#my brainworms for them are still so real

[astersugar]

"What's with this guy?? Is this really what I was like?"

hi go read @undercoversleepover's fic Through the Mirror for great stuff completely unlike what's depicted in this comic of AU!Loid x Loid

[xxstaystillxx]

https://www.tumblr.com/xxstaystillxx/766902362786988032/looking-forward-to-interpreting-pedophilic

homie what are you talking about

as the former president of little boy waycest i am simply saying that, considering past offences (namely scarecrow), if (based on the literal paper kingdom in the background of the recently released photo) they're actually making paper kingdom happen, a narrative based on missing children is going to be pretty rife for the carrion birds in my brain. like if i still cared about mcr it would be i mean. i wish i did. theres a lot of powerhouses drawing stuff for it im blown away at the quality of work being produced now versus when i was king nasty. but i simply have naught to say anymore. also the surprised tone of your question there is pretty funny to me. homie my pinned post is a eleven year old with cum on his face

[hiddeninthe-veil]

things-- i.e., life in general, etc.-- would be a lot easier if i could manage being reliable with things below my top three priorities.

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

I need to know what happens next in 'soap fucked prices daughter' please it gave me brainworms and i need to know

ask and ye shall receive...this time.

INT. 141 COMMON AREA – LATER

Soap slams the door behind him and leans against the wall, panting like he just barely escaped a lion’s den. His hair’s a mess. His soul has left his body.

Gaz strolls in like he owns the place, still grinning.

Gaz: “You alright, lover boy?”

Soap: (dead inside) “He’s gonna kill me. I saw it in his eyes. That man was calculating my death in real time.”

Gaz: “Well… maybe he’ll be distracted by the mental image of you climbing his daughter like a jungle gym.”

Soap groans and throws a pillow at him.

Ghost enters silently, as he always does. Looks at them. Blinks once.

Ghost: (casual) “You’re the one who shagged Price’s daughter, right?”

Soap: (yelping) “How the hell did you find out?!”

Ghost: “It’s all over base. Heard she called you ‘Sir’ and you cried.”

Gaz: (wheezing) “He did cry. A little. Right before he told Price she was ‘a demon in bed.’”

Ghost: “...Impressive. Stupid. But impressive.”

Soap: (burying his face in his hands) “I was a dead man before. Now I’m a meme.”

EXT. BASE – EVENING

Soap’s walking toward the barracks when he sees her—Price’s daughter—leaning against the wall in a hoodie and boots, arms crossed, watching him.

He freezes like a guilty raccoon in headlights.

Her: “You told my dad?”

Soap: (panicked) “No! I told a man, who I didn’t know was your dad, and then your dad turned into your dad after the fact!”

She squints. Trying not to smile.

Her: “So… you told Captain Price that I was, quote, ‘the best ride since the Triumph Rocket III?’”

Soap groans. Soap: “Okay, who is leaking my quotes?!”

She walks toward him. Slowly. Teasing.

Her: “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re panicking.”

Soap: “I’ve aged ten years today. Price threw a chair out a window. I think I’ve been disowned and I’m not even related.”

She finally reaches him, smirking. Her: “You really think it was top three?”

Soap: (blinking, hopelessly lost in her now) “...Top one. Don’t tell your dad.”

She leans in—like she might kiss him—then just pats his cheek with a wicked grin.

Her: “Too late.”

She walks off.

Soap stares after her, hands on his hips, muttering to himself.

Soap: “I’m gonna die with an erection. That’s how this ends.”

[bonefall]

[ID: Ask from @storiesandsquirrels, transcribed in alt text]

also: link to Cow Lore

There's one major misconception here I've gotta correct before answering earnestly; Holsteins do need Super Duper Food. This is one of their major problems as a breed, you need to give them high quality feed for high quantity, low quality milk.

But! That said! These are valid questions that deserve real responses. In spite of the quick correction, I actually want to answer them as you phrased them because I think it would be more illuminating. I'm going to try and summarize them as I go along;

Question 1: "Why wouldn't we want to use The Most Efficient Cow?"

The simplest answer is disease. My ""prediction"" came true, and bird flu has mutated to spread extremely easily through the infected udders of Holsteins. No one has died of bovine-contracted HPAI yet, but with Brainworm Bobby and his love of raw milk in charge of the CDC...

well. my last prediction was prophetic. let's hope this one's not.

Minmaxing a breed for one specific purpose always means intensive inbreeding. Like I mentioned, 9 million Holsteins are genetically equivalent to 60 individuals. A more genetically diverse population is one that will be better at preventing disease outbreaks, and reducing their severity when they do.

And what even is the Most Efficient Milk Cow? If you're only selecting for pure milk production to drive down its cost, you get a breed of cattle that lacks every other important trait that would make it good livestock;

They get sick more often, due to inbreeding depression and lack of physical fitness, requiring more antibiotics and veterinary care.

They are bad parents who will need more human intervention to birth and raise calves

They won't be good grazers, meaning they need a specific food grown for them, increasing how much "functional" land is actually dedicated to cattle husbandry.

Their carcass won't yield as much meat, so more cattle have to be raised and slaughtered to meet demand.

Their bodies will burn out much quicker than a healthier animal, meaning you need to replace your livestock more often.

When it comes to living beings, "efficiency" is "fragility." It's not a stable system to begin with.

Even with the pure logic aside, just, step back here and look at the situation with a heart. We'd be making unhealthy, short-lived animals lacking critical instincts to lead good social lives. AND we probably haven't even fixed the "less land" problem, just shifted the land off-site.

For what? For more milk? We have SO MUCH milk we don't even know what to do with it!

Question 2: "Isn't an overabundance of cheap milk a good thing?"

no.

Under the infinite genius of Capitalism, thousands of gallons of milk just gets poured into the sewer daily because there's too much of it. Transporting it to a processor would cost more than it's worth, sometimes the processors turn milk away because they don't want to overproduce products, and even the US government can't subsidize every last drop; it still has 1.4 billion pounds of cheese in various caves and warehouses across the country.

The price of milk cannot get any lower because it's already being sold below the cost it takes to produce it, and yet, we're still here literally pouring it down the drain.

[photo from bill ulrich who photographed a farmer dumping milk back during the pandemic. this isn't even a recent photo. this happens every time there's a milk surplus. im using this photo because i like the farmer's cunty little pose. look at him. "just ain't right"core.]

And milk being dumped into the sewer is more than just wasteful. It's a biohazard.

Milk doesn't stop rotting when it's dumped. If you live downstream of a milkhouse, improper milk disposal reeks.

It's full of nutrients, too, which causes diatoms, cyanobacteria, and other types of algae to go into overdrive-- causing a Harmful Algal Bloom event in the water, or HAB.

HABs are horrific. There's HUNDREDS of different types. They can suck up oxygen and create "dead zones" which kills all aquatic life, they can poison the water supply for an entire town, and some can even cause toxic fumes that make it hard to breathe on land.

Now, listen, I don't want to scare you into never dumping out rotten milk or anything! It's that on an industrial scale, it's REALLY REALLY bad if a farm overproduces milk-- especially crummy milk that can't be made into decent cheese or other dairy products.

In fact, if we did produce milk on a smaller scale, it would be better for everyone! Unless you're a Milk Guzzling Fiend like I am, you probably wouldn't need to buy a whole gallon at a time. In countries like Italy, it's sold fresh and in smaller containers, and you're just expected to pick it up as you need it.

This is why milkmen used to exist, and still do in places that are cool; they'd deliver your supply fresh from the creamery. Less waste, less stress! The "subscription model" is actually sooooooooooo much better for milk production, since it helps to stagger out those "surges and drops" of demand that leads to milk dumps.

Question 3: "If the cow eats less, doesn't that mean less land for pasture, which is a good thing?"

There's a lot to unpack within this sentiment. It's actually based on a couple of common assumptions on a few levels, which are incorrect in fascinating ways. Challenging this means opening up your worldview on how complex keeping livestock actually is!

