#age modification

[gabessquishytum]

I think this is relevant to your interests...

https : // www . tumblr.com/transarsonist/750294823004749824/i-didnt-think-i-had-that-much-of-a-piercing-kink?source=share

imagine the third one with dreamling especially 🥵🥵🥵

Oh FUUUUCK yeah these are. Hot. Here's the clickable link btw.

So Hob has been doing piercings and tattoos for a long time, he's got a rented spot in a parlour at the rough end of town. He's kind of well known in the area; gets in fights sometimes, but also a decent guy. Well, mostly decent.

Cute little Dream comes in - he's a rich boy still living with his family and he wants a whole bunch of piercings to say "fuck you" to his mother and father. He's 18, so it's all good - but he doesn't have much spare cash. So he's looking to cut a deal with Hob. Expecting that maybe he can suck the piercer off in exchange. He's done worse things and Hob is kind of hot, on closer inspection.

It's passed closing time, so they're all alone where Dream shimmies out of his clothes and climbs into Hob’s lap. He's decided he wants his nipples done first. He can hide them easily. It also means that Hob can make him cockwarm while having his chest at the perfect height to pierce him. Dream’s never actually gone this far before but he keeps quiet until he's being roughly fingered open - that's when he starts whimpering and begging Hob to be nice to him. Hob just grins, hushes him, and starts getting the gun ready.

Poor Dream cries so sweetly when Hob pulls him down onto his big thick cock, then makes him sit still while he's sterilised and pierced. It hurts really bad, but that just makes Dream feel more horny and desperate. Hob is keeping him still with a hand on the back of his neck, and Dream is convinced that he's going to die from overestimation. When Hob eventually cums inside him Dream sobs because it feels so good, and now Hob has marked him. He'll never be the same.

And a week later he's back for more. More piercings sure, but mostly he just wants Hob to fuck him again. He's been fingering himself every day but it just isn't the same..... maybe this time he'll actually notice the decorations on Hob’s cock. Or maybe he's just too eager to get it inside his hole, and he'll have to feel the decorations instead. Either way, Hob has a new favourite client.

[whumpcereal]

behavior modification, a valentine special

hi! long time, no see. i was home sick from work today and marathoning valentine movies, so here's some sentimental jack and joe for you. part of behavior modification (masterlist here), takes place sometime in the first year after jack's rescue, during his lawsuit against WRU for his freedom.

content warnings for: trauma responses, references to past noncon, tooth-rotting fluff

future snippet, sealed with a kiss

“Is this for your special someone?” 

The clerk’s smile is impossibly large; if she smiles any wider, Joe is convinced her face will crack. He understands. She’s probably asked this question at least seventy-five million times in the last week, and it’s a pointless one. Valentine cards are a perfunctory part of being in a relationship. Even if you don’t think your someone is all that special, you still buy them a card because that’s what the day demands. It’s part of the reason Joe never really cared about Valentine’s Day before. The forced displays of affection, the candy pink sheen of it all–it never seemed to reflect the kind of love Joe knew to be true. 

But this year, it’s different. This year, the clerk’s question isn’t so pointless. Joe looks down at the red envelope in his hand, and he cannot hide his own smile. “Yes, it is. Someone very special.” 

“Well, I’m sure she’ll love it!” the clerk sing-songs back. With a pop of her gum, she grabs the card and scans it. 

Joe doesn’t correct her. At least, not overtly. “I hope he does,” he says softly, but the clerk doesn’t look up. 

They never really celebrated Valentine’s Day before. Sure, Joe liked to rage against the consumer machine, but it was really Jack’s doing. Jack was indifferent, or, at least, he pretended to be. The truth was gift-giving occasions always made him a little uncomfortable. In Jack’s mind, gifts were offered only as part of a fucked-up trade; something he might want for something he certainly didn’t want to give. Joe had learned that the hard way. 

They had been seeing each other maybe a month at the time, but Jack was already spending most of his nights at Joe’s place, even if they hadn’t quite consummated their relationship yet. Joe didn’t know at the time that Jack had basically been squatting in the library study carrels and showering at the fitness center, but even if he had, he was more than happy to have Jack with him as much as possible. 

It had been a hard week. Jack was marking exams as well as taking his own, and Joe had been preparing for a conference; neither of them had come up for air in days. But when the grades were submitted and the presentation finalized, Joe thought they should celebrate. He thought he’d surprise Jack, and he brought home an expensive bottle of champagne and flowers. 

