over molding

Not-So-Silent Night

Request from anon: Levi and his female s/o sleeping together, cuddling tightly and comfy until levi hears her snoring in a cute soft way but he thinks it’s really cute and he teases her about it the next morning.


“Ah.” Levi sighed quietly as he snuggled up behind you. After a long night of pointless paperwork, he was more than ready to cuddle up beside you and drift off to sleep.

However, as he placed his arm over your waist and molded his frame around you, he heard a faint noise.

“Hmm? You say something, babe?” Awaiting your response, he listened carefully as you inhaled, snoring quietly as you did so.

A smile crept on to his lips as he chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head before placing his lips to your temple gently. Closing his eyes, he couldn’t help but listen to the quiet sound of your snoring as he quickly drifted off to sleep.

“Mm, I’m still so tired.” You threw you arms up over you head as you sat up, yawning loudly.

“Tch, you’re tired? At least I didn’t keep you up with my snoring, brat.” His lips turned up in a smirk as he leaned over tom place a chaste kiss on your lips.

“What?” Mortified, you hoped desperately that you had heard him wrong.

“You heard me. You snore. It’s over. I know now and I don’t know if I can get past it. This might be it for us.”

You smacked his chest playfully as his lips cracked into a smile.

“You’re not funny.” A pout upon your lips, you stood up and began to walk away, but his strong hands were around your waist before you could step away and you were quickly pulled back into his lap.

“I’m only kidding. I think it’s sort of cute.” He pressed his lips to your cheek as he held you tight in his arms and you folded your arms over his in response.

“You’re a jerk.” Smiling now, you leaned your head back to rest it in the crook of his neck as he smoothed your hair.

“And you snore. I guess we’re even.” With a playful wink, he lifted your chin and pressed his lips to yours once more.

Cheeses of Sornieth

folks on my Discord channel convinced me to write these headcanons about friggin’ dragon cheese so here we go (im a cheese specialist irl thats my job description lmao)

Earth - cheesemakers in the Earthshaker’s domain use the many natural crevices and caves scattered around Dragonhome to age their cheese, piling rocks and dirt over the molds to prevent the dry air from scorching the cheese before its ready. earth cheese is usually cave aged, with a deep, musty flavor and a naturally speckled rind that is edible but usually too strong for most dragons to stomach. the older and more crumbly the cheese, the more readily its eaten in Dragonhome. rocks are a popular additive, so non earth dragons must watch their teeth.

Nature - dragons in the Viridian Labyrinth like their cheese as colorful and bright as they are, and often use locally sourced dried fruits and spices to enhance the taste of the cheeses they make. nature cheese is usually very brightly wrapped in waxed rinds, and is often given as a gift to new members of clans or visiting dignitaries. due to the hot and humid climate, nature cheese cant be aged for too long without serious mold issues, so the cheese is usually eaten at a relatively young age, accompanied by fresh fruit and wine.

Arcane - to taste cheese from the Starfall Isles is to experience a strange realm of clashing flavors. arcane dragons are incredibly fond of making cheese, although their home isnt exactly suited to the art. wheels of cheese often blink in and out of existence, returning months later perfectly aged (or possibly covered in strange magical runes and shrieking.) experimentation is an arcane cheesemaker’s claim to fame, and combining different methods from other flights in order to see what happens is the norm. arcane cheeses are usually paper wrapped, and can range from young to incredibly aged. it all depends on the magic used.

Plague - with resources as scarce and warped as they are, cheesemakers in the Scarred Wasteland dont waste a scrap in the production of their cheese. with mold and mildew running rampant, plague dragons are especially honed to the moods of blue cheese, and can craft especially pungent varieties that would make the Plaguebringer’s toes curl. when blue cheese isnt being made, plague dragons are often found producing any manner of soft-ripened cheeses, with a stink that is so horrid, you never know if something has died, or a cheesemaker is perfecting his craft. meaty flavors are preferred, and plague dragons are not above using blood as an ingredient.

Shadow - shadow cheesemakers are a secretive bunch. using local flora and fauna to craft and flavor their cheeses (spearmint is a particular favorite.) they are particularly fond of letting the ever-present mushrooms of the Tangled Wood overtake their cheese molds, which instills a deep, earthy flavor with a bitter aftertase. shadow cheeses are often cloth wrapped in whatever tatters that can be reused from old worn clothes and apparel, and usually take the form of a crescent moon shape, as opposed to the circular wheels found in other areas of Sornieth. shadow cheeses have washed rinds, the source of said washing liquid being a closely guarded secret.

