#fuzz nuts

[pinkiexneomorph277]

Baby birbs

:: was bored so uploaded life stuff::

Baby budgies .

[evillillad]

look at this fuckin guy

[mercyking]

Sometimes...I live in a world where Gary King and Nicholas Angel are cousins.

And sometimes...SOMETIMES...Nicholas' uncle Derek is Gary's dad.

[marshmallow--3]

Eating a strawberry Cornetto while watching Hot Fuzz - a British crime

[blujayonthewing]

seeing posts about pantone's color of the year (peach fuzz) lowkey makes me wanna do nyssa art about it-- her skin is actually a little darker than that, but it's evocative of her whole vibe-- BUT the color also makes me think of vellus hair so I kinda also wanna do art about that but I don't think my rendering skills are up to it oTL

[iicarused]

separate! alastor, vox, and adam // how they kiss

ALASTOR is a gentle kisser — at times — other times his teeth will softly bite at your lips, drawing little blood to make an excuse for his tongue to lap over them. this is only done in the bedroom of course, he is not too keen on pda especially in the hotel.

his kisses are usually quick and against your hand, sometimes against your forehead before he leaves to do his daily tasks.

he enjoys kissing you with meaning, especially when there is no one to bother the either of you. he usually has a hand holding your chin or brushing against the nape of your neck — he enjoys kissing you.

VOX enjoys a solid make out session, and his kisses always turn into one. rough and with passion, his lips are against yours with any chance he gets when the cameras aren’t on — or when the press aren’t around. he enjoys when you straddle him between your legs over his chair and pull him into a kiss, with your hands coming over his chest, it drives him nuts.

frenchies are the best in his opinion — if it isn’t sloppy, then what’s the point? he’s trying to get noises out of you and whine for more — it’s fun!

his kisses come often, whether if it’s a kiss for the magazines or a loving one before bed. he won’t admit it, but those are the ones he looks forward to the most. also smooches you before a show, he calls them good luck kisses!

ADAM isn’t the one for heavy pda, surprisingly. that doesn’t mean his lips press against your cheek or your temple. sometimes your chin if he’s in a rush or just on your brow. whether if it’s with meaning or to just watch you get flustered — maybe give him a smooch in return and that’ll make his day.

his lips are all over you behind closed doors, especially in his office. kissing your neck, your shoulders, peppers your face, and will be bold if kiss between your thighs.

a little odd, but he enjoys kissing up your thighs/knee the most. it’s his favourite place to be in the whole fucking world, can you blame him? mostly enjoys kissing up your neck before bed also, he loves hearing you laugh because the peach fuzz on his chin starts to tickle you.

[oflgtfol]

oh my god im never going hiking again until like the depths of winter i had ANOTHER tick on me

[incognitopolls]

"Post-nut clarity" is when your mind feels clearer (and/or you feel more equipped to handle mental/social tasks, or suddenly feel that whatever aroused you is gross or unarousing) right after you orgasm.

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[seat-safety-switch]

Although I am perfectly willing to blame my circumstances, the fact remains: I am a lazy son of a bitch. I could have easily gotten myself to whatever level of success I wished, if it weren’t so much more appealing to spend my time dicking around with old cars, and doing petty crimes to pay for the aforementioned dicking. Everything changed recently, though, with one discovery.

Berkeley University, the stupid bastards, have a policy: there are special reserved parking spaces provided to Nobel laureates on their campus. Special... and free. Free parking inside a major urban centre is already remarkable, but for it to be free and reserved? I immediately phoned up their switchboard, and the friendly-but-standoffish person who answered confirmed my ridiculous question. A Nobel Prize meant a guaranteed parking spot in California.

This was what I needed to finally slough off a life of self-imposed torpor. I drew the blinds, filled a bowl with party snacks, and set about solving the problem of microplastic contamination. I’m not gonna lie to you and say that it was easy, but you know that giant mass of old fishing nets and condoms that used to be floating in the South China Sea? You’re welcome. After that, it was all handshaking and dinner dates with awestruck Norwegian bombshells, and I had my parking spot.

If campus security tried anything, I just had to show them my Nobel Fucking Prize, and they would have to sneer and shout at me after retreating to their little meter maid dorkmobile. I immediately left my ‘76 Volare there (it no longer can survive the winters) and went home in my other ‘76. Several days later, I arrived at my home to realize I had a bunch of other cars that were also catching parking tickets from the local fuzz. Didn’t those ungrateful jerks know I’m a Nobel Laureate?

