#no such thing as a sticky shell spoon

[nstaaf-book]

The Pho Cookbook by Andrea Nguyen

[repulsiveliquidation]

Melted Ice Cream || Leah Williamson and Alexia Putellas

warnings : smut 18+, cunnilingus, food play, fingering, Daddy Alexia. player on player, reader only mentioned.

Based on the poem ‘Melting Ice Cream’ by Michael Faudet in his book ‘Playing with Matches."

orgy spinoff. Should I continue the orgy and work on the last part? 

“Could you get the door, love?” you yell from the kitchen, basting a steak that was seconds away from medium rare. Leah rushes to the front door, heart pounding in her chest. She’s been waiting weeks for this date and she’s over the moon the special day is finally here. 

Leah opens the heavy door and rushes at the person that stood behind it. Strong arms wrap around her middle and lift her off the ground, stepping into the delicious smelling house. 

“Ale, finally,” Leah sighs into Alexia’s neck, feet touching the ground again. 

“Hi amor, missed me that much eh?” Alexia teases, pecking Leah on the lips. Leah rolls her eyes and scoffs, taking Alexia’s bag into the master bedroom. The Spaniard searches for the kitchen, following the scent of butter browning and rosemary burning. 

The figure slicing away at cucumbers doesn’t hear or see the guest she has in her home, occupied with her cooking the perfect meal for her newest lover. 

“You’re realistically the only thing I’m hungry for tonight,” Alexia says cheesily as her arms snake around your middle. You’re startled but relax into her arms, leaning back into her chest as her lips leave little kisses on the shell of your ear. 

“I’m sure Leah’s got something planned that should whet your appetite,” you quip, turning around in her arms. She looks down at you proudly, leaning in for a kiss. 

It’s searing and full of lust, lips molding into each other perfectly. You both get lost in each other when someone clears their throat. 

“I’m beginning to feel very left out here, Ale.” 

“I’m sorry darling,” Alexia pulls away from you and saunters over to Leah. “Can I show you how much I've missed you?”

“Baby?” you ask, reaching into the cupboard to pull out your mandolin. 

“Yeah?” Both of them answer and it sends them into a fit of giggles, leaving you shaking your head at your silly girls. 

“You’ve got twenty minutes, angels. Not a minute more.” 

“That’s plenty,” Alexia says, taking Leah’s hand. “Come on, we’ve got time to kill.” 

Alexia leaves the door wide open, picking Leah up and throwing her onto the fluffy bed. Alexia notices the array of toys laid out on the nightstand, along with a strap that looked appealing but would have to wait till later. 

“Wait here.” 

Leah looks up at the Spaniard and nods, getting comfortable on the bed. Alexia goes back into the kitchen and rummages through the freezer for something; you hear a bowl and silverware but decide to pay no mind, the asparagus in front of you wasn’t going to blanch itself. 

Alexia comes back into the room and Leah’s eyes narrow when she sees the bowl in her hands. 

“What’s that? I swear if you’ve brought me in here to share the soup she’s made I’ll shove you back on a plane to Spain.” 

“No,” Alexia smirks, setting it on the bed. “Strip.” 

Leah is still understandably skeptical but does as she says, pulling the Barça jersey (which she secretly wore only in the house) off over her head. Leah arches off the bed and pushes her gym shorts off, legs spreading wide open for her girlfriend whose eyes turned dark. 

“Good girl mommy,” Alexia praises, standing at the edge of the bed. She takes a spoon of whatever was in the bowl and eats it, before leaning over Leah and kissing her. 

“Mmh,” Leah moans, swapping the cold dollop of ice-cream between their mouths. The sticky sweet vanilla ice-cream melted and made their kiss sweeter than it already was, leaving them wanting more. 

“That was so hot,” Leah whispers, watching eagerly as Alexia feeds herself more of the sweet treat. 

Alexia smashes her lips onto her lovers again, now climbing onto the bed. One hand holds herself above Leah while the other makes itself busy between Leah’s legs. 

Alexia feels Leah’s arousal spike, folds sticky and warm like their mouths were as the ice cream was swallowed. The ceramic bowl didn’t hold its temperature well, so there was melted ice cream around the scoop. Alexia, feeling a light go off in her brain, gathers a spoonful of it and drizzles it all over Leah’s chest. 

“Oops,” Alexia teases, watching as Leah’s skin prickles with goosebumps. “Guess I’ll have to clean up this mess I made.” 

“Yeah, you s–should,” Leah whines, head tilted down to watch Alexia lick up her mess. 

Alexia kisses Leah all over her chest, marking her with hickeys. She drags her tongue through the ice cream, sucking up the pearly white mess. 

“You taste so good, bebita,” Alexia praises, suckling on Leah’s breast. She kneads the other gently, flicking her tongue over the hard nipple. Alexia reaches for more ice cream, taking Leah’s breast back into her mouth to play with. 

Leah writhes and whines, lips begging for Alexia to touch her where she needs. 

“Please Ale, lower…need you lower…” 

“Ale?” 

Leah’s brain short circuits and she sputters, feeling Alexia’s fingers go back to her clit. 

“Daddy, please…” 

“That’s better,” Alexia praises, fingers rubbing Leah’s clit faster. Her free hand slaps Leah’s breast hard which sends painful pleasure through the England skipper, her clit throbbing harder and harder. Alexia could feel it and it stroked her ego more than she dared to admit. 

“Tell Daddy where you want it mi vida,” Alexia coos, fingers teasing Leah’s entrance. “Hurry baby, we don’t have much time sí?” 

“I–In my pussy Daddy, hurts…” Leah whined, back arching off the bed as Alexia’s thick fingers slipped into her pussy. She lets out a deep sigh and chuckles deliriously, hips grinding down onto Alexia’s fingers. 

“Good girl, such a good girl for me no?” 

“Yes Daddy, only for Daddy,” 

“Oh? You’re not good for her too?” Alexia teases, fingers pressing hard on Leah’s sweet spot. Her other hand presses down on Leah’s hips and holds her down, the captain squirming in her hold. 

“I am! Good for you both,” Leah whimpers, eyes rolling back into her head when Alexia finger fucks her hard all of a sudden. The Spaniard smirks and pumps her fingers into her lover faster, watching as the skipper falls apart.

Alexia stops, taking the last bit of cold ice cream into her mouth before turning her attention back to Leah. Without warning, Alexia shoves her fingers back into Leah, a third slipping in alongside the other two that were pruning from how wet Leah was. 

“Alexia!” Leah screams when Alexia suckles on her clit. The cold contrast of her mouth and the heat from all the blood that flooded her core was too much for Leah and she is sent head first into the most mind numbing orgasm she’s had in a while. 

Leah’s thighs shake, her body jolts and her hands grip Alexia’s hair hard. She begs and begs for Alexia to stop but she doesn't until everything has been taste tested first. 

“The ice cream only made you tastier darling, remind me to bring sprinkles next time,” Alexia grins, licking her lips. Leah laid there starstruck, desperately trying to wrap her head around what she just experienced. 

“Girls! Dinner’s ready!” 

“Coming!” 

Alexia helps Leah clean up quickly, helping her throw her Barça jersey back on. 

“How much did she pay you to wear that?” 

“There were a lot of zeroes.” 

[sulkybender]

the poem of you: a Zukka fic

tags: established relationship, hurt Sokka, hurt/comfort, Sokka has OCD, loving and protective Zuko, modern au

He finds Sokka curled on the floor next to the bed and his heart falls.

He always looks like he’s trying to make a shell with his body, a shell against the world he doesn’t have. 

Zuko gets down on his knees, touches his back. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, and Sokka starts to cry. Zuko covers him with his body, protection. The soft weight of Sokka crying underneath, the raggedness of his breath. 

“I’m here,” Zuko says, kissing the back of his neck, that vulnerable place, the short hairs delicate under his touch. “Baby, I’m right here.”

“It’s bad,” he weeps, inarticulate. 

“I know,” Zuko says. “I know. I love you.”

He curls around Sokka and tries, so hard, to protect him. 

—

Sometimes the thoughts are bad; they don’t relent. It’s like being kicked in the head, Sokka tells him, by the same thought over and over. 

Fuckup. 

Fuckup. 

Fuckup. 

He helps Sokka from the floor and tries to be gentle with him. Zuko spoons him in bed, pressing kisses to his hands. His whole body is stiff, delayed, fighting an infection from within. And the infection is Sokka, and the infection is killing Sokka. Or trying its best. 

“I love you so much,” Zuko says, arms slipping around his waist, snug. “You’re my baby, you know that? You’re my turtleduck.”

Sokka is cried out, hunched in on himself, hurting. The shakiness of his breath is painful. Zuko wants to take the pain away. It’s always seemed so unfair that he can’t. 

He would do anything for Sokka, but there’s nothing he can do. 

“You want me to tell you about my day?” he asks, and Sokka nods. 

Sokka is the talker—Zuko isn’t the talker—but Zuko can do this, can talk for him, fill the silences that Sokka’s mind would try to fill with unkind things. 

“Hmm, let’s see.” Zuko noses at his ear, nuzzling kisses. “It was a slow day. Did some client research. Ate a shitty croissant.”

He hums, thinking. 

“I wrote poems for a bit.” He can feel Sokka smile a little. “Yeah, I thought you’d like that,” Zuko says. 

He falls into silence again for a while, feeling the soft rise and fall of Sokka’s chest. He’s no good at this, the steady patter, the lull of it. He tries to think of other topics but all he can do is wonder how long Sokka was on the floor. 

“What kind of poems?” 