Light - cheesemakers in the Sunbeam Ruins, in keeping with their archaeological roots, are always attempting to uncover ancient cheese recipes long forgotten. trial and error produces some of the most complex flavors of cheese in Sornieth, as light dragons are fastidious in their recreating of ancient secrets and methods. semi-hard cheeses are the norm in light dominated areas, with carefully constructed aging racks set into the crumbling ruins. light cheesemakers are still in the process of developing a method that would expose the cheese to full sunlight at all times, in order to glorify the power of the Lightweaver. they have yet to perfect this method. 

Wind - carefully wrapped in young bamboo shoots and leaves, cheese originating from the Windswept Plateau is almost never of any particular uniform shape, size, or color. wind cheesemakers prefer their cheeses to be young and bright, with rich buttery flavor. flavored rinds are common here, originating either from the natural wrappings or from purposeful washes. since wind dragons spend so little time on solid earth, their cheeses are often taken airborne with them, and the aging process (if any) is a turbulent affair. pull apart cheese is a favorite, easily carried and handed out to young dragons to help sustaint hem as they fly.

Water - moisture is cheese’s number one enemy, and with the majority of the Sea of a Thousand currents being submerged, its often difficult to find any water born cheesemakers at all. those who persevere produce spongy, soft cheeses that mimic the natural sea life. cheese wheels are often buried in the loamy soil of the Tsunami Flats, where they can age peacefully. the texture of water cheese is often gritty, as even the most careful water dragons cannot remove all of the sand from their paws. shallow pools are used to produce briny washes for the cheeses made here, and salt crystals form readily on the rinds and wraps that encase the cheese.

Lightning - the Shifting Expanse is naturally arid, and so cheesemakers in the realm of lightning use this to their advantage when producing their cheese. mold resistant cheeses are very common, with a crumbly texture and very sharp taste. dragons closer to the influence of the Stormcatcher create cheese wheels of exacting uniformity, weight, and size, under the careful gaze of their task-driving deity. lightning dragons have found all sorts of uses for the electricity that naturally crackles around them and their homeland, and often create massive pieces of machinery in order to process their cheese. complex, exacting, and a little bit manic, lightning born cheesemakers have yet to find a way to put lightning directly into their cheese. theyre working on it.

Fire - the Ashfall Wastes are no place for cheese, at least not in a solid state anyway. cheesemakers residing in fire take their craft to the naturally occurring magma vents, using the heat and pressure to cook up vast vats of melted cheese with which to dip all manner of foods into. when fondues are not on the menu, fire dragons take to bartering with other flights in order to procure the spiciest ingredients they an get their claws on. flame resistant and incredibly hot peppers are grown in abundance in the dry and ash rich soils of the Emberglow Hearth, and these as well as bartered ingredients are thrown into cheese recipes with wanton abandon. a fire made cheese is many things, but mild is never ever one of them. 

Ice - with temperatures as frigid and unrelenting as they are, clans in the Southern Icefields are pressed to keep their cheeses from freezing over. many local fauna such as elk are corralled and herded by ice born dragons, and their milk is used to make incredibly rich, soft cheeses which are eaten for sustenance with most meals. ice dragons are often seen bartering and trading with local beastclans, and many ingredients for their cheeses (as well as recipes) are beastclan born. cheeses produced in ice are hung in sturdy fur sacks throughout the more mild months, and are only opened when the ice storms are at their most ferocious and hunting is impossible without risking life and limb. ice dragons are particularly fond of stinkier cheeses, as the strong rich milk they use gives their cheese a natural odor and musky flavor.

It starts with a breath.
You must take in all that you are.
You must realize everything that lies within you
is contained in only a body.
All only human.

But humanity is no fence,
an obstruction of only the physical.
Though on the outside,
you are wrapped in skin
and nails,
and hair,
what lies within
goes beyond what anatomical science
has ever described.

You must forgive the garden of periwinkle sprouts
that line your cerebrum,
and let the vines that intertwine with your veins
move you forward.
You are flawed.
There is moss left over from the words you have used
to hurt,
mold left over from the words that have hurt you.
This is not inadequacy.
This is a living, breathing organism,
meant to forgive,
meant to be forgiven.
The garden that lies within you
is still human,
in all of its beautiful, natural, deformed

—  G.S.

