#he is so oily though

[absols-and-accessibility]

Turns out L.G's knife thing is sharp. Like, cut through concrete sharp. haven't seen very many oshawott b4 but I'm pretty sure he's just Extra Special

[panuccispizza]

I'm like. yea whatever cool to know abt learning about autism comorbidities for myself. like it just makes sense. then I realize my dad has these symptoms too and I start crying

[bookwyrminspiration]

I agree with your opinion on marshmallows. I don’t actually eat normal marshmallows since I don’t eat pork, but I have marshmallows without it and got the texture sucks. How do people stand it I will never know.

-⚙️

I've never had marshmallows without (to my knowledge), but I just. It feels icky in my mouth :(. I actually didn't mind it as much when I was little (or maybe I ate them too fast to tell), but whatever the case now I can't eat raw marshmallow.

Toasted marshmallows are fine for me though! When they get all melty then that gummy texture isn't a problem anymore because it isn't there! It's still sticky, but I don't mind that. And I've also got very positive memories associated with making smores (actual smores, not the GBBO atrocity), so that's a bonus

When making mallowmelt i'd hoped that the marshmallows would get melty and it would be a better texture, but it was a fool's dream. They just kinda puffed up (which makes sense. ovens are not as hot as fire)--and even if they had melted, you gotta let it sit and cool. And then it gets gummy again.

Anyway, suffice to say I'm nervous for the mallowmelt cupcakes, whenever I get around to making them. I've never had marshamallow creme/fluff, so I don't know if I'll also dislike the texture. But either way, I'm making them!

[todayisafridaynight]

Context: Gus Fring is basically what people think Mine is like. In the Breaking Bad Prequel, he's revealed to be gay, so thank god for that, but aside from that, Fring is focused 100% on efficiency, product, logic, etc. and his Gincarlo Esposito conveys this perfectly

Translation: If movie majima was more bonkers than in Canon, Movie Mine should have a colder machine-like demeanor than he ususally does in canon

(Also how could you not watch Breaking Bad uncultured pleb)

no i got what you were saying dont worry i understood thats just a whole lotta names i gotta read

AND LEAVE ME ALONE I HAVE THE ATTENTION SPAN OF A FRUIT FLY I CAN'T WATCH 62 EPISODESSS

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

Having to try so hard to reign myself in when someone I know talks about using that Caesar guy’s Alfa dog training methods and I have to try so hard not to come off as crazy when I explain how those don’t actually work that well and can impact your relationship with your dog

The dog person: you prefer cats though and they’re different

[shotmrmiller]

tw: mentions of roofies, murder, then smut:)

cbf!simon would absolutely kill for you.

cbf!simon has always been your partner in crime.

even in your youth, back when he was built like a daffodil, he was always by your side. kept you safe from the mean girls at school, always got in trouble for throwing hands at boys who made crass comments at you and the like. then he'd left his butcher job to join the military. "I gotta learn how to keep you safe, love. i'll always come back to ya."

and he had. he returned to you almost four times his size; he left a boy and came back a man. down to your very bones, you knew that he would always keep you safe.

which is why he was the first person you called when the guy next to you at the bar roofied your drink. the beer fizzed irregularly and had an almost milky colour even though it was an ipa.

the idiot had dared to smile at you, an oily, crooked grin with yellow teeth, and lifted his own glass to toast with you.

you bolted out of your seat in seconds, heading straight to the ladies' room, and dialed.

he answered on the second ring.

"please come get me." you hadn't meant to sound as terrified as you felt.

"be there in 5," then hung up.

he lived 15 minutes away from the dingy bar.

true to his word, he was there in 5, texting where you were at.

inside the ladies bathroom.

he let himself in, put his jacket around your quivering shoulders, and with a strong, comforting arm, guided you toward the exit and into his truck. simon remained silent as he sat you in the passenger seat, gently pulling the seatbelt over your chest, clicking it into place.

he stood next to you, his hands resting on your jean-clad thighs, waiting patiently for you to explain.

your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you sort out your thoughts. you no longer felt afraid, that much was certain. simon has always been your pillar of strength. there was nothing to fear with him at your side.

so why do your hands continue to tremble? digging deeper, you realize that you're angry. no.

furious.

some imbecile thought he'd take advantage of you. if you'd been any more drunk, you would have been a victim— wound up lifeless in a dirty ditch.

you burned with fury, your blood boiling under your skin. how dare he? how dare he?

simon softly touches your tightly clenched hands, coaxing your fingers to unfurl.

everything pulls hard to port when your eyes land on his disfigured knuckles— scarred by battle. you've never liked what simon did for a living. he just fought and killed people that some higher-up told him were the bad guys.

in war, there is no good or bad side. the field is too soaked in blood for anyone to recognize where the line is if there even was one to begin with.

until now. just this once, you couldn't be more grateful that simon possesses the skills he does.

you make your decision. "there was a guy in there. green hat, ugly brown jacket with yellow, crooked teeth. he drugged my beer, then toasted me so i would drink it."

his hands tighten around yours marginally. "and now i'm here, safe, with you. but he's still in there, with potentially a pocket full of pills, on the lookout for his next victim. how am i supposed to sleep tonight, knowing that if someone goes missing tonight, the blood will be on my hands?"

you cut your eyes to his dark, hardened ones, and the words tumble out of your mouth with surprising ease.