Sokka’s voice is hoarse. 

“Nothing special.” Zuko kisses the back of his neck. “I wrote them on sticky notes and then I hid them in my desk.” He can feel the little motion that means Sokka is laughing, suppressed. “Yeah, yeah. Go on and say it.”

“Nothing,” Sokka says. 

“It’s never nothing.”

“I just love you,” Sokka says, his voice cracking slightly, and Zuko feels warm all over. He could cry. 

“I love you so much it’s crazy,” he says. He cards his fingers through Sokka’s hair. He wants to take care of Sokka so badly. It’s this ache in him all the time. 

“Were the poems about me?” 

Zuko snorts. 

“I wanna know,” Sokka whines. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he says. 

“That’s why you love me.”

He rolls over onto his back, smiling up at Zuko. And the smile is hesitant, his eyes still bright from crying, but he looks so handsome Zuko doesn’t know what to do with himself. His hair spills on the pillow, rich brown flecked with gold. He cradles Sokka’s cheek, thumb stroking the line of his jaw. 

He wants to write about the way Sokka’s hair looks, the way his face looks, the particular tilt of it, the thoughtful way his lips purse. He wants to write about wanting to take care of Sokka. Inadequate: his care, his words for it. 

“I would write such shitty love poems about you,” he says. 

“I’d love that,” Sokka says. 

“I’m sure you would.” He kisses Sokka’s head. “Only the shittiest.”

Sokka gestures, a little beckoning movement, and Zuko lies back in his arms, warm, Sokka’s hand protective on his hip. He can feel the tremor in Sokka’s hand, the exhaustion. He’s exhausted himself with the thoughts in his head, been pummeled by them. He’s pummeled still. 

“You’ll read them to me sometime,” Sokka murmurs. 

“I will not.”

“Someday you’re gonna be a famous poet,” Sokka says. “And then I’ll have to see your poems. There’s no avoiding it.”

He’s tracing circles in Zuko’s hipbone, delicate enough to make Zuko shiver with love. He wants to make Sokka dinner; he wants to wash his hair. He wants to do everything, because he can’t do the one thing, the thing that matters. He wants to fall asleep holding Sokka safe from the world. 

“Can we go on a walk later?” Sokka asks, hesitant. “Just to, um.”

It helps when he’s tired, too tired to think circles around himself. Zuko nuzzles him. “Of course, baby. I’d love to walk with you.”

He feels Sokka slump a little in relief. 

“God, you’re fucking lovely, you know that?” he says. 

And Zuko doesn’t know that, because there’s an infection inside him too, the thing that makes him doubt himself. The thing that makes him write poems on sticky notes and hide them away. 

He takes Sokka’s hand, presses it to his cheek. He’ll write a poem someday about that—the feeling of Sokka’s hand on his cheek. 

But he doesn’t have the words for that now. His words are so much less beautiful than that, such ordinary things. 

“You can always ask me to walk with you,” he says. 

And Sokka smiles like it’s a poem anyway. 

[brisquad-unit-4402]

i just realized zander netherbrand has the most pottery class energy ever

this hit me harder than the asteroid making contact with jurard t rexford's father's face you need to listen to me

tags: gender neutral reader, established relationship, fluff, suggestive, pet name (darling)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

i was thinking about how even though he's the sex appeal of avallum and tries to commit to the hot boy energy he's so soft! i don't know if gentle soul is a good way to put it, but he's so caring and sweet, and he really is the type of person that's sensitive to others' feelings. the sort that notices when someone is feeling "off" and tries to subtly improve their experience, or notices what makes things enjoyable so he can incorporate them more.

[bill nye voice] consider the following: zander in a tee so loose that when he leans over the wheel, it's impossible not to get an eyeful, starting at the defined collarbone that manages to stay hidden in his usual outfit while the rest of his cleavage certainly isn't unfamiliar.

or maybe none at all, so the slip that drenches his hands in dead dirt gray extends to his chest as well. splatters decorate his abs and the worn jeans he works in, top button undone and zipper gleaning over the beginnings of a tattoo.

it takes some time for him to notice you since he's so focused on the clay between his hands. he's hunched over, wing folded in concentration, only for the end to perk up as he sees you from the corner of his vision. and once he does, he gestures you over, ceramic between his fingers, then around yours as well as he guides you to the wheel.

either he holds your hands along the ceramic to shape it or he keeps you in place on his lap. or both. you fit so well wrapped around his arms. two spoons in a set. the slip along his chest is shocking cold at first but eases with his warmth, a slight and pleasing stickiness that blends with you the longer you stay.

zander’s movements aren’t forceful, but they are controlled. his hands cup yours as you strip excess clay from the piece, and rubs them tenderly when the dust starts to settle in the little lines in your skin. he offers wonderful guidance. whenever there’s a lull between the whirring of the wheel and the slapping of wet clay, he’ll whisper in your ear. “what else would you expect, darling, you’re at the perfect angle for my sweet nothings,” he’ll divulge, and his touch will rise up to your wrists, your forearms, tempted to roll your sleeves higher. “try squeezing just a little more… ah, that’s it. it’s very you.”

once you get comfortable working with the wheel he shifts in his seat. the watery clay along his abs spreads to your back. something along the worn jeans prods at you and you’re reminded the top button is undone, and all that’s left is a zipper, easy to down in seconds.

then he grasps at your hands again, wiping away the curls of excess clay from your fingers as you sculpt. “focus.”

it’s hard to follow the order considering the wet smack of clay, his heat treading along you as you sculpt, and the little room between your bodies, but a command is a command and you’re inclined to be obedient while he has you in his arms. the clay curves around your touch, melding into pillars and walls at your fingertips. the piece is starting to take shape now, but you still have a ways to go. at least you’re understanding why this is so relaxing to zander. it’s calm and satisfying.

save for the feathery kiss he presses along the shell of your ear.

you jolt. fluster rises to your cheeks but before you can turn around, zander tightens his hold on you, now fully embracing you. a hand travels around your waist while the breath on your ear freezes you in place. he shushes you with another peck, soft and sweet though you resist the urge to shudder. “i said to focus,” he repeats.

“fortunately, you didn’t leave any fingerprints on the clay after your little… outburst.” zander shifts again, pressing himself up close to your back in the hug. he rests his chin along your shoulder. the scent of the earthy clay melts with his cologne, an intoxicating blend, especially with his soft hair nestled along the base of your neck. “i think that deserves a reward for you, darling.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[useless19]

It takes Bowser three tries to find a cupboard with food in it and it's only a measly bag of oats at that. Hopefully, Kamek's just behind on the shopping and they haven't been living like this the whole time Bowser's been away. There's a handful of spice jars in the next cupboard; Bowser swipes the lot and then finds a saucepan hiding under the sink.

Oats, water, and a good dollop of fire flower powder to start with on the stove. Porridge is easy and having food on hand always makes it easier to talk things over with people.

"Dad!"

Little claws scramble up the back of Bowser's shell before he can turn around to greet his son. A moment later, Junior drops his chin on Bowser's shoulder and smiles. Bowser ruffles his hair, unable to stop his own grin.

"Hey, kid. Been keeping Kamek in one piece?"

"Urgh, he doesn't let me go fast anywhere," Junior complains. "I have to go as slow as a snail so his shrivelled old toes can keep up."

Bowser laughs. "Atta boy, Junior."

"Are you back for real this time?" Junior asks.

Bowser winces. Junior catches him and whines.

"Junior, we've talked about this," Bowser says firmly. "I have to stay away for now."

"But I miss you," Junior says.

"I know, buddy." Bowser picks Junior off his shell and stands him on the kitchen counter in front of him. Junior is at eye-level, which hadn't been the case the last time Bowser had spoken to him like this. "This job's important, okay? If I keep it for a while longer we'll be set for life." Theoretically, anyway. "You're always number one, but I can't just do what I want and still have things like food and shelter. Sometimes I've gotta do things that aren't fun so you can get tasty stuff every now and then."

Junior looks away mulishly. Bowser sighs. He's been over this several times, but it's never easy to argue against kid logic.

"I miss you," Junior repeats.

"I know." Bowser risks a hug and is relieved when Junior clutches back. "Speaking of food, did Kamek forget to do the shopping this week? Or have you hidden all the good stuff to keep it away from me?"

"I'm hiding it from Wendy," Junior says, exasperated, frustration at Bowser's absence already forgotten. "She steals my choco-mango nuggets and replaces them with rabbit poop and then tells me I've got a diseased tongue because it tastes funny. But I know she did it! My tongue's normal, isn't it, Dad?"

Bowser barely manages to move his head out of the way before Junior sticks his tongue in his eyeball. He scruffs Junior by the shell and drops him down to the ground.

"Your tongue's fine." Bowser waves the sticky spoon at Junior. "If you want anything tasty in your breakfast, you better get it now. It's nearly ready."

"Be right back!" Junior shouts, sprinting out of the pokey kitchen.

Bowser finds Kamek's fine china in pride of place. It's more magic than china now, given that Bowser wasn't the most careful koopaling growing up and now Junior is following almost exactly in his clawed footsteps.

A thundering of feet announce Junior's reappearance. He's got a paper bag with a mushroom logo on it clutched tight in one hand.

"Who's that guy in your bed?" Junior asks. He wrinkles his snout. "He screamed when I saw him."

"Did you wake him up?" Bowser says.

"No, he was already awake," Junior blatantly lies.

Bowser lets him get away with it this time. He waves a bowl in Junior's direction, it's snatched out of his hand in a second by energetic kid claws. Junior sits at the table (when did he get big enough to not need a booster?) and carefully rations out a small handful of chocolate nuggets into his bowl.

