He is a Turkish werewolf/Itbarak. Old dawg works in a bakery. He is a garbage dog he harmless and the secret sourdough‘s secret is the centuries old generations of royal yeast living in his hairy ass arm.
@ghouljams well simon's baddie just had to have the most spectacular surprise once he's on leave, didn't she?
been months apart. no signal for communication, just pictures of her in his locker back on base and an influx of e-mails about paying his credit card bill when he finally gets connected back to wi-fi.
she's banging on his door, he knows it's her. it's that poignant, aggressive bang of a fist that only she would be brave enough to do on his door.
fuck, she looks incredible. she's got a fresh blowout, and there's a new patent leather purse dangling from her shoulder. pristine black acrylic dior sunglasses that she slides down her nose to look at him as she pops a bubble of gum around her sticky, glossy lips.
she looks positively pissed. annoyed. absolutely livid. simon can't help the blood that rushes south; he knows it's all gathered there, because he can no longer think a coherent thought.
"where the fuck have you been, you selfish prick?" are the first words out of her mouth in the four months he hasn't seen her. her hand falls from around her sunglasses, and simon chokes on his breath when her palm lands on her belly.
her round, full belly. it sticks out from the midsection of her form-fitting dress. it fits her so perfect, outlines every beautiful new curve and soft line of skin. she taps her perfect manicure there, and then simon is brought out of his own head when her hand comes up and smacks him on the side of his masked cheek.
"hey! up here!" she snaps, and he looks into her eyes. "you have a lot of fucking explaining to do." she pushes on his chest so she can come inside, and the slight waddle of her walk only makes his cock harder. when he goes to follow her as she sits on his threadbare couch, she tsks and shakes her head. "where the fuck are you going? who's gonna bring in all my stuff?"
simon frowns before he goes to the door, opening it to look outside. there's a moving truck parked in his driveway, and a very scared mohawked sergeant of his sitting in the drivers' seat that gives him a nervous wave.
you haven't seen simon for quite some time now. (18+)
months, you think. coming up on a year. you stare at his dark flat often, looking at the window next to the front door and hoping you'll see his shadow pass through, but you never do.
you had never spoken to simon before he left for the last time. said he'd be gone for a little while, handed you a small key, and asked if you could keep an eye on the front door while he was away.
you only remember trembling at the sight of your large, imposing neighbor, squeaking out a little, "sure thing, y-yeah, of course," and then never seeing him again.
no one moves in. no one moves anything out.
you visit, every so often. you don't go past the entryway and living area, but you come over every other week and dust off the surfaces with a rag. you make sure the water can still run and shoo the spiders out and sweep the floors before shutting off the lights and leaving.
it's a small routine, but you keep it up, because the rent is still being paid, so someone must be coming home.
right?
you think about him a lot while he's away. you've always admired him from afar, but you're shy, and it keeps you sheltered. he seems kind. he helped you pick up your bag of spilled groceries when the bag gave out and the bottom tore from the weight. he always held the door for you, nodded his head, gave you soft eyes. he's much taller than you, much bigger, and you think people must part ways to let him through in fear of being crushed underneath him, but it's...attractive, the mystery of it. wondering what he looks like under his masks. wondering what he might say if he told you what was going through his mind, the dark place that it must be.
you almost don't recognize him in the aisle at the shop. you're pushing your trolley, deciding which crisps you might want to try this week, when your eyes span across a very broad back at a very familiar height. you can't help the little smile that comes over your face, and you start to walk over slowly and tap his shoulder gently.
"h-hi, simon."
when he turns, you swallow. he's holding a baby. well, a toddler, you suppose, but a baby nonetheless. he has pretty blonde curls and dark eyes. you wouldn't say he was simon's spitting image, but they share traits, and you step back nervously, feeling as if you've intruded.
"oh, sorry," you say softly. "i didn't...realize you. had company."
simon looks tired. he's not wearing any eye-black under his balaclava, and you can see the dark circles under his eyes. he hoists the fussy baby on his hip a little higher, grunting as the boy looks at you and waves. he looks tired, too, resting his cheek on simon's chest and letting out a sigh.
