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HAPPY ZERO DAY!!!!!!

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she mogged him so bad

Eric and Susan <3

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The duality of TCC is wild. If I asked "if you could bring Dylan and Eric back from the dead for 45 minutes, what would you do", one side of TCC would say that they'd ask them both questions and learn more, another side would say that they'd bring them alive and just kill them again but more gruesome, but the final side??? they'd give BOTH OF THEM the craziest most toe-curling mouth-watering butt-sex in that 45 minutes, those two mfs would see GOD

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I am so so sorry for being away everyoneee, I've had very bad motivation lately and I'm currently struggling with school, but I will be back!!! I love u all ❤️

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i love them so much 😭

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Photo of the weapons used by Kip Kinkel to commit the 1998 Thurston High School shooting

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people need to talk about kip kinkel more I'm literally begging idc how or in what sense someone NEEEEEDS to talk abt him other than me, im losing my mind

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religious calvin gabriel has my entire heart

Calvin Gabriel with religious issues

WARNING LONG POST ^-^

Cals parents never forced him to go to church but they would always bring him along every Sunday when they went he would never ask not to go. he enjoyed the snacks after church and getting to play with the other kids while the parents caught up about life. Every sermon he sat kicking his feet above the pew that was much to tall for his feet to touch the ground, barely listening, but he would catch a few words every now and then that he didn’t quite understand but stuck with that little boy nonetheless things like “sinners” and “hell”. As he grew up he never stopped attending church it was the one time a week he spent with his family, his feet no longer dangling above the pews but instead planted on the ground as if he was stuck every time he sat down. Old enough now he understood what the preachers were saying “they will rot in hell for their sinful actions” he felt a tinge of guilt every time he heard that, not that he cared he didn’t believe in god so what does it matter if he’ll rot in hell for his actions, but there was that feeling in the back of his mind that he was an imposter in this so called sacred home of god. He shouldn’t be there but he had yet to burst into flames when walking into the church so he kept going, every Sunday like clockwork never any other time except for once when he was 16. It was a cool Saturday evening and he had spent the night at Andre’s house. Andre had fallen asleep early as he always had but cal had yet to fall asleep so he sat on the ground, his makeshift pillow bed beneath him, looking at Andre sleeping silently his breath hitching every so often watching his arm across his chest rise and fall with every breath he took and it made cal feel warm despite the room being freezing. He had gone to church the week before where a new pastor was speaking that week and it left an impression on cal. Every breath he saw Andre take every time he traced his face with his eyes cal could hear the word sinner yelling at him in the back of his head cal felt wrong like there was something about him he couldn’t fix he didn’t know why the words stung so bad he’d heard them so many times before and he knew god didn’t exist didn’t he? But he still couldn’t shake it, he couldn’t stand it. Taking one more look at his peaceful sleeping best friend he stood up and quietly unlatched the window next to him climbing out as him and Andre had done many times before to get into childish mischief but now he wasn’t heading to Brad huffs house with a carton of eggs but instead the church with his prayer beads wrapped around his wrist.

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yall what are cal's siblings names I'm tweaking.. i use 'tomas' for andre's older brother but what are cal's brother and sister's names or what do people usually call those two, I need at least an IDEA so I can write and be even a little bit 'accurate'

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I ❤️ fit checks

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another caldre writing that literally had 0 reason but I wanted to write it and it's been in my drafts for like a month.. i didn't proof read this so idk if it even makes sense, but I need it outttt of my drafts😭

NSFW AND RELIGIOUS/HOMOSEXUAL URGES GUILT

andre’s hands shake as they run down cal’s body, sliding under his shirt. ‘don’t do this,’ he thinks, but his fingers move anyway, tracing over cal’s ribs, feeling the way his chest rises and falls. cal sighs softly, and the sound is like gasoline poured onto the fire already burning inside andre. ‘fuck, stop,’ he tells himself, but when cal makes that tiny whimper, andre’s whole body reacts. he can’t stop now.

his hand dips lower, fingers brushing the waistband of cal’s pants, and cal lets out this quiet, breathless moan that makes andre’s skin crawl. not because it’s bad, but because it’s too good. too real, too "this is actually happening. 'this is wrong,’ he thinks, but he keeps going, pushing past the guilt that’s clawing at his chest. cal arches into his touch, his hips pressing up, and andre’s throat tightens. every noise cal makes is like fuel to a fire he can’t control, each one hotter, heavier.