"there's trash in there that needs throwing out, simon."

nothing but a wretched mongrel that needs to be put down.

simon's nod is subtle, but it's there. you exhale a shuddering breath, heart slamming against your ribcage.

he's a gun in your hand, and you've just pulled the trigger.

simon hands you the keys to the truck. "are you sober enough to drive home?" he quietly asks.

hard to keep a buzz when you almost became a victim of—

"yes."

he's opening the glove compartment, taking out his skeleton gloves, and a tac knife that he tucks inside the waistband of his jeans.

"go home. i'll see ya in a bit." his voice is flat, lifeless.

simon closes the door and raps his knuckles on the hood of the truck before heading inside.

and so the elephant marches to war.

-

it's well past midnight when he crawls in through your window. one moment his boots are on the windowsill, the next he's pinning you onto your mattress, hips flush against yours.

his chilly, clean hands lift the hem of your loose shirt, dimpling the soft skin that his fingers dig into— his bare lips grazing the shell of your ear.

"he is no longer a problem."

he grinds his clothed erection against the flimsy fabric of your sleeping shorts.

"you did the right thing by telling me what he did."

simon trails a path of open-mouthed kisses from your ear down to your mouth, licking your bottom lip.

"nothing gets me harder than when my girl looks at me to keep her safe."

your breath hitches when a hand begins to move south, lifting the waistband of your bottoms and sliding his fingers over your slick pussy. "it seems you like it too. does it turn you on, ordering me around like a dog? i bark at your command, pet."

one finger sinks into your wet heat, his groan drowning out your own.

"you like having this much power over me? how easily i bend to your will?" he croons.

there are two fingers in you now, so much thicker than your own, and the way they curl and drag along your nerves has your toes tingling. he takes you to the precipice at frightening speed— the expert hands that kill without remorse are the same ones that are bringing you your pleasure.

he thrusts his fingers into you with an obscene squelch and a thumb circles your slippery clit.

"i'd burn the world to ashes if you asked it of me."

the coil in your stomach is tight, your body tense in anticipation.

"so... would you? would you ask me to bring the world to its very knees?"

the answer sits on the tip of your tongue when you climax around his fingers, walls pulsing rhythmically, arousal dripping from his knuckles.

later will be a good time to reflect on how you don't feel even remotely guilty for what's been done.

for now, you focus on how good simon feels as he slowly sinks into you, splitting you wide open with his heavy cock.

-

simon finds no pills in the guy's pockets. no baggie, no bottle.

nothing.

shame that his little love has declared the guy's life forfeit.

your wish is his command.

[puzzledemigod]

Watching The Bear, someone get this man a nice, relaxing warm shower. Maybe a whole spa day while we're at it

[luveline]

Hi Jade ! I loove your sunshine!readers, could I request one for Carmy ? Maybe someone calls her to get to the restaurant when hes feeling anxious to calm him down idk if thats good lol love ya !

ty for requesting <3 fem, 1.4k

Is it The Beef or The Bear? In your head, despite the wishes of everyone who works there (except for Ebra, who seems to have mixed opinions), you always call it The Beef. But the sign brags otherwise, and when you push open the doors, nothing inside is left to remind you of the old restaurant. It was a total gut. 

“Hi, gorgeous,” says a familiar, warm voice. 

You almost walk straight into her table, distracted looking for brown curls through the kitchen door’s little window. “Hey, Tina.” You grin at your second favourite chef. Your most favourite Sous. “You taking a break?” 

She offers you a round butter cookie from a sleeve of them. Her cup of coffee billows with steam. “Uh-huh.” 

“Hiding from a meltdown?” you ask, taking a cookie, fingers oily with butter, sugar grains falling to the floor. 

“It’s not like that,” she says. 

Well, what is it like? you think. 

Richie’s text wasn’t exactly descriptive. Need ur help with the little Bitch, he’d said. Then, when you didn’t answer, ASAP!!!!

You figured it must’ve been another rant. He’s prone to these… episodes of anger where he doesn’t realise he’s spinning out and hurting people who really care about him. You try to bring him out of it, but he’s a Berzatto. They’re all the same, sort of. Everything that’s wrong with them has been stamped into them a long, long time ago. 

He’s been better since Nat steel armed him into AA, but still. You tilt your head to one side, sugar cookie between your fingers, listening for the goings on in the kitchen. “Sydney’s here?” you ask. “I thought she was sick.” 

“Sydney gets sick, but she doesn’t take sick days,” Tina says with a loving shrug. 

You smile at her in brief goodbye for now and make your way to the kitchen, where you push in quietly. All their ‘Behind!’ and ‘Corner!’ and ‘Hands!’ makes you laugh, and you can’t take it seriously so you don’t, but you’re not trying to be dangerous in there either. 

“Hello?” you ask. 

Sydney and Richie look up from a cramped notebook at the table nearest to the door. There are employees you're unsure of prepping vegetables along the wall, but Carmy isn’t anywhere to be seen. 

“Fucking finally,” Richie says, before rubbing his face regretfully. “I’m sorry, it’s just– I texted you an hour ago, babe, you’re letting me down.” 

You laugh. “Sorry, babe,” you tease. “I have a job, just like you.” Your hands are cold where you tuck them under each armpit, crossing your arms. “Hi, Sydney. You feeling okay?” 