"'ello, luv," simon murmurs. you try not to break into too big of a smile at his greeting, playing with your fingers nervously as you crane your neck to look up at him. "been quiet around the flat?"
you nod. "yeah. real quiet. a-are you back?" you bite your lip. "who's this?"
when you see simon's eyes twitch, you realize maybe you were too forward. asking too many questions. you shake your head immediately.
"n-no, i'm...sorry. you probably just want to get home."
"no, it's not..." simon shakes his head. "this is joseph."
"oh." you smile at the baby, who's eyes are fluttering open and closed as he yawns. "he's...i..."
"he's my nephew," simon clarifies. he looks down at the boy, and you notice him squeeze him closer. he's tense and uncomfortable. "i'm." simon clears his throat. "i'm takin' 'im home." you notice his eyes go a little misty, and he looks around in the aisle. "i came to...i need ta get 'im 'is things, but i don't..."
"don't what?"
"don't know wot the fuck i'm supposed ta get."
you reach for your trolley, pointing to the aisle sign a short walk away.
"i think the baby things are over there. i can help."
you're holding the baby on the walk back. he's fast asleep in your arms, thumb in his mouth and stuffed bear tucked close under his chin. beside you, simon carries a multitude of bags with not even a grunt.
"how did you know?" simon asks. he's looking for his keys, and when he can't find them, you produce his copy. it's hanging on your own keychain, and he takes it gratefully as he goes to open the door.
"know what, simon?"
"wot...bloody diapers to buy? wot food?"
you follow him inside, and you see that there are boxes of baby items in the entryway—the crib, a changing table, a chair to eat in. you scoot past it into the living room, and you set joseph down on the couch gently. you take your jacket off and tuck it around him as he sleeps, taking a seat next to him as you watch his chest rise and fall as he breathes.
"i just peeked at the size of the diapers that you had in his bag," you tell him lowly. "as he grows, you'll need to get bigger ones. and as for the food," you shrug, "i just picked out things i would probably like. but kids can be picky, so you might have to experiment."
"trial and error, tha' it?"
"mhm."
you sit by joseph with the tv playing lowly as simon builds the crib on the floor. he squints at the directions, but once he gets through the first bit of assembly, it takes very little time for it to come together. you watch carefully as he shrugs his jacket off, arms flexing as he fits pieces together and screws it tight. he shakes the crib to make sure it's secure before going to get the little mattress that fits inside.
you notice he has all the things. the mattress protector, cotton sheets. he even bought a little mobile with moon and stars hanging from it, and you observe carefully as his hands shake when he secures it to the edge.
"i didn't know you had any family," you say softly. simon sniffs as he gathers up the trash, not looking at you as he makes his way outside to throw it out.
"i don't."
the baby is sleeping soundly in simon's empty guest room once the crib is in there. he doesn't fuss or move when simon picks him up and lays him down, and you busy yourself with getting rid of more trash as you organize some of the new things he bought in the kitchen.
"simon," you stack some of the little cups with lids that you had just rinsed out. he stands in the middle of the kitchen, finally looking at you. "is...is everything okay?"
"no." he crushes the cardboard box he's dismantling under his boot, and you look at your feet as he uses his toe to flatten it completely.
you don't see simon again until a few nights later. it's the middle of the night, and you can hear joseph on the other side of the wall, screaming at the top of his little lungs.
you slip a robe on over your pajamas and pad over, knocking gently.
you take the baby from him when he opens the door. he's thrashing, crying, hiccuping. it gives simon enough time to get his bottle into the bottle warmer, and you rock him gently as the little machine bubbles and pops as it evaporates the water until the milk is all warmed up.
as soon as you put the bottle to his mouth, his crying ceases. his little head lulls to the side, his lips sucking the milk down. his little hand reaches and clutches at your robe, enough that it unravels a bit and reveals the low-neck tank top you're wearing underneath.
