#sand smooshing

[systimming]

Kai Ninjago fictive board with swords + kinetic sand + fire + blacksmithing stims!

- Mod Primarina.

((Sources of gifs: x, x, x | x, x, x | x, x, x ))

[taptrial2]

god i love drawing squishy kid faces

[theblehthatbloos]

I cheered up my brother yesterday, we were both wearing black and dark green to honor my grandmother, by letting him know today is about celebrating life and that, on the bright side, if we look down or cry we just look like riddler's minions that just forgot the riddle infront of batman

[erwinsvow]

when you start dating pope, it’s like you’ve also started dating jj. they come as a joint package, which you kind of already knew but not to this extent. jj almost always crashes your dates, shows up to the picnic you packed and spread out on a towel at the beach, starts snacking on the heart-shaped fruit you’d cut up for pope. sometimes the two of you ditch dinner because he needs to run to go help one of this friends—more often than not, it’s jj. even when you’re just cuddling in pope’s room, sneaking up there to be alone even though his parents know and love you, you’ll hear the roar of jj’s bike and groan into pope’s chest.

if you’re annoyed (besides for the occasional whine) you don’t show it to your boyfriend. this is his best friend, and by association, should be your friend too. you welcome him to everything you and pope are doing, pack extra food just in case, make pope buy a large cream when he really wanted a small because you know jj will eat the rest.

it’s nice, you’re beginning to think. you just want pope to be pleased with you—which he always is. you don’t understand the implications of this little trio you’ve become a part of until a little later.

in pope’s truck, smooshed in the front between pope driving and jj in the passenger seat. you’ve been driving for what feels like ages, listening to the two boys talk back and forth, cracking jokes and making each other laugh. you’re too sleepy to engage, quietly watching the road ahead for as long as you could before your head dips and settles onto pope’s shoulder.

“hey, pretty girl-” pope starts, trying to shift his arm to keep the wheel stable. “we’re almost there, don’t fall asleep on me now.”

you mumble something indecipherable against his shirt, when you hear jj speak up.

“nah, man, let her sleep. who knows what kinda freaky shit you put her through. she needs to rest.” you barely understand him, just hearing your boyfriend and his friend exchange words quietly, laughing.

“jj, help me out here so i can drive,” and you feel yourself being moved from pope’s shoulder by big, warm hands on your arm and then on your waist. you don’t resist, only pull away from jj’s touch to give pope a kiss on the cheek, before leaning away from him and melting into jj’s grip, head against his chest, his arm around your shoulder and hand playing with your hair. you’ve never thought about it before, but jj smells really good—not exactly the pine and saltwater and cotton scent of pope, but musky like the forest and the sand at the beach. you’re out within a minute, chest rising and falling evenly and quiet snores filling the truck.

jj stares down at you in his arms for a little too long, and then looks up at pope, who’s looking at the two of you. they both smile.

[novasintheroom]

110. Sunrise

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.7k

♡ Warnings - none

Mornings are lazy, sometimes.

It comes with the territory. You’ve walked all day, through the night, and you don’t want to really get up to do it all again. So you take lazy mornings to recover. To rest.

It starts with coming to. Like a slow sunrise, you awake to dim lighting and Vash’s arms wrapped around your stomach, his head on your chest. He’s breathing heavy, but not snoring – a good sign he’s actually asleep. The sand is cool beneath your sleeping bags. Soft. Your muscles ache, and you feel like you only blinked instead of slept. The stars are a blanket overhead, but the twin suns are coming toward the horizon, painting everything gray.

It’s quiet. Always quiet. Maybe a worm will buzz by, a lizard scurries on. But on mornings like this, you wonder what Earth was like before everything. Records show it teemed with life and energy and sound, even in the darkest moments of day. What did an owl hooting sound like at night? A wolf? A cougar? How tall could a tree grow? The rare, preserved video couldn’t do any justice. A certain sadness overtakes you, an ancient thing for what humanity lost. Then it goes away, accepting your fate and what you can do about it now. You brush a hand through Vash’s hair. Gentle, not enough to wake.

The sky continues to gray, then pinken. With it, Vash stirs. He starts making chirping sounds in the back of his throat. “Chirp…chirp-chirp…chirp…” It’s something he’s still shy about – just like anything to do with his Plantness – but he confided to you once that he only does it when he feels safe. It almost reminds you of crickets – again, from the archaic soundbites you’ve heard.

“Chhrp-chhrp…chirp…” He slowly opens his eyes. They’re blurry with sleep still, and he burrows into the crook of your neck. The chirping sounds come softly, especially when you brush a hand through his hair again. You can feel it on your skin, small vibrations of notes, music. It’s soothing in its own way; a normal occurrence to you now. It lessens as he wakes up more. Finally, the chirping stops, and he yawns into your shoulder. “What time is it?”

“Somewhere around five-thirty.”

“Hmm.” He repositions his hold on you, shimmying up to let you have a turn resting on his chest. Your cheek smooshes into his shirt, and you feel tired just from the movement. His metal hand brushes your arm, up and down, comforting.

The sky brightens to a light blue, mixing with pink to purple. It’s almost sunrise.

“You were talking in your sleep again,” he murmurs. His eyes are closed, but a small smile has taken hold.

“Oh no. What did I say?”

He takes a second to remember. Then giggles. “You said: ‘take a chill pill, my guy, you’re not burly enough to be sweating that much.”

You both laugh at that, rolling your eyes. He mutters how he’s going to write that one down – another phrase to add to the growing collection. You, unfortunately, do things like that often in your sleep.

“Still not my favorite thing you’ve said,” he comments. His eyes are open now, and they look down at you with adoration.

You snort. “Yeah, yeah, I know, ‘Where are the damn donuts, you Plant thief?’”

“Nope. That’s my second favorite thing.”

You twitch your brows and look up at him.

He smiles and bumps foreheads with you. “’Vash, I love you more than the stars. That’s a lot.’”

“Ha,” you say and close your eyes. “Should have known.”