“No. He’s stressing me out.” 

“Which one?” 

“Both of them.” She looks like she might rub her face too. “I need him to be in here right now, he should be doing this, but he keeps walking away and– and not saying where he’s going.” 

“He is stressful,” you agree, though usually Carmy’s stress tends to bounce right off of you, “I’m gonna find him and strap him down for you.” 

Sydney just frowns. 

“I’ll see what’s up,” you say more seriously. “In the office?” 

“Out the back,” Richie says. “Smoking like his mother. He’s a fucking steam train lately.” 

It’s like they want to worry you. You give them grateful nods, sorry nods, and start to make your way out of the main kitchen, past the dishwashers and the dessert station to one of the back doors. Carmy isn’t your responsibility. You don’t have to apologise for him, you don’t have to mother him, he should commit to his responsibilities all on his own, but… it’s hard. You like apologising for him because his behaviour isn’t always on purpose, and he struggles with commitment for similar reasons. There’s this aching, stagnated grief in him that’s reawakening, there’s the stress of the restaurant, his business, the scars of the last ten years, and before that. You know it isn’t your job to come here and make him feel better, but isn’t it? When you love someone, it’s half the deal. 

Carmy shouldn’t yell at his friends, or employees. He shouldn’t chain smoke, and he shouldn’t be sitting on the low wall by the dumpsters shaking so hard with his head so low that you can see the first notch of his spine in his shirt. 

“Carmy?” you ask. 

His head ducks further down. You can hear him breathing, not too hard as to alarm you, and yet unrelaxed. 

You smile without thinking. You hate seeing him like this, but looking after him is a pleasure. “Hey, Carmen. Can I sit with you?” 

He forces his face up. “What are you doing here?” he asks. 

Trying to make sure he doesn’t tear another chunk out of Richie. “It’s my lunch break.” 

You perch on the wall beside him and snap your nearly forgotten cookie into two pieces, one side bigger than the other, which you offer him. 

Carmy takes it. Looks at it without expression, though that slowly turns to a dry ire you’ve felt directed your way a hundred times. “What the fuck is this?” 

“Cookie.” 

“I don’t want this.” 

“Could you just eat it?” You put your own half in your mouth in its entirety, all aligned to your teeth. It shatters into sweet, soft crumbs between your teeth. You talk with a hand over your mouth, “It’s not gonna kill you.” 

Carmy looks at it for a long time before he eats it. 

You watch him. He’s more tan than you’d think, that Italian gene kicking in, skin clinging to whatever sunshine it finds. He spends enough time inside that you’re surprised it can muster the energy. He looks better with it though, his curls look gold toned under the sun, and his clenched jaw doesn’t seem so harsh. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask eventually. Almost conversationally. 

“Nothing.” His hand shakes on his thigh. He turns his palm down to clasp his knee. 

“You sure?” 

“No.” 

“That one’s my favourite.” 

“What?” 

You poke toward a tattoo on his hand. It’s a simple flower, same style as most of his tattoos. “I like it ‘cos it’s just a flower.” 

“My least pretentious,” he guesses. 

“Something like that.” 

He tips his head back. 

“Richie texted me. He thinks I’m gonna… like, I’m gonna calm you down, I guess.” 

“You always do,” he says. 

You give him a long, smiley look. “So you’re in love with me?” you ask warmly, pushing up into a knee to wrap your arm behind him, hugging him before he can move away. “You’re totally fucked for me, Berzatto, that’s fucking crazy.” 

“Fuck off,” he laughs. 

You rub his arm, his skin hot in your hold. He touches your waist very, very lightly. “What am I supposed to do, anyway? I can’t cook. You and Syd are on your own.” 

“You already… already did enough.” He grabs your waist where you wobble on the brick wall, grit biting your knees, his hand comparatively soft. 

“Such a crush on me,” you tease in a whisper, his hair crushed under your cheek. 

You’re tempted to kiss his temple, but affection with Carmy is like oil and water sometimes. You give him a last protective squeeze and sit yourself down again. 

“Carm,” you say, “you know you can call me, right? Like, if you don’t feel okay.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” 

“Or text me. If that’s easier. It’s hard to say hard things out loud.” 

He laughs again. “Sorry.” 

“I know, I don’t– I don’t seem like I know what you’re talking about, I get it, but I do understand. N’ even if I didn’t, I don’t mind listening. Or laughing at you.” 

“What’s that about?” 

“The laughing?” you ask. “You tell me.” 

His hand slides behind your back in half a hug. “Guess it’s funny.” 

“Can I change my mind about the tattoo?” 

“The flowers not your favourite?” 

“No. You know which one I like best?” 

His thumb rubs into your back. “The snail.” 

“Absolutely the snail. You’re so fucking silly sometimes, I’m supposed to take you seriously when you’re yelling and red in the face with a snail on your arm?” 

You can’t see his face with your cheek to his shoulder, won’t know that he’s smiling at you with a rare aura of peace. Can’t see the wanting, either. 

