#like doughie and biscuit!!!
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tiny bread factory
game is tiny bread factory on roblox! i discovered the game a while back and immediately thought of these guys
#omori#omori unbread twins#omori biscuit#omori doughie#i would've drawn this with their real world versions but i forgot what they look like sobs#digital art#firealpaca#my art
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rip mikhael for being the lamest guy in his family
his siblings get a freakin banging battle theme in Headspace, it's something i've listened to on repeat for ages. but let's be honest, i don't think anyone listens to 'cram it wad' for more than once when skimming through Omori OSTs. it sounds okay, but his angsty preteen vibes and the noises of two sticks fighting to the death aren't exactly favourite song material. add that onto the fact that in HS they're gods while he's a flipping monkey, his siblings make giant cardboard cutouts of themselves & can predict what the other is going to say while mikhael's making dragon ball references and calling himself 'the maverick',,,
sorry mikhael, but it's no wonder those girls didn't even stick around for the money ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯
#mikhael ily#but why are you like this#he's such a weirdo#omori mikhael#omori the maverick#omori unbread twins#omori doughie#omori biscuit#omori bowen#omori daphne#sorry guys#i'm still in my mikhael era#and have never left my daphne & bowen one#truly a family of icons#and mikhael too ig#still obsessing over this loser#still writing that goldrush fanfic#still questioning my life decisions#kel x mikhael#kel x the maverick#omori gold rush#omori real world#mikhael was done so dirty in hs#who the heck is mikal#i am offended#that is not my boy#sunny why#omori sunny
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Help me-
#omori meme#omori sweetheart#omori hero#omori aubrey#omori unbread twins#omori biscuit#omori doughie#omori basil#omori spaceboy#omori kel#omori sunny#omori omori#So many people liked my last omori meme
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I just saw this headcanon on tt that if Miguel was a cat he'd do biscuits- and someone else was like hed do biscuits even if he wasn't a cat and I just HAD to share it with you immediately
omg I love that?!!? and you wanted it share it with me ??? 🥹
I have a few thoughts 😌 I may have massively steered off course a bit, oopsies
- he’s really slow to warm up, and I feel like it takes a lot of easing him in and reassurance for him to feel comfortable with you. but when he does, he’s like a different man, completely different (in a good way!!) like he’s whipped- in the best way possible though
- I feel like once he’s comfortable and feels secure, he’s a physical touch kinda guy, so he loves to touch you. I feel like even the slightest contact will make him feel at ease, like it would instantly soothe and calm him
- I think he feels happiest when he’s holding your hand, it’s like he knows you’re with him and that you’re safe
- but maybe at the end of the day, at night when you’re in bed, he can’t resist touching you (lovingly)
- he loves to stroke over your bare arms, or cup your face as you fall asleep
- but he loves to squeeze into you, kneading into you, he says it’s for you and your aches and pains, but he enjoys it more than you. it’s like you’re his fidget toy, like you keep him occupied, and keep his mind quiet
- he’s got long strong fingers so I feel like he can really get into a knot in one of your muscles, and he can coax it out with no problem. he’s also a great help when you get period cramps (best masseuse ever!!)
- buut, he just loves touching and caressing you, and loves to kneading and make biscuits into any doughy or plush part of you, maybe your thighs, tummy, anything- he loves it !! he just wants to hold and touch you all the time :((
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Vi loves to rest her head between your thighs when you’re in bed, either while y’all are watching something, reading, or just talking.
Your back is against the pillows, legs spread, while the back of her head lays on your tummy/pussy. She’ll squish your thighs and play with them while she’s listening to you or just getting distracted by the tv.
(Modern) Her favorite selfies she takes of herself are the ones where she’s smiling or looking cheekily at the camera from between your thighs
oh my god oh my god this but with a big girl. modern au student + boxer vi with her chubby gf. oh my god.
because I absolutely agree, vi fucking adores your tummy and thighs. so much so that she takes every opportunity to touch those spots. resting her head between your thighs, on your tummy and the mound above your pussy, is her favorite position.
it made you blush the first time she did it, because it started with Vi pushing you back against the headboard and spreading your legs open, calloused hands rubbing at your doughy thighs. She leaned down and you swore she was gonna do something less innocent.
But no! she just flipped around and laid the back of her head on your lower tummy, gripping your thighs against her face and nuzzling her cheek into the fat. You're sitting there like huh? But Vi looks so cute and content and Jesus fucking christ if she could purr she would, so you let her.
From then on, it's the go-to cuddling position whenever she's stressed. The warmth and weight of your thighs against her acts as a weighted blanket, erasing all stressful thoughts from her mind for at least a bit. She also loves leaving kisses in that position!! Sometimes she'll get really into the zone and leave a hickey or two or five on your soft inner thighs. She can't help it!! Vi has a slight oral fixation and your thighs are her prime target, those babies are absolutely covered in marks all the time. It's made wearing shorts a humbling experience, for sure. She's like a fucking cat, sucking on your thighs and pretty much making biscuits on you.
