#Personalized T-Shirt Store Online

[grannyandgrandpascreations]

It’s Not a Party Until [Family Name] Walks In – Custom Family T-Shirt

Turn every gathering into a celebration with our It’s Not a Party Until [Family Name] Walks In custom t-shirts! These personalized family shirts are perfect for reunions, parties, holidays, or any occasion that deserves a touch of humor and style. Made from high-quality, breathable fabric, they’re as comfortable as they are fun. Personalize the family name to make it uniquely yours! Available in various sizes and colors for the whole family, these shirts are a great way to show off your family pride and make every event unforgettable

Just your everyday comfy t-shirt. Get comfortable with our 100% cotton crew neck t-shirts. Made of 100% soft cotton for a smooth, breathable fit. Pre-shrunk cotton tees are perfect for layering or wearing alone. Lightweight fabric keeps you cool and dry so you can look great and feel great all day.

The perfect tee shirt for a modern casual look. Not too long so you can wear these untucked with a pair of jeans or chinos. Looks great under a casual blazer and jeans for a relaxed Friday style. Stylish and versatile everyday crew neck tees are a wardrobe staple.

Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.

Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

All items are created or designed by Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations. We also print and heat press our items using our professional, commercial grade heat press! Each design is made with High Quality, Heat Transfer Vinyl.

After a package leaves my hands with the post office, Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations is not held responsible. Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!

Thank you so much for supporting our "small Granny & Grandpa's Shop", we truly appreciate YOU!

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop to view more of our creations!

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website/ www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop

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#grannygrandpascustomcreations

© 2018 All photography is intellectual property of Granny and Grandpa's Custom Creations © and may not be used without express written permission from Granny and Grandpa's Custom Creations.

Celebrate family in style with our personalized “It’s Not a Party Until [Family Name] Walks In” t-shirt! Perfect for reunions, parties, or special events. Customize yours today! Bring your family closer together with our custom Family Reunion T-Shirts! Perfect for celebrating your heritage, these personalized t-shirts can feature your family name, event date, or a fun design tailored to your reunion theme. Made from premium-quality materials, our shirts are comfortable, durable, and available in a variety of sizes and colors to suit everyone. Whether you’re planning a big reunion, family vacation, or special event, our customizable tees will make your gathering memorable. Order now and create lasting memories in style!

[eeltstore]

Floral Dreams Unisex Premium T-Shirt.

Premium T-shirt with captivating illustration, crafted from 100% combed cotton for supreme comfort.

[amitsharma123]

Exploring the Unique World of Sharma International: Your Go-To Online Store for T-Shirt Design

Welcome to Sharma International, where we believe that every t-shirt tells a story. Whether you're looking to make a statement, showcase your unique style, or find the perfect gift, our online store has something special just for you. Let's dive into what makes Sharma International the ultimate destination for all things t-shirt design.

The Art of T-Shirt Design

At Sharma International, t-shirt design is more than just putting graphics on fabric. It's about capturing emotions, ideas, and experiences that resonate with you. Our designs range from quirky and fun to elegant and artistic, ensuring that there’s something for everyone.

Why Choose Sharma International?

1. Diverse Collection: We pride ourselves on offering a wide variety of designs that cater to different tastes and preferences. Whether you’re into minimalist art, bold statements, or intricate patterns, our collection is sure to inspire.

2. Quality You Can Trust: Our t-shirts are made from high-quality materials that offer comfort and durability. We know how important it is for your favorite t-shirt to not just look good, but feel good too.

3. Customization: Want something truly unique? We offer customization options so you can create a design that’s entirely your own. Whether it’s for a special occasion or just because, a personalized t-shirt from Sharma International is a great way to express yourself.

4. Eco-Friendly Options: We care about the environment, which is why we offer eco-friendly t-shirts made from sustainable materials. Look good, feel good, and do good with our eco-conscious designs.

Spotlight on Popular Designs

Minimalist Masterpieces: For those who appreciate simplicity, our minimalist designs are a perfect choice. Think clean lines, subtle colors, and designs that speak volumes with their understated elegance.

Fun & Quirky: Add some humor to your wardrobe with our quirky designs. From playful puns to cartoon-inspired illustrations, these t-shirts are sure to bring a smile to your face.

Artistic Expressions: Our artistic t-shirts are like wearable canvases. Featuring everything from abstract art to detailed illustrations, these designs are perfect for those who see fashion as an art form.

Stay Ahead of Trends

At Sharma International, we’re always keeping an eye on the latest trends in t-shirt design. Our blog and social media channels are great resources for staying updated on new releases, style tips, and design inspiration.

Join the Sharma International Community

We’re more than just a store; we’re a community of design enthusiasts who love to share our passion for creativity. Follow us on social media, sign up for our newsletter, and be the first to know about exclusive deals, new designs, and exciting updates.

Conclusion

Whether you’re looking to refresh your wardrobe, find the perfect gift, or express your unique style, Sharma International is your go-to destination for t-shirt design. Explore our online store today and discover the perfect design that speaks to you.

Thank you for being a part of the Sharma International journey. Here’s to wearing your story, one t-shirt at a time!

Please visit store in click Link https://sharmainternational.myspreadshop.com/

[effinbirds]

Last 2024 appearances, plus online store changes

Howdy, bird friends.

I'll be appearing in Madison WI, Cincinnati OH, Toronto ON, Minneapolis MN, and New York City, NY to close out my 2024 tour. Come see me, get your 2025 calendars (I'll write mean things on your birthday), and grab some Effin' Birds swag that will no longer be sold in my online store. (And if you would like me to show up to your local event, tell the show how much you'd like to see me there -- that's far more effective than me telling them that they should spring for my plane ticket and hotel room.)

Store Changes

I shut down my Canadian shipping point earlier this year, and I'll be shutting down the one in the US when the inventory is gone. And some of it is moving very fast, so don't miss out.

I'll still have an online store, but it will be only on-demand items like mugs, t-shirts and prints. Things that I have to manufacture in bulk like my Hawaiian shirts, enamel pins, and trading cards will now only be available at my personal appearances. They were just too expensive to warehouse and ship.

So it's an online last call for these beauties! Grab them while you can.

[jbaileyfansite]

Jonathan Bailey launches LGBTQ+ Charity, The Shameless Fund, with help from Loewe (from Vogue)

Thanks to his starring role as Anthony Bridgerton on Bridgerton, Jonathan Bailey has catapulted himself into the public consciousness. (Plus, with the critically acclaimed Fellow Travelers and forthcoming turn in Wicked, he shows no signs of slowing down.) But today, Bailey launches his most personally meaningful project to date—his charity, The Shameless Fund—with a little help from Jonathan Anderson and Loewe.

The Shameless Fund seeks to harness the power of celebrity to raise money for LGBTQ+ initiatives. “A few years ago I thought, What can you do as an actor? There are so many amazing people who are on the frontline. They’re the real heroes that are working for organizations, and charities, and initiatives, which can speak to so many specific groups of people,” Bailey tells Vogue. “How can I raise money without asking people to actually donate and sponsor, [but rather] to invite people to experience art and beautiful, inspiring, naughty, and exciting collaborations?”

For a charity that aims to help members of the queer community across the world live freely and authentically, Bailey knew that he wanted to kick things off with a bang. Thus, he landed on a suggestive white T-shirt with milk dripping from the collar, inspired by a sexually charged scene in Fellow Travelers in which Matt Bomer’s Hawk tells his character Tim to “drink your milk.” “That is a line in Fellow Travelers, immaculately and robustly performed by Matt Bomer in a way that I think will send shudders through many people in the best possible way,” Bailey teases. “I wanted his performance to be immortalized, and I wanted my character’s reaction to it to be immortalized as well. I think this T-shirt does just that.”

A regular presence at Loewe shows, and a guest of the House at the 2024 Met Gala, Bailey has a preexisting friendship with creative director Anderson. But when the two got to chatting at a Studio Voltaire fundraiser, Bailey felt a sudden spark of inspiration. “We had a deep, dark, and brilliant conversation about life, and passion, and opportunities. I started talking about this idea of foundation that I’ve had that has been dormant, fizzing in my brain like a volcano,” Bailey says.