Jack had paled when Joe handed him the roses. “What are these for?” he’d asked. 

“For you, silly. For getting through this bear of a week.” Because I love you, Joe had thought but not said. It was too early. But he kissed Jack’s cheek, because that was something he was allowed to do. It made his body feel electric.

But when he pulled away, Jack was still staring at the roses. “Thank you.” He didn’t sound particularly thankful. 

“Are you okay?” 

A vacant nod. “Yeah. They’re beautiful. Thank you.” Jack set the roses down and turned toward the pantry. “Let me just get dinner started, and then–” 

“You don’t have to make dinner tonight, Jack.” It was before Jack was his Jackie. Before Joe knew what he knows now. “I thought we could kick back and relax. Celebrate.” 

“Of course,” Jack said softly, his chin dipping into the hollow of his throat. “Of course we’ll celebrate. I’ll take care of you.” 

Joe knows that tone of voice now. The faraway note that lets him know Jack is falling back into old habits, a tone that, these days, precipitates a whispered sir. But he didn’t know then.

He didn’t see the way that Jack gnawed on his lip for a split second before he launched himself bodily at Joe, their hips crashing together, Jack’s hands in Joe’s hair. Joe fumbled to set the champagne on the counter behind him, to wrap his hands around Jack’s waist, but Jack’s fingers were already plucking open Joe’s shirt buttons, his mouth close behind. Jack was on his knees so quickly that Joe wasn’t sure what was happening. 

“Jack–ohmygod, Jack.” 

It was everything Joe wanted, but he didn’t know yet that it wasn’t what Jack wanted. Not until he’d looked down and seen tears squeezing from Jack’s pruned eyelids. 

“Jack?” 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I can’t, I just–I know you deserve it. I know what you want. I’ll try again. I’m sorry.” 

It was then that Joe realized. The flowers. The champagne. Jack assumed they were all part of a transaction. 

Jack told him everything that night. About Bill and the others. And Joe learned. He never surprised Jack that way again. Even after Jack came home from WRU–no, especially then–Joe tried to avoid surprises. For Jack, tokens of affection were part and parcel of an economy where he was the commodity. Joe doesn’t want him to feel that way, not ever again. 

But a card. A card is different. 

Joe knows about WRU’s training protocol now. Jack is lucky. Those bastards may have burrowed their poison into his brain, but he still has his words; he can still read. It was one of the only things that gave him comfort when he came home. Books were some of the only things he didn’t ask to touch. Joe understands. Words matter more than things. 

The clerk pops her gum again. “You want a bag and a gold seal?” 

“No, that’s all right.” Joe manages to stop short of telling her that he’s going to seal this one with a kiss. 

“Well, have a happy Valentine’s day, sir.” 

“I will. Thank you.” 

The card is in its envelope when Joe lets himself into the apartment, and Jack is in the kitchen. The apartment is fragrant with a warm, red wine smell. Joe tiptoes to stand in the cheap stucco archway. He watches the way Jack’s basketball short-clad hips move softly to the old fashioned jazz that’s coming from the speaker on the counter. His body is shyer somehow, more tentative in its movements, but still lithe and beautiful. Jack is still Jack, even after everything he’s been through. 

Joe lets out a low whistle, and Jack turns, a pasta server in his hand and a shy smile on his lips. Joe’s knees practically buckle. 

“You’re home,” Jack says. 

“I’m home, baby.” Joe moves into the kitchen, and when Jack offers his lips, Joe takes them, resting a soft hand on Jack’s hip. “What are you making?” 

“Red wine pasta with toasted walnuts and arugula,” Jack says easily. He kisses Joe’s jawline. 

“I know what one of those things is.” 

Jack laughs. “My gourmand.” 

“Or something!” 

“How was your day, Joey?” Jack disengages slowly and goes to pour Joe a glass of wine. 

It’s a difficult question some days. Jack’s days are so different from Joe’s. He isn’t allowed to leave the apartment without supervision until the litigation with WRU is over. Until it’s done, Jack is still technically Joe’s property. But only technically. Joe reminds himself of that every day. 

“It was alright. I missed you.” But it’s easier now. Now, Joe has far fewer opportunities to miss his Jackie. 

Jack smiles, sneaking a sip from the glass before he hands it to Joe. “I missed you too.” 

