#it was in my drafts for looooong time

[raplinenthusiasts]

Bon Voyage 4

© qdeoks / 0613data

[ventresses]

Domino Twins Dance-Off

Original video here by @squidsponge

[autismlookslikeme]

Scars - Stiles Stilinski

Five times someone noticed Stiles’ scars and one time he noticed someone else’s.

Warnings! Lots of mentions of injuries, none are very graphic though. Brief mentions of abuse, kinda alluded to more than anything else.

Also definitely kind of a long one just fyi.

———

1. John

John stopped as he walked past Stiles’s door, just to say good morning. He paused, stayed silent. Stiles stood back to the door, changing his shirt. Just before he pulled his clean shirt over his head John caught sight of the scars on his back. On his right shoulder, a large and vaguely circular scar, with dozens of individual marks, circles within circles. On the opposite shoulder faded red lines cross crossed from his neck down past his shoulder blade. Smaller, far more faded scars littered his lower back. Sadness wound tight around John’s heart. How many more scars was Stiles hiding? When had his little boy become a battle hardened, scar covered soldier?

“Dad!” Stiles jumped when he turned and caught John staring. “What are-” but John just stepped into the room and pulled him into a tight hug. Then held him tighter still. Stiles was stunned for a few seconds before wrapping his arms around John and holding him just as tight.

“I’m sorry.” John said. But . . . sorry? Sorry for what? Sorry that Stiles youth had been taken from him? Sorry his innocence had been stolen? Sorry he had been forced to stagger beneath the weight of knowledge he shouldn’t have to carry? Sorry he’d had to grow up faster than he should have? Sorry. Sorry he couldn’t protect him from the dangers of the world around them.

“Sorry?” Stiles asked. “Sorry for what?” John just held him closer, one hand on the back of Stiles’ head. “Dad? Is everything ok?” But rather than stumble through an apology he knew Stiles would claim wasn’t necessary and never accept he said something else long over due.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Are you sure everything is alright?” John huffed a laugh and let Stiles go.

“Yeah. Yep, everything’s fine.” he nodded, “I just, needed you to know that.” He gave Stiles a pat on the shoulder and a smile. Stiles gave him a skeptical gaze in return.

“Ooooookay then.” And with that Stiles stepped around him and disappeared down the stairs.

“I’m sorry you were forced to be your own protector because I wasn’t there.” John whispered to himself before following Stiles down to the kitchen.

———

2. Lydia

She watched Stiles push the sleeves of his flannel up his elbows while he talked to Derek and Scott and for the first time took notices of the scars cross crossing up his arms. Most were extremely faded, but they were there nonetheless. It made her conscious of her own scars, both physical and mental. She brushed her fingers across the ghost of a bruise around her neck.

With so many physical scars she knew he must have just as many, if not more, mental ones. She wanted so badly to ask how many more he had. To know his scars better than he did, but at the same time if she wasn’t ready to divulge that information how could she expect someone else to do so?

When he sat down beside her she casually looped her arm through his and brushed her fingers across the scars on the inside of his arm. Hoping he knew everything she couldn’t say in front of so many others. Hoping he knew that his scars marked him as survivor and nothing less.

———

3. Scott

Scott stood in the shallow end of the pool waiting for the others to join him. He grinned as he watched Mason grab Corey around the waist and throw him in before jumping in after him. He saw the look in Malia’s eyes and smelled the excitement wafting off her as she approached Lydia and grinned before giving her a shove into the pool. Lydia came up sputtering, glaring daggers at Malia, who only laughed in response.

“Stiles! You coming in?” Scott smacked the water, splashing it up the side of the pool and over the edge. Stiles was in his trunks, but still had his shirt on and didn’t seem too keen on taking it off.

“Nah. Not right now.” Scott frowned. He put his hands on the edge of the pool and went to hoist himself out, but stopped when he caught sight of the scar running diagonally up the back of Stiles right leg. It took him back to a different summer. A summer so many years ago that it felt like another lifetime.

The summer Stiles learned to ride a bike was the same summer Scott learned to roller skate. They went through a lot of bandaids that summer and left a lot of blood on the pavement between their houses. There were many crashes and an embarrassing amount of tears looking back. But one crash in particular came to Scott’s mind when he saw Stiles newer scar.

They’d crashed into each other and went down hard. Stiles drove a rock into his knee. Scott remembered the blood and he remembered calmly helping Stiles into the house where he found the first aid kit, pulled the rock out of Stiles knee, cleaned up the wound and bandaged him up. When it eventually scabbed over Stiles had a hard time resisting the urge to pick at it when he wore shorts. Which led to it scarring. And even now that same scar sat across his kneecap, looking so much smaller than Scott remembered.

It made Scott conscious of how much had changed. It made him conscious also, of the fact that while Stiles body held the proof that he was a fighter, a survivor, Scott’s own body no longer did. And while he knew it was kind of a ridiculous thing to be sad about, that didn’t change the fact that he was jealous of Stiles for bearing the marks of hard fought battles.

———

4. Malia

Malia let her eyes wander the expanse of Stiles’s chest and stomach. Pale, freckled skin marked with faded scars. She ran her fingers across his scars and felt him shiver. It had taken a lot of coaxing to get Stiles to take his shirt off. But taking off her own had done the trick. What puzzled her most was his reasoning. Embarrassment was kind of a foreign concept to Malia.

“I don’t think your scars are ugly.” She said after tracing them for several seconds. “It makes you seem so. . .so human.” She watched her own claw nick her wrist and heal instantly.

“I think that’s why I hate them.” Stiles confessed. “They’re a constant reminder that I’m weaker than you. Just a fragile human.”

“Well, you are.” Malia said, brows furrowing. “But you remind the rest of us what’s at stake. Or at least, you remind me. I think I need the reminder that some things take time to heal and even when they do you can’t forget they happened.” She really traced his scars again. “Do you have any others?” Stiles laughed and pulled her down into a kiss before rolling them over so he straddle her.

“You should explore and find out.” Malia would happily spend hours mapping out Stiles scars. And although she would never admit it, she would often compare Scott’s blank canvas to Stiles’ colorful portrait of scars.

———

5. Derek

“Is it-” Derek started, then seemed to think better of it. They were sitting together on the couch in Derek’s loft. Despite having started out at opposite ends Stiles was now almost plastered to Derek’s side.

“Is what?” Stiles asked, throwing his legs over Derek’s.

“Never mind.”

“C’mon big guy, tell me what’s on your mind.” Derek raised his eyebrows.

“Big guy?”

“It felt like a ‘big guy’ moment. Now stop stalling.” Derek sighed and looked at the ceiling like, ‘why me?’ before meeting Stiles eyes again. His ears were turning pink.

“Is it strange to look down and see a permanent reminder of the pain someone else caused you?” He spoke softly, as if afraid of offending Stiles.

“What d’you mean?” Stiles shifted to see him better. Derek gently grabbed Stiles’s arm and pushed his sleeve up.