Abbie rolled over onto her stomach, still very much in a sleepy haze, left hand groping in the darkness, expecting to find warm, smooth skin underneath her fingertips and not thick, short fur.

“Really wish you’d warn me before you do that..”She grumbled groggy,pulling the cat close to her body, shifting onto her side to cradle the small black ball of fur in her arms.

“Not that I mind Crane, you are a beautiful cat….but it is a little alarming to fall asleep with a man and wake up next to a cat.”

The cat rubbed his cheek across the swell of breast he found there and purred, content.

“Sorry Treasure. Old habits…”

“I bet…”

Her fingers which had slipped through silky down now found purchase on smooth pale skin as the cat in her arms, grew and expanded into a tall, lanky man with a regal face and impressive eyebrows and a plush mouth that molded over hers sweetly in the night.

The gold medallion around his neck was cool against her palm as her fingers slipped over the dips and grooves of its embossing.

“I thought this was supposed to give you some sort of control…. You know? Over catting out?”

“ ‘Catting out’ is that what we’re calling it?”

“Yup. Catting out. Stop avoiding the question!”

“It works for the most part…I still have to put in a little effort though. Kind of hard to focus on maintaining a human form when one’s girlfriend has thoroughly expended his energy…” His hand smacked her bottom lightly, enjoying the bounce back from her panty-clad ass.

“You’re such a lie! You know you were the one who came in here all innocent, offering to help me lotion my back, and then next thing I know I’m getting dicked down!”

“But did you enjoy it though?” He cocks his eyebrow up in that way she finds equal parts corny, sexy and adorable and she can’t help but place a quick peck on his lips through their shared laughter.

Abbie settles onto her stomach and he on his back.

“I’m glad you followed me into that Cat Cafe.” Abbie said after a moment.

“How could I not? You are an intriguing woman Abbie Mills.”

“Me? Intriguing? You’re the Revolutionary War Captain who got transmogrified into a cat by your Witch wife. I’m just a boring ass Sheriff of a boring ass town.”

“That’s all just circumstance. Strip all the magical stuff away and I’m just a boring white guy who works at a library who likes to play chess and ravish his girlfriend who is waaaaaay too good for him.”

Abbie considered this for a moment before deciding to accept his praise.

“Well…when you put it that way…” She lifted herself up and sat on his lap,softly stirring against him, “Seems like there’s only one thing left to do…”

“What’s that?”

“I’ma put this pussy on you, Pussy.“

"Me ow!”

I am eight. My father hands me a tiny crystal salt shaker. “So you can shake it on a sparrow’s tail,” he says, 
and I giggle and think, “Who’s actually done that?”

I am nine. The last Christmas present I open is a knife,
black and silver and sharp as sin. 
The serrations on the first half of the blade
tell me “you will use me for everything. I will be with you
always.” The rubber on the grip will, over time,
mold itself to the shape of my hand. 

I am ten. I swear off men;
more because I wanted to be one than because
I don’t like them. 

I am eleven. My best friend and I stalk a deer
for two hours. I hold my bow
like a jar of holy water, like a prayer. 
Overcome by beauty, I cannot shoot.

I am twelve. The woman taking care of me says
“It isn’t safe to go down in the gorge
when the streams are running high. We’ve had
a lot of snowmelt this winter.” I wonder 
who could ever be afraid of a stream
like that, who could ever be afraid
for a child like me. I have loved the way the water
flows over the rocks longer than this woman
has known my name.

I am thirteen, and it is a few months before I will leave
my home for what might be forever. 
From the bank on the edge of our driveway a mountain lion
stares at me, turns to watch for a moment.
A leap onto the road and across;
I have a mental snapshot of how she looked
in flight. No one else saw.

—  a series of Artemis moments // reilly falanx

So my Schrödinger’s mold torment is over! the mold has set!