Joe raises his glass and leans back against the cheap countertop. “I would’ve been home earlier, but I had to make a special stop.” 

Jack is back at the stove. He upends the wine bottle into a sauce pan, and a cloud of rich steam rises in its wake. “Why’s that?” 

“I wanted to get you a card for Valentine’s Day.” Joe says it gently, so that it will not be a surprise. 

Jack freezes, his hand hovering over the sauce pan for just a second, but then his shoulders relax. He peeks at Joe. “You? Mr. ‘Conversation-Hearts-Are-Nuggets-of-Corporate-Greed’?” 

Joe smothers his own smile. Jack remembers. “Yes, me.” He pulls the card from his pocket. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Jackie.” 

Jack puts a lid over the pan and turns around. “I didn’t get you anything.” 

“You’re all the gift I need,” Joe whispers, because it is true. Every one of the days he spends with Jack is a gift. He knew that even before, but every nerve in his body is certain of it now. 

Jack tries to roll his eyes, but Joe can see that his words have landed. “Well, thank you,” Jack says softly. His fingertips whisper against Joe’s when he reaches for the card. 

“Open it up, baby.” 

Jack complies, carefully opening the red envelope that Joe absolutely kissed without a hint of irony after he licked the seal and pressed it closed. The card itself isn’t so special; just the standard hearts and flowers schlock that all the stores sell this time of year. But Joe’s written his own message inside. He watches Jack’s eyes move like a typewriter carriage over his uneven scrawl. 

Jackie, 

I know we don’t usually do this, but I feel like I haven’t told you enough how grateful I am that you are home. Nothing felt right without you, and I know now that it never could. You are my home. You are stronger than any foundation, and I will never stop thanking God that you choose to be with me, even after everything you’ve been through. And it is your choice. You have every choice. You deserve that. 

I choose you, every day. I always will. 

Love, 

Joe 

When Jack looks up again, his blue eyes are glassy with tears. “Joey–” 

“I didn’t mean to–” 

Jack shakes his head. He folds the card carefully and stares down at it. “You didn’t. Joe?” 

Joe takes a hesitant step forward. “What is it, baby?” 

“I choose this. I do.” 

Jack reaches for him then, and Joe pulls Jack into his chest. “I know you do. And even if you didn’t or if–if someday, you don’t, I’ll always be grateful for this. Right now.” 

Jack lets Joe hold him, and Joe knows exactly what this moment is worth. He wraps his arms so tightly around Jack that, if he didn’t know exactly how strong Jack is, he might crush him. But no one can crush Jack, and Joe knows how to hold him. Joe knows how to give him room and keep him close all at once. Joe knows how to let him choose. 

taglist: @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @sparrowsage, @aut0psy1, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @termsnconditions-apply, @darlingwhump, @squishablesunbeam, @dont-be-gentle-please, @deltaxxk, @irishwhiskeygrl, @keeper-of-all-the-random-things, @hold-him-down, @peachy-panic, @whumpyblogthing, @sowhumpful, @considerablecolors, @ramadiiiisme, @sunnie, @sadboysanonymous, @panic-whump

[the-crittercorner]

I've had this guy for a bit now but haven't posted about him yet! This is Maxwell (he/him) he's a modified F.A.O Schwarz puppy he's had pretty major surgery and is now weighted and stands/sits like a bab would! Now on to his personality ^.^ Maxwell is pretty goofy and clumsy but is very smart he's a history teacher and spends a lot of time reading about the 18th century, he also runs a book club too!

[endlessnightlock]

Being young definitely sucks, but middle age sucks too. Like your brain is in a good place, you know yourself and your vibe better, but suddenly your uterus/entire reproductive system has become an asshole

[wren-of-the-woods]

Criminally Underused Bird Nicknames for Jaskier

I love "Lark" as much as the next Witcher fic reader, but there are so many more options we could explore! Here are a few:

Jay / Bluejay This one has excellent potential because 1) jays are incredibly beautiful, colorful, intelligent, and social and 2) their songs are terrible. (Examples here, here, and here.) As such, it'd be perfect for a fond-yet-teasing nickname for Jaskier. Plus, it sounds like the first letter of his name!

Magpie Magpies are corvids like jays, so they're similar in many ways. This one has the extra connotations of collecting shiny things for bonus fun teasing <3

Sparrow Sparrows have lovely songs! They tend not to be very colorful, but they're very cute and the name sounds endearing. I've seen this one used in fic occasionally and I like it!