Bailey knew then that he wanted to launch the charity with a Loewe collaboration. “I was connected to queer taste way before I even understood what it was. And I do think that’s what Jonathan [Anderson] does. He’s naughty and he’s twinkly, and he’s so alive and curious,” Bailey says. “It just makes perfect sense that the first one is with him, with something as twinkly and naughty as ‘drink your milk.’”

Anderson, for his part, was equally inspired by the conversation. “I’m a strong believer in using fashion to share information, educate, and support great causes, so when Jonathan Bailey called with this idea, there was no way I could refuse,” Anderson tells Vogue. “I wanted to support The Shameless Fund for both its goals in advocating for LGBTQ rights and for Jonathan himself—he’s incredibly inspiring. He’s someone who really wears his heart on his sleeve—I love his dedication to his craft, to culture, and to being a champion for the LGBTQ community.”

Jonathan Bailey’s collaboration with Loewe, benefitting The Shameless Fund, will be available in select Loewe stores and online beginning June 27.

Source

[just-some-random-blogger]

❤For Your Eyes Only❤

Email 1: "Don't be ridiculous, Daddy. Give them your card." | Masterlist

CC: hotkizz_aemma@tomblor.com; aemma.a.targ@westerostargayen.com; @pinksirensong; @aralezinspace; @sloanexx; @deniixlovezelda; @targaryenmoony; @risefallrise; @slavyanskiyahui; 🔪DO NOT OPEN THIS EMAIL ON YOUR WORK COMPUTER🔪 Dear Aemma, Daemon just called me poor for wearing jeans and a t-shirt outside. AND I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE GOING TO SAY, little miss allergic-to-low-quality-fabric, but damn, I was going to the SUPERMARKET! With Love ❤

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, sugar daddy themes, smut (man handling, choking, degradation kink, humiliation kink, vaginal penetration, hair pulling, fingering), elitism/classism, fashion police!Daemon, Daemon 'im too rich to be working in the office' Targaryen, fluff, slice of life, typos, etc.

<Some Wednesday Morning; It's Really Fuckin Hot>

"Daemon, you need something?"

Daemon turns from the computer on his desk to over his shoulder. His face contorts as he looks me up and down, "what are you wearing?"

He swivels on his office chair as I walk up to the counter behind him to get my keys, "I'm going to the supermarket."

"No," he furrows his brows, "I asked what are you wearing."

I stop in my tracks, looking at him as his lips curl in disgust. I make a face and shrug, "jeans and a shirt."

"That you slept in," his forehead wrinkles. I look to, yes, the shirt I wore last night as he digs his heels into the floor, rolling his chair towards me. Once he is in front of me, he grabs my left thigh and squeezes it.

"I took a shower last night," I raise a brow as he rubs my denim clad flesh. I brush his silver blonde hair back, "in case you've forgotten, you were there."

His hands dig into my waistband, fingers fidgeting with the button.

"Daemon-"

"You have to change," he mutters, looking up at me with his violet eyes.

I raise a brow, "change huh?"

I push him off when he undoes my button and fly. His chair rolls back slightly. He repels the motion by tugging himself forward by my leg. His chair rolls forward. He bites my hips through my clothes.

"Daemon, later."

He hums and lifts my shirt to bite my skin. I grunt at the feel of his teeth. He mumbles hotly against me, "I'm serious about you changing though." Daemon leans on his back rest, hands still on my thigh. He rubs me up and down, "this is a crime against humanity."

I roll my eyes.

"You look like you can't afford convenience store snacks."

I scoff, "WOW."

He shakes his head in disdain, "you look like you work for minimum wage."

"FIRST OF ALL," I shriek in annoyance, "who are the fucks that refuse to increase wages so that people like us can actually look nicer?"

Daemon narrows his brows, "I don't employ minimum wage workers."

"You mean you don't give a shit," I swat him off.

He releases me and sighs. He waves his hands around, "what's with the people like us business?"

Daemon waits for me to respond but I don't.

"You're mine," he points, "you're my person. There are no other people like you."

I snort and roll my eyes yet again. Regretfully though, could not hold back the chuckle that leaves me.

Daemon smirks, utterly pleased with himself, which was why he rolls back to this desk without a care, not that he ever actually cared, "go change."

I look at him and knit my brows, "you can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm serious," he turns to me, "I don't need to see another photograph of you online looking like a homeless person."

Sigh. The repercussions of dating a nepo baby.

"Daemon, the paparazzi don't take photos of me if you're not there."

He hums as he turns back to his PC and moves his mouse around, mumbling under his breath, "tell that to the journalists blackmailing me with pictures of you."

I freeze. Blackmailing? "What?"

Daemon's clicking stops. He stills then slowly turns to me.

"W-what kind of pictures-"

"Just ugly ones where you look homeless," he leans back with a stoic face.

I am rigid in my spot.

He sighs then stands. He wraps his arms around me from behind. He leans down to kiss my neck and squeezes me tightly, "it's nothing compromising," he brushes my hair back, "they just want to extort as much money as they can from me by captioning your pictures with bullshit about how badly you dress as the lover of some old money dickhead."

I release a breath. He brushes his nose against my cheek. I turn to him and give him a look, "I'm just going to the supermarket."

"I know," he purses his lips, "but I bought you all those dresses to wear, not to store."

I raise a brow, "you want me to wear designer dresses to the supermarket?"

He lets me turn to face him as he licks his lips, "no, I want you to wear designer dresses everywhere."

"Pfft," I blow a raspberry, "even at home?"

"Especially at home," he nips at my lips, making me squeak and pull away. Daemon grins as his hands scour down my body. He squeezes me tightly as he says, "wanna see your pretty arse in the shit I buy."

I roll my eyes exaggeratedly as he chuckles like a cheeky school boy.

"Don't roll your eyes at me," he holds back his smile, "my man brain likes to see my woman in the clothes I picked out for her."

I press my lips together, fighting my own smile back, "ah... you picked them out, huh? You didn't just buy the first thing you saw and asked for it in my size?"

"What does it matter if it was the first thing I saw?" he looks down at my breasts and begins to massage them, "I still picked it."

I sigh but break into laugh. I swat him off and turn back, "fine," I walk away, "if you're so repulsed by jeans, then I'll change, your highness."

Daemon bites his lip and slaps my ass, prompting him to shoot him a dirty look, "unfortunately, my dear, you've got me so pussy drunk-"

I groan at his crassness.

"-I'd find you attractive even if you were covered in shit."

"Nah," I wave a hand, "you're just a kinky troll."

He laughs.

<Some Other Wednesday Morning; It's Still Really Fuckin Hot>

I rub my wrists together, spreading the perfume, as I walk out of my bedroom and head to the living room. I find Daemon's bored and hardened face staring blankly at his computer screen.

I snort at his clenched jaw and crossed arms. The clicking sound of my pumps reverberate in the silent room as I head over to him.

Before I reach his desk, he turns to me and immediately perks.

I smile at him as he straightens up in his chair; his hands move to his armrest. Knowing he was in the middle of an online meeting, I point to the door and mouth, 'I'm going out'.

He turns to his computer screen once then back to me, raising a hand. I shift on my spot, placing a hand on my hip as I watch him type away on his keyboard.

Two clicks later, he stands and rips out the wireless earphones from his ears. He places them on his desk and walks over to me.

I raise a brow and bring my arms to the side, "meeting's done?"

"No," he huffs, grabbing my arm, "but I sure did want an excuse to leave that fucking meeting."

Daemon pulls me into his chest and rubs my sides. The silk of my dress is smooth to the touch and it makes him smirk, "don't remember buying this for my pretty fucktoy."

I grunt then sneer at him, grabbing his jaw with my manicured nails, "that's because I bought it for myself."

Daemon smirks at that and bites at my hand, prompting me to pull away.

"Yuck," I say flatly as I wipe his saliva on his shoulder.

He steps back and brushes his hands down my bare arms. He brings one hand overhead and spins me around, eyes raking my body intently. He hisses as the skirt flares as I twirl, a teasing glimpse of my stockings-clad thighs eliciting it. Daemon pulls me back into his chest, hand on the small of my back as he nods, "very good."

I smile back at him, "well, I have good taste."

Daemon's lip curve and his eyes narrow. He fiddles with the thin chain necklace on my neck, one of the many he's gotten me, "and how much was this dress, pretty girl?"