This position soothes you too, what with Vi's warm hands massaging at your thighs. She's gentle, but firm, and god damn if it doesn't put you to sleep half the time. It pretty much always ends up with one or both of you absolutely knocked out on the bed or couch, snoozing for an unreasonable amount of time.
And she does have so many photos of it!! Some are from you, taking pictures of her snoozing on your thighs. A lot of those are just a shock of pink hair poking out from between your thighs, but a few special gems show the way her cheek squishes against your inner thigh.
Most are from her, taken as she lays nestled between your thighs. She's so cute, her cheeks squished from how she pressed your thighs close together. She's so peaceful, a blush dusted across those pretty cheeks because this position never fails to fluster her.
This is literally such a cute concept :( vi is so baby pookie :( she deserve to lay between big girl thighs and on big girl tummy :( let that girl get the best sleep of her life!!
#anon#arcane vi#arcane fluff#arcane vi x reader#arcane x reader#arcane x reader fluff#arcane vi x reader fluff#arcane vi fluff
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The inside cover of my grandmother’s cookbook is inscribed with her handwriting, “Think of me when you cook.” It is a copy of the same spiral-bound book that has been given to all of the women in my family. “The Sephardic Cooks: Comé Con Gana” has somehow made its way from one synagogue in Atlanta to Sephardic communities and families from New Jersey to California. It has all the classic recipes, including a section titled “Main Dish Pastries.” These dishes are the cornerstone of the Sephardic tradition, desayuno.
The word “desayuno” literally translates to “breakfast” in Ladino, the dying Judeo-Spanish language historically spoken by Sephardic Jews. Yet, the meaning extends beyond that one meal. In Sephardic culture, desayunois a category of foods associated with the large Saturday morning meal that would be served after Shabbat, including egg dishes and savory pastries.
These desayuno foods are some of my favorite things to eat and the ones I most associate with my own family traditions. The blocks of crustless quajado (spinach quiche) that always seemed to be in my childhood freezer, ready to thaw for lunch. The doughy, cheesy spinach boyos my grandmother would have ready for our breakfast every time we traveled to visit her. The pasteles (mini meat pies) my great-aunt taught to a room filled with four generations of cousins at our family reunion last summer. The rice-and-cheese-filled bureka pastries my mom comes over to make with my kids and me.
While delicious and crowd-pleasing, these are also some of the most time-consuming recipes to prepare. I picture my great-grandmother standing in a friend’s kitchen as all the ladies of the community work together to knead mounds of dough, mix a vat of filling, fold and crimp sheets and sheets of burekas. Whether this is accurate or just my imagination justifying why it feels intimidating to make these by myself, desayuno pastries do not align well with today’s fast-paced, individual lifestyle. Save for the times my mom comes to bake with us (importantly, bringing a container of prepped filling), making dough and pastry from scratch is not happening in my kitchen.
I hope to be a part of the thread that keeps Sephardic traditions alive, yet I do not want to let perfection be the enemy of my intentions. I think my grandmother would agree. While she baked burekas with all of her grandchildren and always had a freezer full of freshly baked rosca (coffee rolls), she was never one to turn down a good shortcut. She developed her own boyo recipe featuring Hungry-Jack biscuit dough as the base and once described to me a full lentil soup recipe, only to end it with, “or you could just buy a can of lentil soup.” She loved when I would call her to share that I had tried a Sephardic recipe, such as cinnamon biscocho cookies or lemon chicken soup. Whether my attempts had been successful or a flop (like my rock-hard biscochos), her smile would be audible through the phone saying, “I’m just so glad you tried.”
As Sephardic culture and traditions fade and assimilate, food provides an important outlet to preserve history and share it with family and friends. More important than getting it right or spending hours in the kitchen is remembering our traditions, trying recipes, talking about or simply eating Sephardic foods, regardless of who made them.
In that spirit, I would like to propose lowering our standards, for the greater good of keeping traditions alive. Consider a desayuno with fewer parts or with a little help from the freezer aisle. Rather than the large spread my ancestors would prepare for days in advance, consider making one thing from scratch (though I won’t tell if you cook zero things). You could make a batch of burekas or a quajado, arguably the easiest of the Sephardic breakfast dishes, or even just prepare a pot of hard-boiled eggs. Supplement with frozen spanakopita, Ta’amti Bourekas or a Trader Joe’s Greek cheese spiral for a full table.
Nothing will taste quite like homemade pastries fresh from the oven and I still aspire to make them (occasionally). Yet, even when I munch a makeshift Sephardic meal, I will be thinking of my grandmother, just as she inscribed in her cookbook. As long as we are sharing food together, talking about Sephardic traditions, remembering meals and people who matter to us, I will call it desayuno. I think my grandmother would be proud.