[clamorybus]

it only happened because i didn't get my wisdom teeth removed from my tiny mouth, but im really fond of my tooth gaps. both my mom and grandma had them in the same places

[hurlingdown]

we need needy pathetic OMEGA ZORO

imagine omega! zoro being horny and cock-hungry 24/7 even if he's not in his heat.

it's fine even if you're not always up to fuck. he'll be quiet and satisfied if you let him fall asleep with your dick stuffed in his mouth like a good boy, nose pressed into your pubes until he gets high and dizzy from the overwhelming pheromones.

that, or let him sit on your lap and cockwarm you while you read a book or do something else, giving him the opportunity to rub his scent glands all over your neck until you're all oily and smell like him. and even if your pants end up getting soaked with the amount of slick he keeps producing just from sitting on you, it's worth it.

oftentimes you'll wake up to him humping you in his sleep, whining and purring needily into your ear with his thighs clamped around one of yours, desperately rutting his naked wet cunt onto you as though trying to imprint his scent into your skin.

on other days though, you might jolt awake to him riding you so hard it almost feels like a fever dream when you blink open your eyes — all eighty five kilos of muscle jumping on your cock, each thrust accompanied by lewd squelching sounds as you realise that this isn't the first orgasm he's chasing.

there's a heavy blush on his cheeks and he glares you down while choking on a whine, calling you a "useless alpha" for not satisfying his omega needs enough last night.

[optimist-pine]

Bodyguard

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: people are naked, but it's barely even borderline suggestive

Summary: You need a bath, but there's no way you're going alone

Era: Season 1, the Quarry

Your skin practically crawls from the buildup of dirt, sweat, and who knows what else that's managed to accumulate over the past three days. You still haven't quite adjusted to the reality of not having on-demand access to a hot shower and your scalp is all oily, and itchy, and eugh - gross. A little shiver runs down your spine at the thought - well, maybe that's just more sweat...

The bold shades of the sunset are beginning to fade as you make your way to the Dixon brothers' camp. Currently they're the closest thing you have to neighbors, your tent being between theirs and the rest of the group. You're dying for a quick dip and rinse in the pond, but you don't actually want to die for a bath, and you know it's a dumb idea to go alone. Everyone else seems busy though and you've come to the conclusion that Daryl seems to be your only option.

Most of the others actively avoid the brothers, and you can't say you blame them. Merle's constantly stirring up trouble and being a general annoyance, and Daryl's quick to jump to his defense. But, on the rare occasion when Daryl isn't being held under Merle's thumb, you catch glimpses of a very different person than what he usually puts out.

He's sitting in an old lawn chair by the side of a fire when you approach, poking a stick around in the coals. Little sparks shoot off where the fresh evening air hits them, and the smell of woodsmoke fills your lungs.

"Hey." You greet. A spot of doubt begins to arise within you, but you quickly stamp it out. With recent events you were beginning to discover that there wasn't much room left for second guessing or overthinking anymore.

"Need somethin'?" He asks, eyes flicking up to you for a moment before returning to the flames.

You hang your thumbs in your belt loops, fingers tapping against your hips. "If you're not busy, I was hoping maybe you could go down to the water with me? I'd ask someone else but they all seem rather occupied at the moment... and I don't think Shane'd let me go alone." You say.

He looks up, jaw set awfully close to a scowl. "I ain't gonna be yer damn bodyguard." He huffs.

"No- I don't want you to watch me or anything like that- I guess I'm just asking for companionship?" You reply. "You could do whatever you're gonna do here, but just do it down there?" You hike your thumb over your shoulder in the direction of the pond.

He stays silent, but a sudden chorus of laughter flows out from the direction of the rest of the group. You study the way the firelight smooths out his rough edges, and you can't help but wonder if the look in his eyes is just boredom or if it's really loneliness.

"Unless you prefer Merle's company, then by all means I'll leave ya to it." You continue, trying your best to ignore Merle sawing logs in the tent, and erase the image of his hand too close to his crotch from your mind.

He jams the stick into the dirt hard enough that it remains standing when he lets go. "A'ight. Lemme get 'mah stuff."

"Awesome, I'll be over at my tent when you're ready." You smile, pleased and a little surprised that you'd managed to get him to say yes. Admittedly, Merle wasn't so bad when he was passed out, but it was reassuring to know that you were at least preferred company over an unconscious jerk.

---

Dirt and gravel crunch under your boots as the two of you walk, your knapsack bouncing steadily against your back with each step. "Thanks for coming with me. I'm not necessarily afraid of the dark or anything, but there's a lot worse things in the woods now than just coyotes." You explain. "And it's just nice not to be alone."

He simply grunts in response.

Good thing you didn't ask him along for his conversational skills.

When you reach the edge of the water you find a rock close to the shore to set out clean clothes and a towel. You see Daryl settle down, back propped against a boulder as he starts rummaging around in his own bag. "Whatcha gonna work on?" You ask.

He pulls out a whetstone and a couple large hunting knives. "Cleanin' mah tools." He replies.

You begin to undress, but a feeling of uncertainty causes you to pause. "Man, I wish I didn't feel like he's sitting up there right now with those binoculars..."

"Who? Shane?" He asks sounding surprised.

"Yeah." You shudder. "Guy gives me the creeps."

You hear scrape of the knife grinding against the sharpener. "Well, hurry up an'ere won' be anythin' ta see." He says.

"Yeah..." You keep your eye on Daryl while you finish, but he doesn't lift his gaze even once beyond sharpening his knife. "I won't be long." You assure him as the cool water rises around you.

As soon as you're far enough in you dive forward, the rush of water instantly reviving and refreshing your whole body as it flows past. You rise upwards as giddiness fills you and you break the surface with a laugh. "This is heavenly!" You gasp. You continue diving and twirling, every sore muscle and painful bruise easing away.