Sanderling Sanderling is an adorable name for an adorable bird -- they're little sandpipers that run around on beaches! It works perfectly as a reference to Jaskier's role as the Sandpiper and I think it's really sweet.

Peep Peep is a general term for the smallest few species of sandpipers (they're hard to identify at the species level, so calling them peeps is most convenient). It's similar to Sanderling in that it references Jaskier's role as the Sandpiper and sounds adorable!

Bonus: Songbird I have seen this one used in a few fics and I love it every time! It's vague enough to let you imagine whichever bird you want while also sounding very sweet.

Extra options include, but are not limited to: warbler, finch/goldfinch, nightengale, robin, kinglet, titmouse, mockingbird, and starling.

[autumnalfallingleaves]

Not Emerie having parallels with Din and Grogu

[witchofthesouls]

In Chainsaw Man, Power lets Denji fondle and squeeze her breasts for helping her. She lets him squeeze them three times for the three things he has done for her.

The Lost Light Liasion lets the bots of your choice fondle her breasts and lets them squeeze a certain number of for three amount of times they’ve saved her ass/helped her.

Who are the bots and how do they react?

(If this happened, Ultra Magnus would be so on top of this since there would be mechs that would purposely create trouble to "save" the resident human. He's gonna nip that in the bud since the Lost Light already has too much chaotic energy. So nudity scenarios with Giant!Liaison because I love that concept a lot.)

Whirl eyes your chest in a manner that wouldn't feel off on a gemologist appraising someone's antique jewelry, optic narrowed in serious consideration as he pokes your left boob.

"I don't see the appeal." Whirl taps a claw on his own impressive chest. "My bazongas are bigger."

"Yeah, but can yours bounce?"

"Touché, Fleshlight." Whirl hums, optic following your chest's jiggling motions as you cup and squeeze the soft flesh. "Touché."

_________

Ambulon brushes his servos over the uncovered skin. It's soft and warm and strangely like a really supple protoform. The specialized sensors in his digits and palms pick up your biochemistry, and it buzzes pleasantly to his neural-net.

He filters the temperature readings, hydration levels, and other basic information from the passive scans to just concentrate on the sensation of the innate elasticity, how his digits can press into your protoform, and how it contorts and flexes.

You can't manually shut off your nerves, nor can you inwardly self-manipulate how you perceive sensation. Apparently, in your species a dimmed or lacking pain response is attributed to a sensory-perception defect.

Ambulon is curious how you function on the paltry information from the medical books in your bookcase is very limiting. Theory doesn't always match to application. In general, organics are messy and squishy and so full of so many liquids, but he had traced over the skeleton and muscle tissue within the diagrams, and can't help the heretical thoughts of the familiarity of the structures.

You can't show him the innards of your frame under your guidance; self-surgery is a wonderment to humans but it's common amongst Cybertronian medics. At least well-trained ones or the very experienced ones that survived their ventures.

(Pharma was many, many things, but he had ensured that his staff was well-equipped and well-trained under his perfectionist ways. Even the ex-Decepticon.

Ambulon, to this day, can't tell what was real or falsified by the surgeon. How much was simmering beneath his old CMO...)

He chases away the thought by exploring other areas. Humans are just softer than Cybertronians by design. Some parts are more so than others as he traces your abdomen and your chest area, thumbing over a teat.

"Does your species have something like this?" You ask, voice hitches.

"Yes."

"Oh?"

"Under the old regime," his voice takes on a teaching cadence, "supplementary refineries were deemed obsolete and phased out. Very few frames, think of older schematics off Cybertron or cohorts too far away from public refineries and production, were... allowed to keep such things." Ambulon remembers one of his old gestaltmates, his refineries kept them alive in the combiner process. "It helps refine lower-grades of Energon, even near-usable ones, to something consumable."

Based on the emotion on your face, you're interested in the strange similarities as well.

_________

Swerve's vents sputter as he coughs out a weak cheer and is overwhelmed by Tailgate's complete enthusiasm. Getaway also claps, but Swerve could feel the heat from the mech's plating, despite how unruffled the escapologist appeared.

You twirl around as Swerve sends a quick prayer to the Guiding Hand at the expanse of your back and your bare legs as the fabric floats and takes its sweet time to settle back down.

Tailgate immediately makes a beeline to fuss over the dress and attaches the rest of the accessories.

"You're okay if I adjust the front?" Tailgate asks.