“sir,” cal whispers, voice playful and slightly-laughing at the teasing nickname. andre’s hand falters, his mind racing. ‘don’t fucking do this, dont be this way, don't be a stupid fucking f-ggot.’ but he already is. he’s been that from the moment he started staring at his best friend a little longer all the way up till he kissed cal for the first time, from the moment he let himself get lost in it. he feels dirty, repressing every part of himself that feels wrong, but his body won’t stop.

"shut up," andre barks, his face blank, he genuinely wanted cal to shut up, he couldn't take the guilt anymore. cal giggles in return.

he then gasps as andre’s hand dips lower, just barely brushing below his waist, and the sound hits andre like a punch in the gut. ‘stop,’ he thinks again, but cal’s soft moans, his shaking breath, it’s all too much. it feels like the walls are closing in, like the world is collapsing around them, but cal’s the only thing holding him together. he stares at the pale scars on cal's hips and feels sick, he's really doing this, he's really THAT close to cal that he can see those, he feels horrible.

“fuck, andre,” cal says, the nickname fading, his voice cracking, and andre can’t breathe. there's no nickname to block that it's andre whose actually doing this, his fingers curl around the waistband, but he hesitates, his mind screaming at him to pull away. ‘you’re not supposed to like this you’re not supposed to feel this way get the fuck off of him.’ but he does feel that way, and he doesn't move. he can’t stop himself. it’s like every noise cal makes drives him deeper into something he doesn’t want to admit to, something that feels dangerous, something that feels too fucking good.

cal’s hips shift under him, pushing up into his touch, and andre closes his eyes, trying to block out everything he’s feeling. but it’s impossible. he feels every inch of cal, the way his body trembles, the way his breath hitches, and it’s like they’re both caught in a spiral they can’t escape. ‘i’m not supposed to want this,’ andre thinks, but he does. god, he does. he hates himself for it, but he can’t stop.

cal moans, soft and broken, and andre feels like he’s suffocating, like he’s drowning in the heat of it all. ‘dirty. i’m so fucking dirty.’ every touch, every sound is like another match thrown onto the fire, and andre feels like he’s burning alive. but he can’t stop. he doesn’t want to stop. the star of david necklace that he threw into the lake years before still burns in his memory as it burned his chest whenever he thought about kissing his boy best friend, he feels disgusting.

the thought of all of this is making andre aggressive, violent, a bit too rough with the way he moves and grabs at his best friend. the way cal laughs in response infuriates him more.

despite his anger, andre’s hand slips lower, hesitating for a moment, his breath caught in his throat. ‘don’t. don’t go any further,’ he thinks, but cal shifts beneath him, pressing closer, silently begging for more. andre feels trapped, pinned under the weight of his own mind, but he can’t stop. cal’s skin is warm, soft under his fingertips, and every small noise cal makes pushes him closer to something andre’s been fighting for too long.

he takes a shaky breath and slides his hand fully below cal’s waist and under his boxers. cal gasps, a quiet, breathless sound, and it makes andre’s stomach twist. ‘fuck,’ he thinks, his heart racing. ‘i’m really doing this.’ but instead of feeling worse, instead of the guilt crashing down on him, there’s something else, something that feels almost like relief. cal’s body is trembling, his breath coming in short, quick bursts, and andre can feel the heat radiating from him.

“andre…” cal’s voice cracks and it makes andre’s heart stutter. cal’s fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, and something shifts. andre leans down, their lips brushing together as he whispers, “i’ve got you.” his voice is rough, but softer than before, like he’s finally giving in.

“andre, jesus christ dude- fuck,” cal breathes out, and andre can feel his resistance melting away, slipping through his fingers. ‘i shouldn’t…’ but the words are gone, lost in the way cal feels, the way he arches into andre’s touch, the way he makes those quiet and desperate noises that andre can’t get enough of.