I'll start with the simpler part;

You could cut fresh pasture out of the equation entirely and shove a cow into a concrete pen with a food box-- but are you counting the land growing the fodder?

When you grow corn the way that we do on industrial farms in the US, it's unbelievably destructive. Unending oceans of monoculture. Fogged with pesticide, pumped full of fertilizer which causes HABs like dumped milk does, sprayed with thousands of gallons of wasted water.

When you look at this image, I need you to understand you are looking at a dead zone. Like a suburban lawn, just because it's green doesn't mean it's good. Nothing grows here but corn and pests of corn, which gets poisoned and dies without returning any of that energy to the ecosystem.

This is usually what is being given to "grain-fed cattle," either when they're sent to a feedlot to hit their slaughter weight, or when they're lactating so they need the extra nutrition. It's also so nasty it's inedible to human beings.

Now, a lot of cattle farmers will just supplement their cow's diet, doing a mix of pasture feeding (much cheaper) and grain feeding (quicker gains). But the facts on this are clear; pasture-kept cattle result in LESS emissions and need LESS total space than cows in confinement.

In fact, there were a LOT of benefits!

Overall gas emissions from the cows dropped by 8%

Ammonia pollution was down by 30%

Not needing to run farm equipment for fodder planting and harvest reduced carbon dioxide emissions by 10%

Rotated crop fields didn't sequester carbon; but the newly converted perennial grasslands store as much as 3,400 pounds per acre.

The outside cows did produce less milk volume, but the milk they did produce was higher quality. So, looking at all the benefits here, it's clear that pasture is actually something that should be embraced for ecological reasons, not rejected.

In FACT, it should be EMPHASIZED. Because, this is the mind-blowing part,

Pasture can ALSO be an ecosystem.

In fact, I'm a Warrior Cats guy who once did a deep dive on moorlands just so I could write WindClan better. There are entire biomes that only exist because of grazing, and British lowland heath is one of them!

Keeping cattle in a sustainable, ecologically sound way is going to look different depending on where in the world you're doing it. So many earnest, good-willed people have bought into the lie that humans are a problem, and that everything "associated" with us becomes a barren wasteland as if we are tainted. YOU are not the problem! The problem is, and always has been, exploitation. Unsustainable relationships with the land we're part of.

Indigenous people in Europe, Asia, and Africa have been keeping cattle for thousands of years. In North America, cattle can be used to maintain ecosystems that have been badly affected by the colonial eradication of the American Bison. In South America, Brazil specifically has been making incredible advances with highly efficient integrated crop-livestock-forestry farming.

Generally, pastures here in the US are not as intensely managed as an equivalent crop field. Some people fertilize them, or water them mid-summer, but absolutely not to the same extent as industrial corn farms. Cattle are typically rotated between pastures, allowing each to re-grow before they come back to graze again.

Obviously, yes, overgrazing can be an issue. Not every open space should be converted into a pasture, and the destruction of other environments to turn into cow land is a problem. But that is an issue of bad land stewardship, not the mere practice of keeping livestock.

Bottom line, though? Cattle who can graze and survive outside are better for the environment than cattle that can't.

...but hey, you know what Holsteins happen to be really bad at?

EVERYTHING. GRAZING.

They are notoriously terrible grazers. They can't do megan THEEEEE thing that cows are known for. Fragile frames, a lack of fat to keep them warm outside, increased demand for food, distaste for any rough forage, horrible mothering instincts, the list goes on. Holsteins are a NIGHTMARE to try and keep outside all year round compared to other breeds.

(especially heritage breeds, like the Milking Devon, Florida Cracker, or Texas Longhorn. Between these three, you'd be totally covered in 80% of American climates.)

I've already explained why it's not actually very good or important that we minmax milk volume, but even if that was actually something we should value, there are so many downsides that they would absolutely not be the dominant cow breed in a truly "efficient" system.

"Less cows means less cow food and cow land" is sound logic, but Holsteins are not the right cow for that job.

Question 4: "How could this be done in a way that doesn't increase cost of living?"

I'm not sure how to answer this question, simply because I'm not Bonestar, Leader of AmericaClan. Wish I was. I would rule tyrannically.

It's worth noting that Brazil is the second largest producer of beef in the entire world, AND the number one largest exporter of it, AND only puts 30% of its land to total agricultural use. The USA dedicates over 50%. And also Brazil is net reducing its amount of agricultural land while increasing output.

It seems clear to me that the USA actually has a massive food waste and resource distribution problem, to the point where the price we pay for stuff is actually wildly disconnected from the actual value of the goods and labor.

I think the way that us Americans tend to frame our conversations on these topics as "growth" vs "cuts" instead of asking how to minimize waste by making existing systems more efficient prevents us from solving problems. We're also just... really culturally resistant to the idea of anything being more "expensive," even if it ends up costing us a lot more money in waste or mismanagement later.

Penny wise and dollar foolish ass country.

Question 5: "What can we personally do about this?"

I mean, I wasn't making a call to action in Cow Lore, I was just explaining to one of my regulars why I don't like Holsteins LMAO. Since you're asking though...

I don't think we can change the wider trend in the dairy industry without actual government intervention and regulation, though, and that's very unlikely in the current political environment. they just sent random dudes to Ausalvador-Birkenau and when the Supreme Court said "bring this specific person back" they said "nuh uh." fellas I don't think we're getting better dairy regulations in the foreseeable future.

So I think the most productive thing to do is focusing on supporting small farms and heritage breeds. Get involved in your community garden or heritage society if you have one.

Not only is that generally a very rewarding thing, but it will be helpful to you in case The Situation Gets Worse. Knowing your neighbors and having real human connection is your best defense against economic recession.

Supporting the locals is always a great thing to do, which can be as simple as going to farmer's markets. You don't need to buy fancy food every day to make an impact on your community-- it can be a treat sometimes!

You could also subscribe to the Livestock Conservancy's free newsletter, where they talk about the work they're doing and upcoming events. If you're a knitter, crocheter, or any other kind of fiber artist, you could even join in on a challenge they're running where you make items out of rare wool for prizes!

Should you end up liking the work they do, you can become a member for 4$ a month, or go to one of their educational events.

Even just talking about the problem can do a lot! Did you know the Highland Cow was actually critically endangered in the USA within the past 10 years? It was the work of the Livestock Conservancy, plus a surge in their popularity, that helped to bring their numbers up. Word of mouth is a powerful thing.

All that said, remember, you can't solve every problem. It's a big world and there's a lot of them. Being made aware of an issue doesn't mean you have to drop what you were previously doing-- just care a lot about something that you want to improve, and let that guide you.

[nerdygirlramblings]

Hii

I love your work, especially the omega!r fic. I'm pretty new to tumblr but your account is something like a safe space for me.

And I've got brainworms. Alpha!Simon punishing Omega!Jonny by securing a chasity belt on him because it's Jonny, he's a desperate horny mutt. Beta!Kyle, the sweet guy he is, fucks omega!reader (gender is irrevelant) real nice while Simon makes Jonny watch. Alpha!Price comes home and gets mad because he originally forbid omega!reader to get fucked but reader is also a desperate horny little mutt.

So basically Simon is punishing Jonny and Price punishing reader and our sweet Kyle gets all the nice and sweet treats.

First, I'm glad this is a place you feel safe. I try to be safe, welcoming, and ally...all the things, so if it's working, I've done something right.

Second, I'm sorry this took so long! I've had massive writer's block, so this little drabble is the best I could muster. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Not part of my omegaverse series. This is not Ren.

cw: edging, orgasm denial, masturbation, unprotected sex (PIV or anal, you decide)

shout-out to RoryDysfunction for the role of a beta during a heat/rut

Johnny whimpers, cock trapped in the cage Simon slapped on him when the lieutenant found him with his hands stuffed into your trousers, mouth latched on your neck, as he watches Kyle settle himself into your tight hole.