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Primo x Reader (Calore e Gabbia)
+18 CONTENT NOT FOR MINORS. MINORS KEEP SCROLLING
Pairing: Primo x F!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Good old fashioned smut
Summary: Papa Emeritus Primo, the Gardener of the Ministry, has long caught your eye. You’ve slipped into the Ministry sauna this morning in hopes that you will catch his and move up in the ranks among the ministry. Little birds are rarely as hidden as they think, and Papa Emeritus Primo has plans for you too.
Word Count: 3,627
Notes: This is a birthday present for @astouract! Have the bestest birthday my love! Here’s to another year of sinning <3
Translations at the end.
AO3 Link
There are few things as unpleasant as hell-hot humidity. In the early summer, as the spring rain is on its dying breath, it clings to the skin like a blanket of sweat, unable to be wiped away. Skin sticks to skin and clothes melt to the body in a heated need to be united as one. It churns the stomach in revulsion, cooking the living like a delicacy. In the early weeks of summer the library and catacombs are a refuge to the nausea, ditching out on chores to slip into their cool dark embrace. The lengths you went to to make sure the sweat of nature never touched your skin crossed your mind just once as you pulled the towel around you tighter and walked into the sauna.
It was like choking on smoke, the steam infiltrating your lungs as you inhaled to adjust to the smoldering box. The scent of cedar followed on the tail of the steam seeping into you and you wrinkled your nose at it. Your fingers tightened around the rough terrycloth of the towel as you padded over to a nearby bench, the wooden planks warm and slightly damp to your feet. You were the only person in the sauna right then. Your host would be arriving soon.
You weren’t a morning person. Misfortune had forced that upon you four weeks ago. Standing there in the kitchen as siblings clanged pans and cracked eggs, you laid out soft, doughy biscuits on a tray. Looking out the murky stained glass window as the soft light of dawn slowly brought forth the shapes of cold bushes and delicate flowers, you couldn’t help but to wish for the warmth of your bed, a few more minutes of sleep. In the middle of your dreaming daydream you spotted him: Papa Emeritus Primo, bundled up in thick, warm robes, creeping quietly through the morning mist of the garden to the bathhouse outside the Ministry. Each morning you’d watch the grease-covered clock that hung over the door to the dining hall until it was 5:50 and then stare out that murky window, waiting for the elderly man’s journey.
It was no secret that you fancied the Papas—most of the congregation did. There were perks to gaining favor with them: nicer clothes with less holes in them, meals with fresh meat and warm bread if you were invited to dine. Some lucky few had been moved to spacious living quarters attached to the papal suites for optimal discretion. That was never why you stopped and stared in the hallways as he passed by, gluing yourself to groups of siblings to make your spying less obvious. No, there was something comforting about the way he moved, something that the other Papas couldn’t replicate. Others thought him to be boring or scary, but you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was a gentle touch in those glove-obscured hands.
He was the silent type, sentences short, only giving polite nods and the occasional cough as siblings filed into the chapel for midnight mass. Bland as oatmeal was how one sister had put it. But you'd seen him in the gardens that day when you took a shortcut from the cemetery to the catacombs to avoid the humidity. It was the affection of a lover that guided his movements as he poured water onto the soft loamy soil that covered the roots of a curling plant that spilled its vines freely across the gravel path. He caressed the plant leaves and whispered to them in Italian, thumbs brushing away any stray dust or pollen that might have imposed itself upon the emerald life. Brushing and stroking the leaves, you watched him in a daze, wondering if he would stroke a lover’s face the same way.
The door creaked open and he shuffled in. The burlap cloak fell to the floor with a soft thump and you looked away quickly: he had no clothes on underneath. You looked back just enough to keep an eye on him in the peripheral. He gave a great yawn and stretched like a cat in the lazy afternoon sun. When he leaned back you heard his spine cracking followed by the whispered scratching of nails against skin. He shuffled only one foot forward before taking note of the toweled intruder.
“Sister.” Papa Primo’s voice was still hoarse from sleep. The never-before-heard bass caused you to shift.
“Papa,” you said. Even avoiding his white eye and naked body, the words stuck in your throat, tangled with the steam.
He resumed his procession toward the bench, taking his time to lower himself gently onto the baking wood, watching you the whole way down. His back popped again when he pressed his palms against his thighs. A groan of contentment echoed through the sauna as he released the tension, making himself comfortable. “I do not get many visitors here.”
“I’m intruding,” your voice came weakly. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.” You clutched your towel to you, hurrying to leave, hurrying to crawl back to your bed to forget this mistake.
“Scusa,” he hoarsed, a gruff authority in his voice barring the exit to you, “it is rare to find una suora that is an early bird. The steam only calls to me and an occasional ghoul this early.”
You took your seat once more, tucking your hands beneath your thighs to stop from fidgeting with them. “I couldn’t sleep,” you lied.
He sniffed at this and you dared to look at his face. “Could not or would not?”