you pat his back and walk around the living room. simon takes the time now to clean up around the kitchen; it's an absolute mess of dirty dishes, open food containers, and splattered countertops.
once joseph is sleeping and the bottle is empty, you take him to his makeshift room and set him down. you notice simon has decorated a little more; he's put together a changing table and added some glow in the dark stars to the ceiling. there's toys in cubbies, stuffed animals set up on a couch pushed against the wall, and a playmat on the floor. while the rest of the flat is a mess, joseph's room is impeccably clean. dusted. mopped. toys in their place, and rubbish can emptied.
you shut the door quietly behind you. simon shuts the water off in the sink, hands wrapped around the edges of it so hard, his knuckles turn white. he must hear you come up behind him; when you place a hand between his shoulder blades, he doesn't flinch.
"it's okay," you say softly. "why don't we get you something to eat?"
it's probably the best cheese toastie he's ever had. or maybe he just hasn't had a real meal in days. his mask is just barely over his nose before half the sandwich is eaten, and when you get up from his couch, he doesn't let you get far. his hand wraps around the edge of your robe, and then you're settled on one thigh, leaning against his chest in his lap.
his cock is warm in your hand. you look positively adorable when you spit into your palm and wrap it around his tip. there's a little smile on your lips, something satisfied and giddy, and his hand around your hip tightens around the plush skin there.
"can't be doin' this," simon grunts, and you slide your hand all the way down his length, cupping his balls and squeezing. he hisses, gritting his teeth, and then you drag your fingers back up and thumb at the tip. "fuck."
"working so hard," you whisper, rubbing your nose against his cheek. "taking on so much. who takes care of you?"
"fuck—" simon's mouth falls open, and he squeezes his eyes shut as you move your hand quicker. he's leaking from the tip, precum spilling down the back of your hand, and you work your fingers faster.
"so proud of you," you coo. "you're such a good man."
"hah—" that sends simon's mind into a spiral. he's anything but. he's horrible inside. he's black and blue, his blood definitely doesn't run red, but he wants to be. he wants to be good. he wishes he was more than what he was. he aches to be, knows he never can be, but it's a nice fantasy, and it makes his cock so hard.
when you lick the cum off of your palm, he can't stop himself from cupping the back of your head and kissing you wet.
you hold his cheek when he pulls away, brushing your thumb across his bottom lip. he pants, deep and a little shaky, and you draw his mouth back to yours and kiss him again, gentler this time.
"you need me," you say against his lips, and he shifts you on his lap until your straddling him.
"i need you," simon echoes. you whine when he says it, dropping your robe, and simon drags your top just under your tits. you drag your panties to the side, rolling your hips down against his cock.
"s-say it again," you beg. when you sink down on him, he puts his chin to his chest, watching you suck him in slow and tight. he grits his teeth, shaking his head.
"yeah," he groans, flicking a thumb across your clit. "i need you."
@beebymoonlight if she doesn't wanna see his face ghost will just fuck her like the dog he is.
push her pretty face into the pillows and shake her head so her makeup goes aaaaaall over those nice satin pillow cases (he hopes it stains so she has another reason to yell at him). pull her back up just to lick at her eye shadow and spit it back onto her tongue. neither of them are capable of shutting the fuck up but least of all ghost, he loves reminding her just who paid for that nicely waxed pussy.
"love knowin' an ugly mug like me is stretchin' out yer holes, yeah? fucking greedy for it." pressing his thumb against her ass and whistling when it pushes in without resistance, can feel how hot she's getting at the embarrassment of being caught.
pretty and put together, and probably spent all day wearing that nice little plug he got her just to take it out before he came home so he wouldn't get the satisfaction of taking it out himself. probably hoping he'd just fuck her like he always did but no, he's gotta be mean about it. pushing her head back down with a laugh and telling her,
"thought you were scared of gettin' dirty, don't let me wear you down now," pushing his fonger into her and tugging at her rim while he fucks her hard into the mattress just to hear her squeal. he'd tell her to ask nicely but she seems a little busy drooling her lipstick off.