You'd come off your heat last week and still smelled so damn sweet Johnny couldn't resist. John and Simon had kept you both separated so your heat didn't trigger his. He hadn't meant to practically maul you when you came into the nest, but no one was there. He hadn't seen you for nearly two weeks. It started as cuddles, as him welcoming you back into the nest, scenting you. But it was impossible not to react to the traces of your sugary scent clinging to the back of his throat as he rubbed his face against your scent gland. He bit lightly at John's mark, fitting his teeth into the alpha's, which led to your sweet, desperate whimpers. Johnny was just trying to be a good packmate, a good omega, taking care of you by shoving his hands in your trousers.

He intended to get you off, make you feel good, but before he could, Simon came in and hauled him off. Simon shook him, muttering about how much of a mutt he was and reminding him how mutts don't get treats. Before he could register what happened, Simon had pulled his clothes off with military precision and clicked the cock cage over his burgeoning erection, forcing the member to soften slightly.

Simon was still scolding him to the sound of your quiet, needy whines when Kyle came in. Unlike Johnny, John and Simon didn't keep Kyle from you during your heat, but that didn't mean Kyle got to participate.

Despite his stoicism, none of the men were immune to you, aroused and overstimulated and unfulfilled and wearing entirely too many clothes, so Simon commanded Kyle to look after you as he dealt with Johnny. Kyle quickly stripped down before joining you in the nest and carefully peeling your clothes off. Each drag of his fingertips over your skin caused another sound, and now Johnny was whimpering along with you.

He could do nothing but watch.

Simon sat in a chair near the nest and made Johnny kneel at his knee. One hand roughly in his mohawk, Simon grunted at Johnny to unzip him and pull his cock out. Once it was out, Simon slapped Johnny's hand away, warning him to keep his hands to himself unless he wanted them tied behind him.

Simon angled Johnny's head to watch the nest as Kyle lubed himself up before readying you, scissoring his fingers into your hole. He slid in effortlessly, and they were rewarded with a deep moan spilling from your lips. Kyle leaned forward, dropping kisses along the column of your neck as he began thrusting. Kyle's name flowed from your mouth like a prayer and Johnny wished so badly to be in Kyle's place.

The steady shlick shlick sound from the chair let Johnny know Simon was enjoying the show. Everyone was getting something from this but Johnny, whose erection was still trapped in the cock cage.

He could have been watching for minutes or hours, Johnny didn't know.

But he knew the moment the mood shifted. John's rough voice called out over the room, grunting about how no one was supposed to be fucking you this soon after your heat, but you simply turned your wet eyes on him and softly said, "alpha," and he was a goner. He shed his clothes and crawled into the nest, grabbing the lube.

A few seconds later, Kyle paused mid-thrust, John's hand on his hip as his lined up behind him. John sunk himself into Kyle's heat and whispered something into his ear Johnny couldn't hear but which made the beta shudder and reply, "yes, sir."

Suddenly, John bucked into Kyle with abandon, pinning you beneath them both. Your whimpers and moans switched over into keening cries as Kyle pounded into you on John's momentum. They all knew when you came, the pitch of your cry cresting sharply. Kyle and John followed shortly after, John's grunts covering Kyle's moans. And the low moan and salty scent next to him told Johnny Simon, too, had cum.

Only Johnny was left unsatisfied.

Until you looked at them and beckoned them both into the nest. A small frown when you saw the cock cage was all it took for Simon to unlock Johnny. As soon as they crawled in with you, you reached out for Johnny's aching erection, wrapping your hand around him, murmuring, "good boy," as he snuggled against you.

main masterlist

[ro-bee]

I'm sorry tumblr I don't have anything exiting to post here... I'm hyperfixating on goat's narinder ...

He's not even real and he's just my favorite *broken heart emoji*

Anyway thanks to my oomf Bunny to give me brainworms about them !!

More stuff below, description references (tw for scars, many scars...) and some suggestive stuff because I'm so insane about him

Brief description of him: he's the opposite of our beloved black cat so he's really friendly, kind and gentle. Me and Bunny are really abusing the "dogs are so weird, even if you hurt them they still love you" line... Wolf nari and goat's relationship is really complicated, that's all I'll say for now

Reference of the boy (with nari, and yes we're still rocking that toh reference pose) :

Ok so, if you saw my other references you might have noticed that wolf nari has something in common with my goat, it was Bunny's idea and I just went crazy about it so:

My goat's execution was absolutely gut wrenching (haha), something really traumatic that scarred them mentally; after coming back to life all they wanted was revenge for everything they've been through and for everything they've lost, they're not gonna stop at the 4 bishops they want all gods gone.

So, when it's time to meet again with wolf nari, goat is not gonna surrender and when they win and defeats the last living God they can finally free all their rage and do what was done to them to someone else, killing the last god, they went a little out of control... It didn't felt good like killing the others.

Smh toxic yaoi

Aaanyway

The suggestive stuff:

Good for them! Good for them!!

[pricegouge]

Its 4am and I just got done playing an unholy amount of Stardew Valley and had the 141 on my brain the entire time, so I'm going to spill some of my notes into your inbox for kicks and giggles, nothing more! I gotta get these brainworms out!

Thinking about;

Retired!141 who move out to the smallest farmtown known to mankind (without bwing completely disconnected from society ofc), to start up the farm life with their newfound free time. Really it was all Price's idea, had his eye on the property for a while, daydreamed about the sweet life when he was still in the SAS. But ofc he brings his boys along, after so many years they can't stand to be seperated for too long. And after Soap got that critical injury that forced him to retire early, there was no way Price was going to let any of them out of his sight.

Gaz loves taking care of the cows, talks sweetly to them and makes sure they're the happiest they can be. Will sit out in the field for hours with a sunhat on, with one of the cows resting her head right in his lap, gently napping like an oversized dog while he chews on some wheatgrass and soaks in the peace and quiet.

Soap prefers the chickens - mostly bc Price won't let him do anything TOO physically demanding, like working the fields with him and Ghost. Which is what Ghost likes to do - loves to feel the burn in his muscles from a physically exhausting day, before cleaning up with a hot shower and then laying back on the couch for the evening with a cold drink and a hearty, homemade meal.

Everything was downright blissful in this little slice of heaven they made for themselves.

Except for the plot of land right next door.

It was in a right state, junk in the fields being swallowed by weeds, parts of the farmhouse caving in on itself - it looked like some real trailer park trash farmland. Price would just tisk and shake his head, waste of good land, and move on. A few times a year, though, he and Gaz have to take the goats over to eat all the weeds. Both to avoid it being a fire hazard, and to stop the weeds from trying to grow onto THEIR property.

And then one day a moving van pulls up and some folks start unloading it all, and little ol' you shows up. Gaz, Ghost, and Soap all blatantly stare in bafflement from their property line, a little bit each day, as you try to turn that trash heap into a home.

You get a decent corner of plot set up to start growing your first ever crops when Ghost makes a comment to the others over dinner.

"She won't last the season."

Gaz and Soap treat it more like a joke, placing bets to see how long you'll really last, but that's when Price has had enough. So he gets up one day to bring you some homemade dinner and finally introduce himself. You invite him in for a cuppa and thata when Price REALLY sees the state of the house and the farm itself.

It doesn't matter that you're actually fully equipped to tackle this mountain of a project - funds, supplies, and plenty of research done beforehand, thanks to the inheritance your grandparents left you alongside the farm - Price takes one look at your sweet face, bright eyes, and aoft hands. And he decides, no, you're not going to survive the season.

Unless he helps.

So he starts by bringing you meals, every other night, to make sure you're eating properly. Then one morning you wake up to Price dragging all the yard trash into his pickup, and Gaz already herding the goats in to clean the field.

"Can't start a proper farm with a field like this, love." He says, and you feel bad so you put your work clothes on and start helping him haul junk.