I called Berkeley again. If I got another Nobel Prize, I asked... could I get another spot? Sure, they said, laughing with disbelief (it was at this moment I realized I was likely on speakerphone.) Go fucking nuts. So I did. This time I busted out some old biology knowledge and invented a cure for malaria. You’re welcome. Sure, I could have sold it for millions, but millions of dollars doesn’t buy me a free parking spot. It buys me an expensive parking spot, and if I wanted to do that, I’d get a job.

What’s next for my journeys into scientific reasoning? Well, they ran out of free Nobel spots on the campus, so things are a little delayed right now. I’m still in negotiations. They said they might name a building after me, but it’s not going to be a parking garage, so why bother improving civilization at all?

[brewed-pangolin]

Drabble request for Super Soap Sunday:

Origin story of the Soap MacTavish mohawk, 500 words or less...GO.

First Flight of the Scottish Hawk

Ooohhhh I love this!!! I may be one of the few that actually loves Soap's hawk, and this just gives me full range to go creatively nuts with this. Thank you!

Warnings: Mentions of loss at the end. Nothing more than ridiculous MacTavish household shenanigans throughout.

This turned into something I honestly didn't see coming. I couldn't stop writing, and I let the creativity flow through me. If you all like it enough I will expand on it more. Much love 💛

Massive thanks to @deadbranch and @d3athtr4psworld for your input.

Word count 1.4 k (Oops, got carried away again)

If there is one thing you should never do, don't ever dare John MacTavish to do anything. Period.

It's simple, really. All it takes is a few choice words and a push in the right (or wrong) direction and John MacTavish will go full beast mode.

You can thank his sister, Charlotte for the crested motif.

--

After completing basic training at the tender age of 16, John returned home with nothing but a triumphant chip on his shoulder and, more noticeably, a trimmed line of peach fuzz along his scalp.

While his mum and dad couldn't be more proud, his siblings on the other hand were chomping at the bit to get a rise out of him.

Hamish, the oldest of the boys, chimed in first.

"Ye look a'that, mum. Lil John's come back all growned up." He jabbed, before wrapping his arm around his neck forcing him into a tight headlock.

"Not n'the kitchen, Hamish! You'll break tha bloody cabinets!" Mum exclaimed while pushing her two oldest boys into the hall.

"Got'a test tha' strength ma! Can't..oofff" He was swiftly cutoff by John's elbow into his stomach. The two were now fully engulfed in a standing wrestling match.

"Fuck. Off. Hame!" Each of John's words were grittngly emphasized as he wrapped his hands around his older brothers arm.

"Gonnae be a whippin' fer the both a ya if ya donnae knock it off." Mum's warning fell on deaf ears, as this went on for another 10 minutes. By the end of it, both boys had endured the verbal wrath of a furious Catholic Scottish Maiden. (COs can't hold a candle to a pissed off mum)

The twins, Michael and David, couldn't be bothered with real world nonsense. They were too busy with the neighborhood boys playing their own version of 'modern warfare' deep in the backyard woods.

Albiet mildly gruesome in itself, fellow parents enforced a strict 'no guns' rule within the ranks. Imagination would rule the day once more. Sticks were a better option, anyway. And video games were non existent in the MacTavish household.

"Git out me sight, tha' lot'aya!" Patriarchal Rules over all.

Last, and on both ends of the birthing spectrum were Charlotte and Genevieve. John found them in their usual hiding place, the knitting room.

Genevieve, or Evie, as she was so lovingly referred to was only 4. A 'precious surprise' dubbed by mum, and the absolute light of John's eyes.

"How's my favorite lit'le lass, eh Evie?" He could never strain above a whipser when he called to her. And as he knelt down his arms stretched out and awaited her usual 'mighty bear hug'.

But it never came. As she looked him over, her precious green eyes began to water, her face slowly began to contort into a seldom seen melancholy, and then she cried.

"Smooth, Johnny." The sarcastic venom in Charlotte's words was immeasurable, yet still held within it that familiar sibling banter.

"Ooh, no Evie. It's still me. Still yer Johnny." He pleaded as he quickly tried to console her.

"Git out ya arse! Ya makin it worse!" Charlotte chided him as she knelt down to pick up her now inconsolable sister.

"Ah, c'mon Char. Donnae be like that."

Heartbroken is the only word that came to her mind. And being the oldest, she now had two 'children' to console.

"Jus' giv'er a minute, Johnny. She's only seen ya at home. Not like, this." She waved her hand at him, accentuating the difference in his appearance and demeanor. She also lessened her tone, for both their sakes. She'd make a good mother one day.

"Ya think I look tha' different, Char?"

"T'me? Nah. But I knew why yer were gone, Johnny. Evie didn't."