"Go for it, short stack." You admire the glinting gems and subtle, beautiful swirls in the mirror.

And without any sense of shame or embarrassment, Tailgate does it. The minibot pulls it and you up. Swerve takes a large gulp of the complementary cocktail when it turns skin-tight, pressing into your flesh.

"Short stack," you wheeze and your chest heaves. "You're squeezing me here."

Getaway crosses his arms, fingers digging into his plates. He isn't as nonchalant as he tries to be.

"Give me a moment." Tailgate clips on the thin, glossy strands of jewelry over all your body. "I have to get this on before I fix it completely."

When the mech finishes, you look far more stunning and Swerve's vocalizer simply clicks, so he makes it up by whistling and clapping. It isn't missed that Tailgate is used to casual touch as he gives an arm to help you down the podium. Plus, the mech has quite an eye for 'off-world' fashion.

One of the attendants admires Tailgate's handiwork, clicking at a rapid pace as feathers ruffle and soothe, and Swerve hopes that the rest of the team is almost done with whatever they're doing.

"What do you guys think?" You ask, calm with even talons near your face, painting your lips and applying geometric patterns down your cheeks and neck. Whatever the attendant had done to your eyes had made them larger, brighter.

You look something out of old folktales from the outer rings of city-states as the metal strands clink pleasantly as you move, the fabric languidly shifts in a strange, fluid way, defying gravity, rippling across your bare skin like a living covering.

"You look good, Y/N," Getaway says, quite casually. "But I think that set there would look even better."

The burnt gold body jewelry in the case behind you is a dead ringer for Getaway's faceplate. The escapologist gives no other reaction to the flat fields and stares from Swerve and Tailgate, just a happy curve of brightened optics.

[betasuppe]

Been thinking of Rinzler showing small but concerning signs of aging since last night & have known NO REST because there's something just undeniably attractive [for me, at least lol] about going grey & tied with the alarming factor that the program shouldn't show outward signs of aging is delightful & I LOVE IT

[danneroni]

⭐🌈 BE YOURSELF! 🌈⭐

Stickers are here ☮️ Great way to support me while I recover from my hand injury, I went to the ER last night and got stitches in my drawing hand between two tendons. (╥_╥)

etsy.com/shop/danneroni

[tenth-sentence]

By the 2020s middle-aged folks in the developed cores might see farther, run faster, and look better than they did as youngsters.

"Why the West Rules – For Now: The patterns of history and what they reveal about the future" - Ian Morris

[nuvomica]

Fam like this has zero hate in it but how is gender affirming surgery any different from the ones you hate? It's literally purging the parts of your body that you or society can't accept and it's kind of just as devastating and sad. I agree with you that people should do whatever they want with their body but also like it's kind of awful to see someone suffer so much that they have to go to surgical solutions.

This is why it's so interesting to me!! And this post is super rambly with no clear answer because I'm me and I'm learning all the time!!!!!!

Your opinion is yours, but it is super interesting that upon the topic of surgery, your mind goes to 'purging the parts you hate'. Gender affirming surgeries aren't always 'cosmetic', aren't always found through suffering. Who am I to draw lines and cast aspersions? To me, it feels like as much of a grey area as most debates are, especially as I try to stay aware of my own inherent biases vs my personal issues with gender and appearance.

For example, breast surgeries. Done to combat cancer. Reductions because of back pain. Reductions for convenience. Implants for gender affirmation (for trans and cis ppl). Implants because of previous medical reductions. Or literally any number of reasons.

At what level is it 'okay' to get something done, if in my opinion, there is a level of 'not okay' at all? 'Okay' being a loose term as it is, because I certainly don't mean morally, but as a point of, say, condemning societal pressures on people. It would be presumptuous of me to ever look at something someone does for themself and say, "well that's not okay."

Is convenience a medical reasons or a cosmetic reason? Or is it neither. Is it that there is not enough clothing and aid out there for someone who is inconvenienced by large breast size? Is it that there isn't any clothing that fits cutely, that t-shirts stretch, that lingerie doesn't come in that size? Or is it inconvenient enough that it either causes their back to ache if they're too active for too long or with chronic pain that doesn't ease at all?

What about those who get surgery on their tubes or uterus, not for 'medical' reasons, but for comfort? For taking control back? For (here it is again) convenience? For gender transitioning? How could I ever hate a surgery like that?

