#tummy listening

[lyteandronix]

Hetty stething a sick Twirlie (feeling good.)

[kirakewpie]

need to buy a pair of thigh highs but i really wanted to take photos to post for 500 followers because what the heck!! thank u!! ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ꒱ა

the lace on this is soo soft too i feel so cute

(they/them)

[briseise]

bdubs and his starter not cottage-core cottage. and bird roomies

[yeyinde]

Outlaw!Price, the enigmatic leader of the notorious and deadly 141 gang, who stumbles upon you one evening near the stables (attempting to steal the mare he had his eyes on, no less) as you try to sneak out of the city (and away from the awful, awful man you're supposed to be married to in the morning), and decides to help you get away.

But if you think it's altruism that's making him lend a helping hand to a stranger, you're wrong. In this life, he knows it's kill or be killed.

And most importantly:

finders keepers.

“How's this,” he begins, and everything inside of you screams to run. “I'll accompany you across the desert. Get you somewhere safe.” 

“Out of the goodness of your heart, I'm sure,” you sneer, edging backwards. “As if I'm dumb enough to believe that.”

“Can't leave a maiden—” your scathing hiss makes his lips twitch beneath the thick moustache; “—all on her own like that. I know these parts like the back of my hand. No harm will come to you. That, you have my word for.”

“And what's that worth?” 

He dips his chin. “Far more than you could imagine, love.” 

You swallow. “I don't know. I don't trust you—”

“Smart,” he nods, drops the cigar on the ground before snuffing the end out with the heel of his boot. “But I ain't very patient. Better make up your mind quickly.”

“Well, in that case—”

“But," he cuts your scoff off with a low hum. "I'll put it this way for you: do you want me to be the one to accompany you across the desert or the one they'll pay, handsomely, tomorrow morning to drag you back home, mm?”

“You scoundrel—! You dirty, rotten—”

“It's business, love.”

“I don't have any money to even pay you to—”

His eyes are searing when they catch on the threads of your lace collar, razing over exposed skin like he's owed the privilege. You've never seen such hunger on a man's face before.

Your skin prickles. Heart sinking low with each rasping sweep of his eyes across your body. It's as if you're meat. Something to be bartered with. Bargained.

The rasp in his voice makes you shiver. “You're a smart girl. I'm sure you can figure something out.”

“I—”

“I'll leave it to you, then, mm?” He starts forward, then, chin ducking low into his collar to stare down at you through the wide brim of his hat. Each thud of his boots echo against the floor in haunting harmony with the metal clink of his spurs. 

More of his bulk is revealed as he steps out from the shadows and into the pale moonlight, and somewhere in your chest, the air becomes trapped. 

He's huge. Bigger, now, where most of him blended in, almost seamlessly, into the shadows. A massive mountain of a man. 

His shoulders seem to stretch the fabric of his vest and waistcoat taut, pulling sharply on the straining threads. The heavy brown of his jacket sweeps down to midthigh, the seam tucked behind the leather holster of his gun tied tight at his waist. The brass buttons of his dress shirt crease against the pull of his broad chest and barrelled stomach. The softness around his midsection speaks almost highly of a luxurious lifestyle—pure hedonism. The sort ladies back home whisper about. Violence, women, and booze—ruffians, the lot of them! But it seems to belie the power in his gait. In the flex of his thick, corded thighs bunching in the tightness of his denim trousers and the leather caps covering them.

He has the walk of a bear. Lumbering, sloven. A touch clumsy. 

And yet—

The softness about him hides the raw strength under the thick pelt. Deadly. The slow, meandering trawl of a man who knows, unequivocally, that he needn’t run or rush anywhere. 

It lodges somewhere inside of you. This knowledge, this fact. He'll outpace you in spades. Catch up no matter where you flee to. 

Your stomach folds, looping over itself. It's nausea, maybe. And something else—

He's so big. Burly. Thickened like the strong trucks of ponderosa pine. A man cut from the wilderness; made in the likeness of the savagery of the wild. The brutality of the desert, of mother nature herself. Kin to the affinity this land seems to have in taking every ounce of a man and leaving him bereft in the face of the looming unknowns in the vast desert.

None of the men you've ever met before look like him. Grizzled. Hardened.

His scarred, tanned skin speaks of a life living outdoors. On a horse, on the run—hard work made with his bare hands. You think the softness, the callous-free palm that gripped your fingers tight in a vice, and can't help but to lean, just a little, into him. Drawn there, like a moth to a flame.

There's something about this man that makes you tremble. Something that curls inside of your guts. Something deeper, darker than fear. Primal. Animalistic. There must be something wrong with you, then. Most know to run from the predators—not move closer.

He comes to a halt less than an arm's length away from you, close enough that you can scent the heavy musk of him so thickly in your nose. Something purely masculine—loam, humus—and yet unfathomably different from the men you've known your whole life. Horse, and sweat. Sun. The headiness of riding nonstop through the sprawling deserts of New Mexico. Leather, and gunpowder. 

The novelty of it all is enough to make you dizzy. And, as if to reinforce it, he leans down, the brim of his hat narrowly missing your forehead, and he rasps, guttural and dark, 

“and I do expect to be paid back in full, love,” his voice is felled timber. Low, and firm. “Or you'll find you don't like the consequences very much. Am I clear?”