"cal shut the fuck up, fuck-" andre commands as he squeezes at cal, the rush of guilt and aggression rising in his chest. he wanted to scream and yell and beat cal until he was nothing but mush.

he slides his hand out to unzip cal's fly and he feels cal’s body tense beneath him, and for a moment, everything freezes. but then cal moans and andre moves before he can think about it. ‘god, i hate this,’ he says to himself, fully. but as he looks at his best friends face, his pale skin, his light eyes, his stupid structure, there’s no more fighting it now. he will have to give in and deal with the guilt later.

“you’re good, cal, it's okay,” andre murmurs, his tone switching fast, kissing him again, deeper this time, letting the warmth of the moment take over. cal’s breathing hitches, his hips rocking up to meet andre’s hand, and andre feels that heavy, suffocating guilt slip away, replaced by something better, something that feels right.

cal lets out another breathy moan, and andre’s head spins, his pants feeling suffocating, cal's scent making him feel safe. every sound cal makes is like fuel to the fire, every gasp and whimper pulling him further in. ‘fuck, i can’t stop now.’

“you like that?” andre whispers against cal’s lips, his voice low, and cal nods frantically, his eyes glazed over, barely able to form words and he smiled crookedly.

“yeah- yes. i- yeah,” cal breathes, his voice shaky as he laughs at his stupid stammering. andre watches cal, the way his chest rises and falls, the way his fingers feel as they curl in andre’s hair. there’s no turning back now, no holding onto the doubt that’s been eating at him for months. cal's face rushes with red as he feels heat pool in his stomach and sweat bead down his cheeks, "fuck- this is so wrong," he laughs. but instead of andre stopping and stressing again, he laughs too.

'this is okay. it has to be. its not wrong, not anymore' he thinks, the thought making him feel safe.

"it's okay you idiot, it has to be. doesn’t feel wrong to me, cal. not anymore.” he says, his tone joking and sweet, the words making cal feel safe as he laughs in return.

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY CALVIN GABRIEL!!! Heres a writing for his bday!!! (i apologize if I made any spelling or grammar errors I didn't check this over)

calvin gabriel turns 17, and the air feels more foggy than it should. nothing feels real. it’s his birthday, but he knows it’ll be his last. there’s something almost peaceful in that thought, he can finally let go. he pulls on a sweat-smelling hoodie that he found on a pile of laundry on his dirty floor, probably one of andre’s, and slips out of the house before anyone notices. his parents are prepping for the small family gathering later, and his little brother and sister are probably busy making him another card with their messy, crooked handwriting. he smiles at that, just a little. they still care, in their own way, even if they don’t really understand him all that well. hes not excited to get just some random gift that he didn't even ask for, no one knows what he likes except for andre. no one is like andre.

the cold air bites at his pale skin, his cheeks quickly turning red from the chill. andre’s waiting for him down the street, leaning against the hood of his beat-up car with a joint already rolled between his fingers. he doesn’t say much when cal walks up, just hands him the joint and watches him take a hit. the smoke curls in cal’s lungs, sharp and warm, and for a moment he forgets about everything. it’s just him and andre, side by side, sharing quiet laughter and stupid "I'm cold/im tired" small talk like they always do. the world feels distant, he likes it that way.

“you ready for the party later?” andre asks, voice low and soft, his eyes flicking toward cal’s as if he already knows the answer.

cal takes another drag, watching the smoke dissolve into the cloudy sky. “yeah,” he says, smiling faintly, his eyes staring into the distance with less emotion than his voice. “guess so.”

they sit in silence for a while, the tension between them barely noticeable, but there. cal knows andre feels it too. he feels the heaviness, the weight of what’s coming. but for now, it’s just them, two boys sitting in the quiet, pretending the world isn’t closing in. well, cal pretends the world isn't closing in, andre thinks this will just be cal's last birthday in that god foresaken town. he still thinks they'll get away in the end, and cal let's him dissolve in the delusion.

when the joint is finished, they stand up, and cal’s head feels lighter, his body a little more at ease. andre smirks, nudging him with his shoulder. “better enjoy your cake today, man. it’s gonna be the last nicely-made one you get for a while.”, he reaches a hand up to seat the hair from cal's face and stares at his faintly-red eyes.

cal laughs, shaking his head. “yeah, guess you’re right.” and maybe, for the first time in a long time, he feels okay with that. his last birthday doesn’t have to be sad, doesn’t have to be full of doom. he has andre beside him, the smell of weed on his hoodie, and the small comfort of knowing that, for now, he can still laugh. he can still smile, even if it won’t last.

after a few more minutes of quiet they climb into andre's car, the joint’s warmth still lingering in their lungs. andre taps his fingers on the steering wheel, humming softly to the radio.