I purse my pink painted lips. I fawn naivete, "pretty girls don't look at prices, daddy."

He chuckles deeply and grits his teeth, one hand coming to my hair, pulling my head back slowly, "daddy's card is not a toy, cupcake," he nuzzles into the crook of my neck, breathing in my scent. I knew how much he loved the smell of the perfume on me.

I whimper as I wrap my arms around him for support as he pushes me back. I let out a soft sigh when he bites down on my skin. Still, I manage to retort, "but you like it when I play with you."

His hot breath tickles me as he chuckles, "byka rene," little slut.

Daemon pulls back, a smirk playing on his lips as he says, "you're right. I like it when my stupid whore taunts me so I can make her cry."

My stomach rolls when he begins to bunch up my skirt in his hands.

"Tell me," he knits his brows, pretending to be serious, "where are you going again, dressed up like a perfect little slut?"

He digs his hands into the waistband of my stockings and yanks then down, "mmm, to pick up that shit from your parents."

I release a breath as his hands circle around my hips beneath my dress.

He raises his brows.

I place my hands on his shoulders, "t-the mall."

I simultaneously shudder and yelp as he thoughtlessly pushes me aside like a ragdoll and releases me in front of his desk. My heels skid on the floor and I nearly trip on my feet. Thankfully, I crash into his table and my hands on the surface keep me upright.

Daemon rips my stockings down to my ankles then turns me over. My hands dart to his chest and I push him back back with a grunt, successfully evading his kiss. He tenses with confusion.

"Please, don't ruin my makeup," I shake my head, "I spent hours on it. Don't wanna do it all over again."

He pulls his head back in evident offence and chuckles dryly, jaw slacking, brows raising.

I feel my lungs constrict as his hold tightens on my airways. He roughly begins to rip at my clothing.

I yelp when he flips me back over and shoves me forward. I hit his PC and his keyboard which knocks into the mouse, making it fall off the desk. My breathing strains when he pulls me back with a hand to my throat. He huffs hotly against my ear, "you think a brat like you can act out and get her way, mmm?"

"Please don't, please, please, please, please-" I trail off, using the last remaining breath I had to convince him. Soon, I begin to feel lightheaded that I have to dig into his clutch.

I catch my breath when Daemon finally loosens his grip and rips my panties down.

"Please, please, please Daemon. I really don't wanna-"

I continue my desperate pleas as his hand finds my slickened folds, fingers firmly rubbing the area. My body reacts instantly to his familiar touch.

"Enough," he barks, hand ripping away from my core to slap my ass. He releases my neck and shoves me forward. My abdomen roughly collides with the edge of the desk, even though my hands took in a great force of his blow.

"Spoiled bitch," he mutters under his breath as he frees himself from his pants.

I make a sound when he grabs my hips and begins to carelessly pound into me, intent on making a point with his roughness.

I whimper when he pulls my hair back; my hand comes to his wrist on instinct. Daemon grunts and he pants into my ear, "with all the fucking money you spend on makeup," thrust, thrust, thrust, "it should at least be able to withstand a good fuck, don't you think?"

"D-Da-"

"I'm not done speaking, brat," he cuts me off by pulling my hair.

I feel my eyes begin to water at his apathy and brutish movements. Yet, at the same time, I feel my thighs quiver with welcomed electricity.

He hums, "should I take it out on your skanky dress if I can't ruin your lipstick?"

My lips quiver, "p-please don't."

"Say something?" he mocks.

"Daemon, please."

"Louder."

"Please don't, Daemon."

He releases my hair. I lean forward on my hands. His finger dig into my my hips, "beg."

I huff as my toes curl in my heels, "please, Daemon."

"I can't he-"

"PLEASE."

He huffs.

I squeal when he touches my clit. "And what exactly are you begging for?"

"W-wanna... wanna come."

I let out a sound at one of his particularly rough thrusts.

"Greedy whore," he groans, "such a taker. Are you a gold digger?"

My body feels heavy with his ministrations on my clit. I catch my breath as I feel my imminent high build.

Daemon's hand rubs up my to my breasts, which he then squeezes. He leans into my shoulder, "I asked you a question, sweetheart," he kisses my skin, "are you gold digger?"

I huff through my nose and gulp, "n-no."

"Wrong," his hands go to my hips again, "you are a gold digger. Now say it or I'll come on your dress."

"I'm- I'm a-"

Before I can finish my thought, my knees buckle and I come undone against him. I feel myself clench around him, and he in turn takes a hand to my neck and rips me back against him. I let out a sound as my belly tightens and flutters.

"Well?" he asks impatiently as I whine.

He nips at my ear, "good girl."

"Mm- m'a go'digger- ma gol' d--"

With that, Daemon releases a lewd sound against my neck as he spasms against me. I squeal as I feel his heat spill into me and my thighs begin to shake.

Once we've both calmed down, I hear Daemon gulp as he catches his breath and pulls out of me.

I whine as he does this, leaning into his desk. He carelessly walks back to his computer and tucks himself in his pants, plopping down on his office chair.

I give him a look as he smirks at me and mutters, "makeup still looking good, babe."

I feel a wetness drip down the side of my thighs as I straighten up. I huff and gather my skirt as I bend down and pull my stockings up so I could actually walk off.

Daemon watches as I waddle away, "you're dripping you know."

"Yes, thank you," I quip dryly.

He smirks and leans back on his chair, "that good, aye?"

"Shut the fuck up."

He chuckles as he picks up his mouse, "fucking make me."

[greml1nb0i]

Hi there! I just stumbled upon your cozy blog thanks to a post mentioning that Viv will be working on a new series. ^^"

If it's true, then I'm worried just how she might do a terrible job especially since writing doesn't seem to be her specialty (like she's giving me Mindy Kaling vibes). She even announced planning to work on several more seasons of Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss. Shouldn't she at least finish both shows before even moving to other projects? 🤔

I also think in my opinion that she'd work best as a t-shirt graphic artist for Hot Topic 'coz most of her projects felt like a random showcase of her OCs from high school. They're also overly designed and her humor is rather too juvenile than hilarious.

Sorry for the ramble, I just like to share my thoughts out there.

Dont worry about rambling Anon, ive done my fair share and thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts.

I agree on so many aspects of what you said.

Viv shouldnt be making anything new without finishing the already tanking series' she has. Hazbin is only going to get worse [as seen from the leaks] and Helluva is losing the most diehard of fans, attention. she's sinking her career quicker and quicker. She can't write, and even admits that herself several times. She steals from smaller artists, refuses to credit her artists and employees, is constantly into controversy after controversy, She cant grow up.

Its funny how you mention she gives a Mindy Vibe and i TOTALLY see it. Mindy went on a tirade about how people were shitting on Velma and Viv does the exact same thing, istg those 2 must be sharing a braincell.

Also yes the Hot Topic thing, i have my own 2 cents to put in there.

i swear this has a point to it just stick with me here. If it doesnt make sense to you im sorry, im not the greatest at explaining things.

I grew up in the early 2000s and 2010s, so Hot Topic and Spencer's were major hot spots for me, and lemme tell you. In those times, HT and Spencer's wouldve laughed at Viv for wanting to sell her cheap ass merch there. In fact, most merch sold there now, wouldnt have been, but ever since the big boom of indie creations; these stores ended up with different purposes.

HT never used to be a online merch store for indie creators, it used to be an actual punk store for punk and alt teens. Same with Spencer's but it was more for adults. You couldnt find things that werent punk or alt in regular stores thats why you'd go to HT or Spencer's.

Thats where youd get your AOT merch, Black Butler, Supernatural, Addams family, Jack Skellington, Band shirts like Korn, MCR, BVB, and Splitknot were sold there.

But now, its HH and HB merch. Fnaf, [im a fnaf fan before anyone comes for for that] and sparkle bs.

You cant find the punk merch you want, cuz its being switched out for Vivs bullshit and being buried in the back storages until they start having major sales to just get rid of it.

Now Spencer's' is being turned into the New HT, and HT is being turned into the kiddie emo version of Claires. its so fucking sad to watch.

My point to all this is.

Viv didnt need to sell her merch in HT.

HT doesnt need to be selling her merch to kids.

Viv shows are not made for kids, but yet she sells her merch at a teen based punk store.