You pause to catch your breath and a small splash has you immediately alert. You left your knife up on the shore with Daryl, but you hadn't heard any sounds of alarm from him so surely it's not a walker. But when you look to the shore the sight has you almost equally as shocked. Daryl is chest deep in the water - bare chested that is - ripples being sent out across the still expanse as he sinks further in.

"Hey!" You yell. "I asked you out here because I thought you weren't some sorta pervert!" You hope it's dark enough that nothing in the water is visible because he's only getting closer.

The moon is full and bright, and the way it reflects off the water makes him look almost ethereal. "Can't protect ya if I'm up'ere an' yer alla'way out 'ere." He reasons.

"I don't need protecting." You roll your eyes. "And all the weapons are up there, Dixon!" You send a splash of water directly into his face.

He returns the splash. "Looked like I was missin' out on alla fun." He shrugs. "'Sides, ya never know when somethin' might jus'-" he disappears under the surface of the water and barely a second later something wraps around your ankle, tugging you under the surface.

When you're released you bob back up to the top wanting to be stern, but you're too busy giggling and swallowing mouthfuls of water to do so. When he surfaces behind you, you turn and splash him again sputtering, "Daryl you- that's not- I can't-" and end up full on belly laughing while trying to stay afloat.

You think you catch the shadow of a smile on his lips before he turns and floats away, like he's done nothing worthy of retaliation. 'Oho boy is he gonna get it.' As quietly as possible you lower yourself in the water, and using shadows from the moonlight, you swim under his head. Reaching up with both hands you use all your strength to grab his shoulders and pull yourself above the surface while pushing him down as hard as you can. Then you make a break for it.

You hear him gasp for air, coughing and sputtering as you swim as fast as you can in the opposite direction.

"Get back 'ere, woman!" He shouts, his tone highly amused. "Yer gonna hafta pay 'fer that!"

You don't realize how loudly you're laughing until the beam of a flashlight is suddenly shining directly in your face.

"Everything alright here?" Shane questions, standing on the shore not far from your and Daryl's discarded clothes. A few of the others are with him; Dale, Andrea, T-Dog, and Morales.

Even in the chilly water you can feel your skin begin to flush all the way down your neck. "Yes! All good!" You squeak out, squinting in the harsh brightness.

"We heard yelling." Andrea chimes in.

You're confident that in all your life you've never been more embarrassed. "That was laughing, guys. I wanted a bath and I asked Daryl to be my bodyguard. We were just, uh, blowing off some steam and I guess we got a little loud... Sorry if we worried anyone." You glance at Daryl who appears to be doing his best impression of the invisible man.

You can make out Dale's hat exceptionally well even in the darkness. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Their hesitation to leave sparks frustration within you - do they really think so lowly of Daryl? Is that what this is all about? Sure, nobody really knows him all that well, but you're all practically strangers and he's done alright by you. The desire to defend him takes over and you snap at the group, "Ah, what're y'all, the fun police? Go ruin somebody else's night and leave us be."

You don't take a good breath until they're all headed back to camp, and it's once again quiet and dark. You sigh, tilting your head back to watch the stars so high above as you float. "Dead people walking around eatin' living people - ya think they'd have bigger problems to deal with than a couple'a skinny dippers." You remark.

A quick exhale of a laugh, not quite a snort, echoes across the pond. "People're always jealous of'a good time if they ain't havin' one." He says quietly.

You pull your fingers through the water, feeling the tension push against them. "So... are ya feeling jealous, or did ya have a good time?" You ask.

"S'pose it wasn't too bad." He says. "But I ain't yer damn bodyguard."

And you grin.

---

Yeah, maybe it's a little awkward getting dried off, getting dressed, and walking back to camp but you sleep more soundly than you have since you arrived. And maybe you're a little annoyed with the way everyone seems to have nothing better to do than gossip, but that new gleam in Daryl's eye when he looks at you wipes it all from your mind. And maybe a lot of things suck, but at the end of the day there's someone who actually likes you, and maybe that's enough.

[wanderingandfound]

The fact that even my teeth aren't right anymore, and will probably never be right again, fucking gets to me.

[illwilledomen]

Adults n’ babies.

Info below.

Villagers (and all Testificates)

- Children have tufts of hair, and bald during puberty.

- The darker pigment in their proboscis occurs during puberty. They also grow into their noses.

- Kids are kind of scrunkly and wrinkly, like Sphinx cat kittens. They’re also very small, and have huge growth spurts once they hit their teenage years.

- Adult villagers are incredibly tall, and lack much visible hair aside from fine body hair, light facial hair (like stubble) and eyebrows, which are bristly and whisker-like. Another noticeable feature is their short philtrum and near lack of a visible upper lip. Their noses are as sensitive as human lips, and are typically used in the same way for affection and gesture. Villager proboscis can scrunch, wrinkle and twitch, moving to follow scents like the noses of elephant shrews.

- Villagers have much keener senses of smell than humans, and can produce a wider range of sounds.

Piglin

- Much like villagers, piglets start fuzzy and bald into wrinkly adult piglin.

- Piglets learn to vocally emote first, then sign phrases later on. Piglin use vocalisations as emotional context cues for the more complex sentences they sign.

