#he is lumpy and chunky!

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

CONSUMED by dadsbestfriend!Price rn

He and your dad served together when they were both younger men, boys really, and they fought side by side for years before your dad packed all that in and decided not to renew his contract - leaving for a white picket fence life with your mum and you

You’ve never gotten to meet him before, but you feel like you kind of know him anyways because of the stories you’ve grown up hearing. He’s always been like a kind of figment of your imagination, someone your dads always spoken highly of in all of his tales from drunken weekends and adrenaline spiked firefights, he’s like some kind of mythic hero haloed in beer fumes and musing looks that get shut down when your mum asks if they both got themselves into any trouble on their latest gambit

Sure, you’ve seen pictures, you know what his face looks like, vaguely anyways. Apparently he has mutton chops now, something your dad is ‘always shocked by’ when they meet up now. However the pictures don’t do him justice. You realise that quickly after you do lay eyes on him.

You go over to your parents house, summoned for an early birthday dinner for your dad, and that’s when you see him. The man, the myth, the legend is cosied up on your usual spot on the corner couch, at the end of the short side with the chunky red tartan pillow barricading the hard brown couch arm. He turns when he sees you staring directly at him, meeting your gaze with a raised eyebrow.

The pictures didn’t really encapsulate how big he was, how broad his shoulders were as they took up an expanse of the chair back, how expressive his eyes were as they rover over you, how nauseatingly good he looked when ripped out of the confines of ink and paper and pressed into the lumpy old sofa you’d never been so needy to jump onto before.

Every little overworked neuron in your mind was busy exploding while you pictured tugging on his hair and beard and moaning out filthy things for him.

“You must be the kid,” Price observes, not knowing how much it would sting you, “how’s the head?”

If you weren’t aware of how childish it would be you’d huff that you were far from being a kid anymore.

“How’s my what?” Part of you wants to quip back that it’s ‘great- it comes recommended’ but then the sane part of you kicks in and thinks ‘perhaps don’t get yourself kicked out just as you’ve gotten in the door’

“Your dad showed me that charming little photo you stuck in the family group chat from the party last night. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree by the looks of it.”

Your face would flame up like a radiator in the dead of winter, you were just about spluttering and hissing like one too. You’d forgotten all about the drunken selfie you’d sent while in a full haze of peace love and a couple draws of your friend’s j after countless rum and cokes. ‘Love u guys, see ya tomoz’ you’d typed over it - remembering how you fumbled and squinted at the screen just so that it would be halfway coherent. Now sober, you knew it probably wasn’t.

“Fuck me, it actually sent,” you grumbled, jumping when you hear his earthy laugh tumble out.

His voice is like tree bark and honey, stolen straight from the mountains and imbued into his throat. You hang on his every sound, keen eyes glued to his plush pink lips that Peak out from under his beard.

You hardly notice your dad coming in until he’s all but shouting your name, wrapping you in for a bear hug you weren’t in the slightest prepared for.

Every response form there on out was hazy, as if it had been preprogrammed. For the entire night all you’d be able to focus on was John - He’d tell you to call him that after awkwardly addressing him as Sir, though not before something dark slithered over his eyes and passed in the instant it had come.

You’d spent the whole night fixated on John, hanging on his every word, sighing heavily when he reached back and combed through his hair, tousling it to a point that made you wonder if that’s how it looked after a night well spent in passion.

You were lucky you got through the dinner without making an arse of yourself, though to be fair your mum had gotten a jab in about how quiet you’d been. Better that than being embarrassing.

Though you weren’t to get away unscathed. It’d get late and after spending the whole night before fanatically talking and dancing, you had no energy left for being at your parents - present company included or not. However before you could call a taxi, Price would jump in and offer you a lift, claiming taxis were far too unsafe for someone so precious.

It’d make your parents laugh, but you weren’t even smiling. You’d stutter your excuses, telling him he didn’t need to make a fuss, but he’d be persistent. Being an army Captain and all, he was very difficult to argue with, so of course you found yourself in the passenger seat of his monstrous car, watching nervously as the old beast sputtered to life.

“Is this thing even legal to ride?” You’d mutter, frowning at the persistent choking noise that rattled underneath the engine roar.

“Could ask the same about you.”

It was barely a whisper, almost lost to the growl in his throat and the sound of the engine, but you were so sure you’d heard it said nonetheless. The possibility of it sent your back stick straight and your mouth plummeting to the floor, though in the back of your mind you wondered if you’d only heard him say it from out of the depths of your subconscious.

“Excuse me?” You’d chirp.

“I said: couldn’t get you to pull up some directions, could you?”

He’d side eye you as he said it, smiling to himself as he indicates and pulls out onto the road and out of the cul-de-sac.

Right. Directions, of course. You were just being filthy minded, you’d had a long couple days and you were strung out and tired. Why would he insinuate that he wanted to know if you were the right age to fuck or not. Especially when - even if you were by many measures - he was off limits to you. Forbidden. No go. Like the battle zones he probably waded into through his day job.

“Here you go. It’s not far!”

You’d pull up your phone, placing it on the dashboard so that he could see. He’d tell you to put on music too, shocking you when he’d produce an aux cord (by rights this car shouldn’t have even had the words aux cord uttered in it, but somehow it supported one).

“What kind of stuff do you listen to?” You’d ask, waiting to hear whatever dreary nonsense he was likely to come out with.

“What do you think I listen to?” He’d ask, barely paying attention to you as he made his way down the main road. “I’ll be happy with whatever you put on.”

“I mean i doubt our tastes are super similar.”

“You trying to drive at somethin’ here, sweetheart?”

You’d light up at the name, lighting up from the inside out in quiet awe. It’d be a challenge having to suppress your little firework show off happiness, so you’d hide it by shrugging and saying “figured you’d listen to old man music.”

He’d shake his head and grumble about ‘no such thing’ up until you put on an old Killers song and watched him smile - then you’d sagely nod your head and repeat ‘old man music’ delighting in his playful growl.

“Killers ain’t even that old sweetheart, at least stick some Dylan or Cash on if you’re gonna patronise me.”

“This came out in 2004, dude - I don’t know what to tell ya. It’s old.”

“Dude,” he’d grunt back. “Earlier it was Sir, was it not?”

You’d flush again and face the window, suddenly absorbing yourself in the outside world. The way he said that was far too…inviting. The no go zone was looking like the ‘get right the fuck in here and stomp all over your parents relationship with this man’ zone.

You couldn’t help yourself.

“Sorry, sir,” you’d tease. “Won’t happen again.”

Stupid insatiable brat, you’d inwardly curse, watching as Price’s smile widened again, pulling his whole face into a knowing grin.

It’d be clear to see you weren’t the only one fighting the urge to cross the barrier and take what you wanted. And with two people smashing at the confines…well.

One thing was for certain, you knew it in the pit of your belly, there was no way you were going to stay away now.

[cokoweee]

Drops this here and runs 🏃‍♀️💨

Didn’t edit a whole lot coz college is hard 😔

This is kinda longish sorry

~

A loud crash came from the kitchen, followed by hushed giggles. Kendra shot up, rubbing away the sleep in her eyes as she turned to look at her phone. Four thirty am. It was early. Too early for anyone to be up. She looked to her side to find Othello blissfully unaware of the world. He grumbled something unintelligible as she got up, his hand reaching over the mattress, before immediately turning back on his side and beginning to snore. Idiot.

