#or sour

[clavasbalas]

I wanna ask you about Rainmaker (in the hopes that we get a sneak peek) and the Chatbot fic!

Ok, so i've just answered another Chatbot fic related question (https://www.tumblr.com/clavasbalas/786816208633757696/chat-bot-diary-tell-me-more?source=share)

I am planning to update the Rainmaker tomorrow!

Here's a lil sneakpeek:

"The awareness of unconsciousness is a curious thing.

Hermione has a vague sense of having woken up, of having heard the murmur of a distant vibration, the cold ceramic of some toilet seat pressed against her buttocks. Warm water rinsing her hair. At times, she thinks she can hear her mother playing a melody she never knew the name of. The tapping of piano keys, the restless, living movement of people in the room. She knows she’s being cared for, and maybe she did manage to open her eyes at some point, or maybe her hyperactive mind tried to shape the sounds that come and go —but she thinks she sees giant shadows rising around her body, leaning over her like a test subject.

“What were you doing there?”

“I swear, sir, I didn’t—”

“You know you’re not supposed to leave—!”

“Not here, no! Not in front of the girl, can’t you see she’s listening?”

She hears a groan, unaware that it’s she who’s groaning.

“Come on, let’s go to the other room.”

The door closes. Whoever had been watching over her is gone. 

The cold she felt begins to fade, chased away by the warmth she’s used to. The shadows that had risen around her dissolve, turn into fire, the furious red of a day either beginning or ending. 

Soft skin trails across her abdomen. 

It moves down her legs, gliding through. The touch is cold, yes, but still too warm to be a snake. It slithers across her skin with the skill of a lover. Her breath catches, and she contracts her legs in a spasm of pleasure. Touch me, she thinks, please. The forked tongue brushes lightly over the cotton of her underwear, and she could swear that this skin, this tongue, becomes hands —long, pale fingers tracing her pubic bone, outlining the sides of her lips —not pressing, but lightly caressing— teasing her underwear down…

A thunderclap crashes against the earth.

A pair of hands grabs her by the shoulders.

And the whole town burns."

[lostonehero]

@zurdurer

Here's Jonny trying human fruits

Tim raised a brow. It wasn't often Aurora headed to earth, let alone stop long enough that he could actually enjoy food from his planet. "What?"

Jonny's tail was lashing back to forth, and that could mean a multitude of things, from anger to curiosity. "What's that?"

"Food." Tim sighs. "We are on earth. I'm enjoying stuff from earth."

"I know we're on earth!" Jonny huffed and pointed at a yellow object. "That's food?"

"It's a lemon. It's a fruit. I'm going to make some lemonade." Tim's brow shot up as Jonny grabbed it.

"This is food?" Jonny looked skeptical. "How do you eat it?"

"Well, I wouldn't eat it by itself, but you would peel it first." Tim muses taking a bite out of an apple.

Jonny decided to take that as a challenge and take a massive bite out of the lemon. His face contorted into disgust, and he threw the lemon against the wall. He spits and hisses. "What the fuck is wrong with your species? Do you posion yourself for fun?"

"Yes, what do you think alcohol is?" Tim snickers. "Also, as I said, we don't eat lemons by themselves. We make drinks or candies with them."

"Bullshit." Jonny huffed and stomped out of the mess hall.

(Fun fact Jonny's species can't handle sour things because it triggers them to immediately go this is poison and spit it out or throw up.)

[dissapearingentity]

Bawling my eyes out rn

[gabrielisdead]

since dracula daily is approaching again I would like to remind everybody that hungarian paprika can cause stomach issues even among people who grew up on it (from personal experience), that's why we eat nearly every national dish with tons of sour cream and bread, which our good english heir was probably not informed of so he's basically destined to have a little bit of diarrhea after shoving down a whole plate of csirkepaprikás. not sure about the queer dreams tho, he should ask the Count about that

[nanamisgirly]

cw breast obsession non-sexual, gentle dominance ig, soft intimacy.

my personal fav fantasy is husband!nanami coming home late. he's super exhausted and he finds you already sleeping.

he sighs in relief at the sight of your peaceful body lying on the bed, the moon light peeking through the curtains, casting a soft glow over you.

you're wearing a delicate crop top, yellow with tiny pink roses on it, thin straps slipping off your shoulders, and lace-trimmed triangles barely covering your breasts— shifted out of place in your sleep. it's Nanami's fav. because he got the chance to cup your tits easily from behind.

it's not in a lustful way!! he's not groping you with some filthy intent not always at least. he holds them in a comforting way, in a way that makes him exhales deeply the moment he slides into bed, feeling the stress of the day melt away as his large, calloused hand finds its rightful place. right over your chest.

it's comforting, the way they fit just right in his palms— they're not too big, not too small, just perfect. like they were meant to be in his hands, like he was meant to touch you this way. he likes the shape of them, the way they mold to his touch, yielding and soft, a stark contrast to the roughness of his palms. he doesn't squeeze hard, doesn't knead them like he's trying to work you up— just holds.

he loves how soft they are when you're relaxed, when you're warm and tucked into his arms, your body completely at ease. how they don't poke or demand attention. they're sitting there all plush and smooth against his fingers, unbothered.