"So who is he? C'mon, c'mon, c'mon."

"It doesn't matter, Junior."

Junior scowls and shoves a spoonful of porridge into his mouth. "He looks like the king, but he's too messy."

"Too messy?" Bowser snorts.

He catches sight of a flash of green at the doorway. Luigi hovers, uncertain, and makes some confusing gestures at Junior. Bowser might have gotten better at reading Luigi's body language and deciphering what he's actually saying behind his fancy words, but this intentional signalling is lost on him. Bowser shrugs.

"Yeah. His hair was all stuck up and he was drooling on your pillow! Eww!" Junior says through full cheeks.

Bowser grins at Luigi, who buries his face in his hands.

"Well, maybe you should introduce yourself and see what he says." Bowser points across the room.

Junior turns and waves. Luigi slinks in, still wrapped in Bowser's blanket. He stands awkwardly by the table until Bowser kicks a chair out for him.

"Hi!" Junior says brightly, cheeks still bulging, "I'm Bowser Junior!"

"Good morning," Luigi says with an awkward wave, "I'm Luigi."

"Like dad's boss, the king?" Junior screws up his snout. "Doesn't that get confusing?"

"I… no?" Luigi says, bewildered. "Why would that be confusing?"

Junior spoons more porridge into his mouth, getting a red smear on his chin in the process. His next protest comes with a spray of oats over the table. Kamek can clean that up later.

"But if you've got the same name as someone it gets confusing!"

"He is the king," Bowser clarifies.

"No way!" Junior says, slamming the end of his spoon on the table in emphasis. "He's too short!"

Bowser laughs as Luigi's bemusement turns into surprised offence. The tip of Junior's topknot barely brushes Luigi's nose. But then, the royal family aren't much for strolling through the castle town without a toad retinue and standing next to toads makes anyone look tall.

"Eat your breakfast," Bowser tells Junior. "If you share your mango-choc bits with the king then maybe he won't have you beheaded for insulting him."

Luigi starts, wide-eyed. "I wouldn't —"

"They're mine!" Junior shouts.

"Right off at the neck," Bowser says. He tweaks Junior's neck with his claws. "And he'd hang your dry shell up as a warning to other cheeky koopalings."

"No way!"

"I really wouldn't," Luigi says, worried.

Junior looks at Luigi suspiciously, and then back to Bowser, calculating.

"He says he's not going to do that," Junior says, testing. He looks between Luigi and Bowser again and then finally takes a nugget out of his bag and pushes it across the table to Luigi. "You can have one. And only because you're nice."

"Thank you," Luigi says, as stiffly polite as if he were meeting a diplomat. "I will reciprocate your generosity when I get the chance."

"Reciprocate?" Junior scrunches up his snout. "Dad, what does that mean?"

"It's just a fancy way of saying he's going to repay you," Bowser says.

"Oh," Junior says. "Why didn't he say that?"

"Because sometimes fancy people have to talk fancily."

"That's stupid."

"Believe me, I know," Luigi says wearily.

"Alright, Junior, off you trot," Bowser says, taking his empty breakfast bowl. "Leave his royal sleepiness alone and go wake up Kamek or something."

Junior hops off his chair, but doesn't run off immediately.

"Will you still be here when Kamek's awake?" Junior asks.

Bowser tugs on his topknot. "You know I don't leave without saying goodbye."

"Okay! Be right back!"

Junior sprints out of the room with his usual hyperactive energy. Has he always been that fast or is Bowser going to regret feeding him chocolate so early?

"He's a nice child," Luigi says.

"He's a brat," Bowser says fondly. "Gets that from me."

"I'm sure if he turned out half as well as you have, the kingdom will be grateful," Luigi says.

His slight smile vanishes when Bowser slams a bowl of porridge down in front of him.

"I don't care what the kingdom wants," Bowser growls. "He'll grow up how he grows up — and that's gonna be awesome. Leave your politicking away from my son."

"I didn't mean…" Luigi slumps. "Sorry. That's just my default response to meeting kids. I should have known better."

"Damn right," Bowser says, less happy with Luigi's misery than he wants to be. "How dare you give a default response to my son."

"I haven't had the chance to get to know him," Luigi says, for once getting Bowser's gist without needing it completely spelled out for him.

"He'll want me to take him down to the river before I go," Bowser says. "You should tag along so I can keep an eye on you too. Don't want you wandering obliviously into danger again."

A wistful longing passes over Luigi's face. Bowser usually sees that when he's thinking about his brother. It only lasts a second, then Luigi shakes his head firmly.

"I have to return to the castle," Luigi says, ignoring his breakfast. "I've been away long enough as it is. I can't — won't — leave the kingdom's fate uncertain for any longer than absolutely necessary."

"Eat your food," Bowser orders.

Luigi makes a wordless noise of frustration. "I can't just —"

"You're not doing anything until you've had breakfast," Bowser says firmly. "Whatever royal planning you want to do can wait five minutes."

Luigi pointedly spoons porridge into his mouth. He coughs, grimaces, then forces himself to swallow. Oh yeah, humans are funny about hot sauce. Delicate constitutions the lot of them.

"I think there's some milk," Bowser says. He opens the cold cupboard to find a handful of potatoes and not much else. "Somewhere."

The last cupboard holds a bottle of milk, spelled to stay fresh. Junior's adamantly against drinking the stuff, so it's not a surprise that there's only a little missing; probably for Kamek's tea. Bowser thumps it on the table in front of Luigi along with a battered tin cup. Luigi gratefully drinks.

"You need a plan," Bowser says. "You always do better with ten minutes to think things through, so take ten minutes."

Luigi looks mutinous, but he continues to eat his breakfast (after mixing in some of the milk). Bowser relaxes by inches.

"Okay." Luigi pushes his mostly empty bowl away. "I'm done. Thank you for breakfast. Can we go to the castle now?"

Bowser gives him a look. Luigi slumps in his chair, looking far more like Junior than royalty. Bowser puts the bowls in the sink and sits down across from Luigi. He taps his claws on the table and Luigi averts his gaze for some reason.

"You need to know what you're going to say to your council before you get there. What do you need to do?" Bowser asks.

"I need to find a way to show the Last Realm that they shouldn't attack," Luigi says. "To do that I have to find the professor, but I don't know where he is right now, so that's going to be a lot of work. And I also need to figure out a polite way of asking the Kongs if they expect the Kremling Empire to attack again soon. They can hold their own, but I have to be able to use our alliance as part of my deterrent methods and I can't do that if they're in open war." He sighs and puts his face in his hands. "Those are just the big two things, and I can't do both at once."

Bowser rolls his eyes. "Of course you can't. That's why you delegate."

"But they're too important to mess up!"

"And you'll mess up both of them if you try to do everything," Bowser says.

"I know…' Luigi's fingers tighten in his hair. It's a wonder he isn't bald from all the tugging. "I realised — yesterday, so it wasn't something I've intentionally been ignoring — I realised that I'm used to doing everything with Mario. We compliment each other really well and since he went missing I… I can't do it on my own."

That makes a lot of sense from what Bowser's observed of Luigi's workload so far. Why everything gets divided into two sets of tasks which Luigi flips between frantically when he remembers that the other exists.

"If I was just half the king Mario was…"

"Stop trying to be Mario, you'll never be Mario," Bowser interrupts. "And you know why?"

"Because I wasn't raised to be king?" Luigi says.

"Because Mario had a Luigi and you don't," Bowser says. "So stop trying to be Mario and figure out how to make being Luigi work for you."

Luigi smiles (Bowser mentally awards himself a point). "I don't suppose you would be interested in being my L—"

"Absolutely not," Bowser snorts. "I'm your knight, not your weedy younger brother. So, how are you going to use the fact that I'm your loyal knight and I have connections that you don't?"

"Loyal," Luigi repeats, amused. He shakes his head to get himself back on track. "Are you saying that you have someone with ties to the Jungle Kingdom?"

"I've got spymasters, pirates, entertainers, and plain old guerrillas." Bowser ticks them off on his fingers as he lists them. "You've got a whole passel of knights who'll do whatever you tell them to and advisors coming out your ears. You're not the best person for every job."

"It still feels like giving up, somehow," Luigi says slowly.

"Come on," Bowser huffs. "You hired me because you knew you weren't awesome enough to be a good deterrent. This is the same thing. Do you want to throw yourself a pity party or do you want to help your kingdom?"

Luigi nods. "I'm sure there are people who will be better than me at searching out the professor. If I write a letter explaining things, that should clear up any confusion he might have. Then I can plan a trip to the Jungle Kingdom to —"

"Not a chance," Bowser says. "Last time you left the castle you walked right into a ninji ambush."

"Which you saved me from," Luigi says. He smiles wryly. "Have I thanked you for that already?"

"At least twice." Bowser crosses his arms. "Give yourself some credit — I've never seen anyone get up a tree that fast."

"Sorry I wasn't more use. I —"

"Nope," Bowser interrupts. "Staying out of danger is your job. Dealing with enemies is mine. I want you up a tree or cowering in a closet at the slightest hint of danger."

Luigi nods. "As long as you're sure you can handle it."

"I can handle anything," Bowser says with confidence. "Don't worry your pretty little head about me."

Luigi chokes a laugh and bats his eyelashes. "Aww, you think I'm pretty?"

"You're the prettiest human I've ever seen," Bowser's mouth spills out before he can hold his tongue.

Luigi's smile freezes. Blood fills his face in that way humans get when they're embarrassed or exerting themselves (in lots of ways, but one particular type of exertion does its best to stick in Bowser's stupid horny head).

