#i just wanna take a fat drive to my girlies house

[casreturns]

hey yall…

[robert-de-niro-only-fans]

Dewey Decimal System

Max Cady x Reader in the library, no plot, just smut

Dedicating this little work to @droogiesanddiscourse who just today found out she's graduating with honors!!! I'm so proud of you bb!!!!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️

TW: smut, public sex, explicit/raunchy dialogue, Max Cady in general?

Word Count: 2.2k

“My baby’s so smart, knowing how to find any book in the library,” your boyfriend, Max, coos quietly to you as you saunter through the aisles and aisles of books, softly leading him with his hand in yours. “You know I didn’t learn to read until my stay in the big house, but I never did learn numbers all that well. I’m glad my little princess can navigate this, uh, what do you call it? Dew something?’

“The Dewey Decimal System!” you whisper in a giggle.

“The Dewey Decimal System...” he tried the words out on his tongue, “Well, I’m glad you can lead me in the right direction, angel.”

“Oop, right here!!” you point up at a tall shelf. Max’s body crashes into yours, nearly landing you both on the floor, as you stopped so suddenly.

“Goodness gracious, girlie, you must be excited to do some reading, huh?” his voice rumbles lowly next to your ear. His muscular arms wrap tightly around your midsection, pressing your backside against him. You can feel his arousal stirring already; he really has no qualms about doing nasty things to you, any time, anywhere. “Oh, baby, I’m already thinking about you reading to me... Hearing that sweet little voice say such naughty things, those pretty little lips forming unholy syllables...” And in true Max Cady fashion, his fingertips are already teasing at the edge of your skirt, threatening for his rough palms to attack your delicate thighs.

You feel a single finger creep up to your hip, teasing at the waistband of your panties, “I hope you aren’t particularly fond of these, ‘cuz they’re coming off now, honey.” And with that, his other hand quickly follows the first one up your skirt and before you could even protest, the man is on his knees and the lacy underwear around your ankles. He helps you out of them as is you were a toddler, getting them over your shoes.

He quickly snatches a book from the bottom shelf and flips it open to a random page before stuffing your panties in it and shoving it back on the shelf. “Max!!!” you whisper-yell.

“What?” he plays dumb, standing back up to press himself into your backside again. “You don’t want someone findin’ your panties? Knowin’ what we did in here? Mmm, well I wanna spread the word about you, baby... Besides, they can use it as a bookmark.” His hands grip your hipbones and he gives you a sloppy kiss on your neck, making a loud slurping noise.

“Max! Shhh!!”

“You’re so cute, all worried about getting caught. You think we’ll get in trouble if someone sees us, or god forbid if someone hears us in this quiet place?”

“Maaaaxxx...” you whine.

“Mm, yeah? You like that idea? Someone hearing the way I turn you into a whore for me? You don’t sound as innocent as you look once I get you goin’.” His hand slides around to your sex, teasing you roughly through the smooth fabric of your skirt, and when you let out a little whimper, it only proves his point.

"Alright, princess, why don't you grab us that book we're looking for?" Following his question, Max's strong arms easily hoist you off the ground, lifting you up, up, up to reach that top shelf and pull down one of Max's favorite books: 𝘛𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘤 𝘰𝘧 𝘊𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳. Oh, and don't think that he missed the opportunity to peak under that skirt...

• • •

As you and Max relax in two adjacent armchairs that he scooted close together, you recite prose from your boyfriend's favorite author. Just a few pages in, you're already at one of his favorite parts. You can read the sheer excitement on Max's face when he says, "Alright, darlin', you better speak up for this next part, you know how much I like the dirty bits."

You look around, making sure no one is nearby, and you start, "'At night when I look at Boris' goatee lying on the pillow I get hysterical.'"

"Louder," Max tilts his head forward, looking at you from under his brow bone.

You raise your voice only slightly, "'O Tania, where now is that warm cunt of yours, those fat, heavy garters, those soft, bulging thighs?'"

"I can't hear you..." he chimes devilishly.

"'There is a bone in my prick six inches long...'"

"And what's he gonna do with it?" Like he doesn't already know.

"'I will ream out every wrinkle in your cunt, Tania, big with seed,'" you look around again, checking for any poor passersby, "'I will send you home to your Sylvester with an ache in your belly and your womb turned inside out.'"

Max let's out a low whistle, "That Henry Miller suuuure knew what he was talking about, huh?" He leans forwards and rather directly slides his hand under your skirt, thumb quickly parting your lips to find that special little bundle of nerves.

You gasp loudly, and Max continues, "Yeah? You want me to turn your womb inside out like he did to Tania? Make that little cunt smooth with my big cock?" His voice is just loud enough that it still sounds intimate but anyone walking by could easily hear.

In an attempt to quiet your moans, you press on reading, "’Your Sylvester! Yes, he knows how to build a fire-‘"

"’But I know how to inflame a cunt!’" Max finishes your sentence for you before pulling you up out of your chair and into his lap, where his fingers quickly find their place between your thighs as if it is the most natural thing in the world to him. "Keep reading, princess," he whispers softly in your ear.

You become aware of his hard length pressing into your thigh, as you read the line, "’I shoot hot bolts into you, Tania, I make your ovaries incandescent.’”

Max lets out a deep moan that rumbles your eardrums and presses some kisses to your cheek and jawline.

“‘Your Sylvester is a little jealous now? He feels something, does he? He feels the remnants of my big prick. I have set the shores a little wider. I have ironed out the wrinkles,’” Max starts to rut against you in his lap. His hands take a firm grip on your hips and slide you back and forth against the erection trapped in his pants. You keep going, “‘After me you can take on stallions, bulls, rams, drakes, St. Bernards. You can stuff toads, bats, lizards up your rectum. You can shit arpeggios if you like, or string a zither across your navel.’”

His moans become quite noisy and his hands search for your flesh; one hand slipping under the edge of your shirt to feel the soft skin of your tummy, the other getting an anchor hold on your hair and giving it a rough tug. You inhale sharply wincing at the pain. You can tell Max is getting needy for you; it would never cease to fascinate you how some little girl (anyone is small next to his towering muscular frame) could have so much control over him.

“‘I am fucking you, Tania, so that you'll stay fucked. And if you are afraid of being fucked publicly I will fuck you privately-‘“

“Damn, that sounds like a good idea,” Max grunts out and unzips his pants, “I sure hope you aren’t afraid of being fucked publicly.”

His next few actions only take a few seconds, and before you can even realize it, you’ve been hoisted up and swiftly dropped down onto your boyfriend’s thick cock. You somehow let out a gasp and a squeal at the same time, and Max claps his hand over your mouth. The only other sound is the thud of the book hitting the floor and closing. Where Max wanted you to speak up before, now it’s time for the quiet game...

“How’s that feel? Daddy’s big cock stretching out those tight walls, huh?” Clearly, it’s a rhetorical question since his hand stays clasped over your mouth. It’s Max’s turn to tease you with his words. “You always take me so well, my little princess. You think if anyone walked by they would know that you’re filled to the brim with my prick? You’ve been trained well, baby girl, you can take me and no one knows I’m inside you, but I know how turned on you are, I felt how wet you were when I was touching you. You wanted this, and I bet everyone knows how much you wanted it, I bet that librarian in the next room knows you have your pussy stuffed right now.”

In all honestly, this guy Ryan had just started working at the library; he had hoped it would be more a bit more relaxing than his job at the local drive-in movie theatre. But Ryan recognized you and Max when you came in, and he really, REALLY doesn’t want another awkward interaction with your boyfriend, so he’s gonna leave you to do whatever you want in the back room of the library...

His hand still covers your mouth as you lean your head back onto his shoulder, looking at him out the corner of your eye. His other arm braces your hips, keeping you flush to him so you can feel every time his member twitches. “You feel me, princess? Feel that ‘bone in my prick’ and how bad I want you?”

You nod your head as much as his grip will allow, eyes never leaving his.

“If I can be frank, sweetheart, Daddy’s never been good at this whole cockwarming thing like you are. It always leaves me wanting more, and you know Daddy can’t resist having more of you... Whaddaya say we play horsey instead? I’ll bounce you on my lap like the dumb little baby doll you are, just like your old man did for you when you were a kid."

You let out an excited little whimper, and Max moves his hands to your hips. "Now I can't keep a hand on your mouth anymore. Think you can keep quiet for me?"

You nod your head excitedly and whisper as quietly as you can, "Yes, sir, Daddy. Can I have a kiss?"

"Aww, of course you can, angel," his lips meet yours in a wet, unrefined fashion, giving you the rough kind of kiss you need. Max also takes this moment to start bouncing you in his lap, just like horsey. With your lips pressed to his, it muffles any sounds that escape the two of you.

His thrusts are small and quick, but actually really satisfying at this angle. The girth of him presses against that special spot inside you. That combined with the thrill of possibly getting caught already has that feeling creeping up in your belly. Your nails dig into his hips looking for something to ground you as you find ecstasy in your orgasm.

But your climax isn't gonna stop Max from what he's doing. He continues to bounce you on his lap, whispering, "Mmm, finished so soon? You must like bouncing on my cock. Bouncy, bouncy..."