ok @ghouljams her man thinks he's nasty, but she's nastier. (18+)
he thinks you'll get all shy. embarrassed. his pretty girl all exposed, bent at the hip as he pounds into her from behind. the footage is from his kitchen earlier in the week, when he slammed her forward over the counter dirtied from making dinner. got her new dress soaked in leftover food and had her screaming and trying to scratch him as he lifted up the skirt of her dress and dragged her panties to the side.
and fuck, she was all bite until he got his cock in her. shut her up quick when he had her cock-drunk and soft underneath him. when the seams of her dress tore from the way he held her, she didn't even squeak, just arched her back and moaned all gorgeous and told him harder, please, fuck—
her face is neutral as she slams his laptop shut. he rubs his fingers along his jaw, glaring up at her from where he sits. she sucks a little harder on the lollipop she has in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it before leaning over on one hip and raising a brow at him.
"you're such a fucking asshole," she mutters, rolling her eyes. "you trying to blackmail me? think i'll leave you?"
simon spreads his legs a little wider, resting his hands there. he rolls his shoulders back, and she uses the toe of her prada heel to put her foot over his dick as a threat.
simon's eyes get darker at the thought, he wraps a few big fingers around her ankle, smoothing his hand up her perfectly waxed leg. his fingers skirt just under her dress before coming back down, and he kisses his teeth as he takes ahold of her foot and presses it a little harder against his cock. wants her to feel how hard he is there. wants her to know.
she looks right at the camera when she's in his lap. her back to him, dress bunched up around her hips. she has her hands over his on her hips, and she's fucking him slow, making him groan and spit. she can't look at his fucking face, but god, the sex is excellent. he's disgusting, he's gross, he's the worst person she's ever met, but holy shit, she's so wet, the whole room squelches with it.
"did they like it?" she asks. her hips are still moving. she's rolling them all languid, slow, taking him deep, and simon squeezes her hips as he draws her back onto him.
"wot?"
"did they like it, simon? did they like me?"
simon pants, leaning his head back. he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, but she sits back down on him, and his cock aches with it.
"said y'r a wet girl," simon mutters. "such a wet, leaky thing."
his eyes shoot open when she tightens up. clenches his cock like she'll rip it right off, and he nearly howls. when she slides off his cock, she bends over so he can see his cum dribble down her thighs, and he hisses as he fists his cock, feeling himself harden all over again. fuck, she ruins him when she wants to.
she's digging around in his pockets, and he frowns.
"wot the fuck are ya doing?"
she stands, pulling up her panties and smoothing down her dress. she has his wallet in her hand, and she tucks his credit card into her bra.
"you messed up my dress again." she puts the lollipop back in her mouth, patting simon on his masked cheek a little too hard. "sorry, baby. don't have time for take two. but maybe they'll like your solo performance, huh?"
Doing it scared and doing it badly is one thing, but no one seems to talk about doing it alone. When you feel so isolated from your friends and your family but you have shit to do and you have to get it done no matter what. When your support system really is only you. For any myriad of reasons. We do not talk enough about doing it alone.
children heed my warning. one day your body’s check engine light will come on and demand that you start eating so many vegetables and whole grains. do not ignore it.
I want to explain this a bit more since 'health' and 'biology' are loosely speaking, special interests of mine and also what I went to school for.
People SAY that your health 'suddenly' starts to decline in your 30s but that's not really a good way to put it A) bc that's not really accurate and B) bc it frames this decline as something inherent and unavoidable, which does nothing to convince you that you have some agency about this.
So I'm going to explain this in LOOSE NON-SCIENTIFIC language:
When you are an infant or child, you are actively growing. Nature is throwing tons of new cells into you bc your body needs to BUILD BUILD BUILD. What you're able to do, eat and heal from is all largely dictated by this-- for example little kids often LOVE sweet foods or dairy-like foods and are relatively less interested in anything else. This is bc their body is running on HIGH all the time since building body parts is very energetically intensive. They can eat a fistful of sugarcubes and burn them off in an hour. Ask me how I know.