- Piglin sows have litters of up to six piglets. Most of these piglets will die, particularly if it’s a nomadic horde, so they only receive proper names at one and a half nether years, or when they begin to grow out of their camouflage stripes.

- Piglets are born with stripes and an earthier pigment to help them hide from Infernal predators.

Endermen

- Endermen give birth through their mouth. They do breed asexually, though some Endermen do recreationally partake in what is possibly intercourse. It’s hard for Enderologists to tell.

- The offspring spends ten years inside of a nutrient sac before emerging as an Ender-child. The Ender-child will slowly develop features like limbs and a complex digestive system, though it begins with only a torso, a brain and a pair of eyes. These eyes are non-functional as psionic communicators, which is their secondary purpose in adults.

- They excrete an oily substance that repels Endermites and keeps them moisturized enough to move. As the larvae matures, it will develop the velvety exoskeleton of an adult Enderman. It will also begin to omit psionic frequencies, though these begin as nonsensical bursts of information.

- They mature at 100 years old. Most of this 100 years is spend engorging on chorus fruit, stem and endstone mineral salts. They have no emotional connection to their parent, as eventually they will develop enough to join the Chorus and become one conscious Being. Alternatively, they can worship a void God and become an Endersent.

Players

- Players were primarily constructed by Rana of the Elphar Senate of Builders, or artificers under her command. Most players were raised either in the Garden, an enclosed sterilized “meadow” next to the Senate building, or within the ancient city.

- They have three brains. The Animal, aka a normal human brain, the Purpose, an information tablet which dictates their robotic instincts, Basic Information and function, and the Soul, which enables emotion and sapience.

- Steve was constructed as The Builder, Alex was constructed as The Hunter, and Hero was constructed as The Friend, but is commonly referred to simply as the first. Hero destroyed two other players before he was supposedly decommissioned.

- Players begin existence as entirely androgynous beings, and may transition into genders upon discovering them. Gender is not encoded onto the Basic Information tablet, so they may struggle to understand it. Steve has adopted a masculine identity, enjoys it, though expresses confusion at being called a “male”.

[cozage]

hello! Im kinda new to tumblr so i dont really know if im supposed to send requests here so sorry if im supposed to send it somewhere else, but for my request can it be fem! Reader x sanji? Hurt to comfort where he says something mean but then apologizes? And can you pull out the angsty bit a little, but make the ending fluffy? And for the format can it be like a mini fic? If you want you can add other characters but i mainly want sanji! Thats all! Sorry if my request didnt make sense as im new to tumblr😔. Thank youu!

A/N: Hi! You did everything perfectly!! Thank you for the request <3 it was so hard to make Sanji mean even accidentally 😭 I hope this is good! It’s also not edited so please forgive any grammatical errors!  Characters: fem reader x Sanji Cw: Sanji is an idiot and says mean things (and is a little sexist) Total word count: 900

Rude Comments

“I can do it, Sanji.” Your words came out quick and short. Your temper was rising, both at your task at hand and the blonde who was hovering behind you. He didn’t normally come with you on jobs for Franky, but he had been free today.

“It’ll be faster if I do it,” Sanji offered. He reached out for the wrench. 

“I can do it!” you snapped again. You pulled away from the task and glared at him. “Franky asked me to do this, so let me do it!”

“Well, it’s just…” Sanji eyed your clenched fist around the wrench and took a step back. “It’s not really a woman’s job to do this sort of thing, and-”

“What the hell do you mean by that?” you bellowed. “You think I’m not capable of doing this?”

Sanji threw his hands up in a plea. “No my love! It’s not that at all! It’s just…you’re not very good at this.”

It felt as though you had swallowed a stone. “Franky always asks me to do this.”

“And you’re being very helpful!” Sanji said quickly. “But he gives it to you because it’s not exactly a top priority task and…well, it’s really hard to mess up.” 

Sanji gave a weary look back to your workplace as if your handiwork spoke for itself. His pitied gaze and words made you suddenly want to be alone. 

“Fine,” you mumbled, dropping the wrench to the ground. “Fix it for me, then.”

“Of course, darling!” Sanji jumped at the wrench. You were fairly sure he was already starting to explain how he turned the bolt, but you walked out the door without listening further. 

You didn’t see Sanji for a while. That was fine with you, though. You retreated to the back of the ship and perched atop a barrel, staring out at the sea to think. Did Franky always give you useless tasks just to keep you busy? You frequently had to return to the same tasks again and again. What if Franky broke things just to have you fix them? 

The thought brought tears to your eyes. You had been so sure Franky enjoyed your company and valued your help. He had called you “super indispensable” more times than you could count. Was it all just a lie?

“Darling?” 

Sanji’s voice broke through your mental spiral and you quickly wiped the tears from your cheeks. 

“Yeah?” Your voice came out wobbly, but there was no point in hiding from Sanji. 

You turned to face him. You had been ready for him to fuss over you, but you found that he was covered in sweat and grease and plenty of other weird stains and smears. He didn’t even seem to acknowledge your puffy eyes at first. He looked too exhausted. 

“So, this is the part where I apologize,” he said softly. 

He strode over to you in three steps and swept your hair out of your face. His hands were covered in grime, and you could feel the oily substance stick to your face. The feeling made you jerk away from him, but he was already pulling out a clean cloth and wiping it away. 

