#nutty is sick

[gumnut-logic]

Woke up with a sore throat this morning…new years day. This is not a great start.

Though, it should be noted that I haven’t had a cold or flu since May 2022 - two and a half years ago. Social distancing works. It took me a good moment to even recognise the symptom.

And then start swearing because this is not a good time to blow up work’s customer service roster. Damnit!

Nutty

(Still hoping it just goes away, but already trying to work out how to get the huge pile of work done - I have deadlines! I don’t have time to be sick!)

[kipowolfton]

so glad I don't have a sweet tooth bro I used to have such a sweet tooth when I was a little kid because my dad spoiled me but I'm so glad eating maggots fixed me

[badatsleepbadatawake]

Some HTF Do it for her memes I made for my 3 favorite HTF characters!

Templates by Kaldei on Imgur

[jupitersmoonsstuff]

Do you guys think that both Wukong and DBK are like SUPER claustrophobic cuz of being trapped under mountains for so long

[theradicalace]

if i ever get the bright idea to draw TRIPP PANTS again, i fully expect one of y’all to come clock me over the head with a heavy object

[birdwithboots]

out of nutter butters is my life even worth it at this point

[botanyshitposts]

obviously dont have much to report on this blog since starting my emt program except for the knowledge that in addition to normal grain entrapment problems involved with falling into a silo you can also get horrible crush injuries like a sick and twisted monkeys paw fable. blood flow cut off from the extremities by the weight of your own bushels. one minute youre on the silo the next minute youre in a nutty putty cave ass corn nightmare. this happens to people

[literaryvein-reblogs]

more words for characterization (pt. 3)

Mentality

abhorrence, absentmindedness, abstraction, ache, aggravation, agonize, alarm, allergy, amazement, angst, anticipation, apathy, assurance, attention, attrition, awe, bathos, behalf, belonging, bitterness, boast, bosom, breast, buoyancy/buoyance, capitulation, care, censure, cheer, clemency, cogitation, comfort, complex, compulsion, conception, confusion, consideration, constancy, content, contrition, corollary, credit, curiosity, darkness, decision, deference, delight, delirium, dementia, dependence/dependency, design, despair, difficulty, disaffection, discipline, discomfiture, discontent, discrimination, disinclination, disorder, disquiet, distraction, disturbance, dolor, dumps, ecstasy, elation, emotion, enjoyment, envy, esprit de corps, exaltation, excitement, exhilaration, expectation, exultation, fat city, felicity, firmness, fog, forbearance, foresight, forgetfulness, frame of mind, free will, fret, frustration, funk, fury, glee, gratification, grief, happiness, heart, heartbreak, heaven, hoopla, huff, humanity, humor, idiocy, impulse, indignity, insight, introspection, jealousy, joy, kick, lament/lamentation, letdown, levity, madness, mania, melancholy, merriment/merrymaking, mirth, monotony, mope, mortification, mourning, nausea, neglect, nervous breakdown, neurosis, objection, observance, obsession, optimism, outlook, panic, paroxysm, pathos, penance, perception, pessimism, pity, Pollyanna, pout, precognition, premonition, presence, psyche, push, qualm, rage, rapture, red herring, rejoice, repent, repose, resent, resignation, resolution, restlessness, ruckus, sadness, satisfaction, security, self-satisfaction, sensibility, sentiment, servitude, simmer, slump, solace, sorrow, soul-searching, status quo, strain, stress, surprise, sympathy, telepathy, temperament, tension, tolerance, torpor, trance, triumph, umbrage, unrest, vanity, waver, wonder, worry, zeal, zest

Attributes of Mentality: aback, absconder, absent-minded, absorbing, accustomed, affected, afraid, aghast, alert, amatory, angry, apathetic, apprehensive, assumed, attentive, averse, bad, beaten, believable, berserk, bewildered, bigoted, bleak, blue, breathless, broad-minded, brokenhearted, burning, captive, cautious, cheerful, chipper, clairvoyant, compassionate, concerned, confused, contemplative, contented, crabby/crabbed, crazy, cross, curious, daffy, dearly, dejected, delirious, depressed, desolate, desperately, disaffected, disbelieving, disconcerted, discontented/discontent, discouraging, disenchanted, disgusted, disillusioned, disinterested, dispirited, dissident, distressed, doleful, dotty, down, downcast, dumbfounded, elated, emotional, enamored, enraged, excited, exultant, fed up, firm, flushed, forgetful, forlorn, frenetic, frightened, fulfilled, furious, glad, gleeful, glum, grateful, grief-stricken, gut, half-baked, happily, hard, hard-boiled, harried, headstrong, heartsick, high, hopeful, huffy, hysterical, ill-tempered, impassioned, inattentive, inconsolable, indifferent, indiscriminate, insane, insecure, intent, interested, intoxicated, irate, irresolute, jaundiced, jovial, joyful/joyous, jubilant, keen, languid, lethargic, livid, lonesome, loony, low, lukewarm, mad, malleable, manic/maniacal, mental, mindful, mirthful, mixed-up, morbid, mournful, narrow-minded, nerveless, neurotic, new age, normal, numb, nuts/nutty, objectivity, observant, obsessed, off-guard, one-sided, on the fence, opposed/opposing, overjoyed, partial, pensive, pent-up, petrified, phlegmatic, platonic, pooped, predisposed, prepared, profound, provincial, psyched, psychological, pumped, punch-drunk, puzzled, rabid, radical, rapacious, realistic, regretful, restless, rigid, rueful, salacious, sanguine, saturnine, sectarian, self-assured, sensitive, sick, skeptical, small-minded, solicitous, sore, sorry, sound, spellbound, steady, strong, stupefied, sulky, susceptible, tearful, tender, testy, thirsty, thoughtless, tired, torn, tough, ugly, unbalanced, uncaring, uncommitted, undecided, unemotional, unfeeling, uninterested, unsound, untroubled, upbeat, versed, wacky, wary, weary, wide-awake, wishful, woebegone, wrathful, wretched

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary. Writing Resources PDFs

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary ⚜ Part 1 ⚜ Part 2

[nuttysaladtree]

No, no, no, you don't understand how much of a threat this is.