“you know, after all this,” he says through the quiet, his voice casual, “we’ll be free. no more bullshit, no more fuckin pretending.” he shoots a glance at cal, eyes bright, his intentions known and dark, he truly believes it.

“we’ll be unstoppable, man. get out of this place, disappear.”

cal smiles even though andre's words hang heavy in his chest, looking out the window. he’s heard andre say it a hundred times, but today, it feels distant, impossible. andre thinks they’re going to make it out, that they’ll slip away from everything, but cal knows better. this is his last birthday, his last moment of calm before the real storm. he’s accepted it in a way that andre hasn’t and won't until it's their final moments.

“yeah,” cal says softly, his voice trailing off. “sounds perfect.” he doesn’t tell andre what he’s really thinking, doesn’t tell him that they both won’t be around to see their next birthdays. instead he just stares out at the gray sky, the houses passing by in a blur, and listens to andre’s ranting chatter.

andre keeps talking, making jokes about their teachers, the kids at school, everything they’ve come to hate. cal laughs along with him, but his mind drifts, caught in the acceptance that’s settled deep in his chest. it’s almost peaceful, knowing that soon it’ll all be over.

when they pull into cal’s driveway the house is already buzzing with relatives. the smell of dinner wafts through the air, and cal’s mom is at the door, smiling in that tired way she always does. andre parks the car and they head inside, making their way upstairs before anyone can ask too many questions or say too much apart from a few "where were you?" asks and a "they went on a 'walk', haha" answer.

in cal’s room, the door clicks shut behind them, everything feels quieter, but so much darker. cal drops onto the bed, pulling andre down with him, their bodies tangled together in the familiar way they always are. andre’s fingers trail through cal’s hair and for a moment they’re just two boys, lost in each other. they kiss, soft and slow, their lips brushing together like they’ve done this a thousand times before, but it still feels new. andre isn't a great kisser, he is too needy. teeth class together, but he tries his best. cal holds andre close, his hands gripping his hoodie, pulling him in, laughing between kisses. he runs a cold hand up andre's shirt and feels the indent, andre tells him to fuck off with a soft laugh. a laugh that isn't common, but cherished. it's just them, alone, they're happy. it’s easy to forget everything here with andre’s warmth pressed against him.

“happy birthday,” andre whispers, his breath hot against cal’s neck, and for a second, everything feels good. simple, even. it's never simple.

they stay like that for a while, just holding each other, sharing quiet moments between laughter and whispers. it’s perfect in its own way because for once, nothing else matters.

but eventually, the sounds of clinking dishes and laughter drift up from downstairs, and cal knows they have to join the rest of the world again. they pull away from each other, still smiling, pants feeling tighter than before, cheeks flushed, still laughing as they head down to the dining room.

the table is crowded with family. cousins, aunts, uncles. his mom lights the candles on the cake in the kitchen and everyone sings, their voices filling the room with a warmth that feels almost surreal. they're distorted, they are distant, they are far. cal watches them all like he's just staring at their surface like he's watching paint dry, his heart heavy, but calm. he knows this is the last time he’ll see them like this. the last time he’ll sit at this table, the last time he’ll hear their voices rise in unison for him, the last time his name will be said with love and affection instead of poison and terror.

his mom sets the cake in front of him, her smile soft and fragile, and cal blows out the candles. the room erupts in applause, and for a second, he lets himself feel the love that surrounds him. his little brother and sister watch him closely, their eyes wide with hope, they only really just wanted some cake. he wants to say something to them, to tell them to cherish this day, but he doesn’t. he just smiles and takes a bite of cake. he laughs as people point out how messy of an eater he is as andre wipes icing off of his nose with a sweet smile.

the dinner goes on, filled with the usual conversations, the small talk that cal’s always hated. but tonight, he doesn’t mind. he lets himself soak it in, every detail every laugh every glance exchanged across the table. andre sits beside him, his hand brushing cal’s leg under the table, a quiet reassurance that he’s not alone. maybe andre will even stare at all the people as they sit alone together, rest his head on cal's boney shoulder, only for a second, he moves once someone looks at them.