She ambled down the hallway, keeping a hand against the wall to steady herself. The faint light coming from the kitchen wasn't enough to guide her. Dragging her feet along the floor as she pushed her sleep-ridden hair out of her face and into a heap on the top of her head.

“No! It’s gotta be like this!” Insisted a small voice.

“Nuh uh. You have to mix it before you do that.”A bossy voice demanded.

“She’s right, it’ll get lumpy like that.” Came another.

She finished tying her hair and strolled around the corner to find three small children mixing together a mash of flour, sugar and berries in a large bowl on the floor. They were covered in batter and various ingredients, licking their hands each time they got dirtied from the mess. A step stool lay sideways on the floor, abandoned in their haste. She stayed silent as she watched them, her annoyance melting away. Of all the things to get woken up to, this was better than she had anticipated. “Busy?” she whispered.

“Real busy makin pancakes mom.” Her daughter whispered back, almost instinctively.

“I can see that.”

“Ok, can you go back to sleep…Wait -mom?”

She waved and picked up the closest two. “ Let’s get cleaned up and then I’ll help yeah?”

“Moooom, he's not being nice OR listening to me.” Her daughter pouted from the floor.

She set the two next to the sink and picked up her daughter. “ Were you being nice to him?’

“...Yes?”

“Mhm. There's your answer.”

She washed off the chunky batter and dried each of their heads before putting the bowl on the counter. After eying it suspiciously she shrugged and dumped in more flour to make the thin, curdley concoction somewhat appetizing. Her daughter watched, her hair wrapped in a kitchen towel.

“Can I help?” She mumbled quietly, wringing her hands together.

She hummed in response, moving the bowl closer so her daughter could stir the batter without having to move. Her daughter took the spatula and began to use her whole body to mix the clumpy mess of pancake batter.

“I gotta question mom.” she said suddenly, hovering over the bowl.

"Is it, why am I awake at four in the morning making pancakes without a recipe?” Kendra said, taking the spatula to scrape the edges and properly mix the batter.

“No, that's a bad question.” She said matter of factly, “ How did you know that you loved papa?”

She paused, pressing her lips into a thin smile. “ Why do you want to know? ”

Her daughter shrugged, looking at her expectantly. When Kendra didn't answer immediately, she grabbed the spatula back and began mixing again furiously.

“Well we had an uh- a complicated first meeting, but over time I got to know him better and we fell in love.”

Her daughter rolled her eyes, “ Well yeah, duh. I wanna know when you knew you loved him.”

Kendra took a deep breath, “ It’s kind of hard to understand.” She finally said, “ Especially for you little stinker.”

Her daughter giggled as she booped her nose, “ That’s ok mama. I wanna hear it.” She said earnestly.

“Just because you asked so nicely. So, you know how sometimes it's really annoying when your brothers sit around and sleep all day sometimes? And how they don’t take showers sometimes because they don’t think they have too?”

Her daughter wrinkled her nose and nodded fervently. “ Uh huh!”

“But then when you ask to play with them, they get up and take showers because they know it’ll make you happy? And you feel all warm inside but you don’t really know why. So you push the feeling away and focus on the little time that your brothers will spend with you, even if sometimes it's not even fun?

Well that's what it was like for me. You’re papa made an effort and I appreciated that. He changed so it would make me, and him, happier. And that's how I knew I was in love.”

Her daughter frowned, “ You didn’t say when you knew.”

“I didn’t.” She said honestly. “ It was, how do I say this?” She paused, looking outside the window of the farm house, the sun peeking over the edge of the field.

“It was almost like a sunrise. Like how when the world is all dark, then the sun creeps over the horizon. It's easy to ignore at first, but as the sun continues to rise it gets harder and harder to stay in the dark. It’s bright, and it looks scary. You just spent all night in the dark, because it’s nice and cool there, comfortable. You don’t want to leave what you’ve always known. But there’s nothing you can do to stop the sun.

So you sit and watch it crawl over the land. It moves slowly. Almost too slow to seem like it’s even moving. Then suddenly you blink and the world is bathed in light. And the cold and darkness of the night is washed away. The sun is blazing and the world is the brightest it’s ever been and suddenly- suddenly you realize. It’s nice in the sun.

I didn’t fall in love over one small thing like in the movies. Honestly, I didn’t even know what was happening. Just like the sunset, I blinked and realized just how much he brought into my life. Does that make sense?”

Her daughter blinked slowly. “ But you saw the sun before, and night always comes again, and there's cloudy days and rainy days and-”

“ Don’t think too hard, it’s just a metaphor. When the night comes again, you look up and see the moon. It’s not nearly as bright as the sun, but there's still light. You still know it's there, it’s just much more simple. Love doesn’t need to be a burning sun all the time. If it was, it wouldn’t be worth it, like a heat wave in summer. You think you love summer time, but when it’s the middle of July you just wish it would rain.

Or like shadows. Even though the sun is super bright, it makes shadows. There's patches of dark in the light, and that’s ok. It’s not as scary as it seems. I promise. You just trust that everything will work out.” She booped her nose again, “ You gotta wait for a while before you understand all this little lady.”

Her face twisted in thought as she stared at the “pancakes” grilling on the stove.

“Don’t think about it too much, kay?”

Her daughter didn’t get a chance to respond before Othello himself walked into the kitchen, two small boys in his arms. “ You made pancakes for me?” He said warily, his eyes lighting up when he saw Kendra. “ Oh everyone’s in here.”

Their daughter ran to him. “ Papa! When did you know you loved mom?”

He paused, staring at her for a second before confidently answering. “ I don’t think I have an answer for that princess.”

“Mom had a crazy answer! Something about it being super slow and then all at once.” She paused, “You got a lame answer.”

He blinked a few times, looking at Kendra. She shrugged and gestured to the kids crowded around him.

“I guess I realized it when I knew that I wanted to be better. That she made me want to be who I was before all sorts of crazy stuff happened in my life. She made me happier or-”

‘What kinds of crazy stuff?” said a small voice.

“You’ll learn when you’re older, bud.” Kendra said quickly

He paused, meeting her eye from across the kitchen, “ She made me want to live.” He said slowly, carefully, as though the words were unfamiliar in his mouth, like he was saying them aloud for the first time, “ She saved me.”

He held her gaze a few seconds longer before suddenly grabbing all three of the small bodies, squishing them close. “ And that my friends is why I took your mom from the street one night.”

All three faces whipped between her and Othello.

“ YOU KIDNAPPED MOM?!”

“I just knew she was someone worth keeping around..” He grinned.

“Is that true?” her daughter screeched, running back to Kendra.

She shrugged.

The other two jumped up and ran to Kendra. “ My dad’s a kidnapper!”

“I won’t let you leave either!” He boomed, scooping them up into his arms and squeezing them tighter. “ You’re mine!”

Kendra scooted closer and he opened his arms to fit her into the pile.

“All mine.”

~

Aight well I gotta go

-writing anon :)

WRITING ANON U STRIKE AGAIN AUUGHHHH

YOUUUUUU YOU YOY ASRARZRARTZYQHS

FLESH. BONES. ON THE TABLE NEOW

[littlefreya]

Before the Storm

Summary: Gus finds way to keep you warm as you both sail on his boat during April.

Pairing: Major Gustav (Gus) Phillips x Reader (no description)

Word count: 2K

Warnings: 18+, romance, fluff and smut, oral sex (woman receiving), a bit of fingering, teasing, a sweater, a pinch of angst.