[Flashback to younger me and a senpai I barely know, about to board a plane for a school trip] Younger me: Oh btw i get motion sick Senpai I barely knew: (flails, grows extremely alarmed) Me: like sometimes. Me: the intensity varies. Me: i can get pretty motion sick but usually it's manageable. [hours later on the plane] Me: Hmmm... (puts hand over mouth, deep in thought) Senpai: You're not going to throw up, are you?! Me: ??? Me: ...nO??

DON'T fuck with ME you don't know what im capable of .... <- can easily get carsick within minutes of being in a moving car

[alexiroflife]

"power"

MDNI, fluff in a sick way, suggestive themes, true form!sukuna, just another late night sukuna thought sigh... he's evil as fuck

ryomen sukuna x reader

Synopsis: sukuna is a being that encapsulates the very essence of power, and you are smitten.

to sum it up: a brief overview of how intoxicating sukuna's power can be

WC: 2,177

Warning(s): romanticization of evildoings, a splash of freakuna smut, the reader is morally nutty, vulgar / slightly gory themes

There is a reason why Sukuna is crowned as The King of Curses. The, with a Capital, emboldened, italicized T.

The salmon-haired demon is a vessel for unimaginable, indescribable power, for the sample of just one of his twenty fingers is enough to attract hoards of curses within a one-hundred-mile radius and inspire mass chaos.

Sukuna is the evil of all evil, the very incarnation of wickedness and arrogance and death and destruction. With the snap of his fingers, at the very height of his strength, cities cave in and civilians burn. Streams of fire and flame reign down atop dismantled rubble and debris. Sukuna may swipe his hand swiftly to the left, and a head will sever itself with an invisible wire, toppling down from the victim's neck and rolling in a blood-splattered path to the devil's feet.

And as the horrified screams of witnesses arise, a dastardly smile curls its way onto his lips, twisting his features and baring his sharp canine teeth.

He revels in it. He revels in the raw, unbridled thrill that his actions inspire. The shrill cry of the mourning, the shrunken, shaky pupils of the petrified, the showers of blood that rain down over city streets at his will. He breathes it in, savors it, basks in the glow of his carnage, and finds himself vainly proud of his work.

He will take a bow for his audience of toppling skyscrapers and shrieking air raid sirens, a rumble of unhinged laughter fluttering through the smoggy air from his throat. His crimson eyes will glow, shining with enchantment and hunger for more disaster, more destruction, more of him strewn about the atmosphere. Sukuna basks in the aftermath of his rampages, soaking in the immense and almost unfathomable damage that he causes. That he has the ability to cause.

The salmon haired curse will breathe in deeply, sucking in all the air, and exhale in satisfaction of his unfathomable power.

There is nothing in this life or any other without power, and Sukuna faithfully believes in this sentiment. He admires strength, he seeks strength, and he embodies strength as well as the control that comes with remarkable levels of it.

And with this control, with this strength, and with this power comes those who envy it, those who fear it, and those who worship it. The latter is the very reason as to why Sukuna's name has reached every corner of the earth in every timeline. In his prime, Sukuna was a ruler, a king, Power incarnate. He is the curse of all curses, and because there can never be another Ryomen Sukuna, those who either lust over or quiver under his skill flock to serve him.

Sukuna remembers the rule of court, the vast number of servants and concubines at his disposal. Hell, to this day, he still looks to Uraume and sees what unyielding loyalty and respect can come from the power that he harbors. Sukuna could not ever possibly forget the influence of his skill, for it follows him into every time and into every place and into every stunned reaction he gets when sorcerers or non-sorcerers alike bear witness to his greatness.

A being like this has no humility, no empathy. Sukuna does not know what it is to lose, what it is to feel small, for he is by far one of the most powerful entities to roam the earth. He knows no struggle to survive.

And above all, a being like this does not know what it means to be undesired.

Women especially adore Sukuna for his talents, for power is an incredible aphrodisiac. It inspires the feminine urge to be dominated, to be led, to be protected. It breeds fantasies of lavish lives spent by his side, of living worry-free, solely to cater to a king's demands. Sukuna is attractive in an intimidating way, for his true presence is alien-like and massive yet enticing and intriguing. He is all muscle, strange, alluring demonic marks imprinted about his tan skin, and piercing eyes red as blood. He is wild hair, doubled limbs, and a seductive horror to look at but it is impossible to look away.

Back in the Heian Era, Sukuna had his fun with countless groveling, needy women. He would use them, soak up their lascivious affections, then throw them to the side to make room for more. To be a concubine for Ryomen Sukuna a millennium ago was considered a prize, but now, he does not think of them. For no amount of drooling from women could amount to the way you treat him.

And you... well, how would Sukuna describe you.

You are just as desperate as his old concubines, he would say, but you are proud in your desperation. The demon, in all his years, has never encountered a woman so devoted, so attached, so completely intoxicated with her love for him. Uraume would even agree, for you are head over heels enamored with the King of Curses, and he is sure that his power is one of many reasons to blame for your obsession.

And yes, you would admit so freely. There is something about his otherwordly spirit that draws you to him like a moth to a flame. You should have been scared of him after witnessing the horrors that he can commit, but instead, you would watch him lay siege to an entire city and feel your knees wobble in response.