And then Price is fixing up your irrigation, and tilling the fields. He plants more crops for you, always chasing you off when you try to tell him he doesn't have to do this or that. He does it all anyways. He gets Ghost to help repair parts of the farmhouse for you without even asking your permission. You're watering the crops one day when you look up at your roof to find Price and Ghost hammering away, fixing the cave ins and reshingling the whole thing. Price fixes your wiring and leaky faucets, and it doesn't matter that he planted, cared for, and harvested your entire field of crops, he's making sure you get more than your fair share of the profits.

He loves seeing you get all fussy and whiny about him doing 'too much', but let's be real sweetheart where would you be without him and his boys taking care of you? Probably running back to whatever city you clawed your way out of, aww, you poor thing.

So he starts dragging you over to have dinner with him and the boys, nightly, and talks all sweet and soft to you while loading your plate with more than enough food. Gets you all happy and wine drunk so you're all easy for him to manipulate and coerce as your none the wiser.

But ofc your totally sober when you kiss him one day, as your returning some washed dishes from meals he brought you. A quick little shy peck to show your thanks and appreciation, but oh no he doesn't let you go after that. Gropes you back into his arms and kisses you until you're begging for him, and then he breaks you down and builds you up again all in one evening.

He'd pulled some strings, got your property completely signed over to him, tore down the fences between your property lines - everything to officially make you belong to him. Its all swept out from under your feet before you can make sense of what has happened, and now Price isn't letting you leave his house while he, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap keep going about doing the farm work for both plots of land.

You step foot outside and Price is herding you right back in, sitting you down on the couch and putting on some TV for you with a nice cup of tea. Tells you to be a good girl for him and stay put while he stomps back out witb muddy boots to continue working.

You're just a little bedwarmer for them now, not allowed to lift even a delicate little finger, spoiling you, really.

Bonus points if Price treats you like a cow. You overhear him talking to the others about breeding you, so they can start milking you after the baby is born. You're just a cute piece of property for them, and Price intends to get his money's worth. He's invested so much into you after all.

-🧚‍♀️

y'all do not get me started on price with a little breeding cow of a wife i will walk into one of those freshly tilled fields and never return.

this is was sooo cute, thanks for blessing me with your thoughts!

somewhat related, have you ever read @/dwarvenagenda 's froot?

[stanpinesdykewife]

hii! could I request stan/gender neutral reader fluff? maybe something along the lines of what mornings look like together? the direction you take it is absolutely up to you, thanks again YOU’RE AMAZINGGG <3

i got carried away can u tell stan's my favorite. I'M CRAZY!!! i'm crazy. also THANK YOU so much your request is amazing it gave me brainworms!!!!!! under the cut:

mornings together stan/reader (gender-neutral) pre/during/post-canon/unspecified fluff, 825 words

“Stan,” you say, nudging his shoulder. He grumbles in his sleep, rolling away from you so you're facing his back. You laugh openly, leaning further over the bed to nudge him again. Your other hand is adjusting your work pants, tugging it up and trying unsuccessfully to do your belt buckle. “Stan, wake up. You're giving me a ride to work, remember?”

“No gas,” he mumbles, pulling his arm away from you. When you poke him again, he raises a hand to wave you away. “Quit it.”

“Stanley.” Your belt is left undone as you shove him with both hands, and finally he rolls over to shoot you a glare. You just grin at him, and his face softens, just a little bit. “You're giving me a ride to work.”

“What genius came up with that idea?” he mutters, but props himself up onto his elbows with a groan. Stan rubs his eyes, some crust clinging to his lashes. His hair is all mussed up and his tank is crooked, one arm hole digging into his armpit and the other coming dangerously close to flashing a nipple. There's some dried drool on his face, from the corner of his mouth to the side of his jaw, and when he stretches his arms over his head, a series of concerning pops and cracks emit from his spine. One thing's for sure: if this were a cartoon, you'd have heart eyes.

“You did, you dork,” you say, the affection painfully clear in your voice. Stan picks the crust out of the corner of his eye and then looks at you, his brows furrowed still. He isn't glaring at you anymore—just needs his glasses. Before you can turn to look for them, he grunts and beckons you closer.

“C'mere. Gimme a kiss,” he grumbles, and you plant both hands on the bed to kiss Stan's cheek. A smile threatens his lips, but he keeps up the grumpy old man act: “What are you, Puritan?”

“I'm not kissing you until you brush your teeth,” you say matter-of-factly. Then, just to make fun, “I dunno where your mouth has been.” Stan quickly switches gears.

“You know where my mouth has been,” he says, the sleaze, and you laugh as a flush crawls up your face. Stan beams at you then, a charming, sleepy grin that makes you giddy. “Say I drive you to work. What's in it for me?”

“Here we go,” you say, rolling your eyes. Your smile cancels out any sass. “You've been awake for less than a minute and you're already hitting on me. You're a real perv, you know that?”

“Oh yeah, baby, love it when you talk dirty,” Stan says, and suddenly tugs at your wrist so you topple over. You faceplant right into his chest, and before you can react, Stan wraps his arms around you and heaves you onto him with little effort. You're laughing the whole way, eventually managing to shove your foot between the mattress and bedframe so you can push yourself up.

“Stan!” you protest, even as you grin into his shirt. Stan manhandles you so you're right on top of him, like a lizard on a log, and he holds you tight to his body with brawny arms.

“Alright. Back to bed. Goodnight,” he says promptly, tucking your head under his chin. He manages to fake one long, loud snore before you start squirming away from him. It's an impossible feat. His grip barely loosens. “Hey, what gives?”

“You're wrinkling my work shirt,” you say, and then squeal when Stan rucks up the back of your shirt like he's going to pull it off.

“Why do you need a shirt, anyway?” he snickers, and you manage to reach behind you to slap his hand away. Stan laughs and finally lets go of you. “Alright, alright!” You push yourself up, hovering over his face. You try to look mad, but you're still smiling.

“Stop fooling around,” you scold him lightly. You know for a fact Stan won't take you seriously, so your heart isn't in it. Still, you bargain, “If I give you a kiss, will you get up?”

“A trade, huh?” Stan doesn't even pretend to think. He tilts his head up at you, smug. “I'll take it.”

“Yeah, you will.” You close your eyes and lean down slightly. When you peek, Stan's closed his eyes, too, readying himself for a kiss. You shift your weight and smack his face lightly, very lightly, then roll straight out of bed and stand up. When Stan sputters, blinking his eyes open to look at you, you laugh in his face. “I'll kiss you when you brush your teeth! You really thought th—Oh, nope, you're getting up now, okay, meet you in the bathroom!”

You dash away, your undone belt buckle slapping against your thigh, your pants falling from your hips a few inches. Stan’s loud laughter follows you down the hall.

[lavendermin]

crucify me in your bed | chigiri hyoma

chigiri hyoma x reader

wc | 1k

genre | established relationship, childhood friend Isagi the honorable mention

warnings | nsfw, mdni, dacryphilia, subspace, chigiri the fiend who wants to see your makeup run unfortunately, overstimulation, blacking out implied

note | thank you to @lorelune for feeding my brainworms with your ask. I’m normal about this (I’m not)

There's a vast array of products littering your vanity. An organized chaos as you pick up one and dab on another, knowing well the lay of your land. Your face is concentrated as you work on your meticulous makeup routine one layer after another. A soft tune fills the room as you hum along to whatever is playing quietly on your phone.

"Is all that necessary?" Isagi leans against the door frame of your room. He's crashing at your place until his flight that leaves early tomorrow morning. You live much closer to the airport than he does, and what are you if not a sympathetic childhood friend.

"Mhm," you respond flatly, entirely focused on applying a light coat of mascara. "Chigiri is picking me up. You have your spare key?"

"Yeah."

"Passport, cards, toothbrush–"

"Yeah, yeah. Focus on your eyes or you'll lose them," he chuckles. You hum, only half-listening.

