#shedding plastic leather

[neighborhoodscorpio]

Vegan leather pisses me off so bad now… girl that plastic fucking jacket

[thenineofus]

vegans dni

[embroidely]

i am complaining here instead of in the Instagram comments because... non-anonymous social media are the absolute worst. Unfortunately, it bears repeating:

Vegan and sustainable are NOT synonymous!!!!!

Plastic shoes are never going to be more sustainable than real leather shoes!! Plastic clothes shedding micro plastic fibers are not more sustainable than wool!!! And by the way, wool!! is!!! amazing!!

Yes, eating less meat reduces your environmental impact. But you know what reduces your environmental impact even more?

Not wearing plastic as clothes.

[renthony]

I don't do it because it's obnoxious, but every time someone posts something in one of my crafty groups and says the materials are "vegan leather," I have to resist the urge to say, "so it's plastic."

Just fucking call it what it is and stop trying to euphemism your way out of the plastic use. Fucking christ.

And this isn't even a "lol stupid vegans" thing; I know multiple vegans who hate that shit just as much as I do. Hell, I've known people who eat vegan for whatever reason but will still invest in good leathers, because good-quality, sustainably-sourced leather is inimitable. I have known a vegan who invested in high-quality used leather work boots specifically because it was less ecologically damaging than buying a new pair of microplastic-shedding "vegan leather" boots every year and a half.

What it comes down to is that you can't be a conscious consumer of anything if you don't know what a product is actually made of.

[trashmouth-richie]

CONFESSION

eddie x fem! reader

TW: no minors, heavy degrading themes of the Catholic Church, smut, corruption kink, virginity loss, Eddie posing as a priest. Slight daddy kink, rosaries not used properly. Umm yeah it’s smut p in v, cum eating. Etc

a/n: I have no words, I’ll see you in the crimsoned room of hell, or purgatory— in that case, please pray me out.

Trudging with untied boots the thud of his clunky soles echo loud in the steeped ceiling of St. Mary’s. He stubs the lit end of his joint out in the holy water, sizzling and emitting one last pathetic puff of smoke. Dipping a tattooed middle finger into the holy water he makes a lame excuse for the sign of the cross, flicking whatever remnants of moisture left into the open air. Keeping his middle finger high for the man on the cross. 

  Every Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday nights at 7 o'clock on the dot, he had come to the brick built and heavily waxed wooden floored church to repent. 

  Father Hopper had gone easy on Eddie when he found him trying to hot wire his car. Punishing him to thirty confessions stretched over two months time.

Father knew Wayne Munson was on the verge of a thin line of patience, and Eddie was on his last strike with Hawkins PD, next step was prison. A shared cell with the other Munson and ex resident of Hawkins currently known as inmate #89432. 

  Fuck it, I’ll go to jail what the hell do I care? Eddie spat at the rickety table in Father Hopper’s poorly lit kitchen.

  “Son,” Father began, sipping a bitter cup of coffee, thumb nails scratching against the ceramic mug, “you don’t want to end up like him.” 

  “Well. I sure as hell ain’t gonna end up like you. White robes and that cardboard dog collar you wear— yeah fuckin’ right.” 

  That was back in May. What started as a desperate plea to steal a car and possibly sell it to get enough money to  skip the prying eyes and whispering licks of gossip tongues about how he hadn’t graduated, again, — ended with him getting assigned the confessions. 

  A stuffy little closet with Hopper’s coffee breath stenching through a grated screen. The dark walls seems to close in on him as he confessed to petty crimes and sex on Sundays. 

  Leaning against the desk that held glass orbs of candles, he spits in the nearest one. The flame sizzling out. And that’s when he hears it. 

  A small giggle from the pew nearest him. 

  He had seen you around school. Clutching your school books to your chest as you were shoved into walls and lockers. A ghost among the popular chicks and dicks. But never to him. 

  He himself was an outcast and truth be told he didn’t remember the time he hawked a lougie into Jason’s milk carton and stubbed a cigarette into his hamburger after Jason had purposefully knocked your lunch tray out of your hands. The cheap plastic tray hitting the tiled floor with a clank. 

  He might remember but you remembered the way his smile pearled big and pretty, his long lashes dusting the tops of his cheeks as he winked your way, and the way your panties clung with wetness at your heated lips. 

  His whiskey dark eyes bore into your head as he says your name slow, like reciting a prayer. His long legs swing as he struts cockily towards you. Middle of the summer and he’d shed his leather armor. Red flannel open revealing a tanned tattooed chest. Sleeves cut off showcasing muscly trailer park strong arms.  Jeans hacked off above the knee. 

  His smirk danced across his lips, tongue poking out to wet his lips. He had trouble written all over him. And damn did he wear it well.

  “Don’t tell me you’re here to confess the sins committed against our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?” 

  Your legs cross and thighs rub together. A pulse awakening between your legs. 

  “Amen,” you giggle nervously, hiding behind heated cheeks. 

  Leaning his long frame against the edge of the pew, he throws a worn heavy boot over onto the seat, next to your clenched thighs under the white sundress. 

  He leans down, over his knee, his long curls dancing with his gesturing head, he’s leaning close and you can see the reds fading his eyes and the skunked smell of weed. Still that smile has you melting. 

  “So what are you in for? Forget to genuflect before sitting down last Sunday?” 

  His joke earns a smile from you and seeing your lips pull your cheeks up has him twitching in his jeans. 

  “No,” you roll your eyes in a girlish way, batting your lashes, “it’s not that.” 

  “Ah!” Eddie says jumping up, “no bother, I don’t think Father Hopper isn’t gonna show anyway.” 

  You don’t mean to frown and Eddie almost laughs out loud at your pout. 

  Strict as your parents were, they were demanding that you needed to confess for your sins. They were already pissed you skipped out on college, might as well take 10 years off school, you’ll never go, they hated your job, hated even more that you didn’t really have friends outside of the “weird Buckley girl.” 

  By the end of this month you’d have enough money saved up to move out, and oh how you couldn’t wait. 

  The dirty word slips before you catch it. Hands covering your mouth quickly, the heat on your cheeks burning deeper. You peer at Eddie with big eyes.  

  He cracks a slow smile and leans forward. Licking his chapped lips again. He’s so close to you you can see every eyelash in high definition. 

  “That’s another sin, one more and the floor will open and we’ll both be engulfed into the fiery pits of hell.” 

  “Actually I think it’s purgat—” 

  A ringed finger is placed vertically to your lips, shushing you from finishing. The satin feel of your lips on his rugged finger makes him ache against the teeth of his zipper. 

  Tracing your face with his eyes they dip down the slope of your nose and past the curve of your lips, the delicate pink rosary is hung on your neck with such daintiness it’s almost in open invitation. 

  He about chokes when the goosebumps rise on your throat from his stare, a bead of sweat trickling in between your tits. 

  Dark eyes swim into yours, and his smile is impish, full of wicked delight, “Let’s go.” 

  His hand snakes down your shoulder and he grabs your wrist in a light but thick grip. Beckoning you with a sinful smirk. 

  “To where?” You manage after peeling your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

  “Time to confess for that dirty mouth.” Eddie says matter of fact, turning his head and dragging you to the confessional booth. “C’mon I’ll act as Father.” 

  Eddie pulls you into the small wooden door in the back of the church opening it for you in a gentlemanly manner ending in a bow. 

  He rushes you in with snapping fingers and a growl making you squeal. 

  Sitting behind the screen where Hopper usually sat Eddie beckons you to sit in his usual assigned seat. 

  He makes a backwards sign of the cross with his left hand and folds his fingers, clearly his throat and using a deep baritone voice, “tell me your sins, sweet girl.” 

  When you giggle, Eddie flicks the screen, “this is serious shit— confess to me.” 

  You begin the way your parents had you rehearse at home. 

  “Bless me Father— wait, should I call you that?”

  “Daddy works best,” Eddie says without missing a beat. And your pussy clenches around nothing. 

  “Bless me,” you hesitate on the word, but Eddie raises his eyebrows to encourage you so you start again, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. 

  “B- Bless me, Daddy, for I have sinned, my last confession was 10 weeks ago.” 

  “That’s a long time ago,” he tsks, berating you, “have you not sinned in these last 10 weeks?” 

  Fingers threading the hem of your dress you answer, “I- I have.” 

  Eddie palms himself at your innocence. “Well?” 

  “I— Eddie—” 

  “Excuse me? My title in this confessional is Daddy please do not make me correct you again,”

  “Sorry, Daddy.” 

  “Good girl,” Eddie purrs. Sending shocks to your clit. “Continue.” 

  Clearing your throat you stroke the beads of the rosary hung against your neck. Counting ten, a small skip, another bead, then ten more. 

  “I was.. experimenting.” 

  “Drugs?” Eddie asks, chuckling in genuine shock, he didn’t think a girl like you would smoke, “yes the devils lettuce is tempting.” 

  He flicks his lighter open and lights another joint he had tucked in his pocket for the ride home. 

  “But we must stop these temptations before they start, plus who are you buying from because I need to know if I have competition.” 

  You move your head to the side and continue thumbing the pink pearly beads in your fingers. The clack of your nails against the beads fill the quiet smoke hung room. 

  “No… it wasn’t drugs.” 

  Eddie’s mind flips like a magazine. 

  “Oh yes the alcohol, another temp—”

  “Wrong again.” 

  Eddie’s frustration peaks, “well I’m not a fucking mind reader so do you wanna explain yourself?” 

  “I— I was.. I was touching myself.” 

  “Oh fuckin, Christ..” it’s mumbled and breathy but you hear it all the same, sending a slick to your pussy from your admission and Eddie’s shock. 

  He’s rock hard. The zipper on his jeans scream, begging for any sort of release. He needs to know more. 

  “Do explain,” he says intrigued, leaning forward, his hands folded under his chin. 

  Adjusting yourself in the wooden chair you cross your legs, and Eddie barely witnesses the white cotton snug between your thighs, the sneak peek having him swallow hard. 

  Taking a breath you go into detail about the videotape you had gotten from the adult section of Family Video. How you had only watched it once and the volume was muted, but you couldn’t get it out of your mind. 

  The way the woman’s mouth curved into an “O” when the man was pleasuring her. The size of the man’s penis and the way it slapped against his stomach when released from his jeans. How the woman’s perked nipples were firm but looked soft against the man’s tongue.  

  Eddie’s drool is wiped from his mouth at your explicit confession, and he starts to palm himself over his jeans when you explain how you had started rubbing yourself over your underwear at night. 

  Thinking you were about to have your first ever orgasm but weren’t able to finish because your mother had walked in on you, legs spread wide on your comforter, toes curling. As you were using the barrel of a curling iron to rub at your clothed clit. 