cal wishes it could be this good forever, but he knows what’s coming. he knows that soon, none of this will matter. he’s accepted it, the way you accept the end of a movie you’ve already seen a hundred times. there’s no surprise, no new, an empty dead end, no fear, just a calm and quiet understanding.

as the night winds down, cal watches his family pack up, his parents laughing softly, his siblings chasing each other around the living room and inspecting the gifts that their brother got. andre leans back in his chair, smirking at something cal’s cousin said, but cal’s mind is somewhere else. he knows this is it. the last night he’ll spend with them, the last time he’ll feel this sense of something good.

and as the house slowly empties, as his family starts to leave, cal stands in the doorway, watching them go. andre’s beside him, always there, always waiting, and cal knows that whatever happens next, andre will be by his side until the very end.

but, cal also knows, deep down, that this birthday, this moment, is the last one he’ll ever have. and for the first time, he’s okay with that. he’s ready. he will die once the time is right and the school is surrounded, he will die beside andre as he's standing next to him in the doorway. everything will be the same, but be left so incredibly different.

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my week ^w^

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On tiktok I have like 2,000 followers and my videos aren't that seen, but on here I have like 200 and all of y'all eat this shit UPPPP and it makes me so mf HAPPYYYYYYY and everyone is so NICEEEEEEE even if they threaten to bootyfuck Eric Harris ever FIVE MINUTESSSSSS!! I LOVE Y'ALL!!! KEEP THREATENING TO VIOLATE PEOPLE!!!!!!!! RAAAHHHHH‼️‼️‼️

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yall will never catch me liking adam lanza or salvador ramos or any of those types of lil kid killers, get AWAY FROM ME

'u cant be in tcc and hate murderers!!' bitch FUCK you AND adam lanza

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andre’s eating habits are chaotic at best. he will sometimes try to limit what he eats, sometimes going all day on just an apple, but by the evening, he’s shoveling down whatever he can find because he knows damn well that he'll fail in track if he doesn't eat. it’s not like he cares about his body in that way, it’s more control than anything. but he always gives up halfway through and just eats whatever he wants. he’ll work out until he’s dizzy, push himself on runs with the track team until he can’t stand anymore. it’s not about staying in shape, he just likes the feeling of exhaustion, the way it makes everything else disappear for a bit, and how it makes him feel like he's good at something. he joined the track team just for something to do, not because he cares about winning. most days, he shows up late, barely focused. but when he does care, he’s all in, running like he’s trying to outrun something that no one else can see except for him. some days he’ll eat like he hasn’t seen food in days, piling up whatever’s around, and other days, the sight of food makes him sick. it’s unpredictable. cal never knows what to expect when they hang out after school, sometimes andre’s raiding his fridge and other times he’s staring blankly at his plate rolling his eyes if cal offers anything. he just has a weird relationship with food. sometimes, he tries to convince himself he doesn’t need it, that he’s above it or something, that he needs to focus on other things, to feel sick and dedicated to something. but at the same time, he’s got this frustration with himself when he can’t stick to it. by the time the day’s over, he just doesn’t care anymore. he’ll eat a ton and then feel gross about it later. hes german, hes in track, hes a teenage boy, hes got a good weight on him. it makes him totally forget about the indent in his chest when hes in the changing rooms with his team. after practice, he always grabs something small, like a granola bar or an energy drink. he’s always dehydrated but won’t admit it because he knows it's not good. cal’s the one who has to remind him to drink water half the time. he’s obsessed with control, but his eating habits are the one thing that constantly slip through his fingers. he tells himself he’ll start tomorrow, but tomorrow never comes, and deep down, he knows it. when cal notices he hasn’t eaten all day, he’ll try to say something, but andre just shrugs it off. he’ll grab something small and pretend it’s enough, then go right back to ignoring it. sometimes, on bad days, andre will just not eat at all, not because he’s trying to starve himself, but because food just seems pointless. other days, he’s eating fast food with cal, not caring about anything but the instant satisfaction. he is constantly yapping and yapping about track, like "oh I shouldn't eat that stuff, I have track", he needs to feel like he's dedicated to something big. andre’s strength isn’t from lifting weights or anything, it’s from pushing his body to the limit every single day. he runs until he’s practically collapsing, works out until his muscles ache, and then does it all over again. it’s like he’s chasing something, but even he doesn’t know what. mostly he eats good without care because he's a teenager and why should he care if he isn't horribly skinny and athletic, other days he dedicates every meal to his school-sport, like a ballet dancer.