"You probably get that all the time," Bowser says, brushing it off. "Now, about —"

"When was the last time you saw someone compliment me?" Luigi interrupts.

"Probably because you spend your time doing less blatant fishing," Bowser says.

Luigi lets the subject drop, but he looks far too pleased with himself. Now he gets Bowser's dropped hints, when they can't do anything because Junior's going to drag Kamek into the kitchen any second now and no doubt Kamek's going to raise a fuss over the food supplies that he hadn't budgeted for and Junior will start asking to go out. Relentlessly.

"Let me fetch a couple of my guys," Bowser says. He thinks Wendy and Lemmy are around somewhere and he's almost certain Wendy has a friend or two amongst the Kremlings. "We'll knock out a plan of action and have you back at the castle in time for lunch."

[palushiemalis-fr]

Dergtober -- Day 21 -- Gloom

Antigony, the shade doctor.

"Why, yes, I trained way out in a remote part of what they now call the Harpy's Roost." Anti pauses to prod at her concoction, "It was called something different back then, but I don't recall. This was pioneering alchemy that called for wild and beguiling magicks..." She drops in a fistful of feathers that sizzle to a crisp upon touching the surface of the molten brew, her beady eyes narrow down on the developing skin of the potion before she wriggles the blackened wooden spoon to test for viscosity. The mother dragon in front of her curls her tail about her hatchling, in her paws a single egg covered in something dark and sticky. They daren't speak, all there is to hear is the pop and gurgle of the cauldron and the huff of enchanted bellows beneath it. "What was I saying again? Blood moon dust? Rat's milk? Something about alchemy, perchance? Was that it? Well, it's all nonsense, all of it. I've looked under every magical rock in Sornieth before I looked up, I took training in the Arcane Isles, upon the Focal Point, and when I looked up I saw not the stars, but the important things!" She digs at the spoon no firmly rooted in the cauldron, "Yes, the wretched black curlicews of the shade. The shade alone is the root of our woes, it hides in your ears and tangles up your mane at night, it takes a nap between your toe-pads and you wake up entirely made of crystal!" She tries to wildly gesture with the spoon but almost falls in due to the solidification that has taken hold of the spoon. She has a brief burst of cackling before collecting herself. The mother dragon was recommended this odd witch from a reputable source, but she was beginning to wonder if she'd just wandered in on a crazy old dragon making her dinner. "Hand me the ingredient-- I mean, err, the egg. The egg." She says. The mother reluctantly hands the tiny Fae her poor shade-touched egg, Antigony embraces it and flutters her frills against the shell, she kisses it tenderly. "Poor wee babe, we'll soon have you right." She drops the egg into the stodgy sludge, much to the Mother's horror. It sinks into the mass and it changes its consistency almost immediately to something ashy and pale; there is a low hissing noise as Antigony flits up to open a tiny window to open it, a gush of black tears through the room and into the outside. The hissing rises to a crescendo before stopping, the candles flicker for a moment and then settle. Antigony jumps into her dusty, grey cauldron and stands inside with the newly purified egg held above her head. The mother begins to weep as she cradles her egg to her breast. "Now, my payment..." The mother dragon sticks her paws in her pouch before taking out what was requested of her; a handful of dead moths and a pair of spectacles for the short-sighted. "Ahahahaha, perfect." She says, taking her payment and pouring it all into a jar. "I'm always losing these." The mother ushers out her hatchling with a quiet thank you, leaving before asking whether she meant the moths or the spectacles.

[evilminji]

Back at it again? With more BNHA? My goodness!

See, in one my WIP, which haunts me like a cursed Victorian doll in the night, chanting to me my sins from beneath the floorboards, I got a few OCs. As ya do. Gotta flesh out that world building. And I am ALWAYS a ho for some sweet, sweet SI-OC action!

Because the stranger in a strange land, can see what SHOULD be mundane and familiar anew! There are Moral Quandries! You get to put your sticky lil gremlin fingers ALL over the set dressing and look inside those boxes they put in the background of the scenes! What's IN there? Secrets? We bet it's SECRETS.

Tis the BEST, really. I enjoy it.

But of course! If it's BNHA then we must assign Randomly Gifted Genetic Fuckry(tm) : The Super Powers Edition. Where in? My love of "immediately obvious powers are for cowards. There are no such things as weak powers, only weak and uncreative minds" comes into plaaaay~

I! Want! WEIRD QUIRKS!

Supposedly "minor" ones! That everyone says "oh that's a minor power. Sucks for you" and expects you to just leave it at that! Give up. Like you're some sort of fuckin CASUAL.

HA!

Nah, we pushing this fucker until REALITY breaks. You are gonna be legitimately asking "how the FUCK did you do that!?" And the answer is Will Power, Spite, and "Cause Fuck You, I'm Awesome".

Which of course, is how we got Kimiko. The most high femme, kawaii, little pastel pink bundle of Rage and Bloodlust the Heroics world has ever seen. She is that stage of little girl where they like to wear tiaras, princess dresses, and want to MURDER EVERYTHING. But never grew out of it.

She grew IN to it.

Got a lot of rage, that one. Probably because everyone is all "ooooh, kimi! Your Quirk is so CUTE! You'll be such a good housewife! Such a good sweets maker! Aren't you so CUTE! Let's all infantalize Kimi!" *murder intensifies*

She can turn part of what she is touching into Marshmallow.

*slaps a hand on your shoulder* There are NO restrictions on that~☆! ANYTHING she touchs. Is she touch you? Air? The ground? This building we are standing in? Wanna keep talkin shit? How do you feel about Marshmallow lungs? Enough training and eventually she can take out a building!

Cause Marshmallow? Not a very strong support. Ground under your high rise better be sturdy if you want it to hold, you know? Things to think about. Other things, are the "part of" aspect. Which she is slowly getting better at. Wanna see a trick? *a Marshmallow plops down on the table on the far side of the room* Still air! Still touching~.

Hope your technology is AIR TIGHT and not IN the air. Or moving through it at any concerning speeds. Like, say, a car. Fun thought! Don't fuck with her again! Kimi out! *removes threatening hand of possible Marshmallow Murder*

She's besties with the SI. Himiko. They are the Koko's and WILL be going to UA specifficaly because Kimi was told she couldn't make it. Himi wants nothing to do with this bullshit but is being dragged along like a cat in a harness.

She has my favorite super power. Egg.

Just... Egg.

Egg? Yes. She can summon eggs. Into the spoon. Like those challenge races. Except there is no race, its just her in her pjs trying to eat her damn breakfast. But SUPRISE! Raw egg. Full on, chicken egg in a shell, in your spoon. Perfectly balanced.

And in this iteration, it does have to be in a "spoon" or spoon-like shape. Defined as a bowl with a handle. The egg will fit the spoon. And? Most importantly! Not restricted to chicken eggs!!!

Tiny spoon? Tiny egg. Large spoon? Large egg.

Theoretically? Stadium sized spoon? Stadium sized egg of unknown species never to be seen on planet earth. Because YES. Those thought popping into your head. "Ha ha, what about a dodo eg-" Yeah, see, not ass funny when you actually DO that as a sleep deprived toddler because you HAVE TO KNOW. And now conservationists are hunting you for sport.

Do you have? ANY idea the lengths certain folks would go too to save endangered bird or frog species? If it comes out of an egg. Yes. She CAN make it. No risk of inbreeding for the already critically small populations. Just viable, healthy eggs. Ready to be incubated.

Took her an afternoon.

Needless to say... things get Exciting(tm). People need to be threatened. Himi gets lifelong job security at age four. Neat.

But!!! Not why I started writing! I had a THIRD OC child! Who never made it to the limelight! Gasp! I know! The secret comes out! I scrapped him in favor of Kimi. But his power was one I enjoy Pondering about!

Unlock. You can unlock doors. All doors.

No, you can't "unlock" the bonds between atoms or something. It has to be a Door. But! Begs the question, don't it? Would you... would you have "door sensing"? If there was a perfectly blended in or painted over door? Would you be able to say "it's right there"?

What happens if you use your ability on a tree? Doors are often made of wood. Would there be any effect? Even if no "opening" happened? Could you open metaphorical doors? If someone PAINTED a door, could you open a wall? If so, how deep? If we painted a cliff face, could you open a door to the other side of the mountain?

How far does you door opening power stretch?!

I understand you Izuku! I too, want to study these cool Quirks! See how far they can develop! No more strength quirks! More minor quirks with unusual applications! Woooo!

@the-witchhunter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation @hypewinter

[wytchsbrew]

"Nicholas."

The reverence slipping from his lips sounded like a man lost in the shining light of religion.

He barely recognized his own voice anymore, hours having passed since their lips touched for the first time. The room melted away long ago, leaving nothing but the musky, lust filled haze of their own little world, and the two of them. Just them. No one else. Outside didn't exist anymore, he didn't have to worry about what dangers lay in wait for them, not yet.

None of that mattered.

Only the mingling of sticky, urgent gasps, the fingertip bruises along his inner thighs, the way his body quivered beneath the strong, rough hands, hardened from military work. Existing in this room, Vash the Stampede no longer became a living being independent of his own. He came part of something bigger, greater - he became the way the man pressed against his back looked at him and touched him.

As though he were a priceless piece of art, the most beautiful thing in the world, something to be ravished and cherished and held down and fucked until he couldn't breath, then kissed and kissed and loved until he couldn't find oxygen in a completely different way. Throughout the night, he'd been brought to tears twice, unable to handle it, everything become far too much because of these brand new things.