Isagi watches intently as you finish off your makeup with several fixing and finishing sprays. Of course he would assume you're finished. You smack his hand away when he starts putting away your things in your cosmetics bag. The frown he gives you is more of a perplexed pout than annoyance.

You grab another eyeliner.

"Don't touch my stuff," you scold without missing a beat as he leans on your vanity and starts picking up random products that lay askew.

"Two mascaras? Two… eyeliners? I don't even know what half of the other things do."

You let him be, focusing on your last layer of eyeliner and mascara. Only offer him a shrug.

"One is waterproof and one is runny. You wouldn't get it." He makes a face and you smile at him through the mirror. A fox's mischievous grin. "If I'm going to get fucked and have my makeup run, it has to look good."

Isagi's face goes beet red at your casual explanation. Even so, he tries to play it off casually with a scoff.

"I don't need to know."

The bell rings followed by a few heavy knocks just as you finish and rush to pack everything up.

"Your dick appointment is here," Isagi mutters. You gasp indignantly and punch his arm, both of you unable to shake off the fit of giggles.

"Don't be rude. Better yet don't say anything."

"Sure," he shrugs.

"Text me when you land."

Isagi flops onto your bed and responds with a thumbs up.

Even after dating Chigiri for a couple of years, your heart is in your throat as you go to unlock the door. There are hearts in your eyes surely—Isagi would poke fun at you if he saw you giddy like you are now.

"Hey," you greet with a grin.

Chigiri smiles back easily, planting a kiss on your temple. "Hey."

—

You blink, eyes damp as you're met with a warm low-light filling the room.

"Hey," Chigiri says softly with a stroke of his thumb across your bottom lip. Kiss-swollen and smeared with drool. "Lost you there for a second. Couldn't take it?"

You swallow thickly, voice hoarse. Still, you smile fondly— tired. "Passed out?"

"Yeah. Blacked out. You were out a minute."

Even in the low light of Chigiri's room he looks good. The musk of sex still hangs to the air. His red hair clings to his damp forehead and there are a few marks littering his chest and neck here and there. No doubt your doing. The bastard looks gorgeous even in the afterglow. Unfazed and unfairly still high on stamina while you feel like you've been hit by a truck several times. You wince as you feel his cum start to trickle out from you— sticky and messy between your thighs when you shift.

"Christ, Chigiri, are you trying to break me?" There's no real bite in your words. Not in this state, at least.

You sound a little pathetic. Just how he likes it.

"Maybe." There's a satisfied hum he makes as he takes in your current debauched state.

His thumb runs under your eye, the mess of tears, sweat and mascara smearing more. There's a wicked look in his eyes— one that tells you that this is far from being over. It's an insatiable hunger. Borderline bloodlust in seeing you fucked out and a mess. Brainless, mindless. You're getting there, you think.

A hand weakly reaches up toward him to pull him down for a sloppy kiss. It's more tongue and teeth than anything— clumsy as your mind continues to reel with his tongue practically down your throat.

But the room is warm. He's warm. It grounds you during this small break he's afforded you. The only generosity he'll offer tonight. As if you don't absolutely love it.

And— you feel it— his half-hard cock against your thigh. A shiver runs up your spine in equal parts delight and dread.

"Should I even bother with makeup if you'll just ruin it within the hour?" You ask more so to tease. You do your makeup a certain way when you go to stay the night with him— so it runs as he ruins you and makes him sink his teeth further into you. You know that he loves to see you wrecked and sloppy and an utter mess by his hand. Revels in it. Tangible remnants of him. Proof of how well and how thoroughly he gives you what you need.

"You're my mess to make." He coaxes you onto your stomach easily, hiking your hips up despite the trembling in your legs where he had you folded in half not long ago. "Mine to clean up once I'm done. And I'm not done."

His hand takes a fist full of your hair, tugging just enough to make you moan as he shoves the side of your face into the mattress. Fresh tears trail another mess of mascara and eyeliner down your cheeks. You're panting softly as his cock slips between your puffy folds and bumps your oversensitive clit. An obscenely wet sound reaches your ears— makes your pussy clench around nothing and drip more of his cum onto the soiled sheets. The needy whine you let slip has him throbbing again.

A bright flash of light doesn't even register as you begin trembling from anticipation. That familiar haze creeping in. Chigiri angles his phone camera at your fucked out face. A divine mess he wants to memorialize for his eyes only.

"Now smile for me."

[st-osmanthus]

Excuse me, my ZoLu brainworm has not left chapter 1136. And I wrote 1,500 words today, after a long month of unable to write anything, so I deserve to have this rant, dammit!

Ahem. Buckle in. It’s a long one. (Sorry not sorry)

Y’all, look at our precious idiot, scaring giants right out the gate with his bloodlust. Missing one eye, hair standing up like a demon, dressed to the nines like a rogue Viking, drinking some high-grade giant liquor without getting drunk — just living the outlaw life. This is the wild beast of the Straw Hat Pirates. He’s unpredictable. He’ll strike fear into your soul. He cannot be tamed.

Oh, wait, did someone say “Sun God”? Now he’s intrigued. That sounds familiar. The bloodlust is gone. He ain’t here to scare anyone. He’s just gonna sit still and listen like a good boy for the next five pages. Please. Tell him more…

Don’t mind the swordsman. He’s just drinking quietly in his corner, listening to the chatter, saying nothing for FIVE WHOLE PAGES. He’s a bit of a loner, after all. He’s too cool to participate in these antics. Too cool for school (probably never had a geography lesson in his life). Too cool to care.

Except.. did they say “Shanks”? Did Luffy hear them say “Shanks”? THE Shanks?! The man Luffy has idolized his entire life. The one name that can make Luffy’s eyes glow simply from hearing it being spoken. Shanks might have been here recently?

Oh, you bet our green-haired guard dog is sitting up and paying attention. And he’s got OPINIONS.

This page… ZoLu truthers can (and should) write entire essays on this page. These are just my immediate thoughts.

First, I gotta know. Did Zoro drag Luffy away from the party? Did they sneak away together after sharing a knowing glance? Did Luffy run off to make water and Zoro took the chance to corner him for this discussion?

Regardless of how, they’re alone now, and Zoro is doing his first mate thing, having clocked his captain’s unusual behavior, which of course has him concerned. He can’t let some random giant take advantage of his trusting and naive captain.

He’s gotta play the devil’s advocate, gotta present a different perspective on the matter even if it means popping Luffy’s bubble. What I want to know is, does the Japanese version have the exclamation marks?!? That’s three sentences in a row punctuated with exclamation marks. Stephen Paul is one of the best manga translators in the game, and he wouldn’t add them if the original text didn’t call for them. That means: Zoro is losing his cool. He knows of all people, Shanks would make the perfect lure to get Luffy on board for some crazy shit. He needs to caution Luffy against falling into a possible trap.

It worked. Luffy has a healthy dose of skepticism now: “You think Loki doesn’t even know?!” Luffy’s mad. Aww. He’s probably disappointed. ☹️

………….

And what do ya know? ZORO BACKPEDALS!!!

“I’m just basing it on his reputation… I didn’t see the guy.”

Y’all! This man sees how disappointed his captain got when he played devil’s advocate and he immediately backs off and tries to find a middle ground. “Hey, no worries, maybe Loki isn’t a liar. The fuck do I know, Luffy, I wasn’t even there!”

Absolute marshmallow pushover fake-ass tough guy.

(I adore him.)

The culmination of all this? Zoro’s gonna do everything possible to make his captain happy while keeping him safe. You see, he will get the keys to Loki’s cuffs, and then together, they will decide if Loki’s a liar or not. Zoro isn’t going to stop Luffy from finding out more info on Shanks, not if there’s even the slightest possibility Loki was telling the truth, but he is also not letting Luffy do this alone. He doesn’t trust anyone else’s judgment either. So it’ll be him and Luffy, sharing one brain cell against the world. (Until Nami caught them, which, like, thank goodness lol.)