The first sun peaks her head over the dunes. The rays warm your prickled skin. Soon, it will be too hot to stay in your sleeping bags, then too hot to really do anything. But for now, sunrise has come, and with it a new day with the love of your life.

[daffi-990]

Fuck it Friday & Inspiration Saturday

it’s Saturday for me so I’m smooshing the two together.

Tagged by @thewolvesof1998 @wikiangela @exhuastedpigeon @lover-of-mine @disasterbuckdiaz @devirnis @spotsandsocks @callmenewbie -> tagging you all right back for inspiration Saturday 😘

Okay so I’m back from holidays and the writing beans did visit me (yay!) … but did they visit for any of my current wips? Haha of course not 🤪. Being near the beach inspired a new buddie wip that is going to be part of a series called Daylight, inspired by the Taylor Swift song of the same name. I already have some stuff written for two more fics in the series too haha.

Here’s a moodboard for the series and a little snippet from the first fic, I’ve been sleeping so long in a 20 year dark night (now I’m wide awake).

Quick summary -> musician Buck is tired of the fame, fortune and loneliness of a life that doesn’t even feel like his own, so he packs his bags and runs away and ends up in the small beachside town of Hartlan Shore where he may just find everything he’s been longing for.

“What are you playing?”

Buck’s fingers pause in their strumming, his left hand sliding along the neck of the guitar as he abandons the chords he was playing. He opens his eyes to find a kid, no more than 8 years old with curly brown hair and wide inquisitive blue eyes framed by red rimmed glasses standing before him.

Buck squints his eyes against the morning sun. “Uh, nothing really, just playing random chords hoping it’ll turn into something.”

The kid moves on shaky legs to drop down in the sand on Buck’s right hand side. “I want to learn to play the guitar, but my Dad says no one in town is offering lessons.”

Buck frowns in sympathy for the kid. He remembers being a kid in Hershey and begging his parents for guitar lessons. He still doesn’t know why they turned him down at first, leaving him to seek out lessons from the school music teacher, Mr Glover, every Thursday at recess. It wasn’t until Mr Glover flagged his parents down at the one parent teacher night they actually managed to attend, using the magic words natural talent for the guitar and great potential with the right vocal training, that they agreed to get him not only private guitar lessons, but singing lessons too. Mr Glover had been more than happy to keep their lessons up, but Phillip and Margret Buckley didn’t think a mere school music teacher was good enough to teach their son, not if he was going to become somebody. Buck hadn’t cared who taught him, he’d just wanted to learn, just like this kid seems to.

“Would you like to learn a couple of chords now?” Buck asks.

The kid’s face lights up, a wide smile stretching across his face as he nods his head eagerly. Buck feels himself melt a little at how adorable this kid is.

“First things first.” Buck lays his guitar over his lap and extends his hand out to the kid. “I’m Buck.”

The kid looks at his hand for a moment, long enough that Buck is starting to wonder if maybe he doesn’t know what a handshake is, but then a small hand slips into his. “I’m Christopher.”

No pressure tagging: @watchyourbuck @hippolotamus @athenagranted @eddiebabygirldiaz @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @jamespearce9-1-1 @wildlife4life @weewootruck @rainbow-nerdss @the-likesofus @try-set-me-on-fire @theotherbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @giddyupbuck @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @hoodie-buck @honestlydarkprincess @ladydorian05 @loserdiaz @clusterbuck @monsterrae1 @mellaithwen @nmcggg and anyone else who wants to join in and share something ❤️

[wing-ed-thing]

Those Called Jinchūriki (Naruto x Jinchūriki!Reader x Gaara) Part I

Synopsis: There are only so many Jinchūriki to meet, and Naruto is outraged by your treatment. Unable to do much himself, Naruto enlists the help of Gaara to set you free and grant you sanctuary in the Hidden Sand.

Word Count: 2k

Tags/Warnings: No Reader Pronouns, Jinchūriki!Reader, Slight Angst, Gaara isn't in this chapter

Notes: It's always been my personal hc that Naruto considers "jinchuriki" a slur. I'm pretty sure this is canon, but I haven't been able to track down manga evidence so don't fight me on this.

Considering how formal the event was, Naruto was eerily well-behaved. 

He had insisted on coming, and after making himself more of a nuisance than ever, Tsunade had placed him on the mission with one strict condition: don’t cause trouble. And so he sat, a mocktail in one hand and leg bouncing as he stared directly at the entrance at the top of the stairs. He didn’t hear Yamato notifying him that appetizers had been served, nor did he notice his new squad leader hovering over his shoulder, following his gaze up the carpeted steps. 

Naruto couldn’t wait to meet you.

You were the reason he had traveled all this way to your little land that hardly had a place on the map. You were why he had donned his finest clothes to attend this prestigious political gathering and waited patiently for your arrival. The moment he saw you, his eyes went wide.

The guards opened the ornate double doors with spears in hand as you emerged at the top of the grand staircase—elegant, layered fabrics draped over your shoulders, binding stiffly around your waist and neck. A golden chain littered with charms, ornaments, and sacred tags crowned your head, swooping adornments around the circumference of your skull. 

You stopped at the top of the grand stairwell. You held a stoic expression on your face, remaining only cordial as you took the skirt of your robes in your hands and bowed deeply. Naruto’s bright irises glittered at the sight of you. 

A holder of a tailed beast, dressed in fancy clothing and presented for all to see— Naruto’s chest ached with bitter happiness as he watched you live out his deepest dream and desire. He glanced toward the back of the room, where a decorated table sat waiting for you, elevated slightly taller on the ground where all could see you.

Like royalty.

A host of a tailed spirit, respected.

“Presenting… the Jinchūriki!” 

Naruto whooped and hollered, nearly jumping out of his seat in applause. But his praises were swiftly silenced as a roar of laughter and jeering erupted from the crowd on the room's lower level. Naruto’s forehead knitted, causing him to stop mid-clap. He swiveled in shock, scouring the room in search of answers as he sank back into his seat. He turned around, mouth agape, to make eye contact with Yamato, who only shrugged. Yamato looked about as confused as Naruto, his stare trained on you as his lips subtly contorted downward. 