You bite your lip, still riding out your orgasm as he continually slams into your g-spot. When a drawn out little whine hums out of you, Max shushes you with a "Shhhh, shhh, baby. You're doing so good, such a good girl for Daddy. Just a little longer, I'm so close, princess."

With your brows furrowed and eyes closed tight, you brave yourself on the arms of the chair. You feel two calloused fingertips at your bottom lip, and you open your mouth, taking them in.

"There that'll keep you quiet for this next part," Max warns before absolutely plowing his hips up into you as fast as he can. His other hand maintains such a firm grip on your side, you think he'll probably leave bruises.

Max chokes back a deep grunt and pulls you down into his lap to spill his seed inside you. You feel his length jolting and that warm gooey liquid. You both sit there catching your breath, and Max wraps his arms around you in a loving embrace.

He gets you to look at him, placing another dirty kiss to your mouth. Then he pulls you off of him, stand up, places you back down on the chair, and gets his pants zipped up.

"Um. Max?" you whisper, a little tense.

"What is it, little darlin'?" He gets on his knees in front of you, placing his big hands on your thighs.

"Uhhh... I think there's gonna be a little mess on this chair," you get right next to his ear and oh so quietly tell him, "it's, uh, leaking."

"Aww, are you worried about leaving some of my cum on the chair?" he places a hand on your chin, "That was the point, baby. The librarian can handle it." Max gives you a wink before taking you by the hand and leading you out of the library.

Poor Ryan.... Scarred again by Max and his girl, and now he has to clean up after them.

[lifeofbouyd]

12 Years Anniversary

Fred: Yow, da gyal deh nice eno bwoy. Mi ago circle har enz an try get di digits.

He walked away, heading straight towards her. Walking as if he was going to collect a trophy. She was nice, really nice, that I must admit. She’s one of the nicest girls I had seen in a long time. Her hair was well done, her nails freshly painted or at least so they seemed. Her face, done to perfection and her dress, looked expensive. It swung a little above her ankles and rested perfectly on her body. Outlining her killer shape. She had a gold ring on her “wedding” finger and stainless steel on her pinky. I watched them greet each other and what actually caught my eyes was, how much of a lady she was. She seemed well groomed and too good for my liking. A “goody two shoes” was my first thought. Girls like these are normally either married, rich, or have a rich man taking care of them. I smelled trouble, yet there was so much desire. I felt like she was worth having. Not just for a night, but someone I’d be with for a while. They exchanged numbers as I pulled that fairytale thought from my mind. I hexed that shit. I was already in a sinking ship, no land in sight. I’d rather drown on my sinking ship that jumps across on her boat.

Fred: Yuh see how di genna work youth. Ago fuck that quick eno. Yuh zimi.

I humored him, knowing he normally never pulls through with these kinds of chicks. I’ve seen it one too many times to think differently. Fred was good when it comes to picking up girls, but he’s always had me as his role model. I was lucky when it came to women. Always getting the “better-looking ones”. Most of which turned out to be faces without priorities. I’ve had to learn the hard way that not all glitters is gold. Sometimes they’re not even gold filled. Days passed and I had forgotten about her. He didn’t mention her and I never remember to ask. I guess when you have your hands full it’s hard to keep up with likes. I spotted her one day staring at, and from the looks of it, she had been staring for a while. Taking in my presence as if she wanted me to say hi. I hadn’t heard him mention her I a while but I still didn’t want to take his link like that. I learned later that day that she had no interest in men. She considered them a total waste of her time and feels she’s better off with girls. Now I shared her view. I love girls just as much as she does. I’ve always had a Fetish for lesbian. Clean girly lesbians that is. I’d never fuck a butch even if she paid me to. I imagined all the things she’d do to me, and all the things I’d do to them. Mostly what I’d do to her. I still didn’t say hi for a while. I wanted to build the suspense between us and make the first conversation memorable. I planned it down to the very last second, every possible outcome, and I always walked away with her number. Again, I caught her watching me. Paying keen attention to me from head to toe. I got my convo together, but by the time I turned around again, she was gone. I argued with myself for a while until I accepted the fact that I was moving too slow. Again I forgot about her. Living my best life. Caught up chasing other chicks I was brave enough to start a conversation with.

Someone pats me in the shoulder.

Her: Hi, I’m Rachel. Wasn’t sure when you were gonna say hi, or if you ever would so I decided to be the first to say hi.

I took a few seconds to inhale her cologne and pay keen attention to her Weldon’s face, her pussy cheeks spreading over her pants crotch crease. Her breast sticking me in the face, her slippers which seemed she got it from House of Style or some other expensive women clothing outlet.

Her: 🙃 You can say hi you know. I won’t bite, at least not yet. I wanna get to know you first.

I froze. My palms got sweaty and heart heated like a fifty caliber gun. Well, she did say she wouldn’t bite me. At least not yet. Obviously, she was interested in getting to know me. But why me though? Of all the guys she could have, if all the guys that had been chasing her, why get to know me? I entertained her conversation and played it cool. Acting like I didn’t want her. Our conversations started off slow with basic texts and friendly flirting. Somehow she killed my urge by saying she Christian. I don’t mind dating Christians, but what I don’t like is someone consistently reminding me. She tried to get me to see eye to eye with her beliefs, but I just wasn’t ready to take that journey. I only plan on getting married and baptized once and I don’t intend to do it for the wrong reasons. We stopped talking for a while because I had decided not to chase her. It was more like respecting her religion and not trying to get between her legs. We went from 2:00 am calls to every other day texting. It became somewhat of a long distance relationship or friendship or whatever it was. I had accepted the fact that I wasn’t gonna have her, at least not as easy as I thought. In my mind, she would give me her number and I’d take her home and make her scream my name. But reality..... mmm. Reality is a bitch.

Lucky for me, I saw her one evening when I was buying dinner at a famous Chinese food place. I offered to pay for her food however, she ended up paying for mine. Trying to show she’s independent I guess. We sat and chat for a while which made me realize we had a lot in common. She braced her body against mine for the first time when she was leaving. She whispered in my ear, “This could be all yours if you’re a good boy.” She sent chills down my spine and made my dick rock hard. She ran her hand across the front of my pants and smiled. I didn’t know if it was a good or a bad smile but I’m sure I could drill a wall with my shaft. I walked her to her stand where she laid a wet “chups” on my forehead. You know that trickling feeling you get when electricity runs through your body? That’s the effect she had on me. We sext all night, building curiosity between us two. She told me how she wanted to make me cum all over her and sanctify her with my rod. Now, I don’t like to count my eggs before they hatch, but I considered it a done deal. A few days passed and the fetish became a relationship. One I’ll always remember. The funny thing about it is, I had no plans whatsoever to be in any form of ships. But I was too far out in the sea by the time I realized what I had gotten into. To be honest, I really didn’t mind. Everything seemed ok. She said there was no husband, no boyfriend, no girlfriend or anyone of that nature, and she never gave me a reason to doubt her. Before I knew it I was in love. Head over heels kind of love. Shit. I wanted to run but I couldn’t. She had me hooked on her like a coke headed drunky. We moved from occasional hugging and texting to kissing and phone sex. I knew girls were horny but damn, she had no stop in her. It would seem she hadn’t been eating for a while and was just trying to take all she could get. I was down for that.

I invited her over one weekend with intentions of fixing her business. I cleaned the place from floor to ceiling and made it smell like a five-star resort. I even did a fancy spread on the bed to sell the look. White fluffy carpet on the floor and breathtaking scented candles lit on the wall. I loaded an Amazon video for her to watch while I took a shower. I came out in nothing but my towel on, trying to look super sexy for her. I popped us a bottle of Grey Goose and made my deluxe mix with a bottle of Rosè. A sweet, lingering, sparkling mix. Halfway between the first glass, she was already half naked, making herself at home. She turned the movie off and started playing sex songs. I watched her stretch and touched her toes before whining out her bra and underwear. Squeezing her nipples and biting her lips. Now I’ve seen a lot of fat pussy in my life, but she had something different. “Too bad you don’t eat”, she said with a smirk on her face. But even I did, I’m sure I’d suffocate somewhere there 😂. She pulled the towel off and reached for my dick. She gently stroked it as she ran her tongue up and down my leg. I couldn’t help but hold her head each time she moved. The sensation was unbearable. She then sat on top and slid her pussy back and forth the length of my cock, causing her to get super wet. Less than a minute or two she had already cum. “No condom, no love”, she said. Sliding her self back and forth on my dick. I slid my hand in the pillowcase and pulled out three packs of condoms. Scented, glow in the dark and ribbed. I slipped a ribbed on and made her ride herself to another orgasm before flipping her over on her back. I pulled her to the edge of the bed and beat her clit with my shaft. That shit made her squirt. Her pussy was gushing cum and I hadn’t even started beating it up yet. I slid my way inside her and stroked her slow and deep. Holding her neck with one hand while I held her leg with the other. Her eyes rolled back, she screamed my name, she vibrated, and vibrated, and vibrated again. All this cumin made her weak. I had her lap her legs around my waist and her hands around my neck. Standing upright, I held her waist and pulled her back and forth the length of my shaft, causing her to squirt like a broken wipe. She released her hand from around my neck and almost hit the floor. All that fun had made her weak. I braced her against the wall, high enough to give her the full length of my dick. I kissed and fucked and sucked her nipples until she begged me to cum. I spread her legs wide and struck her like lightning until I exploded. Again, she flooded me. Squirting so much the floor was soaked. She was so tired she fell asleep the moment I put her back on the bed. She was knocked the fuck out.

