#i guess i got a small taste of adult life???

[chimonystack]

Being home alone for a whole day is strange

[candycandy00]

The Doll House - A Choso x Reader Fanfic Part 1

When your younger sister is tricked into selling herself to the Doll House, you rush there to help her, only to find her being led away by her trainer, Choso. Moved by your desire to save your sister, he convinces the owner to let you take her place.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Geto’s Part Here!

Read Toji’s Part Here!

Read Nanami’s Part Here!

Read Sukuna’s Part Here!

Read Gojo’s Part Here!

Note: Please remember that these stories don’t take place at the same time, or even one after the other! Consider each one its own timeline. So if you see Geto and Toji with other dolls, don’t be alarmed lol. I had to do it this way because if I don’t, by the time I get to the last trainer, there won’t be any other trainers left to interact with!

On the outskirts of town, there stands a particular shop called the “Doll House”. Inside its walls you can find a “doll” to match any taste you might have. All your desires will be fulfilled, no matter how depraved. Satisfaction is guaranteed! The dolls are exceptionally high quality, thanks to the skillful trainers who work with them twenty-four hours a day, molding them into perfect toys for your enjoyment.

Each trainer has a specialty that they focus on, and they all take great pride in their work. Their methods differ greatly, their approaches vary, but they all follow one rule: never get attached to a doll. After the training is complete, they hand the dolls over to their new owners, and never see them again. However, just once over the course of their careers, trainers are allowed to pick a doll they’ve personally trained and keep her as their own.

AU! Each trainer will get their own story! This is Choso’s. I’m keeping the tag list from previous parts. If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged! Any feedback whatsoever is adored!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. FemDom. Sub Choso. Oral sex. Foot kissing. Divider by @benkeibear!

Your phone won’t stop buzzing. Even with the sound turned off, it’s making a racket in your bag, disturbing the important meeting you’re in. With a sigh, you slip it out to look at the Lock Screen. Your younger sister has sent you several messages. Wondering what kind of trouble she’s gotten herself into this time, you tap the latest message to open all of them. 

“Sis, I need your help! It’s an emergency!!!!”

“Yosaku is in trouble with his dad. He needs money right now or the old man’s gonna kill him!!”

“We’re at the Doll House. Yosaku says he’ll win big at the next race and buy out my contract.”

“Guess I’m a doll now! Why won’t you answer me?! This is important!!!”

“The owner went to find a trainer for me. God, I hope I don’t get the BDSM guy!”

“Sis, I’m scared!!! Yosaku left and I don’t think he’s coming back!”

You clench the phone in your hand so hard, you almost break it. 

“Fucking Yosaku!” you shout, then notice the dozen pairs of eyes that all immediately shift to you. You’re so enraged that you forgot you’re in a meeting. You apologize and excuse yourself, quickly leaving the office building where you work and heading toward the Doll House.

Your sister has been dating the son of a small time Yakuza boss for a little over six months now, and the two bit wannabe gangster has already ruined her life. 

Before meeting Yosaku, your sister was always so sweet and never got into trouble. Despite only being four years older than her, you practically raised her. She’s the only family you have, and as such, you’re fiercely protective of her. 

So when she introduced you to Yosaku, six years her senior, good looking in a “bad boy” sort of way, and with a terrible personality, you knew he was bad news. The fact that they started dating almost immediately after she turned eighteen was a big red flag. It’s like he was waiting for her, like a vulture. 

She started getting into trouble within two weeks of meeting him. She got caught shoplifting items he instructed her to take (and he of course fled the scene when she was spotted). He got mad and ditched her in a dangerous part of town one night. He talked her into gambling away all her money. And a whole list of other things. Each time, you had to go and rescue her.  And each time, you begged her to dump him before he got her into real, serious trouble. 

Now she’s at the Doll House? Unbelievable! How could he convince her to give up ten years of her life for him?! You can only hope you make it there in time to stop the sale. 

When you barge in the front door, past a front desk with a startled receptionist, and into a large circular room, you find your sister. She’s being led away by a pale man with a strange hairstyle, and she looks like a deer in the headlights. 

“Stop!” you scream, rushing forward and ripping your sister’s arm out of the man’s hand. “Don’t touch my sister, you pervert!”

You don’t know a whole lot about the Doll system or the Doll House, but everyone knows the basics. The men here train women to be sex toys, usually with some bizarre fetish. A friend once told you a guy here makes his dolls crawl on the ground like a dog while wearing a butt plug. Unimaginable! 

The man looks at you, seeming confused. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not anyone suspicious. I’m just her trainer.”

You place yourself in front of your sister, blocking his view of her. “You think I’m gonna let you train her to do depraved… sex stuff? I won’t let you hurt her!”

“I’m not going to hurt her,” he says, looking a little hurt himself that you would suggest such a thing. “My job is to prepare her to be a doll. I’m helping her.”

He seems so honest, but you can’t let yourself be fooled. “I don’t care what your job is. You can’t have my sister! Look at her, she’s just eighteen! She’s practically a baby! She’s still a virgin! You can’t turn her into-“

“Actually, sis, I’m not a virgin,” you hear your sister say behind you, making you wince. You assumed so, but it sucks to have it confirmed. Fucking Yosaku. 

You look at her over your shoulder. “That’s not important right now.” Then you turn back to the man. “Please, don’t take her. She’s the only family I have. She has her whole life ahead of her.”

The trainer’s face softens slightly, as if he feels bad for you. “I’m sorry,” he says, “but she already signed the contract. There’s nothing I can do.”

“But there has to be some way out of this! Her lowlife boyfriend coerced her!”

“What’s going on in here?” a voice asks. 

All of you look over to see a silver haired woman standing just inside the room. She’s holding a silk fan in one hand, the breathless receptionist standing beside her. 

“Who are you?” you ask her. 

She flips a long braid over her shoulder. “I’m the owner of this establishment. And if you’re here to stop a sale, you’re too late. Unless you want to pay some rather punishing fees for breaking the contract.”

You narrow your eyes. “Just how much are these fees?”

The owner snaps her fingers, and the receptionist scurries to grab a pen and paper. The owner writes something on it and the receptionist presents it to you. She wasn’t kidding when she said they were punishing! You’d never be able to pay this back! Even with your pretty good job. Your sister’s credit would be ruined forever. And you’d have to work yourself to the bone and you’d probably still lose everything. 

Your mind races. Think! Think! There has to be a way out of this! An idea pops into your mind. A terrible one, but it’s the only one you have at the moment. 

“What if I take her place?” you ask. 

Your sister steps out from behind you to look you in the face. “Sis, no, this is my-“

“Just be quiet,” you hiss, using the sort of tone you took while caring for her as a child. The “angry mother” tone, she called it. She falls silent. 

The owner looks you up and down. “I don’t know… We’ve never done something like that before.”

You get down on your knees, looking up at the owner with a pleading expression. “Please! My sister is young and naive. She can’t handle life as a doll. But I can! As the older sister, it’s my responsibility to protect her!”

Beside the owner, the trainer’s eyes widen. Then, suddenly, he moves over and gets down to his knees right next to you, bowing his head low. 

“I’m asking as well,” he says to the owner, shocking you. “Out of respect for her wanting to protect her sister, could you let them trade places? The older sister would be more suited to my training anyway.”

The owner looks slightly flustered to be met with such old fashioned, formal pleas. But she sighs and says, “Alright, I’ll go get the paperwork fixed up.”

As she walks away, the trainer stands up, then offers you his hand. Still somewhat in shock, you take it and let him help you up. 

“Thanks,” you tell him. “But why did you help me?”

He gives you a subtle smile. “I understand wanting to protect a younger sibling. I have a little brother I would do anything for.”

Wow, he’s actually pretty cute… for a sex crazed pervert. It just now occurs to you that he’s going to be your trainer now. This cute guy is going to be doing all sorts of depraved things to you! 

Your sister hugs you suddenly, her face wet with tears. “You didn’t have to do that! This was my problem!”

You pull away from her and stroke her hair. “Yes, I did have to do this. Just promise me one thing: that you’ll stay away from Yosaku. He’s dangerous! The next time he gets you into trouble, I won’t be there to help. Don’t make what I’m doing be for nothing.”

Your sister nods. “I promise! I’m all done with him!”

After reading over and signing all the paperwork, you and your sister say your goodbyes. Then you turn to your trainer and say. “Well, I’m all yours.”

He reaches out and gently takes your hand, then leads you down a hallway. He actually seems… sweet? You can’t imagine him doing perverted things to you. But he is a trainer here. Sooner or later, this man is going to have sex with you. You’re not some blushing virgin, but the thought still makes you a little embarrassed. 

Once inside his room, he shuts the door behind the two of you. His room looks surprisingly neat, clean, and comfortable. No crazy props or weird toys hanging on the walls. Thank goodness. 

“Feel free to sit down,” he says, gesturing toward a pair of chairs on either side of a small table. 

You walk over and take a seat, watching him a bit warily. You still don’t know what kind of fetish he specializes in. 

“I’ll tell you about my training,” he says, as if he can read your mind. You sit up straight in the chair to listen as he goes on. “I train women to be Doms. Dominant. I will call you Mistress. My name is Choso but you can call me whatever you like. I will do anything you tell me to. For the next six weeks, I belong to you. Oh, before you ask, I can’t get you out of the contract. That’s up to the owner, not me.”

Wait. What? He’s training you to be a Dom? You’ve heard the term before, but it conjures up an image of a woman in a black leather corset, cracking a whip. You’re supposed to do that stuff with him? 

“So, you’ll do anything I ask?”

He nods. “As long as it doesn’t violate any of the house rules, and is within my power.”

That doesn’t sound so bad. But you’re not naive. You know this is supposed to lead to things of a sexual nature. This is the Doll House after all. But at least you’ll probably get to do things at your own pace. You feel yourself relaxing slightly. 

“Can you get me a cup of coffee?” you ask, curious to see how he responds. 

“Of course, Mistress. How would you like it?”

“Hot. Heavy on the cream, no sugar.”

He gives you a small bow of his head. “Right away, Mistress.”

You watch him leave the room, then exhale deeply. Why does any doll trained by him ever do any of the sex stuff? Why not just make him rub your feet and bring you snacks for six weeks? You suppose that would defeat the purpose of being trained. What was it he called it? Preparing you to be a doll? Whoever your owner ends up being, he’s definitely going to expect some sex stuff. 

But do you have to initiate it? Command Choso to sleep with you? You can’t imagine doing that. 

He walks back in with a steaming cup and reaches it to you as if he’s a butler. You glance up at him, and you think he’d look really good in a butler uniform. 

You noticed it before, but he’s really cute. He’s like a quiet goth guy without the piercings. His hair is styled into two short ponytails, one on either side of his head. It’s not a style you’ve seen before, but it looks good on him. His clothes are a bit baggy, making you curious about what’s under them. 

The coffee is delicious, and Choso watches you drink it silently. After you sit the cup down, he asks, “Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”

You think for a moment. “You’ll do anything? Even if it’s something embarrassing or demeaning?”

“Of course, Mistress.”

You frown. “I don’t know. It seems wrong to force you to do things.”

A gentle smile appears on his face. “If you’re concerned about consent, please don’t worry. I work here voluntarily because I like doing stuff like this. I’m happy to do anything you want. No matter what it is.”

There’s an eagerness in his voice that makes your heart beat fast. You take a deep breath and say, “Kiss my foot!”

You really just want to test whether he’ll actually do anything you say or not, and this seems like a relatively tame command. Actually it’s not sexual at all. 

Or so you think, until Choso gracefully drops to his knees in front of you and, oh so gently, removes your high heeled shoe from your right foot. Then his hands move to your thigh, sliding just under your skirt. You start to yell at him, but then you realize he’s pulling your stocking down, slowly sliding it down your leg and off your foot. 

His eyes lock onto yours as he carefully lifts your foot up in his hand, holding it up close to his face. He licks his lips, then presses them softly to the top of your foot as his hand caresses your ankle. 

Oh wow. Okay, you kind of get how this all turns sexual. Choso on his knees in front of you, so eager to please, is doing things to you. 

He stands back up, the tiniest hint of a grin on his pale face. He knows what he’s doing. He wouldn’t be a very good trainer if he didn’t. “Is there anything else you’d like me to do, Mistress?”

Your heart is racing. You feel your face heating up. Fuck, did he just seduce you with a single kiss to your foot? You cough awkwardly and look away from his pretty face. 

“I’m not sure what else to make you do,” you say, then quickly add, “What would you do if I told you to strip?”

He instantly begins pulling his loose fitting shirt over his head. 

“Wait! I wasn’t serious! I was just messing around!” you yell, but his shirt is already off, dangling from his hand. Your eyes drink in his well defined torso, surprised by how toned he is. A cute face and a hot body? Plus he’s sweet and gentle? Is this guy the total package or what? 

You shake your head. You can’t let yourself fall for him. He’s your trainer. He’s done this same stuff, and much more, with lots of other women. And besides, in six weeks you’ll belong to someone else. You just hope whoever that is has half of Choso’s charm. 

“I’m sorry, Mistress, I thought you wanted me to undress,” he says, pulling his shirt back on. Why does he sound a little disappointed? 

Now you really want to see what he’s packing beneath those baggy pants, but you can’t bring yourself to command him to show you. Not so soon after meeting him anyway. 

“It’s my fault,” you tell him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

He smiles at you. It’s a very warm expression. “Please don’t worry about it, Mistress. I’m here to please you.”

*************************

Choso watches his new doll as she stands up and looks around the room. This will be her room for the next six weeks, so it’s good for her to familiarize herself with it. 

“Can I go get some of my things from home?” she asks. 

“Yes. You can leave the house so long as you come back by nightfall. That’s one of the house rules. If you go out at night, I have to go with you.”

She looks at her watch. “I guess I’ll just go tomorrow,” she says. “So what do we do for dinner?”

“There’s a dining hall where we all usually eat our meals,” he tells her, then goes on to explain what times meals are served and tells her about the small shared kitchen. He goes over some more house rules and also warns her that the other trainers all have their own styles, so she shouldn’t be surprised to see naked dolls or dolls in strange outfits.

She seems to be taking it all in fairly well. 

For dinner, she opts to stay in his room while he fetches plates, saying she isn’t quite ready to meet everyone else. She also tells him to eat at the small table in his room with her. Some dolls, perhaps angry about being dolls in the first place, order him to sit on the floor and eat. It doesn’t bother Choso, but he does think his new doll seems nice so far. 

“So you have a little brother?” she asks over dinner. 

He looks up from his plate, somewhat surprised. Some dolls ask a few basic questions at first, just to get to know him a little, but this one managed to get straight to his favorite topic. He smiles and says, “Yes. His name is Yuji.”

Her face looks kind, pretty, as she asks, “How old is he?”

“Nine,” he answers. “He’s a very energetic child, but he’s very sweet.”

She’s smiling, perhaps thinking of her sister. “He sounds adorable. Do you get to spend much time with him?”

Choso lowers his eyes to his food. “Not as much as I like. We only share one parent, and both of his have died. He lives with his grandfather now. I visit him as much as I can, and he visits me here occasionally. Oh, don’t worry, he doesn’t understand what I do here.”

They talk for a while longer, Choso eventually getting his phone and showing her pictures of Yuji. And he almost forgets, for a few moments, that she’s a doll and he’s her trainer. For those few moments, they’re just two older siblings smiling and talking. 

When night falls, Choso goes to take a shower. When he steps out, dressed in cozy sweats with his wet hair grazing his shoulders, his doll looks at him strangely. 

“Is something wrong?” he asks her, drying his hair with a towel. 

She blinks then averts her eyes. “No, nothing’s wrong,” she says, looking a little embarrassed before adding, “You look nice with your hair down.”

His doll decides to sleep in her clothes tonight, refusing his offer to wear something of his. And when it’s time to go to bed, he asks, “Where would you like me to sleep, Mistress?”