The people swarmed you as you walked across the room to your table, faces smooshing around you as your indifferent guards put mediocre effort into keeping a walkway for you. Naruto couldn’t help but jump up from his seat, joining the nobles and political figures who crowded you. He jumped at the back of the mob, head bobbing over the sea of greased hair and overcomplicated updos. 

Naruto shouted your name, but the commotion drowned out his voice. 

You were never seen in public, after all.

You eventually reached a single table at the opposite end of the dining room. Naruto could see the top of your headpiece as he raced around the perimeter of the crowd. Little by little, the ornately decorated tablecloth appeared, matching the jewelry adorning you. You sat on the plush cushion, your guards finally able to keep the floor of people at least a few feet away from your table. 

People, but apparently not Naruto. 

You could only watch on in alarm as he slid between the legs of a nobleman, slipping on the hard tile floor as he scrambled between the guards and right up in front of you. He slammed his hands down, causing your silverware to rattle and you to jump. Your wide gaze darted around, searching for a guard to get this crazed madman away from you.

You stared, restraining your concerned expression as you wordlessly watched him. He huffed, catching his breath, even reaching across the elaborate table setting to help himself to your glass of water as he held out a hand. Not knowing what else to do, you offered him a cloth napkin. 

“Hiya! My name is Naruto Uzumaki, and wouldn’t ya believe it, but I’m also the host to the Nine-Tails and—”

Naruto stopped short, the sight of you stealing his words from his lips. It wasn’t the expensive jewels that littered your skin or the delicate fabrics, but the thick metal collar shacked around your neck. The weight of it left visible irritation on your skin from years of wear, bunching your robes and pinching at your collarbone. The cuffs were painted in ancient runes, spelling “Jinchūriki” exclusively and repeatedly. 

Naruto’s attention dropped to your hands, following the long stretch of chains from your neck to your bound wrists. The sleeves of your robes were folded up neatly to accommodate your bindings that held your hands less than a shoulder’s length apart. 

“What the hell?” he uttered, breathlessly horrified as Naruto’s baby blue irises flicked up to yours. Your eyes were about as wide as his. You placed a delicate touch on the table's edge, rising slightly from your seat. 

“Nine-Tails?” Your gaze explored him and darted frantically over his face and hands. You spoke lowly, almost in a whisper. Panicked concern painted your face. “Where are your bindings?”

He was torn away in an instant. 

It all happened in a moment, from the time Naruto introduced himself to you to the moment a guard grabbed him around the torso from behind in an attempt to wrestle him to the ground. Naruto kicked, struggling against the tight grip that pinned his arms.

“Wait—”

“Sit back down!” you were commanded. 

You shot back down in your seat without a second thought, spine erect. In the chaos, Naruto’s team rushed around in the background, trying to intercept the commotion, but too many people had crammed together. Naruto elbowed the guard in the face, thrashing his arms to break away and make a mad dash back toward you. 

His team members came in from the sides, engaging with the guards and attendees alike as they tried to avoid a violent confrontation. Yamato placed himself between the crowd and Naruto, arms and flat palms held out in front of his body. His assertive pleas for everyone to take a second were disregarded. 

Naruto’s hand wrapped around the link between your cuffs, tugging your longer chain as he held your bound hands up. You flinched, jerking your hands back, but his grip was too firm. The movement caused your eyes to twitch shut as you turned your head. You had little idea what was happening, let alone catch the rage simmering on Naruto’s expression.

“What the hell is this?” His shout cut through the commotion, bringing the entire hall to silence. You spotted orange from where you flinched, your head nestled between your arms. Your face slowly rose to catch a glimpse of black and orange markings etched across Naruto’s cheeks. He held up your bound hands again. The crowd backed up. The guards had broken from their confrontations with Naruto’s team to protect the gathering of elites with spears pointing forward. A strangled growl tore from Naruto’s throat as he repeated himself, “What the hell is this?”

Naruto’s grip closed around your cuffs, the tips of his rapidly sharpening fingernails causing tension in the metal. The entire room looked upon him in terror as you all watched his fox-like trains bubble to the surface. Even as tears gathered in your waterline, you waited motionlessly, watching like a cornered animal.

“Is this how the Land of Paper treats its sacred spirits?” He dropped your chains and stormed forward, causing the crowd to retreat with horrified gasps. The guards moved to confront him before Yamato swooped forward to forcibly hold Naruto back by the torso.

“Naruto, stop—” he hissed.

“How dare you!” One of the guard’s noses contorted into a foul, disgusted wrinkle. The rest of them came to surround the Hidden Leaf representatives. His lip curled as he held up his weapon. “And how dare the Hidden Leaf lack enough decency to bring a feral Jinchūriki to this gathering!”

“Don’t call me that!” 

“Naruto!” Naruto jerked forward in Yamato’s grip. He lowered his center of gravity, just barely able to restrain him. You sat face down on the table, the ornaments on your hair pointed outward like defensive horns, covering the back of your head with your arms. Your chains hung over it all, anchoring you to the room’s disturbance.

The guard turned to Sakura, who happened to be the closest, with a snarl. 

“Take your Jinchūriki pet and leave. You Leaf Shinobi are no longer welcome here.”

“Please, we have no malicious intent—” 

“Out!” The soldiers moved closer with their pointed spears.

“Go to hell!” Naruto yelled as Yamato tried his best to wrestle him away. You barely rose from your cowering position, but Naruto managed to meet your eye. He pointed directly toward you. “I’ll come back to save you! Don’t you worry!” 

The rest of the team followed, having no choice but to abandon their mission in disgrace.

The commotion ended as soon as it started. A few servants swooped in to clear away spilled beverages, and the hosts resorted quickly to damage control.

“What excitement!” one of them laughed nervously over the gather. The rest were easily convinced to laugh along. Uncertainly dizzied your head as you wondered what just happened.

***

“What the hell, Naruto?” Yamato shoved Naruto’s shoulder up against a wall at the back entrance. Naruto’s head bowed, unreadable, as Yamato held his shoulder pinned. The Jōnin was quietly seething himself.