Of course, he'd ask only her this question. Besides their usual sibling rivalry, John looked up to his oldest sister the most. Craved for her approval above all others. Even more so than his parents at times.

"Aye. Is it tha hair, ya think? Bit of a shock t'myself if ya ask me."

"It donnae help yer cause, Johnny. Ya do look like a fuzzy bowling ball."

"Haud yer wheesht, Char!"

The playful jesting slowly began to smooth the lot of them. Evie's sobs eased into soft whimpers as she turned to face her brother once more. Her forehead rested into Charlotte's neck as her eyes once again roamed over her brothers familiar face.

"I donnae like it, Johnny." The high-pitched quiver in her voice nearly broke him to tears. He swallowed hard, forcing those feelings down into the newly formed gullet deep within his chest.

"I know, Evie. It's only fer a little while." His soft blue eyes matched hers, glistening in the dim light as they continued their conversation in wordless speech.

A slow tremble began to form in her lower lip. Quickly she released her grasp around her sister's neck and stretched out to him. It may not have been the bear hug he was expecting, but the comfort of her on his chest more than soothed that aching heart within him.

"The people've spoken, Johnny. What'ya give'm, eh? A typical buzz cut, stylish pompadour, a fricken mohawk?" Charlotte's jab struck a nerve, the evidence all over John's face as his brows furrowed in utter bewilderment.

She answered with her own expression, that sly curl to her lip that John was all too familiar with.

"Donnae do it, Char. I'm warnin' ya."

She had to. In the presence of Evie, Charlotte knew not to speak such fowl language. Silently, she mouthed and provoked him.

'I. Fucking. Dare you.'

That's it. That's all it took. The right words in the wrong direction, by the right person. John couldn't refuse. And like a baited fish, Charlotte swung him in and quickly mounted her victory atop her mental walls.

Six months passed before John returned home again. Military life suited him well. So did his new hairstyle.

It was the typical MacTavish family reunion; mum and dad always the proudest parents in all of Glasgow, ridiculous hairdo aside.

Hamish greeted him with the classic headlock, which again was followed by the verbal chastising of their Iron Maiden mother. (John would tell her one day she'd make the perfect Drill Sargeant)

The twins were currently grounded in their room for saying 'naughty words' in school. John didn't poke too hard, but got this gist it was something about 'God forsaken homework.' The usual teenage behavior.

He sought out his two favorite lasses with overwhelming vigor, finding them yet again within the walls of the knitting room.

"How's my favorite lit'le lass, eh!"

"JOHNNY!" Evie's squeal may have nearly burst his eardrums, but he would gladly go without all sound just to remember that beautiful voice.

He had barely crouched down before she swung her arms around his neck, throwing that much needed 'mighty bear hug' against him.

"Easy Evie, ya ain't such a lit'le lass anymore." His playful strain made her tighten the death grip around him, and he gleefully recipricated.

“Ha? Th’army turnin out softies now, eh?” Charlotte called from the corner as she effortlessly hung her newest knitted masterpiece on the wall, a large afghan in the most brilliant forest green hues.

“Awa’ an bile yer heid, Char.”

“Watch it, Johnny. Tha lit’le rapscallion on yer shoulder gotten a knack fer echoin th’lot of us. Gonnae be eatin soap fer dinner if she keeps it up, yeah.”

Evie strained her neck and forcefully stuck out her tongue in retaliation. The banter was a welcome grief to John. He’d never admit it, but he missed his daily chastising from his oldest sister during those hard days in the field. CO’s could learn a thing or two from the scolding mouths of a MacTavish woman. 

“Ya lookin good, Johnny. Besides the rooster crest. What’re they callin’ya, ‘Mornin Wood?’”

“That’s classified.” The bite in his retort didn’t go unnoticed.

“Ohh, look a’mister fancy pants ov’r here.” Charlotte threw her hands up in taunting surprise. She’d never admit it, but she missed throwing those playful insults at him below the chest. It was an ebb and flow that no other seemed to be able to grasp.

“Donnae matter, Char. Only needs one approval, yeah. What’ya think, lass?” John turned to face the green-eyed angel within his grasp, her eyes slowly studying the features of him, finally focusing on the thick crest atop his head. 

“I like it.” 

“Thas’all I need. Gonnae keep it, yeah. Jus’ fer you, Evie.”

“Pinky swear?”

“Aye. Pinky swear.”

Her voice was the lullaby that tamed the savage beast. The silent tempest on the shores of a violent sea.