Not out of fear, but of astonishment and hunger. He possesses skill that you have never seen anywhere before in your entire life, and though he puts that skill to heinous use, you don't care. You fawn over him, his mercilessness, how he can wipe out buildings and people alike with such ease, how a simple look into a victim's direction can send them screaming and begging for mercy, how even against the mightiest foe, he prevails, unscathed, undefeated.

God, you ache for it - for the most powerful of all time to tame you, to rattle you, to bore his eyes into your very soul and pick you apart from the inside. You want him to toss you about with his four burly arms yet seize you possessively as you watch the world burn at his hand. You want the thrill, the uncertainty, the flutter in your stomach paired with the anxious thumping of your heart when he'd gather you up with one hand and throw you over his shoulder, carrying you to your fate of punishment. You want him to put you in a your place, you want to please him, you want to stick beside him as his power reigns down over everyone beneath him.

How you love his strength, how you love his indifference, how you love the thought that he could break you at any second but would never dare to, not the way he would do so to others in an instant.

Sukuna, in turn, takes you very seriously because you do the same to him. You are his one. You exhibit fierce loyalty to him as if it's your calling, and Sukuna applauds that about you. In fact, it turns him on. The way you stare up at him with those big (e/c) eyes as bloody hands tug you to his chest by your waist, orbs twinkling with delight in awe. The way you praise him, follow him around, touch his arm, his face, and whatever it is he has resembling a soul.

You are stupid in loving him, and he likes it. He likes how unapologetic it makes you, how beautiful you look adoring him.

Fire rages in the background, sirens wailing and civilians sobbing as the two of you sway in each other's arms on the highest rooftop of the one tall building still standing.

You giggle as Sukuna raises your hand high in his to twirl you about, catching you by the small of your back and dipping you over the ledge. You squeal with glee, hair whipping about in the wind as lights the size of dots dance beneath you from the streets. Sukuna surveys you in this position, how close you are to death, safe only by his hold, and how you do not mind.

You look thrilled, a beam as bright as the sun gracing your face and your neck craning to tilt your head back even further, a freeing energy capturing your essence as your thigh hikes up to hook over his torso. He catches it, and bubbly laughter sprinkles from you again. You lift your hands from his shoulders and into the sky, closing your eyes and taking in the high breeze.

You're crazy, Sukuna thinks to himself as his lidded eyes mull you over. You are absolutely insane, inching yourself closer to a more than deathly fall by placing all of your trust in him, but it's not just that. You love this feeling, the risk of a lethal fate. You love the notion that it would only take one wrong move to let you go flying, plummeting down for what would feel like decades toward the concrete. You especially love that it is Sukuna controlling these stakes, holding you, dangling you, and god, you are fucking crazy but that is exactly what the demon loves about you.

He loves your nonsensical sense of adventure, your carelessness of death or life, your eagerness to place your life in such tainted hands. He loves how twisted your desires are, how you so long to be dominated by such an evil presence, to be enveloped into his chaos. It makes him yearn. It makes him crave you. And he does not know why, what it is about you that numbs him in turn.

Silently, slowly, like the tail of a venomous snake slipping around the abdomen tightly, Sukuna swoops his neck down to capture your lips in his. You immediately moan sweetly, flinging your arms up around his neck as he suspends you into the air, a pair of arms keeping you close to his bare chest and the other gripping your head. Your legs are around his side, locking as he ravages your mouth, slipping his tongue into your own and swirling about. You let it overpower yours as you let him take you in this kiss, his leg propping onto the ledge as he holds you for dear life over it.

You feel as though you are floating, gliding through the clouds as your lips tango with hell, and oh, how your heart lurches, your stomach flutters, and your legs shake. You are pathetic with desperation as Sukuna's teeth clash into yours, as a hand moves around your neck to keep your lips connected, to allow him to tilt his head and smother his lips into yours deeper, harder.

Clouds of smoke and the scent of ash dance around you, distant screams filling the tragic ambience. Both of you swoon.

It does not take long before Sukuna's lips are crushing down over your neck and ripping into your chest once they pop free from yours. Your jaw falls open as you help him tear your shirt apart as best as you can. Hot red marks sear into your skin, and Sukuna makes you hold his gaze as his fingers rush to your pants.

"Hold on as tight as you possibly can," he says, one set of arms holding you while the other strips you free. "Do not dare look away from me."

You nod dumbly, cloudy eyes stuck to his. You're so obedient. Desperately, dementedly compliant and Sukuna feels himself fall for you all the more, the animalistic urge to take and own you surging through his veins and down to his crotch.

You blink and suddenly, you're rounds of pounding in, head flopping about as Sukuna slams up into you, bouncing your body down onto his cocks mid-air. Your nails dig into his skin hard enough to draw the blood trickling down his back, your brows pinch upward, and your teary eyes hold his just like he had ordered them to. He growls, grunts, fucking tears his eyes away to duck down into you and bite down onto your neck. You scream, your cries of pleasure surging into the night sky above you and out across the wasted city, and you chant his name like it's the only prayer you know, leaking and clenching tightly around his monstrous girths.

Power. It is a dangerous thing. The power Sukuna holds over the world, over you, and the power you in turn have over him.

You would let Sukuna doom you, having spent a happy life of being in his presence. You would let him ruin your life, curse you, kill you, and you don't mind. You love him like he hung the moon and the stars, like he granted you life itself.

And Sukuna, the most powerful curse to inhabit the planet, the most evil entity that this universe could conjure, loves you and your fierce, brainless allegiance all the same.

[pricetagged]

raft of the leucothea

A little Kyle piece for the Gaz lovers 💖 to tide you over while I work on the Nikolai and the Price stuff.

Shipwrecked. Washed ashore, injured and sick, and thankfully not alone. A man called Kyle Garrick has washed ashore with you.

No big warnings, just some ever-so-slight dubcon naked cuddling (for survival!).