With the Akatsuki slowly making their way across the country collecting tailed beasts, it was integral to make contact with the Land of Paper. While most tailed beasts made homes in large, established shinobi villages— or entirely off the grid in solitude— the Land of Paper continued a long tradition of keeping their tailed spirit for strictly spiritual and ornamental purposes. Compared to the Bijuu cultivated for wartime, Yamato had been informed that you hardly stepped outside your secluded temple, making you a prime target for the Akatsuki. 

They needed to talk to the important people gathered in that dining room, but now all that was squandered.

“I understand you’re angry—” Yamato resigned with a heavy sigh. He turned to rub his hands over his face, letting Naruto crumble to the ground. Yamato took a sharp intake, fist pressed against his lips. —“But that was not helpful, Naruto. We needed to get on the good side of a lot of people in that room. I don’t know what you were thinking—”

A single sniffle cut off Yamato’s rant.

Then another.

“I’m sorry, Captain Yamato.” Naruto’s voice was small. He curled in on himself, fingers weaving through his messy blond hair. Yamato stood in front of him silently. The rest of the team held their tongues, giving Naruto and Yamato their space as Sakura tugged Sai away. Naruto’s body jerked with his sobs, tears falling into his folded lap. “I’m sorry.” 

Yamato’s expression melted at the sight of him, and with another deep sigh, he knelt down to Naruto’s level.

“I was angry too,” he admitted, one wrist resting on his bent knee. “I didn’t know they treated Jinchūriki like that. If I had known—”

“Don’t use that word.” 

Yamato paused, staring deeply into the top of Naruto’s head. He studied his unmoving form, a soft concern in his dark eyes. Yamato placed a gentle touch on Naruto’s arm. 

“What word, Naruto?” It took a moment before he answered, his voice muffled as Naruto spoke into his knees. Yamato sat fully on the ground, repeating Naruto’s name softly and assertively. He leaned forward on his knees. “What word shouldn’t I use?”

“Don’t call us Jinchūriki.” Naruto sniffled. “Please.”

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: You know, it's here, it's cheesy. The direction of this kinda reminds me of the style of early 2010s fanfic? Does that make sense to anyone else?

[kteezy997]

The Other Man-Part Ten (the end) //t.c.

Warnings: cursing, mention of past trauma, therapy, smut, oral sex female receiving, brief doggy style, mention of cum

After that night, you and Timmy spent every second together. You didn’t go out, you didn’t work, nothing. The two of you just migrated back and forth between your house and his.

You went to therapy together and separately, trying to heal from everything that happened. You didn’t talk about it with each other very often, but you found out from Timmy how he was ambushed and attacked by Billy. You cried for hours as Timmy lovingly held you.

You were glad to know what he went through, but you didn’t want to dwell too much on the horror that transpired because of Billy, neither did he, you only wanted to move forward. Your divorce was finalized. Billy had been charged with abduction, assault, and unlawfully discharging a deadly weapon, but that was only the beginning. You were told there would be more charges brought against him, and you were relieved to know that he'd be going to prison for a very long time.

About a month after everything happened, Timmy came up with the idea for you two to go away for a while, for as long as you needed. He didn’t want to have a timeline. He wanted the two of you to have time together and not have to worry about anything else.

“Where do you wanna go? Wanna…go somewhere we can lay naked on the beach with no one else around?” he had a sly little smirk on his face.

You giggled, “No, I don’t really like the beach. It’s hot and there’s sand everywhere.”

“Okay,” he brushed your hair back off your shoulder, “where should we go, my love?” he smiled softly at you, waiting for your answer.

“Hmm,” you pondered, “somewhere…isolated, like you said, but also cozy. Maybe somewhere snowy. And we could rent a cabin, but not like a run-down cabin, a nice cabin, boujee almost.”

Timmy laughed, “Okay, a fancy cabin in the mountains it is."

.......

You were laying on the couch snuggled up under a fuzzy blanket, watching the fireplace crackle and the snowfall outside. It was absolutely gorgeous. Timmy joined you, laying half on you and half on the couch. The feeling of him so near was so warm and comforting. You wanted to stay there just like that forever.

Timmy kissed you on the cheek, and he tucked his arm under your head snuggly.

You put your hand delicately on his cheek. His bruises had faded. Now there was only some faint red marks. You gently grazed your thumb over a small cut that had scabbed over. "They don't hurt anymore?" you asked him.

He shook his head, "Nope. I'm all better now." he kissed your lips.

"I despise him. I hope they beat his ass in prison. Attack him from behind so he can't see it coming, like he did to you. I hope he can't defend himself, it’s what he deserves."

"He deserves worse than that, just for the way he's treated you. I know he was upset by the cheating, I can't believe that he wanted to actually…kill us. That is not the Billy I became friends with." he pet your hair affectionately as he spoke.

You sighed, "I've been thinking that we should just forget about him, ya know? If he's in our thoughts at all, that means he wins. He's taken so much from us, let's not give him anymore."

"I agree, baby. Fuck him. He's nothing to us anymore."

You ran your fingers through his curls, "So, how are you doing after the whole Ameila thing?"

"I mean, I don't hate her. That takes too much energy. I just hope she's working on herself. What she did was pretty fucked up. I mean, she had me believing that I was going to be a father."

You hummed, "Well, you will be one day. But on your terms, and not in a situation based on lies."

"I know." he bopped you on the nose with his finger, "Because you'll be the mommy. Which is the way I want it."

"Awe, you wanna have babies with me?" you cooed, putting your arms around him.

"Of course, ya dummy. You're the love of my life. I'm gonna marry you and give you lots of babies." he said, gently smooshing his nose into yours, giving you a playful Eskimo kiss.

You smiled gleefully, "Ugh, that makes me so happy. I love you, Timothee, make love to me, like right now." You pulled him into a hungry, heated kiss.

He groaned against your mouth in surprise, "I love you too." he said, but his words were muffled by your lips.

“Mm, take my clothes off please.” you requested, raising your arms up.

“Yes ma’am.” Timmy responded, pulling your shirt off, leaving your chest bare, as you weren’t wearing a bra. Then he moved down to pull your pants and undies down in one swoop before dropping them onto the floor.