You squirmed as he looked you in the eye, unable to speak. This was a bad plan. The urge to run away rattled through your bones. Who were you to try and sleep with a Papa? It would have been better etiquette to just wait for one to approach you. That’s how it’s done. That’s how it’s always been done. Ghouls delivering gifts and keys, being pulled out of Ministry duties for furtive appointments. It was all unspoken rules and signals. Yet here you were, trying to weasel your way into Papa Primo’s bed.
“Scusa, I tease.”
A half-hearted laugh escaped your lungs. He was joking. Of course he was joking. The silence hung as he examined you and your stupid little laugh. It hung until you were convinced it would hang yourself. The fake explanations gushed forth. “My dreams were restless. I found myself waking up so much that I came here. I hoped the steam would help put me to sleep.”
“If you are having trouble sleeping you could come see me, sister.”
“Oh?” It’s all you could manage as you fought the thought of slipping through the night surreptitiously to knock on his door and warm his bed for the price of a good night’s sleep.
He got up, joints creaking, and grabbed the ladle out of the water pail. You watched as he ambled over to the hot coals. You watched the sinewy arms guide the ladle dripping with water over the coals. You watched as the water slipped down the side of the ladle, hugging its curve, clinging to its old way, resisting the fire that would set it free as steam. You watched as with a little more tilt the water broke free of the curve, pulled down, and met the hot coals with a great hiss. You watched as the room filled with steam, obscuring the oldest Emeritus brother and yourself. You watched and moved.
“We have many medicinal plants that can help you if you are feeling unea-“ His words trailed off as the steam cleared, revealing yourself. You arched your back more to accentuate your breasts and the heart that hammered between them. Your hands gripped the towel that now rested around your hips, trying to still their shaking. He whispered something in Italian, his hiss mingling with the residual of the coals. “Rare indeed.”
Your stomach flipped. You were rapidly approaching the coals and had yet to know if they were hot.
A brief smile played in those old tired eyes before he resumed his seat. “You are bold, Suora. I knew I had a little dove watching me from her cage every morning, but I did not know she was so lascivious.”
Your blood ran cold, and you felt more naked in that statement than when you had first shed your towel. He had never once looked over to where you had laid out breakfast for the ministry in stupefied admiration. You knew he had never spied you himself because if he had looked at you in any singular way you would have knocked the tray of biscuits to the floor.
“Gli uccellini raramente sono così nascosti come pensano. You want an antidote to your restlessness?”
You nodded. His unmoving gaze commanded you to nod. It didn’t matter if you were answering the lie or the truth that had roused you from sleep into this hellishly hot sauna so early in the morning, and Satan was it hot.
“Dimmi bambina: You want your Papa’s cock?”
Steam settled around him as he waited for your answer, an early morning reverie that you were uncertain you wouldn’t wake up from. You glanced down at those weathered hands and then back up to his mismatched gaze. “I want your co… only yours. I-” Your mind felt fogged up from the steam, unable to tell him how Terzo was too flashy and Secondo too scary. It wasn’t the title you wanted: it was him.
“Vieni qui, colomba.” He patted the planks in between his legs.
You bit the inside of your cheek as you got up, watching as he dragged his eyes over your naked form. The butterflies in your stomach danced as you watched his pupils linger on your hips a second too long before they met your own, staring up into your sinful soul. He reached out a hand and pulled you to be seated with your back to his chest. His hands were worn smooth and shiny with age and hard work of many a garden tool. They slid up the steam-warmed skin of your arms, not in any particular hurry. Meeting collar bone, he gently pressed you back into him, his smattering of silver chest hair tickling the nape of your neck. Like a flower, he luxuriously inhaled the bouquet of your scent, his aquiline nose pressed into your scalp and then neck. At last, he licked the petal-soft skin right above the last reminder that you were living and breathing and that it was all real.
You leaned into his touch and taste, whimpering as his right hand gripped your jaw to present your neck to him, his canvas soon to be painted with bruises from his lips. His left hand slipped between your thighs, not wasting any time swiping the smooth pad of his thumb over your clit.
Your breath came faster and faster and you squirmed from the brush, the important nerves alive for the first time that morning. “Rilassati, bambina. Papa will take care of you.” He mumbled the sedative into the crook of your neck as ring and index finger spread your lips, exposing your clit to his leisurely strokes, coaxing it and soothing it as if it were one of his revered plants.
Your heart beat against your ribs as he stroked and kissed, spurred on by the steam that loosened your vocal cords, a stream of moans praising his skilled touch and tongue. Papa Primo’s satisfaction at this pressed into your lower back.
He was well endowed by the Olde One. The tip of his cock nestled into the small of your back and for the first time, your worries were replaced with if you would be able to take the Papa you’d so long desired and watched from your kitchen window all those mornings. “Papa,” you started.
He flickered his finger quicker and quicker, his right hand dragged down your throat to knead your breast like he kneaded the earth before sowing seeds. “Cum for me, colomba. Cum for your Papa. Sì proprio così. Voglio che la tua fica sia bella e bagnata per il mio cazzo.” He quickly slid his fingers into your aching cunt, pressing hard into the tender flesh until you spasmed and fluttered internally.