“To see this scar and know exactly who hurt you and when. Isn’t that kind of strange?” Stiles pondered it for a few seconds.

“Strange isn’t the right word.” He finally said, laying his head against the back of the couch and staring at the ceiling. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t have them, that I didn’t have to be reminded of all the times I almost died or the times I hurt someone else, but at the end of day a lot of them aren’t symbols of weakness. But strength, y’know? Like I made it through something awful and maybe I still carry the marks from it, but all they are now is proof that I’m stronger than I think.”

“What about the others?” Derek asked, taking Stiles’s hand in his own. Stiles closed his eyes.

“Some are reminders that I’m more of a monster than any supernatural creature I’ve ever met.” Derek frowned.

“You’re not a monster.”

“D’you have any idea-” Stiles’s voice cracked, “any idea, what it feels like to be disgusted by your own body?” The sorrow and guilt rolling off of Stiles was almost overwhelming Derek.

“More than you could ever imagine.” Stiles shifted and turned his back to Derek. He lifted his shirt to show the scar from the bite from the lamprey on Donovan’s hand.

“I will never be free of the knowledge that I chose to kill someone, Derek! And I have to live with that choice for the rest of my life!” Tears slid down Stiles cheek and he was quick to brush them away.

“Stiles, killing in self defense isn’t the same thing as murder.” Stiles let his shirt fall back down, but didn’t turn to look at Derek again. Derek gently grabbed his wrist.

“The days it’s hardest to believe that are the days I’m glad I have my other scars.” Stiles whispered. He finally shifted around to face Derek again, eyes rimmed with red. He lifted the front of his shirt to show a large vertical scar almost in the center of his chest. “I cheated death. More than once. And I never want to forget the weight what it really means to be alive. Or they weight of what it means to take a life, no matter what they may have done.” He let his shirt drop again and ground the heals of his hands into his eyes.

“I’ve heard that scars tell a story. Since I don’t scar I wasn’t sure how true that was,” Derek started. “And I’ve never wanted scars of my own, but anyone can tell you’re a fighter. A survivor.” He pulled Stiles back to his side. “Some ghosts haunt you forever. Even if they lose their voice, you’ll spend the rest of your life seeing them out of the corner of your eye. But I promise,” Derek pressed a kiss to Stiles’s temple and felt him relax against him, “you’re not the only who’s haunted.”

———

+1. Stiles

“Why can’t you just fucking do what you’re told?!” Scott spat. For the shortest of seconds Stiles saw Derek’s expression change. But as quick as it appeared it was gone again. However distress continued to swim in Derek’s eyes as Scott berated him.

“Knock it off!” Stiles finally yelled. Scott turned to him, eyes flashing red for a second. Stiles stood his ground, fist clenched, brows raised. “Fuck off with your alpha bullshit!” Derek took an almost imperceptible step away from Scott. Stiles liked to consider himself an observant person. Most of time. Research was his thing after all. But he’s not sure how he missed this.

Malia stepped up behind Derek and rested her hand on his shoulder. He flinched and pulled away from her. Stiles didn’t have a werewolf’s ability to hear heartbeats or smell chemosignals, but he could tell Derek was anxious and distraught. Derek closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Stiles snapped.

“Everybody out! Now!” Everyone looked taken aback by Stiles second outburst and such a small amount of time. “Get out!” He yelled again. Hesitantly everyone headed for the door of the loft. Scott was the last to go, he growled and kept his red eyes on Stiles. “You too. Out!” Still looking annoyed Scott left, slamming the door behind him. Stiles glared at the door for several seconds before turning back to Derek. Derek was facing away from him, bent over the table, hands clutching the edge of it so tight his knuckles were white.

“Derek?” Stiles asked; stepping up behind him and tentatively rested his hand on Derek’s shoulder. Stiles knew, of course, that werewolves don’t scar, but he met Derek’s electric blue eyes and in a moment of stunning clarity realized that maybe Derek was just as scarred as he was, his just weren’t visible to the naked eye. Tears collected in Derek’s eyes.

“Don’t touch me.” He whispered, voice so soft Stiles didn’t hear him.

“What?”

“Don’t touch me.” Derek said louder. Stiles pulled his hand back like he’d been burned. Stiles felt so stupid. Who had done this to him? Derek’s fists clenched and unclenched. His eyes flickered from they’re natural color to electric blue and back again. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

“Der-” Stiles cut himself off as Derek roared and shoved everything off the table. He grabbed the edge of the table again, sinking his claws into it, and his shoulders started to shake.

“It’s been eleven years, Stiles. Eleven! And I still hear her telling me I’m not enough and I need to do better.” Derek said, “I can still feel her hands on me, feel her tongue on me.” He choked back a sob. “I just want to be rid of her! Why-” his voice cracked, “why can’t I get rid of her?”

“I wish I could tell you.” Stiles thought about his own ghosts. Allison. Aiden. Donovan. The countless people that died while he was possessed by the nogitsune. How many did Derek have? How many that he’d never let anyone see before? “What I can tell you is that you don’t need to be embarrassed or ashamed of your scars.” Stiles stepped a little closer. “And I’m sorry that no one’s taken the time to get to know your scars and your ghosts. But if you’ll let me I want to take the time and learn them, until I know them better than you do.” He rested his hand on the table beside Derek’s. Derek turned and grabbed Stiles, pulling him into the tightest hug he’d ever had. He pressed his face into the crook of Stiles neck and cried. Stiles wrapped one arm around Derek’s waist as best he could and wound the fingers of his other hands through Derek’s hair. And then he said something he wasn’t sure Derek had ever heard before. He made a promise he would keep until his dying breath. “As long as I’m around you never have to fight your demons alone.”

[ivashkovadrian]

this gif to mp4 ordeal is really weighing me down. If it becomes final….fuck

[bates--boy]

Little Andy (TW for abuse)

As it always goes, I'm the one living with the mishap While he gets away with the kickback In a just world, that shit wouldn’t track But I prolly wouldn't take so much damaged If he had just called me back

Ha ha!

Nah, but for real, though Why am I the one who ends up the sick ho? I deserve payment for this back-breaking work Of reaping what little Andy sows And surviving every day from an overdose

...

“...I don’t like this song.”

          Peter shrugged his shoulders and picked up his pen. “Yeah, I know, the rhyme schemes are a little off, and the word choices aren’t exactly strong. What do you think I should--?”

           “I don’t mean that,” Naseem cut in. He gestured with the notebook, ignoring Peter’s outstretched hand. “I mean, I don’t like how you’re making a mockery of what that boy did to you.”

          Peter slowly lowered his hand, shocking himself with the dry smile on his face. “Ha, ‘mockery’?” he scoffed.

         “Yeah. Making a joke out of it, trying to downplay it--”

         “I did no such thing--”

         “’If he had just called me back’?” Naseem reread aloud, skimming through the song. “’Why am I the one who ends up the sick ho’? ‘Put on a tight skirt and do two-dollar tricks’? Really?”