“Now you!” you said, taking ahold of his shirt and pulling it up.

Timmy threw his shirt over his head, and his curls went wild like usual before he shook them back into place. He then rid himself of his sweats, and his naked form was highlighted by the orangey glow of the fireplace. He looked like an Angel, but with a devilish look in his eyes. He sunk down between your legs. His mouth neared your heat, and he held onto your thighs.

As he started lapping at your clit, you threw your hands on his hair. You whined as he suckled your sensitive nub between his lips. You cursed under your breath as pleasure took over your being.

Timmy sucked and licked your pussy like a savage. He had to tighten his grip on your legs to keep you still.

You arched you back and bucked your hips onto his mouth. He was making you wild. “Oh, fuck, Timmy!”

He wouldn’t let up. He quickly spat between your folds, making sinful eye contact with you as he did so, before continuing to assault your clitoris in the best way. He slid his hand up to palm your tits.

You found yourself clawing at his arms. You felt absolutely feral. You wanted him to ram you from behind, so you switched your positioning. "Fuck me like this, Daddy. Is it okay that I call you that?" you asked, panting in between breaths.

Timmy snaked his arm around you, pulling you close, he spoke into your ear, "Yes, I'd love it. We'll be Daddy and Peaches." he then nibbled on your earlobe and held you tight as he entered you and fucked you hard. He spanked you, and you cried for more.

…….

Later, the love session ended with you squirting all over him, and he came inside of you. He filled you to the brim with his warm, gooey cum.

After giving you a lazy, but much needed back rub, Timmy carried you closer to the fireplace. Gently, he placed you there on the floor with a blanket, and he laid down to cuddle you from behind.

You watched the pretty flames as you settled against his body. You always fit so snuggly together like two puzzle pieces just destined for one another. You were toasty warm and unbelievably cozy, both from the fire and the man that had you wrapped up in his arms. It was like a dream, more like a fantasy, really.

The touch of his lips reminded you that he was real, and he pressed lingering kisses on your neck that trailed over your shoulder. He whispered in your ear how much he loved you before nuzzling into your neck to fall asleep. His hair was silky soft as it caressed your skin in a tide of chocolate curls.

If there ever was one thing that your absolute bastard of a former husband did in his lifetime, it would be introducing you to Timothée Chalamet, the love of your life.

The way your story with Timmy started was wrong, but damn was it so right now.

A/N: I have had the most fun writing this story! Thank you to all that have followed it(: and a special thank you to @gatoenlaciudad for her constant encouragement, reviews, and inspiration<3

@thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @chalametbich

[shadowy-suitcase-herring-neck]

some random worldbuilding stuff for my fish boi au :3

i was thinking about like life cycle sort of stuff? idk. baby mer's are pretty similar as they haven't developed their specific tail type. a baby mer has a slightly stubby almost tadpole like tail. it is usually one color. they just wiggle around. :3 also they bald. no head fins or crests yet.

when a mer is 10 they start showing faint signs of traits they will have when they get older. such as emerging pattering, slight changes in fin shape, and a change in the scales but nothing too noticeable.

around the time they turn 12 they make a sort of cocoon/chrysalis? thing. it looks kind of like a giant pearl but more smooshed looking?

like a water droplet. it's also semi transparent but only enough to see a shadow of the mer inside. They stay inside for about a week before poping out with their new unique tail and head fins/crests/horns :3

they still aren't full sized and usually reach their maximum length once they turn 18.

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

now what happens to a mer when they die? they don't turn to dust but i have a different idea. what does happen is that the ocean rapidly reclaims their bodies. and i mean FAST. then coral, sea plants, and other things seemingly appear overnight turning the now mer shaped sand and rock into an underwater garden.

family members and friends will often maintain these gardens and decorate them with shells and other nice things they find or that the dead mer liked.

[systimming]

Prewings Dragon board with talons + knives + feathers + fursuit paws + kinetic sand stims!

- Mod Pent.

((Sources of gifs: x, x, x | x, x, x | x, x, x ))

[justsescape]

Dumb anime logic, Asuka is filling up the elevator with her boob meat and gut, hotboxing whatever empty space is left with her burps, and Rei is pressed up against the door...

Cause angels or somethin', idk, dont fluster me--

"H-hey, WoooOOOOOURPndergirl, where'd... HYIC-UUUUUUUUUURP!... where'd you go?!"

Asuka filled up the elevator in the same way a milkshake fills up a glass. Her body -- surely well over two-thousand pounds -- was not so much standing in the lift as much as it had been somehow poured in. Flab splayed up against each wall like oceanwater crashing up against the wooden legs of a dock. It was a wonder the weight limit hadn't been reached.

"D-did you... HYIC! HYICK! HYURK!" Asuka's eyelids fluttered with fatigue. Whatever words she managed to get out were consistently prefixed or suffixed by all manner of gas. "BEOOOOOOOOOOUURP-HIC-UUUUUUUUUUUUUUURP!"

The former pilot's flesh rose and fell like sand dunes; hills and valleys, peaks and troughs formed the landscape throughout the confined capacity of the elevator. Her pale, stretch mark-laden skin served as a canvas for condiments, crumpled up wrappers, and food stains. The walls themselves were similarly greasy, caked with sweat and dripping with moisture from being practically drowned in her generous fat. At least, the top half of them were; the lower half of each wall had been completely buried beneath Asuka's lard-ridden body. So, too, was the case for the aforementioned Wondergirl.

"Did yoOOOURP... haaah~... did yoOOOOOOOUUUURP... haaaaaanghh~..." In the dead center of it all was Asuka's head. Sat atop a series of chins that virtually melted into the rest of her, the redhead's once-sharp features had been so distorted with adipose that every facial recognition control in NERV rejected her clearance. "...st-steal myyHYICK-UUUURP!... my food?..."

It took her multiple minutes to get even a single question out. That in itself was a mockery -- but Asuka furthered the absurdity by trying to point a finger. Each of them had grown so thick that the lines that fell between her knuckles flattened against the rest of her bulbous skin. They practically resembled the shape of particularly giant carrots.