HT doesnt need to be pandering to every indie creator that calls them to collab or sell their shitty 40$ t-shirts.

Viv doesnt need more money.

HT and Spencer's need to get their shit together before they go fucking bankrupt and we lose the only 2 punk-alt stores to exist physically.

Last i checked, BlackCraft Cult doesnt have an in person store.

[greenlantrns]

big brother Jason Todd !! cw: swearing

Jason cursed as he fumbled with his keys; his fingers were numb, frozen through from the cold. For being Gotham born and raised he was a wuss in the winter and had been weighing the pros and cons of an added thermal layer in his gear since early October.

After an eternity fiddling with the door knob Jason felt his injured wrist begin to weaken when the lock finally gave way, he pushed the door in but was met with a familiar resistance.

“Fuckin—” he sighed as he narrowly avoided tripping over a ratty old pair of sneakers. His breath came out in a cloud before him and he glared at it disdainfully. “Hey didn’t I tell you to move your goddamn shoes?”

Jason shrugged out of his jacket — careful to mind his wrapped wrist — and tossed it across the back of the couch before toeing off his boots. They were caked in snow and slush which by the alleys standards meant grey sludge but he lined them up all the same. They sat straight and neat next to the door and before he walked away he did the same for the stray pair of sneakers.

The apartment was dimly lit and the tv had been left on but there were no other signs of life beyond the layer of congenial clutter across nearly every surface. Jason bypassed the living room and the kitchen, peering briefly into the second bedroom, and knocking on the bathroom door before arriving lastly at his own bedroom.

The door was ajar in a way that it hadn’t been when he left and he was unsurprised to find his sheets and blankets twisted out of their place with a familiar lump in the middle. His blackout curtains had been drawn and darkness settled into the far corners of the room but his bedside lamp created a small hallow of yellow light near the bed.

He contemplated taking a quick shower. He’d rinsed off before coming home but the grime of the city seemed permanently embedded under his skin. He found he didn’t have the energy and opted for getting dressed down instead; shedding his outer layer in favor of worn sweat pants and a threadbare t-shirt he’d gotten from the thrift store.

Before he left the bathroom he inspected his bandaged wrist wearily. He’d wrapped it hoping the compression would help with the ache but he had the sneaking suspicion he’d managed either a deep tissue bruise or a sprain. He was lucky to have gotten away with only a minor injury — really he was lucky any night he was able to drag himself home — but no matter how minor, any injury that impeded the use of his hands would be a pain to deal with.

Returning to his bedroom he worked as quickly as he could one handed to maneuver the pile of things you’d accumulated so that he could slide under the blanket. You didn’t stir even once but that was to be expected, you’d always slept like like a rock for which Jason was grateful considering the ambient noise Gotham had to offer at nighttime — no one wanted to wake up to gun shots.

Jason plugged his phone in and was unsurprised to find it nearly dead. He considered finding something mindless to scroll online but instead started to comb through the things you’d left strewn across his bed.

There was well read copy of Oliver Twist, dog eared to hell and back with annotations in the margins, all in messy, juvenile scrawl. A few pages of torn out notebook paper — one consisted of grocery list and a few corners filled with various doodles including the Nightwing symbol that Jason scoffed at. He did fold the paper and set it on the nightstand for safe keeping however, the grocery list would probably be important later.

Next he moved on to a discarded cellphone, pressed half underneath one of your arms and sighed. It was overheated and Jason couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he tossed it onto the nightstand as well, he’d been trying with no apparent success to keep you from using your phone before bed so much but you still frequently managed to fall asleep with the device tucked somewhere on or under your person.

The soft thunk of the phone hitting hardwood cause a stirring in the blanket pile and Jason watched with thinly veiled amusement as your head emerged from underneath a rumpled pillow and you blinked sleepily at him.

“Don’ touch my stuff,” you groused, still half asleep. Jason huffed again and rolled his eyes as he stole your — well more accurately his — pillow before you could burrow back under it.

“You’re in my bed,” he pointed out to which you had no rebuttal other than to flip him off.

“You’re such a brat,” he sighed, while you resolutely stayed tucked into the warm indent your body heat had made in the mattress.

“Don’t know why I keep letting you in my place,” Jason mused. “‘Specially when you keep leaving your shoes right in front of the door.”

You blinked a few times to clear the cobwebs and gave a good stretch before finally trying to articulate a coherent thought. “Didn’t mean to, I’ll go take care of ‘em.”

Jason snorted when mid sentence you broke off to yawn, one of those big, jaw clicking yawns. “I already took care of it, kid, just don’t do it again. Got it?”

You nodded as you went to slump into his side only to grimace at the way the winter weather clung to his skin.

“Jesus, you’re cold,” you complained.

“Yeah, sorry kiddo, it’s fuckin’ freezing out there. Guess it’s just my luck a little space heater is hogging my blankets.”

You stuck your tongue out at him before sitting up on your knees to rearrange the blankets so they were equally over the two of you. It was then that you caught sight of Jason’s bandaged wrist and the careful way he’d positioned it.

You inspected it without a word, squinting at the compression bandage. Your voice was quiet when you looked back at Jason with wide eyes.

“What happened, are you okay?”

Jason attempted his usual bravado in a bid to sooth your worries but it was faulty at best. “I’m fine, I’ve had worse. Barely hurts.”

You arched an eyebrow at him before poking his wrist just barely but more than enough to elicit a pained hiss from Jason who silently cursed your mean streak.

“You’re a shit liar,” you deadpanned.

“Well you’re a blanket hogging freeloader so what’s worse?”

You gave Jason one of those looks you had that was far too grown up for your own good — the one that basically said ‘you done?’.

Jason gnawed on his lower lip for a moment before sighing again. “Okay, it hurts like a bitch but I’m okay. I promise.”

You contemplated his words before you finally leaned into him despite the lingering cold. You rested your head on his chest and enjoyed the odd cadence of his heartbeat against your ear. Its rate was always too fast or too slow but its erratic pattern had long since become comforting to you.

Jason allowed you to lean against him peacefully for a few minutes before he nudged at you with his good arm. You nudged back in retaliation.

“Tell me about your book,” he murmured.

“You’ve read it before.”

“Yeah I know, but I want to hear about it from you.”

You thought about it for a second. Your fingers played with a loose string on Jason’s soft, well worn t-shirt and you enjoyed the ride and fall of his chest beneath you. After a beat of contemplation you began talking about Oliver Twist; haltingly at first, not sure what all Jason would care to hear.

Jason seemed tired — the bone weary kind that came with the kind of night life he lived — but he hummed at all the right places and cracked the occasional joke. You talked about your favorite parts and least favorite parts and at some point Jason’s hand started a slow card through your sleep tangled hair.

Jason wasn’t sure at what point he fell asleep and would likely feel bad later for passing out on you but you didn’t mind especially when Jason started to warm up from the blankets and proximity. He was warm and close and solid and decidedly still alive, it was easy to let your sentences trail off as you succumbed to sleep nestled close under Jason’s arm.

[introvertedandscared]

i was recently given a writing prompt simply titled 'blue' on an online forum i use, and wanted to try my hand at doing something for it.

i'm actually really proud of it- i dont know if its my best work, it always feels that way after i make something new, but it was really therapeutic to write and hey, practice makes perfect. ill never be any good if i dont work towards it.

this piece is an expression of my gender and identity, told through a narrative perspective. most of these events are either heavily fictionalised or not actual events in my life, and i'm unsure if the main character is actually me or not, but it is heavily related to my personal thoughts, feelings, and history.

its about 959 words, a short read, enjoy! and keep an eye out for more writing on this blog if you liked this ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

Blue

My favourite shirt is blue. Not a bright, attention-catching blue, but a soft one. Like blue hydrangeas. That’s not why it’s my favourite—I don’t even like the colour blue all that much—but it’s what everyone notices about it. When my mother comes into my room and asks for the laundry, she’ll point out ‘the blue one that you wear all the time’. When my friends and I are coordinating our Halloween plans, they ask to borrow my blue shirt for their costume. My brother will tell me that my blue shirt has somehow ended up in his closet. I’ve come to think of it more as a title than anything else. My Blue Shirt. All words capitalised, because they are important.