She wears a puzzled expression. “Uh, the bed?”

“Most dolls tell me not to sleep in the bed with them on the first night. I suppose they’re nervous, me being a stranger to them.”

She shrugs. “It’s your bed. It wouldn’t be right to force you out of it. Just don’t touch me and it’ll be fine.”

He stares at her. “You trust me already?”

She smiles as she climbs into his bed, staying on one side. “I think anyone who loves his little brother as much as you love Yuji can’t be a bad person.”

Choso feels his heart skip a beat, but he keeps his face neutral as he gets into bed, keeping a respectful distance from his doll. 

**********************

Two days later, you find yourself sitting in a chair in Choso’s room. He’s standing nearby, waiting for you to tell him to do something. These past couple of days, you’ve had him give you foot rubs, massage your shoulders, and brush your hair. All things pointedly not sexual. But in every case, Choso has made innocent actions seem incredibly sensual. 

The way his hands touch you, the way his eyes look at you with desire, they make you want to order him to fuck you right now. But you can’t do that. You’ve been trying to think of a way to make the orders you give him more sexy, but it’s difficult for you to just tell a man you barely know to start doing sexy things to you. 

You thought he was supposed to teach you how to be a Dom, but when you said that, he replied with, “It’s much better to just learn by experiencing things. So please tell me what you want me to do.”

Which was no help at all. You’re starting to think Choso isn’t a very good teacher. 

If he would just tell you what he wants, what he’d like for you to order him to do, this would be far less awkward! 

Wait. That might work!

“Choso,” you say, and he seems to perk up a bit at the sound of his name. “If you could pick one thing for me to tell you to do, what would it be?”

He smiles mildly. “I’d love to do anything you tell me to do, Mistress.”

“No. Give me a real, honest answer. This is an order from your Mistress. What would you most want to be ordered to do right now?”

He looks at you for a moment, then his eyes seem to get darker, a very slight pink flush to his cheeks. “What I’d most like to be ordered to do,” he says, keeping eye contact with you, “is to pleasure you with my mouth. To get on my knees in front of you while you spread your legs and stand over me, to taste you, to use my tongue to make you cum, over and over, until your legs give out.”

Oh shit. Are you seriously already wet just from hearing him talk about eating you out? There’s a hunger in his eyes, and you feel heat creeping across your face, your breaths quickening. Just imagining his pretty face buried between your thighs is making you horny as hell. 

“Okay then,” you say, standing up and trying to keep your voice steady, trying to sound confident and in charge even though you feel like you’re about to melt into a puddle of goo, “do it. Pleasure me… with your mouth.”

The way his cute, pale face lights up! He drops to his knees on the spot, and slowly crawls over to you. When he reaches you, he puts his hands on your thighs and carefully slides your skirt down, looking you in the eyes as he does it. 

“Mistress, may I please remove your panties?” he asks. 

You feel like you can barely breathe as you nod and say, “Yes, you may.”

His gentle hands rub upwards, until they reach the top of your lace panties, and then he eases them down your legs, helping you to step out of them once they reach the floor. This leaves you standing in his room, naked from the waist down, while he kneels in front of you. 

“Mistress, can you spread your legs?”

You feel your face burning as you move your feet further apart, giving him an eye full of your dripping pussy. He looks at it, then at your face, then licks his lips as if he’s about to dig into a tasty meal. 

And boy does he dig in! He runs his tongue up your slit, collecting any juices he can, then uses his fingers to open your folds. He takes a moment to look at your most private place, then says, “You’re beautiful, Mistress,” before slowly licking your pussy. His tongue circles your clit, then his lips wrap around it, and you can almost hear him slurping at your wetness. 

You look down at his face, only the top half visible, and his eyes shift up to yours. They’re half lidded, looking at you through his long eyelashes. 

As he makes out with your pussy, licking and kissing it so sweetly, taking his time, your legs begin to tremble. The pleasure is simply too much. You’ve been eaten out before, but never like this, never as if your clit is the most delicious thing on earth. 

“Ahh… Choso… I can’t…”

He pauses and glances up. “Are you alright, Mistress?”

“Y-yes, just… don’t stop, even if I tell you to. Not until I collapse,” you say, feeling slightly delirious. Did you really just say that?

“Of course, Mistress,” he says, then returns to devouring you. 

Your hands move to his head, and you find yourself pulling the ponytails free and letting his hair loose. Then you’re gripping it, hopefully not hard enough to hurt. You hear him utter a quiet moan, and the vibration of his voice against your clit as his lips suckle it gently sends you over the edge. 

You cry out, your hands tightening in his hair, your legs shaking and nearly giving way right then and there. His hands move around to your thighs and ass, holding you steady while his tongue laps up any fluids that leak out. You’re quivering, your clit extra sensitive and swollen after your orgasm, and that’s when his wet tongue glides over it again, pushing the hood even further back. 

“W-wait! Oh God… oh fuck!”

Your body jerks, your legs turning into spaghetti as another orgasm hits you within minutes of the first. Choso’s grip on your body is firm, keeping you from crumbling. His lips and tongue are still working at your clit, moving at a faster pace now, making you shudder and moan. 

“Choso… I can’t stand it… feels too good… I can’t…. I can’t…”

His mouth is relentless, pushing you right back to the edge. You know you must be pulling his hair too hard, but you have to grip something or you’ll fall apart. Then, you feel his teeth lightly scrape over your sensitive, overstimulated bud, and you inhale sharply, nearly choking on the air as you cum for the third time. 

It feels like your body is dissolving as all strength leaves you. Choso catches you in his arms and eases you down to the carpeted floor, cradling you. 

“Are you alright, Mistress?” he asks, his lips glistening with your juices. 

You’re still twitching, clutching his arms as you ride out the aftershocks of the three most intense orgasms of your life. You can’t speak, so you just nod to answer him. 

He holds you until you’re able to stand up with his help, then he helps you clean up before tucking you into bed. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” he says, and you nod as he goes into the bathroom. You didn’t mention it, but when he was holding you on the floor, your upper half in his lap, you felt a rather impressive erection through his loose pants. You thought about doing something about it, but your mind was a little too hazy at that point. Oh well, you’re certain you’ll get plenty of chances to pleasure him as well. 

You never imagined being a doll before all this, and you’re still angry that things turned out this way, but at least you have Choso as your trainer. You don’t know how things will turn out, who will end up owning you, but at least for now, the situation isn’t too bad. So you fall asleep to the sound of the water running in the shower, knowing Choso will be sleeping beside you again tonight.

Tag List:

@suguguro @kaedear @onyxsphynx @poopoobuttsy @butterskyy @collectionofdolls @akaotv @witchbybirth @bloofinntoona @wasurenagusaa @tclbts @tojirin @lucyrocks86 @badbyeyoongi @97britt @aydene @lzaj19 @lyn-lotte @missthatgirl @peachedtv @ladytamayolover @nanam1nx @deegausserr @voids-universe @hinata7346 @maflorex @issracollen @xkittiecatx @ryumurin @emrys3456 @mysecretesc8pe @typicalloser3 @gabriiiiiiii @fvsm4x @tyunhyukamyloves @rottmntrulesall

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

repenting

artwork credit: "The Great Hop" by Dillon Samuelson

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

word count: ~ 1.5k words

summary: Dave and you, two utterly scarred people, meet for stress relieving sex only. But damn, it’s hard. 

tags/warnings: explicit, angst, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, allusions to unprotected p in v, smut (creampie, f!oral) but it’s hidden in between words and metaphors, church symbolism I guess, a whole lot of confession metaphors, DM me if I missed any

a/n: I missed writing for my man Dave and I just want him to feel good. So I tried to give him some comfort. Basically my plea for his innocence, your honor, Dave has done nothing wrong. thanks to @guiltyasdave for sending me hugs and beta'ing <3

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

Dave is not a good man. He wants to be but somewhere along his way it got dark and he got confused and took a wrong turn. And then another one and another one. And now he is playing the lead role in this play that is his life.

He is tainted, dirty, he stains whatever he touches. He is Midas but what he touches doesn't turn into gold, it starts rotting. Innocence got corrupted by his badness. And so he looks for someone who is not innocent anymore, someone who was already dying so he is not the one to blame this time. And you? You looked for your own darkness in someone else. To be swallowed whole and to not have to feel for one fucking moment and to feel everything at once.

Of course your paths crossed, scavenger and carrion always end up together. But the lines are blurry between you both and neither one of you knew who was who. Not that it matters, not in the slightest.

It was a silent agreement. You meet, release stress and never ask questions or get personal. Two adults with needs. With the hunger for connection and life, but too scared to connect more than your bodies. 

Being open and permeable for feelings other than lust only meant pain in the long run. And both of you’ve had more than your fill. You are overflowing with pain. You do not want to add to that.

You set up meetings. A hotel room or your place, it was all the same. All you needed was an hour to release whatever has built up since the last time you’ve met. 

It was impersonal. A ‘Hello, how are you?’ at best. And every further attempt at small talk got cut off either by you or by him, with a yank of a shirt, with a shove to make the other one stumble onto the bed or against the wall. With a kiss that eats every word out of the other’s mouth and replaces them with grunts and moans. You had a routine: anger, grief, repenting. It was the perfect recipe for people like you: too lonely to stay alone but too afraid to let the mask of numbness fall.  

What you both did was ugly and selfish. Taking what you needed and giving what you didn’t want to carry around with you anymore. It looked like hate sex. It felt like it, too. But the hate you felt wasn’t directed at the other one. It was directed at yourself and the constant feeling of being a failure, a disappointment. You fucked the hate out of your bodies until it left you and got stuck on you instead. It manifested itself in the sticky residue of sweat, slick, spit, semen, sometimes blood. And when you washed the layer of anger and lust off your skins there were still imprints left. Silent witnesses of what you did to each other.

At times you were like animals, all canines and claws, more fighting than fucking. More scratching and biting and bruising than making use of holes and crevices. When you fought for domination it was never about dominating the other one, it was about dominating your own demons that ran a dictatorship in your souls and brains. And when the skin tingled where later the first bruises would bloom in rich scarlet and purple and the scratches started swelling and stinging you licked your wounds.

You licked his, the red ridges on his chest and thighs, those crests that tasted of salt and copper and your fury. And Dave licked yours. Soothing the imprints of his teeth in your softest flesh with his tongue, pressed flat against the underside of your breasts and the flesh between your shoulder blades. He cleaned your skin off the white, salty trails of your angry tears with little licks. Both of your palates were coated in salt, iron, despair but it all tasted better than the contempt for your own existence.

With the tending of each other's wounds comes a softness you both don’t want. Softness from soft touches makes the hard crust soften and crumble. Dave clearly sees the hurt in you, not just on your and his body, but the one behind your eyes whenever you avoid his gaze. He could smell it, the fear of being seen oozed out of your pores, only covered up by the strong stench of stubbornness and faked independence. He wasn’t mad about it, his scent was the same. You both knew, you both feigned ignorance.

You never kiss like lovers. If you kissed and it didn’t leave the taste of a penny on your tongues, you did it wrong. That’s what you’ve told yourselves. 

The soft kisses play pretend and dress up as the more tender bites and sucks and they only show up when you were sure the other one was not paying attention. 

It is a dance, a tango, a push and pull of what is and what could be. If only you were not broken and utterly ruined. It is sad for Dave, seeing you mourning the ability to let yourself be loved. Your heart was shattered into pieces, the biggest one missing since you were a child. You couldn't even remember how it felt to be whole. To feel love without it running through the cracks of your poorly glued together heart. 

If he only could, Dave would give you the missing pieces. His pockets are full of pieces, of sharp edged shards of the lives and people he destroyed. Each life taken becomes a fragment he carries with him. And in the moments he became too careless, too happy, he cut himself with one.

The blood on his hands is his, too. 

‘Can’t break what's already broken,’ you tell him every time. But the sound never makes it past your lips, always getting stuck between your teeth. And so you write it on his skin with your fingers. The letters inscribed with invisible ink made out of sweat and desperation on his back and stomach. By now, after months of meeting him, his body is littered with your messages. 

Be brave. Have your fill. Eat me, chew me, spit me out. Make me numb. Make me feel. I want to be alive. Please. Oh God, please.

It takes Dave a little while before he understands it, but the feeling of lightness in his soul after he leaves you - it doesn’t come from physical exhaustion and orgasms only. You hear his confessions. His silent confessions he licks into you. 

Therefore repent and return, so that your sins may be wiped away. And he gets on his knees, every time, and looks at the mess he left inside of you, already spilling out because Dave never made a minor mess in his life. 

Dave wants to be good and so he cleans up the mess he made. On his knees, before you, the weight of your thighs heavy on his shoulders and his fingers almost touching while he spreads you open. 

His head ducks before you like a penitent in church as your body silently writhes, knowing what would come.

He takes his time since there is no rush in repenting. Being full of sin is never ending, especially for men like him. So why try to finish a confession when the list of wrongdoings is endless.

Dave speaks silently, mouthing his failures against you, licking his secrets into your cunt and he is amazed by the way she so patiently swallows his sins.

I kill. I am no good. I will hurt you. Forgive me.

He fills you up with his bitter truth, bitter like his cum that trickles out of you. It’s all bitter, salty, freeing. The more he repents, the deeper his tongue pushes his confession inside of you, the tighter you curl your fingers into his hair.

And your cunt takes it all, all the anger and fear and decay Dave carries inside of him. She sucks it in, clenches around his words like she is chewing on them. She does not judge, you do not judge. It is all the same, it all is pain and that is what you know. It doesn’t scare you.

I destroy. I just want to be good. Hold me. I am broken. Forgive me. I hurt.

He feels it in the way your body tenses and your cunt tightens. ‘Dave’ is the only word that tumbles from your tongue, in the same rhythm you rub yourself onto him. Just a few more silent whispers and pleas, he knows the ritual of confessing by heart.

Make me better. Forgive me. Forgive me. Please.

A broken cry, his or yours, probably a shared one. He keeps his mouth open, ready for his absolution. And with you coming, his absolution comes, gushing out of you. Every sin and every word, no matter how bitter and poisonous it was, got turned into something sweet and harmless. He drinks you in, swallowing the innocence you give him.

Forgive me for I have sinned. A tender bite to your inner thigh, a kiss in disguise, a thank you with canines and claws.

‘Forgiven,’ you write onto his scalp, massaging the letters into his skin and hoping they reach his heart this time.

find my Dave York masterlist here

find my general masterlist here

[dandylovesturtles]

Lil missing scene from the movie

My favorite trope is when a character who is very hungry gets fed

———

Casey’s stomach growls, and he can only hope it’s masked by the rumbling of the tank as it travels through the subway.

He’s good at ignoring hunger pangs by now. Knows how to swallow them down and push ahead, had to learn because there’s never been enough food to truly silence them. Maybe when he was a child, and the adults in his life were fine with going with less when it meant he would be full, but as Casey’s body grew and demanded more and more the colony only had less and less.

He just hopes the turtles didn’t hear it. It’s embarrassing, and not really the impression he’s trying to give. And besides, it’s not like there’s anything they can do about it. They’re not going to stop for lunch.

Unfortunately, his stomach has other plans - right as there’s a lull in the conversation it growls again, and this time Michelangelo turns away from the console and looks at him in awe.

“Dude, was that your stomach!?”

“Uh…” He grins, trying to shrug it off. “Yes?”

“That was sooo loud! I thought there was a bear in here!”

“Oh. Sorry. Uh… it’s been awhile since my last meal.”

He’s hoping they just drop it there, but…

“How long is “awhile”?” asks Leonardo. He sounds unimpressed, and there’s the same piercing look in his eye that Sensei would have when he’d ask the same. When’d you last eat, kid?

So Casey knows there’s no dodging this one. The thing is, he’s not sure how to answer the question - there was the whole time travel business, and the mission before that, and the time he spent unconscious, and the attack on the Foot Clan…

Point is, he can only guess. He hopes Leonardo doesn’t see it as lying.