"I can... feel yUUUUUUUUUOOOOOORAAAAAAAAAAAAP!... hnnnngNNGMngh~... feel yYHOURK!... f-feel you squirming, HYIC-UUUUUUUUUURP!... you know!"

Belches were so deep, so loud, that they resonated with the metal girders carrying the elevator from one floor to another. And each gaseous expulsion was not only deafening, but unmistakably warm. Rei couldn't see a thing -- she was smooshed against one of the walls like a bug against a windshield -- but she certainly suspected that the air had turned green from Asuka's noxious fumes.

The elevator doors opened slowly, laboriously. The friction that Asuka's bulging lard imposed upon them kept them from going any faster than a snail. Not that anyone could even board the lift, anyway. Asuka's blubber bulged into the corridor like a diver desperate to surface for a breath; it would be a miracle if the door would ever shut again.

As for Rei, she was unlucky enough to be pinned against one of the other walls. She was in for a long ride.

[ebonylark]

My daughter was having nightmares and feared monsters, so I made her a "sleep sword". The whole thing is non-toxic and the gems glow in the dark. This is where my love of Discworld and LARPing intersect with parenthood.

'But Mrs Robertson told me that her Emma was going round the house looking for monsters in the cupboards! And up until now she's always been afraid of them!' 'Did she have a stick?' said Susan. 'She had her father's sword!' 'Good for her.'

~ Thief of Time by Terry Pratchett

Process detailed below

Materials:

Camp pad

Marker

Kite spar

Epoxy or carpet glue

Box cutter or craft knife

Drywall knife or serrated kitchen knife

Duct tape collection

Board to evenly smoosh

Cord for the handle

Nerf glow-in-the-dark discs for the gems

Foil to back gems

Thin craft foam for the hilt if your cat bites the camp pad all to hell

Doodle of sword

Child

Doodle the sword

Measure the child's arm from shoulder to fingertip.

Cut Kite Spar to length if child's arm. Sand the edges. I used a dremmel.

Draw the outline of the sword three times on the camp pad. Total length should be approx. child arm + 2 inches. You can draw the outline on cardboard and then trace if you prefer.

Cut the sword blanks out. They won't be perfect.

Stack the blanks in different orders to determine which sword blank is biggest. This one will go in the center.

Cut a channel in the center blank to hold the kitespar snugly, with at least one inch of padding on all sides.

Place the bottom blank on a hard surface.

Spread glue

Add center blank

Glue into channel

Kite spar into channel

More glue

Top blank

Board

Weight

Wait for glue to set. Again, it won't be perfect.

Use the serrated knife to shape the blade

Use the box cutter to delineate the hilt

Take a photo and get out your duct tape collection.

Make multiple mockups using only colors you actually have.

Allow child to select color for the hilt

Peel the stickers off the nerf discs

Crumple foil and place inside the disc. I liked the effect better than flat foil or glittery paper, but you do you

Attach gems to hilt - I used little strips of duct tape on the very edges

If necessary, cut two hilt shapes out of craft foam and attach to camp pad. Stuff the gaps in the camp pad created by cat attack with the shrapnel. Tape hilt foam together as you go to hold the shrapnel in place. Rember to cut holes for the gems before attaching the craft foam.

Duct tape all the things in appropriate colors. Cut little slits to smooth around curves.

Wrap the cord around the grip

Charge the glow gems with sunshine or blacklight

Give sword to child

[rosewaterandivy]

won me over in spite of me

summary: after having met at the 2020 rock n' roll hall of fame induction ceremony, eddie munson will not leave you be. keeps going on about this guy who'd be perfect for you, but you're not interested in another set-up.

a/n: long live rockstar!eddie and his meddling ways!

🎶 you are the bearer of unconditional things, you held you breath and the door for me, thanks for your patience 🎶

“I’m so sorry,” you say, badly covering yet another yawn. “I don’t know why I’m so tired today.”

A lie. Of course you knew, how could you not?

“Something keep you awake?” he asks, voice soft against the crashing tide.

You’re walking side by side in the fading light, the salty breeze tickling your nose. He’s holding your boots in one hand, insisting that they’re too nice for you to resign them to the sand, your socks tucked into his back pocket.

An amber glow cuts across his face, making him even more handsome, impossibly enough. You bite your lip, looking quickly away when his eyes meet yours— mossy green and flecked with gold.

“The jet lag, probably.” You huff and laugh, turning to watch the sunset.

He hums in thought, “We could’ve rescheduled.”

“What? like we haven’t done that several times over already?”

His bark of laughter is loud and brings a smile to your face. Steve Harrington, the talented and in-demand actor, laughing at your motor mouth. Who would have thought?

Well, Eddie Munson, for one.

“Eds,” you growl picking up your phone, “It’s 4 in the fucking morning.”

“… shit, sorry.”

You roll over onto your stomach, wedging the phone between your ear and shoulder.

“Well, what is it? What couldn’t you possibly wait to badger me about?”

He sighs down the line, you can almost hear him rolling his eyes. “Remember how you were drunkenly lamenting the lack of decent men in the dating scene?”

“I told you that in confidence, Edward.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves you off, “And apps are the worst, even if they claim to have a screening process like Raya— that’s not your scene.”

“Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Will you just lemme,” he lets out an exasperated huff. “I am trying to you a solid girly.”

A brief consideration.

“You know how I feel about set-ups.”

“Okay, but it’s me? I’m not gonna set you up with some creep who has like, a collection of Furbies or some shit.”

“Long Furbies or normal Furbies?”

“Was any Furby truly normal? More like demon spawn— but that’s beside the point.”

You sigh, smooshing your face into the pillow and mumble out something unintelligible.

“C’mon sugar, use your big girl words.”

God, you could kill him.

“I said,” you enunciate pointedly, “I’ll consider it.”

“Hell yeah!” he crows directly into your ear. “Only a year of bugging you and you finally see reason.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, Munson.”