The reason it’s my favourite shirt is because it’s mine. I bought it with my own money—I had a whole 15 bucks I’d earned from babysitting—at the small thrift store on the corner after school on a Tuesday. It had been the first thing I’d picked up off the rack, not even checking the price or size. I had a curfew, and I knew that if I didn’t buy something that afternoon, I never would. I was 12, and the shirt I grabbed was 3 sizes too large, but I didn't care. I wanted it.

I still remember the woman behind the counter that day. She was probably middle-aged. At the time, I was transfixed by strands of her greying hair. She seemed radiant and wise. Untouchable. She was beautiful.

When I laid the shirt out in front of her, she looked directly at me for the first time since I’d entered the store, an amused expression playing across her face.

“You know this is for a man, right?” She asked, taking in my short stature, my girlish pigtails and sport shorts. My t-shirt that had recently started clinging to all the wrong places on me. I hated my clothes; my mother bought them all. She asked me for my opinion, sometimes, but I was only ever given the option to choose between the lesser of two evils. This shirt or that one. Those skirts or these jeans. Lately, I’d just let her take over completely, letting my eyes wander through the aisles while she shopped. No matter what store we were in, my gaze would always land on the men's section. I always let it linger for a second too long.

“It’s… for my brother. Last minute costume change for his, um, dance team. He needs something blue,” I mumbled through my excuse, terrified the woman would question me more, but she’d already started ringing my purchase up. The bubble of hope that had been growing in my chest ever since I’d ridden my bike out of the school gates that afternoon finally burst, into something bright and fiery and right. Something completely new. 

Later, at home, I tried the shirt on in front of my mirror. It reached down to my knees and looked utterly ridiculous, but it also didn’t hug my torso and hips trying to accentuate not yet existent curves. It made my body little more than a formless mass of cloth.

Five minutes after I put it on, my brother walked by my bedroom door. He took one look at me and laughed, and I laughed with him. He said I looked ‘stupid as shit’—words I still found scandalous at that time—and I’d agreed, but once he left I couldn’t bring myself to reach my own eyes in my reflection. I was scared of what I’d see. 

It’s been four years, and I still have that shirt. I’m wearing it now, bent low over the bathroom sink, scissors clutched tightly in my left hand, watching my hair swirl down the drain. I feel bile rising up in my throat at the sight, but it’s not from… disgust or panic. It’s- fear. I am scared to see myself. I am scared to know, because once I do there is no going back. It may not seem like it, but I am not one to dwell on the past. I live in the now. The now where I have just sheared away all of my hair at 3 AM, in the house my great-grandparents built with their own two hands. I wonder if they would be disappointed in me.

I don’t know if my mother will be mad—it’s hard to tell with her—maybe she’ll scold me, or laugh and schedule an appointment to get the mess I’ve made fixed, or maybe she’ll reach out, eyes soft. Maybe she’ll finally see me.

But I need to see myself first. I have been blind for far too long.

I steel myself—taking a sharp, shuddering inhale of air—and look up into the face of the mirror before me. I look up, and it feels like the final piece slots into place. The final piece of a puzzle I’ve been trying to solve for four years. For my whole life. 

The face staring back at me is no longer a reflection but a reality; the burning feeling in the centre of me flaring to life, consuming everything I thought I was.

I press a gentle hand to my chest, pressing down the two masses of fat and connective tissue that have always seemed to burden me more than my peers. I let the folds of blue obscure them until it almost looks as though they are not there. I wish more than anything that they weren’t.

I take myself in, gaze reverent and disbelieving.

My blue shirt is my favourite shirt, because unlike all my others, it fits perfectly. Ever since I first bought it, it has fit perfectly.

[grannyandgrandpascreations]

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All items are created or designed by Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations. We also print and heat press our items using our professional, commercial grade heat press! Each design is made with High Quality, Heat Transfer Vinyl.

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[gainerstories]

Dispatches: Spring Break

Portland, OR / April 10th / Dorm Room

Hugo awoke from his nap plastered in jizz, chocolate syrup, and ice cream. He was already hard again, his erection comfortably sandwiched between his expansive thighs and ballooning gut. He started jerking absentmindedly but then remembered he had to save his loads for when he was stuffing. He always ate more when he was horny. 

He lurched out of bed, his stomach sloshing with an unholy combination of cafeteria food, Boost VHC, and ice cream. He burped and rubbed his stomach, fingering the four stretch marks around his belly. He was determined to add a fifth and sixth by the time spring break was over and his roommate returned to the dorm. 

After rinsing off in the shower he pulled on a size small T-shirt. Hugo had never fit into a small. His pig brain took one night and he ordered it online whilst fapping. It was the perfect shirt to wear to the grocery store. A solid two, maybe three, inches of belly fat hung free beneath the hem. Some gray sweatpants showed off his half chubbed dick and caked up ass. A denim jacket that could no longer button accentuated his protuberant gut. 

Wobbling to the market on foot Hugo relished the stares his exposed overhang garnered. This was the only exercise he got without any classes. He was at the grocery store nearly every day, racking up charges parents’ credit card. The swoosh of the automatic doors felt like the embrace of an old friend as his eyes lit up at the aisles of food waiting to fatten him up. 

He grabbed a cart and started in the frozen food section. Pizza, chicken wings, pasta, you name it. His criteria when shopping: does it look good and is it fattening. He moved on to ice cream, multiple tubs, and then alcohol. He tended to stick with boxed wine because it was cheap and went down easy. Next was the dairy aisle, his favorite. Butter, whole milk, heavy cream, whipped cream, sour cream, they all made it into his cart. This was usually when people started to stare. 

He knew what he looked like. A young fat white slob whose clothes didn’t even fit him, gorging himself on dairy and junk food outside of his parents’ watchful eyes. People regarded him with shock and disgust, sometimes pity. He relished every moment. 

After a long meander down the snack food aisle and a quick detour through produce just for show, Hugo went to the register. The cashier awkwardly rang up the food while trying not to look at Hugo’s exposed lard, hairy and hanging heavy with stretch marks. The total was nearly two hundred dollars and at that moment he realized he had forgotten his personal cart for the walk home. Hugo was blighted with carrying all of this home by hand, unless…

He pulled out his phone and ordered a rideshare. It was only three blocks, but what was a fat boy supposed to do? Go home empty handed? Or worse, burn all the calories it would take to carry this back himself? 

The rideshare driver regarded Hugo with more disgust than anyone at the grocery store. With the backseat filled with groceries, Hugo sat in the front. He made a show of breathing heavy and scratching at his stretch marks, even burping a couple times on purpose. The driver could barely contain himself when Hugo asked for help unloading the groceries. He still obliged. 

Hugo’s room was dark and dingy, covered in take out containers, smelling of dick. “Fuckin’ pig” the driver muttered under his breath when he first walked in. When they were finished, he looked directly at the soft roll of flesh hanging over Hugo’s elastic pants and said “hit the gym, man.” 

Hugo shut the door and cracked a Boost. 

Read the rest here

[calbeloved]

finallyyyyyy getting this out 🤏🤏 i had it 90% finished for days cause i just kept forgetting to write the last part and now that it's over. just noticed the quick "ending" is like 800 words long. well. enjoy arthur and kaiser now and the almost whole 3000 words of them

set somewhere between osnf and opd, no real spoilers, just the setting

tw/cw for a panic attack (sort of), internalized transphobia and a lot a lot a lot of overthinking

Perhaps the most embarrassing thing of all is getting caught in an act. It's been like this for as long as Kaiser can remember; from a teacher spotting him copying homework to an old man catching him door ditching with Bruno, all he has ever felt is embarrassment. Shame and embarrassment, overtaking him whole.

The knowledge is the worst. You know the person noticed you– they know, and that alone produces enough shame to put Kaiser into a panic attack. And then the ancipetation and the anxiety; they always say something, it's just a matter of when. Will they do it in private, or around people? Will they only send a look or will they scream, or maybe just hit your shoulder?

The shame, the embarrassment… Kaiser knows, in the back of his mind, that it should not be like that. The thought of a cashier scanning his groceries should not make him want to throw up.

And yet it is exactly like that. Ever since he can remember.

…he tries not to let it bother him. It's just hard sometimes.