You gripped his thighs as you watched the cords in his arm flex rapidly, unable to look away as palm and fingers continued to work through your orgasm, unrelenting. They pushed and pressed until you screamed, words failing you as he finally withdrew his fingers. He brought them to your mouth, pressing the cream-coated tips to your gasping lips.
“Assaggia te stessa, bambina mia.” He guided the slick fingers into your mouth, smearing your juices into your tastebuds. His fingers swept the inside of your cheeks, and under your tongue, eventually gently touching the back of your throat. “Good girl. It tastes good, sì? It is much better than the sleeping herbs I would have given you. Do you like the way your pussy tastes on my fingers?”
You sucked against them, tasting the salt and tang, until he pulled them free. The string of drool between your lips and his fingers broke as you answered, “Yes, Papa.”
“Bene, lay down. This is your first time in the sauna, sì? I do not want you to pass out.” You did as told, and realized just how lightheaded you’d become as the blood flowed more easily, and sights and sounds became more clear. You watched how his thick cock swung as he walked to the pail of water. He scooped the water once more and brought it back to you.
“ Consider this a baptism.” He tilted the ladle, letting the water spill onto your warm skin. You jumped, but relaxed back into the cedar planks as the water washed away sweat and heat. He poured it over your chest, down your stomach, and at last between your thighs.
You sighed as the heat seemed to wick away from your body. He sunk the ladle back into the pail, returning to massage the water droplets that clung to your skin like morning dew. He tilled the earth once more before cleaving the soil. His hands gently guided your legs apart and you looked nervously once more at his cock trying to suppress a whimper.
He stroked your inner thigh, shushing with each pass. “ Non si agiti. Do not be afraid. You must relax.” Pressing a kiss inside your knee, he continued his parting. You swallowed hard as he lined the thick head of his cock up with your entrance. His hands massaged and pulled at the muscles in the creases of your thighs, stretching you as he slid himself in, never rushing, never hurrying. You winced at the ache only once before he bottomed out. Gentle hands guided you once more, taking your right hand in his to wrap around what wouldn’t fit. “ Good girl. Take all of your Papa.”
Your hand tensed as he moved over you, blocking the hazy orange light that glowed from the ceiling. He growled at the reflex and gave a shallow thrust. You whimpered as you fought the urge to cum from just how thick he was.
“La tua fica è stata mandata dall'inferno. Così stretto,” he growled. He pumped in and out slowly, letting you adjust, spreading your dripping arousal into your hand. He grunted softly as he worked in and out of your hand and cunt. His nostrils flared, pushing faster and harder in the humidity. His white eye burned in a new fire, one that you’d never seen all those times in the chapel or even that summer afternoon in the garden. It burned and plummeted past the side of your face, searing your cheek as he rutted to sow his seed.
“Is this what you wanted, little bird?” he panted against your ear. It was the first time you realized the smell of mint wafting about him.
The ‘yes’ was stuffed down with an anguished cry as his hips dragged up against your clit. His breath came fast at this, at you.
“I wanted to call for you next week. My ghoul saw you watching. How did he put it?” A savoring kiss to your neck sent shivers up your spine as he thought. “Ah… yes,” he hissed. “‘She watches you like a sad dog.’”
You yelped as he shoved your left leg up against your chest, nails digging in as he hit a new depth.
“ He asked me if he should take care of you,” he continued, not minding the tears that spilled down your cheeks and onto his. “It seems la colomba wanted me to take care of her instead.”
“I’m sorry.” It was quiet, but it stopped him.
“Are you ashamed of your desire, little bird?”
You didn’t answer that.
He scooped you up and set you astride him. You watched as the orange glow highlighted the corners of his mouth set into a hard line. “I will have you, but only if you can rid yourself of shame here.”
You looked down and away, but he gripped your chin forcing you to look him in the eye. His fingers dug in hard enough to press the insides of your cheeks to the sharp edge of your teeth
“You will fuck yourself on my cock, or you will leave. The Olde One rewards greed, Sister, and so do I.”
Laying your hands on his age-thinned shoulders, you raised your hips a few inches. The hardline crooked up into a smile as you sank down onto his cock and into your sin. The greed wrapped itself like a cloak around your body, banishing the anxious chill. You needed this. You needed him. “Papa...”
“Hm?” He looked up at you, pleased.
“I want to be your bird,” you whimpered as you sank yourself down on him again.
“Many siblings want to be my bird…Fuck.” His nails dug into your hips as you took him as deep as you could. The same muscles that had forced you to come undone were digging their claws into you, insisting you keep the pace that you had set, if not begging you to speed up.
Your pained whine flowered into a desperate moan as you felt yourself clench around him. The muscles in your thighs ached as you angled and tried to chase your high, not even bothering to hide just how good the stretch of his cock made you feel. The moans and cries filled the sauna and the warm wood soaked them in greedily like thirsty soil.