I had to drive her home that night. She was too tired to even bathe herself. We fucked several times after that and had many picnic dates which made me want her even more. Who does a picnic and have sex in the bushes? Before I knew what hit me we were inseparable. Living the life. #Relationshipgoals #Happylife #Bae. I had given in, putting my heart on the line. Expecting hers in return. I had it, I’m sure I did. God knows I had it. But like everything else in my life, that got fucked too. I remember being home one weekend, watching a movie and texting some chicks when my phone rang. A random 876 number. I don’t normally answer numbers I don’t know, but this person was calling a number very few people have. It must be pretty important. What if it’s work? What if it’s an x I haven’t seen in a while and would love to bang again. I missed the first call. I figured if it was important they’d call again. My other Jamaican number started ringing. To my surprise, it was the same number. Obviously, this person wanted something so I answered. I stayed mute and so did the caller. The call ran for like two minutes before the caller said hello.

Caller: Bouyd.... Hello, is this Bouyd?

Me: Who dis?

Caller: You don’t know me but I know you. I’m calling to warn you before you get too deep and something happens to you.

Me: What? Warn me? From who? Who’s this?

Caller: I’m Craig, Rachel’s man.

Me: Which Rachel?

Caller: The someone you tucked last week and dropped off after eleven.

Me: 😳🙄🤭😏🤤. I chuckled to myself for a few before responding. Oh, that Rachel, I know her pretty well. I see you know a lot.

Caller: Yes. I watched you follow her in and squeezed her ass at the door before leaving. I could have knocked you out but I chose not to.

Me: 😂🤣😳🤔 now this is serious. How could he possibly know this? Was he actually there? I bet this is a prank call. Breda, wa yuh want? Mi nuh run certain joke eno bad man. Talk fast or walk fast eno.

Caller: A loud mouth won’t help you son.

I hissed my teeth and ended the call. Who does he think he is? Calling me so late at night to talk about rubbish. At the same time, I was worried. He spoke facts. He knew exactly what I did. I did see a white car parked across the street that night that wasn’t normally there. He messaged me on WhatsApp to answer my phone. Like wtf? How did he even get my WhatsApp number? He called again and I answered. He explained who he was and how he fits in the big picture. He made me tea how long he’s been paying attention to my movements. He knew when we fucked, where we fucked, where we went on dates and even some stuff I’ve only told her. What stood out to me most was when he said, “I could have hurt you so many times but I chose not to because I figured she played you well. He sent me pictures to prove his speech and gave me very detailed information that he had acquired about over a few weeks. I didn’t know what to do. “Now that you know, it’s up to you to decide what you do from here.” He said good night and hung up.

Leaving me in suspense. A million questions ran through my messages be. How could she do this to me? How did a twelve years relationship fit in our four months of dating? Is that even possible? She never slipped up, she never gave me a reason to doubt her. She made me believe that I could have someone for me, myself and I. She made me open up and let her in. Shit 😔. Did I shit in a fucking church or something? Don’t I deserve to be happy without hiccups too. Sigh 😔. Where did I go wrong? Did I fall for her too quickly, did I put my basket where I can’t reach it, is this karma, did I hurt someone who God wants me to repent for? What do I say to her? Should I stay with her, is it safe. I thought with both my heads as I wanted to ensure I made the right decision. I loved her and I love fucking her, but is it worth my life? Would she die for me? What would she do if she was in my shoes? Do I even mention this to her? Sigh 😔. I stayed all night wondering if he had followed me home and was outside waiting for me to act us to ambush me 🤔. She called me several times but I didn’t answer. Could it be a test? What if he was using her phone to call me to see if I would answer? What if she was calling me to say it was a prank? I grew paranoid. He told me to be patient until I see her and I will see that everything he told me was true. So said so done. The new hair do courtesy of, the brand new phone and the marks on her neck. I wanted it to be a joke, I wanted her not to show up the way he said she would. I swallowed my heart that day. Tears ran down my cheeks and I couldn’t stop crying. Why was I crying though? It’s not like it’s first I’ve fucked a nigga’s chick. What was so special about her that I didn’t want to share? Then it hit me, it’s simply because I had fallen in love with an illusion she created. She had created me a photoshop life in 3D. I told her what happened and I told her how I felt. Shit, I even had the guts to say it was over.

She tried for weeks to explain that they were no longer together but I was beyond her white lies. She sent sexy pictures to make me miss fucking her, which I actually did. But I just couldn’t see past what happened. I guess I felt like I was cheated out the chance to choose to date her while she had someone. I would have felt a lot better if she had told me this from the start. I wouldn’t have had my expectations so high. She taught me a lesson that will part me through life. A woman knows what she wants and she knows just how to get it. Women don’t get caught cheating unless they want to get caught, and a woman will create the life she thinks you want to live.i could have lost my life, #Dead. To top it off she said I was ungrateful. She had put her life in jeopardy to be with me and I repaid her by breaking up with her and taking his side. But if she did that to him, what would she do to me? He had the house, the money, the car and I had nothing but a good old dick. I guess that’s what she wasn’t at home.

Life isn’t always about what you can offer. Everybody want vanity, but if they ain’t getting the amount of attention, sex or fun that they’re looking for; “bun” will be your best friend.

[i-want-to-be-manhandled]

more trans ramblings (tramblings?) - to T or not to T, that is the question

so i’m writing this so i have some thoughts to show my therapist next week instead of scouring my brain for them but im posting it on the internet instead of keeping it in a word document or some shit cause i need some of y’all to relate and i’m already way too personal on here anyways. and also at this point this is my personal blog too, i’ve given up entirely on keeping it just for video games. tl;dr: please tell me i am not the only one with stupid amounts of doubt going against the stupid amounts of evidence that i am very transgender. 

tw: long post, doubts, testosterone/hrt effects discussed in detail, (don’t read this if you know me irl and haven’t personally talked with me about being trans? otherwise go ahead), nsfw cause we’re talking about genitals but mostly towards the end of the second to last paragraph (i’ll strike the nsfw stuff), mention of rape but no discussion of it happening, lemme know if i missed anything

so as my last transpost said im very excited for my hysto that im nowhere near getting but im flip-flopping as to whether or not i want to go on t. i know i can get it fairly quickly if i decide i do want it. there’s a trans health clinic in walking distance from where i am moving in 23 days, i have 3 therapists who will write me a letter of recommendation for testosterone, and my mother even found me the trans health clinic so she’ll try to find me somewhere else to go if they don’t take me in for some reason. (having a supportive mom is great i don’t miss her crying about how hard it is to have a trans kid in january and february.) and i’ve looked thoroughly at the effects of testosterone and have sorted them into pros, neutrals, and cons. (posting it here again mostly bc i need to do it but i also need some of yall to relate and/or validate me and/or answer my weird questions)

pros:

voice drop. im so tired of having a squeaky voice which is exacerbated by me always being anxious, and my sister has a deeper voice than me and always tries to sing ridiculously low parts to stretch it for some reason which makes me feel insecure. and apparently my voice is “always squeaky” according to my dad and like? shit man i pass until i talk that’s just the tea. 

i dont even care if i have a super deep voice, i actually think i’d rather be a solid tenor because that’s the vocal range of most of my favorite songs, but i want to sound like a man when i talk and not an 8 year old girl

side note apparently a lot of trans guys have male “internal voices” but mine just sounds like how i sound when i talk because i’m a very literal person and that’s why it took me forever to figure out i was trans and not having a male internal voice makes me dysphoric sometimes and even doubt that i’m trans at all... that’s dumb af i know it’s just my literal personality type not me actually being a girl

more muscle. i dont work out as it is right now but if i knew i’d see results the way i want them then i probably would. also im getting ripped during the school year anyways bc i walk everywhere with a 15-20 pound backpack strapped to me so i’m at least gonna look semi muscular which is what i want anyways. please give me strength quite literally i can barely lift bro

bottom growth. ik it’s still not going to be ~enough~ or whatever but i’d have... something? that would be nice. 

side note would packers start to be uncomfortable with something there bc i wonder about that sometimes. not that mine is super uncomfortable now or anything (i just haven’t figured out how to make it sit right) but i wonder about that

NO PERIODS NO PERIODS NO PERIODS NO PERIODS NO PERIODS

if im one of those guys whose periods dont stop on t i am actually going to perform a hysto on myself

fat shifting from hips, thighs and butt to my stomach. i don’t care if i have stomach chub or not, but i DO care that my hips are Like That and my things are Really Girly and i have a fucking Girl Butt TM like please just let me Not Have These Problems

having a more angular face. doesn’t happen to everyone per se but because of my facial structure as it is and also what my dad looked like when he was my age, i probably will get this change. i have actively wished for this since i was 13 and didn’t even know dysphoria was a word. hopefully it makes my lips a little thinner too or at least more masculine.