Sweat collected in the underside of his knee, where a strong arm hooked, lifting his leg up and apart, enough for lazy, slow thrusting as they spooned beneath a sullied and disgusting blanket, both of them still swimming in the hazy aftermath of a short nap.

With a loud sigh against the shell of his ear, he felt Wolfwood thrust deep inside him and shudder through another orgasm, the fourth one just tonight. The overwhelming size of his erection made Vash moan like a pathetic, sloppy mess, throat sore and worn from overuse, his own dick pathetically twitching through the last attempts of release. His entire body, head to toe, felt overly sensitive, sore, disgusting. Sweat dried along every inch of skin, hair stuck to his forehead, the sheets were damp. In all senses, it should've been disgusting, but Vash could feel nothing but thoroughly sated until his bones felt lax and limp.

"Fuck," a husky voice breathed, ruffling the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. A rough hand slipped up his entire body, trailing fingertips up and down his ribcage, soothing him. "You feelin' better?"

"Mmm, of course," Vash whispered, and tossed a glance over his shoulder at the bed's other occupant.

Tanned, handsome, damp as well, but absolutely breathtaking in every sense of the word. Nicholas D. Wolfwood. His partner. His heart stuttered at the sight, he could barely form a coherent thought at the sight of him.

Wolfwood gently separated the two of them, but did not pull away, and instead, carefully slipped his hand around to lay over the glowing warmth of Vash's womb.

The cause of this entire turn in their relationship.

Everything had happened so fast, he'd been whipped up into a windstorm he had no strength to escape from.

One moment, he'd been fine, normal, doing what he needed to do.

Now, he was laying in bed with Wolfwood.

Closing his eyes, settling against the warm skin at his back, that little spirit of reasonable thought whispered again:

How the fuck had this happened?

Well, it started yesterday morning, when Vash awoke that morning and started getting undressed for a shower - when he noticed something odd on his body. A glowing, curling conglomeration of blue Plant Markings, forming an absolutely beautiful design directly over his womb.

They glowed, brightly.

They were visibly beneath his shirt.

They would not go away no matter how long the day went on. And as the day grew on, his body began acting... strangely. He felt hot, feverish, even, and viciously uncomfortable in his own skin. Just the fabric of his clothes felt like too much.

Then, the cramps started, directly in his womb, nearly knocking him off his feet at their sudden appearance - and when he ran to the bathroom to see what was happening, he realized the glow over his stomach had grown much, much harsher.

Panicked, he zipped his coat up, and simply tried to ignore it. It was nothing, he knew it was nothing, it was fine! He'd be fine, he simply chose to not worry about it when there were more important things to do out in the world.

He did not want his friends to see this, and ask questions, and start worrying, because he had no answers for them.

His friends, though, they immediately noticed the second he stepped out of the bathroom, one hand clutching against his uterus to possibly help calm the cramps. Because, why wouldn't they notice? His friends noticed everything.

So Wolfwood wrestled opened his jacket, and he, Meryl, and Milly all stared forward at the glowing markings directly over his uterus.

He hated it.

"What is that?" Wolfwood asked. "I mean, I know what it is, but I don't... Why is it there?"

Vash shrugged out of his grip, and closed his coat again, frowning grumpily. "It's nothing-"

"Nothing?!" Meryl laughed, high pitched and vicious, and Vash knew exactly what that meant. "You look pale, and you're holding your stomach like I do on my period. What is going on?"

"I-" Taking a deep, shaking breath, he shook his head, and lowered his gaze to his feet. "I have no idea what this is. It hurts, and... I feel... weird. It's never happened before-"

Before he even had the chance to finish his sentence, Wolfwood and Meryl grabbed both of his hands, and started dragging him toward the car. Milly yelped behind them and started chasing behind, shouting, "What's happening? Where are we going?!"

"HOME!" they answered in tandem.

They took him straight to Home Ship, where Luida and Brad fussed around and hooked him up to machines and repeatedly asked him if he was okay. They checked his temperature about seven times, and Luida held his hand and spoke to him in low, soothing tones, while Brad talked to Wolfwood in the corner.

Wolfwood, whom refused to leave the examination room, while the girls stayed outside in the hallway.

Wolfwood, who watched with his arms crossed over his chest.

Wolfwood, whom the sight of put his mind at immediate ease.

The tests moved on to needles pressing into his skin, trying to check his levels. They took blood from his arm first, before Luida asked Vash to lay back and lift his shirt, warning she'd have to press on his stomach, and he cringed, afraid. The cramps were no joke, and he feared what might happen if pressed upon-

In the next second, Wolfwood stood at his side, a hand reaching out and curling into Vash's palm and holding him steady. "I got you, blondie, don't worry," he whispered, and shot a handsome little half smile down at him.

Suddenly, it felt like a wave of calm warmth passed over him.

The cramps stopped. The heat along his skin subsided, and somewhere on the other side of the room, Brad gasped in shock.

"What the fuck," he whispered.

Vash looked down, and found the glowing of his womb had increased threefold, bright and shockingly blue, nearly filling the entire room with just his own created light.

The look on Luida's face as she stood beside his exam table, said everything Vash needed to know without her saying a word. This was... not great.

And when Luida sat him down, privately - well, privately with Wolfwood, who still refused to leave his side, and the girls, who got tired of waiting - and laid a hand on his knee, and whispered those strange, strange words, Vash had never felt more confused in his life. Shocked, and confused, and terrified out of his mind.

"It seems your Independent Biology has decided it's time to carry a child." Luida explained, in the easiest, least stressful way she could possibly manage.

"What?!" Meryl cried. "What!"

"Wait, so-" Wolfwood shook his head, mouth turning downward in a frown. "So, why did this randomly happen now? Isn't he like... almost two hundred years old?"

"Well..." Luida eyed Wolfwood, then Vash, and Vash almost opened his mouth to tell her to not say another word, please, but Luida was much smarter than that. She leveled him with a look that dared him to interrupt her, and the inner child, the one she raised, shut up immediately.

She nodded, prideful, and tilted her head. "If you want my honest opinion, I believe his biology decided it finally found someone worthy of creating another life with."

Meryl huffed. Milly looked confused. Wolfwood hummed a confused little noise.

Then, Luida slowly glanced upwards at Wolfwood, and met his gaze. Vash watched the entire thing happen in slow motion, much to his absolute horror.

"Wait," Wolfwood whispered, and dropped his arms to his sides. "Wait-"

The realization hit the girls, and Brad, slowly, then. One at a time. Meryl gasped and looked at Wolfwood. A complete mischievous grin spread across Milly's face.

And Brad shouted, "Oh, c'mon! Him?! With Vash!"

Wolfwood twisted around, then, shouting, "What's wrong with me?"

While they argued, Vash quietly excused himself to go to his room, and escaped fast, back to the safety of his childhood bedroom. Where he flopped down on the bed and prayed this was all just a terrible nightmare, and he'd actually wake up in the backseat of Meryl's old, dingy car again.

Of course, he heard knocking on his door.

Of course, he shouted for the person to come in.

And, of course, it was Wolfwood whom stood in the open doorway when it slid open, hands shoved in his pocket, cigarette hanging from his mouth.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," he whispered back. "I'm sorry this is... this is all so... weird, I know you're probably freaked out, and I'm sorry, and I don't understand what Luida meant by all that, because I haven't thought about you... uh, putting a child inside me, I'm sorry, Wolfwood-" He was blabbering a mile a minute. He knew that. He simply could not stop himself.

Not until a blur of dark clothes came rushing toward him like a sand storm. Vash barely had time to stand up from the edge of the bed before white hot, rough hands were on him. Everywhere, all at once, caressing either side of his face, pulling him closer - before Vash could possibly understand what was happening, Wolfwood devoured his mouth with an animalistic, feral kiss.

A small gasp eeked from Vash's mouth as he grabbed Wolfwood's collar, his limbs going lax and pliant inside Wolfwood's strong arms.

Oh, fuck, he kissed the same way he used the Punisher.

Wild. Overwhelming, taking control, refusing to give the enemy a second to catch their breath. He found himself losing. And when he moved to shove him away, to ask if he was sure about this, he heard Wolfwood's gruff voice demanding him.

"Get naked. Now."

Everything fell into a blur after that. His clothes tossing across the room, seeing Wolfwood's strong, strapping, muscular body in all its glory for the first time. Wolfwood, on his knees, kissing along the glowing striations and whispering words Vash couldn't hear, but something about it made the glowing relax, soften, the cramps subside.

Suddenly, so very suddenly, everything was okay. Nothing else within any possible universe could matter beyond the things in that bed.

Wolfwood's cock speared him mercilessly after that, his body pitching forward, every single breath coming out in bursts of high, loud cries, hands white knuckling against the headboard as he held on for dear life.

Every single thrust felt like a new world opening up in front of his very eyes, experiencing things he didn't have the imagination to even daydream of. The sound of gruff huffs and gasps above him, soft cursing mixing with praises making him want to shed tears all over again.

Fuck, you're amazing. You're beautiful. You feel great, you smell great, you're beautiful.

Wolfwood made love to him all over the entire room that night. On his knees, cradled against his chest on the bed, lifted and fucked against a wall, sitting atop his table in the corner. Every single place, until they ended up there.

Vash, full of Wolfwood's cum, dazed, fucked out and exhausted, but limp and calm. The cramps were gone. his body no longer felt feverish, and Wolfwood was sitting up, looking down at him with warm, beautiful eyes.

"You sure you feel better?" he whispered.

"Mhm." All Vash could do was nod.