—————

This chapter contains everything I love about ZoLu: Guard dog behavior from Zoro; complete trust in Zoro from Luffy; hot-headed captain teaming together with not-really-aloof first mate; Zoro inserting himself so that Luffy can still go on as his goofy self. I love that they didn’t say shit to the rest of their crew, that they wanted to just GO and do their own thing for a little bit.

It reminds me of their mad dash to the plateau on Dressrosa, or them standing side by side facing down Aqua Laguna, or Zoro going with Luffy to Roof Piece. These instances show again and again that out of the entire crew, Zoro is the closest to being Luffy’s equal. And every time, Luffy is grateful for the companionship. There’s really no other duo doing it like these two.

[luwha]

THIS ISN'T A ROAST. It's some thoughts and backgrounds on a thing that's been eating my brainworms for a bit.

haha ok so, the last few years I've been hearing a lot about how AI can be useful and a tool, which i refuse to believe it is (and if so, the damage it causes to artists FAR OUTWEIGHT any benefit).

So, there's this youtuber that covers, like, tech and stuff. When generative AI for images and text came up , they were rightfully poking at the ethical dilemma, and copyright infringement, but STILL made a soft argument about how useful it can be on pitch ideas, concepts, and other things that quick and cheap art could be used (also fuck whoever did this jobs before i guess lol)

BUT THEN an app finally did the same for music, generating indistinguishable quality music. The said youtuber makes music, usually vibe check music to hear on video's background and such.

but see

this time they were frustrated, and made a video about the ethical concern, how unfair it is, how it destroys the effort and passion of creating and all, and did NOT make an argument about how it could be useful, because now they knew that despite the benefit, if it goes off, their dreams is over.

A lot of people are quick to jump into "this can be useful" for generative tools, and very rarely i see artists, especially digital artists, agreeing with this. And most that do either have no stakes on their careers, aka they're already well off, or have no careers to begin with.

Serious artists KNOW how bad it is, no matter what. The youtuber had no stakes in visual art. They doesn't make them, they don't really profit or benefit from making them.

When it came to a thing they DO understand and make, now they've got to understand why it's bad. Why the benefits are not good enough to justify the disaster it makes on artist's life, on the humankind development as a whole.

idk what the point is here, i just really got pissed that at the point, they've been really kinda "this is bad but this exist, who knows, could be good if it's not unethical etc", to go fully into "this is bad. like, real bad for everyone here and music industry".

Wish that understanding came from their kindness, not AI coming with a baseball bat to their knees. Makes me real sad that it came for them too.

[lsunstreakerl]

I said "SH but I give GP a gun" and @farvres said "but like actually" so uhhhhh. here u guys go have a lil 1k brainworm. I guess this would be like, dark redbull? organized crime redbull? (more than) slightly insane redbull? listen, they're toxic. they still love max. these things can coexist.

so here's a little alternative universe, where things are much darker but it's somehow still redbull as family. this takes place in a split off of "Warning", after Max has had his tonsils removed and is recovering in Bedford with GP and Alice.

Gianpiero is seething in Christian's office, pacing across the floor. Christian isn't sure if he's ever seen his mild mannered friend this angry.

"GP-"

"No, don't start with me."

GP's hand flexes and curls from where he's clenching and unclenching his fists.

"You didn't fucking see it, Christian. He's so- he's tiny, in our guest room. He's tiny, and he doesn't even think he's allowed to have honey in his tea. The fucking- the idea that Alice and I want to take care of him after a surgery, that he doesn't have to handle it on his own- Christian, he doesn't even understand it."

GP stands in front of Christian's desk, one palm pressed flat as he leans down. Christian keeps his posture steady, even if he's never quite seen this look in GP's eyes before.

"If someone treated my daughter like that-"

Christian is wondering how much favor he's going to need to pull with Dietrich to cover up whatever Gianpiero is planning.

"I'd fucking kill them."

Christian nods. He's running ideas through his head, absentmindedly clicking his pen.

"Now would be the best time. Max is still recovering, he might not realize something suspicious right away."

GP pauses, looking thoughtfully at Christian.

"Redbull parties a lot- it's not out of the question for everyone to be together."

Christian nods, leaning back in his chair. GP is settling back into his skin, has that calculated look back on his face.

"Jos is known for drinking and driving. I always worry about him- it would be a real shame if something happened."

Gianpiero hums.

"It would, wouldn't it."

Christian tilts his head to the side, trying to gauge just how serious this is. There are rumors around the paddock, that the teams are like cults. Ferrari bears the brunt of them- they've been around too long, too many cultures and superstitions. It's too easy for the public to pick up on their oddities, the kind of strange behavior younger teams can get away with.

Even the drivers think it's a joke. It's not a part of the business they're involved in, usually. Fernando and Michael were... exceptions.

Christian brushes his fingers against cool metal secured underneath his desk.

"Someone would need to take care of Max. It would be devastating for him. He still thinks of that man as his father."

Gianpiero narrows his eyes. He's firm when he speaks, voice hard.

"Max would stay with me."

Christian nods.

"Of course, he'd still need to drive. But he'd be a bit closer to home that way, wouldn't he. Maybe a few trips a year to Austria."

Gianpiero is assessing Christian carefully.

"He'd be better taken care of."

"He would, yes."

There's a moment of silence as they both watch each other- trying to decide if they're really doing this. Usually, when a team operates after hours, there's a competitive reason. To get directly involved in a drivers personal life- it's rare.

Then again, Redbull has always been the exception. Max is one of theirs, golden boy in the making. He's already got little pockmarks of red, attachments to younger drivers, to Ferrari. They'll have to stamp that out.

Though- Christian supposes it would be okay to let him keep a few attachments. They're too soft on him, he's going to end up spoiled and rotten, but the way Gianpiero has his hand curled into a fist-

Christian has never seen anyone get under his skin like this.

"I'll schedule a meeting with Dietrich."

Gianpiero looks down his nose at him.

"Soon."

Christian nods.

"Tomorrow morning."

------

Gianpiero leans next to Alice in the doorway. Max is asleep in one of his old Jordan GP shirts, softly snoring into the pillow. He's all skin and bones, twitchy and nervous, unsettled in their home.

Alice looks over at him.

"You boys better be fixing this."

Gianpiero leans over to kiss her gently.

"I know, my love. You're retired."

She smiles against his lips.

"Not where our children are concerned I'm not."

She nods her head towards where Max is asleep.

"And he's one of our children, isn't he?"

Gianpiero feels a smile tick at the corner of his mouth. Max is in bad shape now, but-

They'll fix it. They'll protect him, teach him how to smooth over his blunt edges. He'll be surrounded by love, here and at Redbull, the way he should be.

He's not so confident they'd be able to secure him the Ferrari boy, because their claws are in too deep, he drips Rosso Corsa already, but Max has taken a shine to Daniel, and they can keep Carlos if they play their cards right.

Gianpiero will make it happen. Securing the perfect setup for Max, making sure he has the optimal environment for growth, that he has everything he needs-

Well. That's quite literally his job.

------

Alice is home with Max, still knocked out on pain meds. They've maybe been giving him a bit too much the past few days, but Gianpiero doesn't want to risk Max realizing something is suspicious. They'll wean him off of it soon as they ease him back into race prep, and the whole thing will just be a blurry haze of days he doesn't really remember, interspersed with a tragedy that isn't all that tragic.

He watches apathetically as the high beams sink below the water. He'd liked this fishing hole, because it was deep, and he's not going to be able to use it for a while now.

Gianpiero stays on the edge of the bank for a bit, making sure nothing floats up. The car is sunk, doors sealed shut. He doesn't feel bad in the slightest. He'd even been humane about it, Christian's gun sitting cool in the holster on his ribs.