When you are a YOUNG ADULT you are actually still developing to a secondary extent, but your bones and such are fused and now that development goes into solidifying the structure and also finetuning its reproductive capabilities and features-- these, too, are HIGHLY energy consumptive when they first come online. Nature is STILL, thus, throwing tons of energy and new cells your way hoping you'll do something cool with them. You regenerate very quickly, and recover from harm rapidly-- But please note: swift recovery from harm is not absence of harm. This most relates to the consumption of 'junk food' and alcohol-- many people say they could 'eat whatever they wanted and nothing would happen' when they're in their 20s or that they could go out drinking and 'not be affected'. You were affected. You didn't notice.
Once everything has come online you go into maintenance mode. Nature stops throwing excess cells and energy your way bc you don't need that-- your body is yours and you are now responsible for maintaining it...hopefully with what you learned by experience in your 20s. IF YOU WERE NOT PAYING ATTENTION, you did not learn this, and are in for a surprise in your 30s bc your 'free recovery' subscription has ended. Recovery and maintenance- processes that are constant in the human body- now cost MINERALS & ELECTRICITY. You can go into DEBT now, and that debt will come in the form of joints that pop, inability to recover well, lowered immune function, and feeling like shit.
This debt accrues interest RAPIDLY once you hit 36-- the age of around 36 to 46 or so is a kind of reckoning stage where Nature assesses how well you've managed your body and you will be SWIFTLY downgraded if the result is you were just winging it.
So how do you build this account? 2 main things ( LOOSELY SPEAKING this is so not 100% scientific but I have to be general here): MINERALS -- you get these from eating well, mostly. You might want to take supplements based on your unique needs. But you need Minerals & Vitamins (i'm lumping these two together) bc they are the chemical building blocks (currency) your body uses to rebuild and fix up cells. ELECTRICITY is- again loosely speaking- having the proper chemical voltage throughout your body. This 'voltage' drops when you don't move enough, or when you're dehydrated. The building and repairing process your body wants to do may have the materials (minerals and vitamins) but there's not enough power in the factory, or the AC isn't working and the workers are overheating and can't work well. To fix this, drink lots of water and MOVE AND STRETCH your body. The action within your muscles and bones GENERATES ENERGY and it keeps your cells happy.
So the thing is, it's not that you suddenly find yourself taking damage after 30+. You were taking damage the whole time. You're just kept from really feeling it bc you're young and full of extra juice and given time to figure things out.
But at some point Nature expects you to do that, and you will pay if you don't.
Best to start out giving a shit, even if none of your friends think you're cool, even if you get called a 'health nut' bc you will still be able to frolick at 45, 50, probably so on while everyone who said it was dumb to have 'balanced meals' shares memes about how they wake up feeling like shit every day.
Sidenote don't let our shitty fatphobic society obscure the fact that it's okay to care about what you eat. Counting calories or being preoccupied with physical perfection is a sad way to relate to your body BUT that doesn't mean that paying attention to your diet AT ALL is bad. Baby, bath water, etc.
would you consider yourself an intelligent and sensitive pervert?
i've been saving this in my inbox for months because i don't feel like i have the words to match this. it's a shameful breach of my humility to answer yes, yes i do consider myself an intelligent and sensitive pervert. i love how you worded that. this is like a therapist's screening question.
Divorced Park who got the dog in the split yet who isn't good at - and actively dislikes - taking care of it. (He didn't exactly want it but he'd be fucked if the woman got the house and these things tend to be more insoluble than the actual marriage contract.)
Looking back into the history of my "fuck staff" tag because today's big announcement has me stewing in anger, and I encountered a change from a while back where they removed profile pics (for some dumb reason) and the uproar was loud enough to get the decision reversed (even as noted idiot cyle argued in favor of the terrible UI change, and even now is reblogging shit that paints himself as the superior intellect plagued by the peons of the userbase).
So yeah, send those feedback tickets, make a fuss. They've reversed course before, no reason they can't do it again.
is it too real for ya? @blueywrites - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