A/N: Gus is a character we know nothing about only that he is an unhinged gentleman (?) so I just went with what I felt and oh I hope others will enjoy :). Many thanks to the lovely @captainsy-cookiemonster and @agniavateira for beta and emotional support.

Please reblog with comments if you enjoyed 🖤

Before the Storm

Gus. Gustav. Gustavus. 

Such a timid name for a man who was wilder than the seas he sailed. When you first met Gus, you thought that he was the ocean itself; Untamable, unpredictable, a maelstrom of a man. Little did you know, you were wrong about him; if Gus was anything, it must have been the god of the sea. 

The only thing he was missing was a golden trident. 

Resting on the deck of his yacht with a small plate of local sweets and a book by your side, you watched him through a veiled gaze. The tall man stood at the bow, preparing the boat for the evening sail. You knew very little about nautical travel, but you always enjoyed watching him work on his boat.

Liberats - he called her - the only place he thought of as home. 

His large chocolate curls swayed gently in the afternoon breeze, thin threads of sliver-grey rimming each ringlet, though as the April sun began to set, those fine curls were kissed by vivid hues of purple, orange and pink.  

A deep frown line creased his forehead as he held onto the mast. You entertained yourself at the notion that he had the same exact look when he was hovering and grunting above you. Lightly snorting at the thought, you reached for the plate and grabbed a sweet while continuing to stare. 

“Like what you see?” Gus asked without looking away from the mast. His thick English accent rang through your ears in a melodious tone. He had a way of making everything sound either like poetry or sex.

You ogled him gingerly. In complete contrast to you, who lay in undergarments, Gus donned a chunky grey sweater and dark work trousers. You hated that. It hid what you knew was underneath it. The body of a god. 

“Hmm…” you stretched,  “I haven’t seen enough to decide.”

A slanted smirk tugged his cheek, and he threw a side gaze at you, but his smile fell as he noticed the little shiver in your arms. You weren’t exactly dressed for the season, in fact, you weren’t even dressed for a cruise, but for the time being, simple pair panties and bra sufficed. 

Until they didn’t. 

Not saying another word, he let go of the mast and sauntered toward you, mumbling, “oh, darling,” while already slipping the heavy sweater off. Abs and pecs that might as well have been crafted by a master sculptor glistened in the waning sun. Tanned and sweaty, his skin was like honey. Busy appreciating the view, you didn’t notice the lumpy grey thing that headed toward you at the speed of light until it smacked you in the face.

“Gaws!” Your words were muffled by the sweater that covered your entire head. 

Annoyed, you tugged it away, one brow arched with ire, but your expression softened as Gus’ scent poured upon you; seafoam, salt - fresh and untamed - you inhaled it, inhaled him. 

Unable to resist the urge to be enveloped by his presence, you pulled the sweater on and sighed at the comfort it brought, your fingers clutched onto the collar to hold it closer to your nose and with a deep breath, you took him in. For a moment, you felt yourself slipping into delirium, but then the warm shadow that loomed over your face dragged you back to reality. 

Gus stood over, the breadth of him blocking the sun. Head tilted down, arms crossed together, he observed the treat before him, a crafty grin playing on his lips. 

“Looks better on you than on me.” Hand reached up to his moustache, he twirled its edge between his index and his thumb. “I sure like what I see.” 

You smiled sweetly, your bare legs stretching forward in an invitation. “Too bad this sweater doesn’t cover all of me…” 

His marine-blue gaze followed instantly, a flicker of excitement igniting within them. “Cara Mia, need me to keep you warm?” 

Gus was the type of man who never needed a special invitation. Nor did he ever waited for an answer. Simply, because he always got what we wanted. Gently, he sank to his knees before your feet, and reached for your ankles. His hands were roughed by manning the ropes of the boat and things you didn’t wish to think of, yet his touch was as tender as the caress of a wave as he ran his hands up and down the length of your legs.

“Smooth,” he murmured, “it always stuns me how soft women are.”

Half chuckling, half moaning, you laid back onto the deck, casually reaching for the bowl of sweets and grabbing a piece. Gus’ glare darted at you, watching you nibble while the coarse pads of his fingers glided below your knees, his touch sent a stream of shivers that coursed through your skin, making you tremble in his grip. 

It took every drop of strength to remain composed and not give yourself entirely, you were always afraid of him having too much power over you, and Gus knew that and knew just how to bend you - figuratively and literally. 

His palms smoothed higher with each stroke, kneading your thighs, fingertips reaching close to your heat yet not close enough. Every wave of his touch only left you more frustrated. Wetness pooled at your core, the unmistakable bloom within calling for him in yearning, like a flower opening, awaiting to be seeded, yet he took his time. 

“Still cold?” Gus provoked at how wildly you quivered. 

Lips pressed into a thin line, you swallowed a moan and shook your head, clutching onto the sweater as if it served any protection, but all hell broke loose as, without any warning, he pressed his thumb against the wet fabric of your underwear.

“Fuck!”

“Such a dirty mouth.” 

Giving into a shuddering yip, you pushed your pelvis forward, trying to grind into his thumb, only that he pulled back. 

“Gus! Stop this!!!”

“Stop?” His eyes flared comically. “I thought you were enjoying this…”

Ready to throw the book at his stupid face, you frowned, which caused Gus to chuckle before he hooked a finger below the strap of your underwear. “Now…” his voice dropped, and his eyes darkened as if touched by a storm cloud.  “Are you going to say it?”

Already at wit's end, you pouted and let out a breathy, “please...”

He tugged on the strap a little, sliding the garment to the mid of your hips, yet not enough to expose you. “Please, what? Cara Mia?”  

“Please, fuck me.” 

Triumph burnt on his face. Overjoyed that once again he managed to break you, he paused, eyes gliding at every inch of your body while his fangs grazed over his bottom lip. The way he stared at you, you could have sworn that you could feel his touch wherever his gaze landed; your mouth, your breasts, your nipples, the base your belly - he was everywhere, but you needed more. You needed him inside you.  

“No.” 

“No?!” Your cry could be heard across the 7 seas. “What do you mean ‘no’!?” 

“You had your candy, I think I’ll have mine.”

Without any other delay, he yanked on your underwear and threw them over his shoulders. Exposed to the open air, you breathed a shuddering gasp. The chill ocean-breeze blew upon your slit, further storming the tidal-like spasms that swept over you. Still, it was nothing in comparison to the storm that Gus was about to bestow upon you. 

The bearded Adonis looked ethereal as he crawled between your thighs, his curls and brazen bristle tickled your skin. His broad, muscular shoulders flexed in a predatory motion, and his face wore a dark, preying shade to match. Brows knit together, jaw clenched, his fingers dug into your ass, and with a guttural groan, he lowered his head to the valley of your thighs and granted you the sinful kiss of Poseidon. 

Slow, yet not lazy, his mouth drew a languid course between the little pearl above your cove to your inner thighs as if testing the water before plunging in. The touch of his hot lips and coarse bristle was enough to elicit the most desperate yelps from you, and like a siren washed up on the shore, you writhed for your god, begging for salvation.

It wasn’t as if Gus didn’t know every inch of your body, yet still, he revelled at the different cries that escaped you as his mouth marked different parts of your flesh, almost as if it was a game to him, as if you were a toy he examined and coaxed to his whims until you were completely broken and at his mercy. It was only then when you were bent and vulnerable, that’s he would tear you completely apart.