He ends the call by promising to send you the details. so, after your set in Munich you read through a few emails— put out a few fires your publicist expressed concern about, and check your texts.

eds: steve harrington

you: i’m sorry who?

eds: … are you fucking with me?

you: no??

eds: omg 😆 he’s gonna love that

you: the guy you’re trying to set me up with gets off on people not knowing who he is? not really selling it to me here, munson.

eds: no, that’s not— i’ll send you a pic

you: if there is a whisper of dick, i am throwing my phone into the isar river

eds: [IMG]

“Really?” you greet once he picks up, “That’s the pic? How is that supposed to be helpful?”

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Shut up, nerd. I know you don’t sleep. Just answer the question.”

“Ah, you caught me,” he laughs softly. “It’s his contact photo in my phone— whaddaya want from me? You said you didn’t want a dick pic.”

You take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Eds, why would you have seen this guy’s dick, much less have a photo of it?”

“Truthfully, it was an accident, both times.” You can hear him shuffling across the line. “But there is nothing wrong with dudes checking out each other’s rigs.”

“I—" your mouth is gaping open like a fish. “I need to drink myself to oblivion to forget this conversation.”

“I mean, it’s noice, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says unhelpfully.

“GOODBYE Edward!”

Thankfully, he calls not long after the disastrous text exchange. You were doing fuck-all lounging around the house since finishing your festival circuit. Technically, this was supposed to be a writing day, but the muse had not been kind to you lately. Studio time was booked for a few weeks out, and you were struggling to come up with the motivation to finish the last few songs for the album.

The buzz of the phone provided a needed excuse to pack it in for the day. Shutting your journal and tossing a pen onto the coffee table, you answered the call.

"Hello?"

"Uh, yeah. Hi." He cleared his throat briefly, "M'glad you picked up, considering how much of an idiot I was. Sorry, by the way."

Steve's voice is low and raspy, but warm and inviting. You lean back on the leather sofa, sinking back into the cushions suddenly not so nervous.

"Well, I'm a nice person, second chances and all that."

He laughs at that. "Very gracious of you."

"Though," you say, "You never did confirm that this is, in fact, Steve Harrington that I am speaking with."

"No?"

"Nope," you pop the 'p' for emphasis. "So, I'm gonna have to ask for some sort of proof because Eddie was less than helpful."

He scoffs, "Typical Munson."

A moment later your phone pings with a notification: s.h. sent an image. Opening it up, you compare it to the images that pop up when you Google his name, and, sure enough, that's him.

"Better?" he asks, after giving you a moment.

"I suppose it'll do. Not like I'm about to suggest facetime," you sigh, running a hand through your unkempt hair. "Especially when I'm rocking writer's retreat chic."

"Mmm," he hums, "Sounds comfy. I'm jealous."

"Yeah?" you laugh, "They not let you roll up in sweats and bleach-stained shirts for your shoot today?"

His laughter greets you, "Y'know, oddly they don't?"

The conversation flows easily from there. He tells you what he can about his current project and you regale him with tales from life on the road, including special appearances by one Eddie Munson. Steve is easy to talk to— effusive and funny, which you hadn’t expected.

You hate to admit it, but Eddie may have been onto something.

“And then he—" Steve stops short, mid-story about a prank gone awry onset of his last project, muttering an apology and you can hear him open the door.

"Mr. Harrington, they're ready for you on set."

Trying to ignore the sour pull of your gut, you heave yourself off of the couch determined to do at least one productive thing today. He had to get back to set, you needed to get something done today, and the conversation was coming to a close.

The door closes with a soft click, quickly followed by Steve's sigh. "So, I gotta get back to work."

"Yeah," you clear your throat. "I guess I should too."

"I, uh, I'm really glad we got to talk." His voice was softer now, "C-could I call you later?"

"Oh, sure." You swallow the nerves creeping up your throat and ignore the kick of your heart in your chest. "I'd like that."

"Yeah?"

You screw your eyes shut, feeling yourself growing hot. "Don't get a big head about it, Harrington."

He laughs, breath blowing in huffs down the line. "Might be too late for that honey."

Numerous phone and FaceTime calls, messages, and several reschedulings later, you were going on a date with Steve. A first date at that, and you couldn't recall the last time you'd been on one of those. His assistant and best friend, Robin had called to confirm with you and promised to drop a pin of the place in Malibu where you'd meet him.

You were lucky enough to fly relatively under the radar most of the time, but since releasing and touring with your sophomore album, it was becoming more difficult to pull off. Not that you didn't like being nominated and winning awards or receiving feedback from your peers— you did, it was just a cosmic catch-22.

Steve completely understood when you'd mentioned not wanting anything especially public for the date. Just said he'd take care of it and for you not to worry about a thing.

But here you were, doing just that staring at your closet trying to find something to wear. In a panic, you'd called Eddie who was currently rifling through your dresser and tossing things behind him. The only thing you'd been able to agree on were the denim shorts, laid out on the bed awaiting the rest of your outfit.

"Aha!" He tossed a red top onto the bed, turning back to face you. "Those," he gestured to the shirt and shorts, "With your boots— the Docs or Blood—"

“Blundstone.”

"Right," he nods, "S'what I said."

You appraise the articles of clothing warily. "Okay."

"Now the lingerie situation is where it gets interesting."

You scoff, "Absolutely not." And begin herding him toward the door, "Consider your services done for the evening."

Shutting the door to change, you hear Eddie talking indistinctly in the hallway. Tieing the hem of the shirt into a knot, you let Eddie back in to assess.

With a nod of approval, he ends the call. "What's up, hot stuff? Harrington's not gonna know what hit him!"

You smile and walk to the mirror in the bathroom to see what can be done about your hair and makeup.

"Speaking of which," Eddie trails after you. "That was him on the phone. Fashion emergency, would you believe?"

"Uh huh," you roll your eyes. "Okay, Miranda Priestly."

"Anyway, I gotta run." He gives you a quick peck on the cheek and a smile. "You're gonna knock 'em dead!"

And he's off.

"Hey," Eddie shouts from the first-floor entryway. "Keep your hair down and do a red lip with that, sugar!"