Unconvinced, Wolfwood tossed back the blanket covering his body, and ducked downward until his head hovered over the very faintly glowing markings over his womb.

Through thick eyelashes, he peered up at Vash, and pressed his lips to the markings, soft and gentle. He kissed what seemed to be every single curve and curl of the markings, kissing all over his womb until Vash felt warmed from the inside out.

"Good," he eventually whispered against his skin. "Y' know, blondie..."

"What?" Vash lazily asked.

"Wouldn't be so bad to have me as the dad of your kid, would it? I think I'd do a great job, don't you think?"

Vash hummed a sweet little laugh.

"I guess you'll do fine."

[edwinspaynes]

hello!! for the winter drabble requests, could i ask for sophideon drabble where sophie shares a xmas tradition with gideon? my man does *not* understand but sophie loves xmas and he loves her <33 no worries if that'll be too long for a drabble tho!!

Check it out! -> https://slate.com/human-interest/2016/05/an-artisanal-candy-maker-that-relies-on-victoria-era-methods-video.html

Gideon blinked twice at the contraption that Sophie had placed on their kitchen countertop. If he did not know better, he might have believed it a torture device; a giant cylinder that his wife was now turning with a crank, propelled by gears on the side. But his beautiful Sophie was not one for tormenting others, and besides, it was difficult to find it a horror when its surface had holes shaped like stars and shells carved into it. "This," she said, her accent heavy in her excitement, "is the drop candy machine."

"Did people used to drop candy into it?"

Sophie rolled her eyes lovingly. "No," she said. "It creates drop candy. Here," she instructed, "do please hand off the nectar, Gideon."

"It's odd that we call it 'nectar,'" he said, giving her the bowl of butterscotch-and-brown-sugar honey liquid. "It makes us sound like bumbling bees, creating honey and other such, ah, things."

"Well, it does contain honey," she reminded him. As though he could forget - making the nectar had been a grand ordeal in and of itself, and his lips still tasted of sticky brown sugar from when Sophie had kissed him after licking a spoon. "In any case, we pour the nectar into the tray, like so." Gideon watched as it filled the tray in long, sticky ropes. "And... remember how we placed it in the ice box?"

"The tray? Yes. I thought it quite odd."

"Well, here's why." She removed the sides of the tray, leaving behind a perfectly-defined large rectangle of partially-solidified nectar. She then rolled it over with both hands, kneading it against the cold surface.

"It looks like jelly bread," Gideon informed her.

Sophie giggled. "This is just for an even temperature," she said And then, once she had a well-kneaded piece of somewhat flat substance, she handed it off to Gideon. He took it with a tender sort of awkwardness simply because he was unsure of what he was meant to do with it, turning it over and over in his hands.

Sophie shot him a small glance and smiled slightly, brushing a stray lock of brown hair behind her ear. Her scar stood out beautifully against her pale skin, and Gideon longed to kiss it. But she looked expectant and grabbed at the crank of the machine, and raised an eyebrow at Gideon. "Well?" Her voice was playful.

Gideon's face warmed, "Well...?"

"Aren't you going to feed it through?"

"Ah... yes. Yes, of course." He hoped that Sophie believed him to know what he was doing.

He fed the large honey-yellow sheet through the drop-roller, and it came out the other side flat and indented with perfectly uniform stars and shells. It seemed a sort of magic in itself as Sophie picked up the hard sheet and began to pop the shapes out one by one, sticking them into a large bowl beside her.

"Would you wish to try one?" She held up a tiny candy in the air with a small smile.

"Was that a rhetorical question? Of course I would."

Still grinning, Sophie popped a star into his mouth.

[hannahchronism]

I wish I had thought of this sooner because now probably you have made all your things unless you are a late night person or plan to bake on christmas day but do u want..... a cookie recipe? Behold:

Refrigerator Cookies*

*yes they probably have a proper name, no I don't care what it is

ID: A yellow notecard with the recipe listed in cursive handwriting, there are a few small stains on the card, and the whole thing has been laminated. Stains and all. Authenticity! End ID.

Transcription & more baking instructions below!

Ingredients:

1 cup butter (we use real butter but margarine and other substitutes should work fine!)

1 cup (granulated cane) sugar

1 cup brown sugar (light or dark, doesn't matter)

2 eggs (grade A is best for ratio reasons)

1 and 1/2 teaspoon vanilla

3 cups "flower" (all-purpose baking flour lol)

1 teaspoon baking soda

2 tablespoons ground cinnamon

1 tsp salt

1 cup chopped pecans (optional! but really very good)

[.... You know what? While typing this I just realized I forgot the salt in the batch I just made. hm...... The butter was salted it's probably fine.]

Bake at 400° Fahrenheit (204 Celsius- do you guys cook with Celsius too or is it only for weather?) for 8-10 minutes until light brown*

*the dough is already brown. I do not know how to advise you of its baked color you kind of just have to do your best, watch the edges. They're still good slightly overbaked don't worry about it.

Mixing Instructions:

DO NOT PREHEAT YOUR OVEN (YET)

1. Soften or melt your butter (/butter substitute)

Either soften by leaving it at room temperature for awhile, or melt it in the microwave (30 seconds at a time for best, least like to explode all over your microwave results.) Melted is better than softened, in my opinion, but either is functional. (Melted just effects the final texture, they're chewier this way. Also it makes the next step easier.)

2. Mix in sugars.

Once butter(/sub) is soft/melted, pour in the white sugar and brown sugar. One at a time works better with softened butter, both can go in at the same time for melted. Mix until combined. It's going to have a very pasty, gritty texture.

3. Add eggs.

Crack your eggs into the mix, watch for shell bits. Mix in the eggs until all trace of them disappears, like a magic trick! The mix will still be gritty and unpleasant looking.

4. Add vanilla, salt, and baking soda.

I know the card lists flour next but it's better to do this here. It also helps keep you from forgetting the salt (🤡). Mix until these things disappear, and maybe a little more just to be sure everything is all distributed.

5. Add cinnamon.

It's going to look like a lot and smell intensely like pumpkin pie or apple pie and change the color from looks-like-chocolate-chip-cookies to a much darker brown, and you're going to go "...really? two tablespoons?" but trust the process. Really, two tablespoons. Stir! until combined and very brown.

6. Now add the flour.

One cup at a time!!!!! Or even half a cup at a time! Trust me adding all three cups at the same time will just make a mess and you'll be sad. One cup in, stir until it disappears. Repeat two more times. Now, like most cookie dough, the amount of flour is a little flexible. Once you've added all three cups, if your dough is still very sticky you need to add more flour! Personally I usually end up with about another... 1/4 a cup? but I live in a very humid climate. You're looking for a playdough-like texture! It sticks more to itself than the mixing bowl or spoon (/spatula, whatever you're mixing with. Hey don't use a whisk by the way.) You should be able to pick it up with your hands and move it without it sticking to you. If you've ever made the pilsburry roll of chocolate chip cookies, where you buy the dough in a little tube? Like that. If your dough gets too crumbly, and won't stick to itself anymore, you've gone too far!!! You can revive this with a little little bit of water, like a teaspoon at a time, until you get it back to sticks-to-itself. It really shouldn't take a lot, and you don't want to add too much because it can throw off bake times and make your cookies thin and weird.

7. Add pecans.

I like to do this step here, and sort of just fold them into the (play)dough. You could also put them in before the flour, with the cinnamon! Whichever is easiest or least aggravating, it doesn't especially matter. Just make sure they're not all clumped up together. Also the pecans are optional but (barring an allergy of course) I really would say leave them in and try it this way at least once! I would... not substitute in peanuts. Or any other nut I can think of, unless it has a similar texture to a pecan? Walnuts would probably be ok, if you're so inclined.

8. Throw those suckers in the FRIDGE baby

We generally separate the dough in halves for this step! It's not strictly necessary, but it makes things easier to manage. Take your dough out of the bowl and slap it onto some wax paper. (Do not use parchment paper, it will leach out the moisture and your dough will stick to it and become a little crumbly and you will be sad.) Using the wax paper like a weird blanket or burrito wrap, shape your dough into a vaguely rectangle shape, fold the wax paper over it so that it's completely covered, and then put your dough-log in the fridge. The dough absolutely *MUST* rest in the fridge for at least three hours. We usually leave it overnight! It's convenient and also generally yields best results. But, if you're in a little more of a rush than that, three hours is fine. But no less!!!!! We've baked them without letting them rest before and it just doesn't work as well and they burn so quickly and so completely. They turn into charcoal. Fridge your fridge cookies or suffer!!!!!!!!!!

9. Preheat & Bake!

Once they've rested for at least three hours, you can pull them out and throw them in the oven! You can shape them, if you like. Roll them into balls like chocolate chip cookies or .. I think cookie cutters could be used here? If you're quick about rolling them out. We slice them from the 'log' and lay them on a (greased or lined!) baking sheet straightaway, so the cookie is sort of long and vaguely rectangular. It makes them distinctive and also you want them as cold as possible when they go in the oven, to keep from burning, so this is the most efficient way to do it! But, the shape doesn't have any real significance, go ham. Bake for ... ~8-10 minutes, or until you see them getting dark around the edges (which, I know, is very difficult because they're already kind of dark.) It's kind of a guessing game? But, as mentioned above, they're good if you overshoot a batch by a little bit, and you can learn and aim a little lower for round two!

10. Enjoy!

These bad boys are so stupid good. Excellent coffee cookie. No idea if they go with tea but why wouldn't they? I'm gonna eat 100.