Because despite what everyone might think, Kaiser doesn't have many boxers. And all of them are either too small or uncomfortable to wear, other than one pair.

(The thought of going into a store and trying to pick them out while not only the workers observe him, but the other customers will too– He cannot even think of standing there so awkwardly; everyone who takes one look at him would know he doesn't have an idea what he's doing. What would they think? What if he does something wrong and the customers notify the workers and then they kick him out– but not before ridiculing him in front of everyone, God, he can already hear what they would say, feel the shame. He cannot do that. He can't.)

So he does what he does best. Uses the computer. Buys them online.

He does his own laundry (obviously) and tries his best to hide the different underwear. He doesn't speak about it– doesn't dare think.

And yet. When Arthur creeps into his room at night (or when he inevitably does into Arthur's) his friend is always in boxers and a loose fitting, old t-shirt. Kaiser tries not to stare each time, he does, but it's… hard not to. It's not because he likes Arthur's ass or anything– (well…) but Arthur looks… like himself. Comfortable. Used to it all. And of course he is, he's a man, and not the kind that Kaiser is, he's a man man. A normal one.

He tries not to think about it, but it's hard when Arthur starts coming into his room directly after showering and spends most of his time there– sometimes, he forgets his clothes. It's not… a big deal. It shouldn't be a big deal, not anything other than a start of a joke, but…

Arthur leaves his boxers on Kaiser's bed. Sometimes.

If they're dirty, he usually remembers to take them back to his room to throw them into the bin, but it's less common if they're clean. Not just underwear either, all kinds of things end up in his room nowadays. Shirts, belts, money, guitar picks… everything, really.

And… Kaiser would never steal someone's underwear. Especially his friend's. That's just– weird, that has to be weird.

He doesn't want to be thinking about it, but he can't stop– it's awful and embarrassing and he'd rather Arthur stopped doing it. Even if him being there makes Kaiser feel better and light with laughter and when Arthur is next to him, breathing and fine, he can actually sleep instead of turning all night, and everytime he finds something that isn't his in the closet he's overcome by such domesticity and happiness and content– he knows they're close and something like a family, but to find proof of it…

So. It's… something. Not an problem, but an issue nonetheless.

But by the end of the day, it always ends with shame and a panic attack, no matter what pills he takes, or how much he tries to do the correct breathing exercises.

Which is exactly why he's sitting on the bathroom floor after Arthur asked him if he knew where his boxers went.

And it's not like Kaiser is stupid, he can lie, he knows how to lie, but he just cannot get a word out when all he can think about is taking that stupid piece of material into his own pile of dirty clothes and putting it deep into his closet after the laundry was done; Arthur surely has to know he's the one who took it, because who else would? And what kind of person does that, who steals fucking underwear of other people? What sort of person does that?

His skin burns and his chest feels tight– he wants to claw it all off, along with the boxers (not his) on his body.

It's embarrassing. It's weird. Why does he have to be so fucking weird?

There's a knock on the door and Kaiser wants to cry; he should have known he'd get caught, he should have just not done it. It's not like it's his house, even, he's living here because Ivete and Arthur wanted him to– where would he go if they decided they hate him? To the Order, where they'd see each other anyway? No, he wouldn't be able to take that; maybe moving to… America would work? He doesn't know enough English to communicate without misunderstandings, but if his father was there once and did fine, surely Kaiser can do it too?

“Kaiserrrr, come on. Are you this bummed about losing in Uno?” Arthur's voice comes from behind the door, only partially muffled. He's audibly smiling, yet there's a tightness to his words; he's probably thinking Kaiser could be having another attack. “I promise I'm going to let you win next round.”

Which… he's clearly not having any sort of attack. Obviously.

There's a pause. “Kaiser?” Another knock on the door, but this one seems more like Arthur put his hand on the wood instead, not even wanting to make a noise. “It's okay if you don't want to talk, we don't even have to play tonight– just open the door? So I know you're alright?”

And fuck, how can he do that? Meet Arthur face on?

“...I'm fine,” he tries to say instead, keeping his voice clear of coming out shaky as much as he can.

He doesn't think it works. It comes out both broken and creaking, too loud to be a whisper but too quiet to be a normal answer. Kaiser winces.

“...please open the door.”

Kaiser does. He's not that stupid.

It unlocks with a quiet click and less than a second later Arthur is already coming in and looking him up and down, concern clear in his eyes.

“I'm fine.” Kaiser repeats, and this time, puts more confidence behind it.

Arthur stops and looks, and steps closer to pull Kaiser into a hug.

Kaiser– Kaiser feels like crying. He doesn't, because that'd make Arthur more worried and he never wants that, but… It's a near thing.

“Do you want to go back to your room?” Arthur asks softly into his ear, and Kaiser knows that he means together. Only…

He doesn't know. Arthur doesn't know it was him.

Kaiser feels his mouth go dry and his throat tighten. He nods anyway, because– what, he's supposed to break it to Arthur? When he knows it'd make Arthur hate him? He can't do that.

And Arthur is as gentle as he always is when it's the two of them when he leads Kaiser into his room, and Kaiser wants to scream and never open his mouth again. Arthur's so fucking nice. How can he deserve someone like that?

The guitar, once again, is already in his room. Arthur sits him down on the bed and covers his shoulders with a blanket; he takes the guitar into his hand and leans back, so their shoulders are touching.

He plays.

Well. Strums, at the very least. Calming sounds that repeat themselves over and over before changing into a different tune.

Kaiser stares at the strings and thinks about things that don't matter to avoid thinking of… that.

He always wanted to play the guitar. But he never learned as a child and after that there was no time– if he asked Arthur now, he'd probably be glad to teach Kaiser. Sometimes Agatha asks about something to do with it and Arthur goes on a rant, or the Dragões Metalicos stop him to make conversation and if none of them have somewhere to be, they'll talk for hours. It's something he enjoys. It'd be nice to share that.

Kaiser… Fuck. He can't just sit here and pretend nothing happened.

“...Arthur.” His voice is quiet and raspy; if he were not so stressed he'd probably enjoy it more.

Arthur hums and doesn't stop the strumming– good, there's something to focus on, something to distract him from breaking down.

Kaiser tries to breathe. It's not that big of a deal. Arthur can hate him and it is a big deal, but saying it itself is not. He can do it. Easily. No problem.

“‘m sorry.” He feels tears prickle his eyes. So fucking embarrassing. Why is he crying over this?

“...for what?” Arthur's trying to stay calm; Kaiser knows him too well not to be able to tell. Fucking stupid Kaiser worrying him again with his stupid problems.

Fucking hell. Blood rises to his face and all he feels is hotness and he wants to die. Just say it. Just say it. “I took your boxers.”

Arthur blinks. He tilts his head and pauses the strumming. “You…”

“I didn't mean to!” He did. He did; why is he lying through his teeth? You think you can save this? Go on, Kaiser, start the fucking show, see if it'll make a difference. “They were just in my room and I didn't notice when I was doing the laundry and I'm so sorry, I didn't realise they were yours and I took them, and I–”

“Kaiser– Kaiser, it's okay!” Arthur interrupts with a chuckle; a laugh he knows very well. Arthur only chuckles this way when he has to deal with Kaiser's breakdowns. “Man, seriously– it's not a big deal. It's fine; don't even worry about it. Seriously.”

The breath catches in his throat. Not a big deal. Of course Arthur wouldn't care. What was he thinking? Of course it's fine.

Kaiser looks away and tries to get his breathing under control; embarrassing, embarrassing, embarrassing. Why was he so anxious about doing this? He shouldn't be hyperventilating over this, it's not a big deal, it was never a big deal.

“...yeah. Okay.”

Arthur stares. He pushes the guitar to the side and shuffles closer to Kaiser. “Not a big deal. I can always buy more– it's okay.”

Fucking…

Kaiser closes his eyes as tight as he can. He won't cry, he can't cry, this isn't something he should be crying over.

It's okay.

He– He can't…

Arthur's arm slides under his armpit. It goes to his back while Arthur places his chin on Kaiser's shoulder. Stable, here, close, weight, not hurt…

“It's okay. Just breathe. We're all fine, cutie.”

He tries. He really, really tries. But he can't stop thinking about it, can't stop being so aware of them fitting to his skin comfortably– it doesn't bother him at all and that's what hurts.