“Um… thirty five hours? Maybe?” That’s a pretty conservative estimate, but he hopes it flies. “But I’m fine! I’ve handled worse than this.”

Leonardo staring at him. Actually, they’re all staring at him. None of them look happy, and Casey’s stomach flips from something other than hunger.

Then Leonardo sighs, and he sounds disappointed. Casey opens his mouth to plead his case, to assure Sensei that he’s fit and ready to go, but Leonardo interrupts him by addressing Donatello instead.

“What’ve we got in the snack stash, Dee?”

“Hmmm…” Donatello flips on the autopilot again, leaving his chair and flipping open a compartment on the wall. “Sour candy, hot Cheeto’s, some snack cakes…”

“Oh, you don’t want any of that on an empty stomach,” says Michelangelo. “Trust me, it’s not worth it.”

“Well, we have some pretzels in here, and… oh.” Donatello’s voice goes a little quieter. “Some of Raph’s protein bars.”

Casey starts to insist that he doesn’t want to take Raphael’s food, but before he can Donatello has closed the compartment, wrapped food in hand.

“If you’ve been eating,” he makes a face, “leaves and rats, this is probably the best thing we can give you right now.” He fans them out. “We have plain and chocolate chunk.”

“I like the peanut butter ones,” says Michelangelo, “but we can’t keep those around.”

(A memory: Master Michelangelo making him a peanut butter sandwich as a special treat. Carefully wiping down the counter and utensils he’d used. When Casey asked, he’d said, “Because Raph-“

The sad look on his face was brief, but Casey never forgot.

“…Because we need to be careful, in case someone has a peanut allergy.”)

“I know.”

He takes one of the plain ones, unwrapping it hesitantly. Sensei’s voice echoes in his head, Eat slow. Small bites.

He knows he should, but when he tastes it his stomach roars to life, ravenous and angry. Before he knows it he’s eaten the entire bar in four barely chewed bites, and wishes he hadn’t because now it’s gone and he feels hungrier than when he began.

They’re still staring at him. He doesn’t know what to do, so he just says, “Thank you,” sincerely, because sharing food is the ultimate gesture of love in the apocalypse.

The rest of the bars are suddenly being shoved his way - four of them in total. “Here,” says Donatello, not meeting his eyes. “You can have the rest.”

“Ah, no,” he says quickly, trying to push them back. “I can’t take-“

“Raph always forgets they’re here, anyway,” says Donatello, waving him off. “Someone might as well eat them.”

Casey takes the bars. Donatello sits back down. They’re not looking at him anymore.

He looks at the protein bars in his hands. He’s still hungry.

He takes smaller bites this time. Savors the taste of oats and other flavors he can’t readily identify. It’s good. It’s really, really good.

He stows the last three bars away. He may need them later. Or maybe he can give them back to Raphael, after they rescue him.

“Three minutes to Metro Tower,” says Donatello, and he focuses up. His stomach’s quiet now - there’s no excuses.

He found the key. Now it’s time to stop the Krang.

[galaxycunt]

Say Yes

Buggy crashes a party. He’s not just a pirate, you’re not some townie. There’s no one else, just the two of you

@gayafsatan the clown keeps pulling me back in!!!

Your best friend was going away, finally leaving your tiny village to join the merchant marines. In your childhood, you both wanted to be pirates. Life got in the way, and he wanted a taste of the sea.

Your friend was the kind of person to invite strangers to his parties, plenty of sailors docked for supplies and wouldn’t say no to free drinks. The tiny house was bursting with noise and people, overwhelming you a little bit.

You squeezed your way past numerous bodies, stepping outside to finally breathe. A man you never seen before laughs seeing your face. He would’ve looked normal if it wasn’t for the clown makeup and blue hair pulled into a ponytail.

“I didn’t know we had a clown here. You do uh, balloon animals or something? Whatever clowns do at adult parties?”

“I’m not that kind of clown, saw a party and headed on inside.”

You stared at him, what kind of clown could he be? The man seemed a little annoyed at your attention, turning back around to gaze at the ocean. You lit a cigarette, still staring at him. You felt a little rude, but you were too drunk to really stop yourself.

“So what kind of clown are you?”

“What?”

“You said you weren’t that kind of clown. So? What do you do?”

The man scoffed, “I’m a pirate. Bounty’s worth 15 million, I’ll have you know.”

“Wow. Clown pirate. Don’t see that every day.”

“Take a picture.”

With a grin you mimicked a camera. This actually got a laugh out of him. He shook his ponytail out, letting his hair flow as he posed. The man seemed pretty pleased at getting a laugh out of you too.

“What’s your name, pirate clown?”

“Buggy. Captain Buggy.”

You said your name. He liked it, Buggy sounded like a fake name. You wondered if you should’ve said a fake one too. Something like Synthenia.

You searched his face, “you ain’t bullshitting, are you?”

“Real deal.”

“Who’s the guy under the make up and red nose?”

His mood soured, “me. It’s my real fucking nose, and no it doesn’t honk.”

You never seen hurt like you saw in his eyes, you moved to flick your cigarette, Buggy flinching like he expected you to pull his nose. Even drunk, you didn’t want to be an asshole to a stranger.

“Sorry. Small town, small mind. I guess.”

“Whatever.”

Buggy turned to move, without thinking you grabbed his arm. He didn’t look angry, just surprised.

“I’m sorry, I really am. Lemme make it up to you. I’ll grab you a drink.”

He grumbled but followed you anyway, holding hands as you pushed your way to the kitchen. Buggy was funny, telling jokes to your friends as you mixed drinks. In the better lighting, he looked a hell of a lot better. Handsome even.

“Ever had a Surprise Franklin?” He asked you.

“Nuh uh.”

“Let’s see what we got in the fridge.”

“Buggy, no.”

“What?”

“Please don’t make me drink whatever the hell is in the fridge.”

He smiled, “trust me.”

You shook your head, and he closed the fridge with his hip. You stared each other down, big smiles on your faces. You couldn’t stop giggling, man, he was handsome.

“Close your eyes. Trust me.”

You did even as the worst concoctions possible swirled in your mind, already wanting to gag.

“Buggy. I swear.”

“Sweetie, relax. Okay? Old pirate recipe, passed down by my captain from my days as a cabin boy.”

“Cabin boy? Damn, really?”

“Yes, now keep those pretty eyes closed.”

You were pretty sure you were doing a shitty job at hiding the blush. The drink in your hand replaced with the one Buggy made you. You were scared, no way did he really think you were going to drink this?

You swirled it around, ice clinking.

“Buggy, please no.”

“No? Just drink it! I’ll take a sip first.”

“Can I watch you?”

“No.”

You pouted, “that’s not fair!”

He laughed, you really liked the sound of it. Oh no, was this a crush? On a pirate? A pirate you were never going to see again? Who was going to make you drink ketchup and pickle juice?

“If you drink this, I’ll give you whatever you want. Lots of treasure on my ship, whatever you want.”

You thought a little while, “okay. Fine.”

Water. Ice cold, refreshing. With a gasp you opened your eyes to Buggy’s howling laughter, chest heaving and head thrown back.

“Oh man! I got you good!”

Your cheeks were burning, burying your face in his chest, “I fucking hate you, Buggy.”

He stroked your hair, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Let’s go back outside, it’s hot in here.”

It really was, but you didn’t think it was because of the crowded kitchen. The night air was refreshing, you hoped the coolness would calm the burn of your cheeks and the beating of your heart. Buggy scanned the backyard, finding the couch to sit in.

“So uh, you’re a pirate right? You staying here long?”

He nodded, “well, a few days. My crew is around here somewhere. If I see someone I’ll introduce you. Small towns are nice for guys like me, marines don’t give a shit about the people here. I can relax and restock.”

“Oh cool. Maybe I can show you around?”

Bolder than you ever been before, but fortune favors the bold. Especially with guys who wear clown makeup.

“Thanks, I’d like that.”

For a moment, you faltered, unsure if he even liked you like that. Until Buggy scooted closer to you, snaking his arm around your waist.

“So uh,” you were nervous now, “you weren’t serious earlier, about the treasure, were you?”

For a moment his eyes drifted to your lips, “sure I was, if that’s what you really want.”

“What if I wanted something else?”

His voice softened, unlike his grip, “like what?”

Buggy leaned forward, breathing you in. He took his time, give you a chance to pull away. You couldn’t even if you wanted to, his lips drawing you in. He tasted like cherries, you slid your tongue in for a deeper taste. You didn’t want an audience, suddenly remembering where you were.

Buggy looked like he was about to float away.

“You wanna get outta here?”

[doberbutts]

I was telling my friend this story last night but it's a pretty funny one so I'm repeating it here:

In general prior to T I could tell if I was passing or not from whether I got carded. If I got carded, I was passing. If I didn't get carded, I was not passing. This is back when I was really straddling the line between "butch lesbian" and "gay twink" and so it was a serious coin toss on who guessed right with a whole lot of people blatantly going 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️ hey you 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️ instead of "sir" or "miss".

Except one time I got carded while very much not passing.

You see, if you're new here, you wouldn't know that I don't drink alcohol. And I don't mean "I don't anymore" or "I do but very infrequently". I have had a handful of sips from various past partner's beverages, gone "eeeuugh no thanks you can have it back" or "people... drink this on purpose???" I don't like the taste and besides with my heart problems I really shouldn't be drinking. I've never been drunk in my life and I've bought alcohol few enough times to count on one hand- twice as gifts and twice for cooking.

This particular time, I was buying alcohol for a friend for her birthday. Because I don't drink, I don't know what people like, so I had her come with me to pick out a favorite since I obviously don't know what I'm looking for. But you have to understand the full context of this here:

Me, in my mid-20s, being visibly some flavor of gender variant, in southern MD as a visibly black person, bringing my friend in with me and telling her to go grab what she likes.

My friend, white, 3 years older than me, 4'11" and with that form of dwarfism that makes her look like a child forever, going straight to the fridge and grabbing several bottles of booze before shoving them into my hands and making fun of me/sassing me along the way because she was a generally sarcastic and sardonic person and that's how we bantered. It does not help that with her small size she *had* to buy children's clothes because most women's didn't fit her.

The cashier was so VERY suspicious of what appeared to him to be a clearly adult masculine woman buying alcohol for what looked like a middle schooler that he carded both of us. And did every test possible to see if our IDs were fake. Like, right there in front of us. I think at some point I was like "oh yeah you literally look like a toddler so that's fair honestly" and she, highly offended, said "I AM OLDER THAN YOU 🤬🤬🤬" and at that point the cashier must have either given up or decided it was legally no longer his problem because he took my money after that

[veldettestuff]

Hazbin Hotel- Velvette x Odette- Guess I don’t have a choice, all because I liked a girl.

Chapter 5: Welcome Home

Fuck. Fuck. Fucccckk.

Why did she do that! She was supposed to stay away from Velvette, not have an intense make-out session with her.

God, everything was spinning. And she was way too hot. Not to mention her heart thumping a million miles an hour. Or her panting that was faster than the time her family was being chased by exorcists. 

But, no, this was salvagable. She could fix this, right?

She had just kissed Velvette. Nothing else happened. Just one small kiss with Velvette. It meant nothing. It had to mean nothing.

If only it could be nothing. It was, in fact, the most intoxicating kiss Odette had ever had. Not to mention, it was with Velvette. Who Odette had liked forever. Who Odette thought there was no chance in hell she would ever kiss her. I mean, Velvette was an overlord, for hell's sake. And Odette, she was just the daughter of an overlord. She had no power of her own. There was absolutely no reason Velvette would've kissed her out of her own desire. There had to be some underlying motive. Her mom was right. Velvette was probably just using her. Right?

And it was horrible. Now that Odette finally got to taste Velvette, nothing else would ever be enough to compare it to. Not to mention the desire for more. And to keep going.

She could have kept going. She would have if not for Clara.

Odette needed to get in some air between the kisses, which led her to open her eyes briefly. But it was still enough time to make direct eye contact with Clara and see her horrified face. After that, Odette's instincts had taken over, getting her as far as the club as possible.

The only problem, Clara was running right behind her, trying to catch her. But there was no way in hell that was going to happen. So that is how Odette ended up here, running for her life, hoping to lock herself in her room rather than talk to Clara.

The only positive aspect of this situation was that since Clara chased her, Odette knew she hadn't tried to kill Velvette. Hopefully?

Usually, Odette would've told Clara everything about the night. And everything she thought about who she liked. But about Velvette, that changed everything.

Clara hated Velvette with a passion. So much so that Clara made an entire date board dedicated to Velvette. And that one time, Clara noticed that Odette had stared at Velvette a bit too long at an overlord meeting. Then Clara's hatred for Velvette had gotten ten times worse.

Odette never really had gotten to confess to Clara what she actually felt for Velvette. But that was because the one time Odette finally got the courage to say something, Clara ranted about how Velvette would hurt Odette just to get to their mamá. It hurt, but Odette knew Clara was only doing it because she was overprotective as fuck. It still hurt, though.

But now that Clara had seen her and Velvette making out. Odette was terrified that Clara would try to rat Velvette out to their mom. Who would one hundred percent make good on her threat to murder Velvette. With Clara, who would absolutely love to help her.

It didn't matter to both of them that Odette was an adult who could make her own decisions. And that she had chosen to kiss Velvette. No to her mamá and Clara, who thought she would always need protection.

No matter what happened to Velvette, it would be her fault. She should have stayed away. She needed to. God, she was so dumb.

But now was not the time to think about that. Odette had finally made it back home. Now, all she had to do was sneak in and rush to her room without Clara catching her. She knew she had to talk with Clara, but she was going to put that off for as long as possible.

So she creaked open the window she and Clara had sneaked out earlier with. But a shit ton of alcohol and nerves do things to people. So what should have been a quiet sneak through a window was a full-on fall into one of her mamá's favorite vases.

Crap, she was so screwed! Quickly, Odette looked around, checking for any signs of her mother, but to her utter surprise and glee, she was gone! Carmilla was nowhere in sight. So Odette carefully went to her room and jumped into bed, finally relaxing after such a long day.

But, of course, Clara didn't give up that easily. So Clara swung open the door screaming, "Odette, stop running, we need to fucking talk!"

Flick!

Sitting in a chair across from her bed, Carmilla said, "Welcome home, girls. What exactly do we need to talk about?"

Chapter 6: The Talk

[inawickedlittletown]

Don't Make A Shadow Of Yourself (BuckTommy fic) - 5/8

Summary: "A man who's pure of heart...may still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright" - Howl (F+TM)

Throughout most of his adult life, Tommy had dealt with what he was. The duality of being a man and also an animal…a beast. Werewolves weren’t born, they were made. 

Words: 3,136

Read on Ao3

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three

Chapter Four

-

Chapter Five

Tuesday, Tommy drove to Evan’s apartment. He felt nervous and excited all at once. It’d been a while since he transformed anywhere other than at his house. Back when he was still with the 118, Tommy had been a little more adventurous. He’d drive out somewhere and transform and then run into a forested area, Even on his own, he’d gone on camping trips that left him somewhere in the woods where no one could bother him and he could transform and run around and then sleep under the stars and take another run in the morning before he made his way back to civilization. It had never seemed worth it when he wound up making the trek and then really only enjoying the woods as a wolf for a few hours. He didn’t like to think about how lonely it had made him feel to be out there all on his own. 

He sent a text after parking and feeling a little antsy, got out of the car to stretch his legs. He kinda wanted to shift right there and then to shake the feeling off. It didn’t take long for Evan to appear. He carried a gym bag with him and a small tupperware container. 

“Hey,” Evan said with a grin. “Ready?” 

“Here, let me get that,” Tommy said, reaching for Evan’s bag. 