  The embarrassment from repeating the story to Eddie made your cheeks heat, and you hid behind your hair. 

  The silence is speaking volumes. The only noise is the cream of the wooden seat as you shift again, a flutter in your stomach as Eddie thinks of his punishment for you. 

  “Sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, a hiss on his tongue as he moves from behind the screen, wedging himself between you and the wall, his long frame leaning against the mahogany. 

  Ringed fingers tapping along the plump of his lips, his hard cock outlined through his jeans, “You are a filthy, naughty girl.”

  You scoff, “I am not!” 

  “Oh baby, you are,” Eddie says, boxing you in, “but, I know just the thing to…cleanse you of your sins.” He licks his lips again and stares you down. And you're certain you're looking into Satan’s eyes. 

  “Wh—” you stutter, having to clear your throat, swallowing thickly and dabbing at the sweat on your neck, “what do you have in mind?” 

  Eddie’s wayward curls skim the top of your chest as his lips curve around the shell of your ear, he smells like cigarettes and laundry soap, “bad girls get spanked.” 

  Gasping, he laughs at your shocked face. “I don’t make the rules babe, ok I made that one up, but this is for you swearing in the house of the Lord, now,” he gestures a thumb over his shoulder, “get up, you’re gonna need to be on my lap.” 

  You do as you're told, standing chest to chest with Eddie. Only this time it’s you licking your lips. One stretch up on tipped toes and your lips could connect with his. The faint mark of a nicotine stain paints his bottom lip. You wonder if it would taste like it. 

  He grabs your hips and swivels you around, his rings dig into the soft cotton on your dress, his nails scratching the fabric as he takes his seat. The wooden chair groaning on the sudden weight. 

  Leaning back in the chair he smiles wickedly, legs spread wide, he rubs his lap, tapping for you to come closer. 

  When your body is laid flat against him, you pull at the hem of your skirt to keep your modesty. 

  “This punishment is just for the dirty words,” Eddie explains. His ringed fingers walk along your spine, trailing down your back and up the fat of your ass. 

  He lays a warm hand on your cheeks and rubs it gently. Squeezing every so often. 

  Eddie's cock is hard under your ribs and your pussy flutters at the size of him. He hums and jiggles your ass before explaining his rules for your indiscretion, “you are going to recite The Lord’s Prayer while I spank you. Understand?”  

  You nod dumbly and whimper when his left hand tickles up your thighs. 

  “Start.” He grunts. 

  You begin the Lord's Prayer just like you were taught, standing before joyful cheeked families in a similar white dress on your First Communion day. 

  “Our Father, who art in Heaven, Hallowed be th—”

  A large hand comes down hard with a thwap! on your ass cheek, sending you forward and hitting your head on the wall. 

  “Oh,” Eddie whispers, not hiding the smile in his voice, “if you mess up— we start over. So don’t. Unless this naughty girl enjoys being spanked by daddy? Hmm?” 

  You nod again and continue. Trying hard to remember where you were. Hallowed be…

  “.. Thy Name, Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done. On Eart—”

  Two hands smack your ass at once like sticks beating a drum. The hem of your skirt is lifted past the sheer white panties you are wearing. Reaching for the end of your dress to pull it down Eddie grabs your wrist, putting your hand back where it belongs he issued another spanking. 

  This time he lifts your dress fully and groans at the sight in front of him. Your plump ass has all but swallowed the see thru fabric of your panties. Eddie sucks a breath in through his teeth and places his left hand in the thick of your thighs, warmed by the heat of your arousal, his thumb rubbing small circles. 

  Thy Kingdom… shit. 

  “Thy Kingdom c—” the hardest slap yet has rained down on your nearly bare skin, and it springs tears from your eyes. 

  Eddie smooths over the red mark left on your skin and his tone is irate when he spits, “you already said that sweetheart, start again.” 

  His fingers snake further up your legs and he groans at the feel of your soaked panties on his fingertips. 

  You start again. And the spankings Eddie delivers are swift and merciless. The harder he spanks the more you cry out. 

  Sweat pools between your thighs where Eddie’s hot hand is wedged, his thumb teasing the outline of your panties and pressing soft circles into the fabric. 

  Tears cling to your eyelashes as your punishment comes to an end, welts forming where his rings stung and clipped you. 

  Words of reassurance fall from his lips after every slap and harsh whack of his hands. When Eddie leans over to catch a rogue tear from your cheek before it hits the carpet, your thighs slam together tight with a snap. 

  The groan he lets out is guttural and low. His cock twitches underneath you again. 

  “..and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil Am—- ow!” 

  Quick, hot tears sting your eyes. A jerk of your head reveals a sight you would never imagine seeing… let alone in a church. 

  Pearly, and oddly straight. The calcified and slightly sharp teeth pull out from the red, irritated skin on your ass.  

  “If you want to repent for your sins, you need to put your trust in me, can you do that baby… hmm? Can you listen and give yourself to me? It’s the only way you’ll be forgiven.”

  A perfect dental record sunken in deep, small droplets of blood weep from the pierced flesh from his canines. 

His lips are pulled back in a snarl, dark eyes gleam with a feral intensity so ferocious you’re instantly terrified. He looks like a wolf fighting for a meal. 

  Paralyzed with fear, your lungs spasm in shock as he flicks out his tongue, running the wet tip of the muscle along the pattern of his teeth grooved into your skin. 

  Each pass of his slicked tongue deepens the arousal in your lower stomach. His lips curve around the mark, kissing it better, his hooded eyes never leave yours. 

  You moan when the purpling bruise he’s sucking into your skin is greeted with the same poked teeth that bit you earlier. 

  His thick middle finger had your panties pulled to the side and your arousal is coated thick on his finger as he pushes past your puffy lips. A blunt fingernail sharp against your inner walls. 

  “Fuck,” he groans, dipping his finger into the impossibly tight well of your sweet pussy. 

  Eyes rolling into the back of your head, you mimic his moans and bite into your cheek. Hungry for the look of a broken gasp as your walls flutter and tighten around him. 

  World spinning and head rushing, Eddie has you upright and straddling his waist. when you start to question him he shushes you. 

  Taking the same finger he had plunged into your molten slicked pussy, he rubs the pad of it around your lips. Like a tube of chapstick during a cold winter, he coats them again and again, licking his own, his other hand is tight on your knee and gently skirting closer to your hip under your dress. 

  When he's satisfied with his art on your plump lips, he finally dives in, his breath hot on your skin and you part your mouth in a welcome for him. 

  But he only laughs. 

  A throaty chuckle that mocks you, as you wait for him to kiss you, wait for him to press his pinked lips to yours. Waiting for his tongue to devilishly lap at the corner of your mouth. 

  But all of his attention is zeroing down on the rosary around your neck. 

  Each bead is slick with sweat, warm to the touch against his thumb, as he counts them in his head, your throat gasping on each inhale. Whimpering and moving your hips against him.

  Grabbing the rosary in his fist he pulls you closer to him, biting the fleshy lobe around the small gold hoops in your ears, his dick aches when you whine his name. 

  Huffed whispers tickle your ear and send shivers down your spine and flood your panties, “Such a dirty fucking girl, practically begging for me to fuck you.” 

  Another whine from your mouth and he’s bucking his hips into you, strained denim against wet lace. 

  “Is that what you want?” Eddie demands. His snake-like tongue tickling behind your ear, “all you have to do, is ask.” 

  “Please,” you beg, fingers curling into the flannel of his shirt, head thrown back as he circles your neck and paints hickies with his tongue.

  “Not good enough, baby. Tell me how bad you want this little virgin hole filled.” 

  His hand finds it way under your skirt to the desperate slick of your panties, his fingers sliding around and making slow figure eights against your clit.

  Tits bouncing as you move against his hand, hopelessly with no words you beg him with your body to give you relief. You whine again embarrassed to ask for what you craved, the sin that brought you here to begin with.

  When you don’t say anything he retreats his hand. And you try to chase it as it slips away, you whimper pitifully again, and finally succumb to his demands. 

  All embarrassment gone as you beg him, plead for his cock, “Eddie, please.. please.. I’ve been so good,” you oughta be ashamed of yourself but you couldn’t care less— if he could make you feel this good by barely touching you, you’d be on your way to that glorified “O” in no time, and you can practically hear the Hallelujah chorus.  

  He chuckled cockily at your pleas, but shushes you as he unthreads his belt, and almost chokes when you gasp in awe at his thick veiny cock, slapping up to his belly with a thump and the pearling bead of cum seeping from the slit. 

  His thick ringed hand pumps himself as he lines himself up with your swollen pussy. And when you sink down he slams himself home and you clench around him, a scream escaping your slack mouth.

  He groans low,  trying to even out his breathing around your pretty gasps and breathy moans. 

  “You’re gonna keep my cock warm before I fuck you like the slut you wanna be for me,” he chides, concentrating hard on on anything other than the tight walls of your pussy gripping him. “This is the rest of your punishment… you pray a Hail Mary and warm my cock, no whining, no moaning.” 

  You whimper as his cock stretches you out, practically biting a hole in your bottom lip as you taste yourself from where he painted them with your own arousal earlier. 

  A loud slap to your ass and you’re jolting forward, your rosary tight in Eddie’s fist as he brings you down to his lips, “start praying or I’ll go home.”

  “Hail Mary,” you begin, the same way you started before, only this time the pressure was never lifted, your pussy full of him, and his tongue hot and feverish on your neck, teeth grazing your skin ever so lightly. 

  He’s teasing you and trying to get you to break, he thumbs over your nipples until they’re peaked and sore in his pinched grip. 

  When you get halfway through the sacred prayer, your pussy aches and drips down to his balls. His tongue is lazily working a red and purple ‘E’ into the fat of your tit, one hand still holding the rosary tight against your neck. 

  You’re on the verge of breaking when you suck him in deeper, pushing your walls around him and kegeling him in a death trap. He mins and curses the lord’s name, and he finally snaps. 

  Bangs slicked with sweat and stuck heavy against forehead, he grunts, “Holy Mary Mother of God.” And you’re hiked upwards. 

  The screen you confessed your sins to with Eddie on the other side only a half hour ago, is now pressed tight against your ass as Eddie hammers his cock into your slicked and aching pussy. 

  The moan you elicit is toe curling, borderlining pornographic as the thick head of his clock slams into a spot you were unaware of reaching again and again. 

  “Pray for us sinners… fuck this pussy is so tight… now and at the hour of our death,” Eddie whimpers into your shoulder before biting down hard. 

  And when you yell out an amen your fluttering gummy walls spasm with joyful relief. Coating you and Eddie both with hot arousal as it seeps from you. 