With his breath hot on your flesh, he hummed against your clit. Legs quaking, you prepared yourself for yet another tender kiss, only that instead, you felt the wet glide of his tongue teasing your flesh. Once, then twice, his velvety serpent stroked and twirled. The third time he wrapped his lips around the tender nub and suckled with every ounce of love he felt toward you. 

Inarticulate sounds followed from your throat, your toes curled as the spasming jolts of ecstasy flowed all across your body. He brought you near impulsion, but he wasn’t done playing with you just yet. Grunting, he slipped the edge of his tongue between your swollen petals, pressing just enough to provoke you, yet not enough to bring you undone. 

You wanted to scream his name but found that you had no words. Instead, you heaved and cried breathlessly, your head pressing to the wooden deck beneath you, eyes wide open, staring at the seagulls floating in the air. In the open ocean, everyone could see you. Everyone and no one. You were one with the gods and the sea creatures and you sure as hell writhed as if you were drowning on dry land. 

Appeased by your helplessness, Gus locked his strong arms around your thighs, holding you spread open and in place as he finally dove his tongue inside you. 

“Fuck!” Your back arched against the surface. Tears of joy brimmed in your eyes as Gus fucked you ardently with his tongue. Over and over, he plunged into your cove, groaning and savouring the dew that dripped from it as if it was a feast. 

As greedy as they come, he wanted to devour you; there wasn’t a single patch of skin he hadn’t laved, kissed or suckled. Even while his tongue wreaked havoc on your clenching cunt, his mouth continued to suckle upon your swollen lips with little hums of delight that vibrated through you. 

It wasn’t fair. He brought you on the verge of pleasure on despair. You felt the storm within you rage; violent waves of pleasure gushed and surged, begging to be unleashed. Knowing your body so well, Gus wrapped one sturdy arm around your belly, held your mound to his hungry mouth, and finally, took his fingers and buried them deep inside you to force you into ecstasy. 

Climax shattered through you in several electric currents that continued to hit. Each one stronger than the other  Still convulsing in ecstasy, you lifted your eyes to Gus.  The last rays of sunlight glazed around him in a golden aura. For a moment there, you imagined him as the lord of the ocean, who, in his fury, pierced his trident at the ocean’s bed and split it apart. 

Split you apart.

Spent, you fell back to the deck with a deep sigh, your eyes gazing aimlessly at the evening sky while you snuggled Gus’ sweater around you. The moon had already risen, surrounded by a shy group of gleaming stars resembling precious pearls embroidered on a blue dress. Memories of childhood sprang to mind; summer days in the sun, when you floated carless over the waves. 

“Are you alright?” Gus moved to lie beside you. His knuckles brushed your cheek in a tender caress.

You nodded weakly, your breath still hitched from the intensity of the pleasure he wrought from you. 

“Speak, Cara Mia,” Gus asked gently and, with a small pinch around your chin, brought you to stare at him. "I need to hear you say it."

Quiet, you stared back, your lower lip parted, but no words came as you studied his face. The little wrinkles around his eyes and the silver tainted his beard made him look somehow pure. So pure, it broke your heart to think that once you dock again, you will have to take off the masks and costumes you wore and be who you really were - soldiers fighting to liberate the world and Gus, as spirited and wild as he was, would never be free, never be able to fully commit to anyone other than his cause.

Still, you loved him.

Enough to follow him into hell. 

[sunshowersanddandelionwine]

okay no but im still not done thinking about fiber artist soap (part two of this)

(i crochet mainly so most of my knowledge is there, but if any knitters/weavers/etc want to chime in please do!)

the first time he ever saw anything to do with fibercraft, he was really little. maybe six or seven. he found his nan sitting at a spinning wheel, humming to herself, turning a mass of fluffy white into even, careful strands of soft yarn. curious as he was, he couldnt stop himself from coming closer and watching. asking questions. she just smiled, pulled him into her lap, and let him watch from there.

the first time he tried to make something wtih the finished product, it didnt quite come out how he expected. what was supposed to be a scarf looked anything but. it was wonky and misshapen, with dropped stitches and tension all over the place. but despite the awkward end result, he actually finished it! it took a few tries, a fair bit of frogging, and a couple of breaks where he had to step back and do something else, but he finished it! his sister lit up like a christmas tree when he gave it to her, and still has it tucked away somewhere.

he never really talked about his little hobby once he enlisted. its not that he was ashamed of it, but there wasnt a lot of down time during basic and what little unscheduled time was better spent elsewhere. he did have a stash of yarn and a few hooks and needles tucked under his bunk, and during nights when he couldnt sleep hed pull out a skein or two and work until either his mind stopped racing or the sun broke over the horizon, whichever came first.

the first person to really notice his little hobby was gaz. they spent a lot of time together on and off duty, its only natural that hed notice. after a bit of good natured ribbing, gaz is more than a little impressed at the speed he can work up a piece. he even asked for a lesson or two, with varying results.

price is next, after soap gets laid out during a mission. hes sitting next to the shitty medical cot when gaz brings him a lumpy bag and chucks it at soaps head. hes not expected him to pull out a set of knitting needles and a few balls of yarn, or for soap to start chattering away with gaz as his hands work quickly.

ghost notices when he sees soap working on a different project almost every day. one day its a pair of colorful socks, the next a chunky blanket, the next the beginnings of a sweater sleeve. he works with an intensity that he usually reserves for a particularly complicated explosive, the tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips. ghost rallies the courage to ask when he sees price wearing a sweater he could have sworn soap had been working on last week.

his fingers are awkward and fumble with the hook, yarn getting knotted and tangled as he pulls the last row of loops apart with a frustrated huff. but soap is there to gently guide his hands in place, telling him how to hold the yarn with the right tension, how to start a new row without dropping stitches, all the things that he himself was taught by his ever patient nan.

fiber artist soap who shows his love through his work, and who works his love in every stitch <3

[skitariiposting]

A rant about roleplaying and taking advice from goblin eratta

Look, look, I get it. D&D is famous for its goblins and whatnot. But trust me when I say, pathfinder goblins are so much better art wise and writing wise than D&D's.

For example:

This is the D&D monster manual illustration for goblins.

Firstly, orange, chunky, this guy's has the aura of "might attempt tactics" about him. He looks more like he'd try and throttle you rather than run in fear at the sight of a large sword. The head is oddly shaped as a goblin's head should be, but it looks more lumpy warrior face than gobliny. The armor is far too organized. The ears are droopy and smooth. This is not goblin, this is a small ork at best.

Yeah they've got a brief section explaining the hobgoblins and bugbear relations, a little bit about goblin language, but not much as far as flavor text.

Now pathfinder goblins...

These are the quintessential goblin.

Green, scrawny, cowardly, chaotic, looks like they scrounge their clothes from local landfills, oblong football head, big ol' perky pointy goblin ears; *chefs kiss* perfection.

Pair that with the tidbits of goblin lore from pathfinder and ough you've got something good going on.

They are afraid of and have a burning hatred for horses. They typically wield 'horse choppers,' basically big cleavers or axes, instead of daggers or shortswords like in D&D.

One of the few occasions they'll organize and come up with plans is if they're pulling pranks or massive attacks under the command of a warlord or leader, of which they will occasionally get on accident.

They don't have to be bound to a leader, though, sometimes goblin bands can manage just with cooperation alone.

Goblins are crafty little buggers, laying traps and building ramshackle contraptions to get the jump on their foes. They prefer going for sneak attacks or surprise attacks over head on combat. They know they can't win a fair fight, so they fight unfair.