They were on the road a few minutes later. Evan immediately connected his own phone to the radio rather than let the station Tommy wasn’t listening to play whatever was considered popular at the moment. It was only after he’d pressed play that he bothered to ask if it was okay. 

“Doesn’t bother me,” Tommy said. 

“Good. I should have made us a playlist.” 

“Are you a big music guy?” 

Evan shrugged. “I guess a little. I do own a record player so if I really like an album I’ll try to get the vinyl. Haven’t really liked anything new lately.”

They talked music for a while. It seemed like Evan had a taste that ranged through genres in a way that Tommy had somehow not expected. It was cute though, especially when Evan brought up going to a concert with Bobby a couple of months after meeting him. 

“I won these tickets from a radio station,” Evan said. “I think Bobby actually went with me out of pity. But we had a good time. So maybe not.” 

Tommy told him about Bobby’s first day as Captain. About how out of place he’d seemed and yet how he’d brought a different energy to the firehouse.

“Before Bobby we were the house that Captains went to retire,” Tommy said. “Well, before that we had Captain Gerrard. He made the 118 repressive and every bit of horrible that it could be for everyone that wasn’t a white guy that agreed with him.” 

“Hen and Chim mentioned him once,” Evan said. “Didn’t sound great.” 

“He really wasn’t. I, uh, I wasn’t all that great back then either. Just kinda went along with the crowd because the last thing I wanted was anyone looking too closely at me.”

He didn’t tell Evan that it was because he was gay and a Werewolf and that it was the being gay part that he was hiding more.

“You didn’t want anyone to find out,” Evan said. 

“I really didn’t,” Tommy confirmed. 

Halfway there, Evan popped his container open and handed Tommy a cookie. “I made them with Chris and Jee yesterday.” 

“You bake?” 

Evan’s cheeks flushed pink. “Yeah…sometimes.” 

The cookie was delicious. Tommy ate another. 

When they arrived, Tommy felt his nerves return. 

“Alright?” Evan asked. 

“I, uh, haven’t done this in a while,” Tommy said. 

He turned to look at Evan. “What?” 

“Haven’t come out to run in the woods,” Tommy said. “I have a big backyard.” 

Evan smiled at him. “That couldn’t possibly be the same as this.”

“It’s not,” Tommy admitted. 

“You’re not alone. It’ll be fun,” Evan said. 

Tommy hated it a little, how reassuring that was. He could tell that Evan was excited and that there was an ease about him. He was confident about this and Tommy could be as well. When they got to a good spot where they could stash their stuff, Tommy was already feeling better about it. They hadn’t seen many people around, and it didn’t take long for Evan to drop his bag and turn to Tommy. 

“Ready?” 

Then, Evan lifted his shirt up like it was nothing, his pale skin becoming unveiled. He was lean and muscular and Tommy had seen his shirtless pictures on Instagram, but there was nothing to seeing Evan with his own eyes. To see how his movement stretched and flexed his muscle, or how smooth his skin was. 

When Evan dropped his shirt atop his bag, Tommy had to make himself look away. He busied himself with getting his own shirt off and then his shoes and socks. He tucked those away and saw that Evan was already stashing his bag, camouflaging it among the leaves at the base of a tree. Evan was down to boxer briefs that hugged his thighs and his pert ass. Tommy turned away, taking his own pants off and stuffing them in his bag. His face felt too hot and he wanted to shift quickly. 

He put his bag near Evan’s and when he turned to look for Evan again, he found the wolf staring right at Tommy, ears perked up and his tail swishing behind him. 

“Turn around, Evan,” Tommy said. 

Even as a wolf, Evan could give a reproachful look. He made a yipping noise and he turned and walked towards the nearest trees. Tommy tucked his own underwear in his bag and then he transformed on the spot. 

—

It wasn’t fair how big Tommy was. Not Tommy as a wolf — though he was a big wolf too. Tommy in general was just big. Buck hadn’t meant to get stuck watching him after his shirt came off, but he just couldn’t help it. He was just so solid, built in a way that was almost intimidating and Buck…well, he’d always admired hot people and Tommy was hot. He looked literally like one of those marble statues and Buck had always liked museums. 

His first sight of him as a Werewolf left him breathless too. For one thing, he was definitely bigger than Buck. Thicker and taller with brown fur and as expected, gorgeous blue eyes that stood out even more on the wolf than on the human. His paws were somehow white and when the wind shifted Buck was hit by his scent. It was stronger as a wolf and Buck recognized it because it was Tommy, but also because he just smelled good and Buck wanted to bury himself in it. He’d thought that it had been a cologne the day of the barbeque, but it was just Tommy. Musky and woody but minty with something that could have been some kind of citrus. 

The closer Tommy got to him, the stronger the smell was and the more that Buck just wanted to nuzzle his snout into his neck so he could get a better whiff. Restraint was hard for Buck, but he turned and walked and tried to focus on the smells of the forest. Tommy followed and there was no denying that he was a bit more cautious as he walked. 

When Buck started to walk a little faster, Tommy matched his stride and then Buck started to run. He loved to run as a wolf. There was power in his legs, and he loved the way his paws dug into the soft ground. He couldn’t imagine not existing among nature as a wolf. 

Tommy chased him and they ran for a while, Buck always a little bit ahead which he was sure was only because Tommy allowed it. He only slowed when they got to a stream, the water gurgling over rocks and branches. Buck went right in for a drink. The water was cool and refreshing. 

It was weird to drink as a wolf. It had taken Buck some time to figure out properly how he was supposed to use his tongue to catch the water. He still nearly always managed to get his whole snout wet. Tommy looked messy too, dripping water off his fur. He shook his head, throwing off water in Buck’s direction and then he ran and Buck gave chase. 

Buck followed Tommy’s scent, captivated by the way that it mingled with the trees and the leaves and the earthy wet smell of the forest. He had never smelled something so good, something that he wanted to entrench himself in. 

When Tommy finally slowed down, Buck slowed with him, brushing his side against Tommy’s. Tommy turned to him, nosing at his neck and ears. Buck sat back and Tommy sat next to him. Wind rustled the trees above them, dropping a few leaves, but nothing could tear them apart.

Eventually, they looped back the way they came. Buck tried not to scare a small red fox, but then got to watch as the fox ran as fast as it could from them when Tommy snapped a twig. 

Only once did they have to hide amongst the trees when people appeared, walking the trail. They made it back to their bags a little while later and they both turned away as they shifted back. Nudity was a part of being a Werewolf and Buck was used to it. He and Eddie didn’t even care enough with how often they shifted around each other. 

Somehow it felt different with Tommy. Tommy made him nervous for some reason that Buck couldn’t pinpoint. It made him dress just a little bit faster and once they were both fully dressed, he felt like he wanted to jump back into his wolf and run out again just so that he could keep Tommy longer. 

“That was fun,” Tommy said, breaking the silence. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it.”

Buck tugged at his shirt, fixing it. “We’ll have to do it again,” Buck said. “Hey, uh, what are you doing at the next full moon?” 

“I usually just stay home,” Tommy admitted and he looked away. “Used to go to the Division sometimes years ago but it wasn’t really my thing. So, I…I made sure I had a big backyard.” 

To Buck that sounded more than a little sad. “Eddie and I come out here sometimes. Or a different spot. One time we spent it at the beach which was…well, not the best idea. You can join us. If you, uh, if you want.” 

He tried his hardest not to show how much he wanted Tommy to say yes. He felt it desperately, like he didn’t know if the full moon would go alright if Tommy wasn’t at his side and that…that was new. 

“Oh,” Tommy said and he couldn’t hide his surprise. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.” 

“You won’t be,” Buck assured. “Eddie will be excited to have another wolf and I really…I want to spend it with you.” 

He could feel the warmth on his face, but Tommy just smiled at him and it was a different smile than Buck had gotten before. It was pleased and just a tad unsure. Buck found it endearing. 

“Can I think about it?”

“Uh…yeah, sure. Sure. Of course.” Buck tried to not be too disappointed at not getting a concrete yes. 

On the drive back, they ate the remaining cookies. They’d been out there so long that they had skipped right over lunch and Buck was starving. His eyes couldn’t help but track Tommy’s mouth as he chewed, or how he licked up crumbs and chocolate from his lips. 

“How does Bobby deal with two of you being Werewolves?” Tommy asked. 

Buck looked away and gulped. 

“Oh. He, uh, tries to schedule us both off,” Buck said. “If he can’t, then we’re usually scheduled until a few hours before sundown. It’s not easy sometimes, but we’ve managed it. I only had to transform at the station once.” 

He saw Tommy’s eyebrow shoot up. “How was that?” 

“Well, not everyone knows. So Hen let me out and then I just left. She left me clothes out in the back for when I got back in the morning.” 

“Wow,” Tommy said. 

Buck chuckled. “I know, it’s a bit crazy. I was always waiting for the day when I lost track of time on a call and I had to just transform there and then. How, uh, how is it for you?” 

“They all think I’m superstitious about full moons,” Tommy said. 

“Really?” Buck said through a grin. “No one suspects a thing?” 

“Why would they? To the normal person, we don’t exist, Evan.”

He loved the way his name sounded coming from Tommy. It was why he didn’t think he would ever correct him on how most people called him Buck. Usually, he hated it whenever anyone used his first name — had hated it ever since he became Buck when there were three Evans in his class at the fire academy. He hadn’t known how much was attached to his name until he had a new name. Tommy just…he said it with care, like his name was important. 

“I know. Uh, you ever wonder about what else is out there?” Buck asked. 

“Like what, Vampires?” Tommy asked and since they were at a light, he turned to look at Buck with a perplexed expression. 

“Yeah. I guess. I mean, it’s not implausible is it?” 

Tommy sighed. “I guess not. Next thing you’ll tell me is you think unicorns are real.” 

“Hey,” Buck said, “you don’t know they aren’t. What if they went extinct.” 

He loved the way that Tommy laughed, how it crinkled the corners of his eyes. 

“Never change, Evan.” 

—

Tommy didn’t really go around smelling people. At least, not when he could help it. Sometimes colognes or perfumes were just that strong or worse it was bad hygiene and bad BO that could hit a Werewolf nose — even in human form — like a punch. He hadn’t known that Evan would smell so good. At first, he thought it was something else, but it was Evan. He smelled like something sweet, which, of course he did. His scent was warm, it was also earthy and Tommy thought lavender was mixed in too. It wasn’t until they were running and the wind was catching Evan’s fur that Tommy knew why he found it familiar. He smelled like tea. More precisely, earl gray. Bergamot. Evan smelled like Bergamot. 

Tommy had forgotten what it felt like to run with another wolf. How it felt to chase and be chased or how wonderful it was to lean against Evan and have his scent surround him. 

Afterwards, when they were back in his car, it was like he couldn’t stop smelling him. Really, it was that he didn’t want to stop. He knew he had never reacted to anyone like this. He’d never been something like obsessed with anyone’s scent before. Scent drunk, some Werewolves called it. 

By the time they were back at Evan’s apartment, Tommy didn’t want to leave him. Evan didn’t get out of the car. He lingered and then turned to Tommy almost nervously. 

“Are you hungry?” 

“We skipped lunch,” Tommy pointed out. 

“Pizza?” Evan asked and the way he tilted his head, smile on his lips was so puppy-like. This man was far too precious. 

“Sure,” Tommy said. 

Evan shot him an even bigger smile, as if he had thought that Tommy would turn him down. Instead, he followed him up to his apartment. He was impressed. It had a nice loft space and then the rest of it was open concept. Everything was neat and tidy. As nice as it was, he couldn’t imagine that it was ever a space where Evan could shift forms. 

“Uh, if you want to clean up a little the bathroom is through there,” Evan pointed at the half open door. 

“Thanks.” 

He wasn’t too messy. It wasn’t like they had rolled around in the mud or anything. Still, he splashed water on his face and ran his wet fingers through his hair. When he rejoined Evan, he found him in the kitchen with a paper menu for a nearby pizza place and two beer bottles. He handed Tommy both the menu and a beer. 

“I liked your wolf,” Evan said a while later, when they’d settled at Evan’s table. 

“Yeah?” 

He was blushing for some reason that Tommy couldn’t determine. At times, Tommy did think that Evan was trying his hand at flirting with him. He stared at Tommy enough. Still, he couldn’t be sure and he liked Evan too much to risk it and risk the friendship they were forming. If he was reading things wrong or if anything went badly, he didn’t think he’d be okay with losing Evan. 

Evan called their order in. 

“Twenty minutes,” Evan said. “I’m glad we can agree on something. Eddie is crazy and likes pineapple on pizza.” 

“That’s a choice,” Tommy said.

“It’s horrible is what it is,” Evan said with a shake of his head. 

Tommy took a few sips of his beer and smiled against the lip of the bottle. Evan took a sip of his own and then motioned for him to follow him further into the apartment towards the living room. 

“Uh, we could watch something? If you want?” Evan offered. 

Tommy would have done anything with him and to ease the awkward way that Evan reached for his remote, he grabbed it out of Evan’s hand. Evan gasped. 

“What is your favorite movie?” Tommy asked. 

He walked around Evan to sit on the couch. It felt firm but comfortable. Evan eased into sitting at his side. 

“Evan? Favorite movie?” 

“I really liked Star Wars,” Evan said, but he said it like a question. “What, uh, what’s yours?” 

“Love Actually,” Tommy said. 

“Never seen that,” Evan said. “Uh, I haven’t seen a lot of things. But we could watch that if you want? I mean, if it’s your favorite you like it so…”

Tommy let out a breath. This hadn’t been his aim in asking and yet, he didn’t hate the idea of sharing a movie he loved with him. 

“Okay,” Tommy said. “Just, uh, be aware we won’t be able to be friends if you don’t like this movie.” 

“Oh, that’s how it is?” Evan asked, settled further into the couch and brought himself closer to Tommy. 

Tommy busied himself figuring out Evan’s tv without any input from the man, but when he finally looked towards him he found a fond little smile and something like wonder in Evan’s eyes. 

[celebtf]

Card game with Luke

During the summer in the town there's always a carnival for the kids and I guess the adults can have fun too. There's rides and some tents with activities and some mini-games where you can Ofcourse win some prices.

Me, on the other side was sitting in a tent, I needed some money and some type of extra job just for the summer. I called the boss and got a place In the " Futrue Tent ". The station is basically like Tarot or seeing people's futrue, do I know how to? No, but my boss came me these card and just roll with it.

The day was slow, it was late, we were about to close down the carnival for the night when I saw him walking towards me.

That was Luke Hemmings from the band 5 Seconds Of Summer. " Hey, you the blond guy, want to know your futrue? " I called, I didn't want him to know I knew who he was, I didn't want to seem crazy. Luke came over to my station and sat down at the small table I had sat up.

" Can we switch this up, I know my futrue, what about yours? Can you tell me yours? Luke asked me. I said yes Ofcourse, I didn't want to be exposed for being a fraud.

I layed out the Card one by one and hoped Luke didn't know about Tarot, I was about to improvise this." Card 1, I'm going to go through a event that will change my life" I smiled, and he laughed at the saying, I just did two cards for not taking up his time too much. "Card 2, you will piss somebody else off because of something that will happend out of your control " I was a little confused but I played the part. Luke said goodbye and waked away and I got my stuff and closed.

Everything went black, Everything was spinning, I couldn't keep my eye open and I faithed.

I woke up in a room, the room had some mirrors, four to be exact. I got up from the couch I woke up on and went to one of the chairs infront of the mirror, it had water, makeup, drinks, snacks. " Where am I" that's when my whole body started to ache.

I saw my hair get longer and it started to bleach itself, my arms got more muscular and grew more hair. My eyebrows changed form so did my eyes, nose and Jaw too, I felt the pain in my spine and down my legs, I cired out, but the pain went over to pleasure. I could finally see what happend, it was the Cards, I had become Luke Hemmings.