  And the lips you’ve been staring at all night finally touch yours. 

  A bruisingly, sore puncture of lust filled kisses that would have your lips resembling a baboon’s ass for days. 

  He’s babbling now as your feet are wrapped right around his waist, his hands wiggling into his curls and yanking harder sends him over the edge. 

  He drops you onto your knees and opens your mouth with a press of his thumb on your bottom lip, when your tongue is out, and waiting for his cum, he jerks his cock once more and shudders when the hot ropes leave him and drip on your tongue and lips. 

  “Body of Christ,” Eddie says with a smirk, shutting your mouth for you and watching you swallow his load. He expects you to gag, possibly spit it out at him like the other girls would. 

  But when you lick your lips and utter a seductive, “Amen.” Eddie knows he’d never get out of confession for the rest of his life. 

😅hmmm yeah ily there will be a part 2

[em-dash-press]

Tips for Writing a Scene

Whether you’ve been writing for a long time or want to start, everyone begins in the same place—with a scene.

Not an entire chapter.

A scene.

Here’s how you can make it happen on the page.

Step 1: Have Characters In Mind

Scenes can’t happen without characters. Sometimes you might have a place in mind for a scene, but no characters. Sometimes, it’s the opposite. 

Pick at least two characters if you’ll have external conflict (more on that in step 4). One character can carry a scene with internal conflict, but things still have to happen around them to influence their thoughts/emotions.

Step 2: Give Them Goals

Short stories combine mini scenes into one plot with a beginning/middle/end. Longform manuscripts combine chapters to do the same thing, but with more detail and subplots.

You don’t need to know which form you’re writing to get started.

All you need are goals.

What should your scene do? What does your character(s) want? It will either use the moment to advance the plot or present a problem that the character solves in the same scene/short story.

Step 3: Include the Senses

If you’re recounting an experience to someone, you don’t say, “I had the worst day. My shoes got wet and I couldn’t get home for 10 hours.”

You’d probably say, “I had the worst day. I stepped in a puddle so my shoes got soaked, which made my socks and feet wet all day. Then I had to wait 10 hours to get home. It was miserable! And now my feet smell terrible.”

Okay, you might not use all of those descriptors, but you get the picture. The story is much more engaging if you’re talking about the feeling of wet socks, soaked shoes, and the smell of stinky feet. The other person in your conversation would probably go ugh, that’s horrible!

Your scene should accomplish the same thing. Use the five senses to make the moment real for the reader.

As a reminder, those senses are: touch, taste, smell, sight, and hearing.

You don’t need to use all of them at once, but include at least two of them to make your stories shine. You also don’t have to constantly use environmental or sensory descriptors. Once you establish the scene for your reader, they’ll place your characters and want to keep the plot moving.

Step 4: Identify the Conflict

Speaking of plot, scenes and stories can’t move forward without conflict. There are two types:

Internal conflict: happens within a single character (may or may not affect their decisions at any given time; it can also be the reasoning for their goals and dreams)

External conflict: happens outside of a character or between two characters (may or may not have to do with their internal conflict or personal goals; it always advances their character growth, relationship development, or plot development)

A scene could touch on either of these types of conflict or both! It depends on your story/plot/what you want your scene to accomplish.

Step 5: Pick a Point of View (POV)

Sometimes you’ll know you want to write a specific POV because you’ll have a character/plot in mind that requires it. Other times, you might not know.

It’s often easier to pick a POV after thinking through the previous steps. You’ll better understand how much time you want to spend in a character’s head (1st Person) or if you want to touch on multiple characters’ minds through 3rd Person.

Example of Setting a Scene

Step 1, Have Characters in Mind: Two sisters arrive back home from their first fall semester in different colleges.

Step 2, Give Them Goals: Sister A wants to ask for dating advice, but the sisters have never been that close. Sister B knows that Sister A wants a deeper conversation, but is doing anything to avoid it.

Step 3, Include the Senses: They’re in a living room with shag navy carpet and the worn leather couches have butt-shaped shadows on the cushions. The house smells of vanilla bean, the only scent their dads can agree on. Christmas lights hang on a fake tree that sheds plastic fir leaves on the floor. Their family cat purrs from within the metal branches.

Step 4, Identify the Conflict: Sister B will do anything to avoid talking about feelings. That includes trying to get the cat out of the tree (shaking the branches and reaching into them doesn’t work), checking to make sure the windows are closed against the winter air, and faking an obviously unreal phone call. This makes Sister A go from passively hoping for advice to chasing her through the house. 

Step 5, Pick a POV: 3rd Person, so internal thoughts and feelings from both sisters are obvious to the reader and emphasize the scene’s comedy.

-----

These are also useful ways to rethink a scene you’ve already written. If something about it doesn’t seem to be working, consider if it’s missing one or more of these points. You don’t need to include all of them all the time, but weaving more sensory details or conflict into a short story/chapter could solve your problem.

Best of luck with your writing, as always 💛

[b0tster]

different anon. yeah theyre selectively bred that way but its still a problem right now when the animals still exist. big meat industry and big vegan industry are both harmful, its just a matter of where the harm is directed. ethical meat consumption is possible and eating meat doesnt mean youre a bloodthirsty killer. as far as attire goes, ive got leather thats older than I am, i feel a lot better about it than shedding more plastic every two years from the fake stuff. i dont want to be hostile here but I invite you to broaden your horizons a bit cause you just sound naieve and there a plenty of cultures around the world that can show you that ethical animal use is possible. you dont get to be in nature and not be of nature

lmao??????

when did i sayu that i thought non vegans were bloodthirsty killers?? lmao???? what???

what is happening lol??? the level of projection from non vegans every time yall demand an explanation of my world view and i give it fucking off the chain lmfao. yall need to simmer i just like cows a lot hsshsh

[dynoguard]

A Dinosaur’s Harvest Festival

Everyone loves a feast, no matter when you’re from.

Of the five sapient civilizations to call this planet home, only one (the one we don’t talk about) had no known form of harvest festival. The festival for our most recent cousins, the dinosovians, translates as “Festofall,” a corruption of the archaic “Feast of All.”

The “modern” (from the standpoint of dinosovian time-refugees) holiday is a synthesis of a number of similar festivals, mainly “Tubersprang” and “The Hunt of the Gorged” that merged with the rise of multi-species nation-states during the first industrial age. 

From a human perspective, Festofall comes across as a mix of Halloween and Thanksgiving held at a state fair. Cooking begins a full thirdmoon before the festival starts. Each family prepares a vast quantity of a specific dish, all of which is brought together for a community-wide potluck and cook-off. Competition is intense, though caring about winning is seen as gauche. 

The festival lasts for “two claws” (eight days) of feasting, carnival games, live music, dancing, and traditional theater. The potluck aspect is used by every aspect of food production, from farming to dining, to showcase wares and joust with rivals. On the fourth day of the festival, just as the sun begins to set the participants’ offerings are judged, and prizes are passed out.

The prize in question is an “honorloop”, conceptually similar to a blue ribbon or a medal, but taking the form of a ring of metal, braided leather, carved wood, or horn (tough plastic is always an option in the modern day) that is inscribed with the accomplishment.  These are worn over the winner’s own horn-tips, spikes, or talons as jewelry during every major festival for the year, before they are returned for the next year’s competition.

But when the judges go to give the honorloops, they are always wrong! Each replaced by a crude fake bearing a humorous, insults. The nature of the insults varies regionally, but “least improved”, “tastes like it smells” and “bland in, loud out” (very rude in the native podite) are traditional favorites. The honorloops have been stolen by impish bogies called “wildmolts”, “hollowkind”, or “Snappy Jarry.”

Dinosovian folklore associates the child’s first full molt with the shedding of their “hatching wildness” (Dinosovian children can walk within hours of hatching. A hatchling for the first three years or so is essentially a pet raccoon that gets bigger and more sapient every day, with substantially more bite-strength). The wildmolts are this lost wildness made manifest, in the form of macabre goblin-like pranksters.

The wildmolts, are of course, dinosovian children, who have been making their costumes and planning the theft of the honorloops since cooking began. The children hide the stolen loops in public places, and the winners must find their proper prizes before the festival ends or they must wear the mock-prizes at each of the year’s remaining cultural festivals and bank holidays (of which there are many). Wildmolts trade hints at their hiding places (in the form of riddles and puzzles) for treats and small toys. Adults are expected to play along with the ruse.

The second half of the festival belongs to the wildmolts, with adults and children alike participating in ritualized practical joke games that vary community-by-community (the uniqueness of which is a point of local civic pride.) These range from insult-competitions to hold-my-klem* reckless self endangerment. At night, live theater performances take on a more macabre tone and scary tales are told around bonfires.

Many of the more modern additions to the holiday, such as Aegis Shows, Pulse-Tag, and the Gorge-o-Rama (sponsored by Mr. Big Byte, Gorge Responsibly) take place in this latter half of the festival. 

The dual nature of the holiday symbolically conveys that even in times of plenty, the unexpected can strike at any moment. Post Time-Slip Festofall celebrations are held from November 16th through the 23rd. Mid October is generally considered more “seasonally accurate” to the original Pre-KT celebration, with the later date being intentionally chosen to overlap with American Thanksgiving. 

Festofall is, in human terms, a largely secular holiday and is open to human participation in most communities.

The above images were taken at the Ceratopolis Festofall celebration on the 7th-12th of Harvest Moon 2, 5 BKT, and were generously provided by the Dinosovian Cultural Council of Colorado. 

* a foamy beverage distilled from cycads 

[blackbackedjackal]

Hi Jackal, I have a problem and my first thought was to ask you…

I have a couple fox and coyote tails I’ve kept in a particle board chest. Just today I noticed that they were covered in living larvae and shed carcasses of some kind of bug. The only ones I’ve had in my apartment since I moved in several years ago that it could be are fruit flies and clothes moths. Not sure if this is either but the tails are infested. I’ve brushed them off as best I could but they might still be in the fur.

By my thumb is a brown dot, it’s the head of one of the larvae.

Is this a lost cause? Should I throw these tails out or is there a way I can fumigate them and kill the bugs without destroying the tail? I’ve put them all in airtight plastic bags to prevent the infestation from spreading.

I’ve had these tails for like 6 years and I’m not particularly attached to them anymore but. It’s unfortunate. Any advice would be appreciated, thanks!!

I use Bedlam Plus anytime I've had bug issues! I've had clothes moths and carpet beetles and anything I've sprayed with it has stayed protected. I tend to do a big spray of my collection every 3 months but I've gone 6 months before without spraying anything and haven't had issues.