“I can't– I'm sorry, I can't, I can't–” He tries to breathe. The air is escaping his lungs and refusing to come back and he's getting dizzy now; he knows this, he just has to calm down, just has to breathe, it's okay.

Arthur's finger slowly make circles into his skin and it's so gentle. He wonders what Arthur would think if he did that just a bit lower– what would he say if he knew how much of a weirdo Kaiser really is?

But he doesn't dare to ask that out loud. He doesn't want to know.

It takes a while; of minutes where he's almost there and remembers exactly why he's crying and everything starts again, silent sharp inhaling of air and the occasional murmur of Arthur's “it's okay”.

…Kaiser doesn't want to talk. His heart is still beating uncontrollably fast when he rests his head on Arthur's shoulder, and if he speaks, he's going to die. He can't do this. He can't.

Arthur's hand goes up into his hair– twirling the long strands between fingers. “Yeah?” His voice is a low murmur, familiar and safe.

…this guy. He knows Kaiser as much as Kaiser knows him. It makes him smile, just a tiny bit.

He does not want to speak– probably can't, anyway. Just nods against Arthur's skin.

“Mmhm. What's going on, then?”

“It's nothing. Stupid.” He moves his own hands too– tightly grips the back of Arthur's shirt between his fingers. “Fucking–”

Well. He can speak, as awful as it is. And Arthur knows that. Obviously he does. He knows how much of a fuck-up Kaiser is in this case; how words stop making sense at times like this and every sentence turns into a chain– chains that keep multiplying and weighing him down until he's drowning again.

“I'm just being stupid. It's nothing.”

He can practically see the smile on Arthur's face. “Is it really stupid, or you just think that?”

Of course it's stupid. Not only the… act itself is weird and stupid and embarrassing– he couldn't even say it. How much more stupid can that get?

Kaiser lets himself snort. “Stupid.”

Arthur tugs him a bit closer in response; guides Kaiser's head deeper into his neck, covers more of his back. Safe. “I don't think it's stupid if you feel bad about it, you know.”

Of course you don't.

“I took your boxers, dude, that's just weird. It's stupid.”

“I'd take Joui's boxers if I could, if that makes you feel better?”

It doesn't, but it would be funny to see that. Just a bit.

“Pffh. Sure you would.”

He snorts and knows a pout has appeared on Arthur's face. He can see it with his eyes closed at this point. Arthur does it a lot, especially when they play board games. An event that has become familiar to him by now; it's surprisingly nice to get all together and just… be.

(Kaiser can appreciate game nights at his big age; back when it was only him and his mother, there weren't a lot of board games they could play, just the two of them. Maybe cards, but Kaiser didn't like those too much, so they never did that often.)

“I can always take yours, don't test me.” Arthur snickers and he…

…no. He cannot bear to even imagine Arthur's expression if he were to open the drawers in Kaiser's room. There's a reason he hates having people in here when he himself is not present, why he locks the door when they go out, even if all other ones stay open wide.

There's a pause. Kaiser doesn't speak. Arthur falls silent.

“That's a joke. I wouldn't do that, if you don't want me to.”

Kaiser swallows. It's okay. Arthur is fine. He's not nosy like that. It's okay. He wouldn't just do that. “Yeah. I don't."

This time, Arthur's hand goes all the way down to the ends of his hair when he brushes it. He does it a couple of times before wrapping around Kaiser's back once more; tight but loose enough to get out of if he wanted to.

“Well– guess we have to go shopping, then. Tomorrow, if you want to?”

…shopping. “What?”

Arthur breaks the hug. He leans away just far enough so they can see each other's face. He's smiling.

“...I guess.” He looks down at the guitar and tries not to bite his lip. Arthur would notice that one.

“To buy me more boxers, duh. We can get you some as well– Man, we need to get a matching set!” He tilts his head and the smile doesn't wash away and it's… honest. Not some ploy to get Kaiser to look stupid or make him the butt of a joke. (How would he do that, if he doesn't know? Arthur has no reason to believe he is anything but a man. And that's good. It's… good. He doesn't need anyone to know. Or want. Obviously.)

He thinks of being in a store with Arthur– Arthur who is loud and shameless and would take up all the attention with a grin. He'd make jokes and try to get him to buy something stupid like the boxers with the hearts on them, but it'd be easy to buy in the same size. He could get something good. Feel the fabric before purchase, see how the material stretches, actually see if he likes it before he wears it.

Fuck it.

“Yeah. I'm free tomorrow.”

Arthur grins in response. “Neat.” He looks back at the door and back at Kaiser; “...Did you really not want to play Uno? I'm feeling up for a game.”

“Can we just- sit here for a moment? I want… I want to hear you play for a bit longer.”

“Awh. Of course, man.”

Kaiser feels his cheeks blush– but he just snorts in response. He leans on Arthur's side and lets himself relax. Of course it'd be okay. Of course Arthur wouldn't care. He's just like that, isn't he?

(Kaiser has no idea how he deserved someone like him. But he does not want to cry again today; he just lays his head on Arthur's shoulder and presses himself a bit closer. There's no reason to hide his smile, so he doesn't.)

[scp230kinnie]

HIII!!I just saw the goth reader head cannons I was wondering if you go to more (or a fic thing up to you😭) with hunter sylvester?‼️ -anon🕷️

I CLOSED AND FORGOT TO SAVE SO IM REWRITING THIS FOR THE SECOND TIME (kill me😻)

Hunter Sylvester x goth! Reader hcs PART 2!!!!

Once again guys I am not goth though I am alternative, so if I get any information wrong or that should be removed, please comment or dm me and I will correct myself as soon as I can

Also sorry if some of these are the same as the other one I’m not rereading it

He honestly doesn’t care how you dress, but I mean the fact that you’re wearing all black is a major bonus

It honestly depends. Sometimes he'd love it, and other times, it'd give him anxiety. Like, on one hand, it's super cute, and he loves how it looks, but it also makes him *noticeably* nervous, since he's worried that people are staring at "his" person. And yeah, there *is* obviously the chance that they're just wearing it to look cool, but he'd still be a tad paranoid, lol.

He absolutely adores you. He loves seeing you in those long flowy black dresses

I’m pretty sure I wrote this in the last one, but he loves to watch you do your makeup

He does complain about how long you take to get ready though

And if he’s feeling REALLY REALLY NICE (rare) he might (KEYWORD MIGHT) let you do goth makeup on him. Makeup here being used loosely. Trad goth.

Only if you let him do corpse paint on you

Sharing makeup with ur boyfriend LMFAO

The movie is set in Oregon, idk if you’re changing that based on ur head or if ur shifting or something, but that place is full of “normal” people I’d say

So before you started dating, if you were in the same school at least, you were one of the only “alternative” people in school, and he noticed that

This guy doesn’t usually get crushes okay.

He’s married to metal

But he liked your look

You can decide how you guys meet/start dating cause there’s infinite ways

He appreciates your individualism, and that’s a part of why he likes you

He’s definitely called you emo a few times (I’m so sorry)

Teach him somethings about goth culture.

He won’t sit down and let you lecture him, but occasionally if you say some comment about the culture he’ll probably retain that information

He doesn’t really care, but he wants you to be happy, so maybe he’ll do a bit of his own research

He loves concerts, so he will accompany you to goth concerts even if he doesn’t listen to the music

He uses his dads card to buy you clothes and accessories

He will come to thrift stores with you.