John wrapped his finger around hers and gave into the overwhelming power she had hung over him. Evie smiled, and buried her face within his neck. The vice-like grip around him doing nothing but melting that hard metallic soul growing within him.

“Ya gone’n don’it now, Johnny.” Charlotte’s quip was sharp, yet softened as it flowed freely through the air.

John responded in equal softness, an eerily reminiscent silent jab.

‘Fuck. You.’

25 years and a full military career later, Captain John ‘Soap’ MacTavish sat lonely at the bar, pondering the ice within its liqoured embrace and watched as the waves of liquid slowly melded within themselves. He was within pleasant company, something he had truly missed over the remaining years of his career.

He heard the cadence of footsteps first, their possesor non other than the legendary John Price himself. 

“Ya know ya got to drink it for it to work, yeah.” 

“Aye. Jus’ takin my time with it.”

A somberness flowed freely through them, no longer wanting or needing to keep old wounds bound and at bay. Price scanned the crowd once over before returning his gaze to the scarred and crested veteran, both looking more worse for wear within the golden age of their careers.

“Ya know, Soap. I’ve known ya for over 20 years. And somehow I never thought to ask.”

Price paused as Soap brought the cold and perspiring glass up to his lips.

“Why do ya keep the mohawk?”

Soap turned to face his war hardened comrade. A silent shock washed over him as the quiet memory of her surfaced into the realm of his periphery. He sat motionless for a moment, spinning the glass within his hands as her name gracefully returned to the soft tissue of his lips.

“Evie. I kept it for Evie.” It felt like a hymn, to speak her name again after so many years of silence. The sound of it wafting into the wooden rafters before cascading and disappearing into the boisterous cacophony around the bar.

“Who’s Evie?”

“She was my sister.” Soap’s chest tightened as the words fell out of his mouth. 

“Was?”

The slip of the tongue caught him off guard. Soap met Price’s gaze and held within it a cold blue steel. 

“Touchy subject.” Price titled his glass, and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder before leaving him alone again at the bar with his thoughts. 

An ache formed within his heart. A void that was filled with her memories and locked away from the world's prying eyes. 

His fingers slowly turned the tumbler on the weathered bar while his eyes slowly began to focus on the smallest finger of his hand. Bringing it up to his face he studied its features as a chemist studies the inner workings of molecular bonds.

The slightest curl of a smile formed on the corner of his mouth as the sound of her voice ricocheted within the recesses of his mind. And the green, those bright green eyes like the mossy hills of the Scottish highlands. 

Edited 2/5/24 to include remastered Soap Squad 🧼

“Pinky swear, Evie.”

@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @punishmepunisher @jynxmirage @glitterypirateduck @astraluminaaa @shotmrmiller @obligatoryghoststare @homicidal-slvt @ghosts-goldendoodle @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @writeforfandoms @tacticalanxiety @simpingoverquestionablemen @queen-ilmaree @havoc973 @foxface013 @sadstone-s @haurasha @mykneeshurt @designateddeadend @luismickydees @kkaaaagt

[puzzled-pegasus]

Fun WoF character design thingies for if you want to make an OC

Tusks for IceWings, MudWings, or SandWings.

Brightly colored fins for reef SeaWings.

Silver freckles for NightWings.

Stripes, patches, points.

Faint leopard patterns for SandWings.

LeafWings with wings shaped like the leaf of your favorite plant.

Curly SandWing frills.

SeaWing fins that are so long they flop over.

MudWing horns that curve forward like a bull's.

MudWings with a snout that is lighter than their body, reminiscent of an American black bear.

SandWings inspired by your favorite snake--stripes, scale patterns, bright colored underbellies. You could also use a lizard species. Go nuts!

Scale colors or patterns inspired by your favorite dog coat color/pattern. Merles, tricolors, socks, patches. This would work especially well for SilkWings.

Additionally, SilkWing fuzz in any place you want. Tail tufts, chest puffs, fuzzy manes, puffs on the legs like a poodle, neck collars.

Horse face markings---stripes, blazes, snips, stars, diamonds.

Additionally, dark striped legs, dorsal lines, or dark frills on SandWings, reminiscent of mustang horses. Darker snouts and ears as well.

SeaWings that are light colored and splotched with darker blue and/or green, like a domestic koi fish.

LeafWings with a flower-like growth(s) somewhere on their body. Can be any color and help with camouflage.

Irregular, knotted horns for LeafWings, like branches.

Metallic silver or blue IceWings that reflect nearly all light with a dazzling mirror effect.

Long, thin RainWings that are very flexible.

Conversely: large, solid, muscular RainWings. Uncommon, but possible. Very good at lifting rocks for other RainWings so they can collect bugs to eat.