“Canta per me, uccellino. Dimmi come hai bisogno che la tua fica bisognosa venga riempita del seme di tuo Papa.”
Was this really what you had wished for all those days in the kitchen? The way his eyes bored into you, seeing you for the first time, all of his attention on you. And yet you knew that you were not special. There was nothing special about a wild bird that looked inside of the window and dreamed of life inside of a gilded cage, being fondled and caressed by a caring master. What a stupid bird to subject yourself to all the scrutiny that came with a cage and perch, and yet…
You felt your high so close on the heels of your distracting thoughts and you couldn’t help the way you pushed yourself just a little bit more. Your voice came high and sweet, “Papa I’m going to come!”
“Right on time,” he smiled as you fucked your swollen cunt on him. “Come for your Papa, uccellino.”
His sweet words of encouragement are all you need to come undone. You cry, drawing sharp breaths of humid air as you look at him. He watched you so intently, mouth agape at the beauty that was turned into a pathetic mess at his command. His hands guided your hips in working through your orgasm, even though you wanted nothing more than to stop and savor every contraction. The sensations drove the tears to your eyes and your lip quivered as you dig your own nails into his shoulders.
The pinch of your talons must have been the final push as his guidance slowed and halted and you swear you could taste the salt as he sowed his seed. His sunken chest heaved with effort as you felt the hot ropes of him soak you completely. He was perfect like this, and everything you wanted: heaving, panting, and devoted to the moment of just you.
But even your unconventional ways had their limits. Prying yourself from him, you tried your best to walk back and grab your towel, cunt aching from the stretch and abuse, seed dripping down and mixing with the sweat on your thighs. Fuck it was hot in here. There was an external relief in being freed from the heat of him and an internal want to curl back into his arms. A hand around your wrist spoke to the latter.
“Uccellino.” He rose to address you, thumb coming up to lovingly caress your cheek. You tried to look away from his eyes, but they held you in the need to know of his approval. “Tonight. I dine at 7. Do not be late. I know you can keep time.” A short smile and one final swipe before he sinks back into the cedar wood, shutting his eyes in contentment. It’s as if you had never even been there, and your signal to leave. You wrap the towel around your trembling body and head out into the morning mist, darkness offering you refuge from the heat that now burned within you at the thought of tonight.
Translations:
Scusa- Excuse me
una suora- A sister
Gli uccellini raramente sono così nascosti come pensano- Little birds are rarely as hidden as they think
Dimmi, bambina- Tell me, child.
Vieni qui, colomba- Come here, dove
Rilassati, bambina- Relax, child.
Colomba- Dove
Sì proprio così. Voglio che la tua fica sia bella e bagnata per il mio cazzo- Yes just like this. I want your pussy nice and wet for my cock.
Assaggia te stessa, bambina mia- Taste yourself, my child
Bene- Good.
Non si agiti.- Do not be nervous.
La tua fica è stata mandata dall'inferno. Così stretto- Your pussy is sent from hell. So tight.
Canta per me, uccellino. Dimmi come hai bisogno che la tua fica bisognosa venga riempita del seme di tuo Papa- Sing to me, little bird. Tell me how you need your needy pussy filled with your Papa's seed.
Uccellino- Little bird.
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Dani begins this video moaning with excitement over the greasy fried feast in front of her. "Ohh, fuck yeah..." She moans, shoving both hands into her Popeyes bags and immediately stuffing food in her face.
Her soft, doughy gut is already poking through her strained zipper, and it doesn't take long for your sexy belching glutton to unbutton her pants completely. Her fat gut rolls forward, her muffin top achieving sweet release. This doesn't stop her from continuing to devour more and more fattening food, though. "I'm eating my way out of all of my clothes..." She says with her mouth full.
One sandwich down, two sandwiches down, multiple biscuits, fries and tenders - like a moaning, belching machine, Dani inhales more and more food, despite the protests in her belly.
Of course, Dani can't keep her hands off of her fat. She's so proud of it, and turned on by how round and jiggly she's become. She leans back, too full to sit up straight, and still continues to eat, and eat, and eat....
The ending of this video is nonstop stuffed burping 🥵🥵
Available on:
💙 Curvage
💙 OnlyFans
#stuffed belly#gainer girl#girl gainer#girl feedee#bloated belly#curvage model#feedee girl#weight gain kink#belly kink#burping
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Onions, garlic, bell pepper, butter, vegetable oil.
Maybe even. Some cheese and some tomato.
Mmmmm.
Best type of bread for this. Flaky, crispy. Not doughy like biscuits or fluffy like a loaf.
Noodles, obviously should include some noodles. Not spaghetti noodles though. Long and flat noodles maybe.