With tails specifically, I recommend using the straw attachment that comes with the bottle and some gloves, parting the tail with a comb, and spraying at the base of the fur where it meets the leather. That's where the eggs and larva are usually hiding.

[gayhenrycreel]

capitalism is truly shit.

this year i bought some gumboots. i live in what is essentially a town on top of a swamp, so boots are important.

they broke.

after SIX months.

those boots cost 30 bucks.

a few months ago i found some old boots in a dumpster. theyre made of water proof leather, have metal spikes for grips, and are decades old. they are in wonderful condition. they will probably last at least another few decades. these are high quality hiking boots. my old boots were absurdly expensive and absolutely shit.

i also have a lot of old clothes i got at secondhand stores. they are high quality fabric with no holes. some of these clothes are from the 50s. thats 70 years old. my modern clothes barely last a year.

not only is the material strong, its also really comfy. my 40s trousers are rough on the outside but have a soft inner layer. even though they are double layered i can wear them in the middle of summer.

it is literally more cost effective and comfortable to dress like Victor Creel from stranger things all the time.

and the sweaters. theyre actually warm. and soft. and they dont shed microplastics everywhere. so its also better for the environment.

i also found a handmade suede jacket. im not sure what animal its from but it might be kangaroo leather. thats one of the best leathers. its soft, almost fluffy on the underside when its suede. its thin but strong.

it cost me ONE dollar. in american dollars that around 50c.

clothes arent made like that anymore. these days we just get paper thin woven plastic shedding microplastics all over the place made by underpaid wage slaves.

capitalism only cares about making money, so only gives us shit thats cheap to make. its ridiculously expensive and has to be replaced often, meaning we spend absurd amounts of money just on clothing. one of my modern shirts cost 30 bucks. i can get quality 90s shirts for around 5 dollars at a second hand store.

this quantity over quality bullshit is a tool of capitalism

[sapphicteaparty]

i've NEVER seen a single good faith discussions about pleather on this website and i want ppl to think critically for one second about the way businesses talk about their products. "vegan leather" is purely a marketing term and nothing else. it was invented by the fashion industry and it has nothing to do with vegans or veganism.

"vegan leather" is basically made of polyester (a type of plastic), but crucially a lot of clothes nowadays are made of polyester either fully or partially because it's cheaper to produce. so of course clothing companies are going to be producing and marketing things that make them more money.

these products are not even targeting vegans, they're making an average customer feel better about their purchases, same way they are now putting "eco" labels on some of their organic cotton clothing. it's just greenwashing. NOTHING in fast fashion is eco friendly in any way - this whole industry is extremely wasteful an exploitative on every level. when are ppl going to realize that these companies just say anything they can to make it seem like they care about anything other than their profit margins. because they don't.

my wish is that ppl that talk about how bad pleather is and how vegans are apparently responsible for all of the microplastic pollution in the world also talked or cared even a little bit about the absolutely horrific abuse and exploitation that happens in the clothing and fast fashion industry. talk about how this industry consistently fails (or outright refuses) to pay its workers a living wage or how they don't provide them humane working conditions - and how that led to thousands of garment workers dying and getting injured when a garment factory collapsed in Bangladesh (and that's not the only tragedy this industry is directly responsible for).

also microplastics are only the tip of the iceberg if you want to talk about the pollution that the clothing industry is responsible for (toxic chemicals and pesticides used in cotton production, garment dyes, the disposal of textile waste etc) - all of which has direct human costs tied to it.

but if your only concern ever was microplastics that clothes can shed then great! avoid all polyester and plastic clothing. but did you know textiles aren't even the primary microplastic contaminants? it's plastic bags, bottles and fishing nets by far. most ppl can't always avoid these plastic items in daily life. but do you eat fish? vegans don't.

i'm just so tired of the pleather discussion focusing on the wrong thing (vegans) when there are so many more aspects about the clothing industry and plastic pollution that never get addressed when they should. and the amount of misinformation on these topics is just laughable at this point. ppl sure enjoy reblogging posts that confirm their biases and free them from having to critically engage with complicated issues because it's so easy to just blame a group of ppl for it.

anyway if you're concerned about ethical clothing (i hope you are) then basically these are your best options:

wear what you already have and don't buy new clothes unless necessary

get second hand clothes

get upcycled clothes

this may seem a bit extreme but these are the only options that don't result in new clothes and textiles being produced because there is an overproduction issue in the clothing industry which is why over 80% of clothes end up in landfills. obviously these options aren't viable for everyone all the time but if the goal is sustainability then that's just the reality of things for now.

you can also do things like mend your clothes so they last longer, learn to sew to make your own clothes etc all of that is better than buying new clothes. donating clothes to a thrift store is also not ideal since they get so many donations that a lot of it ends up in a landfill anyway and recycling clothes is also not straightforward or even possible in a lot of cases. so not buying new/more clothes is the most environmentally friendly option. and before you go no ethical consumption under capitalism blah blah yeah we know. doesn't mean you are powerless and have no choices in anything ever.

please learn more about microplastics, the clothing/textile industry and veganism before you uncritically reblog another misinformed post about "vegan leather" or microplastics. also please don't uncritically believe what i wrote here either. if you're seriously interested in these topics then your source for this information shouldn't be some tumblr post in the first place. there are lot of studies, documentaries and articles about all the things i mentioned. i'm not a researcher or a scientist, so don't ask me. i'm just tired.

[cryptidsofwakemoor]

Chapter 9 - Matchsticks

Tikki has a strange new guest in her house. He acts like he's never been in a house before, doesn't know what baths are, and isn't much for conversation, but... He seems polite at least?

(content warnings: old wound description, inhuman scabs (made of rock))

~*~

Mystic

The interior of the home was dark the moment Matchstick walked in, but when the fish person reached over to flick a switch on the wall, warm golden light bloomed from several glass bulbs in fixtures about the space.

It was a cozy room, with a brown leather couch across from some kind of hollow made of brick. The bottom of the hollow had a small metal rack with a few wooden logs, chopped and sitting inert. A larger pile of neatly stacked logs sat next to the hollow. A few photographs in frames lined a small cabinet under a large boxy screen that was currently black. The shelf above the brick had small knickknacks made of glass, plastic, and other things he couldn’t possibly identify.

The rest of the room was no exception- strange objects he didn’t recognize sat on tables and shelves throughout the area. A couple plants sat in pots indoors, as well. They didn’t appear to serve any purpose besides decoration. Even though it was the middle of winter, the inside of this house had an overall beach vibe- not that he understood entirely what that felt like.

The fish person sheds the blanket once the door is shut behind them, sighing in relief to be indoors. Bundling the blanket up in her arms, she drops the torn remains of her clothes in a trash bin by the door- atop many fragments like it of various colors, and goes to grab a not-so-destroyed change of clothes to put on in their stead.

“Feel free to sit on the couch- I’ll light the fireplace so you won’t freeze while the heater warms up.” She gestures towards the brown cushy furniture, eyeing his… magma crusted back. “…do you want to go wash up, while I clean the blanket and start making food? You look like you could use a hot bath.”

Spooky

Feeling a bit lost and out of place, he'd started moving towards the couch as directed, but stopped when she spoke, looking back at her like she had suddenly switched to a different language. "Bath...?" He rasped.

Suddenly it made sense why he only ever really seemed remotely cleaner when it rained. Or why his back was still... Like that. At first glance it probably appeared like it was part of him, like some kind of shell or something, but on closer inspection, in better lighting, it was far too uneven and scab-like, having cracked in places and re-scabbed, and other parts looking like the rock had chipped and broken off, revealing skin underneath... and what was even more telling that it shouldn't have been there were the appearance that some kind of other more artificial, plastic-y material had melted and mixed into the rock in places, as well as the glint of a few... metal pieces? Trapped in the rock on his upper back, like the magma had oozed over them and hardened. There were a few other, much smaller instances of the rocky scabs on his body, but his back was absolutely the worst of them all.

And yet, he seemed unbothered by it. Probably because, worryingly, it had been stuck to him for months now.

Mystic

…She bit her lip, seeing the visible confusion on his face.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend,” she says. “I know you probably didn’t have much choice out in the street. I don’t know your story- maybe you have a severe phobia of water. But if you’re going to be in my house, you’re going to have to clean up. Plus, you’ll feel a lot better afterwards, I guarantee it! If you don’t want a bath, we can use wet towels, it really doesn’t matter to me as long as you’re comfortable with your choice.”

She turns again, and starts walking down a hallway to another part of the townhouse, with a quick pause at the corridor. She peeks back to make sure he’s following.

“My name is Tikki, by the way- welcome to my house.”

Spooky

He looked from the couch to her, not realizing he should follow until she looked back at him, and he hurried to catch up. He was still holding the pillow close like it was a security blanket, feeling awkward and like he wasn't sure what he was supposed to be doing.

Didn't help his nerves at all to try and piece together what a bath was, from her words. Had something to do with water, and getting clean...

He tilts his head though, when she tells him her name. Tikki... Never heard a name like that before, but from what he could tell, there were a lot of names. All the scientists in the lab, at least the ones he heard about, all had different ones. He remembered having one too, though they gave him a new one to replace it. And if he kept trying to use the old one, then... then he would have to go back to the room w-where...

...It was just better to act like he forgot it.

He nodded to her, but didn't say anything else.

Mystic

…

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Tikki asks, frowning a little as she walks beside him in the hallway. She flicks another switch to turn on more lights in the building. “You don’t have to- sounds like you tried to eat a packet of charcoal sticks at some point. It would be nice to have a name to call you by- I’d rather not call you ‘kid’ forever. But you don’t have to give me one on my account if you’re not fond of it. Hell, you can make one up if you felt like it. I’ve known a few people who tossed their deadnames and didn’t look back.”

They reach a small door in the hall, and she pushes it open to reveal a small bathroom with a bathtub, shower head, sink, and a toilet. It’s very clean, like some of the rooms in the facility, but warmer and more welcoming than those sterilized white tiled chambers with chemical hoses. There’s even another plant on the counter.

“Here’s the bathroom,” Tikki gestures with one hand, standing aside. “It has a shower and bath, and hot and cold water- red for hot, blue for cold. If you don’t want to soak, there’s towels in that wicker cabinet you can dip in the water instead. And because it’s occurring to me just now- nothing in here is edible, it’s all soaps. They’re for cleaning, not eating.”

Tikki holds out her hands.

“I can clean the pillow while you’re in there, ok?”

Spooky

Dead name? They could die?

Guess that made sense, with those white coated assholes trying so hard to kill it...

His eyes followed wherever she pointed and he tried to mentally note down the instructions as best he could. Easier said than done, there was so much new stuff in this place to take in at once that it felt like his brain was working in slow motion. He almost jumped when she held out her hands, before realizing what she was asking.