The unmistakable iron in it snags on the tendrils of your resolve, pulling messily at the threads. No escape. It winds tighter, tighter— 

Still. 

Your only other option is to stay here, and in the morning, marry a man who made it abundantly clear that the sole use he has for you is to rebrand a dwindling legacy (women ought to be seen, not heard, darlin’, and I think it's high time someone teach you that); or— 

Make off on your own. Through the unmapped, untamed wilderness of New Mexico with nothing for protection except whatever you could reasonably steal away with uninterrupted, which. Isn't much. Not only that—this man, this outlaw, had made it abundantly clear that there would be a bounty on you come sunrise. One he'd be most eager to fulfil. 

Rock, hard place. No escape. 

You steel yourself, grappling with trembling fingers against the dwindling options in front of you, and offer a slow, jerking nod. 

He heaves a breath in response. “Good choice, love.”

It doesn't feel very much like one. It doesn't feel very good at all, even. 

In this little stable just outside of town, you sell your soul to the devil in New Mexico while the cicadas in the background scream through the ink black night. The sounds they make seem to ask, 

what have you done?

[keyh0use]

what happens in the country club bathroom stays in the country club bathroom

[hawkeish]

do we think this will work

[galedekkarios]

i think that gale would be bad at dating in a modern au not because he's a bad partner or has no rizz but just because situationships and talking stages and "you took ten minutes to reply so i'm gonna take twenty minutes" kind of mind games all make him want to kill himself. so he just yearns and aches all on his lonesome writing notes app poetry about a lover he hasn't met yet while waiting for someone more like him to drop out of the sky.

i also think that, given the stories he tells the player, that he was a fucking disaster floozy in his youth. mr you're not my first and i assure you i do fuck + everyone wanted my hand + my munch game crazy + one can't always be a gentleman + i have a million stories where realistically i should not have fucking survived but i did bc i'm #different + 10 step beauty routine and certified spa goer + if i wanted something, i went and got it + reads smut/sex books, was a certified hot girl. and now he's a divorced malewife suffering from third degree yearns. this is real and true

[asmrrpaddict]

Latest Sam BA headcanon

SPOILERS if you haven’t listened, I’m only going off things I’ve read. Haven’t listened to it though.

After Sam bites Darlin’, he wakes up before them the next morning and lays there watching them. He cups their cheek and caresses it with his thumb. They give a slight shift exposing the bite marks. A gentle smile tugs at his lips as his hand falls to them. Soft fingers glide across the marks, barely a whisper, but Darlin’ jolts upright at the new sensation.

“Sam?” They ask as they notice him staring at them, “what are you doing?”

“Well,” his morning voice growls and a faux guilty smile grows, “I don’t want to say I was admiring my handy work, but…”

“Creep.” They laugh and playfully tap his side. Then a wicked grin spreads across their face as they look at him.

“I see that look. Don’t you dare Darlin’.”

They reach for his sides having recently learned were his ticklish spot. They barely lay a finger on him before he grabs their waist shifting to be on top of them pinning their arms at their sides.

“I said, don’t, brat.” The last word increases the size of Darlin’s grin. Sam feels their body shake beneath him from holding in laughter, “Don’t make me give you more of my marks.”

[nightmarevore]

i really wish i could sit in a mouth for a while when im tired and just be swallowed down when im ready. i wanna slip down someone’s throat and hear each swallow and get squished down and hugged. i want to hug their heart when im near it. i want to land in their stomach and sink into the walls. i want to be told i feel nice, i tasted nice. i want to be comfy. i want to be squeezed at and pressed at. i want to be wrapped in flesh of stomach walls

[benrys]

youre my latest sick obsession <3

i could watch you eat your breakfast

[crabussy]

one of my favourite memories ever is going swimming in my undies in the dead of winter beneath a waterfall in the middle of a forest (I couldn't feel my legs at ALL) and having a small longfin eel tentatively swim up to me. upon me sticking my hand out for her to explore, she rubbed her head up against my hand and let me pet her like some kind of slippery long cat. wet wriggly beast I miss you so much.. we were best friends for one fleeting moment... I hope you find a cave so deep and comfortable that all the other eels are seething with envy

[rawkghoulsupreme]

After Bed Time~

This... wasn't at all what the drawing started out as but it's a comfort piece anyways so HERE YA'LL GO <3

Ignore that I haven't figured out how to draw chest hair yet

Or why his lips are smudged and hair disheveled it's fine

[shivroy]

i am in love with your succession art it’s so beautiful and dynamic… thank you for giving everyone their tummies. not a single person on that show has a flat stomach except maybe greg

THANK YOU SO MUCH i think i give everyone the good good belly they rightfully deserve (including greg which means it's negligible. except when i draw him older because i refuse to draw an old person without a gut)

[st4rrmii]

Some lil before bed Luciben doodles because I love them

[teatitty]

Fem KakaIru dynamic is just Kakashi going "I love my mean bitch of a wife so much. Sometimes she throws knives at me when she's on her bleed but she always misses on purpose <3"

[cappurrccino]

can't believe I got tummy hurty from eating the big, heinously sugary cookie I knew would give me tummy hurty if I ate it 😔