Okay this has been a cookie recipe, that's all, Happy Holidays ♥

[eating-the-inedible]

Here is a list of the inedibles that will be in this bracket

Lava

Orbeez

Orange Joe (fictional "beverage" that's a combination of orange juice and coffee)

Doll shoes

Dirt

Pen caps

Mercury

Watermelon tourmaline

Comet/scouring powder

Moss

Paper towels

Play-Doh

Drywall

Marbles

CD

DVD

Dice

Kinetic Sand

Coins 

Fiberglass insulation

3DS Stylus

Plastic Bottle Cap

Chapstick

Babybell Cheese Wax

Paper

Bouncy ball

Human meat

Venus (planet)

Cascade dishwasher pods

Acrylic Paint

Magnets

Molten glass

Pens

Sea glass

Silica gel packet

Leaves

Cocoa butter lotion

Antifreeze

Pencil Toppers, the lil eraser things

Sand

Tumbled amethyst

Rubber Ducks

The rubber balls from the game Cranium Cariboo

Polly pocket clothes

Poison Dart Frog

Snow

0.1 uF Film Capacitor

The sun

Metal

Eraser

Tide pods

Phone charger wire

Those free wooden pencils you get at ikea (just the wood shell not the lead)

Liquid nitrogen

Aquarium gravel

the weird science juice in the beakers in those stock images

Origami star

Styrofoam cup

Sticky note

Collar of shirt

This submission form

Plastic straws

Glow sticks

Oil paintings

Candle wax

Glass

Nickel sulfate solution/Nickel plating solution

Silicone wristbands

Seatbelt

The wax paper under your Poutine

Forearm (doesn't have to be one's own)

Asbestos

Candy wrapper

“Okay so technically this is edible but I’ve had urges to just take a huge bite out of certain sea creatures before. Like just a chunk from an orca or dolphin or great white or seal, etc.”

“Those stupid wooden spoons”

Furbies

Scotch tape

Artificial grapes (the wax/plastic ones for display)

phone

THE FLESH OF MY ENEMIES

Crystals

Fire

The goo inside  Stretch Armstrong

Headphone wire

Raw steak

Art

Small colorful rubber bands 

Tinfoil

Pencil lead

Cattails (the plant)

Foamy soap

Liquid soap

Bar soap

Flourite

Shiny rocks

Grass

A hunk of random fish swimming by

A live goldfish

Toothpaste

Styrofoam

Price Tag Fasteners

The moon

Pool noodles

Smol frog

Destroying angel mushroom

the smoke coming out of the grain refineries two Mike's out of Gary, Indiana, Usa

Popsicle sticks

Cardboard

My hat

The tiny rocks in school playgrounds

Gasoline

Blue laundry detergent

Spray foam insulation

Battery corrosion

Fiber optic cables

Packing peanuts

Your mother

Pond water

Dry ice

Alkali metals

Chocolate shampoo

Ping pong ball

Bricks, like the stuff you'd build with. Minecraft bricks even, if you want

Hoodie drawstrings

Horse treats

Chalk

Copper (II) Sulphate Water / Blue Science Rock + Blue Science Juice

Ink

Floam

Fabric Paint

Oil paint

that one art piece of the banana taped to the wall

the hotdog somebody encased in resin

“the thin lego plates not the base plates but like the lego piece thats like 2x8 and they kinda look like hershey chocolate bar pieces”

One of those little hamsters

Model magic

Battery Acid (the drink)

manchineel apple

Rubber band ball

The lava lamp liquid

Blood

Rosin

Wax apples

That cake decoration that came with your slice and you're like 90% sure it's not edible... but what if ?

Soap bubble

Lush cosmetics' products

Plushies

Strawberry Shortcake's dolls with scented hair

Wood

Glue

Salt lamp

People who think children are not worth their consideration

Tarmac

Shampoo

Pennies

Poisonous berries

Chunky soft yarn

Crayons 

Rock

“whatever the Chuck E Cheese Ticket Muncher Machine is eating (it's not the tickets) (or the sound itself but that's neither a solid nor a liquid so this is just kind of holding hands with the hypothetical ticket muncher food)”

Snow globe liquid

Chisel tip whiteboard marker

Raw dough

Raw fuckin cactus. alive

Grape agate

Car seat

Succulents

Keys

Lock pick

Scrub daddy

Molten sugar 

Allergens

Lightning bolts

“Bark dust. Like the dirt/bark dust that's under the bark chips on a playground. Not the chips themselves. The dust.”

Clear deodorant

Apple earbud wires

Eggshells

Squinkies

Hello kitty sweatshirt zipper

Preshredded mozzarella cheese

Scrap metal

Rose

All of the rocks at a crystal shop

Origami polyhedron model

Bubbles mixture

Cupcake liners

Hair gel

Curtain rods

Incense sticks

Incense cones

Metal thing that attaches eraser to pencil

Windshield wiper fluid

Plastic pencil grips

Wooden ice cream spoon

Book

Tree

The liquid in levels

Vanilla extract

Aroace flag

Coil incense

California state testing “next question” button

Spackle

Forbidden coal iron french fries

Garage doors that look like chocolate bars

Plastic takeout box

Velvet

Weird anime girl hair

Freezable gel ice pack

Clouds

Necklace chains

Nail polish

Pencil Shavings

Pool floats

Bao Dumpling

Spray deodorant

0.1 uF Ceramic Capacitor

Vanillish (Pokémon)

Fondant

Really fancy pillars

Computers

Favorite song

Tumblr

“THE LITTLE ORBS IN THE MOUSE (aka trackballs)”

“Any cutesy anime character like Chopper or Pikachu”

Wooden fan blades

Balsa wood sticks

Those blankets that look like tortillas

Microwave

Milk and golden honey softsoap

Batteries

1x2 lego pieces

Light bulbs

Slightly melted lounge chair

Cork (the material)

Pineapple coke

Fingernails 

Sparkly lipgloss

Race Car Tire Marble

Gold trophies

Konjac sponge

Shirt

Mandy the Slayer / Orange Spyderco Dragonfly Knife

Malachite

Heater

Glasses Temples

Typewriter keys

EVA foam

Airplane

Sword

Crumbs in the couch

Children

My wife's arm/shoulder

Records

Yellow ACE bandages

Neon Signs

Scented candles

[wileys-russo]

hello, since you liked my previous long ass ask a few days ago, im here again with more thoughts (and mostly compliments)

characters: i really like that the main characters of your stories have their own unique dynamics which change from fic to fic. for example, the childhood sweethearts protagonist reads different from a date to remember protagonist, and similarly fresa and pollito read much different from each other. yes, i see the similarities in them but I also see how they interact with others in their own unique ways, i enjoy that and I appreciate how they are consistent within their own series.

a lot of it comes down to how you write players (and I believe someone else also pointed this out recently but); their personalities make sense (ofcourse I don’t really know what they’re like irl but their interpretations make sense in a headcannon sort of way).  

(i digress here so feel free to ignore this part) this is something i notice in recent videogames as well, in most early videogames all characters were written as “empty shells” so people could project their own personalities onto them and “relate” to them better but modern video games have started to also give their main characters some personality traits which make them more likeable and easier to relate to which leads to better storytelling and quests.

(controversial?) but i really like that you don’t use the “y/n” thing, it just breaks the flow of conversations and I just think its neat when people find a way around it

(super controversial?) (forgive me) I don’t think I am an alessia girlie but I do love the way you write her.

she is lovely and talented and brilliant and its adorable how she answers every question with “ya its incredible…”

plot: ohf, i appreciate you trying to find unique prompts and settings. it takes time and effort and is a challenge to rethink setting and situation every time. Moreover, these things just take time ya know (and but as a reader its worth the wait).

i used to work on an animated series, and our writers used to struggle with things like character consistency, repetitive plots, dialogues etc so wanted to highlight these points and say good job. creating art in any form or shape or kind and posting it is nerve-wrecking and scary, so I appreciate everyone who tries.

tiny bits of slang and localisation is just so satisfying. a little bit of “hoover”, “crisps” or “arvo” depending on their intended nationality, makes me happy.  

----

finally, its time for some beef i.e an unserious reaction to things the reader does

cutting the crusts off toast: the crust is an important part of the toast; you cannot just cut it off?!?! 1/5.

Hate against olives and tomatoes: is this a texture thing? if yes, i get it. no i dont. 2.5/5.

Nail biting: the amount of gErMs NO!. -15/5.

fidgeting with jewelry: you must, you cannot not. 5/5

using chopsticks or a spoon to eat certain snacks: super valid. ate and left no crumbs (literally). 10/5.  

sticky notes to help study: effective. 7/5.  

reading a book poolside on vacation: -5/5 (will not be explaining this one)

smushing strawberries against your face instead of eating them: crime/10.

causing trouble and blaming it on someone else (mapi) – perfect/5. (+ all pollito fics are so funny)

----

as always, I hope you are well and have a good day :)

I once again am rendered speechless and wish I could say more but thank you so much for your kind compliments and thoughts, it means a lot!! 💞

[stardustedsins]

Gentle love prompts #44: kisses on the tip of their nose

Tonio/reader (gender neutral reader)

You’re not much of a cook, but Tonio had always said it’s not hard to learn the basic techniques and follow a recipe. It’s learning to craft your own dishes and knowing when and how to change things that’s more challenging, he says.

That’s why you’re in his kitchen in an apron, learning to make his grandmother’s stuffed peppers. He’s starting you off with something easy, a family recipe that he’ll teach you by doing, the way he himself had learned it.