If you invade a goblin dwelling, they'll usually retreat on sight, but not always because of cowardice. Sometimes, they do so to lead you into their traps or to get you into a bottleneck. They can come up with strategies, but usually only if it's below the belt and breaks all the rules of engagement.

War crimes and chaos, if they aren't committing one of the two, they must be defective goblins.

There are occasions in the pathfinder modules where it encourages the DM to have the goblins get into antics over attacking the players. One such example is during a fight at a festival, it reccomends having some of the goblins focus on the festival food over the potential threat of the player characters, since they'd find the food much more important.

Some I came up with include swinging from ropes and attempting to grab players' hats, hoods or helmets, having some attempt to crawl into the clothes of the players instead of attacking, or even just crawling and wallowing all over them like opossum babies. My personal favorite and what got a huge laugh out of my players was having one find a big cast-iron stew pot and putting it on its head. It made it blind, but it also gave it more armor, making it sort of run at the characters to attack but not being able to hit them because it couldnt see, and the swords and maces bouncing off the pot due to the additional armor made it difficult to kill him. Pair that with the constant deafening the goblin would endure with the "bong" sounds any impacts would make, causing it to panic and run around more, bumping into walls and people alike.

What I love about these little tidbits of fight modifications is that it exemplifies the "combat doesn't mean roleplaying is over" factor many players and DM's either have never considered or just miss entirely. Many people complained that "man, if only combat in D&D was like the movie," and to that, I say: it can be, if you stopped being boring and made it that way! Describe what your character does! Add flavor to it! An action is 6 seconds. You can do so much in six seconds while still attacking! Describe the actions you take! Take free actions to do little flairs or flourishes! Show off! Fight with elegance, fight with brutality, fight with conniving, fight with confidence! Spend an action doing something in character instead of attacking! Yes, it's not efficient, but it's more interesting and entertaining to take a fall for a storytelling moment instead of spending yet another turn attacking. Flawed moments are far more interesting than constant perfection, that's why you use dice instead of always having a nat20 every turn. Use the failures to your advantage, show how your character reacts to a bad situation or rough luck!

Don't just spend the time in between your turns waiting for yours to roll around. Instead, be planning the sick ass thing you'll do if the dice allow you to, or the reaction to the adversity if they don't! And, sometimes, break away from the "I swing my sword, I cast a spell, I eldritch blast" combat! Push enemies off of elevations with the push action! Flip a table over to get cover from spells and ranged attacks!Grapple them to make it easier for your team mates to hit them or use them as a human shield! Grab a big rock off the ground and chuck it at someone! Cast a spell that doesn't just do damage!

Broke:

"You shoot a fireball at the thief as he attempts to escape."

Woke:

"As the the thief runs, I go to launch the fireball at him, but notice the mirror to the left of me. My narcisim gets the better of me, and I end up taking a second to check my hair. Ah yes, dashing. Oh, wait, I was doing something. I manage to tear myself away from the mirror long enough to barely catch the thief in my fireball as he attempts to flee."

So, I say all that to say this: players and Dms alike, roleplay during combat! It's a roleplaying game, not a roleplaying game+formulaic tabletop war game any time there's combat. And hey, if you ever find yourself needing inspiration on how to make fights more interesting in your tabletop games, grab a couple low level modules off Paizo, and read up on Pathfinder goblin scenes, they pay extreme dividends.

[rileyh20]

I have made vegan vampires!

Why, you may ask?

I actually have no idea tbh, I just wanted them

Anyways-

So, I have made a flower and some lore just because of vegan vampires needing to exist and not have it be unhealthy for them. It isn't where they just don't need blood to survive, they do need it, its just.. From a flower instead?

I have made this flower, which I would like to picture as a dark red Hydrangea? It's a rare flower, found in moist/wet caves, usually in the dark as well. They can be easily grown in the same environment, so a vampire is very lucky to come across one!

It can be turned into blood with a little water, some grinding, and then some blending usually. Sometimes it can turn out lumpy or chunky if you don't do it right, but it still works the same way. Even eating just a petal works if you would want, though it isn't usually what vampires do as it is a smaller amount and doesn't last as long.

Usually vampires use this as a way to not kill humans/animals to drink their blood, but it can also be used as profit to sell to other vampires. Some vampires make little shops in towns to sell blood, and this would be a good way to have lots of product without killing!

So, the actual lore of this flower is insane tho.

The goddess of nature, Lilium, had her first love with a vampire named Boruta. Boruta was a normal vampire for her time, killing humans and drinking their blood. But Lilium never minded. After the god of the wind found out Boruta was killing his worshippers, he sent a special beast out to go kill her. Lilium begged the god of wind to make an exception, but he wouldn't budge on his decision. Mourning, Lilium made a flower with the blood of her lover, just wanting a way to be closer to her and make a new way for vampires so they wouldn't be killed for their urges again.

So yeah, that's what I got :)

Also, there's this whole thing between the wind god and vampires, so yeah

People I want to see this: @carzugus099 and @simp4diobrando

Love you guys

[wombywoo]

Bling, favorite, and alternate please 🥰🥰 these ones look fun!!

thank you for asking 😚<3

bling: What jewelry does your OC wear? Does it have any meaning?

Quinn...doesn't wear jewelry, at least not often enough. He has a few earrings that he'll put in *for occasions* but other than that, he's not a bling kinda guy.

Vincent has some nice rings and necklaces--although he also only wears them for occasions, or if they go with a particular outfit. Sometimes he likes to flash his vintage gold cross just to combat the stereotype, lol

favorite: Does your OC have a favorite article of clothing or accessory? What is it? What's the meaning behind it? Do they wear it all the time or do they wear it sparingly to keep it safe?

Quinn has a favorite lumpy zip-up hoodie that he throws over everything on cold mornings. He got it cheap at a sports direct, and it's just standard gray, unremarkable, and fairly worn, but it's his most comfortable item and he's grown rather attached to it for whatever reason.

Vincent cherishes his vintage leather biker jacket and he's kept it in mint condition for decades. He got it in the 60s and it became part of his signature look for a while. It's brown, fleece interior, classic, fits him perfectly. Unfortunately for him, Quinn's started 'borrowing' it occasionally, but it's fine because he looks cute in it 😤

alternate: What would your OC's alternate universe look be? If they're a fantasy character, what's their modern look? If they're sci-fi, what's their fantasy look? What AU would you want to see your OC in, and how would they dress themself? Bonus: Prompt an AU!

I...honestly haven't thought about them in an AU setting asdfghjk. But if I had to visualize them in a fantasy realm, I can see Vincent in something regal and dramatic (dark red cape, tight-fitted pants, glossy boots, a sword✨) and Quinn in something more rugged (brown vest, chunky boots, dirt galore) lol

[verfound]

MINIFIC: Oct. 23: Day 1: Autumn (MLB, Lukanette, DLM AU)

...I was gonna do these, and then I wasn't gonna do em, and then work life flipped off creative life and here I am, joining the fun at @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers's late. Using the Ghostober 2021 prompts here. Just having fun. 👀

Read on A03

To Feel Alive Again: Day 1: Autumn

A chill breeze whispered through the street, nipping at the edges of exposed skin peeking out from coats and scarves.  Marinette pulled her own coat – a lumpy, gray thing she had lifted off a reap a few weeks back – and tried not to scowl.

She used to love this time of year.  Before.

