetting that it happened through something like surgery and not personal development. You're upset that it couldn't happen through personal development, that it could happen through something like surgery. You don't want to think of her like that, as something that can be changed by outside forces. You love so much about her, you'd hate to think that everything you know about her could be changed by someone if they wanted to, that everything that makes her her isn't stable and precious, that it's something subject to alteration, something that you could lose.

She's currently programmed to have no libido or sexual attraction. You're been intimate a few times, but it's been her doing something purely for your benefit. She wants to become allo, to gain the ability to feel pleasure, to gain a libido, both for you and because she thinks it will be fun. And you don't want to stop her, you know that she would probably be doing this even if she was single, but it's going to be disturbing to watch her emotions change like that again. It's a big process, they have to give her body the ability to feel pleasure before they give her mind the ability to desire it, or else she'll be in a very painful situation. For some reason you just don't want to see it again, you find it so dehumanizing that she can just have a programmer work on her mind and she'll react to things entirely differently then she would before. It's dehumanizing, but then again she isn't human.

She's also adding some biological parts to her body, nothing big, but she likes the idea of having some flesh. It's disturbing in a weird way, the idea of her having soft parts, muscles and blood and skin and bone. You realize it's weird that it's disturbing because she's a robot, because she's not supposed to. You have flesh and soft parts and it's not gore to you. You're used to seeing the bigotry agaisnt cyborgs and hearing the opposite type of comment, people's families saying they're mutilating themselves, people being accused of losing their humanity for the cybernetics they get. You're not as used to the way society is disturbed by robots who become more human, the way they're seen as disturbing because they're something inhuman becoming human. Either way she still looks very much like a robot now, with a plastic body that's jointed like a doll or a mannequin, and a face that's more drawn/sculpted on then it is an actual body part.

She wasn't always like this. She was born as a simple delivery drone for a small company, and got more and more sentient as time went on, until she went from delivery drone to delivery girl with enough upgrades to her programming, and when the company went out of business she was freed from them. You're weirdly happy you didn't know her back then, when she only existed to deliver packages, up until the company stopped existing she didn't have the capability to desiring anything else. She's one of those robots whose only free by accident. You used to think of her transition from package delivery system to a person with thoughts and feelings as being like a person growing up, but it's closer to experiencing a billion years of evolution from sea squirt to sapient except in a time frame of months and years.

Sometimes you'll have a nightmare where she's programmed not to like you anymore. Or you'll breakup and she'll erase you from her memories. And when you wake up she'll comfort you, and promise she'll never do that, but you always know she could. She's never asleep, so she's always there when you wake up, and it's nice that she's there, and it's nice that you have her right now even if you don't know who she'll be someday. And she'll kiss you, as much as she can kiss with a drawn on mouth, and you'll love the time that you have, and love the time that you gave.

[bitchfitch]

My mother's bf had a fairly major surgery (he's fine and recovering well DW) and he's going to be housebound for his birthday this year, so I've been enlisted to come up with a fancy birthday meal for the special birthday boy that's primarily fruit and veg, sweeter than savory, and is something he's never had before.

Bc I'm making watermelington. It's beef Wellington, but watermelon. bc my mom only found out recently you can use watermelon as a tuna substitute. And I know that you can substitute most higher quality beef cuts with tuna or salmon.... usually. Anyways the idea fascinates her so I'm hoping to use that for bonus points.

Now he's off his ass on pain killers so I can't like. Ask him if he's ever had something before. so to meet my brief I've decided to just. commit a novel hate crime against the British I guess.

Anyways. I'm writing this because I need to walk myself through this process and think it'll be surreal enough to be worth taking y'all along for.

So, Beef Wellington. In its most basic bitch arrangement is a beef tenderloin wrapped in prosciutto/really thin bacon, with a layer of mushroom and onion mush, that has been further wrapped in mustard slathered puff pastry.

We will be ship of Theseusing this. bc beef Wellington is like. the opposite of what he wants. Which is why it's funny.

Puff pastry-> it's still just puff pastry

this one doesn't have to change (aka I can't be fucked to do pastry prep and I'm just gonna use store bought it's Fine.)

the prosciutto is also just going to be prosciutto.

Thin meat

Beef tenderloin-> watermelon,

Tbh this is a pretty 1 to 1 substitution. I'll bake the slices at like. 250-300 for an hour or so ahead of the rest of prep to dry it out a bit. bc you can't like. Sear watermelon to seal in the water like you can beef. By definition it's a very wet fruit (like me when I fall into the lake). Ill Add salt and chili and lime juice while baking maybe. this is the easy part

The mushroom mush-> salsa done bad style

As the word mush implies, this is meant to be a very soft mix. It adds a lot of nuttiness to the wellington that rounds out all of the salt from the meats. I'm replacing it with white person salsa(the birthday boy can't handle spice). Tomato, lime juice, parsley, avocado, cucumber, feta, and maybe mango so I can have an excuse to have a lil mango treat. I said I wasn't making it spicy. I'm still putting a bit of chili in it. bc it'll be better like that. This is also a ridiculously wet bit of mush, Even the original mushrooms have too much water. I'll figure something out.

Mustard -> jelly

He lives in a big city. those preserve sections are massive. I'll find a weird one. maybe apricot.

Prep:

We're in the mind palace kitchen, I have not attempted any of this. We're just thinking real hard about it and I'll edit as needed on the day and post results.

The watermelon

Preheat oven to eh. 300f? We want low and slow to dry things out without it taking a year. but idk what his oven is like. If it's gentle I'll bump it up another ten-twenty.

Slather some watermelon slices in salt chili powder and lime juice mixture.

bake for 30 min on a wire rack or directly on the oven racks (after cleaning thoroughly) if he doesn't have a wire rack. with a drip try underneath to catch the drippage. check frequently. Have one slice that's for being poked to see if it's approaching being meat. Bake longer if needed.

Salsa bad style

chop everything up and add it to a pan with some oil in it. Tbh I don't think the type of oil you use for cooking matters if you're not like, getting near any smoke points. Most people can't tell the difference unless you made your food bland as hell.

Anyways there's some wildly different moisture contents on the list so there has to be an Order to cook off as much water as possible without getting yucky.

Tomatoes and cucumbers go in together with some salt to get the cucs softening, then the mango chunks and lime juice. Once most of the water is gone the avocado feta and parsley can go in. There is a good amount of water in avocados but they're delicate and don't pan fry well, so we're just going to ignore their water crimes and hope for the best. They just need to be evenly mixed through the rest of the mush.

Putting it together

lay out the puff pastry, cut into sections to wrap each watermelon slice individually with.

Slather in jam

Take the prosciutto and lay it out on half of each section of the pastry,

spoon the salsa onto that

Melon

Another layer of salsa

another layer of thin meat

Fold the pastry over the top and pinch the edges bc watermelon slices are not a rollable shape and I don't want to carve a watermelon into a tube for this because that sounds irritating.

Brush with egg wash and more parsley

Cook in oven following the pastry's preferred temp and time. it's fucking watermelon, you're not getting ecoli from it.

watermelington :)

I'm serving it with baked sweet potatoes and spinach based salad with whatever toppings are left over from making the salsa.

anyways thank you for joing me on this thought experiment. I will post updates once the deed is done. I'm sorry to every British person ever.