Steve meets you at the beach. He’s dressed down in jeans and t-shirt and a red bomber jacket— you try to hide the smirk creeping its way across your face; Eddie purposefully curating your respective sartorial choices to match. What a little scamp. You park the car, a vintage cream Mercedes convertible and give yourself a final look in the mirror— hair voluminous and wind whipped (shout-out to leave in stylers), red lip matching your top to a tee.

Well, here goes nothing.

“Hi,” he greets you, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. Steve opens the door for you, allowing you to step out and put your sunglasses on.

The door shuts with a soft click.

“Hi,” you reply with a small smile, willing the nerves bubbling in your chest to stay at bay. You nod to the bundle of flowers, “Those for me?”

“Oh, right.” As if he’s just remembered them. “Yeah, your assistant said these were your favorite so.” He extends the hand holding the bouquet toward you, almost hesitantly.

“They are,” you say, fingers brushing against his as you accept the flowers, paper and cellophane crinkling in your grasp. Bringing them to your nose, you breathe in the fresh fragrance of the flowers. “You did good Harrington, thank you.”

He ducks his head and smiles, one hand coming up to run through his hair. “Uh, you're welcome. I’m glad you like them.” He jerks his head toward the beach, “We’re set-up a bit further down. You don’t mind a walk, do you?” You can feel his eyes on you, even as you look away to the shoreline.

A shake of your head, skin warming from the sun overhead and excitement at the possibility of this new thing between you and Steve. What might it be like? To put yourself through it all again, with someone new?

“No,” you answer, jarring yourself from any further lines of inquiry. “I don’t mind at all. Lead the way!”

He slows his pace to walk beside you, sunglasses hiding his gaze. You hold the flowers in your left hand, leaving your right— the one closest to Steve, free. He walks on the right, keeping the damp sand of the shore from you. It reminds you of something your grandmother said way back when you had started entertaining thoughts about dating for the first time: A gentleman always walks on the outside of their date, it’s a sign of chivalry and respect.

Your hands brush a couple of times, pinkies grazing one another. Steve is quiet, more so than you’d been accustomed to— he’s a regular chatterbox on the phone and a texting fiend, more often than not. Maybe he’s nervous? He certainly wouldn’t be the only one. Hands bumping against each other once more, you take it upon yourself make the first move.

“If you wanted to hold my hand so badly,” you laugh, twining your fingers together, “You could’ve just asked Steve.”

He looks at you, pink flush on his cheeks and a beatific smile. “Sorry,” he says with a squeeze of your hand, “Guess I’m a little rusty. And nervous,” he admits shyly. “You’re just so—“

“Intimidating? I get that a lot.”

Steve stops short, looking at you once more. “No— I mean, maybe to some but,” he pushes his sunglasses up into his hair. “You’re … beautiful.”

It’s an interesting phrase and you notice that it’s not the usual you look beautiful. But instead he’s said it as a declaration of fact— you are beautiful. Not in the way that relies on your looks or the clothes you’re wearing. And it’s nice— it’s sincere because that’s just how Steve Harrington is, as you’ve come to quickly learn.

“Sorry, was that—“

“Don’t apologize,” you say, when you’ve found your voice again. “I— thank you.” You duck your chin to hide your stupid grin. “You’re beautiful too, Steve.”

The walk resumes, both of you more at ease now. The conversation flows easily between you— work, friends, schedules— and you allow yourself to relax. First-date jitters subsided with the cadence of his voice and the warmth of his hand engulfing yours.

Maybe, just maybe this could become something real.

And, if so, Eddie Munson would never let you hear the end of it.

[sailorsenshishitposter]

Caesar Zeppeli x Reader

Caesar Zeppeli

You have a thing for blondes, your favorite power puff girl is bubbles and you get too emotionally attached to characters.

First Date:

You hear that Caesar is now recovering in the hospital so you make your way there. You immediately ask him out on a date and he happily agrees (along with the bonus of getting back at Joseph). He takes you to the beach saying something about how a walk in the moonlight is truly romantic. You can't believe how beautiful the sea is. Then you notice something washing up on the shore."What do you think that is Caesar?" The two of you go to investigate. Upon closer examination, it seems like an old, wooden box of sort. Only the top sticks out of the water, the rest of it being too heavy to pull out. You then see something etched in gold. "D-I-O?" You're both confused. "Mama mia, why would God decide to show up here?"

Caesar then knew that he had to perform the best magic trick of his life before his lord and saviour. "I can't walk on water since his son invented that. Wait a minute, I've got it!" He then pulled out a bottle from his pocket. Caesar got his dawn dish soap ready and began creating bubbles. But not just any bubble. He then made Bubble Buddy.A soft "wrrrryyyyy" could be heard. "I think he likes it Caesar! Keep going!"

Before he could react the coffin began to open. Out came what appeared to be some sort of burnt corpse. Before you know what's happening, the creature takes the box and lifts it. Caesar is then crushed to death by it. You begin to sob as whatever the hell that is places the coffin in the water and begins to paddle away from the two of you.

You run over to Caesar and notice that he's still alive somehow. He raises his hand to your cheek. "I'm going to give you something before I go. This is the last of my hamon. Please take it from me..." He then kisses you goodbye. You try to treasure this tender moment only to realise something is in your mouth and you start choking. You manage to spit out a dead pigeon. It seems that Caesar managed to pull one last trick off before he died.

You glared at his smooshed remains while spitting out the last of the feathers. "Omae wa mou shimdieru!" Some time after you left, Joseph happened to pass by. "WHAT? THIS CAN'T BE!

CAAAAAAEEEEEEESSSSSSAAAAARRRR!"He began to sob and punch his fists into the sand. An hour later and he prepares to give his friend a proper burial. After digging out a hole on the beach, he fills it with caesar salad. He then places the mans corpse on top of it.

He gives one final look before filling the hole up. "Rest in pepperoni. You shall remain beneath the bloodstained sand." All that was needed now was a tombstone. Joseph decided to use clackers and knock down a local church. He quickly steals their gigantic cross and places it upon Caesar remains."

I really hope he makes it to Heaven. I mean, how can you be friends with a nazi?"