veins becoming more prominent. i have this one pic of me where it looks like i have Guy Arms and i just wanna look like that all the time ya know

lookin like a dude and passing? that counts right

neutrals:

facial hair. i know a lot of trans guys want this but i’ve never wanted one. i just want a jawline to cut a bitch tbh i’m never having more than stubble except the beard imma wear to my high school reunion

body hair. this is more of a pro-neutral ig bc i want it on my arms and legs but would prefer not to have a lot on my chest and stomach. fortunately i dont think my dad has a whole lot but i’m a pretty hairy afab person as it is i just dont wanna be a werewolf lmao

hair loss at temples. i just don’t care about my hairline enough for this to really bother me. maybe i will when it happens but *shrug*

scents of sweat/bo/urine changing? idk i feel like it will be weird, maybe gross if it turns out bad but honestly i don’t really care what i smell like as long as i don’t smell like a dumpster fire? i shower it’s fine lmao

rougher skin? i dont know if i’d like having rougher skin but i also dont like being an uwu soft boi so

acne. nobody wants it but like... i already have stress-acne right now and don’t really give a shit because i hate how my face looks anyways. not that i want a fuckton of acne because nobody does but im not gonna cry myself to sleep over it ya feel? it’s an annoyance but not really a con

cons:

increase in sex drive. not to be nsfw but masturbating is a chore as it is. it hasn’t been fun since i realized i had crippling bottom dysphoria and even then i can’t get off unless i’m completely distracted from my body (either through porn or being too tired to care). also i have like a 2% chance of ever having a partner so i really dont wanna have to deal with having the sex drive of a 12 year old boy when im 19, single, depressed, and dysphoric. im not even asexual but this is the worst con

emotional changes. yall know at this point i dont have the best temper, and i dont want t to exacerbate that. now, some of my friends have said that t has made them much calmer and actually less irritable, but the rest of my friends said t makes them angry. i have poor anger management and i know it. i don’t need it made worse. it’ll fuck my life up for real

increase in appetite. listen i have gastritis, ibs and acid reflux i cannot afford to be needing to eat more than i currently do

so as yall can see i have a fair number of all 3: 8 pros, 6 neutrals, and 3 cons. and what’s more, all of the cons are things that don’t have anything to do with my appearance (which my therapist and i noticed during our session a couple weeks ago and really made me think i should go on t). so then the answer should be clear: i should go on t, right? deal with having a fucked high sex drive and be pissed off because of it but finally be able to see my reflection in the mirror. so it should be obvious. what the hell am i waiting for?

the main reason i’m hesitant is i’m afraid i’ll want to detransition. even though i KNOW it rarely happens and the women who do thought they were trans because of unaddressed traumas relating to being female or have a personality disorder. i have neither of those things: the only female-related trauma i have is being slut shamed by my mom for wearing tank tops and any shirt that wasn’t a crew neck and one guy saying he’d rape me in 9th grade because he thought rape and sex were the same thing (for his sake i hope he’s grown the fuck up!! i’m not traumatized from this i just made my teacher not let him sit next to me in class and told him to stop talking to me. sadly this is the most sexual attention i’ve ever gotten), and the only mental illnesses i have are depression and anxiety (unless we’re counting dysphoria, which i definitely have). i also sometimes feel like i discovered it too late: i didn’t say “i’m not a girl” until i was 14, refused to explore my gender until i was 17, and didn’t fully accept i was trans until i was 18. and other dumb shit: i never tried to pee standing up so im not really trans even though i didn’t know what a penis was until i was like 9, ive caught myself twice recently wishing for longer hair which made me feel feminine and gross and dysphoric (even though i know hair length =/= gender??), and im not in danger of suicide if i don’t get testosterone and top surgery RiGhT nOw. the prospect of me detransitioning isn’t likely, when you look at all the facts, but the prospect makes me anxious because everything makes me anxious. i am the poster boy for anxiety. and yes, i know i would have said that even when i accepted that i was technically the poster girl but i would have said poster boy anyways because it was “gender neutral” and didn’t rub me the wrong way like poster girl would have. same reason i insisted on being a dude instead of dudette and only described myself with words that didn’t have a female equivalent in french class even if it wasn’t true. so what the hell am i waiting for.

like i know i shouldn’t be doubting at this point because it’s so, so obvious that i’m trans. just because i didn’t try to pee standing up when i was little or ask why i didn’t have a penis doesn’t mean i’m not a guy. i logically know this. like when i was 11 and i insisted to myself i had a male brain but knew i shouldn’t say that out loud because that was weird and i wanted to be a normal girl who didn’t have a weird male brain, and when i was 7 and at my friend sarah’s house and her room was super pink and girly and i literally thought the sentence “is this what i’m supposed to be like?” and when i was 14 and cut my hair into the Typical Queer Girl Pixie Cut and my hair was just??? gone like i wanted it to be when i was 9 and ended up with a bowl cut instead, and instead of looking in the mirror and thinking i looked like an owl when i was 9 i smiled at how “androgynous” (masculine) i looked, and when i was 11 and only hung out with boys at summer camp and they treated me like one of them and the girls were really mean to me but it was the best summer i’d ever had, and when i was 15 and my friend chris joked that i was the “guy” in my lesbian relationship and i was so fucking happy, and when i was 15 and starving myself because i loved my “angular” figure and jaw,  and when i was 16 and wearing a dress to winter formal because my ex met me in one and i wanted to be cute for him but i picked the dress that looked like a suit because it looked very “queer” (masculine), and when i was 14 and literally went “hmmm im gonna bind my chest just because i wanna know what it would look like” and it made me so euphoric and i knew in that instant i wasn’t a girl but repressed it for 3+ years because dealing with it would just be too hard, and when i was 11 and knew it was going to be my last day going to school without a bra on and just being so ashamed even though i wanted breasts so i’d be a normal girl, and when i was 16 and wearing that backwards snapback all the time and my friend said it was what tops did and i was so happy that nobody would consider me a bottom or whatever stupid shit because i couldn’t imagine myself being penetrated ever in my cisgender gay life, and when i was 16-17 and scouring the lesbian section of pornhub for pov/strap-on videos bc i wanted to know what it would look like to fuck a girl with a dick without watching straight porn because i’m 100% a gay female because the word lesbian is too girly im not a trans guy or anything haha, and when i was 14-and-onwards wondering why it felt so empty between my legs and why it felt like i was supposed to have a dick lmao im totally a girl though haha, and when i was 15 and had to google how to masturbate bc i couldn’t figure it out naturally and still felt like i was doing it wrong, and when i was 15 and looked at my vagina in the pocket mirror i got from selling like 30 boxes of girl scout cookies in 2007 and my first thought was “that is not my body,” and when i was 16 and actually very upset that i couldn’t ejaculate when i orgasmed. trans who? what the fucking hell am i waiting for

seriously. i was 7 and looking at my 2nd grade yearbook photo thinking “that doesn’t look like me,” and i was 13 and looking in the mirror saying “that doesn’t look like me,” and i went through all of my adolescence waiting for “puberty to turn me into a girl” and then i was 17 and done with puberty and crying because my body was still wrong. i can’t believe how hard i tried throughout my whole adolescence to be some facet of “normal girl” so i wouldn’t get bullied and be dateless forever and thinking “puberty hasn’t turned me into a girl yet” and not stopping to think about what i was if i wasn’t a girl until puberty was done, i realized it wasn’t going to happen, and it was too damn late for me. now i’m 19 and don’t leave the house without either a binder or a sports bra/baggy layers combo and i’d wear my packer everywhere if i could figure out how to get it to sit right (and also get it past my parents lmao).  like if anyone else rattled off that list of trans shit i wouldn’t question them for a second. but because it’s me and i’m like “what if i’m transwashing my memories? what if i’m gaslighting myself?” i’m still not on testosterone and please validate me. tell me other trans people doubt themselves, no matter how obvious it is that they’re trans. tell me it’s okay to doubt hrt, even though you know it will be so much more likely to help you. tell me it’s okay to be afraid of detransitioning, even though it’s okay if i DO decide to detransition and it’s so unlikely anyways considering all the evidence of Me Not Being A Fucking Girl.

if you read this all the way to the end here’s an awkward hug and some brain bleach im not even drunk or high i can’t even blame substances for this behavior 

[witherwill]

The House on Elysian Drive

The house I grew up in was old and creaky when we moved in, although it had only stood for twelve years at that time. The gate was rusted, the electricity was faulty, and the paint was peeling and water damaged. There were three trees in the backyard, none of them good for climbing. My older brother and I referred reverently to the two old pines that stood at one end of the yard as “The Forest.” They remain to this day, silent sentinels keeping watch over the house's inhabitants, though they are smaller than I remember them and far less strong.

My family never owned the house. Dad rented it for ten years before his gambling debts caught up with him and he left the state. My mother packed us into the car one night and we started a new life in a new part of the city, and I did my best to put the house and what happened there out of my memory. I had all but forgotten it until two days ago. I was searching for a new place, and I got an email about a listing that had just gone up. The gate has been replaced, the carpets have been torn up, and the interior has been repainted, but it's the same house. As I scrolled through the pictures, all the fear and the dread came rushing back and I had to run to the bathroom to vomit.

There was an empty lot just up the street from where we lived that we used to play in as kids. Back then, there was still a lot of undeveloped desert, and that area has since been turned into an apartment complex, but at the time it was unexplored and unloved, except by my brother and me. There were lots of hills and dunes to scramble up and down and plenty of bugs and lizards to inspect. We pretended we were scientists discovering a new species, or paleontologists on the dig of a lifetime. For poor desert rats like us, there was no greater pleasure.