Hesitantly, he relinquished the pillow. Like a well-loved plush animal, it looked like it had been trampled by a stampede and had lost a lot of its initial fluffiness.

He then went over to the cabinet she'd pointed out and got a towel. Immediately he was engrossed in feeling how soft it was, petting it curiously with his hand, before wrapping it around himself like he did with the blanket. It didn't cover nearly as much of him, though... It seemed like he kind of lost the plot of what he was supposed to be doing in here, at least until he went over to the tub and, looking between the two taps, tried the red one. It took a few tries to figure out he was supposed to twist it, but when he did and water suddenly rushed out of the faucet, he startled away from it like a snake had tried to strike him.

Mystic

When he jumped back like a spooked gazelle, Tikki raises an eyebrow. Was water actually scary to him? She’d been poking at the possibility, before, but…

Setting the pillow aside, she ducks into the bathroom next to the startled teenager.

“It’s ok,” Tikki says, keeping her tone gentle. “It’s just bath water. See?”

She places her hand under the stream, letting him see the water pour over her arm and into the tub. Any residual dirt on her from laying in the den washed away, spiraling down the drain. Steam began to rise from her scales as the temperature of the water started to climb, so she retracted her arm before it could burn her. One webbed hand adjusted the knobs so it wasn’t scalding, but nice and hot.

“And you can pull this to make it fill the tub, or start the shower.”

Pulling a small metal tab on top of the faucet, there’s a brief halt in the water, before it starts pouring out in heavy sprinkles from the taller faucet. Pushing the tab back down makes it stop, and start gushing from the lower again.

Spooky

He watched the dirt spiral down the drain along with the water, and it didn't seem to be accumulating much. His tension slowly eased, though the sudden hiss of the shower brought it right back up again, making him duck his head and wince even though he wasn't underneath it. In comparison, the water going back to gushing from the faucet seemed less frightening.

Taking a moment to calm his breathing, he looked at Tikki with uncertainty before sticking his arm in like she had. The water splashed over his hand, and while it didn't hurt, his fingers still curled a little in anticipation of discomfort. It... wasn't as bad as it usually was, though, he had to admit. It wasn't uncomfortably cold like the rain or the pond, nor was it painfully cold like the lab's. After realizing this, he relaxed a little bit and watched the dirt wash off of his hand and wrist, down the drain.

Mystic

Tikki smiles.

"Just like that," she says in encouragement. "Here."

She pulls a different tab, which causes a metal cylinder in the drain to compress. The water, no longer able to drain out, starts to fill up the tub.

"It'll take a while for this to fill- turn it off when it gets about here, okay?" Tikki gestures with her hand to about a third below the rim of the bathtub. "Otherwise it'll flood the bathroom. You can use the soap on the shelf over here to get rid of any tough dirt."

Tikki picks up the pillow she'd momentarily placed to the floor, and stands up. She turns to leave, hesitating at the door again.

"You going to be ok? If you slip and can't get up, uh- throw something against the wall. I'll hear it."

Spooky

He looked at her and nodded to show he understood.

While he felt a small sense of unease form in the pit of his stomach watching the water slowly inch its way up in the tub, it did help a little knowing that he wasn't trapped in there, and he had control over when the water stopped. He didn't have to worry about it filling up the whole room, and... blocking out all the air...

He felt a cold shiver go through him, and turned off the faucet probably a little earlier than needed.

...What now? He had the water. Was he... supposed to go into it? Hmm... He wasn't sure he wanted to do that. Instead, he remembered what Tikki had said about the towel, so he unwrapped it from himself and dipped it into the water. Leaning a bit over the side, he started wiping down his other arm with it. While water often felt weird on his skin, the towel did kind of help to mitigate that, and the warm temperature took away the other uncomfortable part.

After scrubbing at his arms for a little bit, he finally gathered up some courage to climb in, since it seemed like it'd be faster and it was warmer than sitting outside of the thing. The water quickly turned dark from months worth of accumulated grime washing off. Soon enough he had managed to clean up pretty well, although he left his upper back for the most part untouched.

Mystic

In the other half of the house, Tikki had started going about what she promised- washing the blanket and pillow. The fabric had to be taken outside and shaken thoroughly to remove all the dirt crumbs and bits of rock. No way was she going to ruin her washer and dryer by turning it into a tumbler. She tossed the now slightly less filthy cloth into the washer, pouring some soap and a bit of diluted vinegar into the vats for detergent and softener. With a soft beep, she shut the door and set it to a heavy cycle. Wonderful! Now the two articles should be nice and clean within the half hour, then dried by the time an hour had passed. Plenty of time for her unexpected guest to wash up.

The heater had kicked in, so now warm air was beginning to waft through the house from the vents in the floor and ceiling. Good. It would take some time to warm the building, but it was something. If she could just get the fireplace going, then they’d have a dedicated warm spot right then and there.

She struggles with the matchsticks as she crouched by the fireplace, frowning. Dammit, these things were such a pain.

Spooky

The water was starting to cool down, making the bath feel a little less hospitable... but he figured he was clean enough now. He climbed out, dripping wet, and proceeded to shake himself off. Some of the rock on his back had loosened and crumbled off of its own accord, which was an improvement, but the worst of it on his upper back remained stubbornly in place. It was kind of nice to have less of it pulling on his skin when he moved, but the rest of it itched a little. He started to reach back, but touching it stung pretty bad, so he stopped.

Instead, he looked back at the towel he'd brought into the bath with him floating in the muck-filled water, and he made a face. There was a way to drain it- how did she say to do it again? It was this little thing here, right...? He tried pulling it up further, but it wouldn't budge, so maybe... he pressed it down instead, and the drain gurgled as the water started to go down. He smiled a little to himself, feeling kinda good about figuring it out!

And then, neglecting to grab another towel to dry off, he left the bathroom, trailing water down the hall.

Mystic

Exiting the bathroom, he's greeted by a slightly warmer atmosphere than when he first walked inside the townhouse. It wasn't quite cold anymore, though a bit less cozy than the steamed-up bathroom. Still, a marked improvement. He could feel the warm air blowing into the space from a vent in the floor, which he walked over on the way back to the living room at the front. A rumbling sound of some kind of machine could be heard thrumming dully through the floor from some closet in the hall.

Tikki was on the floor by the brick hollow, trying to run some sort of stick across the side of a box. She clicked her tongue every time it didn't do whatever she was trying to get it to do. She was clicking her tongue a lot.

Finally, there's a snap of some sort of friction, and he can see she holds up a very tiny flame on the end of the stick. She leans forward, trying to press it to the side of the logs held in the hollow, and-

-it goes out.

"God dammit," she curses under her breath, sighing.

Wet footsteps cause her ear-fin things to perk up, drawing her attention in his direction. She stares at him for a second.

"...right. I didn't tell you how to dry off," she mumbles, sighing once. "You're lucky I'm a mermaid, otherwise I'd probably take a lot more issue with you dragging water throughout my house."

Tikki lifts a hand and flicks it.

In time with the motion, all the water he had trailed lifted off the ground in series of floating bubbles. They follow her hand motion towards various potted plants, where the water is dropped over the contained soil.

"Sorry, fireplace isn't ready yet. You're still welcome to sit, though. Here, dry off first-"

She grabs another blanket from inside a cabinet, resolving to washing that later, too, and chucks it at him.

Spooky

With wide eyes, he watched the water lift up from the floor, moving as if it were alive, only to drop itself into the plants. Whoa!

Distracted as he was, he almost didn't notice the blanket being tossed his way. He fumbled a little, but caught the heavy cloth, ruffling his face and head dry with it before wrapping it around his body for warmth. Moving over to where she was, he plunked down on the rug and snuggled into the blanket, breathing out a contented sigh.

Watching what she was trying to do once more, he saw her swiping a stick against a box again until she managed another small flame, but it failed to catch on the pieces of wood. Realizing what she was trying to do, he dried off his hands really good and, with a snap, created a small flame at the tip of his pointer finger and stuck it into the fireplace, holding it there until the logs finally caught.

Mystic

Tikki stops short as he- quite easily- produces a fire with nothing more than his fingertips. She watches in quiet awe as the fireplace is lit, and quickly, too. Within moments, the first log is throwing gentle pops and sparks as the bark begins crackling with heat and light.

"Ok, I've decided," Tikki says. She chucks the box of matches over her shoulder. "Until further notice, your new nickname is Matchstick. We can retire it if you're ever in the mood to share your real name, or make one up yourself."

Dusting her hands, she gets up from the floor, and plaps her way into the other half of the space, which is separated off by a counter and several appliances.

"I'm going to start cooking- something. I don't know what yet. I'll figure it out. You get comfortable, look around at stuff, read a book if you like. I can even turn on the TV for you, though it's mostly going to be Christmas specials this time of year."

Spooky

He tensed a little as paranoia crept around the edges of his mind, wondering how she knew the name the scientists had given him. Although, it didn't... seem like she knew about any of that, especially if she was surprised to see him light something... Maybe it was just a guess…?

She got up, and his eyes caught the label on the box she had. M... a...

...'Matchsticks'. Huh...

...Wait- Had he seriously been named after these things??

Man, now he didn't know what to think... At least the 'new' nickname appeared to be a coincidence after all.

He huffed out a breath and settled down near the fireplace, content to watch the wood burn for now. He didn't really know what TV was, or... Christmas? Or what was so special. Looking around the room, he could see what he recognized as a monitor, but it was off. Guess it wasn't hooked up to any vitals... He could see books on a shelf. He knew what those were, he vaguely remembered... He was pretty sure he'd read at least one, once, though he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was about. It might've had pictures in it...

He went over to investigate, picking one up at random and turning it over in his hands, looking at the cover on it.

Mystic

The cover on this one was kinda hard to understand. ‘The Great Gatsby’. What was a ‘gatsby’, and why was this one so great? He could read- the lab scientists had insisted he learned some basic English. He wouldn’t be able to follow complex instructions otherwise.

…

Wow, this book was hard to understand, though. Not only did he have to read slowly in order to piece together the sentences, but he just straight up didn’t know some words, so the meaning was lost on him. On top of that, a lot of what he was able to understand sounded just- stupid. People were throwing giant parties, being obscenely rich, and apparently the ‘gatsby’ was a dude they just arbitrarily decided was great because he threw massive rich people parties. And everyone in attendance was rude.

The logs in the fireplace settled with a puff of embers up the chimney, and warmth billowed out from the fireplace now that the fire was large and sustained.