          Peter shot out of his chair and snatched the notebook out of Naseem’s hand. “Even if I were joking about it, so what? People can joke about their trauma if it helps them, right?”

         “Key phrase being ‘if it helps them’. And is it helping you?”

         Of course, it is! Peter wanted to snap back, but Naseem shifted, widening his stance, crossing his arms and boring those gorgeous eyes into Peter. Waiting, paternalistic, patronizing, analytical. Worse, there was softness in that gaze, softness that was asking Peter to think it through, softness that had Peter slowly sitting back down, the rigidness of his body crumbling. He set the notebook on the table and started tapping his pen on the page. “I mean... I’ve tried writing out my anger before, and you know how that ended up. I thought I could try humor.”

          “That’s not humor, Pete, that’s you demeaning yourself.”

          Peter shrugged again. “Does it matter?”

         “After all the work you’ve put in to get better: yes, it does matter.” Naseem unfolded his arms and crouched at Peter’s side. He laid a hand on Peter’s knee. “Sweets, that nightmare last night: it was about him, wasn’t it?”

        At Peter’s hesitant nod, the studio seemed quieter, the silence and emptiness heavy. Naseem squeezed Peter’s knee. “...Listen, I don’t want you to stop writing or talking about what you’ve experienced if it really helps you. I only want you to be better about it, so you don’t hurt yourself again. That’s all.”

          Peter allowed himself a sweeter smile, looking to Naseem and cupping Naseem’s cheek. “I know. I’m trying.”

         Naseem took Peter’s hand from his cheek and kissed inside the palm. He kept his gentle grip on it, asking, “Do you need an emergency appointment with Dr. Stieg?”

        Peter looked away as he thought the suggestion over. “...No. Not now.”

        “Then how about a distraction?” Naseem rose up and looked around the room. “We have a few more hours before we have to meet up. How about we go somewhere?”

--

Out of all the places Karlstad had to offer, Peter did not know why he chose the library. Heavens knew that the man had more than enough books at home, and he still needed to pack for that trip to Nigeria, but when Naseem offered an outing, it was the first thing that came to Peter’s mind. Maybe he needed the quiet, the soft lighting, the promise of another world to get lost in, someplace fantastical and far away from this cruel reality. 

          Even though he and Naseem spent the better part of an hour wandering listlessly among shelves because Peter couldn’t find anything he was in the mood for, it was still nice for them to just wander, looking at books with well-loved jackets and more recent additions, murmuring nothing to each other, holding hands. When they came around the corner, a library aide popped his head up from behind the book cart.

         “Hi! Can I help you two?”

          “Ah...” Peter had been ready to refuse, but he exchanged a quick glance with Naseem, who shrugged. “I... guess so. Maybe some book recommendations? I want to try something new.”

        “Well, we have a display of new releases over there,” the aide said, rising to his feet and nodding to the racks by the front desk. “Or, since it’s close to Halloween, how about horror books? Do you like horror?”

        “Hm... I guess I can try some horror. What do you recommend?” Before the aide, whose tag read “Nigel”, could reply, Peter raised a hand. “And please don’t say anything Stephen King.”

        Judging by the awkward twitch of Nigel’s mouth, Peter saw that that was exactly who Nigel was going to suggest first. “...Well, we have some books by Laird Hunt and Stefan Spjut. Or American authors -- besides Stephen King -- like Joseph Fink. Hm...”

        Nigel briefly rubbed his chin and gazed back up at Peter and Naseem. “Do you like graphic novels? Because another popular author we have here is Junji Ito, but he writes manga.”

        “Oh, I love comics!” Peter glanced at Naseem with a smile. “I’ll try him.” 

        “I’m not a really big fan of graphic novels, myself,” Naseem said, “but I’ll give him a go, too.”

        “Great!” Nigel gestured. “If you’ll follow me.”

        The three men took the stairs to the next floor, empty except for the two or three readers curled up on beanbag chairs with thick novels opened on their laps. Nigel took them to the shelf at the far wall and skimmed the metal tiles nailed onto the wood. “Alright, here we are! Let’s see... ‘Black Paradox’ is pretty good...” he took it off the shelf and handed it to Peter. “Oh, ‘Uzamaki’ is pretty popular with our patrons. And his ‘Frankenstein’ adaptation. Oh, speaking of adaptation, here’s my personal favorite...”

--

Peter closed the book after reading the summary on its dust jacket. No Longer Human. It shouldn’t really qualify as a Halloween book, as there was nothing about the story, itself, that was horrifying. Not a supernatural horror, not a thriller, not a slasher fic; it hardly counted as psychological horror beyond the hallucinations the narrator experiences. Peter should wait to actually read the book before judging it, but he knew that the book “cheated” its way to the Halloween picks by the art alone, as he could see by the art on the back cover and in the title’s inset. Unsettling work, unworldly in the way that Ito was known for, but that was it as far as Peter could tell.

          But if Nigel says it makes for a good Halloween read...

          Peter briefly glanced at the clock. He had a fair bit of time before Naseem would come back with Mike. So, he settled into his seat, his mug of apple cider set within reach, and cracked the book open.

--

“...could always have Pakiza and Hasan spend some time at my place,” Mike’s voice slipped into the studio as the door opened. “Anais misses them, anyway.”

          “You know Sheer ain’t gonna want that,” Naseem replied. He went to set the messenger bag on the couch and the box of rolls on the snack table. “’Sides, she’s gonna be back home soon, anyway.”

          “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean she’d be able to take care of the kids.” 

          “...I can take care of my own kids.”

         “Yeah, I know...” Mike shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack. “Hey, Peter,” he called out. But he received no reply, and he frowned at the still back, exchanged a quick glance with Naseem, and went to the table with a half-smirk. He bent slightly, lifting a hand to wave in Peter’s face. “Helloooooo, earth to--”

       His eyes darted to the book cover, and he froze, every part of his insides filled with a gnawing, prey-like chill. “Fuck...” he tried to murmur as quietly as possible so Peter wouldn’t hear. It was then that he noticed that the hands holding the book trembled, the skin of them gone icy pale. Mike’s eyes flicked up to Peter’s face. His stone-like face, blank and drained of color, eyes wide and bright like a child’s staring at a monster crawling out of the dark corner of his bedroom. 

        All it took was one gaze over the shoulder from Mike, and Naseem was already at the table, coming to Peter’s other side. 

        “Hey, man, where’d you get this book?” Mike tried, easing his fingers over the edge of the pages that Peter was currently on.

          “...From the library,” was Peter’s reply. Voice flat and weak, with a breath that sounded too shallow, and eyes that seemed to have gone even more blank. 

          Fuck! Mike tugged the book out of Peter’s hands without even a fight from the other man. The mental litany of Fuck! continued as he saw the pages that Peter had been reading, no, staring into, with one of the infamous lines “It was a thing that animals do.” Mike did not know much about what Peter had went through as a child, but he knew enough that it would be easy for Peter to superimpose himself on Yoshiko. That is if Peter hadn’t placed himself in young Yozo’s shoes, reliving his past through yet another little boy. He tried not to be angry at anyone, least of all Naseem, but it was hard not to pass a glare at Naseem that was heated enough to melt the other’s face into a cavernous maw. How the fuck did you let this happen?