Meanwhile, in my personal view, seeing someone get a nose job for purely cosmetic reasons is sad to me. Why did they feel they have to do that? What sort of pressure have they face throughout their life to take them to that point? But what right do I have to judge? None, other than that I am a part of the same society that made them feel their nose was not acceptable. I do not have a broad, hooked, high bridged, or flat bridged nose, so what standing do I have to judge at all?

What about someone who loves plastic surgery as they love art? For whom body modification is a joy, or as I said before, is about control. Should I be pitying them? I don't, right up until they change something I personally view as 'sad' to change. Isn't that strange? Where did I find this moral high ground from which to look down and feel pity? What arbitrary measure have I developed for what parts of the body are 'sad' to alter?

I wouldn't go up to a stranger in public and say, "I'm so sorry you got your nose done." So why do I feel comfortable pitying the actress who had a face lift? (Rhetorical, I know the objectification of celebrities is a core reason here, but it serves my point).

It goes further. At what point is a surgery 'just' a body mod? Someone getting an ear piercing to combat headaches or allergies. Someone getting their ears or genitalia taken off so they just have a hole. Someone gets bottom surgery. Someone getting their earlobe pierced. Someone getting their eyebrows tattooed because theirs don't naturally suit their gender expression 'right'. Someone getting the name of a loved one on their arm. Someone getting laser hair removal. Someone getting their eyeball tattooed. Getting their incisors capped to points. Veneers. Tongue splits. Acrylic nails. My view is already biased by a Eurocentric upbringing and the conservative nature of my town, so.

With my own biases, I do feel a hate for buccal fat removal. I do feel a hate for cosmetic nose jobs. I do feel a hate for brow lifts. I do feel a hate for hair transplants. I won't deny that. You're right, I do feel shitty that gender is so ingrained in appearance and the value therein that trans ppl can feel so devastatingly unhappy about their own bodies. At the same time, I don't feel someone getting top or bottom surgery is 'wrong' in doing so, and I do not pity them.

Oh not to even bring up teeth. This debate starts all over again at teeth. Cosmetic, comfort, medical.

My original post and my continued thoughts are never a condemnation of the individual undergoing a surgery, only on the pressures of industry and society. It's my frustrations with sexism, racism, transphobia, and fatphobia.

Gender affirming surgeries happen all the time for cis people, including very invasive ones, and I just want to be extra aware of the hypocrisy and more intense scrutiny towards trans people getting similar surgeries, you know? Especially as someone who experiences dysmorphia but not gender dysphoria.

It just comes down to all these questions, and then further still down to personal philosophy. As is the case for most of my personal philosophies, I find it hard to make blanket statements set in stone, because there's always context. There's always further understanding to be gained, if not in my own, then in hearing of how others understand.

What right do I have to feel sad? To hate?

Where is the defining line between cosmetic, comfort, and medical, if there is one?

[the-nettle-knight]

The absolute coolest thing that my team (environmental archaeologists) has found recently was a wooden ear stretcher from the Bronze Age! I don't actually think there's much research on it but there have been several wooden ear stretchers from the Bronze Age from the UK and Otzi had stretched ears, meaning that it was possibly a widespread practice in Bronze Age Europe

[antiendofuzzies]

vent

I really hate how some alters in our system deny some of the trauma that happend to us and try to pretend that it wasn’t that bad like one of the littles I take care of is a yorkiekid* and it makes me really sad that that is their system role -🪅 from 🌌🩷

*A yorkiekid is a syskid/system little that holds trauma related to having body modifications against their will or without their consent. This may be considered a subset of other terms

im sorry, sometimes alters just can't remember or are in denial and there's not much you can really do about it. We really hope you're safe and okay now

((sorry this isn't a very good response, we're not sure what to say))

[piosplayhouse]

top ten wangxian aus that suck and make absolutely no sense when you think about them for more than 3 seconds (metal gay sex)

[caffeine-high]

a bit of bleach fell onto my eyebrow when i was bleaching my hair

this is the perfect excuse to finally try cutting a slut in it! :D

[guideaus]

wolfwood in the manga gets experimented on to age faster or whatever, and he's definitely ashamed coming back to the orphanage to defend them later, but I feel that could've just been emphasized w his combat skills. he wasn't exactly gunslinging as a child, and even if it looks cool, or vash has his perfect non-lethal dead shot shit, I imagine it'd still be pretty alarming to a bunch of children and his kind of mom