he loves how your breasts change when you're lying down, how they spread just a little, how they lose that roundness but become so soft, so flat, almost like they're becoming one with his hands. he loves the way his fingers can rest along the curve of your ribs, feeling the gently rise and fall of your breath beneath them.

it's instinctual. reaching for you. holding you. owning you.

his favorite way to touch you is when you're on your back, his face buried in the crook of your neck—your floral scent invading his nostrils—'cause that's where he has better access to your tits. he likes to slide his hand up from your waist, fingers ghosting over your ribs before they settle beneath the swell of your breast— his thumb and index supporting the weight ever so slightly, pressing just enough to feel their fullness. and sometimes most of the times he gives the underside a gentle pinch, his lips twitching at the way your body shifts in response, even in your sleep.

and your nipples. god he loves them sooo much. he's totally obsessed when they don't poke or stiffen under his fingers, just stay warm and smooth against his touch, like they trust him enough to relax. he traces lazy circles over them, fingertips gliding over the subtle change in texture. he never presses, never pinches because he knows if he did, if he rolled them just right, they'd start to react. they'd tighten, harden under his touch, and sure—when the mood was for it—he loved that just as much.

but right now, it was only about feeling you.

and if you make some little sound of protest when he adjusts his grip— he simply shushes you, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, whispering, "go back to sleep, darling." and you do. because how could you not when you were so sweetly wrapped in his warmth?

(*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

[discount-supervillain]

I've still got a few things to puzzle out, but it's comin' along.

[enigmaris]

Red Hood held out his now uncovered hand as if to ask for a hand shake. Danny floated a bit closer and reached out with his own gloved finger. He poked into the back of the guy’s hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Dude, what if you’re contagious?”

“Can ghosts get sick?” Nightwing asked.

“There are ghost diseases, yeah.” Danny answered, still poking at Red Hood’s hand. “No ghost antibiotics, though. You just have to tough it out.”

“Is that what I have?”

“No.” Danny said. “You have something easier to fix.”

Danny floated back so that he was eye level with the two taller heroes. He folded his arms across his chest and looked at Red Hood.

“So, like. Is there a private place we could chat?”

“Private?” Nightwing asked. “Why? It isn’t fatal, is it?”

“Uh no? It's just personal. What’s it called Hippo? The doctor thing.”

“Are you talking about HIPAA?” Red Hood asked, sounding confused.

“That’s it!” Danny snapped a finger and pointed at Red Hood. “It’s personal medical info. We are on a rooftop in the middle of the biggest city I’ve ever been in. Do you want to go somewhere private?”

“I uh... No, here is fine.”

"Okay.” Danny said. “Cool then. So, these Lazarus Pits? I’ve never seen one, but I have heard of them from other older ghosts. Except we don’t call them that. They’re relatively common in the zone, but the locations are secret, you have to know someone who knows someone ya know?”

“Well, what are they?”

“Distilleries.”

“What?” Red Hood managed to look absolutely flabbergasted even with the full faced motorcycle helmet covering his head.

“Ghosts can’t eat human food, right? I mean we can, but we don’t taste anything. We don’t have the physical parts to digest human food and enjoy it like we did when we were alive.” Danny explained. “It’s the same thing for things like alcohol and drugs and things. So, a lot of adult ghosts still want to get drunk even though they’re dead. I died before 21 so I wouldn’t know, but like, there’s a desire for it.”

“What does this have to do with the Lazarus Pits?”

"Well, in order to make something we can taste, it has to be made with ectoplasm. Alcohol is not as easy to make as other stuff for ghosts. Alcohol is made using fermentation, right? Well ectoplasm doesn’t really. Do that. I mean ectoplasm is either inert or charged with emotional energy, if it gets charged enough it will form a ghost or spirit or something. It’s basically impossible to like, make ectoplasm ferment without risking your alcohol becoming the ghost of wines past.” Danny said, throwing a joke on the end there. Nightwing gave him a smile while Red Hood managed to glare at him through the full red facemask.

“There are ghosts who have figured out how to force ectoplasm to ferment. They basically invented ghost yeast, a sourdough starter of horror if you will. It takes centuries for ectoplasm to get good enough to be considered drinkable alcohol. So, what an enterprising barkeeping ghost will do is find like, an abandoned cave or something, fill it with ectoplasm dump the ghost yeast in there and leave it alone for like a thousand years to ripen. Then they’ll come back, bottle it up and sell it in the zone.” Danny continued.

"Are you telling me Red Hood is ghost drunk?” Nightwing asked.

“I’m saying he has a yeast infection.”

[klunets]

[appleciderjulie]

something about the audience and two cakes or whatever

[fullcravings]

Moist Black Cocoa Loaf Cake

[lizziehernandez]

🎵I’m a feminist obviously but I really wouldn’t mind him saving me🎶

[rememberwhouare]

The Walking Dead x 🖕| Memories

[solshii]

behind the scene is lbh telling (begging) sy that he can pluck his feathers whenever he needs to write (and preferably with his mouth)

previous || extras || next

[chocolatebonboncookie]

Cookie run yuri with opposite aesthetics my beloved 💕

[factual-fantasy]

Finished another order! This time with characters I've never drawn before :0 Thank you so much @sodasplatoon for your request!! :}} 🍬🍭🍫