          But it wasn’t the time for that. With the book gone, Naseem took one of Peter’s hands and gently squeezed. He had his phone out in his other hand, the number for the crisis prevention team already pulled up from the contact list. “Peter, can you hear me?”

          “Yeah,” Peter replied, now staring at the table. “Yeah, I can hear you.”

          “Good. Can you tell me where you are?”

          “I... I’m at...” Peter passed his tongue over his lips. There was the briefest flicker of something in his eyes, but the little hope that it was a good sign were dashed as tears started to brim.

          “Peter, listen to me,” Naseem said, passing the phone to Mike and making the phone call gesture. “I need you to look up, okay?”

         Peter cast his faraway, glassy eyes up.

         “Good. Look around the room. Tell me what you see.”

         “I see...” Brown eyes. Red hair. Bath tub. His pants tugged down. His smile. Andy’s smile. Andy’s hardness through his pants. Ceiling. Ceiling. “Ceiling.”

        “And what else?”

        Andy’s hand on him. Lisette’s angry eyes. Andy’s mouth. Andy’s unwanted mouth going unwanted places. Window glass of a night sky. No, glass of a booth, with a mic stand and a set of headphones. “The recording booth.”

       “And what else?”

       Mixing table, the mug of cold cider, the stack of books Peter was going to have to return because god knew what would be in those other books. Couch, Mike pacing while on the phone, the messenger bag on the couch. They went on like that, until Peter came back to his shivering, crying body, until the crisis team came and talked him further out of his stupor and asked him if he was taking his medication and Naseem assured them Peter was going to set up a meeting with both his therapist and psychiatrist.

          The team left. Though their job was done, panic still tainted the air, and Peter prayed to whomever would listen that it would be gone by the time the others showed up for recording. Mike took the stack of books and shoved them into his own bag, grumbling something about, “This is why we need warnings in the books... I bet Nigel did this... that cock-sucking stupid fuck...”

        “How are you feeling, sweets?”

        Peter wanted to say that he was fine, because this had to be certainly better than being in that room, feeling Andy all over him. He wanted to say that he felt like utter shit and he wanted to swallow a bullet or saw a knife through his stomach because it was true. He couldn’t bring himself to admit to the hot shame crawling all over his skin because he didn’t want any more of Naseem’s nor Mike’s pity. But he looked up into those eyes, his safe harbor, and he spoke plainly.

         “I wanna write.”

[dutchwinter]

weird glitch that happened to me on apple music a couple of days ago in which it displayed thursday's page as if no devolucion was their only album and thursday was the only band in existence

EDIT:

not a glitch or not the glitch i thought it was. no devolucion is supposed to be right in between there. they just put no devol under a different artist for some reason. same name but its just no devol over there. um. dunno whats up with that. so apple music users if ur having trouble finding this album...

[miss-atena]

This post is me madly projecting with some x reader stuff. Not requested, I had the idea and my besties said "YES DO IT" so this is happening now lmao.

This has been on my drafts for a looooong time, so that's why I'm actually posting this now lmao.

Octavinelle Trio x Reader who is autistic with a special interest in Moray Eels

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul first laid eyes on you for purely business reasons. During the holiday season, the Mostro Lounge stays understaffed most times, and you were oh so kindly falling into his flourished word traps to strike a deal.

He, however, would have never expected all you wanted from him was to know all about Moray Eels that he, as a merfolk, knew. That was... rather odd and maybe even boring?

He got intrigued, were you trying something with the twins? They were his most loyal workers, so he couldn't allow you to do anything.

When you get into a relationship, after much hard work on both parts, he expected, no, hoped you would change this special interest from the slimy eels to the much more interesting octopus.

You... didn't quite catch the hints, though, and this has led to some rather jealous and insecure moments with Azul. Especially if the twins were involved.

One could say that he was so insecure, in fact, that he felt ashamed of even showing his octomerman form to you.

But after you realized all this jealousy and insecurity on his part, you did all you could to show how much you love him and appreciate him for the way he is.

Now your eel-filled room has a little octopus cove, full of things that remind you of Azul or that he enjoys so that he has a safe space to come to.

He still will glare at your Eel stuff when cuddling, almost as if the carnivores were real and trying to get a bite out of you.

"I suppose it wouldn't be bad to stay a bit in here, with you, if you promise me you won't be cuddling those slimy eels to sleep, but rather this much more elegant and cuddly octopus plushie..."

Floyd Leech

Floyd first approached you on a whim. He was bored, you looked interesting enough, and you didn't seem to have any sense of self to run away from him in fear of getting squeezed till you popped, and as such, he stuck for a while.

You were quite different from most people he knew, and sometimes you reminded him a bit of himself or Jade, which gave you some points on his side.

The thing that made him stay, though, was the moment you opened your mouth and asked him if he ever saw a Moray Eel.

You're really asking that? To him? A literal Eel-merman? Hah!

He did indulge you for a while because you actually seemed to know your facts. He would just push you around, sometimes carry you on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, while you blabbered out.

When it came to you two dating, it was very much a surprise for everyone. Floyd? Sticking to someone for so long? That's new.

Floyd tends to cling to you a lot, and even though it gets boring to him real quick that you repeat your eel facts, he cannot for the life of him stop you, since when you ramble is the best time to cuddle.

Floyd will, though, get easily jealous of your eel collection. You have the real eel deal (ha!), and you keep cuddling the plushies? Meanie :(

He will constantly just take the plushie off of your hands and plop himself on top of you. No fake eel, just the real deal.

He didn't really tell you he was a mer-eel, he actually just oh so happened to be taking a swim when you were close, and oh, look, he is an eel!

He lets you play with his fins and will take any chance he can get to use you as his cleaning shrimp to get sand off of him. He just like how your little cute hands feel scrubbing the sand from him, it is like exfoliation!

"hey hey, guppy, wanna do something fun? ya can bring the tiny morays with ya, if ya don't mind a bit of dirt, ahahah~!"

Jade Leech

First met you as a tutor for your work at the Mostro Lounge, per Azul's request.

Found your mannerisms quite interesting, you reminded him of himself and a bit of Floyd too.

He was happy when you didn't distance yourself from him when he talked about his interest in mountains or Mushrooms.

In return, you told him you really really really liked Eels. Specially Morays.

He faked not knowing it and let you talk about it since as long as he could rant about his fungi findings he didn't mind having to hear what he already knew.

When you two began dating, he was very perceptive of your needs. sometimes to a scary level, actually.

He doesn't mind at all your eel-filled room. he finds it endearing, and he even uses some miniatures you buy to put on terrariums he gifts to you.

Autistic x autistic relationship, basically.

He will use your eel interest against you in a silly way, like "I can show you an incredible moray fact if you perhaps go hiking with me :)"

Tbh if you are with him, you should do the same. Makes things fun for you both.