----------

The harsh, salty spray stung your cracked cheeks. Like clay left to bake in the sun, you felt the cracking and peeling of stinging flesh. But you felt it, that was the important thing.

Sunshine seared through your eyelids, a high noon wake-up call. Glowing ember-red, turning the sands to hot coal beneath you. You only had a second to process it before you rolled over, cramping muscles seizing in a paroxysm of a crawl as you hacked and coughed briny, burning seawater.

Alive then.

You were scared to open your eyes. You could pretend that they were crusted shut, sand and grit and god only knows what flaking over. Irritating, painful. A conjunctivitis of caustic circumstance. If you opened your eyes, it was real.

No, it was better as you were. A temporary balm to a blistering scald. Eyes-wide-shut, blind to the horrible damp marl and putrid air burning through your smarting nostrils. Sea life and smoke; pungent enough to turn your stomach once more.

You moaned as you collapsed on the shore, skin-fever hot and itching. Grit and shell-shards dug in, piercing your sensitive flesh. Clinging, burrowing. Discomfiting. Like the discordant memories swimming to the surface, all driftwood and screams and kicking, aching feet.  

There was no more screaming.

The waves lapped at the shore, a gentle balmy breeze carrying the soft sloshing of surf. Hazy popping and crackling accompanied it, a paradisiac white noise that scrambled your sluggish thoughts. Your eyes fluttered open. Temporarily blind from solar glare, you blinked moisture back. Tried to, at least. You were parched, eyes-dry and throat drier.

Perhaps you expected to see devastation. Destruction. Flotsam and jetsam and bodies strewn along the beach. There was a fire, yes, but it was not from the casket of the ship. Debris visible, but neat. Collected and organized into tidy little piles by a great smoking fire. Through the heat-haze of the flames, you spotted a flash of green: fresh leaves. Gaseous white billowed up; perfect for maximum visibility.

"Ah, you're awake." A shadow fell over you, gentle hands supporting your back until you were somewhat upright. "Here, you'll need this."

You grimaced as your cracked lips crinkled around the fruit, harsh little fibres stabbing in. But the relief–

Light, nutty, refreshing. You guzzled it down, big greedy slurps as your hands raised to cup it closer, throat constricting as you lost your breath–

"Hey, hey, slow down," the stranger spoke, easily plucking the coconut from your shaky fingers. "You'll make yourself sick. Again."

"Thanks." You could at least croak out your gratitude, squinting to get a better look at him. "The others–?"

He was gorgeous, dark eyes and eyebrows slanted into the perfect expression of concern. He looked surprisingly normal, given the circumstances. Only a slight split on his full lips, a smear of sand crusted into his curls, marred his handsome face. You watched as his mouth twisted, as he rolled his neck glanced away. A grimace, more telling than words.

"Just you, me, the sand and the coconuts. Paradise cruise, eh?" He finally spoke, nose scrunching as the joke came out a little flat.

It wasn't a shock, but it was jarring all the same. Though you swallowed, your voice came out thick. "At least you're here. Wouldn't have gotten this open by myself."

It was feeble, words half swallowed as survivor's guilt and gallows humour met and warred. A dysfunctional marriage of relief and self-reproach curdled the coconut water in your stomach. A third player entered; unease. Anxiety, sending your heart rate spiralling high as your breaths grew shallow. Something stung your eyes, and you couldn't entirely blame the smoking fire–

"Hey, hey, look at me," You couldn't look away, not from his steady, unwavering gaze. Beautiful. Like sunlight filtered through whiskey, warm and soothing. "Breathe as I breathe– in, out, in– hold it– okay, out. That's right, that's perfect–"

He talked you through it, brought your trembling, clumsy fingers to his chest as he breathed in counts of eight. Kept his palm over your hand, cupped it against the rise and fall of his ribs. You could feel the firmness of his muscles beneath, feel the way his heart beat a steady rhythm just below your fingertips, and slowly, you relaxed into it.

Your cheeks were wet. You realised that around the same time you realised his other hand was rubbing ataractic circles on your back. A shameful emollient, setting you at ease but lowering your gaze. Here, in the arms of this stranger, who were you? Troublesome castaway, retching on the beach as he built a signal fire. Slurping down the fruit that he offered, then crying in his arms–

"Stop that," His hand paused between your should blades, chin tucked as he leaned down to catch your gaze. "You're doing so well, love. Bit of a fucked up situation we're in here."

"How are you so calm? How are you so organised? I feel like I'm going to drift away like–like–"

The hand at your back pushed you forward, pressing until you were draped across his lap. He rocked you, stubble against your temples as he shushed and soothed. Analgesic whispers that slackened your tight limbs, sent eyelids fluttering until you slipped into slumber. Mind numb, docked in restful harbours.

-----------------

When you woke up, you were hot. Shivering, teeth-chattering, but hot. You could no longer smell the fire, but you could feel it against your bare skin. Toasty, crackling embers smouldering and making you sweat.

The fever slowed your mind, too. Thoughts turned to sluggish, sticky mulch as you nuzzled into the strong bicep supporting your neck. His skin was smooth, slightly tacky where it met yours, and you whined a little as you tried to pull away.

But moving sent your head spinning, aching muscles seizing until all you could do was cry.

"You're alright, just sleep. Don't move–"

"My clothes," you slurred the words, heavy and sticky on your tongue. Crystallising like spoiled honey, you tried to spit them out faster, but they just dripped. Molasses-slow, and murky. Confused. "I'm not– my clothes are– what–?"

"I took them off you–shh, shh– They were tattered anyway, we'll need to dig through the piles and see what we can repair." You felt his arm flex below you, rolling your head until it was resting on the pillow of his chest. You tried to open your eyes, but the image was hazy. Like looking through seaglass. "It's cold here at night, freezing. The fire's good, but body heat's best."