One day a couple weeks into summer vacation we arrived at the lot to find that a construction company had dumped a bunch of concrete and building materials there. We immediately ran to inspect them, hoping to find something interesting. My brother made the first discovery and waved me over.

“What do you think it is?” he asked, turning the striped brown stone over in his hands.

“Looks like it was some kind of necklace,” I said, noting the small hole that had been drilled in the top of the stone.

He made a face and said, “Sounds girly,” then handed it back to me. I pocketed it and set off again.

We continued searching through the rubble, but after twenty minutes' work in the unforgiving desert heat, we were beginning to feel discouraged. Finally, a twinkle beneath a rock caught my eye. “Hunter, look! It's a chain! It looks like silver!” I shouted. There was a broken jump ring still hanging from it, as though the pendant it held had been torn off.

When we got home that evening, I eagerly rushed into my father's office to show him what we'd found.

“Looks like tiger's eye,” he said. “See all the little lines and different colors? People wear it for protection. And luck,” he added bitterly.

I asked if he could fix it for me, since he had a box full of jewelry findings and tools. Once it was properly strung on the chain, he helped me put it on. It was heavy around my neck, but I felt so powerful. The tiger's eye became my childhood talisman, capable of warding off all evil. I never took it off even to shower.

As my father's gambling addiction worsened, he became reclusive and secretive. His office was off limits, and we only saw him at dinner, when he begrudgingly came out to eat. Our mother worked the graveyard shift as a bartender, so we never saw her either.

My brother and I changed too. He was a withdrawn, frightened kid. But I got stronger and bolder as the months wore on. By July, I was fearless. When strange activity began happening in our home, I didn't bat an eye.

As usual, Hunter was the first one to notice something had changed. “Kat, look, the mirror cracked,” he said, calling me into our shared bathroom. I walked in to see an deep crack running right down the middle of the mirror. Hairline fractures traveled out from the main crack in a delicate, web-like pattern. It looked as though someone had slammed something small and heavy into the glass.

More things began breaking. Chairs lost their legs. The seams on the couch cushions split, exposing the stuffing beneath. The gate rusted shut. The paint peeled completely away from the walls, exposing the yellowed drywall beneath. Our parents blamed everything on the house's age and the quality of our hand-me-down furniture. Dad's temper got worse and worse, and soon we began finding remnants of his nervous spells: cigarette butts and roughly chewed nails littered the patio. He yelled at us for everything, even for trying to clean up the house. We were too afraid to tell our mother, who didn't need the added stress. Finally, he started hitting us. That's when the voices started.

Late one night, I laid in bed with a bag of frozen peas over my bruised arm. I was dozing when I heard it. It sounded small and weak, like a child not much younger than myself. I couldn't make out what it was saying, but it whispered to me all night. I fell asleep with its voice in my ears and I dreamed of the desert.

The next morning, I asked Hunter if he'd heard it. Our rooms were adjacent to one another and shared a wall, so if it was real, he would have heard it too. Fearfully, he said yes. It terrified him. He said it whispered things, but wouldn't elaborate when I pressed him further.

As I climbed into bed that night, I hoped I would hear the small voice again. Just when I began to lose hope, teetering on the edge of sleep, I heard it. This time, I could understand it clearly. “Come play with me!” it said. “I'm lonely! Please?” I told it that I was tired, and we could play tomorrow. The last thing I heard before I fell asleep was, “Open the window, Kathryn.”

I resolved to figure out who the voice belonged to and what they wanted. I decided the best way to do this would be to construct a spirit board. I snuck into my dad's office while he was still asleep and grabbed some paper and a fat black marker. I tried not to look at the fist sized holes in the walls. I guess he tried to show some restraint after all, for all the good it did him. Quietly, I eased the door shut and went back into my room. I placed the paper on my desk horizontally and wrote out the words “yes” and “no” at the top and bottom. In the middle, I printed the alphabet and the numbers 0 through 9. The hole in my tiger's eye was large enough to see the letters through, so I decided it would be okay to take it off just this once. Carefully, I placed it on the makeshift board and put two fingers on each side like they did in the movies.

“Do you want to play?” I asked, keeping my voice low so I wouldn't wake anyone. The tiger's eye moved slowly to the word “yes.” I was surprised at the way it felt beneath my fingers. The stone moved smoothly and silently, as though I wasn't even touching it. I expected it to make a sound against the paper, but there was nothing. I tried again. “Who are you? What's your name?” The stone didn't move, so I asked, “Are you lonely?” This time, the stone darted towards YES, then picked out letters: NOT ALIVE. I shivered, my suspicions confirmed. This entity had to be the voice I was hearing at night. I asked the ghost several more questions, eventually resorting to yes or no questions when it seemed to have a hard time spelling out words. When I heard my father stir in the other room, I hurriedly told the ghost goodbye and promised to play with it again soon. I hid the board in my closet and fastened the tiger's eye around my neck before venturing into the kitchen for breakfast.

Later that evening, I laid in bed with a book. Dad had been unusually quiet, and I hoped to keep it that way, so I did my best to stay out from underfoot. After some time, I fell asleep with the book still in my hand. When I woke up, it was full dark outside and the voice was whispering in my ear. “Open the window!” it said. “I'm outside! I want you to play with me!” Sleepily, I trudged to the window and had my hand on the latch before I saw what I'd been talking to. There was a face pressed up against the glass, and it wasn't a child. It was distorted and wrong, with no nose and no eyes. Urgently, it begain to scream. “OPEN THE WINDOW KATHRYN OPEN THE WINDOW OPEN THE WINDOW OPEN--” I wrenched the curtains shut and ran to my brother's room.

“Hunter! Wake up, there's something outside, please!” I shook him desperately until he blinked at me slowly. His eyes sharpened when he saw how pale my face was.

“You saw it too, didn't you?” he said.

“Yeah. I've seen it a few times. I haven't been sleeping well,” he admitted. “But it didn't bother me all night, so I thought it'd be safe. Guess I was wrong. You wanna hang out here tonight?”

I nodded gratefully. With that monstrous face no longer in front of me, I felt safer already. “Why didn't you tell me?”

He shrugged. “You wouldn't have believed me. No one ever believes me.”

I hugged him tight and promised to be a better sister from then on. We sat in silence for a few minutes before he said, “You know there are more of them, right?”

“It said it was lonely. I talked to it with a spirit board, and it told me it was alone,” I protested.

He pulled away immediately. “You talked to it? Why the hell would you do that, Kat?” It was the first time he'd ever sworn around me.

“I thought it was nice! Anyway it said it wasn't alive, so I thought it was a kid ghost. I definitely didn't expect that thing.”

“Of course it's not alive, Kathryn. Do you think something alive could look like that?” His eyes were wide and fearful. “I have a theory. I think they want your necklace.”

Surprised, I ran my finger along its smooth surface. It calmed me somewhat. “Why would you think that?”

“This started when you brought that thing home. I think it's cursed.”

“Cursed? Really?”

“I don't know, Kat. But I'm scared. I think we need to tell someone. Not Mom and Dad. But someone has to know what's going on.”

As the room turned blue in the dawn light, we formed our plan. I had a friend from school whose neighbor was rumored to be a witch. She lived within walking distance, but it was still a bit far for two kids in the summer heat. But it was worth it if she knew how to help us.

When Dad finally left for the evening, we filled a backpack with bottled water and sunscreen and set off. We didn't talk much on the way there and concentrated on staying hydrated and upright. By the time we reached the house, we were both flushed and dripping with sweat. My friend's neighbor, Anna, invited us in immediately, seeing how exhausted we looked. As it turned out, she was not a witch, but she believed strongly in the supernatural. Her bookcase was full of texts on symbols and myths. I felt sure she would know what to do. We told her our story hurriedly. As we sat at her table drinking lemonade, she turned the stone over in her hands.

“This has power,” she said knowingly. “Evil spirits are attracted to anything that can make them stronger. Kat, how do you feel when you wear this?”

“Really good,” I admitted. “Like I can do anything.”

“This is usually a stone of bravery, as well as protection. I'm sure many spirits are interested in obtaining it.”

“Can we get rid of it? Can we just give it to them?” Hunter blurted.

Anna paused, still holding the stone and running her fingers over it slowly. I stared at her hopefully. The truth was, I didn't want to get rid of it. Finally, she spoke, “I don't think this stone is evil. I think you should hold on to it.” Her eyes flicked to my bruised arm. “It may well be protecting you.”

We thanked her, and I slid the chain back over my head, relieved to feel the comforting weight against my chest. It was almost dark, so she offered to drive us home, and we gratefully accepted, silently agreeing to talk about the situation once we were alone. Upon reaching the house, she shivered slightly. “There is negative energy here, kids. Be careful. Keep that necklace on.”

Once we were inside, Hunter opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the sound of a key turning shakily in the lock. Dad was home early. We ran to our rooms, hoping if he didn't immediately see us, he'd leave us alone. As we waited with baited breath, our father screamed, asking where the hell we were. Then the whole house began to shake violently.