Floyd and Azul are so tired of hearing the both of you talk about each other and enabling each other's interests, but Jade will never judge you. And he will actually shove shiitake mushrooms down other's throats if they do judge you.

The moment he showed you his mer form as per your request, after knowing from Floyd that they both are eels.

Jade doesn't mind you picking and prodding around his mer form if it makes you happy, but if you keep your guard down he will fake drowning you "just for fun :)"

Make sure to hide his mushrooms in return, or he will try funny business again, just saying.

"Oya~ I would never intend to purposefully hurt you, my pearl. But a predator is inclined to bite when their jaws are so open near a cute prey, fufufu~"

I wanted to write something for my fave trio for a while, so I hope yall like this! Other posts and the request for Bee and Vixx will be done shortly after this, Since I already have it in my drafts almost finished! Hope yall enjoy a bit of eeltism!

[usedtobecooler]

chop chop slide | kurt kunkle x fem!reader

Pairing | Kurt Kunkle x Fem!Reader

Warnings | sexual content 18+ minors dni, unprotected piv sex, car sex, rough sex, hair pulling, scratching, dirty talk, degradation, recording without consent, mentions of murder skits. eludes to an unhappy ending.

Word Count | 1.3k

A/N | this has been a draft for a looooong time so i'm glad it's finally complete and published!! thank u to my favourite kurt babes @loveshotzz and @chainsawmunson for dealing with my ramblings for this fic, and to @superblysubpar for kickstarting my obsession with writing for this lil incel

He’s not incredible at this, you need to make that perfectly clear in your head before you end up falling in love with a sociopath. It’s hard to remind yourself when he’s deep in your guts and fucking you in rhythm with the shitty electronic music that’s vibrating in the car, bass thrumming through your veins. 

There are little spatters of blood above his eyebrow, the tips of his dirty blonde hair matted with it, and you’re trying to ignore it but it’s hard to. You knew his murder skits were fake, (or so you hoped) still it doesn’t make it any less unsettling to look at, especially in the vulnerable state you’re currently in — tits out, cunt stuffed full, locked in a basic strangers car. 

“H-holy shit,” Kurt stutters, knocking you out of your trance, wide eyes tearing away from his soiled hair and back to his awestruck face. His own eyes are watching where you’re bouncing on top of him, your pussy sucking him in, soaking his pelvis. You leave a creamy ring of release matting down his pubic hair, a testament to how turned on you really were. 

You bury your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging tightly until he’s hissing and punching up into you, cock gliding wetly inside your velvet walls. It’s animalistic, a push and shove for dominance, and you’re unsure who’s going to win as his fingers bite into your thick thighs and keep you held down on him, the thick head of his cock bruising into your cervix and knocking the air from your lungs.

It was unexpected, when you’d pulled his cock out of his pants in eagerness, you didn’t expect to see the absolute monster that sprung loose. He was hung, ridiculously so, and from that second you knew you needed him in you. Wasted no time in sinking down onto him, relishing in the quiet whining it produced from his puffy pink lips.

It was still knocking the wind out of you now, though. It made you feel dizzy with want, the biting at your slick walls still somewhere in the back of your mind.

“Your pussy is so tight,” Kurt groans, head thumping back against the headrest, eyes squeezing shut as he catches a breath for a moment. You find that moment of weakness to regain control of the situation, using your knees to start up your movements again, clamping down on his girth until he’s gasping, eyes flying open again, “I’m gonna cum if you — fuck, fuck!”

“Feel that good?” You ask, stupid on his cock. Of course it fucking feels good, you can feel him pulsing inside of you, stretching your walls with every deep stroke. You loosen the grip on his hair in favor of clamping your fingers onto the back of his chair, bouncing with more vigor, unable to contain the pretty moans spewing from your gloss-slick plump lips. 

The winding in your belly builds with every deep stroke of Kurt’s cock inside of you, the curved tip brushing at your frontal wall perfectly until you’re mewling, back arching until your chest is flush to his own, his soft baby blue sweater welcoming against your hot skin.

Your gushing cunt begins to drown out the shitty bass thrumming in your ears, sloppy and dripping all down the insides of your thighs and laving at Kurt’s balls. The slick sounds a testament to how turned on you are, and that mixing with his silly little pathetic whimpering is about to do it for you. It builds, and builds, and builds until —

“Say you want me,” Kurt’s voice catches you by surprise — it’s not as high pitched as usual, deep with want as he fucks up into you, doing half the work for you as your body goes limp, exhausted from the impending orgasm that just got washed away in an instant, “Say y-you— say you need me.” 

Your cunt clenches, a wave of heat thrumming in your belly at his words. You can’t even reply, at a loss for what to say, unable to focus on anything but the way the tip of his cock grazes your frontal wall and the needy way his big eyes are watching you. 

He doesn’t like that you’re not giving him an answer, not giving him what he wants. He whines like a petulant child, fists a hand into your hair and tugs you back until you’re bent backwards, lodged in between the two front seats on the center console. You yelp, crying out at the new angle and the change of pace. 

“Say it.” He demands, the pleading look still etched on his face, though his eyes are hardened in a way that’s almost terrifying. It’s hard to focus on the murderous look in his eye when he’s fucking you so rough you feel like you’re bruising, and you’re so weak for it that you’re gushing all over him, like a true sadist creep. 

“W-want you, Kurt,” You stutter, unable to hold back your tears when he tugs your hair harder. The song changes, though your ears hardly register it. From this angle you can see the streetlights out the windows, painfully aware now of how open and public this is, how if the cops came you’d both be fucked. It doesn’t help how much you’re enjoying this. 

Kurt groans when you finally give him what he wants, the reply he needed, all the anger on his face changing to bliss, “Tell the camera how good my cock is,” He’s smirking at you, gleaming white teeth showing menacingly under the harsh lighting. You tilt your head further back, finally aware that he’s been filming this the entire time — red light on his little gopro that was stuck to the windscreen.

You panic a little when you make eye contact with the camera, aware you’ve given yourself away completely now, so if he were to show this to anybody or post it there was no way to deny it was you. But when Kurt fucks up into you so hard your eyes roll into your skull, the anger and offence disappears as fast as it came. 

“Fucking admit it,” His words catch between a plea and an order, whiny at the end as you continue moaning instead of obeying him immediately. Your tummy winds tight, tighter than the hand he has wound in your tresses, the rough tug making your scalp burn, “Do it, you slut.”

“It’s — it’s so good, Kurt. Fuck, oh fuck,” You’re yelping, vision blurring at the edges, his violent words mixing with the harsh way his cock slams into your spongey spot enough to tip you over. Your fingers grip at his sides, talon-like nails raking into his skin hard enough to tear it as you cum, white hot heat spreading through your body as your cunt spasms and clenches around his thick length.