"'m too hot– feel too–"

"Yeah, noticed you weren't just cold when you wouldn't stop shivering," his forearm banded around your squirming body, pinning you to his. "I know, baby, I know. It's not nice. Gonna try to sweat it out of you. Don't exactly have the luxury of good food and medicine."

His voice was pitched low, sweet. It made you want to cry, mind adrift and body at his mercy. Holiday turned tragedy, swallowed up by the sea and spat up on the beach like refuse. Control slipped through your fingers, finer and more fickle than the sands below and all you could do was cry.

You felt his fingers, whisper-soft, stroking through the ends of your salty, parched hair. Your tears dripped down, soaking into your flushed cheeks and the sparse, scratchy hairs on his chest. He paused for a beat, fingers swiping over your damp forehead. Whisps pushed away until you felt a butterfly kiss against your clammy forehead. Quick and gentle and fleeting.

Small waves kissed the beach, too. Susurrus, splashing caresses that almost sent you drifting off again. The rumble of his voice tickled your cheek, made you blink slowly until you could make out his face through bleary eyes.  

"It's just you and me and this island," He spoke it softly, sting mollified by surety. Bittersweet ointment for a distressing prognosis. "I've got you; I'll take care of you. I promise."

Your answer was faint. "What if no-one comes for us?"

His arms curled tighter around you, twisted until you were splayed atop him. In another time, another place, you'd be flustered by the open splay of your legs, bare against his lean waist. Here, shame withered away, fizzled out. Ephemeral as seafoam.

"I told you, I'll take care of you. Rescue or not, it's you and me now."

Later, you'd blame delirium, fever dream-fugue, for how the words echoed in your mind. 'Just you and me.'

You and him, and the island.

-----------

[bruisedboys]

shy!reader who’s always a little anxious and hesitant to show affection but one day initiates by asking remus if he wants a kiss and he’s all giddy but she meant a chocolate kiss and she gets red and blushy

eek thank you so much this is so so cute! sorry it took me so long angel. hope u enjoy 💗

remus lupin x fem!reader modern au

You tip your gift bag upside down over the coffee table, colourful foil-wrapped chocolates spilling out across the wooden surface. Your boss at work had a bunch of sweets left over from her kid’s birthday party and had opted to give them all out to her colleagues. Lucky you, you’re one of her favourites. You’re pretty sure your bag was stuffed full the most.

You dig through your goods, sorting them into piles of different flavours and types, and then your favourites and Remus’ favourites. Speaking of, your boyfriend sits across from you on the one-seater couch, immersed in his writing. The laptop screen paints him paler than usual but no less handsome. You know you’ve struck lucky with him and just looking at him from across the room makes your heart race. You like him so much it’s sick.

You pick through the pile of chocolates deemed Remus’ favourites. There’s lots of dark chocolate, a few nutty bars and multiple Hershey’s kisses.

Without thinking (well, you are thinking, but just about how much you like Remus and want to give him something he’ll love), you speak up into the silence.

“Remus? Do you want a kiss?”

To your credit, you are holding up a silver-wrapped Hershey’s kiss in your hand. To Remus’ credit, he doesn’t see it until his head has snapped up so fast you’re worried he’s cracked his neck, eyes wide and lips parted.

“What?” He asks.

You realise your mistake almost immediately. Heat flares behind your cheeks.

“A Hershey’s,” you correct yourself, embarrassed beyond measure. You hold it up for him to see. “A Hershey’s kiss.”

Remus’ eyebrows lower significantly and his wide eyes soften.

“Oh,” he says softly. “Yeah, okay.” He smiles at you and you miss the mischief, too flustered from your slip up. “Bring it over here for me?”

You’re happy to. You get out of your seat, grabbing an extra couple of Hershey’s for good measure. You stop in front of his knees and hold the chocolates out to him.

He smiles and takes them from you, calloused fingers brushing your soft palm. “Thank you, lovely girl,” he says, lifting his chin so he can look you in the eyes.

You smile back. “That’s okay,” you say, moving to return to your seat. Remus doesn’t let you. He leans over his laptop, the screen digging into his chest, and bracelets your wrist with his lean fingers.

“Hold on,” he says, and now you pick up on the mischief in his tone, now that he’s got you trapped. He pulls you in between his legs and you know you’re not getting away until he lets you. “I’d like a real kiss too, if that’s okay.”

Heat blooms all over your face, creeping up your neck like a rash. “Remus,” you say, in what’s supposed to be a complaining tone but instead makes you sound like you’re a lovesick fool. You are, but. He doesn’t need to know that.

“What?” He grins. “I’m serious, dove. Please?”

It’s his please that gets you. You would’ve given him one anyway, but when he’s practically begging you, you’d rather die than not kiss him.

“Fine,” you say, more breathless than you’d like to be.

You lean over him and kiss him quick and sweet, trying not to linger though you desperately want to. Remus has other ideas. His hand curls around your neck, warm and heavy, and holds you against his mouth while he kisses you properly. Your lips part from the pressure, Remus’ thumb pushing into the hair at the back of your neck.

You’re barely breathing by the time you pull away. Cheeks hot, heart hammering. Remus smiles at you, looking not nearly as disheveled as you feel. Unfair.

“Thanks,” he tells you. “If you’ve got any more to give me, let me know.”

You both know he doesn’t mean chocolates.