I ran into Hunter's room. I didn't know if I could trust Anna, but I hoped she was right about my necklace's protective abilities. I pulled him to the floor and looped the chain around his neck so we were both wearing it. I heard a crash behind us but we didn't move. Voices began to scream all around us. As the shaking intensified, so did the voices. They were telling us to open the window, open it now, open it open it open it open it –

And as suddenly as it began, the shaking stopped. Cautiously, I pulled Hunter to his feet. We both jumped at the sound of another crash from behind us. Another scream, human this time. “You open this goddamn door! Open it right now!” Our father's fists beat against the cheap door, causing it to splinter, but it held. The house began to tremble again. I realized then what the spirits had been trying to do. They were keeping him out. I opened the window, ushering Hunter through it before scrambling out onto the dirt below. We ran to the only place we could.

Anna ushered us in quickly and made us tell her everything. “They were trying to help,” she said, with a note of guilt in her voice. “I should have known. I'm so sorry.” She explained that it must have been our father's rotten energy she felt poisoning the house. His anger over his debts and our mother's lack of affection towards him became so strong it began to make the house itself decay. I asked her if my Tiger's Eye really had the power to protect me. She told me that talismans only have as much power as you give them. I believed so strongly in it, enough to find power in myself that I didn't know I had. That, along with some concerned ghosts, was enough to shield Hunter and me from the worst of our father's violence. It wasn't until later that I realized it was gone, probably lost in the yard somewhere when we escaped.

Anna called 911 to report domestic violence, and she got a hold of our mom, who had been at work the whole time. The cops let dad off with a warning and mom moved us out that night. We didn't mention the way the house shook or the ghosts to anyone. Dad stayed in the house alone for another year as it crumbled around him. He wrote me letters, but I never bothered to read them. Eventually they stopped coming. Hunter slowly got his confidence back, but he never went back to being the carefree kid he was before. He moved to California right after high school, and we don't keep in touch as much as we should.

That brings us to the present day. The owners of the place had scheduled an open house, and against my better judgment, I decided to go. As I pulled up, I felt my fingers clench involuntarily. My chest tightened. My stomach roiled. For the second time in as many weeks, I puked violently. But I desperately needed the closure, so I walked, with legs that just barely trembled, to the gate. In my determination to reach the door without chickening out, I failed to see there were no other cars outside.

I rang the bell and tried to see inside through the frosted windows. I could see some wobbly shapes inside, but no one answered the door, so I tried the handle. It swung open easily at my touch. The wobbly shapes I saw turned out to be scattered pieces of mismatched furniture that hadn't been in the emailed pictures. I recognized them from my childhood, and wondered aloud why the new owners had bothered to keep such ugly things. In one corner of the sunken living room, my dad's favorite chair still stood, exactly as it had fifteen years before. Our dining room table had been shoved against the French doors leading to the backyard. I was sure if I looked, I'd see the crayon marks I'd drawn on the underside of the table when I was five.

The house was not big, and after the shock of seeing our things, I realized that it was otherwise empty. There was no evidence that people had been here at all, other than the furniture. And I noticed something else that made me shiver: the largest pieces of furniture had been used to block all the doors leading to the outside. All except the front door. I ran for it, but they were quicker. The door locked itself, and I couldn't get it to budge. As I pounded against it, the old familiar voices began to speak.

“We're so happy you came home, Kathryn.”

“Open the door!” I said helplessly. “You helped me once. Why are you doing this?” As I spoke, I ran for the back doors and shoved the dining room table out of the way.

“We didn't do that, silly,” said a voice. “You did it all on your own.”

“But you lost your necklace! So we can finally play together,” said another.

“We've wanted to play for so long,” said a third.

“My necklace?” I asked, my panic rising. And then I understood. “Was my necklace keeping you out?”

“Only for a while. But Daddy let us inside,” giggled the second voice. “And we didn't want him to leave!”

That explained the barred doors. They'd kept him trapped in the house for a year, somehow still alive all that time. But I was the person they really wanted, and I resolved not to let them have me.

Anna said talismans only have the power you give them, and though she'd been wrong about so many things, I hoped she was right about that. I reached in my pocket and pulled out the first thing my fingers touched, which turned out to be my key ring. Fitting, I thought. I concentrated. I tried to feel the way I felt as a kid, strong and confident and courageous. I turned my attention to the door. Holding my keys out in front of me like a shield, I urged it to open. The ghosts screamed and pushed back against me, so I tried harder. I threw all of my weight against the door and shoved, physically and mentally, and finally, it burst open. I ran down the path, through the gate, and made it to my car with the voices shrieking behind me.

For a few days, things were quiet. But yesterday I got a letter in the mail, ostensibly from my father. It read, “Come back home, Kathryn. We're all waiting for you.”

[shewhowantsmouseears]

Love Like Lava, 15

Notes: As always, super huge thanks to my editors Drucilla and BlueShifted, who waited patiently while my hard drive exploded.

A short chapter, but think of as taking a breath before we dive in, because the next chapter has the moment we've all been waiting (or dreading?) for. Also, Wolf is an actual character from the old days of Disney comics!

Summary: When Ma Beagle tries to get her revenge on Goofy, she uncovers an odd truth no one will believe. No one except Pete - and he may have found a way to get exactly what he wanted.

Ma Beagle woke up with more anger and maliciousness than she did most mornings, but it wasn't entirely her fault. Pete was also feeling more angry and malicious these days, feeling that Hephaestus had mocked him and Aphrodite was playing games. Pete didn't like to play games unless he won. If he couldn't immediately exact revenge on the two mice, then he'd have to make someone else suffer. That resulted in him wanting Agalma to suffer, since it was her fault for being such a hard mystery to solve. All of this amounted up to him appearing in the Beagle household and poking a fat finger right into Ma Beagle's forehead, igniting her desire for revenge right that second.

The business of owning slaves wasn't that complicated, and most evil pursuits are disgustingly simple. So it was with great ease that Ma Beagle had located a man willing to help her make a profit, as she'd sold him many of her ill-gotten gains in the past. Wolf Barker was so amazingly average that very few people suspected this boring man made a living buying and selling absolutely everything, including people. His looks didn't stand out, being your average height, wearing your average clothes, and even his matted black fur didn't grab anyone's attention. He had little personality to speak of, as he chose only to speak when he was spoken to. So when Ma Beagle walked down the street with Wolf in tow, he was almost invisible. Few people paid attention to him over the infamous pain in the butt at his side.

At the Goofy household, he, Agalma and Gyro were packing up. Since the chariot race was in the next town over, they needed to start heading out before the day of the actual race. For once, all three of them were in high spirits. Even though Gyro had yet to come up with anything that would give Goofy an advantage in the race, allowing his mind to think freely had come up with less dangerous ideas. Agalma was eager to see new places and make new friends. Goofy was still nervous and doubted he'd accomplish much of anything in the race, but having so much support from his friends made it difficult to put him in a bad mood, thoughts of Millicent not-withstanding.

The three had almost finished loading everything up into the wagon, but just as Gyro was feeding Little Helper breakfast and Goofy was helping Agalma onto the cart, a horrendous cackle broke the air.

“Do you know what today is, goof?”

Everyone looked at Ma Beagle who had triumphantly entered the scene, paying no heed to the unremarkable side character, and were oblivious to the god keeping her wrath going. After a moment of thought, Goofy offered, “Monday?”

“Today,” Ma Beagle continued while pretending Goofy had said nothing, “is the day I make you pay for what you did to my family! I'm taking you off your high horse, and putting you back down in the dirt where you belong! And it all starts with your pretty little girl!”

“Ma Beagle, I presume,” Gyro muttered while leaning towards his companions. He'd been told about the troublemaker and had hoped to leave before ever running into her. He then cleared his throat, trying to create a friendly atmosphere. “Can any of this possibly wait? We need to get going, and by my calculations, we should start as soon as possible if we want to be well rested mentally and physically before the start of the race.”

Again, Ma Beagle ignored anything that wasn't a part of her plan. “I asked everyone in this village-”

“Do you mean intimidate and threaten?” Agalma quipped.

“Same thing. Anyway, no one in this village knows where she came from!” Ma pointed an accusatory finger at Agalma, who merely blinked back while Goofy's eyes widened. “She's got no records! She's got no family! She's got no proof she ever existed until the day she walked out of your ugly house!”

“I think the house is charming,” Agalma said, still not comprehending what was supposed to be so frightening.

Goofy stood in front of the wagon, as if that would prevent Ma from getting any closer to Agalma. “Oh, you leave her alone! All she did was try and stop your son from bein' a thief! If you wanna be mad at someone, be mad at me for sockin' him!”

“Honey, I am going to kill two birds with one stone here.” Ma slapped Wolf hard on the back, letting out another wicked cackle. “The one good thing about you nice types is that if one of you suffers, you all suffer! If that girl has no family, then Wolf here can take her and brand her as a slave! And if you pathetic lowlives think you can ask for help, the second the villagers hear what I've done, they'll be afraid of the Beagle name all over again! No one will ever stand up to me again! Isn't that right, Wolf?”

“Sure,” said Wolf, unaffected by the gasps of horror from Goofy and Gyro – Agalma didn't know what a slave was, but judging from those reactions, it wasn't pleasant. “Looks good, she'll make fine coin.”