“You — you’re s-so wet,” Kurt stutters, his hips faltering in a telltale sign that he’s close to losing it. You watch him with hazy eyes as he leans forward, upper body engulfing your own, his free hand coming out to squeeze roughly at the swell of your tit, thumb sliding over your tight nipple until you’re moaning for him, pussy pulsing around him. 

“Yeah?” Your voice is hoarse and wet, the stinging in your scalp turning to pain and raking a sob from you, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, “Cum in me, then. Make me even wetter, you’d like that, right?”

Apparently, he would. Because your question has him grabbing at your soft breast harder, his hips stilling as his cock pulses inside of you, thick ropes of cum painting your insides. He’s so pretty when he cums that you can’t rip your eyes away, his hazel orbs slipping shut and dusky pink lips parting in a ragged moan.

It’s quiet for a second as the song transitions into something a little quieter, unfamiliar in your ears. So quiet, that you’re able to pick up a small whisper that sends chills down your spine;

“I'm not letting you go now.”

[joethehoeee]

Hello...uh...I was gone for a while...buuuuut I finally got some new art, not much but at least something.

It's actually a comparison between the first time I drew Walter and the most recent.

Uhm I think you can see the difference...Just a bit ofc-

Nah but seriously, due to my looooong break and a really bad breakdown I was convinced that I was completely shitty with no improvment.

And it was complete BS. I actually improved.

Btw I also have old drafts wich will be posted soon, so don’t be confused if it's still my "old style".

Here is also the closeup:

Love my boy.

I also watched the show again (and giggled like i was 12 with a crush when I saw Walter on screen) and holy- WALTER IS DAMN UGLY. Like what did they do to his troll form in some scenes-

Like I love him but the show sometimes did him dirty.

Annnnd

AHEM:

Dear @pinkytoothlesso11 and dear @toodrasticallydumb ...

ARE YOU INSANE?! LIKE HOW?!

HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO READ ALL OF THOSE DAMN CHAPTERS!!

Anyways, thank you. I really appreciate everything and everyone. I couldn’t stop doing all of that bc I would miss u all too much.

And thanks for the flowers in my inbox 🥹

[dippindaz]

Could you write dad grabber reaction when his kid's first word is "daddy"?

Omg this is so cute 🥺🥺🥰 I hope you don’t mind if I do this as headcanons :)

(Sorry this is so late, just looking through some of my old drafts and wanted to try and work on a few.)

(Welp, after a looooong time I have actually finished it lol. I’m so sorry. I hope you can still enjoy it Anon!) unedited

It’s just a regular day, you’re on the couch watching Al play with your baby.

By play I mean he’s just laughing, while your baby excitedly grabs at his fingers.

There’s a few random toys scattered around on the floor but the most interesting thing is definitely his hand.

“You see this little guy?” You’ve never seen him so excited in all your life with this man. It’s like he’s seeing a whole new and wondrous world.

Your baby paid him no mind and continued trying to catch Al’s fingers. Making happy little baby noises all the while.

Eventually, Al couldn’t help himself and picked up the baby.

Consider yourself lucky! It took everything not to squeeze the little dude, just look at how cute he is!!

Al walked on his knees to the couch and laid your baby down on his back.

He then begins to “tickle” your baby on the chest/stomach, all while saying the classic “goochie goochie goo”

Of course, your baby bursted with laughter. Al’s face lit up on a way it only did when your baby laughed. It never ceased to bring him copious amounts of joy.

“Honey! Love, you see that?! Look at him!!”

After a few minutes of tickles and laughter, Al paused.

Once the laughter calmed a bit you both could hear your kid mumbling a distinct “da” sound.

You both leaned toward the baby in anticipation. Al softly nodded his head and said “C’mon, you can do it. Say “daddy””

After a lot of back and forth of this it finally happened.

“Da.. da, mphh(baby mumbles), daddy?” Al threw his arms up, his eyes wide and lit up and mouth agape, he looked at you.

You immediate hugged him and then both turned your attention towards your baby. Until you hear Al beside you, sniffling.

“Al? Are you ok?”

“I just- he said my name… he called me dad, and, and, as his first word? How special is that?!” Though it wasn’t a question. He knew how special it was, how lucky he was.

His arm wrapped you and the other laid beside your baby, pulling you both closer to him, into a makeshift hug. Nothing could be better than having you and his child by his side.

[bugeyedfreaks]

Re: that last post… I have a couple of asks from looooong ago that I saved in my drafts that maybe I’ll post later, but in the grand scheme of things, I really think doing another PPG reboot, even with some of the “right” people in key roles, is fundamentally not a great idea. I know people are hype for a reboot, I know the property sells a lot of merch, I know it makes money (which, I know, is a good thing for many many people, and I support them all gettin’ that bread), but I still feel so weird about it. We didn’t need a 2016 reboot, we really didn’t need the 2014 special, for the longest time I have felt like everything was all neatly tied up in a bow and finished with the 2008 special. I was fine with this! It is an idea that I’m still trying to be neutral about, and you guys know that despite it all, I really do love this show with all of my stupid little fan heart… but my stupid little fan heart is also patched up with tons of duct tape and band-aids and looks worse than Mojo Jojo after he’s been beaten up for his latest crimes. It is still beating, sure, but at what cost?

Sigh. I dunno. Despite it all, I hope everything works out for the best and good things happen all around. I always wish for this! Positivity! It is the Powerpuff way! 💙💗💚

[thelunarsystemwrites]

Looooong ass vent

TW for: Self hate. Lots of swearing. Use of not nice words. Eating disorders, purging, self harm, suicide, rants, venting, tons of triggers, dissociation, lying, all caps, me whining, me being a bitch, mistreatment, body shaming, hateful stuff, mental illness, all that- like seriously this has more TWs than I can think of. .

I'm a jealous person. I'm sorry, it's true. I'm jealous when other people have art that gets 40, 50, more notes. I get jealous when my friends have better friends than I ever could be. I get jealous of song writers because damnit please I want to make music. I get jealous of others art,voices, bodies. I get so jealous I get mad at nothing over nothing. I get jealous at others art styles, at other success, i get jealous at my own FRIENDS wow I'm awful

I'm selfish. I'm greedy because I can't just- be fucking happy with what i do have. I can't be patient to get better at drawing, better at recording my voice, more freedom. I am never satisfied, I'm a fucking whore for any sort of love and attention and likes and reblogs. You hear me? I'm, a, whore.

And I'm fucking awful because I can't take criticism for shit, I get so fucking unhappy at it and I lie and I say I'm happy to receive it. I lie all the time like this, I'm a dishonest whore, that's worse than a normal whore! I get so bent out of shape!

And I want to make it big in the Tumblr community BUT FUCK IT BECAUSE I NEVER FOCUS ON ONE THING

M so impatient

And when I talk to my friends I-

I forget all that. I calm down, I feel... wanted.

But I'm burdening them. I'm burdening them I'm burdening them I'm I'm fucking selfish and horrible because they give and give and give and I take like a needy selfish greedy whore.