[rye-kin]

I’ve been very sick and tired lately ngl,,,while I was like this I finally got around to watching the 90s nutty professor after watching a very bad copy of the 1963 vers back in 2020 (dw recently rewatched a better copy)…

BUT I DIGRESS! Anyway, ignoring all the uncomfortable bits in that film there are sm little details that r lowkey cute and plus it’s funny ash when it’s not uncomfortably joking about the main chars weight LMAO, I will say though at times it handles the issue well?? Idk guyths it’s weird…but to the actual point I LOVE BUDDY LOVE YO he’s so funny, and loud and everybody was tryna kill him let that man live I like him!!!

that’s it atm, he was so entertaining I needed more screen time w him, one of my favorite hyde/hyde-esque char ever!!! But here’s a bunch of doodles, some insp by Eddie’s performance and others js because I love hyde getting so happy he throws his arms up and starts screaming, yessir…

[remotewatch]

nothing but a sentence 🩸

Jack Schlossberg x reader | 1.8k wc

summary: period sex with jack for anon ‼️ hope you enjoy lovely 🤍

cw: period sex, period head, certified boyfriend material jack, domestic bliss, whereee did all this fluff come from, sacrilege if you squint, messy eating, unprotected sex (VOTE IF YOU WANNA RECREATE ETC ETC), shoutout to my darling editor Sabrina @mystardustmelodyyy for saving this from limbo 🙏

minors dni get off my lawn

At this point in the relationship, Jack manages your period more than you do. You tend to forget that it requires actually going out and purchasing supplies unless he calls you from the pharmacy to complain.

“Why would they stop carrying ultras? That’s so fucked up! And the boxes are getting smaller, it’s sick what they’re doing to you guys!” It’s too easy to picture him waltzing around with three cases of san pellegrino under one arm and an overflowing snack basket in the other, phone pressed between his ear and shoulder while he yaps about pink taxes.

“Do you want canned or fresh lychee? Never mind, I’ll get both.” he decides before you can respond. “Did you want anything else?”

“I want to sleep,” you mumble. You were currently being throttled on two fronts by nauseating cramps and a vicious migraine, leaving no energy left to manage his shopping list. It was hard enough just to reach and grab the ibuprofen without alerting your uterus that you had moved, yet he’s still talking as you doze off:

“We’ve got edibles and melatonin in the cabinet, but I’ll get some mag glycinate, and are you SURE you don’t need…”

“Dealer’s choice, I trust your judgement,” you murmur. “When will you be home?”

“Alright, fair enough. I’ll be back around 6.”

“See you then. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

He finds you wrapped in two heating pads, face pressed into the couch, full water glass in the same spot he left it on the coffee table.

“I feel like I just died,” you groan, rubbing your eyes and tentatively stretching your legs.

“Come on, you gotta hydrate,” Jack rustles through the grocery bags looking for a loose water bottle with a sport cap before pressing it against your mouth. He frowns and doesn’t take it out when you try to move away.

“At least half a glass, come on. I’m following orders here.” He’s very gentle not to flood your mouth and make you cough, but you can see his eyes flicker down to watch your lips wrap around the cap (he’s only human, after all).

“Thank you,” you croak when he finally sets it down, voice slightly less raspy than before.

“Do you want a tea? I’m making you a tea.”

He’s off rustling through the kitchen for the ginger lemon amid the boxes of just ginger or just lemon, but despite his best efforts, the noise is killing you. Every shut drawer sounds like a door slamming with this headache, and Jack sounds like he’s still speaking into your ear even though he’s mainly talking to himself.

“And I’ll get started on dinner-what would you like? I’ll figure something out, don’t worry. Oh, also! I got those vaseline body balm rollers you like.”

Your eyes shoot wide open and light up as he trots over to hand you your treat.

“Oh my god, and you found the cocoa butter kind! You’re the best!”

The rich, nutty scent of the balm floods the room when you unscrew the top and gives you a second wind. This and a shower will fix you for sure, just as soon as you can make your way to the bathroom.

Jack fills in the blanks as soon as you look back up at him apprehensively and start with the vague gesturing and “would you mind…”

“Of course not. There’s no need for you be walking right now, that would be crazy!” If you weren’t in so much pain, you’d be swooning at the way he effortlessly scoops you up and walks over to set you down on the glossy teak shower stool (a million percent worthwhile at times like this).

“Do you want any more help in there?” It sounds like a joke, but you know he’d wash you in a heartbeat if you asked. You can’t help matching his smile.

“I think I’ve got it handled.”

“I’ll put dinner on, then.”

When you emerge, your headache has all but subsided, and while you’re still pretty out of it, the heat has done wonders for your cramps and stiffness. You can’t be bothered to do anything but throw on a pair of thinx and flop down onto the bed, slathering on more of your new balm just to keep smelling it.

Jack knocks at the open bedroom door with your tea and a fresh glass of water.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were baking in here,” he teases as sets them on the nightstand. “Dinner is on in 30 by the way.”

The idea of leaving your bed right now sounds about as appealing as getting all your teeth pulled, but you’d never dream of eating on the scrumptious new Matouk linens; the utter disrespect!

“Can you just put me back to sleep instead?”

“Sure, of course. You want a gummy or-“

“Jack!”

“Right, got it!” And he’s skittering off to grab a vibe and towel while you untangle yourself from heating pad cords.

Jack is nearly skipping coming back from the hallway closet with a fistful of toys before rolling you as little as possible to tuck the towel under your lower half. As soon as he’s back within reach, you grab a handful of his hair and drag him down to kneel next to you. He nods at the pile of silicone on the nightstand as he playfully snaps at your elastic: “Are we feeling manual or automatic?”, but you’re already bucking your hips up to shove the underwear down your thighs and wincing at the sudden movement.

“You ok?” He drops the playful tone immediately and furrows his brow in concern. You throw your arm out to grab a toy at random, landing on a satisfier. Perfect.

“Ask me again in ten minutes,” you sigh dramatically to lighten the mood, but you’re still not feeling great.

“Roger that,” Jack bites back a smug grin -as if he’s ever needed all ten- and crawls gingerly into bed to snake one arm under your waist and accept the toy with the other.