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random hc that no headspace character's (apart from spaceboy's & blackspace basil's) blood is a normal colour. hero, kel and aubrey bleed purple. omori bleeds black/grey. sweetheart bleeds pink. rococo bleeds cyan. kite kid bleeds dark blue. marina's and molly's are blue too, like octopus' and squids'. medusa's blood is completely colourless. humphrey's is green (no-one knows why). carnivore's is just strawberry juice. crawler's is ridiculously dark. the sprout moles' has gone white from ✨tofu✨. biscuit and doughie's is gold bc they're gods. jawsum's is a dark maroon. the tree bleeds tree sap. mari and perfectheart can't bleed, it's against the rules :)
#omori headspace#omori#headcanon#hc#omori headcanons#omori rococo#omori basil#omori omori#omori hero#omori kel#omori aubrey#omori sweetheart#omori kite kid#omori king crawler#omori game#omori mari#omori captain spaceboy
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Since there doesn't seem to be anything written for your Omori AU, how do all the other ex-Headspaceians differ from canon?
first of all i want to genuinely thank you for expressing interest in my silly little swap AU hehe ^^ this is giving me a great excuse to think about ISOLI again and make a few silly little things for it!!
I had some tidbits about ISOLI's main party that I made when I first started developing the AU, I just never officially posted any information I guess... This will be long so I'll put everything under the cut!
The most obvious change from a glance is the character's names and designs. Sweetheart and Spaceboy (who don't have any human counterpart and are instead based on fictional characters within Sunny's world) are now regular humans within the real world, and within headspace as part of Isoli's party. Sweetheart's name has been changed to Stephanie, and (Captain) Spaceboy's to Charlie! The Unbread Twins and Mikal already have Faraway Town counterparts, so those are used for them. Biscuit becomes Bowen, and Mikal becomes Michael. Doughie's name stays as Doughie because of a personal headcanon of them being nonbinary, so in the AU Doughie uses they/them pronouns, and they changed their name to Doughie as part of transitioning ^^
I talked about what Stephanie is like already, so I'll move onto Charlie
Firstly, Charlie is a trans boy! He's always hated being a girl, but doesn't feel comfortable talking much about it with his parents. He's asked his friends to treat him like a boy and of course they happily did so. Charlie loves anything and everything to do with outer space, and often talks about wanting to grow up to study and explore space. He's very intense with his emotions, but his friends help him manage them. He cares a lot about everything, which can be stressful! He may also have a small crush on Stephanie, but she doesn't reciprocate those feelings. They still have a friendly relationship, though, even if they don't always see eye-to-eye!
After Bowen's death and the 4 year time skip, Charlie's found new friends to help distract him from all the Pain And Suffering. Instead of the hooligans, we have human versions of some of OMORI's space pirates! I haven't developed this much yet, but the plan is that they LARP being an evil Space Pirate crew while causing trouble around town. Charlie hides his emotions behind his fiery anger now, but it wouldn't take much to make him crack and start to cry... Stephanie doesn't really understand why Charlie's decided to be so mean all the time now, and Charlie doesn't understand how Stephanie just seemingly moved on from everything that happened so quickly.
Doughie, Bowen, Michael, and Sunny are all family - though Sunny is adopted, while the other 3 are blood related.
Doughie always wanted to pursue a medical degree growing up, but felt somewhat pressured to go into the family bread business (quite literally the opposite of Hero in OMORI!). They're a bit silly, but always seem a bit melancholy even when supposedly happy or content. They've also designated themself as the responsible one of the group, making sure that everyone stays out of trouble. After Bowen - their twin brother - died, they were extremely emotionally distraught, and abandoned their dream of becoming a doctor in order to fill the shoes of the next up in line for the bread business.
The death of Bowen also split the family apart due to stress, with the parents becoming estranged but choosing to still work together for the sake of the business. The dad lives with Doughie and Michael, while the mom took Sunny and moved into an available house in Faraway. The parents get the space they need, while also being close enough to keep the business running. This was also supposed to keep the siblings in contact, but then Sunny isolated for 4 years...
Bowen doesn't have too much information (besides being dead). He planned to go into the bread business because he genuinely loved it, and he's more of a gentle sweet soft guy type than in canon where he's sorta just a Wet Napkin in Headspace and a parrot to Daphne in Faraway. His siblings loved him, Charlie loved him, Stephanie loved him.
Which leads us to Michael... Oh, Michael. He's much more of a nervous wreck in this AU than in canon. He saw Sunny accidentally kill Bowen, recognized it as an accident, and panicked because he didn't want his brother and best friend to get in big trouble. So he helped Sunny cover it up. He feels sad and a little betrayed that his parents split apart and Sunny chose to isolate himself with his mom instead of everyone working it all out as a family. But he can't be mad, not when he feels this is all his fault. He doesn't wear a wig, but he does bleach his hair blond. In headspace, he's probably a bit of a rambunctious kid.
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Because i'm struggling with the new designs for the main cast i've decided to assign bosses with utmv character too
Kite Kid - Monster Kid (Undertale)
Kid's Kite - kite that looks like a snowdrake (actually snowdrake??) (Undertale)
Life Jam Guy - Epic (Epictale)
Pluto - Seraphim (The Thought comic)
Unbread Twins - XFrisk and XChara (Xtale) [XChara will be Biscuit, XFrisk will be Doughy]
Slime Sisters - Gaster x3 (Molly - Undertale, Marina - Underfell, Medusa - Outertale)
Sweetheart - Mettaton (Underfell)
Capt Spaceboy - Papyrus (Underfell)
Mr Jawsum - Cash (Swapfell Purple) ?