Alice wouldn't have been so kind.

He waits for the water to settle before he turns and starts making his way back home. It's a lovely night out, really.

He should teach Max how to identify the constellations at some point. It could be helpful if he's lost- not that Gianpiero ever intends to let that happen.

Some race engineers fail their drivers. They don't mesh, or they aren't devoted enough, aren't willing to do what it takes.

Gianpiero leaves Jos to his watery grave behind him.

He and Max are going to be just fine.

[hell-drabbles]

I can imagine that this is the type of open back outfit that Angelified!Companion would wear cuz 1. We don’t allow regular shirts in this house and 2. I thrive for imagining Companion as a Model for some outfits

[THE ARTIST IS NIHONEHO ON X AND TT, I FORGOT TO CREDIT THEM 😭😭😭😭]

That is a real nice shirt. Yeah considering the way I have some of the angels in my mind, this would probably be a thing that would happen, though they'd have to time it right with the angelified companion, and also concede with the fact that the shirt they're making them wear? It's probably not going to survive for long. But, as they continue to spend more time around the angelified companion, they do become more and more wasteful, more indulgent, and just falling farther and farther from the general norms they have established into their social customs.

Anyways, for some reason this gave me big brainworms and I thank you for sending this because it got me writing something that I'm actually proud of!!!!!

Read pls!

It was rare of you, to be this silent, this still. When your eyes overflowed with colors of hymns, when your shattered halo spun, reformed and broke once again with the sounds of all manner of prayers, everything within your…unsightly human soul would rebel. Would roar to be the loudest voice within the mourning cacophony you're drowned in.

Gabriel once thought it ugly. It still is, in fact, but even ugly things can become cute, if one listens it long enough. And, lately, sounds have becomes so much more tolerable when it's you making them.

The sound of pearl strings clicking together, the silky rub of gossamer sleeves as they brush against the delicate lace, the strain of pulling ribbons upon crooked, melting, and mending wings. Sounds that angels have made, have heard first, before humans were created and were able to make such things. They have stolen what God had made beautiful to Gabriel.

And now, while the process was excruciatingly slow, Gabriel was finally reclaiming what was taken.

"These pearls were difficult to shape," Gabriel said as he threaded his fingers through the glittering strings, letting them click against his nails, "they had lumps, but what would I expect out of the creatures they came from?"

He'll never forgive those clams for smelling as horrible as they do. But, at least they were easy to get through.

It was just you and him, within this white room high above the clouds. The sun poured in through the glass-stained windows, multi-colored light being absorbed by the white drapery. You liked color, evidently, as this was the only room you're willing to sleep in. It was also the only room where you can be kept calm, in all states of being.

And about the only place Gabriel could even attempt to put clothes on you. You don't quite deserve the fabrics of Heaven yet, so he had no choice but to compromise and have these clothes fashioned in your home. The transformation will eventually be complete, there's no harm in testing the waters and seeing which would suit your figure best, even if the fabric of human origin would be subpar at best.

"There we go, now don't we look better?" A calm mind leads to a calm figure, leads to a calm beast of Heaven to be decorated. "While I doubt it'll last long, this suits you better, since this is by my design. You're getting closer to perfection."

And farther from your origins.

"Though, make no mistake," while your wings don't leave much room for your back to breath, Gabriel has long since learned the particular way they like to crowd, and his fingers had no problem finding and stroking your spine, "you're far from being one of us, but you can no longer call yourself one of them, now can you?"

You bent lower, as if in reverence.

Then, you spoke.

"You designed this?"

…your voice rolled over his ears, stroked his ribs and cascaded down the entire length of his body. Gabriel did his best to suppress a shiver and focus on the fact that you still haven't given yourself up to that beautifully burning light. And it annoyed him that, beneath that disappointment, was a little spot of relief.

Perhaps boredom of the same, bestial behavior from all the other angelified creatures was getting to him. Yes, that was all.

And yet, he can't get his mouth to move. All he can do is watch your face.

Your hands grabbed at the fabric, lifting it closer to your face to view all of the delicate details sewn within. Your eyes narrowed and your halo sparked an angry light, "it smells like you."

Your fingers gripped at the collar, then you pulled. Your body flexed, your wings twitched and fluttered beneath his fingers as you ripped the shirt up. Months of work, month of waiting for this special commission to be finished, and you tore it up without a second thought. You threw the strips of fabric and strings of pearls away, tossed it as you would a clump of hair from a shower drain.

You were bare once more, and the anger simmering beneath his belly gave Gabriel his voice back.

"No gift pleases you, it seems," You didn't even give him an answer. "Well, that's fine. I simply need to make something that you can't rip apart."

[billy-cockblock]

SWTD Theory

Still Wakes the Deep has been a huge brainworm for me the past few weeks, so I wanted to make a post with one of my takes. Someone’s probably thought of this already, but I can’t find anything about it, so here I go. 

I’m gonna take this time to shout out a little sub theory of mine that plays a bit of a part in my main point. 

For a little background, in populations of organisms, there are limiting factors on their growth and spread. Think of it as a series of funnels of different sizes: the rate of liquid that can flow through is going to be determined by the narrowest funnel. For example. if there’s a population that has ample food, space, and whatever else it needs, but has a restricted access to water, that water is going to limit how large that population could grow.

Before the Shape was dug up by the drill, it was probably dormant in the sea bed, doing its best to survive, the same as any other organism. Down where it was dark, wet, and cold, I think it had one main limiting factor: oxygen.

I don’t think the Shape can efficiently exchange gas underwater. Most of the untouched bodies Caz sees are only underwater, where an organism that thrives in air would struggle to access. Once it gets dug up and brought to air with plenty of organic matter to consume and grow with, its population explodes. When a limiting factor is removed, there’s nothing holding the population back any more until they hit a new limit. The Shape’s old limiting factor was removed, and it would only stop reproducing by running out of space to grow on the rig, running out of organic matter to use, or being killed (like, say, in a giant fiery explosion).

(I could go on and on about how the Shape potentially works, please feel free to ask me about it)

Now, I’ll get to my main theory:

I think Caz was dead the whole time.

Now, I don’t mean that in a “the whole game is in his head, none of it was real” way; I mean it in a “this man got Ethan Winters’ed” way. 

So, I started to do a little research into how tall oil rigs are to know how far Caz would have fallen off the helipad. I quickly learned there are many types of oil rigs and not every oil rig of the same type is the same size. I’m studying marine biology, not petroleum engineering like my brother, so I got tired of trying to guesstimate how tall the Bierra D’s helipad would be and attacked the problem with some simple math. 

Watching a video, I saw he fell for between 4-5 seconds; the acceleration due to gravity is 9.8m/s^2. Plugging that in a calculator while not accounting for air resistance to solve for distance gets me ~80-120m, depending on if I used the 4 or 5 second count, so I’ll guess around 100m. I’ve found many conflicting sources on what the tallest heights you can safely fall into water are, but I can safely tell you that 100m is much higher than any of them. 

Now, maybe the devs weren’t going with the mathematical exact timing it would take for a guy to fall off an oil rig, and didn’t mean for it to be implied that he fell from THAT high. Still, we can agree he fell from very high up, high enough to have likely ended in injury. Maybe he’d just fall on and break a leg? Maybe an arm or some ribs?

After falling off the rig, the last frame before Caz blacks out shows the water at the top of the screen, meaning he hits the water head-first. He may be wearing a hard hat (that somehow stays on his head through the whole ordeal since he clips his flashlight to it), but he still should have cracked his skull open or broken his neck. 

When they pull him out of the water, he’s cold and not breathing, which wouldn’t be unusual for a drowning victim in the North Sea in the dead of winter, but it would usually be a death sentence. They never explain how they dragged Caz out of the water, but it would presumably have taken a long time to get him out, and time is key when dealing with someone who isn’t breathing. The fact that he’s able to cough up water and start breathing on his own is a miracle, since it doesn’t sound like Brodie or Douglas do CPR when they bring him inside.