“My favorite kind of food.” He calls it. “The simple dishes that families treasure enough to pass down, along with stories.“

He turns the oven on to preheat and pulls out a large skillet to set on the stovetop for later.

“First, we‘ll chop the onion, garlic, and walnuts.” He says, putting a cutting board on the counter in front of you. “I’ve already peeled and shelled everything to make things easier for your first lesson.”

You watch as he demonstrates safe chopping, with fingers curled and the proper grip on the knife. Then it’s your turn, chopping much slower than him. Your eyes water a bit as you finish the onion, and the garlic makes your fingers incredibly sticky, but soon enough you’ve got everything chopped.

“My great aunt Donna, I’m told, tried to wipe her eyes when they started to water the first time she ever chopped onions.” He pauses for comedic effect, likely recreating the way the story was told to him. “With the same hand that held the onion. She was so miserable after flushing her eye in the sink that she didn’t finish cooking dinner that night, poor thing.”

“Ouch.” You wince just thinking of it. “I guess they tell you that story so you’ll be sure not to do that yourself.”

“Oh, there are plenty of stories like that. What not to do while cooking. It’s certainly a memorable way of learning those lessons.” He laughs. “Now we can cook the onion. Will you get the olive oil from the pantry?”

You grab it and bring it to him, and he adds some to the pan on the stove without measuring the amount, turning on the burner while you put the oil away again.

“Now, we have to stir often with the onion, so you can’t take a phone call and forget about them like my cousin Angela. Her house smelled like burnt onion for days.”

There are plenty of silly anecdotes of beginner’s mistakes to go along with the lesson as you begin to add other ingredients to the pan and finish cooking them. Then it’s on to mixing ground meat together with your hands, the fresh-from-the-fridge chill of it making for a weird sensation. Tonio adds the rest of the ingredients into the bowl while you’re washing your hands, passing it to you to mix.

“Now, we’re almost done!” He opens the fridge and pulls out the bell peppers for stuffing, washing them quickly and putting them onto the cutting board where it still sits on the counter. “To start, just cut a bit of the bottom end off so that they can stand up. Not too much, or they won’t hold the stuffing.”

“I’m guessing someone in your family has had that mishap, right?” You ask, and he laughs.

“Yes, me.”

You laugh along with him, picturing a much younger Tonio with the stuffing spilling out of the stuffed peppers he’s trying to serve for dinner. He walks you through cutting the tops off and scooping out the insides, and then it’s a simple matter of spooning the filling into them and patting it down with the back of the spoon.

“Now they bake in the oven, and we have time to clean up and then relax.” He says when the peppers are arranged in their baking dish with tomato sauce and cheese, and covered in foil. He puts the dish into the oven and sets the timer.

“Most of the work is done, we just have to come and take the foil off in an hour so they can bake uncovered for a bit before they’re done.”

“Then I guess the next step is washing the dishes.” You start to gather them up and stack them by the sink. His sponge turns out to be one of those special ones that lather up the soap for you, and you realize very quickly that in light of that, you may have used a bit too much. A little cluster of soap bubbles breaks free and drifts into the air when you squeeze the sponge.

Tonio wipes down the counters while you wash, and then comes to stand next to you, taking up the drying towel. You hand each dish to him as you finish cleaning them, the two of you chatting aimlessly as you work.

“Oh, hold still a moment.” He gently swipes the towel across the end of your nose, following it with a quick kiss. “You had a little bit of soap suds there. Maybe a little too much lather, hm?”

“Just a bit.” You giggle, raising the sponge to blow a bit of suds in his direction too.

[samflynn89]

[Hiya! Thought I'd send this in? Does not have to be a thread, if you don't want it to be. You seem cool, just wanted to say hi. Also I know I tend to write novels for starters, but you do not have to match length... write however you want! —@not-that-dillinger]

To say that the day had been hectic was an understatement. Or two days, he supposed, though it felt like one never ending day.

Things had already been busy, getting ready for the release of the Encom OS the day before, but then that had been stolen, then things had spiraled from there. Ed hadn't slept that night, and then he came in to work that morning to learn that Sam Flynn was taking back the company.

It had been meeting after wretched meeting after that, with hardly a break in between. Now it was 2 PM (how was it only two???), and Ed would like a moment of to himself, just long enough to drink his coffee in peace without someone requiring his attention to scrounge up the spoons he'd need to survive the rest of his meetings until 5. He wished the drink on his desk was tea, or even his usual more-sugar-than-caffeine, would-you-like-some-coffee-with-that-milk coffee, but he needed the caffeine, and he didn't have the social spoons or the time to stay in the break room longer than it took to brew the single cup and flee back to his office.

Except he'd barely sat down and began to clear the sticky notes for the OS off his desk when there was a knock at his door.

Ed took a deep breath, and slowly counted down from ten. It wasn't Mackey; he wouldn't have knocked, which meant whoever it was, they didn't deserve his annoyance. Then he stood up, schooled his expression to a careful neutral that (he hoped) hid his exhaustion, and answered the door.

Ed hadn't expected Sam Flynn to be there, and he braced, half expecting to be fired on the spot. At least Flynn had the decency to knock.

"Can I help you?" he asked politely.

Sam hasn't slept since returning from the Grid. It's not the first all-nighter he's pulled, and he's sure it won't be the last now that he's decided to step into the role he fought against for so long. He doesn't need a mirror to know he looks like hell, he can see it in the way every employee he passed on his way in has looked at him with alarm. Though he supposes that also could have been shock, his return had been abrupt.

He's running on fumes. The adrenaline rush of the last few hours is giving way to a deep seated exhaustion that he refuses to pay any mind to - certain that if he so much as acknowledged it, he'd crumple under the weight of it all.

So instead, he finds the one person in this brutalist shell of his father's company that he knows. The one person beside Alan, who would have too many questions for Sam's already overloaded brain. It all seems like a solid plan, to seek out someone familiar, until Ed actually opens the door and Sam realizes he's not even sure why he came here in the first place.

They're not friends. They're not even acquaintances.

"Uh, hi," Sam says, knowing he must look just as awkward as he feels. He's got one hand shoved in the pocket of his jeans, the other rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck. Even if Sam did have a suit back at his apartment, he wouldn't have worn it, which means he's standing in an office in the same clothes he spent most the early morning riding around on his bike in. Great first impression. He can already sense how most the board is going to receive his less than inspiring appearance.

"Can we talk?"

[caustic-light]

Dunno if Ritalin works the same in other countries, but here it’s the kind of pills that’s a bunch of little bits in a shell that dissolves, or can be opened up and poured over pudding in case you can’t swallow the whole thing. Once bit through it because I got startled and had the little bits fill my entire mouth immediately with the most disgusting taste imaginable. Proceeded to try and wash it down with water, only to realise it barely worked because they get sticky as fuck and had to manually scrub Ritalin off my teeth for a solid minute. Same thing happened with fiber pills once. Didn’t taste nearly as bad, but was like eating a spoon full of flour. Don’t recommend. I appreciate smartie pills because this doesn’t happen with them, you just either let them touch your tongue, or not.

Solid medications (pills) really do be coming in two varieties - edible plastic, and smarties (derogatory)

[rewiredthethirdblog]

Comment by SirVanderhoot on Reddit

Well there was [this](http://vi.reddit.com/r/reddit.com/comments/hkvoo/younger_redditors_please_dont_start_smoking_look/c1w7nxj) that came up a while ago.

>I'm a dentist. As much as I like your advice to younger people to not smoke, I have to point out that the problems with your teeth are completely unrelated to smoking. Smoking does not cause cavities, period. I've seen a hundred mouths just like yours in the last 6 months and I can tell you a few things about yourself, even having never met you. You like a certain soft drink VERY much. It is probably Mountain Dew. You sip at it all day long. You probably have a job where you can keep it next to you and you don't care even if it gets lukewarm. THIS is what has created your decay issue. If anyone is interested, I'd be happy to explain the whole scenario in more depth. I hate to be the one who 'excuses' smoking from the equation but smoking is unrelated to the condition that your photo is displaying.

And later from the same dentist in the thread -

>When you ingest sugar, the plaque (which is alive) on your tooth gets very happy. Plaque is bacteria and it LOVES sugar. It eats the sugar and then it gives off acid as a byproduct of its metabolism. So it literally poops acid onto your tooth. The acid then starts to "de-mineralize" the outer shell of the tooth (the enamel). Your own saliva, though, is buffering the acid or 'neutralizing' it, bringing the level of acid on your tooth back to normal. Then, because your saliva has calcium in it, the tooth will 're-mineralize' during the period of time when the acid levels are low enough. This goes on all day long in everyone's mouth and as long as the amount of re-mineralization is not outpaced by the de-mineralization, the enamel stays intact and no cavity begins. It is when you dont give the tooth a chance to re-mineralize that the problems occur. Sipping all day long on sugary liquid never allows the saliva to neutralize the acid and so the tooth never re-mineralizes and sooner or later the enamel breaks through and now the acid has access to the inner part of the tooth which is crappy at defending itself. Mountain Dew is just really high in sugar and really sticky so it's like spoon feeding the plaque. It is far better to chug a soft drink and rinse your mouth out. No, the temp is irrelevant, but people with this decay pattern have the drink next to them all day and it gets warm and they don't care.

In addition to that, the first item on any list for someone who wants to improve their health on r/fitness is "stop drinking calories" - which means almost always soda. Four cans a day is hundreds of calories of almost pure sugar, over 150 grams of the stuff. Really, it's a *lot* of sugar. Don't buy into the whole HFCS-is-a-billion-times-worse-than-"natural"-sugar thing, but just know how much you're actually drinking.