The changing of the seasons meant a new wardrobe.  Layers of material, vibrant splashes of color, boots and hats and scarves – so many accessories.  She used to have the cutest peacoat, made from a deep burgundy wool that always kept her warm on the coldest fall days.  She had embroidered a swirl of leaves around the hem in a rich gold thread, and she had even found golden buttons shaped like maple leaves to line the front.  She had been so proud of that coat.  She’d lived in it every fall for years.

…she hadn’t died in it, though.

She’d died in the spring.

When it was too warm for such a heavy coat.

She supposed it was funny, in a way.  Before, the fall – a season marked by death – had always brought a new life to her, but the spring – the season for life and renewal – had brought with it her death.

Now she saw it everywhere.

It was hard to love things anymore.  In the After.

“You’re still allowed to love things,” Théo had said, not unkindly, one morning over breakfast.  It was a rare moment of seriousness for him, and if she hadn’t been in such a foul mood she might have appreciated it.  Instead, she hunkered down deeper in the gray coat she hated and stared – glared – out the window.  She hummed, not really agreeing or disagreeing.  She didn’t see the way Luka glanced up at her from his coffee, a small frown playing at the edges of his mouth.

She did see the large, chunky sweater folded on the foot of her bed when she came home a week later, though.

“…Fred, what…did you leave this here?” she called, her hands trembling as she held the sweater up.  It was obviously handmade – not as good as she could make, but absolutely perfect in its little imperfections.  The stitches pulled just a little too tight or a little too loose, the slightly uneven ribbing along the neck, the braiding that hadn’t been blocked properly zigzagging down the front…it spoke of time, and care, and things Marinette hadn’t let herself think about in far too long.  And it was soft, the yarn used to make it obviously high quality.  She knew just how much a sweater like this would cost – more than she could dream of affording these days, when she was still struggling to hold down an after-death job.

“Hmm?” Fred called, popping his head in the room.  When he saw the sweater, his eyebrows lifted.  “Ah, that?  No, it wasn’t me.  Luka dropped it off while you were out.  Said something about pink suiting you?”

Marinette’s head jerked up, surprised, but Fred was just smiling at you.

“You’re still allowed to love things, Marinette,” he said, inclining his head towards her.  “You’re still allowed to feel.”

She looked back at the sweater, her lips pursed and her eyes burning with tears she refused to shed, and didn’t answer.  Fred sighed and flipped his hat onto his head, nodding at her.

“I’m off,” he said, tipping his hat at her.  “Make sure you eat tonight, kid, all right?

…he probably hadn’t meant a mug of hot chocolate and a plate of macarons, but as she hunkered down in the nicest sweater she had ever worn and watched her old favorite sappy movie on the cracked tv…well.

At least when you’re dead you don’t have to worry about calories.

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #37 - Twenty-Minute Tuesday #5

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Please enjoy.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to The Frank Program.” Frank took a pull from his vape and blew it out onto the microphone. “You hear that? That’s the sound of freedom. But the government doesn’t want you to have access to Sticky Maple Peanut Butter THC/CBD/NCT/CBT E-Juice! Right, Daryl?”

Daryl nodded. He had patchy burned splotches on his skin.

“That’s right. They’re banning all the good flavors because it ‘encourages children to vape more.’ Ridiculous.” He took another pull from his vape and started coughing. “God damn that tastes delicious. I couldn’t enjoy myself so much if I had to vape that smoke-flavored crap. So that’s why Daryl and me cooked up something special, and I’m happy to share our recipe with ya, America, because that’s what a good radio host does.”

“Podcast…” Daryl said with a small voice.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘podcast host,’ whatever. Same difference. The point is, we got a big cauldron from some kinda forest witch at the Home Depot parking lot, and we loaded it up with ingredients. Make sure you listen close, because if you don’t, you might have some problems.” He glared at Daryl, who cowered on his wooden stool in the corner. “First, get a jar of peanut butter. Smooth kind, not lumpy or crunchy or chunky or what-have-you, just smooth or you’ll clog your atomizer. Put a whole jar in there. Then, a bottle of your finest grade B maple syrup.”

“They don’t have grade B anymore, it’s all grade A with different levels of -”

“Goddamn it, Daryl, you know that don’t make no goddamn sense! There has to be another grade or grades ain’t even a thing!”

“But they changed -”

“Don’t argue with me, boy!” Frank took another puff to relax. “Right, you pour the syrup on in. Next step is you get one of those tea infusers with the metal basket and fill it with tobacco and Mary Jane. Chuck that in too. Next step, a gallon of propylene glycol. And after that, the most important step, which you do not want to get wrong! It’s a gallon of vegetable glycerin. VEGETABLE, Daryl!”

“I thought nitro meant it would go faster.”

“It did go faster, it went faster enough to burn through yer damn left eyebrow, ya idiot!”

“I’m sorry, Pa.”

“Hey man, it’s your fuckup. I don’t care. But to the listeners out there, uh… listening: the recipe is fantastic.” He took one more puff and choked on a chunk of peanut. Between coughs, he managed to say, “this has been… The Frank Program… Thank you for letting me be Frank with you!” He collapsed to the floor, wheezing.

[enchantedchocolatebars]

The Little Pie🍎🥧

(This story is canon divergent and a 'what if' to this story.)

"It's perfect!" Little Philip beamed, his blue eyes sparkling in excitement at the baked dish that sat on the kitchen counter in a tin.

His joyous smile said it all - the younger was beyond pleased with the pie he and his brother had made for their mother.

It was apple, her all time favorite.

Pip had purchased the apples they used in the pie from the town's marketplace.

They were on sale.

Little Caleb blinked at the chunky creation.

The pie looked so... small. Mini even. It must have shrunk in the oven somehow. It also looked super lumpy. Not to mention very bumpy.

He and his brother weren't the best bakers.

The pies that his mother made were much more prettier and bigger in comparison.

"Do you think mother will like it?" Caleb turned to Pip, a worrisome look on his face. He hoped she did. The blonde didn't want her to hate it.

Philip answers with a swift nod. "She'll love it, I know she will!"

Confident about the outcome of his cooking, the brunette takes the tiny pie from off the counter. "Let's go give it to her!"

With that, he heads for the stairs, rushing up them as Caleb following behind.

...

Inside her bedroom, Patience was seen sound asleep on her bed, but not for long.

The widow's door had swung open as she awoke to the voice of her youngest son. She sits up to see him and his brother.

"Mother, mother!" He cheerfully calls out to her as he and Caleb enter the room. He places the baby pie on her lap. "Look what me and Caleb made for you!"

Patience let's out a light gasp as she looks down to see the little pie.

"It's a pie!" Philip says with a smile.

"Oh my..." The blonde began in amazement, slowly picking up the pie with her index and thumb as she places it in the palm of her hand. Her brown eyes couldn't believe it! It was so cute! "You two made this for me?"

The boys happily nod in response.

"All by yourselves?"

They nod a second time.

"Do you like it?" Caleb asked, anticipating his mother's answer.

"Do I like it?" she repeats, setting the pie down on her dresser before reaching out to hug both her boys. They were elated to be in her loving embrace. "I love it! Oh, Philip, Caleb, thank you both so much!" Kisses get placed on their foreheads. Such a sweet gift made Patience feel so special.

"I told you she would like it," Philip whispers to Caleb with a grin.

[ocean-pie]

Vegan vampires!

Anyways-

So, I have made a flower and some lore just because of vegan vampires needing to exist and not have it be unhealthy for them. It isn't where they just don't need blood to survive, they do need it, its just.. From a flower instead?