RainWings with hooks on their wings that help them climb.

HiveWings that shimmer iridescently like beetles.

Pink HiveWings.

SilkWings with exceptionally long antennae. Half as long as their body or more. Bonus if they're feathery.

HiveWing horns that jut out in front like insect mandibles.

Transparent winged SilkWings.

Chimera SilkWings----one wing set that is one color patten, and the other is completely different.

Swallowtailed SilkWings.

Albino HiveWings.

Scorpion-barbed HiveWings. Double tailed HiveWings.

Open ocean SeaWings that are silver like a schooling fish.

SeaWings OR MudWings that are patterned like a lake fish.

NightWings (or hybrids) with gold or coppery stars.

[i-make-my-journey]

Due to limited space, my shrine is confined to a closet, but…

LOOKIT ALL THOSE GODS!!!!

From back left to right; Anubis, Sekhmet-Mut, Hathor-Nut, Bast, Mafdet, Wepwawet, Shezmu, (itty bitty) Amun-Ra, Nefertem, Wenut, Tefnut, Pakhet, Duamutef, and Anupet!

Front: Serqet!

Currently awaiting a proper statue for Amun-Ra, and need to get Mama Anupet a bigger jackal (I thought the itty bitty one was gonna be as big as Dad and Wep’s 😭) but!! It feels SOOO good to have Them all represented somehow!! 💜

Dua Netjeru!

Also please excuse the fuzz and ashes on the shrine cloth, I own a lot of black faux fur that sheds on everything, and ashes are kinda par for the course with incense smh

[spiribia]

*adult* t-rex is now pretty widely thought to have been too large to have feather coverage - animals that size risk overheating, like the elephant 🐘. like the elephant having a sort of peach fuzz it's not impossible it may have had a coating of protofeathers as in some tyrannosauroids, which is the basis of some of the arguments that t-rex is at least covered in protofeathers - though keep in mind these are manmade phylogenetic brackets. we have skin / scale impressions from multiple parts of the t rex body now, which doesn't preclude patches of feathers but again, in conjunction with the previous idea and the absence of any evidence OF feathers on an adult t-rex, means that the current theory you'll mostly see around is no major feathers unless proven guilty. 'scientifically accurate dinosaurs' are not so concretely this or that as you will see people 'um actually'-ing about -- so much of what we can try to say about dinosaurs is out of inference and comparison. all the same i think there is a certain pop culture shortcut that any feathers slapped on any dinos is the smarter, more scientifically accurate approach and not only does Scientifically Accurate Dinosaur as a phrase sometimes go the self-assuredly unnuanced way of Biblically Accurate Angel but like. well im nuts so it doesnt matter

[loracarol]

So I never watched Game of Thrones, and I don't really have an interest in the sequel, but one of the youtubers I follow did a reaction to the first episode, and I like them well enough that I decided to watch it and also Matt Smith is in it and I was curious what his role was going to be and

this guy

this guy

was driving me nuts. I could not figure out how I knew him.

Apparently he was in Pride, which I've seen, but wasn't who I was reminded of, no. Of all the things on his impressive IMDB page, the thing I remembered him from?

Hot

Fucking

Fuzz

of all the things

[mocha-n-roses]

It gets a lot colder down here than people might think!! Which- is nuts considering it's Hell but y'know! I think everywhere has different seasons!

Wanna know something neat about how my form works? I get fuzzier to keep me warm! >:3 Maybe if I snuggle up with some friends then we'd all be extra cozy too!

Most of my friends already have fuzz though so..

[exile-of-dathomir]

The mysterious tooka trots up to the café again a little later, but doesn't try to open the door again. The tag on its collar catches the light as it stretches out by a window, peering curiously inside, and then trots off again, leaving a few shed cream and pink hairs behind.

[It's the busiest time of day, lunch hour, and Feral is whipping out drinks three at a time. The bakery case looks like it's been mauled. There's no nut-based creamer anywhere in the building, and all the nemoidians are mad about it.]

[It is amidst this chaos, between matcha latte for a twi'lek and a nubian fog for a weequay, that a glint catches his eye. Feral is, after all, a hunter born and bred. He can't help but freeze, pupils dilating, muscles tensing.]

[Like a frozen moment in time he catches sight of the adorable little fuzz ball from the other day as it stretches in the window sill. He blinks, and it's already trotting away... what terrible timing! He can't even go try and tempt it in with a bit of food, because the door just opened and three more people joined the queue.]

[Feral shakes himself and refocuses, caught back up in the daily lunch rush. Next time, he hopes, he'll be less busy...]