“I’m sorry I said those things, my love. I know you are very capable of doing anything you put your mind to. Your persistence is one of my favorite things about you. I shouldn’t have tried to take that away from you. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m so sorry I thought I could do something better than you just because of our genders.”

His words made your eyes swell. You had planned on still being mad at him after this. But seeing those crystal blue eyes and hearing his sweet words made you crumble all over again. 

“I forgive you.” You sniffed and wiped the tears from your eyes again. “Just don’t do it again.”

Sanji let out a laugh. “Oh, I will never be taking on a task Franky gives you again. You know how I said it was ‘hard to screw up’? It turns out that was wrong. I broke the whole pipe. Franky was pissed. He said he doesn’t let anyone touch that problem except you and him. Something about the pressure system needing a delicate hand, and only the two of you have the knack for it.”

It took a moment for his words to process, but you could feel your heart swelling. “Franky only lets me do that?”

Sanji nodded, guiding you towards the kitchen. “And a few other tasks. Says you’re the only one he trusts to do it right.” 

“I didn’t know that.” You had a vague feeling that you needed to cry for an entirely different reason now. 

He gave another laugh and sat you at the counter. “Well, you always excel at everything you do. It turns out I have a lot to make up for. What should we start with, chocolate cake or ice cream?”

[salchat]

I've put all my stuff away to make myself leave this poor Jensen alone! Because if I keep messing about it's going to end in disaster. It's mostly neocolor crayon and some oil pastel. Oil pastels are great, especially when you've done as many layers as you can of anything oily - crayons, coloured pencils etc. Oil pastel will go over the top of anything - well, the expensive Sennelier ones will anyway. If you can afford any, get some. If you can only afford one, get white. It makes white highlights in eyes so much easier, especially when you've overworked the eyes nearly to the point of going through the paper.

Which brings me to my main reason for leaving it the hell alone - I mean it! I decided that since the crayons are water soluble, I'd smoosh the background up a bit with damp fingers. But it's on newsprint. Anything more than a tiny dab of water is going to soak it so that it falls to bits. Which would be a shame. Because, even though some things are still not right, I do like him. And I don’t want him to fall to bits!

I think he needs to be the wallpaper on my phone, in fact!

[transformhim]

Pose

“We good here?”

The model’s question caught him off guard as Raul looked up from from his camera, adjusting the frame and focus for his next shot while his assistant, Damien, moved onto the set to adjust the light and prop placements. The deep bass background music played throughout the apartment in the awkward silence.

The fuck does he mean, are we done?? We’ve hardly started! Raul thought with an annoyed scratch at the back of his head. The model had been a terrible subject to begin with, giving poses and taking heavy sighs at each direction Raul tried to give him, and essentially treated the shoot as though it was something he was bored doing. His payment was way more than modest and the shoot wasn’t supposed to take more than an hour, but he looked like he was ready to leave just 20 minutes in.

Raul cleared his throat, “Uhh, actually we still need a couple more shots. The client is looking for a pretty varied spread to choose from. So if we could j—..”

“Come on, man, you’re really gonna make me do this for another 40 minutes? I’m sure what you got is fine.”

Raul breathed in heavily, “Look, it’ll just take a bit more, the contract said that it wouldn’t be—..”

“Well, you can take it up with my agent, man, I got places I gotta be,” the model started stepping off the set, turning his back to Raul to start packing his things.

Raul turned his eyes towards Damien, lifting his palms up in a disbelieving gesture and shaking his head. Damien just rolled his eyes and shrugged with a dejected smirk. They’ve dealt with these kinds of divas numerous times before. Almost too many to count, actually.

But money had been tight at the studio since the pandemic hit, and even all these years later it still hadn’t recovered. they couldn’t afford to keep getting these types of dismissive twats leave shoots before they were supposed to. Clients were always very specific about what they wanted and could cut pay if they weren’t satisfied.

But Raul and Damien had their own means of dealing with these kinds of rude bastards. As they exchanged wordless looks expressing their annoyance and frustration, Damien’s eyes began to slowly drift towards the model off set, gathering his belongings. His dejected look changed to one of curiosity as he bit his lip. He looked towards Raul and narrowed his eyes with a cheeky grin.

‘Should I?’ Damien mouthed silently towards Raul.

A sly grin spread across Raul’s face as he considered Damien’s proposal. He looked back at the model—turned away from them as he texted to his agent or slam piece or gym family or whatever—and back at Damien, biting his lip mischievously and nodding.

Damien smiled wider and stretched. He took off his tank top and tossed it aside, his toned hairy torso now bare. His fingers hooked under his waistband, and his basketball shorts and boxers drop silently to the floor as he kicked them over on top of his tank top. Now naked and hardening quickly, he arched his back in a stretch, rolled his neck, and rubbed his palms together as he stepped towards Raul. He leaned in for a quick kiss with his partner as he took the bottle body oil next to Raul that the model had used and squirted a massive helping into his hand, slathering it over his chest, arms, and face. Quickly, he moved towards the model gathering his things, ducking down lower as he approached.

“When you get to it, make sure my payment goes t—UUUHHHNNGGG!!” The model was interrupted in the middle of his sentence as Damien, in one fluid motion, pulled the model’s speedo down and plunged his face between his globular asscheeks. The model groaning and grunting in mindless pain and confusion, gripping the sides of the table where his things were sitting, as Damien popped his oily face and head into model’s tight hole, sending a loud squelching *SCHLORP* echoing through the apartment.