“You – you – you - ” Goofy lacked the words to convey his shock, his fists trembling. “You wouldn't dare! I ain't gunna let you!”

“I must say, that's the most deplorable thing I've ever heard of!” Gyro raced to Goofy's side, helping create a tall barrier of righteous fury. “If you think we'll just stand aside and let you take her, your theory needs reworking!” Even Little Helper was snorting hard and stomping his hooves.

Ma rolled up her sleeves, revealing that most of her girth was muscle, not fat. “The only reason you got one over my boy was because he was surprised...I've taken him down with my eyes closed! A bunch of scrawny wimps like you, I can bend you into knots before you even blink! Now either hand over the girl, or I'll break every bone in your body, including the ones you didn't know you had!”

Goofy and Gyro exchanged a quick look – unfortunately, Ma did outweigh them both, as these men were incredibly skinny and lacked many things in the muscular areas. Wolf was also cracking his knuckles, in a bored fashion, so he was clearly ready to help as well. Even if by some grace of the gods they got away this time, Ma Beagle had an almost infinite supply of sons she could send after them. As panic raced in Goofy's heart, he grabbed the side of the wagon, beginning to shake it. “Agalma, run!” If he lost someone again – if he lost Millicent again – if he lost Agalma – he wasn't sure he could handle it. No, he would not be able to handle it, could not survive another loss no matter how many friends he surrounded himself with. Death would be a better alternative than returning to nights of sobs and loneliness – the idea that someone he cared about so deeply would become a slave, a life reduced to agony and terror turned his blood to ice. It would be all his fault, because he couldn't do a thing. “Run away!”

“Run where?” Agalma asked. It was getting harder to become afraid of something you didn't know about.

“Anywhere!” He screamed, eyes burning and blinded by unshed tears. Last time he hadn't been able to do anything, hadn't been able to say goodbye, had been left behind. If the gods did exist, where were they, and why weren't they helping?! How was this supposed to “heal his heart”? He could not lose her, would not lose her, if life was meant to mean something than something so awful shouldn't be allowed to happen! “Go, go now! Get going before these two hurt you!” Gyro was gripping the wagon, his mind racing, trying to come up with a plan or an invention to save the day, but sheer panic interrupted his thinking process over and over as the menacing enemies came closer step by step.

“Why don't you just give him a statue?” Agalma pointed back to the house, growing more bewildered by Goofy's hysterics. She could only hope it wasn't her fault this time. “If he wants something pretty, you have lots of pretty statues. He just can't have me because I'm not a statue anymore. Do you think he understands?”

Brilliant ideas rarely came to Goofy, or at the very least he rarely recognized an idea when it was brilliant. So when this momentous occasion sparked in his brain, he slowly raised his pointer finger at Agalma, speaking carefully. “...Could... could you say that again?”

“Do you think he understands I'm not a statue?”

Ma rolled her eyes, storming over and shoving Gyro aside so hard her fell on his back. “If that's your idea of a goodbye, I never want to hear your hello. You're coming with me, girly!”

But for once in his life, Wolf spoke without being spoken to. “What in the world is she saying?” Funny enough, Pete was asking the same question, without anyone being able to hear him.

Goofy suddenly grabbed Agalma by the waist, hoisting her off the wagon and carrying her in his arms. “Agalma, I want you to say everything you remember about being born! Don't you leave out any details!”

Agalma tilted her back, and as she wove through memories, she swung her hand back and forth, making sure she hadn't skipped anything. “Goofy, how could you possibly forget? You're the one who carved me out of marble. Then you spent all that time making sure every little detail was right, even making me a nice necklace like you made for Millicent, since you carved me in her likeness and all, after she died. And then the goddess Aphrodite brought me to life in order to make you happy. Then I waited for you to wake up, since I wasn't sure if I was using my legs right. I figured you'd be the expert, you use legs every day!”

“What,” said Ma.

“What,” said Wolf.

“What?” said Gyro, alongside Little Helper's “Neigh?”

“WHAAAT?!” bellowed Pete, hands clasping his armored head in total surprise. “She – she – she can do that?! That little girl?! She can make life? That's impossible! Not even Zeus can just make life out of nothing!” But even as he said it, it had made sense, recalling the day when he had tried to go through Agalma's memories and found little to none. You couldn't recall what you didn't have, and marble wasn't supposed to have memories. How could Aphrodite keep this a secret? Why wouldn't you tell everyone and anyone that you had such phenomenal power? Pete had worked so hard to uncover this mystery just for her, and it was all for nothing, she already knew because it was made by her! Aphrodite could create life from statues! She could – she could -

And then, all at once, Pete wasn't angry anymore. All of his fury was instantly snuffed out as he repeated that fact in his head. Aphrodite could create life from statues. She could skip the baby and child stages and go right for adulthood. Just a snap of her fingers, and poof, there was a mortal, a living, breathing, bleeding mortal. Aphrodite could create life. Aphrodite had the answer to Pete's boredom. Pete now had a plan, and if it worked – when it worked, for it was ingenious – he would never need to hunt for petty squabbles again. What was he wasting his time for with these morons? He needed to start preparations now! Oh, soon, the world would be covered in blood and battle! And it would be thanks to him and Aphrodite!

With a pleased howl of laughter, he vanished, leaving the mortals alone with their little problem. Agalma had kept going on about the life lessons she had learned, from how to use a fork to learning what you could and couldn't drink, until Wolf threw his hands in the air. “Beagle! I thought you said you had a good bargain for me!”

Ma paused, having been ready to snatch Agalma out of Goofy's arms. “What are you saying? Look at her, she's a beauty! She'll make us both rich! Who cares if she says stupid things?”

“No one wants an insane slave!” Wolf barked back, although his expression was unreadable due to how mangy his fur was. “That's like selling a barrel full of holes, or a horse with a lame leg! She's either insane or telling the truth! If she's insane, she's useless as a slave. And if by some crazy miracle she's telling the truth, there is no way, no how, I am getting involve in a god's business! This is the last time I do business with you, Ma Beagle!”

“N-Now wait a minute, Wolf!” Ma stammered, unable to believe her revenge was over before it even started. “She's not insane! Really!” She whipped around to Goofy, shaking her fist in his face, but he wouldn't even back up. “Tell her to start speaking the truth! Tell me where she came from!”

Goofy smiled pleasantly. “She came from a really good wall of rock down by the coast. Real sturdy stuff.”

“I'm out of here.” Wolf turned on his heel, grumbling about the waste of time under his breath.

“Wolf, wait!” Ma began to chase after him – without Pete's constant lingering and poking, her wrath had come undone like a bad ball of yarn, revealing a pathetic lump of a lazybones within. “Who else am I going to sell my stolen goods to!”

“You could try not stealing at all,” Gyro called after her, without expecting any response. As the two canines left their sight, Gyro stood back up and brushed the grass off his arms, laughing merrily. “And here I thought I was a genius! We'd better go before she decides to vent her frustrations in a most unhealthy matter.” With another relieved chuckle, he climbed aboard and grabbed Little Helper's reins, the horse letting out a happy sigh of air through its nostrils. “It's that quick thinking that could help you in the race!”

Goofy sat down besides Gyro, and Agalma sat in Goofy's lap, having a few questions of her own. “Why were you crying? And why do they think I'm insane? What does 'insane' mean?”

Goofy didn't answer her at first, wiping away the remnants of tears from his face. Even though the danger had passed, the effect of it still weighed like a stone in his chest. When he found his voice, it was quiet. “I was scared. I was really scared I'd lose you.”

Agalma cupped her chin in her hands. “Lose me, or Millicent?”

It stung, but rightfully so, and Goofy didn't feel confident in answering. Gyro cleared his throat as the horse began to trot. “If I may...I may not know the whole story here,” and he still believed the statue ploy was full of clever lies, “But Goofy lost someone very near and dear to him, correct? You have my deepest sympathies. I'm sure she was very nice lady, being your friend and all. Grief isn't a subject I'm well versed in, much to my fortune, but I'm sure in time you will be at a place where it doesn't hurt as much.”

Goofy himself had never kept track of the time, but apparently Agalma had, having learned how to add and remembering the dates and years Goofy had forlornly spoken of when she was still stone. “It's been fifteen years.”

This was news not only to Gyro, who let out an awkward series of words, “Oh, I, uh, that is...” but also to Goofy who had never put it all together before. Fifteen years. That was a lot of time. A baby turned into a teenager in that amount of time. Several animals had their whole lifespan in that frame. Dozens of seasons passed. He looked out to his town as they rode on, trying to remember or notice what had changed in that time. Had he really paid attention to anything? Had he been alive? If Minnie and Daisy hadn't come along – if Agalma hadn't come – would he have spent another fifteen years alone in his home full of frozen life? Would he have just kept doing the same things, wrapped up in his misery, until the day he died?

“Gyro, you're a smart one,” Agalma stated, jarring the men out of their muddled minds.

“So I tell people.” Gyro was relieved to be on something he knew was true.

“Then you'll know. How long are people supposed to be sad over death?”