AND I DON'T SHUT UP, I'm sorry I'm sorry I never shut up

...I'm... awful. And... I shouldn't keep posting shit like this, because nobody should have to read my rambling and shit and I'm overreacting and I want to die and

Im useless irl BTW. I've been nothing but a stupid moody bitch the past two weeks, I stay up all night doing nothing and wake up at 5 pm like a useless piece of human shit that should burn in the garbage

I keep forgetting who I am, who is talking too

Im sooooooooo uselessssssssssss

Its fucking because I think my family would be happier if I didn't exist. Because that'd be one less stupid moody bitch that can't do anything and hides in their room all day that they have to deal with

Im lazy I get apathetic I have no motivation to do anything and I don't cry at sad movies like a broken robot and everything about me is wrong

And my father wanted a daughter so fucking badly, but I'm not a girl I'm nothing and he'd be so mad if I ever told him

And BTW I'm literally awful like I've run out of things I'm a jealous whore

M a whore because all tye time I think of stupid sexual stuff and then I feel disgusted I'm disgusting I barely take showers

I'm pathetic btw I never finish anything I start I have so many half assed AUs and drafts and fanfics and art and chores and needs and shit

and I sit in my room all day and play on my phone like a fucking loser. Im also really stupid btw, I don't know half the shit I'm supposed too and I can't spell shit or know history AND I HAVE THE ABILITY TO LEARN BUT IM SUCH A STUPID FUCKING BITCH I NEVER DO ANYTHING

I'm also a hypocrite because I get so snappy and shit with my siblings when they do nothing wrong except be annoying or something but when I feel justified I shouldn't because I'm still a shitty person

I barely reach out to my friends unless they text first, I'm a horrible friend that never listens I'm sorry I'm sorry I never meant to abandon anyone

And I can't take blame or accountability I'm sorry I am shit why do I keep trying to hide behind myself??

Its past 6 am,people are statving and in here venting like a bitch

I never shut up

I Bother people

i sleep in and I'm moody and I demand attention like a whore whose demanding love idfk

I never know anything, I'm rude as hell

Im sorry

and I'm protective over shit nobody cares about, I'm so damn defensive

Im sorry I'm not doing better I'm sorry I'm not improving myself. I'm so mad at myself I have so much anger at myself I direct it at innocent people I'm sorry

I HAVE NO EXCUSES, IM SO FUCKING SELF AWARE OF THIS BUT I KEEP DOING IT KM SO DAMN FHCKONG DUM IM LUTERALLY COUNTING HOW MANY WORDS OF SELF HSTE

Its justified BTW, i deserve hate

I feel like I'm lying abt being a system and artistic and depressed and anxiety like what I'd I just suddenly decided I had them?? I swear I promise I'm not faking I'm not I don't want to lie I want to be good I never meant to hurt anyone BUT I FEEL LIKE IM A FAKING BITCH

I binge food and throw it up, I hide food like a greedy pig just to purge I take others food because I'm so gluttonous and I LIE about it

and I vent and vent and vent and... and I still hate myself

I'm so fucking manipulative because anytime I talk I CSNT STOP IMSGING HOW THE CONVERSATION WILL GO, I CANT STOP TRYONG TO FUCKING GET MY WAY IRL, AHHGHGBTIDDHDH I ALEATS ACT LIKE I KNOW EVERYTHING WHEN I DONT and I purposefully annoy my siblings so they leave thr kitchen so I can binge like a fat pig, I'm a hypocrite too in every aspect. I'm toxic ok im awful

I s/h and then i forget about it so its not even a problem but I whine like it is and I want to do it so badly rn I wanna go deep

AND I RUINED MYSELF WITH UGLY SCATS they're so ugly like me inside and out

And I wanna cry and

and I'm so awful because like I get so... idk, I am. I've done shifty things, I'm a shit person. I act sweet than a condescending little bitch

and sometimes the smallest things set me off

Im jealous of everyone else

Hell I'm fucking jealous of people I've never met, I want so much so badly I'm so greedy and lustful for it and selfish

In... conclusion? The world, would, be, better, without, me

I'm useless, lazy, stupid, jealous, slutty, angry, sad, pitiful, pathetic, fat looking, no good child, moody, stereotypical, ugly, hateful, chatter box, greedy, selfish. Gluttonous, messy, dirty. I'm all the bad stuff

Dont lie, these are facts. I have so much awful in me, the world wpuld be better off without me

[erose-this-name]

(explodes you with my mind repeatedly until you say more about your story)

*dies*

Here is a very early draft of the world map, In the final version it should have better labeling, more realistic wear and tear as if it's a real map, and latitude and longitude lines and a compass star. [I need to learn about cartography {i've already spent weeks working on it, send help}]).

My story is post-apocalyptic set looooong after the IRL current climate change disaster and sea level rise (which people in the future call the 'Deluge', hence the series' name "The Diluvian War".) (some other non-climate calamities also happened)

Please ask questions about this, I could talk for hours about all the details and reasoning behind this map! yeah it's pretty cool, I guess

Fun Fact: Florida is gone. No more Fl*ridians.

FUN FACT: This map is based on projections of what earth would look like if all the ice in the world melted, which is by 70 meters at the most. But I thought that didn't look grimdark enough, so I worked out what it would look like if it rose by 80 meters instead.

(assuming the absolute worst case scenario plus massive erosion and thermal expansion and a slowed water cycle due to less biological sequestering and a few comet impacts or something, I dunno.)

I did take more than a few liberties, though. Like, realistically you wouldn't see the complete loss of the British lowlands with just 80 meters, but I thought it was really fucking funny.

England is gone. No more England.

Florida would totally fucking sink like Atlantis, that's 100% gonna happen in the near future, it's very low-lying.

Scandinavia isn't likely to become an island without a lot of erosion, and the Finns and Karelia digging the great "Suksi Vittuun Venäjä" canal system.

Fun Fact: The funny part is, after making the first version of this map, I decided the story should be set ~400,000 years in the future. (so I could have more room for speculative biology and evolution to happen).

Some time after that, I learned ice ages happen every 100,000 years, meaning there has been at least three ice ages.

So, canonically, it's completely a coincidence that the Earth just happens to look like it did in the 22nd-23rd century again. Sea levels have risen and fallen numerous times since the Deluge. *shrugs*

I did not bother including continental drift, as in that time it'd only be like 6 kilometers. Which is nothing on the scale of a global map. In some regions, that's considerably less than erosion and sea level rise.

400,000 years is also more than long enough for most radioactive fallout and nuclear waste to no longer be dangerous (mostly). Unfortunately, 400,000 years is also long enough for people to reinvent nuclear bombs and reactors multiple times, and there's still a lot of fallout from that.

There are more than a few perfectly circular lakes in this world, where the fish are all just a little bit wrong. These are sacred places, where fishing and swimming is punishable by death, as they belong to the mysterious wrathful god of the Atomic Cult. The peoples of these cursed lands are often born with the blessing of melanism, renowned for their ability to survive the Trial of Honor in the Forests of Black Thorns.