Humphrey - Onion-san (Undertale)
Boss - Sans (Underfell)
The more main bosses like UF Paps and MTT will have official designs, but I’ll draw them after I’ve done the main cast. I will add more bosses again at some point, but have these for now
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"You guys don’t think I’m a Sunny kin…do you???!!! 😳😳😳😳😳"
Nah, you're definitely a Bowen/Biscuit/Daphne/Doughie kin, considering how many people you like to make fat with your art.
(/j)
I have been absolutely obliterated by this ask 💀
So mean..
Bully…
Waa waaaa…
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Hi OP!! I have uhh a few questions if that's okay??? I'm like... a HUGE fan and I admire your work so much... Anyways!!
First question! What app do you use to draw??? (I love your art style and the way you draw the characters! BTW!)
Second, I'm not sure if I missed it, and i apologize for my cluelessness, but do you have a name we could refer to you as? (Or just a title, like Mod or Mun?)
Lastly!! What inspired you and what made you think of this AU with Basil??? (I hope thats not too many I just think you're very cool....)
[hello hello!!
Lots of questions that I’m VERY excited to ask!!]
[first on the agenda, I use Procreate on the iPad Pro! (Thank you so much!!)]
[second, my name is PAL/Arthur!! I’ve also been toying with the name Basil recently, though on this blog that would definitely muddy things, so you’re free to call me just PAL, or if you wanna get fancy, you can call me by the name of my little mascot here, Muse!]
[and THIRDLY!!! THIS IS A FUN ONE!!! It started as a joke, as most things do before you get way too attached to the idea of it. It started with me jokingly saying that Basil was fine the entire time, and was just hanging out with Doughie and Biscuit, peacefully making bread… Then it evolved… and evolved… and evolved… AND NOW HERE WE ARE!!!]
[thank you so much for your questions!!!]
#🌻✉️ aw.. thank you.. [ask]#🌻📱it was something behind you… [out of character/admin post]#|| unfancy tags ||#traveler basil au
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Dream of Dough (Doughie)
Pic by baelfight_omo
You first encountered Doughie alongside her brother Biscuit when you and the Omori gang fell down into BREAVEN.
She'd make the occasional remark here and there about "the cute one". It took a bit to realize she was referring to you.
In battle, you had the lowest priority from attacks. Doughie doesn't want to hurt you badly, probably had to quietly convince her brother lol
She lemented her decline of ingredients after the fight, but you had offered to help out with that which surprised her :0
You went and fetched her things outside of BREAVEN, cooked alongside her which was the perfect opportunity to get to know and grow close to her more.
places two pieces of bread to the sides of your head
The Omori gang wouldn’t need to worry if you weren’t around often, they’d just need to head down to BREAVEN and there you were, baking stuff alongside the bread woman.
You made sure to dedicate every outing with her to seeing something new, letting out a small chuckle as you saw a shine in her eyes as she took in the sights.
Though it was likely not the best idea to take her to the Last Resort, you had to stop her before she blew all her clams at the slots.
“Quite bad at this, am I Y/N…?”
You were more then willing to win back her clams with your own, ignoring the gators as they sneered at you. You spent a long while at the machine, but Doughie made sure to cheer you on while doing so.
When she first asked you out, she adorably wrote her question on a piece of bread. She had to hide her slightly red face!
It came as no surprise to anyone that the two of you eventually became an item. Biscuit may not speak words, but you could tell he was asking you to treat his sister right!
"What are you?" "An idiot sand-" "No…a cute sandwich hehe~"
Also as no surprise that this relationship was based off of the Real World relationship between you and Daphne.
Her parents are both happy for you and excited that their bakery tradition will continue. Daphne loves you for you and will whisk away any thoughts that say otherwise.
Your more lively personality is sure to bring out a smile from her, a rarity from the usually calm demeanor she frequently has.
In both worlds, she’s lucky to have you as a partner. She adores you so much!
“I loaf you, Y/N…hehe~”
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Latkes are far more popular during Hanukkah than donuts here in the U.S. While you can find latkes in the freezer section of almost every major supermarket, good quality sufganiyot are much harder to come by, and lots of people I know have a fear of using yeast to make doughs like donut dough.
But there is an easier way to make sufganiyot, and it comes in a can: biscuit dough. What can these doughy babies not do?!
Using canned biscuits, you can either make full-sized sufganiyot, or smaller, donut hole-sized bites. Make sure to let them cool before filling or your jam or pudding will run right out of the hot donuts. I prefer to dust with powdered sugar, but you could also top them with cinnamon sugar if you prefer.
Note: You will need a wooden skewer and a piping bag for this recipe.
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