I have made this flower, which I would like to picture as a dark red Hydrangea? It's a rare flower, found in moist/wet caves, usually in the dark as well. They can be easily grown in the same environment, so a vampire is very lucky to come across one!

It can be turned into blood with a little water, some grinding, and then some blending usually. Sometimes it can turn out lumpy or chunky if you don't do it right, but it still works the same way. Even eating just a petal works if you would want, though it isn't usually what vampires do as it is a smaller amount and doesn't last as long.

Usually vampires use this as a way to not kill humans/animals to drink their blood, but it can also be used as profit to sell to other vampires. Some vampires make little shops in towns to sell blood, and this would be a good way to have lots of product without killing!

So, the actual lore of this flower is insane tho.

The goddess of nature, Lilium, had her first love with a vampire named Boruta. Boruta was a normal vampire for her time, killing humans and drinking their blood. But Lilium never minded. After the god of the wind found out Boruta was killing his worshippers, he sent a special beast out to go kill her. Lilium begged the god of wind to make an exception, but he wouldn't budge on his decision. Mourning, Lilium made a flower with the blood of her lover, just wanting a way to be closer to her and make a new way for vampires so they wouldn't be killed for their urges again.

So yeah, that's what I got :)

Also, there's this whole thing between the wind god and vampires, so yeah

And, here's some picrews of Boruta I did!

Awww what a beautiful story

[iamgoingtoscreamstuff]

Deleted stuff

He sat in the middle of the living room, his head bobbing side to side in time with the music he had blasting as he huddled over the protector. Someone had knocked it over last night on their way to his room.

 The poor thing was at least thirty years old and needed to be out of its misery, but he was pretty sure his father would manifest himself solely to slap him if he tried to get rid of it. So here he was forcing the poor old thing back to life.

He paused his work -and his music- as he heard the familiar pitter patter of feet against the floor. He looked over his shoulder to find his daughter making her way toward him. The bow in her hair bobbled precariously as she toddled over to his side, her arms full of all sorts of baubles and trinkets. He swallowed thickly. 

“Those for me?”

“Oh course papa!” She smiled, setting her pile to the ground. “I’m going to make you soooo pretty.” 

He blinked. 

“Oh, uh I’m not sure that-“

He stopped as she stepped in front of him, her eyes shining with sadness as she hung her head. 

“I mean I’m so excited! What do you have in mind?” He stammered quickly. 

Her face lit up as she bounced out of his view and began to rummage through her pile. She pulled a lipstick out that looked suspiciously like Evelyn’s.

“Did you ask mom for that?” He asked carefully. 

She froze, her eyes widening as she made a small squeaking noise. 

“I’ll be right back.”

She teetered off leaving him to fix the projector. He pulled out his phone to send a message to Jack while he waited for her to come back. The projector could wait for a bit. He was in the middle of answering a text when she waltzed back in. Her arms full of even more supplies. 

“She said I could use her things.” She said proudly. “Sit here papa, you are about to be the prettiest dad ever.” 

He sat criss-cross applesauce on the floor as she climbed onto the couch. She grabbed his hair in her chunky toddler hands and pulled it slightly. 

“Hmmm.” 

“Everything ok up there?” He asked, slightly panicked as he eyed the scissors in her pile. “Because I like my hair the length it is.” 

“I think I will put twisties in your hair today.” She said finally, smashing her fingers against his scalp. 

“Twisties?”

She nodded vigorously, miming twisting his hair. He nodded slowly and she, true to her word twisted a strand of his hair into a bizarre knot.  

She hummed approvingly and grabbed another strand. He ignored the way her fingers kept yanking his head side to side when she couldn’t get his hair to twist the way she wanted it to. She stopped after a few “twisties” to use his head as a drum, singing along to the song he had been listening to before she came in. His face tugged into a smile as he reached for his phone to turn the music back on. 

His daughter, seemingly aware that he was no longer watching her, launched herself off the couch. He groaned and reached his arm to catch her right before she face planted into the ground. Kids were such a handful. He was seriously getting tired of catching falling children. 

She gasped as his arm grabbed her torso, her eyes filled with confusion. But it only lasted a moment before she giggled, squirming out of his arms as she studied him. 

“First of all, don’t catch me again. I was jumping on purpose and not by accident. And second I do not think twisties look good on you.” She concluded, running back to the couch to climb it again. 

She gathered her two twists and wrapped them around themselves to create a lumpy bun. He winced slightly as she dug a clip into his skin. He moved to stand up, but she scowled at him. She wasn’t done apparently.

She grabbed two large pink bows from her stockpile and placed them haphazardly onto his buns. He winced again as she dug the beret into his scalp in an attempt to make it secure. 

“Turn around papa” she commanded “it’s time to make your face pretty.” 

He obliged, turning to face her. She studied his face for a moment before nodding confidently. 

“Yeah I can make you awesome.”

“Am I not awesome enough right now?” He laughed. 

“No.” She dead panned. “Mom is much prettier.”

He nodded in solemn agreement as she grabbed his face. Her sticky toddler fingers stuck to his face as she maneuvered him to her will. She suddenly let go and shoved her fist in his mouth. He grimaced and quickly yanked her hand out. He ignored the taste of peanut butter and jelly on his tongue as he stared at her. 

“What was that for?” 

She shrugged. “ I don’t know.” She mumbled honestly. 

“Those do not go in my mouth.” He said, removing her hands from near his face and setting them to the side. 

“Ok.” She said 

“I’ll let you do what you want to do, but if you do that again we’ll have to stop.” 

She nodded silently, her head hung in shame. His stomach twisted as he watched her gather her things with much less vigor than before. He raised himself onto his knees and wrapped her in a hug. She grabbed him right back and nuzzled her head against his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry papa,” she said swaying softly, “Mom told me hands are gross but I forgot so I did it again. I’ll remember next time for sure though.” 

He nodded and she detached her death grip to grab a palate and drag her finger across the pan. She grabbed his face tightly and smudged color over his cheeks.

Alekto stuck her tongue out as she worked, using eyeliner to draw flowers and hearts over his face. He held as still as possible as she concentrated, her brows knitted in determination. 

“Where did you get that?”  Evelyn’s voice rang out, high and screechy, her eyes twitching slightly. 

“From your room? You said I could use your stuff.” 

Evelyn took a deep breath as she pursed her lips. She moved her wide eyes to him. He gave a small wave. 

“Do I look pretty?” He asked, striking a pose. 

Her rigid posture fell and she smiled. 

“Beautiful.” She walked over to the couch, setting their daughter in her lap. “I think he needs something for his eyes, yeah?” 

Alekto bobbed her head excitedly. 

“Right here?” 

“Right there.”

Evelyn grinned as she picked up the ruined makeup. She grabbed his face, albeit much gentler and without the sticky fingers, and pointed to his eyelid. 

“That’s where we’re going to put the color.” She said gently, “Dip that brush in the purple there- Wait you don’t know your colors yet- No to the left- Shoot, you don’t know your left from right either. “ 

He stifled a laugh from his spot on the floor. She shot him an angry look as she tried to help the toddler. He laughed again as their daughter dipped her finger in every color on the palate. 

“If you don’t stop laughing I swear to God- No, honey that’s the wrong one. Put the brush in the one that looks like your blanket. Or the wall over there! Yes, that's the one!” 