A faint beep is heard in the distance, followed by the telltale plap plap of Tikki’s fish feet walking over the wooden floors towards it. There’s a kachunk noise of a door being opened, and the steady approach of more plap plaps.

A hot, soft cloth is placed over his head. Oh shit it’s the blanket she gave him!

“Fresh out the dryer,” she announces, holding the pillow- freshly cleaned and fluffed- at the edge of his vision past the blanket.

Spooky

He put the book back on top of the other books, not really caring where it went because his blanket and pillow were back! Not only that, they were warm and smelled nice!

He grabbed the pillow and hugged it excitedly, feeling immediate comfort from having it back and fluffier than ever! He didn't know what the dryer was, but he didn't care- whatever it was, it did miracles.

Mystic

“So, Sticks,” Tikki says as she walks back to the kitchen, a pleasant smile on her face. “You’re some kind of pyromancer, looks like. I don’t know how old you are, but you look pretty young to be running around by yourself, eating peanuts out of bird feeders. Why are you on the run? Did you steal food and piss off the authorities?”

Tikki pulls down some kind of flat black metal sheet with a handle, and placed it on the appliance with plastic and metal discs on top. She turns a dial, and there’s a quiet popping before small flames catch around the disc. The metal pan goes on top, and she opens a big white box behind her to pull out some cardboard container with a strange lumpy shape. The lid is popped open to reveal many white, ovoid objects.

“Ah shit- are you allergic to anything, actually? Anything you ever ate that made you feel sick, like really sick?”

Spooky

He had a somewhat guilty expression when asked if he stole food... That was part of it, but not the main reason. He wasn't sure what to say though, or how to even start. Or if he could use his voice enough at all to even try... He opened his mouth- "Aa..." -and closed it, looking frustrated.

Well that was a no-go. Instead he moved a little closer, curious to see what she was doing. When asked if anything he ate made him really sick, he thought about it, but shook his head no. He'd eaten a lot of things, even literal garbage, but the only time he felt sick was when he hadn't eaten enough.

Mystic

“Okay that’s good.” Tikki accepts that response, deciding not to pry on the first topic. “Because you’re getting an omelet.”

Scooping a bowl from another cabinet, and removing a plastic carton of some white liquid, she pours a little into the bowl before grabbing one of the white oval things. A quick smack on the side of the bowl, and the oval cracks open, dropping a clear goop with a golden center into the liquid. Repeating the process twice more, she grabs a whisk and mixes the two ingredients together with ferocity, until it forms a light yellow liquid somewhere in the middle of the two consistencies. The solution gets poured into the pan, producing a loud sizzling pop as it starts to bubble.

In the meantime, she turns to the white box again, and starts pulling out little plastic containers.

“Fillings, fillings,” she mumbles to herself. “I’ve got- bacon, mushrooms, cheese… hm.”

Tikki chews her lip as she ponders another container.

“I’ve got peppers too, but I don’t know if you’ll like hot stuff. I’ll put it out anyway.”

Arranging the fillings on the counter, she grabs a spatula and flips the mixture in the pan. It’s a floppy golden disc now, and the popping sound starts anew.

“What do you want as filling?” She asks, gesturing to the opened containers.

Spooky

He inspected each thing he was presented with curiously, and he seemed to like all of them as he tried a little bit of each one. The bacon seemed to be his favorite, due to how enthusiastically he pointed at it, until he got to the peppers.

Before he could be stopped he stuck a whole chili pepper in his mouth, his eyes going wide as he bit into it and a more intense flavor than he'd ever experienced before bloomed across his tongue. There was a moment where it seemed like maybe it might've been too much for him, but he quickly turned to Tikki, practically with stars in his eyes, and pointed excitedly at them.

"Mm!"

Mystic

Tikki raised both eyebrows, not having enough time to react between him grabbing the pepper and pointing excitedly to do anything about it.

“Ok, I was wrong- you have tastebuds of titanium I guess. Shoulda seen that coming, you’re a teenager,” she says with a smirk, taking a handful of the peppers and placing them on a rubber mat. She reaches behind her to a wooden block, and unsheathes a knife. Rather than pointing it at him, though, like the instant of fear spiked into him, she took it to the peppers, and deftly diced them into slices. Using the flat side of the knife as a scraper, she picks up the peppers and wipes them off onto the half-cooked omelet. Then she sets the knife down on the mat, and grabs handfuls of cheese and the bacon, filling in the rest of the space on the omelet patty. The spatula comes out again, and she picks up one end of the omelet to fold it over like a taco, before removing it from the pan entirely onto a plate.

Tikki holds out the plate to him.

“Here you go, Sticks- one hot pepper omelet! I gotta make mine now, so you can go ahead and sit to eat already. Mine will take a minute.”

Spooky

Grinning from- well, what would have been ear to ear if he had any, he took the disc with the food on it and brought it back over to the fireplace instead of the table. It didn't really occur to him to sit there, and he was perfectly content near the heat of the crackling logs instead.

It took a physical effort to NOT just toss his head back and gulp the whole thing down like a seagull. Human food was a treat, and he wanted to make sure he tasted it! He ate it in bites, however given the size of his mouth... it was only about three bites before the whole omelet was gone.

Mystic

“Damn,” Tikki comments, impressed. “Should have made you two omelets.”

~*~

Previous | Chapter Index | Next

New reader? You can start here!

[roseamoungstthethorns]

A take on veganism

While veganism can do good on the world, It's current climate is toxic and unhealthy.

There is no act an individual can to that will effect the level of harm that corporations cause

The especially white vegan view of you have to be fully vegan in everything you consume is toxic, unethical, and often in achievable.

Plastic leather (pleather or vegan leather) is horrible for the environment and your wallet. It sheds a ridiculous amount of plastic products into the environment and does not hold up with time causing you to have to buy more and more. This of course causes more plastic in the environment and more expenses to you.

Most leather is used as a byproduct from cows killed for the meat industry meaning these cows would still be killed if you did not consume leather as they are skilled for hamburger etc. and then instead of discarding their skin it is used for a durable environmentally friendly product.

In again, especially white vegans, the bid to not consume any animal products leads to more harm than good in cases.

Foods like quinoa (grain that has amino acids and protein) and agave (common substitute for honey) harm farmers and the countries who rely on them due to vegans driving up global demand.

Many vegans will boycott honey as it is derived from bees, but will still consume almond milk. This is hypocritical as bees are not harmed in the production of honey, buy are harmed in the transportation to and pollinating of almond groves.

The crazy vegan stereotype turns people away from veganism and decreased animal consumption. The over the top, angry, all or nothing type creates hatred towards the vegan community steating people away from it which creates the opposite effect that it is trying to.

Critic of concepts such as meatless Monday hurts everyone. Most people can't or aren't willing to be vegan or vegetarian but concepts such as meatless Mondays allows for less meat to be cooked when it otherwise would be.

The idea that vegan or vegetarian diets are cheaper is false. This is only true if your diet is mainly beans and rice, but that is not how almost everyone eats. Produce, and dairy and meat substitutes are more expensive than animal products. Furthermore in food deserts or countries/areas where vegan/vegetarian lifestyles aren't common it may be next to impossible to not consume animal products due to low availability and high price.

Most vegans and vegetarians will allow for medications that include animal products, but those who don't create an unsafe space for people who rely on them.

Medications is not the only reason to need to consume animal products and this is where the real danger lies. Any condition that causes a restrictive diet poses a risk in restricting more. Yes, veganism and vegetarism are restrictive diets. Some, but definitely not all, are chron's, gerd, ANY ED, needing to tube feed, IBS, colonoscopy bag users, people on a liquid diet, and much more. Talk to your healthcare provider please before attempting vegan or vegetarian lifestyles if you have any of these types of issues. The vegan movement shames people who rely on animal products to stay healthy and that is dangerous.

Racism plays into the vegan movement as well. Many, again, especially white, vegans shame cultures who use animals. Cultures and traditions who care for animals, use all their parts, farm, and take care of their land and animals are much better than traditionally western practices and the need for veganism is no longer needed. The animals and land are cared for and treated respectfully. Veganism would do more harm than good here.

There us a line between ethical and unethical veganism, however the line is blurred. Knowing when it does more harm than good is not often enough talked about and I believe it's important that unethical veganism is talked about more.

Some ways to help promote ethical living besides veganism

Freegan. A freegan is vegan with the exception to animal products that would otherwise be discarded.

Ethical consumption. Buy from local farmers. Start a community garden. Have your own chickens for eggs. Etc.

Trade and barter. This works around capitalism which is a driving factor towards unethical animal practices.

Support indigenous people. They know how to care for the land and the animals. Importantly their rights have been abused and violated and we need to support them as well.

Shop local. This keeps money out of the hands of big corporations. As well as being environmentally friendly due to less co2 emissions.

Reduce reuse recycle. Start by reducing the products use consume. Then reuse what you can as much as you can. Finally recycle everything you can. This is the order that makes the smallest imprint.

Pescitarian. The only meat pescitarians consume is fish.

Vegetarian. Vegetarians consume animal products but not animals. This can include eggs, but not chickens, milk, but not cow, honey, silk etc. Lakto-vegitarians consume dairy but not eggs and ovo-vegitarians consume eggs but not dairy.

Cutting out any type of meat or animal products.

Only consuming foods that are ethically produced in regards to the environment, animals, and/or humans

Feel free to add more

Remember your health comes first, there is no ethical consumption under capitalism, any change is better than no change.

TL;DR Veganism has problems and isn't the end all be all of ethicality. Reduce consumption in general in the ways you can. Remember your health comes first.

[my-moony-and-padfoot]

I just want it to stop

TW: talking about suicide, kinda can't really explain it but yeah if you don't want to read that then maybe you should skip this one

Wolfstar raises harry and kind of modern AU

He was finally heading home. He almost missed the train, and he definitely didn't want to be late. Sirius didn't like being alone, definitely not with Harry, like he was now, even though Sirius loved the boy more than anything, but he just didn't trust himself to be alone for a long time and Remus knew that, even though there was no point because every time they were alone everything went perfectly. He also knew that it would stress Sirius out if he didn't come home when he had promised.

When he opened the door of their flat he was met by silence, absolute silence, instead of the usual smiling Sirius who'd be greeting him with a hug when he came home. He knew Sirius was home because his shoes and jacket were there. It was never silent in their home. There was always something playing in the background, either music or the TV was on. Sirius couldn't stand silence, he needed to have something in the background to focus.

He stepped out from his shoes, setting them neatly on the shoe rack, dropping his back bag to the floor, and hanging his jacket on the hook on the wall, right next to Sirius' Black leather jacket. He called out for Sirius, but nothing. He walked down the short hallway going to their living room, nothing. Everything was neatly put and nothing had been moved around, although the coffee cup he had left there this morning was gone.