We’ll see how good the detail is tomorrow- but that it already such a big fucking relief! Seriously the heightened emotional states that molding puts me through is probably quiet worrying to the outside world, or it would be if I interacted with the outside world. But hey! I’m the mad I tell you! Mad! Drunk with power.

okay but sherlock barging into the bathroom as john is taking a bath and he helps himself to a piss and brushing his teeth and john is so unaffected by this new normal that he doesn’t flinch or panic or blow out his candles, he just has a conversation and reminds sherlock to lower the lid, and before sherlock leaves john just “you could join me, you know,” and before he knows it sherlock is getting in buck-ass naked and lounging back against john’s chest, and john smiles and hums and plays with sherlock’s hair and plays footsie under water with him


Pompeii victims, Italy

When Mount Vesuvius erupted in 79 A.D., many of its victims in Pompeii were buried under mounds of pumice and ash that hardened over them like a mold, hardening them and suffocating them in time.

Notice how some are covering their mouth and nose

On the contrast between Ben Wheatley’s High-Rise and its source material, J.G. Ballard’s 1975 novel:

“In what amounts to his novel’s thesis, Ballard writes, “By its very efficiency the high-rise took over the task of maintaining the social structure that supported them all. For the first time it removed the need to repress every kind of anti-social behavior, and left them free to explore any deviant or wayward impulses.” See, for example, the building’s grocery store, which provides the residents with everything they need, even as gray mold creeps over the boxes of peaches that stock its shelves. Advanced civilization, Ballard suggests, is its own undoing, since its culture of convenience removes any obligation to struggle with others for survival. It’s not that modernity drives us crazy, just that it frees us to be as crazy as we’ve always been.

Much as he withholds the gory details, Wheatley never quite commits to the extremity of this premise, though he’s forever dancing around it. He sometimes psychologizes his characters in a way Ballard would have found alien, suggesting that something specific to each individual motivates him or her to join in the violence. It’s starkly un-Ballardian to propose that things happen for reasons, and not because reason itself is a fragile prop.”

  • mINTP: Babe, I gave you the only bun that wasn't moldy.
  • INTJ: :| there were moldy buns? *INTJ peering at hotdog bun* OMG....theres mold all over mineeeeee.
  • mINTP: Its surface mold, you can just cut it away.
  • INTJ: 8( *picking away moldy spots*
  • mINTP: Well I thought you should know.
  • INTJ: But, I don't like mold, and I have eating issues in general D:
  • mINTP: But babe we all eat mold.
  • INTJ: ........
  • mINTP: I mean parts per million

what really confuses me about the latest eah reveals is that.. they don’t need tights… it’s perfectly fine to just leave their legs bare……. i’d take plain legs over molded leggins/tights any day

plus even for younger kids it limits the possibilities of redressing, i know i didn’t like molded clothes when i was little.

8:16 [1/1]

A/N: So @ive-always-been-a-pirate and I were talking speculation today about why the time on the clock in Underbrooke moved between 5x12 BTS and 5x14 BTS. Then mindyourhelm posted this little thing and my muse just screamed at me to write it. So here it is. 

Rated: K

Since the dawn of time the clock had been there.

Its shape had changed over the centuries, molding itself into whatever image the ruler of this realm chose. In days of old it had been a sundial, echoing the simple world its inhabitants had come from. An elaborate Victorian tower had been its image for years, iron beams blending it into the surrounding buildings that changed as time moved forward in the outside world. Its current incarnation was a modern clock set in the crumbling remains of a tower, embedded within the very pavement that ran through the town.

The clock had always been there, but its hands never moved.

Day and night came, seasons changed, and eons passed for the realm’s inhabitants but the clock remained silent. Its hands were forever frozen, mocking those who walked by because this was a timeless land, where age and time spent there didn’t matter. Even when it had been a simple sundial the shadow that marked the time never moved, forever locked on that same hour and minute. Some inhabitants had been there since the world was nothing more than brimstone and fire, others filtering in over the years as their souls left the mortal world. They were all used to the unmoving clock, the one constant in the realm no matter the shape their world took, many forgetting the ancient fixture was even there.

But not him.

Keep reading


Bayern Munich is no ordinary club. It’s an institution whose identity and philosophy have been shaped and molded over generations. Talent, professionalism, German efficiency and constant success are just a few traits commonly associated with it. Players and staff — be they new, old, foreign or domestic — learn and live by Bayern’s codes from the moment they join the club. [Their members] embody, defend and promote Bayern’s values more than anyone else.

you haven’t stopped growing.

i know that because you’re reading this post.

and that you might have had reason to believe that pain would end and everything would be better if you just stopped living.

you haven’t stopped.

your branches have grown and stretched and molded over the heartbreaks and twisted around the nightmares and has covered the scratches.

you’ve grown. you’re still growing. and you deserve it.