He flinched slightly at the sudden feeling of the brush on his eyelids. 

“I think you just about jabbed his eye out there.” Evelyn muttered. “You need to be gentle with the brush.” 

“We’re going to make you beautiful.” The toddler repeated, hushed. 

“Yes, yes, beautiful.”  She hummed, setting their daughter on the couch as she moved to retwist  Alekto’s handy-work . 

“I did a good job with those and you’re running them!” She screeched, her fingers digging into his skin. 

“I’m just making sure the bow is nice and tight.” Evelyn responded easily, twirling his hair into the bow. 

Alekto hummed disapprovingly as she watched before rolling her eyes and retracing the flowers on his cheek.

“You look ok I guess.” 

“Not as good as mom.” Jason chimed in. 

When had he wandered in?

He huffed but didn’t disagree. Where had Jason come from he wondered. He shook the thought aside as he looked at his wife. 

“No, I don't think I’ll ever be as beautiful as your mother.” He smiled, grabbing Evelyn by her waist and pulling her down to sit in his lap. 

“It’s true.” She said tossing her hair over her shoulder dramatically, “He’ll never be as gorgeous as me.” 

He stood up, lifting her into his arms and waving to the two  toddlers. 

“I must take your mother elsewhere.” He cried, pointing his finger to the door. 

~

This is a deleted chapter from my original idea. I was going to follow the family as they grew, and make Krow and Evelyn a couple, but decided to scrap that. That's why the ending is so abrupt and random

It was also based loosely off a real interaction I had with a kid at work. Toddlers are wild and I'm scared of them. Peanut butter is now a flavor I hate

[suicidalwhistleblower]

polyp is a surprisingly cute word... hey sorry but youve got a little oogy googy little guy ☺️ a little lumpy chunky little fella 🥰 he's growing in your colon 🫣

[thewekman]

This Cream is Grrrreat! (chapter 1)

Abuela Valerie, grandmother of Dora, had always been a rather spicy woman. She was sitting around, posting to her favorite furry 4 chan board, when she recieved a comment from a fellow user, a mysterious hunk. Abuela Valerie excitedly clicked the notification, as she loved meeting new like-minded people. he complimented her fursona, his fursona appeared to be a buff tiger with a really nice ass. Abuela Valerie started blushing. She replied to the tiger's comment, getting a little flirty and he would flirt back. The juicy packin' tiger introduced himself as "Tony". Abuela Valerie smiled. She knew guys named Tony would be more likely to have a huge veiny mule cock with all the fixin's, Abuke Valerie had lots of experience with Tonys. After a bit of chit chat, Valerie and Tony agreed to meet up at their local Arby's for some fun. Tony was excited to see Abuela Valerie in her new fursuit and he got a massive boner when he saw her hot fursona, Dishwasher, a green dung beetle with braided nipple hair and piercings on the nipples, clit, and bellybutton with chains connecting each piercing. The next day, the two of them arrived at Arby's at exactly 3:30. As soon as Tony saw Abuela Valerie, he was immediately erect. " You look scrumptious, my dear!" He told her as he stuck out his tongue and began panting like a dog. From his eyes emerged cartoon hearts popping out of his head while he made goofy sound effects with his mouth. Abuela Valerie was dressed head to toe in her dung beetle decor. Tony the tiger grabbed those firm, juicy beetle titties and gave em a good squeeze. Abuela Valerie blushed and later down on the concrete, spreading her legs wide open. "Don't be shy, big boy! Have an adventure!" She said to Tony as she motioned towards her moist coocharoo. Slimy, hairy, and bumpy N' lumpy, nice and pruny with the smell of mothballs. This elderly cooch was hitting like a balogna and tuna sandwich. The stench was so rancid, Tony's nostril hairs disintegrated immediately after they were violently raped by the smell. Tony could hear several tiny bugs screaming for help, and mercy from their bug god before getting drowned by squishy cooch ooze deep inside Abuela Valorie's wrinkly glorycave. Tony knew he was about to have a jollygood time, this was his kind of puss puss. Tony began plunging his tongue deep inside her. He ate her out vigorously with much passion, as Abuela Valerie pulled out her "secret ingredient" with a sly wink. Even though Tony still had his face buried in that delectable moldy oldie holey, he could still sense that shit was about to get creamy. After lapping up that triple geezer deluxe, he gave Abuela Valerie a lil smoochie woochie to let her taste her own coochie, her cooch fluids still fresh on his tongue. Abuela Valerie showed Tony the fresh, newly purchased can of cream of corn and some funnels she had brought with her. Tony's tongue rolled out of his mouth, several miles long. He was excited to get creamy. A funnel was placed inside Abuela Valerie's coochie, one betweenxt her pruny ass cheeks, a small one in both of her ears, smaller ones in both nostrils, and one large funnel in her mouth. Tony then proceeded to pour cream of corn in each of the funnels. Abuela Valerie's body began to be filled with the creamy, chunky goodness from nearly every hole. Eventually, the two ran out, so Tony hustled off to the market to grab more. While Abuela Valerie was waiting, she spit in the funnel sticking out of her hag vag so it wouldn't get bored waiting for Tony's return. After filling herself up with saliva for a bit, she shoveled a bit of gravel from the ground nearby in there. The sharp gravel poked and cut her coochster on the way in. Abuela valorie moaned in delight as blood began pouring from her juicy bread flavored puss and she began fisting herself.

[best-birdie-bracket]

My sweet girl Lumpy!! Pre-floor cleaning lmao

Her name is Lumpy cuz when she came out of the egg (hatched this darling at home!!) she looked weird and lumpy and the nickname stuck! Kinda like with Chunky but he got his name later than her he looked normal when he hatched

[rileyh20]

I have a whole thing

Hold on, I'll copy and paste it rn

(Its one of my posts)

I have made vegan vampires!

Post starts here:

Why, you may ask?

I actually have no idea tbh, I just wanted them

Anyways-

So, I have made a flower and some lore just because of vegan vampires needing to exist and not have it be unhealthy for them. It isn't where they just don't need blood to survive, they do need it, its just.. From a flower instead?

I have made this flower, which I would like to picture as a dark red Hydrangea? It's a rare flower, found in moist/wet caves, usually in the dark as well. They can be easily grown in the same environment, so a vampire is very lucky to come across one!

It can be turned into blood with a little water, some grinding, and then some blending usually. Sometimes it can turn out lumpy or chunky if you don't do it right, but it still works the same way. Even eating just a petal works if you would want, though it isn't usually what vampires do as it is a smaller amount and doesn't last as long.

Usually vampires use this as a way to not kill humans/animals to drink their blood, but it can also be used as profit to sell to other vampires. Some vampires make little shops in towns to sell blood, and this would be a good way to have lots of product without killing!

So, the actual lore of this flower is insane tho.

The goddess of nature, Lilium, had her first love with a vampire named Boruta. Boruta was a normal vampire for her time, killing humans and drinking their blood. But Lilium never minded. After the god of the wind found out Boruta was killing his worshippers, he sent a special beast out to go kill her. Lilium begged the god of wind to make an exception, but he wouldn't budge on his decision. Mourning, Lilium made a flower with the blood of her lover, just wanting a way to be closer to her and make a new way for vampires so they wouldn't be killed for their urges again.

So yeah, that's what I got :)

Also, there's this whole thing between the wind god and vampires, so yeah :3

Post ends!

I made it for a fantasy world I'm making :3

MOM-

Vegan. Vampires.

……what would they eat?