It looked like no one lived here, all Harry's toys were neatly put away what he knew was a habit of Sirius' always cleaning up when he was feeling down. All the lights off and everything's so quiet, it almost felt ghostly, Remus thought as he walked past the kitchen, still no sign of Sirius nor Harry.

He decided to check Harry's bedroom, quietly opening the door, peeking his head through the door, seeing that Harry was down for a nap. He sighed in relief, even though he knew everything would be alright, but there was some weight lifted off his chest, only needing to find Sirius.

He was worried, there were only two places to check, he could be in their bedroom or the bathroom, he looked down the hall seeing the bathroom door locked, so he decided to go knock on the door. Hoping it wasn't what he was thinking. No. It couldn't be, Sirius had been alright, everything was good? Right. He would've noticed.

He knocked on the door, no answer. "Sirius, baby? Are you there?'' He asked through the door, still not hearing anything. “Open the door, please.” He whispered, and after a while the lock clicked. And Remus opened the door, slipping in, flicking the lights on, swallowing past a lump in his throat at the sight in front of him.

Sirius was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, with his knees tucked under his chin. There was a small plastic bottle on the floor beside him. Sirius' cheeks were rosy and tear stained, he looked dazed and out of this world.

Remus took a couple of steps forward, kneeling in front of Sirius, looking at him carefully. He reached to brush hair out of his eyes, trying to get Sirius out of this state, to focus on something, instead of staring blankly at the cupboard, nothing behind his eyes.

“Look at me.” He whispered, gently, caressing his fingers over his cheek, wiping away the newly shed tears. “C'mon baby, it's alright, just look at me.” And he did, after a while he blinked his eyes a couple of times, before looking at Remus.

“Hi.” He whispered, a small smile tucking on his lips, glad that Sirius was slowly getting out from, whatever it was. He glanced at the bottle on the floor, what he knew to be Sirius' medicine. The cap was closed, but the sight still made him worried. He swallowed thickly, about to speak, but Sirius started before him.

“I-i just wanted it to stop rem. Just wanted it to stop. I can't make it stop, I can't, I…” he whispered, voice small and fragile. Remus took one of Sirius' hands, brushing his fingers over his knuckles before answering.

“You wanted to stop what? Sirius, did you? You didn't-” he asked, biting down his lip, looking at Sirius, hoping Sirius got what he meant. Because if he was right. It would be bad, so, so bad. A panic started to rise in his chest, but he tried to push past it for Sirius' sake.

Sirius shook his head. “I couldn't get the cap off.” He whispered, admitting that he tried, well, he didn't exactly try, he just couldn't get the cap off, it wouldn't open. He wasn't sure if he wanted to do it, he didn't know what he was thinking or what was going through his head, he just was so confused.

“Sirius-” he started, but the door was suddenly pushed open, revealing Harry, just standing there, cuddling his soft pink rabbit, named Millie, to his chest, rubbing his eyes. “Hey, haz. Let's go to your room, huh? Let's go play for a bit.” Remus said, standing up and leading the boy out from the bathroom doorway. Harry shook his head, looking up at Remus.

“Moony.” He said, holding up his arms, wanting to be picked up and Remus did, he scooted Harry up in his arms, kissing his forehead. He leaned his head to Remus' shoulder, and cuddled the rabbit between them.

“Wanna watch a movie?” He asked and Harry nodded. “Did you have a good nap, pup?” He asked setting Harry down on the couch, before turning on Lilo and stitch, it was one of Harry's favorites.

“I did, an' had a good dream.” He mumbled and Remus smiled, ruffling his hair.

“I'll be right back, okay?” He said, and Harry nodded, focusing on the movie as Remus left the room. He walked back to the bathroom, seeing that Sirius hadn't moved at all. “He's happily watching a movie.” Remus said, this time sitting down next to his husband on the floor, taking his hand.

“I'm sorry, moons.” Sirius whispered, resting his head on Remus' shoulder, who kissed his head, smiling a bit, even though Sirius wouldn't see it.

“It's alright, love, talk to me?”

“I um- it's getting bad again, and I just needed something to calm the thoughts down, for it to stop, even for a moment.” He rambled, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you.”

“Don't worry about it, baby, it's alright. We've been through this before, haven't we? We'll do it again, right? Together.”

“Together.” Sirius whispered, a small smile on his lips, for a brief moment, but Remus noticed. He always noticed, although he scolded himself for not picking up the signs of Sirius feeling bad again.

“Okay to get up? Or you wanna talk?'' Remus asked, after a while, he could hear the movie in the background and Harry babbling something to Millie. Sirius shook his head, lifting it up from Remus' shoulder, looking up at him.

“Can I get a kiss?” He asked, and Remus smiled, planting a soft kiss on his lips. “I love you, and thank you.” He whispered, before slowly starting to get up, wiping his eyes for the last time.

“Love you too. Now, please help me. I'm an old man, I'm not made to sit on the floor.” Remus said, and Sirius let out a chuckle, but helped him up nonetheless.

“Old man my ass, you're twenty-four besides I'm older.” He smiled, looking at Remus, who smiled, just because Sirius was a little more like himself again, even if it was just for a moment.

“I'm gonna make some dinner, and then we can all cuddle up on the couch and watch the movie? Sound good?" Remus said as they made their way out of the bathroom, he nodded heading to the living room.

He sat down on the couch next to Harry, who looked up at him, with a confused look. Sirius narrowed his eyes playfully and Harry smiled, crawling to Sirius' lap, resting his head on his chest.

“Why were you in the bathroom?” Harry asked quietly, playing with Millie's ears. “Did I do something?”

“No, no you didn't do anything, cub. Why'd you think that?” He asked, rubbing Harry's back.

“You were upset.”

“I know, I was a little upset baby, but not because of you, I'm sure of that.” Sirius whispered, kissing Harry's head as if sealing what he just said.

“Pwomise?” Harry whispered, looking up at Sirius with wide eyes, who smiled.

“I promise.”

“Moony's making us some dinner, and when he's done we can watch a movie together and maybe play a little.'' he explained, to the younger, trying to distract him from what happened.

“Don't wanna watch a movie.” Harry whispered, pressing himself closer to Sirius again.

“Whatcha wanna do then?” He asked, through a chuckle.

“Nuffin.”

“Okay, baby, we don't have to do anything.” He smiled. “Did you and Millie have a good little nap?” The rabbit was very important to the boy, he wouldn't go anywhere without it and definitely not sleep without it.

“Mhm.”

“Are you still tired?” He asked and Harry nodded. “Let's not go back to sleep just yet, yeah? We gotta eat first and maybe have a little bath time, and then you can go to sleep.” He said, and Harry nodded again, playing with Millie in his hands.

Sirius continued to talk to Harry as Remus prepared their little late dinner. He would've usually made it when Remus came home, but he was a little preoccupied. He was in the middle of telling Harry a story, when Remus came to the living room with a tray in his hands. Talking about something that had nothing to do with what happened, like telling Harry a story, made him feel a little better and forget the thoughts for a moment.

“I made some soup.” Remus smiled, sitting down next to Sirius and Harry crawled off Sirius' lap, somehow squeezing himself in-between them. He handed both of them their bowls of soup and something to drink before starting to eat himself.

When they were all done, Remus went to draw Harry a bath and Sirius carried the dishes to the kitchen, starting to clean up the mess Remus had made while cooking. Harry decided to follow him, trying to help Sirius, who let him help. Handing him the dishes and helping, Harry carefully set them to the washing machine.

It was all going well, both of them smiling, Harry just being happy because he could help Sirius, and he just thought Harry looked cute while helping him. But then, there was a loud shatter and one of the plates was shattered on the floor at their feet. Sirius flinched at the loud noise, and Harry started to cry almost immediately.

Sirius scooped him up in his arms. “Sowwy.” Harry whispered, through a sob, just as Remus walked into the kitchen. More sorry's left Harry's mouth and Sirius shushed him, rocking him gently, to reassure him that it's okay.

“Don't be, it's okay, it was just a plate.” Just a plate, Sirius repeated in his mind, looking at Remus, who walked closer, and Sirius lifted Harry into his arms. Harry continued to cry and Remus tried to shush him, carrying him out of the kitchen to the bathroom. He continued to assure him as he checked that the boy hadn't hurt himself. He didn't have any cuts at least, he was just a little shocked by what had happened.

Just a plate. Just a plate. Just a plate. Sirius kept repeating to himself as he cleaned up the pieces from the floor. It was okay, although he hated the idea of missing one of them. Because it was a set of eight plates and now there's seven. He knew that his thinking was silly and stupid, but he couldn't help it. And he wasn't blaming Harry or anything, it wasn't his fault.

He just cleaned up the pieces and put away the rest of the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen. There wasn't much to clean, but he just needed to do something to get his mind off everything. All those thoughts from before rushing back in as he cleaned.

Going to their living room, straightening up the pillows on their couch and folding a blanket. Finding Millie from the floor, taking it to Harry's room and setting it on the bed, making sure everything was in their right places and cleaned up.

He could hear Harry giggling in the bathroom, probably splashing water around, Sirius just hoped Remus was being careful and that there wouldn't be more stuff to clean. The thought making him a little anxious and wanting to go check, but he thought it would be better if he didn't.

So, he went to their bedroom, sitting down on the bed, just trying to calm the thoughts down.

But they wouldn't. They just kept coming, and he didn't know what to do. He pulled on his hair, more tears falling down. He just wanted it to stop. He didn't know how long it took when he heard a knock on the door.

Remus peeked into the room, stepping in when he saw the state Sirius was in. He kneeled down in front of the bed. Gently pulling Sirius' hands away from his hair and holding them. “What's going on, love?”

“I-i don't know.” He stuttered, shaking his head. “I don't know. I don't.”

“Shh, it's okay, it's alright.”  Remus said, brushing Sirius' hair away from his face. “It's okay.” He whispered, standing up, and wrapping his arms around Sirius kissing his head, he hid his face into Remus' stomach, harsh sobs leaving his mouth. Remus continued to brush his hand through his hair as Sirius cried.

Harry was already in bed, although had asked for Sirius to say goodnight and tuck him in, but Remus told him that Sirius would tuck him in tomorrow. But Remus knew Harry would try to stay awake until Sirius would say goodnight to him.

It took a while, but Sirius eventually calmed down. He looked up to Remus, who wiped away his tears, leaning down and kissing his forehead. “Better now?” Sirius nodded slowly. “That's good baby.”

“Where's Harry?”