The sight of my new look made my dick very hard, I needed to do something. I ran and locked the door, threw the clothes on the floor and jumped on the couch and started stroking Luke's... I mean my new dick. " Fuck Luke, your soft hand around your dick feels amazing, never felt this good before" I moaned out in my new Australian accent " I need something more" I spit in my hand and I started to fingering my ass " Oh my god " in and out, in and out, 1 finger, 2 fingers and finally 3 fingers up Luke's tight ass. I was a moaning mess and I came right on my new face, I licked it up " Luke you.. I taste amazing "

I cleaned myself up with a towel and unlocked the door. I went to the mirror to grab some water and calm down.

"I got a show to get ready for" I laughed out.

[uhshsmsmaka]

Kin list because I keep forgetting and I wanna keep it written so I remember

giving the biggest “please be my friend ur so cool please please please please” to whoever knows all of these characters

But I’ll say them here anyway, in order from the top left going right.

Mikey - rottmnt

SCP-035 - SCP Foundation

Tawnypelt - Warriors

Ennard - FNAF Sister Location

Dr. Iceberg - SCP Foundation

Moxxie - Helluva Boss

Space Kid - Camp Camp

Phone Guy - FNAF 1 (I think?? I never played the games..)

Phillip Graves - Call of Duty Modern Warfare (reboot)

uhhh idk if I label or spelt that right. I hope I did. That’d be kinda embarrassing if I didn’t lol..

———— why I kin them ig.

btw some stuff is headcanons like so and so being lgbtq and Graves having daddy issues

Mikey ROTTMNT- hell, there’s a lot of reasons.. it’s like… really personal with me lol

4th child, plus youngest. 3 older brothers and often gets left out, or brushed off from being involved. + aro/ace spec.

+ orange theme buddy agh I love u ur so pretty 💛💛

+ ADHD

SCP-035 - hmm.

Wants to watch the world burn, and is here for a good time and is really opportunistic with people, and often forms bonds with people for what they can give him… I’m a bad person I know. I’m trying to change.

+ Latin hehe

+ a lot of people really like him when they first meet, and learn the longer they spend with him, the worse he gets.

Tawnypelt - I’ll be honest, I don’t know much about her bc I didn’t read the 2nd arc, but from what I get, she seems to have struggled with gaining her own identity and being seen as someone other than a clone in her family. I struggle with people only knowing me for my brothers so I relate to her for this.

Also idk her leaving Thunderclan, despite her family, friends, and everything she knows and it being genuinely a good place she is comfortable and happy with— to Shadowclan so she can start a new life just touches me personally.

I don’t want to stay here. It’s not bad here, and everyone I love is here, but I don’t feel like I belong here, and I relate to her for it.

Ennard - yeah.. no, I got nothing. Idk why but he’s just like me fr.

Dr. Iceberg - HE’S AN ASSHOLE!!! I’m an asshole!!! Easily entertained, and doesn’t think of others that much, or the consequences of his actions. + mentally ill

+ bad taste in men

+ probably American with a small fraction of his ethnicity from Europe.

Moxxie - Daddy Issues. shit on by everyone. Underestimated kinda I guess???… and mixed morals. Often really polite— or at least is perceived to be, and is a thinker. Can go absolutely feral if necessary.

+ Italian I guess lmfao

+ short- ish..

+ adults and some older kids shall be referred to as ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’

Space Kid - he likes space. What can I say?

He’s so silly. A lot of the actions and stuff he does feels like stuff I would have done/do.

+ brown hair

Phone Guy - tries to help and probably fails. Hey, he’s trying.

Phillip Graves - Daddy issues. I also headcanon his dad was in the military and he moved around a lot and lived throughout the US, so he’s fairly decent at adapting to different places, and tolerate as hell. “It is what it is” mentality about most everything out of his control.

Finds that one person and looks up to them, and gets really clingy and obsessed with them. Doesn’t show it of course, but in his head he wants to impress them and please them in every way possible. *cough, Shepherd, cough cough*

(I met a lotta people I hyperfixated on giving away everything to make them happy. We’re just casual friends now. Except for that one. She was mean as hell to me. We still meet occasionally tho.)

Outside of headcanons, his personality and the way he acts is just very familiar and relatable to me.

+ American (wtf is a kilometer🦅🫡🦅🇺🇸🇺🇸🦅🦅💥🦅🦅🇺🇸🇺🇸)

+ makes shitty jokes no one laughs at

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 22

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note.

Okay, last time, I swear! Next chapter will be longer and more productive.

Enjoy! 😊

Next to me in the backseat of Rick's car, Carl prattles on and on about all the new wilderness facts I taught him.

"And there's these mushrooms called Morels. You can find them growing on trees and they're edible, too. They taste kinda nutty."

Rick answers him with another half-assed, wow, like he's been doin' the entire drive, making me giggle when I catch his amused expression in the rear-view mirror. In the car behind us is Maggie, Glenn, Jacqui, and Jimmy, who were all pretty keen on joinin' our shooting lessons after all the commotion of the past couple days. We didn't bother Carol with an invitation, though. She seems to wanna stay locked in the RV all day, not talkin' to nobody. I feel real bad for her. We all do. Dad once said that having a child changes your life, but I suppose losing one changes it all over again, too. People die, people mourn. Life moves on. The only reason I'm here is 'cause I'm pretending I'm that strong.

"Oh, and when you're skinning an animal, you gotta make sure you don't press too hard, otherwise you'll pierce the poop tube."

Rick lets out a disgusted chuckle. "What the Hell's a poop tube?"

"You know. It's where the poop goes down before it, uh...."

"God," He shakes his head, peeling off the road and driving us into a small, green field. "Don't go tellin' your mother that one."

Once he brings the car to a stop underneath the shade of a big tree, Carl and I unbuckle and hop out, Maggie pulling in beside us soon after. He opens the trunk, unzippers the duffel bag, and I wait patiently beside Carl as Rick hands out pistols and ammo to the other adults first.

"Okay. First thing's first, these are semi-automatic handguns." He professionally explains. "One bullet per squeeze of the trigger."

Carl grabs for one, grumbling annoyedly when it goes to Glenn instead, who easily loads a clip into the chamber.

Maggie copies his fluid movements, getting familiar with the weapon. "Where'd you come across so much firepower, Grimes?"

"Long story." He shares a funny glance with Glenn as he passes the next gun to Jacqui. "Give ya the short version, we went through a Hell of a lotta trouble to get our hands on a bag from my old station, kept it ever since." The last two go to me and Carl. "Remember. These ain't toys."

We both give understanding nods. I know they ain't toys. I got that drilled into my head since I first laid eyes on my family's supply.

"Alright, let's go line up in front of that fence over there, see if we can't hit some targets. I'll give y'all the rundown on how to do it."

As we move to the centre of the field, Rick walks the fence line, carrying the bag of empty tins and bottles he brought with him, placing each one a fair distance apart. After that, he tweaks everybody's stances and grips. Maggie's is near perfect. Glenn's is perfect. He gives us a little look that says, uh-huh, that's right, making Carl roll his eyes and Jacqui smack his shoulder. He goes pink when Maggie laughs. They begin shooting as soon as they get the green-light, and after Rick checks over Jacqui and Jimmy, he does the same with me and Carl.

"Got it down pretty good." He hums. All he needs to do is square Carl's shoulders. "Guess your little woodland fieldtrip went well, huh?"

His tongue stuck out, Carl takes a slightly-off shot at one of the tins before saying, "Yeah, it did. Harley taught me."

"Well, if y'all managed to hit a rabbit, you'll breeze through this no problem."

Line up the sights, breathe in, breathe out, squeeze. My heart leaps as the bottle I was aiming for explodes, but I keep a straight face.

Much easier than hittin' a rabbit. Also much easier than hitting a group of walkers in the middle of the woods.

Rick smiles. "Nice work, Harley. How's the hearing?" 

At another bang from down the line, the ringing in my ear turns up a notch. I cringe, "It's ringin' again."

"Too bad we don't have earmuffs." He mutters to himself, before getting an idea. "Here." Stepping behind me, he cups both his hands over my ears. Ooh. That's much better. All the sounds are muffled now. It makes the splitting of metal and the shattering of glass a little more bearable. When I realize he's asking me something, I pull his wrist away and look up at him, curious. He chuckles. "I said, 'Is that better?'"

The corner of my mouth twitches upwards. Embarrased, I answer, "Yeah."

"Lemme know if you need a break or I'm squeezin' too hard." He says kindly before covering me again. "Here we go. Start shootin', missy."

For the next five minutes, I focus on pointing, breathing, and shooting, managing to hit my target once every three tries, and then once every two, and then I ain't missin' at all, anymore. Even though I can't hear 'em all too well, I see the others cheering me on every now and then.

After my last target goes flying off the fencepost, I lower the gun, tapping Rick on the arm to let him know to pull away.

"Doin' really well," He praises. "Especially with your reloadin', you got that down to an art. You need that break, now?"

I hate to admit it, but, "Yeah, I think so."

He understands. "Alright, go grab some water and sit in the shade for a bit. No harm done."

"Maybe when you come back," Carl adds cheekily, "I'll be able to hit even more targets than you."

I don't bother responding. I take myself back over to the cars, snatching up my water bottle from the pile on the ground before climbing onto the hood and taking a long sip. I spend some time just watching the others, doing my best to ignore the cruel headache crushing down on my skull but it's near impossible. I wish I could just reach inside my ear, rip out that ringing noise, and crush it like a bug beneath my boot.

At some point Glenn taps out as well, breaking away from the group and approaching me with a half-smile.

"Hey, Harley." He says, grabbing his water and a small snack. "You okay?"

"No. My stupid ear, it's hurtin' still." I complain, groaning wearily as he leans next to me on the car. "As if it bein' butt-ugly weren't enough."

"Hey, it's not ugly." He nudges me gently. "It's cool. Just like Rick's hat or your Dad's crossbow, it just makes you more interesting."

I don't get how people see badass or interesting when they look at my mangled ear-nub. Dad even called me beautiful. I'on get it.

When I don't respond, he hesitantly offers, "You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." I mumble. Ain't much to talk about. Some things are better buried, like bodies in graves. "What 'boutchu? Why you over here?"

"I— I don't know." He shrugs. "Couldn't concentrate, I guess. I kept missing my shots, so I thought I'd quit while I was ahead."

I raise a brow. He must have something on his mind to be messin' up his aim like that. "You got sum' you wanna talk about?"

Chewing his lip nervously, he gazes out at Maggie as she reloads another clip into her gun's chamber, Rick as he jokes with Carl. Then with no warning, he awkwardly confesses, "Lori's pregnant. Rick doesn't know. And Maggie said she loves me but I didn't say it back."

Woah, uh... I don't know what to say. Lori and Rick are havin' a baby? Maggie and Glenn love each other, like boyfriend-girlfriend? Dang. No wonder his aim was shit. Those are some hefty secrets. I had enough trouble keepin' my one secret, but keepin' two?

Once I've swallowed down my surprise, I ask him incredulously, "Why you ain't tell nobody? Why you ain't tell Rick?"

I'm not too sure what happens when people find out they're having a baby, but don't they gotta, well, find out?

"Because Lori said she'd throw me back down the well if I said anything to him... I already spilled to Dale, though, and now you." Guilt crinkles expression. "Ugh, I'm so bad at secrets. I got her that test the other day, but now she doesn't even know if she wants to keep it."

Oh, that's right. The lady products. I didn't know you could decide if you want a baby or not once you got it. "How ya mean?"

He shakes his head. "Never mind. Just don't tell anyone else, please."

"Well, ya gotta tell him at some point, right?"

"I'm kinda just waiting to see what Lori does. It's her choice to make."

"And you and Maggie?" I prompt as he snaps off half his granola cookie and hands it to me. I take a bite. "She loves you?"

"Well, she said she did." He spends a long time chewing, thinking, staring at her. "I don't think she meant it. She's confused or something."

"I'on think Maggie's the type to get too confused 'bout things." I quip, doubtful. "She must'a meant it in some way, at least."

Lori guessed they was sweet on one another. I don't know too much about this sorta stuff. I never liked movies with princes and princesses in 'em, or books where the boy and girl kiss at the end. Real life ain't like that. There's things like suicide and custody. No, instead I liked the ones with adventure, like the Fox and the Hound and Alice in Wonderland. I liked pretending I was in some other, better world.

I know about Glenn, though, and I know I want him to be happy. If a strong, pretty girl like Maggie can do that for him, then I'm happy too.

"It's just, I didn't say it back." He sighs. "I was still too shaken up from this morning. Got scared, I guess. I mean, we barely know each other."

"Don't gotta. I loved Tank the second I saw him," I shrug, "I ain't know a thing about him."

"That was your guys' dog, right?" He smiles when I give a nod. I think he likes how simple my answers are. "So, you think I should talk to her?"

"If you don't, you'd be an idiot." I tell him. "Seen so much death by now that if a girl said she loved me, I'd count my dang lucky stars."

He chuckles at that. "You're not planning on stealing her from me, are you?"

"Might just."

"Whatever. Gimme that." He steals back the remainder of the cookie from my hand, making me squeal in protest. "I don't share with traitors."

"Hey!" He pops it in his mouth before I can swipe it back, whining, "Glenn!"

As he laughs around his mouthful, Rick comes up to us with a fond look on his face. "I gotta break somethin' up, here?"

I scoff. "He stole my damn food."

"Well, it was mine to begin with."

"Hey, no fighting while class is in session." He takes another cookie from the tupperware container and hands it to me. "Try pickin' on someone your own size next time." Taking a bite, I echo, yeah, somebody your own size. Then he asks me, "How's the ear doing?"

"Oh," I haven't even been paying attention to it until now, just Glenn. It's actually stopped ringing. "It ain't so bad anymore."

"That's good." He hums. "I reckon we'll be headed back soon, anyway, so just take it easy 'till then."

Glenn asks, "It's the sound of the gunshots, right?"

"Yeah. Definitely ain't doin' you any favors, huh?"

No shit. "I just wanna be able to shoot like you guys."

"Hey, you're pretty damn close already. You just need to start thinkin' about relying on quieter weapons, that's all. Like that knife of yours."

It's hard not to get angry when one mistake ruins a whole bunch other things. Lost an ear, gained tin-eye-dus, and now I can't even shoot no more. I was just startin' to get good, too. Ain't no use sulking, though, so I suck it up like a big girl and listen to Rick's advice.

"Knives are better, anyway." I say off-handedly, trying to convince myself of my own words. "Can't skin no rabbit with a gun."

He smiles and gives my shoulder a pat. "Exactly."

The three of us finish off a couple more cookies and talk about random stuff, like Rick's first day at his cop academy's shooting range and who we think is the best shot outta everyone still practicing. We don't talk about the baby in Lori's tummy, though. I feel a little giddy looking at Rick and knowin' something so exciting about him that he don't. It's like tryna hide a surprise party from someone. I just wanna tell him!

Wow, a baby. I ain't never been around one of those before. For once in my life, I won't be the youngest.

That might'a made me sad a couple days ago, but I think I'm ready to be growing up now.

Besides, I'll always be my Dad's baby no matter how old I am.

On the way home, Carl takes to rambling about how much he loved shooting, and how he can't wait to go again sometime. 

Author's Note.

Harley's so lucky to have such a supportive group of people looking after her. I'm jealous!!

Thanks for reading, everyone! 💙

[shexhulk]

So, so happy

Kastle fic, 2611 words

Hey, guys! 🥰 So, after years without writing any one shots, I found myself having an idea for one. Since I am on my winter break, I got the chance of reading so many marvelous and well written Kastle fics, and they gave me inspiration I needed to write this. I am so happy I actually wrote something after so long. It is great to know adult life did not manage to kill one of my favorite hobbies 🤧 So, there you go! I hope you guys like it!

So, so happy

It’s been one week since they had shared their first kiss.

But it felt like decades, centuries even.