It has to be some sort of sick joke how you’re this unbelievably sensitive when you still feel so shitty. Every single nerve ending in your clit is humming in tandem with the pulses of the satisfier; the delicious sensations ricochet up and down your body enough that even your eye sockets feel tingly.

He’s entirely absorbed in making you cum and tuned into every move you make, still glancing up now and then to check for any hint of discomfort. As much as he’s committed to pleasing you, he can’t conceal the blush creeping up his neck and down from his temples, nor his ragged breathing. There’s barely enough time to acclimate and enjoy it before you feel yourself getting drawn right over the edge.

“You’ve got it-don’t fucking move-so good to me, Jack, fuck-thank you,”

You screw your eyes shut on pure instinct while your orgasm rolls through; one of your hands fumbles for purchase in his curls as he mouths sloppily over your breasts. When you manage to take another peek at him, his eyes are all crinkled up like he’s smiling while his mouth remains focused on the task at hand. A little tug on his hair and he’s cheerily licking his way down your abdomen, really letting his tongue drag so he has more time to grind against your thigh. You can already feel the wet spot forming on his boxer briefs, such a romantic!

“Having fun down there?” you purr. Jack jerks his head up, revealing a red splotch on the point of his chin.

“God, yes. Can I lick you? Please?” You’d think he’s the one who’d just came from how breathy he sounds. You cross your ankles between his shoulder blades and readjust your grip on his hair.

“Always.”

For once, Jack shows some restraint eating you. It’s all broad, slow licks in time with your heartbeat; he falls right into a natural rhythm that reminds you of crashing waves. His fingers lace together across your stomach like he’s praying, and each adoring exhale only adds to the effect. Every time he dives back in after catching his breath, a new drip flows out hot and coppery to coat him from the nose down. It’s such a perfect mess; the harsh-edged, gleaming paint job stretching ear to ear and the little smear between his eyebrows make him look like he’s been baptized in your blood.

It’s a wonder he can even hear your faint whispers of “Jack, just-just fuck me, please,” over how shamelessly he’s dragging his face through you, but he’s always been something of a miracle worker.

There’s a long, indulgent slurp like a bathtub finishing draining that makes your thoughts blur around the edges before he allows you to pull him off you and slide your feet languidly under his shorts. You’re way too sleepy to be of much help, but he’s happy to shove the waistband low enough to tuck under his balls and half wipe his mouth with the back of his hand as he crawls back up to you.

The blood pools sluggishly towards the high points of Jack’s face, and a drop splatters onto your cheek before he can stop it. Without hesitation, he swoops down to lap it up and kiss a fainter mark in its place. Barely audible, you somehow remember to pant a reminder into his ear.

“You just gotta be careful right now, my cervix is like-”

“-right up front, I remember. I gotcha, no worries,” he presses another sticky kiss to your temple as he pushes halfway in, abs clenching to keep from slipping too deep. He’s delightful as always, but each thrust is winding your nerves tighter, making your clit ache just as much as the rest of you. Fumbling once again at the nightstand, you find another vibe designed to rest snugly between you two so he’s got both hands free to rest his chin on, just rocking away while he watches you drift off. When he hits at just the right angle, you back bows up hard enough to audibly crack in relief. Those waves of relaxation mixing with the constant rumbling from the toy overwhelm you once again, dissolving what’s left of your discomfort and tugging you towards unconsciousness.

Jack can’t hold himself back when he feels you practically sucking him back in on every outstroke, and a brazen whine bursts from his throat as he pulls out, freeing a gush of pink tinged cum. It only feels natural to lean up to kiss him and lap the residual streaks from around his lips.

“Feel better?” he sighs against you, grinning so wide the drier patches on his dimples crack and start to flake off onto the towel.

“So much better,” your words slur together, and the rest of your thoughts scatter once your heads falls back onto the pillow

“You want a hot washcloth?”

“Mmmm,” It takes you a second to piece the simple sentence together; you’re still blinking away the residual stars from your vision.

“In ten minutes?”

[silkspiderrr]

Feedist kinktober #5: Witch's brew

You lean back into the pillows as she puts the heavy flask to your lips.

"Don't worry, you just stop drinking when you're happy with your weight."

she reassures you with a sly smile.

"Pretty simple, right?"

You fail to be completely reassured, but it's too late now.

She tilts the bottle ever so slightly.

You twinge a bit when it suddenly hits your mouth, heavy and thick but perfectly smooth. You let it pool in your mouth while you work up the courage to swallow, and once you do the full experience begins to hit you.

Intense flavours unfold in the back of your throat and work their way forward; creamy, honey-sweet, nutty, flowery is what you think as you try to describe it. An unusual warm tingling sensation spreads through your mouth and throat. Intoxicating.

The next gulp is instinctual and you shiver as the flavours seem to intensify and get more complicated: hints of tea, chocolate, pine, nougat... folding in on themselves and tingling your senses. The thick, velvety substance fills your mouth and plays with your tongue. You pick up the rythm and swallow another large mouthful.

"It's good isn't it?"

Good is a laughable understatement.

You drink the liquid down with a fervor bordering on desperation. It's thick in your throat, and tingles all the way down, landing heavily in your stomach like concrete. You feel the skin of your belly brush against the fabric of your clothes and you notice how full you are. Unable to look down you feel it with your hands; round and taut, somehow already fuller than you've ever been.

"Very good" she coos.

You drink deeply and sheepishly.

The weight in your belly feels good.

The flavours seems to grow and climb, up your spine, clouding your mind, tethering on the edge of overstimulation.

"You're taking it very well."

She tilts the flask further.

An uneasiness washes over you.

You have no idea how much is too much and the heaviness in your stomach is beginning to turn unpleasant. Suddenly the sweetness is sickening and overwhelming.

You slow down as you start to feel queasy, holding your protesting abdomen for comfort. It's so much and it's so heavy and you feel like you're going to be sick.