“Sleeping.” He smiled. “Well, supposed to be, but I don't think he is because he wanted to say goodnight to someone.” Sirius smiled slightly, nodding as he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“I'm sorry, moons.” He whispered. “For not telling you and for this.”

“It's okay baby.” He smiled. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

Sirius smiled. “ 'm gonna go to say goodnight to him.” Remus nodded, kissing his forehead once more before Sirius got up, wiping his eyes and walking towards Harry's bedroom. He peeked his head in, seeing that he wasn't asleep yet, and say up in bed as he heard the door open.

“Hi cub.” Sirius smiled, walking over to him. “Why aren't you sleeping, hmm?” He asked, sitting down on the bed.

“Wan'ed to say goodnight.”

Sirius smiled. “Okay, lay down, I'll tuck you in.” Harry laid down, his rabbit cuddled up to him, Sirius tucked him in, kissing his forehead when he was done. “Goodnight, hazza.'' he smiled, brushing his hair as Harry closed his eyes. “Sweet dreams, cub, I love you.” He whispered, softly, and continued to brush his hair until Harry fell asleep, which didn't take long.

Sirius walked back into their bedroom, he saw Remus already in bed, reading a book. He smiled, going to change his clothes before climbing in bed next to Remus, leaning against him, ending up laying his head to Remus lap, who wrapped his arm around him, continuing to read the book.

“Rem?” He whispered after a while, Remus hummed, reading the end of the page before, setting his book down, starting to brush his hand through Sirius' hair. Sirius didn't say anything, just snuggled more into him.

“Did Harry go to sleep?”

“Mhm, he was out like a light in a minute.” Sirius mumbled, closing his eyes. “I'm tired moons.”

“I know you're.” Remus chuckled. “But maybe we should talk for a bit?”

“Do we have to?” He asked, looking up to him. “I just wanna sleep.”

“That's okay, love.” He smiled, and Sirius nodded. Remus laid down, pulling Sirius close to him, who immediately snuggled up to him. “Goodnight, I love you.” He whispered and Sirius mumbled something, already half asleep. Remus continued to brush his hand through his hair until he fell asleep himself.

[telnaga]

i know its not exactly free to turn an untanned hide into Leather but i am always so fucking mad that we produce so much beef in this country but genuine leather is a luxury good, leaving most things that Should be leather being made of pleather. which is a sickly kind of plastic that lives the life of a microplastics-shedding mayfly

[1800titz]

Fifty Shades who? (ಥ‿ಥ This is not Fifty Shades. I promise he’s not a psychopath.)

Teaser for the third part of TDIAG

It becomes a routine for the two of them — she’ll show up at her usual time, a little after his own arrival, and he’ll reserve the room.

The fourth time, Eros books the room in advance, so by the time Isla turns up, a staff member is letting her know within only a handful of steps into the lounge that her room is ready. And the funny thing is, despite the circumstance of Eros arriving to the club before her, Isla always finds herself in the room of the night first, kneeling patiently in waiting for his ceremonial, climactic arrival. He doesn’t keep her waiting long. And when he does show, the pair shed their work weeks, the pressures and burdens of the outside world, their clothes. Well. Isla discards her own. Sometimes, with his helping hand, if she asks very nicely. The dominant always meticulously stays dressed, clad with his signature mask and his trademark, pleather gloves, (pleather, she’d learned, not authentic leather, when the topic had come up during a touchy, soft session of aftercare), always along with his commonplace, tailored slacks, a dress shirt, lavish shoes. He’ll unease the first few buttons of the shirt, where glimpses of inky beaks catch her eye and leave her wondering what other illustrations lay beneath, etched into his skin. But that’s as far as he ever goes to disrobe. He does cruel, vicious, filthy things to her, tearing her apart by the seams, and after, he sews her aplomb back together with gentle touches and soft coos. She looks forward to those ravenous Friday nights with her mysterious Eros. 

Tonight is still Thursday night. Unfortunately. 

Unfortunately, unfortunately, unfortunately. 

It’s Thursday night and unfortunately, the self-check out lane is incredibly stalled. The droll sounds of scanners beeping and Katy Perry’s TGIF leaking softly from the overhead speakers infiltrate Isla’s ears as she zones out. It’s like an unpleasant, forced reverie. Under the bright, fluorescent lighting, she can see that the man ahead of her in line showcases a plumber’s crack that peeks from skinny jeans that hang a smidge too low. So the young woman looks about, everywhere but ahead. He’s wearing a belt, too, is the thing. Grocery stores are truly human zoos. 

She’s still in work wear — a pencil skirt, heels, and she holds her basket close as she bites into her cheek and waits. A slow step forward. 

“That’s a lot of cherries.” 

Isla turns. The man behind her is tall, attractive. She blinks. If his sculpted features, lightly moussed, coiled hair, and striking gaze hadn’t already bewitched her into a wordless stare, the way he plucks and eats grapes, straight off the vine, straight from the bag, in the self checkout lane like an absolute maniac, would.

She casts her gaze to her basket. There’s a variety of items on her buy-list, like a lone jar of salsa and …some unsightly, extra absorbent tampons — anyways, why is this stranger ogling the contents of her basket? There are, in fact, three plastic carts of cherries, stacked, which take up the majority of the space. 

She clears her throat, “Yeah there was, a, uh. Discount.” 

“Was there?”

She’s still staring obnoxiously, and the man seems to catch on. He swallows the grape his strawberry mouth had closed around, lips curling softly as he expels a vague explanation, “I missed my lunch.”

She purses her lips slightly, head tipping forwards in an understanding nod, and attempts to ease her way into politely disengaging back into that aimless stare ahead. She can’t do it. She just can’t force herself to manually avoid scrutinizing Baldo’s crack in the impending foreground. Anyways, the intrusive stranger is certainly easier on the eyes. 

“That’s a — uh. A lot of grapes,” Isla tells him after a beat. 

“Is it, really? D’you think?” The attractive stranger moves the back in his obnoxiously large palm as if weighing it contemplatively, “I’d say, 32 ounces, maybe. Well.” 

The corners of her mouth buckle as he shoots it a sheepish glance and his pillowy mouth quirks in an obvious attempt to bridle a grin, “Less. Now.” 

The laugh that Isla releases is genuine. 

“Probably, like, 31,” the man nods, exhales, a laugh catching in the back of his throat at the look she gives him. 

“I didn’t—“ her incredulous laughter bubbles as she pivots to face ahead, “I didn’t see anything.” 

“Yes, well, perhaps you didn’t, and I appreciate that, but that lady over there is giving me a horrible look for actively shoplifting grapes,” The curly-headed brunette jests, and Isla clamps her mouth together to stifle her amusement. 

“Honestly, shoplifting them with your stomach is the best thing you could have done, here.” 

“You don’t reckon she’ll ask for them back?” 

Isla bites into her cheek, hard, to stop herself from expelling spit all over Baldo ahead in the midst of a wrested raspberry. The stranger laughs softly, and behind her, she hears him say, “No, honestly, I should probably stop eating these things. I think they do charge by weight.” 

“I think they might, yeah.” 

“Well, I’ve saved myself a few good cents.” 

“And — and,” Isla motions with the hand that isn’t clasped over the handle of her basket, “Satiated your hunger. Two birds with one stone, honestly.” 

The man hums in agreement. She hears plastic crinkle as, she assumes, he closes the bag. A comfortable silence falls over them, then. Another slow step forward. 

“I’m sorry, I have to ask,” she pivots back, a crease working between her brows, “You are just …oddly familiar. And I can’t place it, and if I don’t, it’s going to bug me for the rest of the night.” 

The good-looking stranger blinks, then his expression morphs into one of deliberation. His cushiony mouth purses, and he tells her, “Well, I don’t do this,” he lifts the bag of partly-shoplifted grapes, “often.”

He breaks into soft laughter and Isla’s face twists. 

“If that helps narrow anything down.” 

“It’s just,” the young woman motions with her hand jerkily, her tone carrying notes of determination, “Your face. I know your face. I’ve seen it somewhere.” 

His features melt into something soft, something telltale, like he knows exactly what she means just off of the vagueness of her reasoning, and the corners of his mouth curl slowly as he supplies, “Probably on a bench.” 

“Yes!” Isla snaps, tone wildly expressive and pleased to scratch the itch, “A bench! With your face. For…”

“Selling houses,” the stranger supplies helpfully. Another step forward.

“Selling houses! Yes. That’s it. I pass a bench with your face on it, like, every morning, on the way to work,” Isla waves with her arm, “I see your face all the time,” she clears her throat, her voice dying off. She takes a deep breath then tells him, with genuine gratitude interlacing the syllables, “Thank you. That was literally going to bug me all night long.”

There’s mirth weaved in the alluring man’s cast, and a haughty tinge, if she’s not mistaken, “My pleasure.” Before she’s taken it upon herself to turn back around, satisfied by simply unearthing the answer, he tells her, “I’m obligated to ask, actually, do you happen to be on the market?” 

Isla blinks. 

“To buy or sell a house?”

Another step. Baldo moves into the self check-out region from the line, a single cantaloupe wedged between his side and his arm, a pack of triple A batteries in the opposite hand. 

“It’s,” the basket shifts in her grasp, “Actually, it’s really funny you ask, because I am looking to buy a house.” 

“Really?” Isla watches the grin that paints its way over the stranger's mouth — there’s hints of mischief, “Hoo-hoo, sorry, I love doing this — let me just give you my business card.” 

So she waits, basket in hand, as he reaches into his pocket and unearths one of those dainty little business card-holders professional-business-people have. He cradles the bag of grapes with his arm as he uses his opposite hand to retract a sleek little card, and he hands it off to her proudly. 

Harry Styles, it reads. There’s some contact information, a phone number, an email, a company name, and a rather dashing picture of him, as well. 

“Thank you,” she tells him, pupils bouncing from the card to his face. 

“My pleasure — I think, that check-out’s open, now, actually,” he prompts, glancing over her shoulder, and Isla twists. 

“Oh! Yes, yeah.” 

“And I won’t be eating any more of these, so y’don’t have to babysit me, anymore,” he jokes, gesturing with the bag of grapes. 

“Yes — Yeah, no — yeah. Okay. Thank you. Yes, I will definitely look into — this,” Isla motions with the business card, slipping into an awkward sort of back-walk towards the check out, “Harry Styles.” 

Dimples create little divots in his cheeks as Harry grins, “Yes, please do…”

“Isla Cleery,” the young woman supplies, caught between stalling the rest of the lane with conversation and paying for her ludicrous supply of discounted cherries. 

“Isla Cleery,” Harry parrots, a rasp to his pleasant cadence. He clears his throat, stuck in the front of the line with his lone bag of dwindled grapes, “Give me a call.”