[siriuslysatorusimping]

It's officially time for me to do a reread of your entire series. The nights are looooong with babies. This will be perfect to fill my time with

REREAD THE ENTIRE SERIES??? AHHHHHHH

I hope you still enjoy it 🥹 I can't believe that people still want to reread my writing, it makes my heart so fucking happy 😭😭

Nights are definitely long with babies. My best friend just had her first (a month ago, actually, he was a lil early but he's all good now!) and she's just glad that she'd submitted her draft of her dissertation before he showed up 😂

I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS, if you have any, ON YOUR REREAD!! I've made some minor changes to the first few installments recently, and I'm working on revising them a bit as I post them on Tumblr, too.

I hope you and your little man are doing well!! 💕

HAVE A GOOD DAY/NIGHT!! 💕💕

[jerzwriter]

WARNING: Finally clearing out my drafts ... all sorts of weird shit will be queued for the next few weeks. So please... enjoy the crazy content and don't read into any of it too much. This shit's been lingering in there for a looooong time. :)

[cutiedwaekki]

blue hour

They say that the blue hour is a memorable moment, let's see what will happen to them after entering this forbidden amusement park.

Contain : weight gain ; rapid/magic weight gain ; tight clothes ; clothes ripping ; weight gain denial ; hybrid AU (at the end) ; NSFW ; not really a happy end for once

Welcome guys ! Uni is killing me but enjoy this fic that was in my draft fo a very looooong time haha

Honestly not very proud lf the end :/

stay tuned because tomorrow I will post something else too 🤭

Enjoy ♡

{💙}

The blue hour, the period between day and night when the sky fills almost entirely with a darker blue than the sky-blue of the day. More precisely, it corresponds to a short period of nautical twilight or nautical dawn.

But in this case, it's a curse that's best avoided. The rule was simple and everyone in town knew it: don't go to the abandoned faire.

I mean, sometimes it was open to the public on special occasions, but as soon as the blue hour approached, you had to get out of there.

What happened at the blue hour? People didn't know, it was almost as if people disappeared, but ... how could you disappear like that from one day to the next?

That was the question our dear boys were asking themselves. It was Yeonjun who came up with the idea of going there illegally, followed by Beomgyu, who agreed while the information was still processing in the others' minds.

-"I don't think it's a good idea" declared Soobin.

- "Come on, there's five of us, if something happens to one of us, we'll know what to do", reassured a determined Yeonjun.

And so, as the day drew to a close, they made their way to the fair when no one was watching.

It was beautiful and brightly lit from afar, yet gave off nothing scary to make them think about leaving or returning home to their daily lives.

As you can see, our five friends were very much of the day-to-day type and had had many unforgettable experiences since they were in middle school together. It was always the brave boys who got the ball rolling and the shy ones who followed, but they all ended up having a great time.

So when they arrived at the fairground, it was a moment of complete amazement. The park was lively and brightly lit, with fairground music playing in the background. The food stalls even had hot food!

It was incredible and yet so true.

-I think- but Taehyun was interrupted by Kai, who exclaimed that there was a carousel in the distance and decided to run for it.

- "Relax, everything's going to be fine" reassured Beomguy before drawing his friend towards the carousel.

He was right, he had to relax, there was nothing scary here after all!

{💙}

Yes, nothing scary when you're not approaching the blue hour. As the sky turned a darker shade of blue compared to the daytime sky, the blue hour finally arrived, and that's when the curse kicked in.

At first, there was nothing very remarkable, but if there was nothing visible, it was mainly because everything was happening in their minds. The first few minutes of the blue hour made them forget all worries and stress, as if they were in a state of ataraxia where happiness reigned.

All the attractions worked, but Beomgyu's favorite was the mirror maze, especially when, instead of his usual relfet, Yeonjun had a pig in front of him, which made his friend laugh, while the main cincerned, less amused by this, pinched the younger man's cheek, noticing that it seemed plumper than before... or maybe he'd just never noticed.

It's like Soobin who, after playing dart shooting, felt that his arms seemed heavier, as if there were no muscle and just fat, pure fat.

Or Taehyun who felt his steps were different as if he could no longer walk without waddling.

Huening was also caught up in the euphoria, laughing and doing all the attracrion he could see. He was acting like he'd never acted before; it was as if he was regressing mentally to want to do only two things: have fun and eat.

Because yes, food was omnipresent, but especially in large quantities. A small packet of popcorn was the equivalent of at least one size large.

Soda was unlimited, not to mention the hotdog stands that were always there and always hot.

Nothing wrong with that, right?

{💙}

It was only the beginning of the blue hour, because as the hour progressed, the sides effects intensified.

Although they didn't notice it, they were far too caught up in their ataraxia to notice that they were getting fatter, that Huening couldn't even get into the carousel without making the atraction creak loudly.

Beomgyu was becoming a veritable piglet in spite of having teased his friend earlier.

That Taehyun ended up waddling but ended up sitting on a chair to rest, but broke it and ended up on the floor.

That Soobin had become so fat that his belly was resting on the edge of the shooting range. Then he didn't even try to shoot any more - he'd realized it was no use - he'd become too fat for that, instead he was gorging himself on fairyfloss from the stand next door.

Finally, Yeinjun, who had initiated the idea, was the only one with any conscience. So when he saw that in the place of his flat tummy there was a massive belly in its place. His crop top was useless , not even to cover his man-boobs, which were also getting bigger by the minute. He tried to run to warn his friends to leave.

But, they all seemed so happy, so relaxed as if it were a constant climax lingering in their minds.

The idea that all this fat had magically appeared didn't even cross their minds, after all, what's so bad about this carnival?

-"But what if we *oink*- Yeonjun stopped in his sentence as he realized that he'd just grumbled like a pig!

But before he could realize anything else, a noise attracted their attention: Soobin's belly had become so big and heavy that it cracked the edge of the stand, sending him tumbling to the ground.

-"Soo, is everything all right?" Asked Yeonjun seemed to be the only one worried, while the others seemed to be a mixture of laughter and pig grunts.

{💙}

The end of the blue hour was approaching and there was nothing to stop them leaving, they had already become too big and stupid to try and escape.

Over time, they'd all become really fat, either breaking something like Huening, who'd managed to break one of the caroussel horses, or just breaking their clothes, ripping off their current clothes, which didn't fit them.

There they were, naked, fat but still wanting more. Yeonjun felt powerless, but eventually succumbed.

When he noticed a pig's tail growing on each of them, their skin turned pink and now they couldn't speak without snarling like pigs.

Now we knew what happened to those who tried to enter the fair during blue hour. Gluttony take possession of them.

{💙}

- "I don't believe you, it's impossible"

- "But I swear my brother told me, everyone who goes in turns into a pig!"

- "Give me an example then"

- "See Yeonjun and his friends? You know those clowns in high school who accidentally set fire to their class ?"

- "Ah yes! I even had a crush on Beomgyu, I remember.

- "And guess what, some said they went there and then we never saw them again

- "It seems impossible to me"

- "Believe me, anything is possible"