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bit of a 'vent' but also not exactly, more so I wanted to write stuff, this is not zero day themed or anything interesting i just am a doomed writer, SOMEONEEEE tell me that I'm not just a z-day writer and this won't get 5 notes and 30 people scrolling past looking for more z-day content???

(tw???? idek at this point)

if i was a 'real' boy, I'd wanna be a pretty boy with dark brown eyes, dark hair, freckles across my cheeks like stars. stars that someone might even want to study. a boy with a sharp jawline and beauty marks. acne that adds to my charm and complexion, makes me look real, not like some plastic doll but still someone worth staring at up close.

if i was a 'real' boy, i'd wanna be a boy you only think of when you hear quiet music and see the snow outside, with sad eyes, the kind that make people wonder what’s behind them and their deep colour. long, unruly curls falling over my face, the type of hair that makes people want to run their hands through it. a pointy face that’s striking, maybe even a little awkward, but still, something about it catches attention in the right way. a statue, carved by gods.

if i was a 'real' boy, i'd want lips that are soft but not too full, with a voice that’s smooth, not too deep, but comforting. the kind of voice you’d want to hear at 3 am, talking about everything and nothing, just because hearing it makes you feel less alone.

if i was a 'real' boy, i'd wanna be the type of boy who looks perfect in oversized hoodies and a jacket, dark jeans that fall loose against my boney hips, where the layers just fall right, effortless. a boy with a messy smile, the kind that makes people want to kiss his forehead and see that same smile again, brush the curls out of his eyes. tall enough to catch attention, standing out just a little more than most.

if i was a 'real' boy, maybe itll even be okay to have a subtle relationship with a close male friend, the kind that makes people wonder but never ask, snicker at, watch as we shove each other. we’d be close enough that people would whisper about the way i look at him, or the way our touches linger. they’d say i like the taste of boys’ lips and the velvet feel of their skin, but it wouldn’t be something that turns people away. it’d be an interest, something that makes them look a little longer. i'd, look a little longer, at him, and he'd feel it too.

if i was a 'real' boy, maybe if i harm my pale skin and leave small trails of dark and white scars, they’ll be seen as stories worth staring into, not just ‘dramatic episodes.’ a boy with mental health, 'how strong he must be'. maybe people won’t judge me, but be interested in me, like i’m something they need to understand. maybe if i die, i’ll be someone they worry about, not just someone they laugh at or dismiss. it’ll be different then. people would talk about me in hushed tones, like i mattered all along. my violating stories, moments of my fear my harm my anger, it'll all be okay, because I'm a 'fighter'.

if i was a 'real' boy, i'd wanna be that boy people notice for his interesting features, the way my face doesn’t look like anyone else’s. a boy who’s praised for being different, maybe even called a prodigy even though the grades are average yet the words are laced with poetry and gods, someone who’s admired for what he can do. loved not just for how he looks, but for the way he carries himself. maybe i could be quiet, confident, but never too much. the kind of boy who people feel proud of, the one they can’t help but care about and laugh at when that boy falls in gym class or makes a funny subtle expression. i wanna be natural.

but i am stuck. stuck in this. stuck in my body, my face, my skin. my eyes are green with yellowish-brown at the center, like they can’t decide what they want to be. my hair is straight, brown, nothing special, just there, never right. my features are sharp, but not in the way people find attractive, just sharp and incorrect, like they don’t quite fit together. i’m stuck in this version of myself, where everything feels wrong, and there’s no way out of it. a 'real' boy gets praised for small things, is automatically 10x more funny, more pretty, rocks clothes and flaws like he's on vogue, blushed over for just existing, a little bit extra liked by girls just because he's their friend and everything he does is more interesting. a real boy is liked for doing nothing. a real boy doesn't complain. but im not a 'real' boy, a real boy wouldn't crave this.