Damien’s slick body then began to suck up into the model’s hole, his muscular tan form thinning and contorting as he slithered deeper and deeper into the model’s guts, the entire process emitting a familiar meaty, slimy, slurping sound Raul knew and loved so well. Raul licked his lips, pawing his swelling package, as he watched the model’s sculpted ass distend slightly as his tight hole widen more and more as it hungrily slurped Damien inside him, his tattooed, lubricated form and limbs compressing in on themselves as he plunged deeper. Raul couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of the model—he knew full well how ecstatic and orgasmic it felt to have Damien slither up inside him… and what came next.

Just as Damien’s ass and throbbing rod sank into the model’s guts, his thighs and legs shot up into the hole at a much faster speed, whipping into the model’s hole noisily. Raul had shoved his hands into his shorts and was stroking eagerly as the Damien's feet slurped inside while the model groaned and contorted, arching his neck and back and standing on the tips of his toes, cringing at the pain and pleasure racking through his body.

Damien was gleefully readjusting his out-of-proportion frame within the squeezing, slimy, meaty confines of the model’s body, feeling different parts of the model’s sides, abs, and back twitch, flex, and contort, as his body tried to adjust to its invader. He could hear the muffled sounds of Raul’s horny, drunken laughter from the outside, thinking he for sure must have been making the model appear to have a substantially pregnant beer gut as Damien’s body centralized in his torso. After using a stretched out hand to brush his lubricated, wet hair out of his face, Damien went to work shoving his limbs into the model’s extremities.

Damien loudly moaned from within the body as he felt his arms and legs come to new life with increased strength and size while his limbs shoved through slick meat like a tight sleeve into the model’s beefy appendages. He smirked, feeling cocky and horny as he felt his arms burst into massive cannons and his heart fluttered as he felt the rest of him come to life. Damien arched in exhilarated bliss as he felt his chest, torso, and back first compress under the weight of the model’s squeezing body and then surge outward in new sensations of power and mass as Damien’s senses merged with the model’s, enticing him to give his big chest a flex to feel it bounce with new weight.

Raul nearly blew his load from an observer’s perspective. The model’s head was lolled backwards and his eyes rolled back while his body underwent what looked to be an instant pump, his muscles standing out more prominently under his skin, bit by bit, as his boyfriend filled him up like a balloon. Raul gasped as he stroked himself, watching Damien fill up the model’s lower half, making his already impressive thighs and glutes swell larger still. The thong he was wearing for the shoot looked somehow more risqué than earlier, hugging the model’s sweaty skin more tightly and accentuating his now-larger parts. The model was no longer the shredded twunk he was when he came into the apartment, but a swaggering thicc muscle stud with his and Damien’s combined mass.

Finally, Raul could see a sizable lump appear from near the model’s collarbone, stretching the model’s gold chain to its limit, as Damien began to shove his own head upwards into the model’s. He began to elicit deeper, gurgling groans as Damien wiggled and stretched his head up into the neck. Raul felt himself nearing completion as the model’s head suddenly jolted upwards with a dull crack, the lump in the model’s throat now gone. It wasn’t until Raul heard Damien utter his first satisfied groan in the model’s low voice that he blew his pent up load all over the floor in front of him.

Damien rolled his head around in his new body, stretched his shoulders and panted a few more breaths. He touched the foreign curves and angles in his face for a moment, turned on by his own handsome, sharp, smooth face. He felt sweat dripping off him from his exertion and huffed a big whiff of the new musk he emitted. Not bad!

“Alright!” He rubbed his hands off his face and down his pillowy chest.

“Let’s take some pictures.”

Damien turned to see that Raul had blown a sizable load all over the floor, some even on the set, and giggled as Raul chuckled, panting, coaxing the last of his load out of his shaft, letting it dribble down his fingers and onto the puddle below.

“Already?! Come on, man,” Damien chastised playfully.

“Sorry, babe, I just love the way you filled him out, dude. Fuck!”

“Oh? Y’like?” Damien teased walking towards him, saucily lolling his tongue out while he flexing his arms hard and tensing his pec muscles several times. He was being corny like always, but Raul was kicked into 5th gear again, instantly ready to blow another load.

“Yeah, dude, I fuckin’ do,” Raul took the liberty of feeling up Damien’s slick muscle gut, running his hands over his protruding abs. Damien could see how into this his boyfriend was and decided to move things forward a bit.

He grabbed Raul’s hand and shoved it into his thong, feeling his new hardening 7 incher steel against his boyfriend’s palm. He humped and gyrated his mammoth cock against Raul’s hand and asked, “What about the shoot?”

“Shoot can wait,” Raul moaned as he gripped onto Damien’s slick dick and stroked, lifting up Damien’s huge arm with his other hand and burying his face into Damien’s sweaty pits, licking and lapping at the moist surface while inhaling deeply.

Damien lifted up his other arm for Raul to let his boyfriend worship his other pit, bouncing his pecs a bit as Raul slathered his greedy face across his sweaty jugs on his way to the next pit. Damien grinned as he felt Raul continue to lovingly work his shaft. He was looking forward to a hedonistic, indulgent weekend with his boyfriend—he just hoped they eventually remember to finish the shoot.