So, fall damage, head and/or spine injury, drowning, and hypothermia. By several different factors, Caz should be a very, very dead man. So why isn’t he?

My theory is that, somehow, somewhy, the infection from The Shape healed and brought him back to life. We know for a fact it has amazing generative properties, basically able to double, triple, quadruple the amount of tissue and organic matter in the crew’s bodies with no regard for conservation of mass, so what’s just a little regeneration of damaged tissues in a single body? Once Caz’s body gets someplace with better conditions suited to life (inside where it’s warm and there’s air), it just jumpstarts his body functions. The Shape’s presumably been dormant in the seafloor for a long time, so it could be able to go dormant and kinda “come back to life” as conditions change, similar to a tardigrade, and potentially pass this ability onto its hosts.

And Caz mentions how his head hurts a lot, especially when he gets close to the Shape. 

Now, this might seem like baseless conjecture, and y’all might say “That’s a good headcanon, but there’s no evidence that The Shape could bring people back to life!” to which I would say “Oh, but there might be!"

After the helicopter on the starboard side, we get a call from Bruce, who is actively drowning. Through his gasps, he tells us that O’Connor hurt his leg and couldn’t swim, presumably drowning. And guess who we see still kicking as we’re passing through the pontoon? My thought is that O’Connor couldn’t swim, drowned, and drifted to the bottom, landing on a part of the shape. Once Caz and Brodie start working in the legs and they drain, it exposes him to air and allows the shape to start growing again, assimilating him and bringing him back to life. 

Obviously, he’s not doing as well as Caz is. My thought was that, if Caz died as he was infected, the infection would’ve had to put a lot of its energy into bringing him back, not leaving much for itself to begin assimilating him into the Shape. Since O’Connor was in direct contact with the Shape, it could hook him up to its network to help supplement that loss. Caz, meanwhile, stays as far away from the stuff as he can and doesn’t even get anything to eat all day; guy's running on empty. He has small things where the Shape affects him, like the colors at the edge of his vision, but most of his hallucinations only happen after the Shape attacks him through O’Connor. Before, I’m pretty sure the largest incident (other than when he’s blacked out) is when we can barely hear Suze’s voice over the speakers when moving through the pontoon. It’s really only after getting attacked that he starts to hear her when he’s awake, near the Shape, or over phone calls. He only hears her clearly over the speakers in administration after he runs into the shape many times when he gets swept away in the flooding.

With my main evidence out of the way, I’ll also mention that Caz sees the “light at the end of the tunnel” from the end of the game in the oil flashes when he blacks out.

But hey, that’s just a theory. 

A GAME TH- I have received a cease and desist.

Man, this became a long read. Thanks for getting this far, and I hope you enjoyed!

[brandoscomet]

hiii!! 🫀again!!

here with another request :))) I don’t mind if it takes a while though, I’m sure you have lots of requests you can totally take your time <33 I love your stuff!!! Make sure to take time for yourself and drink water and all that good stuff!!

anyways something fluffy with Johnny maybe?? Like you’re just cuddling and being soft?? Sighs dreamily

sorry to ask so soon after another ask I just had the Johnny brainworms (it’s terminal)

-🫀

Hiiii 🫀non!! You’re so sweet, I love seeing you pop up in my inbox!I can absolutely feed your Johnny brainworms <3 (they’re totally contagious and you gave them to me. What have you done.) And don’t worry about sending me requests so often, I don’t mind one bit! Y’all are free to send me stuff whenever you want , as often as you want!

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Peace — Johnny Joestar x reader

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“Okay guys, I think I’m gonna call it quits for tonight. Are we all set to head out after sunrise tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Sweet. Night, you two.”

“Night, Gyro.”

Gyro slipped into his tent, ending the conversation. As you stamped out the fire and packed away your stuff, you looked over at Johnny, who was still sitting by the now-unlit campfire.

“Man, it’s cold tonight…” he said. The desert was quiet, save for the sound of Gyro’s snoring and a burrowing owl somewhere off in the distance.

“Yeah. Wanna stay in my tent?”

“Do you even have to ask that question?”

You chuckled to yourself, walking over to Johnny. He looked up at you with his arms outstretched, and you squatted down in front of him. He wrapped his arms around your neck as you put one of your arms in the crook of his knees and the other under his shoulders, lifting him up and holding him bridal-style.

“I’m so glad Gyro isn’t awake right now, he’d NEVER let me live this down.” You and johnny chuckled to each other, and he pulled himself even closer to you. “It’s better than you having to drag yourself through the sand though, right?”

“Yeah. I’d rather get made fun of by Gyro than have to do that. It’s so much work.”

You ducked into your tent, setting Johnny down and climbing into your bedroll. After a few moments of digging through his bag, he joined you. He climbed on top of you, his head on your chest as he wrapped his arms around you. You brought your hand up onto his back, running your nails from the base of his spine, across his back, up his neck and to the top of his head over and over. He hummed in content and breathed a sigh of relief.

“What should we do after the race, Johnny?” You asked.

“I d’nno…… go on a date somewhere real nice…. Move in together…… get married…..” he mumbled.

“I’d like that.” You replied. You sat up a bit, pressing kisses to the top of his head while you continued scratching his back. Johnny felt like he was in heaven, lifting his head to meet your face with his. His soft, tired smile absolutely melted your heart. Time seemed to slow down as he brought his lips to yours, kissing you gently. Lovingly. And as you pulled away, you felt that the only things on the planet right then were you and him. Holding each other, keeping each other warm in the harsh coldness of the wild American desert. Neither you nor him had ever felt this way about anyone before, and through spending so much time with him, you realized that if you married anybody, it would be Johnny.

Johnny, while standoffish at first, had made your heart jump as soon as you first met him — and unbeknownst to you, he’d felt the same way.

You had unbeatable chemistry and hit it off as soon as he realized you were gonna be sticking around as a permanent fixture of him and Gyro’s group. You had confided in each other, laughed together, cried together, fought alongside one another. In the short time you’d known each other, your feelings and his had both budded into something better than either of you could have ever imagined. So here you were now, cuddling with him under the night sky.

“You make me feel so relaxed… I don’t think I could ever conk out on anybody else like this. I love you, Y/N.”

Oh! That was new. Your heart jumped when those words came out of his mouth. Neither of you had ever said that before.

“I love you too, Johnny.”

He kissed you again, this time bringing his hand up to cup your face, admiring you after he was done. You were so, so beautiful. He felt like he’d never seen anyone, even when he was surrounded by adoring fangirls and fanboys, rich nobles, models, famous people, he’d never seen anyone who looked as ethereal as you did.

“Y’know,” Johnny began. “I never thought I’d fall in love with anyone. I didn’t think it was something that even really happened. But I understand now, ‘cause I’ve got you. I’m in love with you for sure.”

You thought about that for a second, feeling honored to be his first love. “Were you serious when you talked about moving in together and getting married earlier?” You asked, cocking your head to the side in question.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I think I’d marry you right now if I could. I’m sure of it. You’re the one for me and I know it.”

You were surprised that he was being so blunt with that. He must be exhausted, you thought. Johnny had a tendency to blurt out whatever he was thinking when he got tired enough.

“I feel the same way, Johnny.” You said, brushing his hair out of his face with your hand. “Just so you know, if you asked me to marry you, I’d say yes in a heartbeat. You’re the most wonderful man I’ve ever known, and I’d be the luckiest person on the planet to get to marry you.”

“Nahhhhhhh. I think I’d be luckier,” Johnny smirked.

“No, I’d— hey!” You giggled as Johnny plastered a flurry of little kisses all over your face, pushing you back down onto your bedroll. When you were done laughing, and he was done “attacking” you, he put his head back down and gave you a squeeze. You fell asleep that night thinking dreamily about what your life would be like after the race — married to Johnny Joestar.

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