To look at him, lock her pale blue-sky eyes with his deep brown gaze and to not replay in her mind the exact moment when she finally got to get lost in his world trough his lips was an impossible task. And to not put her arms around his neck and seal their fate once again when he was finally there again, in front of her, so close, was torture.

*** 

A week ago, they were in the same living room. Her living room. They were having one of those patch up meetings they had had many times before – Karen would clean up his bleeding wounds sitting beside him, while he would sit on the couch, contemplating her features. When she got to meet his eyes with hers, she clucked.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She knew exactly why. “Afraid you’re going to forget what I look like?”

He would never. He could never.

This patch up meetings did not happen because he physically needed to. He could patch him up by himself most times, but since Karen insisted that she helped him when he got a little bit too much hurt, he – stubbornly – took the chance to make those moments a way for him to not only see and be with her, but to memorize her. Memorize the way she frowned and bit her lip when she would take care of him, fingers so light and eyes so focused. Memorize her smile when she would say she finished her care and the way her eyes would supplicate for him to stay a little bit longer after he would announce he was living. Memorize her sight of relief when he would accept her offer, and how she would walk, almost glide to the kitchen to make him coffee even though it was deep in the middle of the night.

“And… that’s it. All done!” she smiled, putting the first aid kit items left on the center table. Then, she leaned backwards, resting her back on the couch.

‘You take such good care of me.” He let it slip out of his mouth.

Karen chuckled and blushed, saying “I’m happy to.”.

Frank watched her play with her hair, then, his eyes wandered away, saying:

“Y’know, sometimes I wish to get hurt when I’m out there. Not in a weird way, it’s just…” he took a deep breath. “I get to see you after.”.

Karen formed a small smile on her copper rose lips. How he wished he could kiss her right now.

“You know you don’t need to get hurt to see me.” She said, eyes still locked on him. “You could just... come.”

Frank smiled, meeting his eyes with hers.

“I know, I guess what I’m trying to say it’s… I’m happy when I’m here.”.

Karen sat back straight, moving her body closer to Frank’s. She put her hand on his and smiled. Frank could feel his body shivering by the touch of her pale skin against his.

“I’m happy when you’re here too.”.

In an inexplicable urge – one he felt many times, but never had the courage to act upon it – Frank made the decision to make his wish come true. The wish of kissing Karen’s lips, when he put his hands on the back of her neck, bringing her closer and brushing his lips on hers. The kiss was filled with passion and desire, but still gentle. Karen kissed him back, cupping his face with her hands. He could not believe he finally had the courage to do what he was wanting to for so long. She tasted like nothing he has ever tasted before, and it was good, so good. Great. Fucking spectacular. The kiss developed into something rougher, their hands already losing control through each other’s bodies. Frank laid Karen on the couch, staying on top of her. Damn, he wanted her. So, so bad. His body was already giving all signs.

He moved his lips to her jawline and then to her neck, leaving a trail of open kisses which made Karen moan. He stopped for a moment, gazing at Karen’s eyes. How beautiful she was. How lucky he was. To have her in his life. To be able to get lost in those misty-blue eyes. To, finally, kiss her. In no time, he got back into kissing her passionately, their tongues, bodies and heart beats in unison. Frank started to unbutton Karen’s navy-blue blouse, while leaving kisses on her chest skin. Karen’s breathing deepened with each kiss, gasping for air. When Frank finished what seemed a long war against her blouse buttons, her chest and belly were exposed, along with her laced baby pink bra. He kissed her chest again, moving up to the crook of her neck, then to her jawline and back to her mouth again.

But then, her phone rang. That fucking ringtone blaring on the center table, stopping. their rhythm. Karen broke the kiss, while Frank rested his forehead on hers. Their breaths were shaky, but still longing for so much more.

“I’m afraid I have to take this.” Karen said. “I’m sorry.”

“Go ahead.” Frank said, starting to move away to give Karen space.

“No!” Karen frowned, stopping Frank’s body with one arm while the other reached for her phone. “Don’t leave just yet.”.

Karen answered the phone, saying ‘uh-uhs’ from time to time and replying with short or one-worded sentences. Frank stayed there, on top of her, watching her talking on the phone, memorizing her. When Karen said goodbye, she hanged up the phone rolling her eyes.

“That was Foggy. Ugh!” she said.

“What’s wrong with Foggy?” Frank laughed.

“Nothing wrong with him, but with what I need to do.” She replied. Then, she went on to explain how Foggy needed her at the office as soon as possible, so they could deal with an urgent client’s problem.

Ugh indeed. But those situations were one of the downsides of Karen’s job, and that was the way it was. Frank took a deep breath and caressed her cheek.

“No big deal.” Was all he could answer, although it felt like it was.

Karen pressed her lips on his gently, bringing their bodies even closer.

“I have to go, but I want… this… to continue.” She said almost in a whisper. “Don’t you dare wait to get hurt to come here again. Just come. Or I can meet you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He agreed, kissing her lips gently one more time, before they undid their couch positions and she left open-bloused and flushed to her room.

Gosh, she was gorgeous.

He sat on the couch, looking defeated, but still with a smile on his lips. He got himself together before standing up and getting his things from the living room’s floor so he could leave Karen’s apartment.

“Bye, Frank.” She turned around before entering her bedroom, revealing a shy smile on her lips.

“Bye, Karen.”.

He was so, so happy.

*** 

But in classic straight men’s fashion, he dared.

He dared to wait to get hurt again so he could meet her in her apartment.

Karen was pissed. No, she was fucking furious.

This situation tackled her anxiety and self-steam issues. It’s not like he ghosted her or anything of the sorts. They had talked through phone messages throughout the week – cute messages even – but nothing about what happened. Or about the fact that he agreed to visit her again. She did not want to push him or anything, and she was damn too proud to ask him to come. She already asked what needed to be asked. But still, he dared to let one week pass. Even though a week may not seem like a long time, after that kiss – or make out session, to be more precise – time seemed to pass so slowly. Work, writing for the Bulletin, conversations with Foggy and Matt, casual walks to get coffee, everything, everything, went by so slowly over that one week because of the urge, of the longing of seeing him again. Of touching him again. Of kissing him again. Of… for the first time with him.

Ugh, Foggy! He just could not wait a few minutes more to make that call. Maybe, no, just 30 minutes more. Maybe an hour? Two?

Karen took a deep breath trying to send those thoughts away from her mind. She got her focus back into cleaning a wound on Frank’s cheek. They were back on the couch again, going through another patch up meeting. Although they did not talk much on these, this time was a lot more silent. The tension in the air was heavy, gut-wrenching even. But, again, she was furious. And she could tell Frank could feel it. After all, he was truly good at reading others.

“Done.” Karen said dryly, avoiding eye contact and not smiling like she usually did after finishing patching up Frank.

She put the first aid kit items left on the center table and, when she tried to stand up, Frank held her hand and looked at her face, making her stay sit on the couch.

“I’m sorry I waited for me to get hurt to see you again.” He spoke. “You’re pissed. I can feel it.”

Karen looked at him, drowning in those espresso-colored eyes. She and Frank were way more alike than she liked to admit. She wanted to forget she was mad, to just kiss him and continue from where they left off. But she was stubborn. Stubborn like him.

“I got… fucking hell! I got scared.” He said, admitting his feelings. “Everyone, everyone I love turns into a target. What happened a week ago just made you more of a real one.”

Karen moved her body closer and cupped his face with her hands. She softly placed a kiss on the wound on his cheek.

“It’s too late. I’m all in. You know it.” She spoke firmly, a few inches away from his face. “I’m not going anywhere, so don’t push me away.”

She felt a tear streaming down her face, which Frank tamely wiped away with his thumb.

“I don’t want to push you away.” He said back.

“So don’t.” Karen spoke, switching her gaze from his brown eyes to his dusty rose lips.

And then, Karen complied to her mind’s most profound wishes, by sloppily brushing her lips on his, feeding the hunger left in her for the past week. Frank wasted no time in kissing her back, putting his hands on her waist, bringing her closer to him. Taking the control, Karen got up and sat on top of him, putting her hands on the back of his head, pulling his hair as she kissed him harder. Then, she felt an unusual tickle around her mouth, which made her scape a chuckle from her lips.

“What is it?” Frank asked.

“I think it’s your beard.” She answered, moving her hands through the newly grown hairs on his shaved beard that weren’t there last week. “It tickles.”

Frank took that line as an opportunity to kiss the crook of her neck, going down to her chest. This time, she made sure she prepared herself with simpler pieces of clothing than last time’s, which proved to be a smart idea, since Frank took off her tight-fitting shirt in a matter of a second. This left way to Frank place sloppy, open kisses to the bare parts of her chest and belly. She giggled at feeling of his beard on her pale skin, which made him chuckle as well. Then, he got back to kissing her lips again, tongues dancing to the rhythm of their heartbeats. A few moments later, Frank broke the kiss, brushing his nose against hers.

“Did you leave your phone on silent mode?” Frank joked.

Karen nodded, laughing at his silly question. She kissed him one more time, before they broke the kiss apart, gasping for air.

“Can we continue from where we left off?” he asked, looking her deep in her eyes. The way he looked at her made her shiver, in the best way.

She replied to the question in the best way she could, which was going back at kissing his lips. She could feel how Frank wanted her and damn, she wanted him too. She needed him too. Frank stood up, making Karen embrace his body with her arms and legs. Without breaking the kiss, they went straight to her bedroom. She was too deep into that moment that she didn’t even question how well and fast Frank knew in which direction to go.

He laid Karen’s body on the bed softly, then taking a little bit of time to take his clothes off. She did the same to remaining of hers, throwing them on the bedroom’s floor. In a matter of a few instants, he was on top of her, kissing her roughly in the lips as he intertwined his fingers with hers. Karen felt her body burning with desire as he moved his lips to her jawline, then to her neck, then to her chest and breasts. One hand cupped one breast as he sucked the other’s nipple. Karen moaned with pleasure, which made her eyes shut. Then, she felt his trail of kisses from her belly to her inner thigh, which made her back arch. He left little kisses and bites, before looking at her face one more time. In a matter of seconds, his tongue met her depths, making her moan his name. This seemed to make Frank express his hunger even more, making Karen feel how close she was to her apex.

“Frank, I-I need you.” She said, in short breaths.

He knew exactly what she meant by those words. But, before he complied, he left a trail of kisses from her belly to her jawline, arriving on her copper lips, kissing her with passion, desire and love. Oh, she was feeling so much love.

With her legs around his body and her hands on his firm back muscles, Frank’s eyes deeply met hers as she felt his length inside her. She moaned as he slowly thrusted into her. He moaned as he fastened the rhythm, brushing his lips sloppily against hers. She never had anyone like him before. It was good, so good. Great. Fucking spectacular.

As they were both lost in each other, their bodies the closest they could ever be, Frank said:

“I love you, Karen.”

Karen reached her apex, and Frank soon followed her. Panting breaths filled up the room when she pecked his lips.

“I love you too, Frank.”

And they kissed a little bit more, before cuddling below Karen’s old, yet cleaned sheets.

Frank placed soft kisses on her shoulder.

“I’m afraid the short hairs on my beard are going to leave you scratched.” He chuckled. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care.” Karen replied. “I will be happily scratched if that means doing this.”

Frank laughed, placing kisses on the crook of her neck.

Before closing their eyes to sleep, Frank, still holding Karen close, naked below the sheets, wished:

 “G’night, Karen.”

“Goodnight, Frank.”.

She was so, so happy.

*** 

It was early morning, and the young rays of sunshine dim lit the bedroom. They were still laying on the bed. Frank finger-traced the little scratch lines on Karen’s pale skin, as she observed the movement of his fingers, half-asleep. And, at the same time, they giggled at the memory of how these lines were sketched on her body.

They were so, so happy.

[servin-up-surveys]

survey #222

Do you ever have days where you just don’t do anything? I mean... compared to the lives of ordinary adults my age, that would be most days for me. I have nothing but free time and I'm not exactly skilled at putting it to good use.

Have you ever experienced something paranormal? I firmly believe I have, at the bare minimum of twice. I think an old home of mine was haunted or some shit, weird things happened there.

What’s the longest amount of time you’ve been stuck in traffic? Hell if I know. I'm sure it was while traveling, though.

What museums have you visited, if any? I literally think I've only visited one, the local one in my city... which is abysmally depressing to say. I love the idea of museums, and the one we have here is immensely sub-par. I would love to visit a good one, especially one with fossil displays.

Have you ever dealt with noisy neighbors or roommates? How did that go? No, thankfully. I mean, our current neighbor's dog doesn't shut up half the time, but unless I'm not listening to something in the spare room (the room closest to where she is in the neighbor's [fenced] yard), I don't hear her in here.

Have you ever taken a woodshop class? No.

What area of math are you best at? Worst? I suck at all math. According to the autism eval I took, I apparently need an IEP in mathematics. During my last college attempt, I literally failed ALGEBRA ONE miserably, but I will say I really didn't like how my teacher taught, he was all about weird shortcuts. Even when I tried tutoring though, I was humiliated that just nothing made sense. It's a bit strange, though; up through high school, I could handle math, but it was always my weakest subject. I wasn't an A student in it. I just go so much worse when I left high school. I don't know if it could be the results of overmedication (which I hold responsible for my memory issues), trauma (trauma can have effects you wouldn't guess, and I firmly believe it altered how I process information), or what.

How do you feel when you meet someone with the same music taste as you? I get excited. I love music, so it's something to bond over.

Do you believe in luck? Why or why not? "In a sense. Sometimes you're just in the right place at the right time, or "the stars align." But as a force, not really." <<< Literally this.

Do you ever feel self-conscious when you eat around other people? Only if the food is messy, and I don't generally like eating messy food anyway because *I* don't like getting messy.

Have you ever considered going to art school? I went to the Art Institute of Pittsburgh Online and got scammedddddd <33333

Is there anyone in your life who consistently angers you? My sister's shitty husband.

Have you ever had problems falling asleep in class? No.

Are your parents supportive of you? Yes. Mom WAY more actively than Dad, but.

How often do you take the train to go places? Never.

Have you ever participated in a mock trial, or a real trial? No.

Do you have the right time set on your microwave? Yes.

Do you have any old newspaper articles? Why? No.

Do you have a flat screen tv or just a regular box? We have a decently large flat-screen. It's not something we could ever afford now; it's as old as when my parents were still together.

Do you have a radar detector for your car? No.

Have you ever been arrested? For what? No.

Do you know how to change the oil in your car? Nope.

Do you like Tootsie Rolls? I don't.

Are you seeing anybody currently? I've been dating the same someone for almost three years now.

Do you like it when it snows? I fucking love when it snows. It doesn't happen often here. It sticks even less often.

Where do you do most of your shopping? Walmart.

Do you have a big yard? Big no, the front and back are very small.

Do you live in the country or the city? A development just outside a city. Still basically city.

At what age did you obtain your driver license? I'm 28 and still don't have it; I probably never will. It is better for me and everyone else on the road. I WISH I could drive, but it's just not a safe option right now.

What are you favorite kind of chips? Hot crunchy Cheetos

Where did you go today? My primary doctor for a check-up. Our car is still toast so we were lucky enough that they offered transportation.

Are you sleepy right now? Extremely. I stayed up way too late last night to have to wake up early like I had to.

What color is your mousepad? Black.

Do you get your eyebrows waxed? No. I don't care enough.

Has anyone given you flowers recently? Not recently.

Has anyone you know been arrested recently? No.

Do you have more than 1 email address? Yes.

Do you have central heating and air? Yes. Especially this time of year, I'd fucking die without it.

Are there any plants in your house? There's a decent amount because of Mom. I think it's mostly pothos.

Do you prefer cold or warm weather? COLD

Do you prefer bar or liquid soap? Liquid, I hate bar soap.

Do you wear any perfumes/colognes on a regular basis? No.