“Ummm.” Gyro inhaled and exhaled as deeply as he could, needing all that extra time to think of how to properly explain such a complicated issue. “Most people believe everyone should grieve at their own pace and their own time. And maybe a part of you will never stop grieving. But the way I see it, you shouldn't let it take over your life. If our departed loved ones knew we weren't doing anything except crying over them, they'd be rather upset. Life is for the living, it's the root word in and of itself! Although there has been some debate in the etymology of the word 'living', having two origins in different parts of the word, and often etymology itself isn't an exact science, but if you take the time to do the research...”

As Gyro rambled on about things the dogs couldn't possibly begin to grasp, Goofy looked at Agalma and Agalma looked back at him. Had she asked the question for him, or out of mere curiosity? She whispered so as to not distract Gyro from his ongoing explanations. “You once told me I should live for myself, not for you.”

“Meant what I said,” Goofy replied, although he had to admit that she'd taken that advice and ran with it. Most of what she did was for her own benefit, although she had been very loyal to him. Goofy almost thought it was the exact opposite of what Millicent would do. Except now that he had been burdened with the knowledge that it'd been fifteen years since he'd last seen her make any choice, he unwillingly had to admit that time and love could make memories appear differently. Millicent had a life outside of Goofy. But he could no longer remember when his life was outside of Millicent.

“I think you should take your own advice.” Agalma poked Goofy on his big black nose. “You should live for yourself, not for Millicent and not for me. If you don't like me, I'll be okay. But you should like yourself, and if you like yourself you should do things that make you happy.” She proudly patted her chest. “I like myself plenty.”

“Who said I didn't like you?” Granted, he'd thought it at one point or another, but never said it out loud. “You're a weird one. But I guess it ain't so bad. I'm not perfect either. Nobody is.”

“Not even Millicent?”

Now if that wasn't the biggest indicator that Goofy had definitely remembered things in his own biased light – he couldn't think of a single flaw Millicent had, except being dead. For all his woes, he knew that wasn't right. Everyone had flaws, even gods, given Aphrodite's clumsy idea at healing hearts. It seemed rather disrespectful that he couldn't recall anything Millicent had done wrong. He'd been thinking like that for fifteen straight years, so it was too late, he couldn't remember her any other way. He felt as if he owed her an apology – her and others. “I'm sorry, Agalma.”

“For what?” She tilted her head. Gyro was still going, something about how people communicated without words and how he wanted to develop a language with fingers.

“For treatin' you wrong. I think, well, once everything is all quieted down, once the race is over and we're back home... we should start over.”

She pouted. “Am I going to have to relearn everything?”

“Naw, naw! I just mean... I wanna give our friendship a fresh start. No more comparin' you to anyone but you. I wanna see you as you.”

“Oh!” Agalma clapped her hands together, pleased. “Yes, let's do that! No doing what Aphrodite wants, but what we want! I think that's a nice idea.”

By this point Gyro was winding down, finally remembering he'd initially been talking about grief and sadness. He intended to apologize to his companions, but they were smiling brightly at each other, lost in their own world. It was rather adorable, and he was loathe to interrupted, but a thought had occurred to him. “Agalma? You know we have seats in the back, right?”

“Yes, I know,” Agalma said, resting her head on Goofy's shoulder. “But Goofy is much more comfortable to sit on.” She almost suggested Gyro try for himself, but in a rare moment of actual selfishness, she decided she didn't want him to.

Gyro laughed once more, hoping it didn't sound like mockery. Goofy blushed, and tried to keep his eyes ahead. They left the town behind, and perhaps the man named Pygmalion left some other things behind as well.

~*~

Unlike Goofy, there were many gods who were more than satisfied with doing the same thing for years without end. Even with Aphrodite gone, Mortimer and Gladstone were able to pass their time in their favorite ways, such as getting hammered and reciting their own poetry. On occasion they would remember that Aphrodite existed, mourn their loss as if she'd died instead of happily wedding someone else, and then resume their own fanciful hobbies. As such they expected no trouble that day, both of them coincidentally occupying the same spot. Mortimer was trying a new flavor of wine, and in his excitement had spilled enough to create a large puddle, which allowed Gladstone to admire his reflection.

This saved Pete time, for which he was grateful. Instead of hunting them both down, he grabbed them both by the collar and began to drag them away, while they gagged and yelled as they uselessly flailed around.

“What's the big idea, you big lug?” Mortimer tried to dig his feet in the ground, but his weight meant nothing compared to Pete's might. “Put me down!”

“Did I miss something?” Gladstone frantically tapped on Pete's fingers, trying to get his attention. “Last I checked, didn't we stop fighting?”

Pete grinned, every tooth looking sharp and dangerous. “You two are the only ones I can count on for this super special mission! You should feel honored, you're about to become part of history!” More specifically, they were the weakest gods on Mount Olympus, which meant Pete could bully them into doing what he wanted very easily. Other gods and visiting creatures took one glance at the dragged deities and merely shrugged. If it didn't involve them, why care? Mortimer and Gladstone conceded that had the positions been reversed, they wouldn't have lifted a finger either.

The two were shoved into Pete's “room”, which now contained heaps and mounds and piles of marble. Pete pushed them towards the rocky mess, and then slapped hammers and chisels into their hands. “You two are going to carve a hundred statues! A billion statues! A kajillion-bazillion-megastupendoushugeillion statues!”

“That is absolutely not a real word,” Gladstone started, trying to shove his share of the tools into Mortimer's hands. “And I am absolutely not doing it!”

“Same here!” Mortimer argued, shoving them right back into Gladstone's hands. “I've got better things to do than make statues of you. Like napping.”

“First, you're not making statues of me,” Pete informed them as he crossed his arms, looming over them and reminding them of just how tall and mighty he was. “You're making mortal-like statues. And second, you are going to make them, or else.”

“...Or else involves pain, doesn't it,” Gladstone guessed after a mighty gulp, and Mortimer felt himself shrinking under Pete's ferocious gaze.

“N-Now, wait, I think we're all forgetting something important here!” Mortimer vaguely gestured outside of the room, hoping his panicky voice would draw attention. “Once Zeus finds out you're beating us up for not doing what you want, he'll beat you up right back!”

At this Pete let out an amused little guffaw, rubbing Mortimer and Gladstone's head as if they were tiny children who misunderstood a basic lesson. “Aw, that was real cute. But here's the thing, fellas. Us bein' gods and drinkin' ambrosia and all, none of us can ever die. So Zeus can pummel me all he wants, but I'll get back up! The only reason he's the so-called King around here is because he led the gods against his dad. His title is nothin' but a fancy medal. The only reason he ever stops our fighting is when it annoys him! So what if he gets a little creative with his punishments? I'm the God of War, pain's my deal! Why, if I finally found someone who could give me an actual beat down, I'd be the happiest guy on Mount Olympus! Buuut...” He stretched the word out before smashing their heads together and letting them crumple to the floor like tossed garbage. “Weaklings like you can't stand it. And I don't mind beating you up for eternity if it means you do what I want!”

Gladstone could feel his head swimming from the impact, afraid to lift himself up. “I hate when he's right.”

“Has he ever been right?” Mortimer mumbled, only grateful that gods couldn't bruise so his good looks were unaffected.

“I still hate it.” Although they both shuddered at the idea of doing actual labor and, ugh, sweating, it was better than the alternative. Gladstone begrudgingly began to pick up the dropped tools. “How many of these things do we have to make? And why are we making them?”

“I'll tell you when the time is right.” When the men had finally gotten to their feet, Pete kicked them in the rump, sending them crashing into the marble. “And the time ain't right until I say it's right! So quit bellyaching and get to work! Just make me as many statues of mortals as possible until it's impossible!” His victims ultimately decided that asking any further questions would lead to more aches, so they reluctantly began their attempts. Within seconds they were audibly whining and moaning about having to use their muscles, and Pete rolled his eyes so hard they strained. “All right, you big babies, you get one detail. This is going to bring Aphrodite back.”

The god of poetry and the god of slurred poetry paused, glancing back at Pete.

“This is going to bring back the goddess of love and beauty?” Mortimer asked, curiosity and intrigue making the work seem a little less difficult.

“You can guarantee it?” Gladstone questioned, eager to see the prettiest person who ever existed, especially if it meant they had another shot of keeping her here.

“Absolutely!” Pete pounded on his chest with each syllable. “This is going to bring her back, I swear it upon my honor as a god!” If Mortimer and Gladstone thought more with their heads and less with other parts of their anatomy, they might have realized Pete had no honor. As it was, they were eager to see her again, the perfect decoration for Mount Olympus. So while they still dreaded doing actual labor, they withheld their complaints for the time-being.

Since they could never tire out, and never needed to eat or sleep, they were forced to keep going and learn as they went. They were worried about Pete lashing out at their hideous creations, but Pete hadn't hired them for works of beauty. As long as it had two arms and two legs, it was good enough for his master plan.

How many would be enough? It was hard to say, but he knew he couldn't have them carving for infinity or his plan would never get off the ground. So instead of waiting for the number of statues, he would wait a certain number of days before getting the necessary second ingredient for his idea. By then, he would surely have enough. Besides, once the idea was set into motion, he could always make his lackeys work again. Eternity was a wonderful thing if you cared for no one and nothing but your own pleasures.

As he watched the marble become chipped and dusty, nothing could wipe the sneer from his face. In that moment, he knew Aphrodite had been born for him, for she was the only person who could give him what he longed for most – his forever war.