"Don't worry, you can take a bit more."

Your stomach growls and trembles under your fingers, you briefly feel like you're going to be unwell; then with a sudden loud gurgle your mind goes briefly blank as a feeling of deep relief washes over you.

"Theeere it is..."

It's as if somebody removed a plug from your stomach and a pleasant warm feeling begins to spread throughout your whole body.

Instantly, once again the sickly sweet becomes good, the heaviness becomes comforting, and drinking becomes irresistable.

"Good, good..." She coos.

"You're doing wonderfully."

Each gulp sends a shockwave of pleasure throughout your entire body. You can't help but let your hands wander.

Your clothes are beginning to feel uncomfortable. At first you think it's the heat, but then you start to realize how tight they are.

You place your hands on your hips.

You can feel the flesh pulse with every mouthful, noticeably bulging, swelling under your fingers.

Your eyes roll back as the sensations flood your mind.

The witch laughs.

"Does it feel good?"

It does.

Tight fabric digging into warm, growing meat. You eagerly trace the roundness of your now luxurious curves, you bob the plump flesh of your developing gut, and you marvel at the unexpected heft of your body as you shift it around to get more comfortable.

"My my, don't you just look delicious!"

You keep on drinking.

You are definitely beyond the body you set out to attain but you never want this feeling to stop.

You hazily note the seams of your once loose clothes coming apart. The painful constriction of the fabric giving way to relief as buttons begin to pop and your body spills out victoriously.

"So eager and greedy!"

The witch climbs over you, resting her body on your pillowy gut to better hold the flask.

"Careful now, I don't think they make clothes upwards of this size." She teases, prodding you with her leg.

As if you could ever stop.

You wonder how much could possibly be in that bottle, it feels like an impossible amount. Could it be infinite? Could you be stuck like this forever?

You feel her pointy elbows digging into your swelling flesh, so sensitive now.

"Such a good fat plum pudding."

You feel yourself spilling out amongst the pillows, your entire body a playground for new sensations.

Wave after wave of delicious fat washes over you, each one bringing a new level of ecstacy building onto the last, swelling into a gluttonous crescendo of physical pleasures.

Suddenly your mouth is empty.

"Wow! I can't believe you finished the whole bottle." The witch says with feigned surprise.

You lick the rim to catch the last droplets.

The witch bites her lower lip and traces circles along your belly.

"Very nice..."

She grabs and squeezes your lovehandles.

"Are you satisfied?" She smirks.

You manage a modest burp before desperately blurting out the only coherent word your dopamine riddled brain can deign to conjure up at the moment:

"More?"

[veritas-scribblings]

clothes - @moonwater-microfic - words: 640 [explicit / NSFW]

[partner piece to: illegal]

The first time Remus did it, he’d almost been sick with shame.

He’d been twenty-one at the time and living alone on the charity of his best friends. Unfortunately for him, despite how well he had performed on his NEWT examinations, ‘lycanthropy’ will never be a much sought after post-Hogwarts qualification. So shame had been an already familiar a companion to him, thick and dense and heavy and stifling in its weight.

Remus had come into possession of the jumper through mere happenstance. When Regulus had one day appeared in the cafe that Remus had frequented and had left it on a chair. Remus hadn’t know what had possessed him to take it. Perhaps the mere hope that, somehow, happenstance would lead him to reuniting Regulus with his jumper?

But weeks had passed, and Regulus hadn’t reappeared, and the jumper had lived on the couch in Remus’s apartment, taunting him.

It’s had just been after midnight, days before the full moon was to arrive, when Remus had awoken with a fire in his blood and the feral snarl of a wolf in his chest. He had been a marionette to his urges, a mere visitor in his own body, when the jumper had found its way into his hands and Remus back to his bed. And suddenly he’d been a teenager again, sixteen-years-old, plagued by and drowning in that heady scent. The deep, earthy nuttiness of it. The drop of vanilla, the hint of spice that is Regulus in its entirety. The way it would shoot through his body straight for his groin at the most public and inconvenient of times.

He had been sixteen again, awoken by the intensity of his own arousal, so inflamed and consumed, and so ashamed he'd almost been sick with it. He had been sixteen again, managing everything the only way he knew how. And when he had finally come, embarrassingly quickly, with a cry in his throat and a wolf in his chest and his face buried in the jumper, drowning in the scent, he had been sick with it all.

“Remus.”

Remus gasps for air, because he is drowning, drowning, drowning in the depths, too far gone to care very much for his own demise.

He is not sixteen anymore. He is not even twenty-one anymore. The scent of it all is familiar, dizzying against a backdrop of comforting, and the wolf that resides in his chest is more subdued these days. But sometimes, as the full moon approaches and he’s waded too deep into the ocean that is that scent, he is still feral with it.

It’s just that he’s mostly made peace with everything, these days.

Remus grips his length and strokes himself, feeling the thrum of pleasure vibrate through the entirety of his body. Buries his face in the soft merino wool. Inhales sharply: the earthy scent he loves so much that reminds him of newly cut grass and freshly tilled soil. Inhales so sharply he thinks the scent that is Regulus might just live in his pores, that he might ownitkeepit.

“Remus.”

Remus knows that voice. He recognises the upper baritone timbre of it. But the wolf in his chest is waking from its month-long slumber, and he knows now to give over to it. For a moment only. Just for now. He twists his wrist at the apex of his stroke to rub his palm over the swollen, leaking head of his arousal. Chokes out a groan that’s almost a growl. He grips the soft, merino fabric of Regulus’s jumper and inhales sharper again.

Clawing himself deeper and deeper into expanse of scent that is the territory he’s prowled for years and years, now. So deep into the depths of it that he knows, when he reaches the bottom, he’ll shatter entirely.

And shatter he does.

“Remus.”

“Regulus…”