Do you have high or low self-esteem levels? Abysmally low.

When was the last time you listened to a song on repeat? What was the song? Um... I feel like it was a good few days ago. "Zwitter" by Rammstein.

Do you like mint or orange-flavored chocolate? Mint, yes. I don't feel like I've tried orange-flavored chocolate. I can imagine myself not liking the combo, but I can't guarantee that.

When was the last time you burnt your mouth from eating something too hot? Around a week ago when Mom made chicken fried rice.

What is your favorite foreign language to listen to? (In music or speech) I like how German sounds, but I also think I have a bias because when I hear it, I like to see how much I can translate.

Do you prefer instrumental songs or ones with lyrics? Lyrics.

Name something simple that makes you happy. A cold drink when I'm really thirsty. Sunrises and sunsets. The sound of rain. I'm very pleased that I'm pretty good at identifying small happinesses.

What is your favorite instrument to listen to? Electric guitar, violin, harp, piano, lots others.

Pick one: Books, movies or music? Music.

What was the last book you read about? It was a book in the Warriors series, in the "A Vision of Shadows" arc. The books are pretty thick with various events, but the primary plot was the Clans coming together to oust an invasion of murderous rogues that nearly destroyed their way of life.

When was the last time you used a quote from a movie in real life? I don't really do this unless I'm joking and making an obvious reference. I don't remember what it was anyway, though.

Can you put your legs behind your head? Hell no.

Do you forget things easily? You would not BELIEVE how horrendous my memory is. Like it is unfuckingreal. I feel like being overmedicated for so, so long is the reason, it just ate away at my brain.

The last song you listened to: Did it have a male or female vocalist? Male.

Have you ever had braces? Do you need them? I did as a pre-teen/teenager.

What does your voice sound like? (Loud, quiet, high-pitched, etc) I think it's somewhat deep for a woman, but not to where it sounds traditionally masculine. I tend to stutter and I can either talk too quietly or, if I'm excited or in some way passionate or just confident in an explanation, I've had it pointed out I speak too loudly.

What was the last topic you read about on Wikipedia? So I opened the page to Kamala Harris's political policies, but I promptly left it and read on a platform that isn't edited by random-ass people and wouldn't be rife with biases. I feel like in light of... recent events, I need to be more aware than ever of the policies of people who have a chance of having a say in my country's politics. I don't like Biden (But DO NOT BE MISTAKEN, I hate Trump a HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELL of a lot more), but I have this hope that maybe Kamala will replace him. How, figure it out yourself.

Have you ever donated money to Wikipedia? No, that would be so low on my priorities of things to donate to if I even had money.

What board games did you play when you were growing up? A lot of Cranium brand games, Candyland, Life (modified rules to be easier for kids), Monopoly (modified rules for same reason), Mouse Trap (ngl we mostly played with the parts than the actual game haha), Operation, Checkers, I had a Crocodile Hunter game I loved, Battleship, lots of others. We had a big stock of board games to choose from.

Do you know any sign language? No.

When was the last time you bought new clothes? What did you get? Holy hell I have no idea.

Do you ever watch streamers on Twitch? Hazelnuttygames, sometimes. She's a WoW streamer.

Has your house ever been broken into? How did you find out? There was an attempt at my childhood home, but they didn't get in.

What do you usually eat for breakfast? Generally cereal.

Are you overwhelmed right now? Ha! Not as bad as I was yesterday. I reached a capacity of stress yesterday that for the vast majority of the day, I completely shut down. I don't remember the last time I was that stressed because of just everything going on in my life and in my country.

Did you share a bedroom with someone when you were growing up? My younger sister Nicole, yes.

How many group chats are you in? Do you participate in them much? I'm in one with Mazzy and Tez, and that's the only group chat I truly contribute to. I'm in the Tumblr community's Rammstein Discord, and I talk only rarely because it's just so busy and overwhelming that I get stressed trying to keep up lol.

Are you still in touch with any of your exes? No.

What do you do for work? I am humiliated to be my age (and not considered properly disabled) and not work. I'm trying my best to build a freelance nature photography career, but... that's a monumental task, if I'm honest. But I'm still trying. Freelance art is FUCKING HARD to make a living with.

Were you upset when you found out certain things weren’t real? (Santa, Tooth Fairy…) No. I was old enough by then to have doubted, so I wasn't surprised.

Name something you’re proud of. Brag a little bit. One of my proudest achievements is getting a Daily Deviation on deviantART. It's the biggest honor you can get on the site and is (generally, especially without connections) very hard to obtain.

Which store would you like to win $1000 for? Rebel's Market.

Do you pay any attention to celebrity drama? No. The only celeb drama I've ever paid attention to was when Till from Rammstein was forced into it by a sexual misconduct accusation. He's fucking innocent btw, this is well-supported, but Germany tends to hate Rammstein for unsound reasons and will NEVER cover the positives of the band. Any time his accuser was revealed to be full of absolute bullshit, their popular media never covered it. I don't want ANY assumptions made about me and my stance on sexual assault involving celebrities, you take EVERY accusation seriously and I kept my mouth shut while the investigation went down, I wanted the facts, and the facts are fucking nothing was found that damned Till. I don't defend him because he's in a band that I love, I defend him because of the absolute fucking lack of evidence and the documented bullshittery of Shelby (accuser). If there was actual evidence that Till was a sexual predator, I would drop my support of him so fuckin' fast, I can stake my life on that. I don't fuck with sexual predators, whether I'd originally liked them or not. I don't play that "but that's my homie!!!" game. WOW this was a ramble but I feel very strongly on this, it was such an ordeal.

What popular food do you dislike? Fried chicken wings. A LOT of things if I think about it for a moment.

Do you have any cats? Yes, Roman.

How many slices of pizza can you eat in 1 sitting? Rarely two; I usually have three. If I'm incredibly hungry, four. Of course, this does depend on the size of the slices.

[all-eyes-no-dragon]

How about we try reincarnating/isekaiing someone who isn't a salaryman or otaku NEET

Let's isekai a jock who cant believe this shit is happening, someone who doesn't know about anime or game tropes and doesn't immediately assimilate to the new world

Someone who won't just ignore their past life to the point where viewers even forget they're from another world because it just isn't relevant

Isekai has a lot of potential but they keep using the same rinse and repeat tired dry formula

Isekai people and not have others swoon and randomly fall at their feet for absolutely no reason despite the MCs having personalities as flavourful as the sand in the sandbox at the play park

Isekai more women, old people, little kids, uh college students maybe? I don't think I've ever seen a college student be isekaied before

Where's "I Just Wanted To Get My Degree In Archeology But Now The Prince From Another World Won't Stop Proposing Because He Thinks I'm A Goddess"?

Where's "Grandpa Retired But Fell Down A Hole So Now He's The Ultimate Baker In Another World"?

Where's "My Parents Hired A Fairy To Come To My Birthday Party But It Ended Up Being The Real Deal And Now I'm Stuck In Another World"?

Where's "I Scour This New World, Searching For A Way Home"?

Personally, "I Don't Have Time For An Adventure, I Need To Be Back By Dinner" sounds like a charmer to me.

Down with lookalike bland harem protagonists with no personality, dimensions and the exact same jobs (or in the case of the lack thereof)/hobbies (gaming, or however they want to spin it). Heck, these guys are basically all going to the same worlds as well so they've basically all got the same stories too. A shame.

This is why people hate isekai, which I think is a shame really, cuz I love the concept. Just,, I prefer to cherry pick the genre for gems

Side note: let isekai protags say weird shit that no one understands because

👏 cultural 👏 barrier 👏

C'mon, this is a different world, there's gotta be some basic stuff the protag might say and be met with blanket stares

Like in re zero apples are called appas

Totally small stupid and inconsequential but u look stupid af if u call it anything but an appa

Now, if u were reincarnated and had to grow from a child, I suppose u would have time to assimilate to the culture.

Ugh, but I wish they would let reincarnations stay kids longer. If their old world is gonna become obsolete, I want to see them slowly lose that. Forget people's faces, the names of their coworkers, what street they lived on. Forget the smell of their favourite flower, the taste of their favourite food. Forget what the texture of jeans feel like. Make me feel emotions.

Let's see them weird out their new parents by not being used to the New World's culture. Let's see people shrug off them accidentally talking about stuff because wowiee, kids say the darnest things

Stop having isekai kids gather 10 wives at the tender age of 9 :)

I like the MC of the webcomic "The Beginning After The End" 's stance on the dubious subject of having romantic relationships as a reincarnator (or at least, I like it so far. I'm mid 100s into the comic so idk if they about to switch up)

Basically the MC died as an adult so he sees all the kids "his age" as children and he even said a line about how he would be a criminal if he got romantic with one of the girls who like him 🤣

I guess it's up to self perception? Like, this body is 13 but my brain is 45. Which am I actually, then?

Let reincarnators be confused about this as well, cuz even irl people debate this a whole lot (cuz it's just one of those "well, technically" things. I think the fact that we even have to go "technically" to excuse it is a bit of an ouch tho)

I'm open to other views and counter arguments on any of the things I've just said, tbh. These are just some things I think are missed opportunities. Like, people will keep watching and watching it even if it's the same thing (why do you think there's so many "Peter Parker's Field Trip To Stark Industries" fics? People will continually consume the same thing slightly tweaked if they like the premise enough). I just think changes to how we approach isekai might bring in some new viewership and increased positive opinions on the genre

Also, the comically long titles are a fun thing but I know some people abhor them. They want titles that are creative and don't basically just summarise the show's premise. Because, with a title like that, it shows a lack of creativity and ingenuity. Not to say that it needs to be toned down all the way, just reduced to keywords.

"Undead Unluck"

"Spy x Family"

"Dragon Ball"

"First Night With The Duke"

"Little Shop Of Horrors"

"Villain To Kill"

"Pride & Prejudice"

"Cirque Du Freak"

"Mirror Image"

(Yes, I did just write down the names of random things I like. 3 animes, 3 books, 2 webcomics and a,, movie/play(?) I watched it as a play, anyways. okay, the 3animes is kind of a lie, I'm impatiently waiting for undead unluck to come out as an anime. ive never consumed any content for it but the trailer)

These titles give you a vague idea of important symbols/things in the narrative, no? But you don't know exactly was going to happen.

But I'm only speaking for some people, I find the long titles to be funny and a bit intriguing. Of course, I wouldn't mind some good old fashioned original names being brainstormed. These thoughtlessly long titles allow all these different producers to just pump out what is, at its core, basically the same ideas, just switched up a bit so the homework doesn't look copied

[phynoma]

HALLOWEEN COUNTDOWN

As a countdown to Halloween, I'm sharing the original statements I wrote for the Consuming AU! (<<click for ao3 link) The statements function as horror shorts that work on their own, and I'm proud of them, ngl

Without further ado:

Statement 1: The Chocolate Pot

CW: Manipulation, supernatural compulsion, accidental dead-naming, drowning

[Tape clicks on. Head Archivist’s Office]

ARCHIVIST

Statement of Corey Garrett, regarding his discovery of a vintage, silver chocolate pot. Original statement taken August 9th, 2007. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

It was an estate auction that did it.

My cousin, Niamh Flaherty and I, would get out of mum's house by taking our bikes up and down Elvendon Lane. There aren't a lot of turnoffs, and it's one of those narrow, country lanes that seems like it keeps its own secrets. We were lonely, in the way that two young adults in the countryside could be: on the edge of adulthood and the fears of being cast into the unknown, even as we longed for it with all our fledgling desire for flight.

It was the end of summer, and Niamh was visiting from Limerick, and we were terribly bored with country life. Just eighteen, the both of us, and playing at being proper adults. Independant, all that. Both of us had a thing for antiques–though I’ve lost a bit of my taste for it, now–and we were incorrigibly curious.

There's not much that goes on around Woodcote that the whole village doesn't know about, so when Niamh and I saw the lorry at the end of a short drive, nearly blocking the narrow road into town, we stopped. The drive itself was far too small for the mini tipper to navigate; just a blind opening to a gravel track so overgrown it could have just been a path into the woods that would end, like a fairy-path, with no house or sign of humanity in sight.

My parents had moved out to the village when I was at school, and I didn’t know whose house it was that had attracted the house clearance auctioneers like flies to a decaying corpse. All I knew was folks that needed seven tonne lorries were likely old and rich, and that sounded like a magic combination. A proper treasure hunt, you know?

Maybe it was a bit ghoulish, but the idea of a dusty, mouldering house of forgotten and unwanted treasures really got to us–Niamh and me. Like I said, Niamh and I were still pretty young, but I was always impressed with her. She seemed sort of worldly, always got men's attention. She wasn't that pretty, I don't think–well, I mean, I don't know. I'm her cousin, aren't I? But she had a way about her, something that drew people in. I could never figure out if I was jealous of her or if I wanted to be her.

Anyway, watching strangers pack up a lorry with some old, unlucky geezer's worldly treasures might not seem like a good time, but we made the most of it. We made guesses of what was in the boxes, what kind of person they'd been, why they didn't have any family to collect the goods. It was an “adult” kind of fun, nothing kids would be interested in, but now that Niamh and I were grown up we could watch the delivery men carting boxes and furniture down the dusty drive and feel like we were gossiping like real people, real adults did. We were so hungry for a world beyond us.

And there was plenty to gossip about. Crates of old knickknacks and rubbish– porcelain table sets shaped like too-quaint dolls, ratty old tapestries from the 70’s made to look mediaeval and missing the mark– that sort of thing. We sat on our bikes across the lane and kept our eyes peeled for the priceless artefacts we knew we’d spot among all the junk. With our keen, young minds we had a plan that if we did see anything, we’d be the first down at the auction houses and charity shops in Reading to snatch it up. Ghoulish, like I said. But at the time we felt very clever and sophisticated as we guessed at values and made crude but cutting remarks.

We could see a bit of the house from the road–disappointingly normal, all told. Renovated maybe in the mid-90s, one of those monstrosities that was probably a fine thing when it was built two centuries ago and which had been “upgraded” nearly out of existence. We were guessing at how terribly the inside had been refurbished when a woman wearing a cream suit left the front door. For a moment, I could have sworn she looked right at us, down by the road. And she smiled. I don't know how, but I could feel it, like an itch behind my teeth. Then she turned and disappeared behind the hedges and fruit trees that blocked most of the house.

I shook off the shudder that half-imagined smile had given me, and put her from my mind. In any case, Niamh hadn’t seemed to notice the woman. I’d have almost thought I’d made her up, except after a good ten or fifteen minutes she appeared again at the bottom of the lane. She must have walked all the way down, and her cream suit was coated in a fine layer of dust. She held a small crate in her hands.

I don’t know how, but I knew that crate was full of the treasures Niamh and I were waiting to see. I tried to be subtle watching her, but Niamh and I were the only ones on a long, lonely lane, so it was pretty obvious we were gawking. I expected an annoyed glance, maybe, or for the woman to shoo us off. Instead, she looked up. Our eyes met, and I got that weird feeling again, like she was…amused, somehow. It turnt my stomach right over.

I didn’t notice that Niamh had grabbed my arm until later, when I saw the bruises, because I was so focused on that woman. She walked over to us with that little half-smile, the crate still in her arms. She said her name was…I think it was Karen? Karen…something common, I think, but like an old man name. Withers, maybe.

Anyway, she came right up to the both of us and asked if we had known the owner of the house. I don’t remember what we said–if we lied and claimed we did, or what. The answer didn’t really seem to matter. She said the owner had been old and eccentric, and he hadn’t had anyone to leave his belongings to, so they’d been called in. Hope Charities, she said, and pointed at the lorry. There wasn't a name painted on it or anything, but the men doing the loading were wearing white coveralls with B&H on the back. Don't know what the "B" stood for.

She– Karen– showed us the crate. It was open. Inside was a jumble of knick-knacks, exactly the kind of thing you’d expect: a couple of old books with faded dust covers from the 50s or 60s, some miscellaneous silverware, a snowglobe that was nearly opaque from the dissolved snow, a single Skittles pin.

She said it was a box of the things they didn’t think would sell, and offered to let us take anything we’d like. She smiled when she said it, and the smile didn’t match her eyes. Even though it’d been what we were hoping for, I was suddenly uneasy. It didn’t feel like we could say no. I wanted, desperately, to say no. I think I hoped Niamh would do it for me.

Niamh took a book–at random, I think–and I picked up a tarnished chocolate pot. I had half a mind that I could give it to my mum as a birthday gift, with a bit of polish. Karen nodded like I’d made a good choice and gave me one more of those little half-smiles. It reminded me of a crocodile, somehow.

“Enjoy,” she said, and brought the crate back to the lorry to be packed away.

Niamh and I went home after that. There wasn’t much more for us to do, really. We laughed about it, about how we thought we’d been in trouble. Niamh said I must have charmed her with my wicked good looks–but Niamh was always the charmer, and she didn’t seem to realise I didn’t have her way with people.

She showed me her book. It looked like it’d been a library book at some point, and the dust cover was a bit torn. It had one of those generic, oil-painted landscapes as the cover art, of a circle of grey-green mountains with a blue-grey sky behind. It was called A Very Windy Day, and I didn’t know what possessed Niamh to choose that over everything else in the crate. When I asked her, she shrugged and said it reminded her of something.

In the end, I was rather proud of my chocolate pot, and I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to shine it up with some of my mum’s old Wright’s jewellery cleaner. Niamh settled down with her book–I don’t know if she was actually that interested in it, but after my teasing she made a point of reading it in front of me. She even read a bit out loud–something about big spaces and the ever-expanding entropy of the universe. It was way more dry than I expected, and it made me feel sort of funny and small, so I told her to read to herself.

The chocolate pot shined up nicely, though it took a good deal of time. By the time I looked around to ask Niamh something, she had left with her book–probably to get away from the smell of the cleaner. I was a little miffed that she hadn’t said anything to me; but then again, I had been rather focused.

I cleaned the inside of the pot, and noticed that it was in good shape but had some strange scratches on the inside, like someone had gone in with a wire scrubber at some point in the past. The scratches weren’t deep enough that I was concerned it would be unsafe to drink from, and I resolved to make some tea in it, just to try it out.

I steeped a few bags of breakfast tea directly in the pot itself–after all, if the thing was to be used for brewing chocolate, it shouldn’t have any sort of flavour itself, and there was no point in putting hot water from the kettle into the pot and then pouring it over bags from there. But when I poured the tea into my cup, it was almost black, and thick as mud. It had a strong, earthy aroma that wasn’t unpleasant– a bit like a very strong, very unsweetened cocoa.

This was rather off-putting, but I figured to myself that perhaps I hadn’t cleaned the inside of the pot as much as I’d thought, and the hot water had now cleared it out. The vaguely-chocolate-like scent could be from years of accumulated grime, for all I knew. I poured out the rest, washed out the remainder, and tried again.

The second steeping, the stuff was a little thinner, and the aroma thick but sweeter. Perhaps, I thought, the boiling water was doing its job to scrape out the inside of the pot. I poured it out again and resteeped it a third time. This time, the liquid was a warm, golden brown, like a well-sweetened and milky cocoa mixed with cinnamon or turmeric. It smelled mouthwatering.

I realised, belatedly, that I hadn’t added the teabags at all, and couldn’t help but wonder if that had been the reason for the odd black sludge the first time. Whatever the reason, the fact was now that this chocolate pot was a more exciting find than I could have ever hoped for in my attempted grown-up adventure-seeking. I allowed myself a bit of childish delight, that I had something truly special.

Of course, I wasn’t a fool– I wasn’t about to start serving this mysteriously appearing chocolate to my family without some more research. I did some internet research and found very little in the way of magical chocolate pots or cursed items. There was absolutely no record of regular chocolate pots creating chocolate from hot water, although there was plenty about cast iron and other sorts of well-seasoned kitchenware, and some tales of Chinese clay teapots being used for so long that one only had to pour in hot water to get tea.

This seemed unlikely for my silver pot, but I clung to the idea that there was at least some reasonable explanation. I would have even taken a reasonable supernatural explanation–anything that meant I wasn’t simply going mad. And, just in case I was somehow hallucinating the sight and smell of the chocolate, I figured a few other senses were necessary.

For some reason, it was very important to me that I was alone. The childish feeling was stronger; that I had something special, something precious, like a stuffed animal worn to an inch of its life. I wanted to test the chocolate pot in privacy, in a little tent of my own making, someplace dim and close and warm. I imagined sharing chocolate with Niamh like we had as children in a fort made of cushions and blankets, our small hands wrapped around second-best china, in a small, dark world of our own. Safe. Intimate.

I locked myself in the bathroom and climbed in the tub, pulling the curtain around me in as much of an approximation of a fort as I'd allow myself. I poured myself a new cup of chocolate and dipped my finger into the liquid. It was pleasantly warm, not boiling, and thick and silky smooth. I rubbed it between my fingers, marvelling at it, and then without thinking I licked it from my fingers.

It was delicious, just as rich and sweet and full as it smelled. Emboldened, I took a sip directly from the cup. Flavour exploded over my tongue, rich and complex and very clearly chocolate. I finished the cup within minutes and poured another. I was starting to rethink my idea to gift the chocolate pot to my mother, when I could just as easily share its contents with her but keep the pot to myself.

I refilled the pot only once with more water–which I got straight from the bath tap– and looking back, that should have been an alarming sign. At the time, I was simply amazed at how the flavours seemed to change with every cup, perfectly setting off the previous so that each was distinct. It was impossible to tire of, and it seemed to spread through my stomach and then my whole torso and limbs like a good scotch.

I was feeling pleasantly warm and buzzing when Niamh returned. Again, I didn’t hear her come in through the door, but she was suddenly there, in front of me, asking what I was doing. I hesitated, wondering if she would want a cup. Dare I share my magic? Of course, I decided, with a warm, happy surge of devotion. How wonderful, to share in the chocolate pot! How lovely, to be embraced together in such a remarkable creation! It occurred to me that everyone was deserving of such a gift. Perhaps I could sell it. Even better, I could give it away. I could open my home to any and all and share this incredible, magical drink that tasted like the very essence of comfort!

But first, I wanted to share it with Niamh. I wanted to capture a bit of that childhood we'd been so fierce in pushing away. I invited her into the tub with me, my sanctum, my fortress.

It was then that I noticed how distant Niamh's eyes were–as if she were in the room with me, but not. I felt as if she were looking at me from the other end of a very long tunnel, like a mineshaft. She stood in a square of light, while I crouched safe and warm and hidden in the dark. It pressed around me. It was deep, fathomless, but the pressure was comforting. It was the darkness of the womb, of a mother's arms who would never grow too frail, would never turn away. There was no need to fear growing old, there. It was a place where we could huddle in the dark and drink chocolate and always be children.

By this point, it felt as if the chocolate was in my very blood. Its thickness coated the inside of my oesophagus, my mouth. In a slurring, muffled voice, I offered my cousin a cup of the magical liquor. She refused, her eyes still empty.

I felt a surge of despair that she should be so far from me, when all I longed for was closeness. I took Niamh's hand, and when she tried to pull away with a cry of anger, I simply wrapped my arms around her instead.

For a moment, it felt as if I were holding a thousand stars in my embrace–or a million dandelion seeds, about to be blown away by a breath of wind. Niamh wiggled in my embrace and then, all of a sudden, slumped against me. As I hadn’t anticipated this, I could only lower her as slowly as I possibly could to the ground, where she lay curled and sobbing. Her face was a mask of fear and anguish. She draped over the tub, spilling the pot over. Dark liquid poured from it, thick and endless, clogging in the drain and slowly rising.

I righted the pot and handed her a cup of chocolate. This batch was dark as a moonless night and it smelled bitter and woody, but it was still obviously chocolate. When Niamh trembled so much that she would spill it, I helped tip it into her mouth.

At once she became still and quiet. Her eyes were wide and very dark, and she stared at me as if she had seen unknowable horrors.

I drank the rest of the cup, as she seemed uninclined to finish it, and felt the bitterness prick through me like deadly nightshade. My head swam. For a moment, I was drowning. My mouth was filled with thick nectar, and it ran down my front in muddy rivers. My eyesight blurred.

For some reason, my only thought was that I had something in my throat, and that the solution was clearly to wash it out with more chocolate. I poured another cup with shaking hands and slipping gaze, and when I spilled it I simply raised the chocolate pot and poured the sweet liquid directly into my mouth.

There was no end to the flowing chocolate, and for a moment I had a vision of the chocolate continuing to pour, and pour, until it flooded the room and down the street. I imagined the faces of the village as they saw the approaching wave, surprised and then delighted. I pictured them licking their hands like I had, or scooping up teacups full of the stuff to fill their own, hollow bodies. Like a children's story, a fairytale. All was innocent and sweet again, simple. I could save the world with my chocolate pot. All I had to do was keep pouring.

I could imagine how it would sit in us like ballast, thick and choking and so full that no one would ever have to feel loneliness again. To be embraced, inside and out, in thick, sweet nourishment. It was horrible. I had never imagined anything better, or worse. If I’d had any air left in my lungs, if the chocolate wasn’t already pouring from my mouth in an endless fountain, I would have screamed and not stopped. I sobbed, for the fear that I might never reach the beautiful image in my head, the promise of an endless, close embrace.

I felt arms around me, and then Niamh was trying to force the stuff from my stomach, my lungs. I coughed and choked and only managed to let more of the chocolate fill in the last bits of air I had. I was drowning in it. No, that's not right–it was swallowing me. I lay back in the tub that was slowly filling with chocolate and knew it would be my tomb.

I saw, rather than felt, Niamh’s hands pound against my chest. The tub could be our tomb, if only Niamh would join me. I tried to grasp her hand, to pull her into the warmth with me, but the chocolate coating my hands was too slick and she pulled away.

I wailed for her. My consciousness slipped. I was sinking into a deep, black pit of primordial warmth, and I knew I would never escape.

Except…well, I did, didn’t I? I’m still not completely sure how. I think Niamh did it, somehow.

I woke in my bed, with a horrible pressure headache, and Niamh at my side. I could have sworn, in the moments before I woke, that I heard her reading aloud to me–though I can’t recall the story, I do have a vague memory of her setting aside that little hardcover book she’d taken from the crate when I woke.

She explained that I had fallen asleep in the bath, of all places, and nearly drowned. I asked about the chocolate pot, and she seemed confused for a moment. I reminded her about the house, and the crate, and her eyes lit up. She brought to me a small, silver teapot and claimed that this was the thing I had chosen.

I was so tired that I hadn’t the energy to argue with her, and simply decided to ask about it more when I woke again. By the time I did, I could hardly recall what the original chocolate pot had looked like, and I couldn’t truly confirm whether or not the teapot she showed me was the one I had taken from the crate.

Niamh left at the end of that summer, and besides a few emails, we’ve mostly lost touch. It’s too bad, because we were very close once and I have a strange feeling that something that happened that summer contributed to her distance. She moved to Switzerland, I think, to be a ski instructor.

I gifted the silver teapot to my mum after all. She adores it, and it makes very good tea. But sometimes, whenever I’m drinking something, I get a thick, sweet taste on the back of my tongue like the finest of chocolate.

Statement ends.

ARCHIVIST (CONT.)

If I’d read this a year ago, I’d have dismissed it out of hand. It's exactly the kind of urban legend I'd expect would flood the shelves. But perhaps The Magnus Institute is a far less interesting or gratifying audience for such creators of tall tales than the usual, hungry internet forums.

(sigh) Nevertheless, there are a few details of note.

[Paper flips]

ARCHIVIST (CONT.)

(clears throat) Hm, excuse me, it seems that–Cora Garrett has not suffered any long term effects from her experience.

(to self) Note to self, re-record the intro of the statement using the correct name and pronouns.

(aloud) From the preliminary follow-up, it seems like Cora spent a few days in the hospital to get rid of what appeared to be a sudden case of pneumonia. No police report was ever filed, and we've had difficulty tracking down any relations to the original owners of 15 Elvendon Lane, assuming that number 15 was, indeed, the correct house. It was certainly the only house on auction around the correct time. It seems to have been renovated by the new owners, and there are no pictures online of the original house to try and match to Cora's description.

Karen Withers, or Smithers, or whatever her name might be-- the auction agent-- does not seem to exist–either in the Reading area or beyond. I am exceedingly curious to know who and what she is, or if she even exists. For all we know, she could be an invention of Cora and her cousin to explain away an adolescent break-in, or a hallucination like that of a (heavy sigh, dry) overflowing chocolate pot.

The most interesting piece of this statement, to me, is of course the reference to A Very Windy Day. The details are vague, but it could very well be a Leitner, and if that's the case I–

[Door opens]

ARCHIVIST (CONT.)

Ah. Martin.

[robroshaker9000]

As we know, Easter is coming! Which means egg hunt, chocolate eggs, funny bunnies in adorable costumes, it's just wajejsje <3

The thing I love the most about Easter are lambs! They are drawn everywhere, they are so peaceful, so pure

They are so soft, so innocent, especially if caught in a field of flowers

They barely know how to walk, and the way they jump to move to their mom is so cute

They only let put that sweet "mmeehhh" and they are just so tiny

Fun fact, did you know that baby lambs, if you don't give them attention, they put you with their paws like cats? I don see no difference 🙄

They are so cute <3

Yet people eat them.

Especially in Italy, yet people when they look at baby lambs they see food. Just food, something to consume and tk digest as if it wasn't a baby, scared for his life that gets k¡!!ed even before seeing their mom.

They get taken away when they're born and only after some months they get k¡!!ed pa¡nfully, for what? For some ribs. Tiny ribs that are so tiny that there's barely any meat, because of how small they are, yet people seem to love it so much.

When they see lambs, they see those ribs.

And when you tell them that they're babies they say "yeah but we are made to eat meat!" or "we would have to not eat cows of chicken anymore too🙄" or just joke about it that they get seconds too, because for them it's just sooo good to eat babies that can barely walk.

I am not trying to "get poeple to be vegan" like these people say, but I am trying to get people to understand that yes, it's still not...nice to eat meat, let's put it this way, but the difference between k¡!!ing adult animals and babies is that adults at least got to live life, they know what life is, when lambs of calves of any other baby animal, like the same baby chicks that are in chicken nuggets, never got to experience life, they still have the instincit to search for their mom, but people separate them and k¡!! them without mercy each year.

And for what? Food.

Back to lambs, each year countless of lambs are k¡!!d brutally only to get served on a plate. They are the same as babies, they need their mom, they can't even speak or walk, they have no fault at all.

People say it's tradition, but it's just a poor excuse to eat innocent creatures because they "taste good with bbq sauce".

Unfortunately, I can't go into poeple's heads that easily, so I will at least try to save some innocent lives, since Easter is coming soon and I am afraid for those babies, and if I am scared, guess how terrified they are, away from their mom, not knowing what's gonna happen to them.

I know I can't save them all, and I know that there will always be idiots under the comment section that say "MmMmH you don't know what you're losing", but at least I can try to save some innocents who did nothing wrong.

Innocents who should play in the grass, who should hop happily around their mom, innocents who should grow up and know what life feels like, instead of getting sl@ugthered each year, with only a "it's delicious" in return.

It's delicious, yet they are the same as children.

Would you say that, talking about a child?

Sorry if I'm harsh, but if no one stands up for those who are misunderstood because they can't speak words, someone has. I won't let more innocent lives get k¡lled this year.

Remember, this is what you're eating.

Now look at them, and find the courage to tell me that it's right to k¡ll them.

And if even with this message, I couldn't change your mind,

Enjoy your meal, and happy Easter.