He’ll say he thinks it’s stupid

Something about how he wouldn’t wear someone else’s clothes

Just force him to go through t shirts and maybe he’ll find some good band tees (neither metal nor goth but I have found sws and mcr shirts at thrift stores)

Even if he does buy some thrift store band tees, he’ll probably complain about how he could get them new from concerts or online or something

But he’ll buy you whatever you want

Imagine doing that one tiktok trend that’s like “guess whos outfit is whos 😁” and forcing him into some black dress LMFAO

speaking of tiktok, social media, whatever, he doesn’t like posting. He’ll scroll through and look and metal memes or something, but he doesn’t like posting himself and is hesitant to let you post him

But if you do post videos/pictures of him and compliment him and do couples trends, he’ll say it’s embarrassing but he secretly likes it

I imagine him telling someone about you and the other person is like “goth girl *lip bite*” or something thinking you’re like an e girl

First off, he’s a little possessive of you

Second off, (assuming you’ve taught him some stuff about being goth) he yells at them and tells them off and something about how e girls are weird

If you teach him how to take good pictures, he’ll be your personal photographer, especially if he really likes your outfit

If you actually go and ASK him to take pictures of you he’ll complain and tell you to do it yourself but he’ll do it for you anyway because he loves you

If you wear those long boots, (same goes for emos who wear knee high converse) sometimes he’ll untie them, just pull the laces or whatever just to fuck with you

He’ll go to record/cd stores and see one of the bands you like and he’ll buy it for you

He loves you no matter what you look like. I mean maybe not if ur a country person but… for the sake of fiction he loves you

———————————————————

Leave sweet home requests if you’re reading this

Also what piercings do you guys think I should get (I already have septum, navel, industrial, and ears)

[sukunasun]

could we get mma!geto fics

deep sigh...

geto suguru doesn't mind getting up close and personal—but only when it comes to the fighting of course.

says he likes to see the pain and anger simmer in their eyes with every swing he throws, every punch that feels more like a bite. amidst the bloodied knuckles and broken bones, his body, his being becomes a weapon, like there's a beast housed in there. an unstoppable force. nothing holds him down, not an iron cage or the fear of loss, of death. so capable and equipped, not to win but to kill. he picks them apart by their weakest points, precise and powerful, striking where it'll hurt the most and leaving no traces but broken hearts and bruised egos behind.

"he's more than just a fighter," you say, with clenched fists and passion-flamed eyes, "in one word, geto's kinda...legendary," so enthused, so enamoured. it's not your biased heart talking here because you're an expert at these things.

although you wouldn't call yourself a fan when devotee sounds more accurate given the countless hours you've dedicated to research and impulse buying—scrolling through wiki pages, analyzing old interviews, watching late-night matches on a glitchy livestream, catching a tiny glimpse of his figure from a shitty seat in a stadium, or buying an ugly t-shirt from his online store when the one made by a fan artist is cheaper and looks way better in your opinion—still, you'll do it now and again because he isn't like everyone else, he is a perfect being, untouchable, you'll love him from afar like this, settling for whatever bit of scraps you can get hoping to get closer, and yet...

"you don't know me," geto simply says when he's come face-to-face with you. well, technically he's looking down at you from where he stands tall, heads above you. he's every bit as handsome as you'd expect, the kind no injury or scar could hide. you think to say something, gush over him, the man of your dreams in the flesh, a long-awaited meeting now realized but it's all too much. 

his sweat-glistened skin, his flushed cheeks, the soft panting breaths, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and the way he ever so gently flicks his hair away, not to mention that dripping line of red that seeps from his nostril shouldn't make him look as sexy as he does, something about a bruised and bleeding man practically makes you swoon. oh how you'd always dreamed of this image, your imagination supplied you with multiple scenarios of him atop you and most preferably inside you too. 

to be this close to him, so close you could reach out and touch. but a bigger girl always takes the temperature of a room before walking into it, only now you've made the crucial mistake of forgetting where you are, and who exactly could be listening. "um...i didn't mean–" your eyes scan across a sea of judgemental eyes taking you in, contempt written all over their faces. there's a heat pooling in your eyes, a lump caught in your throat, visibly constipated would be the word to describe it, but geto doesn't feel pity for you. 

instead, his expression contorts into scorn, rolls his eyes at your desperate attempt to explain when you're choking on your words and flittering around like a headless chicken. he must think you're so awkward, so lame, just another one of those people with nothing better to do with their lives. "you should leave, you're taking up space," he says, pushing past you with a shove like you were merely a nuisance to him, your shoulder bumping into his torso. but it doesn't hurt honestly, not as much as the disappointment, the humiliation he's left you with. 

——————————————————

back home, you dismantle the shrine. an altar made with the labour of love, and many long nights spent crafting this holy site. suguru is a name you can't look at the same way, now riddled with sour definitions. mean, rude, arrogant, and all the synonyms bundled into one. suddenly, the pictures on your wall stare back at you differently, geto and his camera-ready poses, in designer pieces, perfectly curved happy smiles and sultry smirks turning against you. "he brushed me off like i was nobody, like i was nothing," you sniffle. 

with shaky hands, you tear them down hastily, omitting to start from the corners or to roll them back into tube containers. making it quick so it'll hurt less, like tearing a bandaid off. "psh, taking up space..." you shake your head in disbelief, "what a fucking asshole." 

stuffing the bins with crumpled magazines and the journal entries you were enthusiastic about, another collage you've put together, the pencil writings have faded, laser stickers peeled from the edges. however, the binders and photo cards have been kept well, pristine even, and you consider if there are notes and letters you wrote to him tucked into the spine, believing you'd send them someday, but you refuse to keep them.

flipping through, you can't help but cringe at the thought of a man being this famous as an athlete. you understand sponsorships and brand deals, but turning into a celebrity, a commodity...maybe it was an act all along, a persona he's crafted. there was no underestimating the man's capabilities, the ease and precision with which he strikes a punch or spews cutting words are unmatched, why would it be different when it came to your first meeting. 

"you've idolized him, it was a parasocial relationship at most..." you say. given the circumstances or the 'end of an era,' as you've put it, there'd be no other way to comfort yourself but with the hard truth. 

and it shouldn't feel this...hollow. an empty space left behind without any notice, like it ended too abruptly. you'd always known the phase would come to a close, but you had pictured meeting him at the end of an aisle, twirling in his arms under heavy rain, or a bittersweet goodbye at an airport maybe. anything resembling a whirlwind romance that would replace the daydreaming. anything but this. 

people meet all the time, people fall in love, was it too much to believe you'd be one of them. and you tell yourself you'll get over him, it wasn't meant to be anyway, what did you expect, that he'd see you and fall in love? you wouldn't know any different, the closest you ever got to love was...obsession really, he was never a real person to you. "all this for a man who never knew i existed." you're sure wherever suguru is, he'd be absolutely fine, happy even, and not the least bit gutted about what he'd done. 

——————————————————

the rest of geto's day plays out like usual—he fights, he wins, then tends to the nosebleed. nowhere in those allocated time slots for cryotherapy and post-match interviews does he think about you. or the way your eyes fell. or that he instantly regretted it the moment he left you standing there. 

across the gym, nanako calls from where she sits on a boxing ring,  "that wasn't nice, papa!" perching her head against ropes, her legs swing off the edge. beside her, mimiko nods in agreement, cuddling her dolly closer to her chest, "you were being mean..." she mumbles. the sandbag crushes and swings to the rhythmic, muffled beats of bandaged fists meeting leather. resounding, familiar, enough to tune out the disappointed tone in their voices. 

his punches come to a halt, "i know," he sighs exasperatedly. pressing his forehead to the sleeve and watching the sweat pool by his feet. drip, drip, he takes a deep breath in. willing himself to think of something else, anything that could ease the tightness in his chest, the grinding of his teeth. the guilt that bubbles up becomes unbearable, itchy and prickling all over his skin. heat creeping up his neck, to his ears, he's embarrassed, ashamed. he should know better, he'd been better. a part of him grieves, long gone were the days of geto suguru and his straight As and pressed uniforms, always thanking the teachers and using honorifics in between. 

geto learns that he doesn’t react to it as smoothly as he would like—your wobbling lips and puffed up cheeks, teary eyes shining, lashes clumping with tears, an expression he can't seem to forget, like your world was crumbling before your very eyes—he knew it was wrong, knew you were vulnerable and he did it anyway. 

when was the last time he got this hung up over a couple of badly chosen words, all for some fangirl?  you've got him giving away easy hits and fucking up his game-plan, ruminating. he's supposed to be training, working on his form, looking up the next guy he's meant to beat to a pulp and analyze his moves, all that and eating these tiny meals he abhors, the ones made up of bland chicken breast and broccoli. 

bottom line, he's meant to brush these things off as he always does. but the urge to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness is almost as strong as the urge to punch something. he only settles for the latter because geto never gets on his knees, and he never begs, the thought alone is enough to send a shiver down his spine, why does he even think of it as an option.

"she got to me didn't she?" is less of a question, and more of an admission but the twins giggle as if they know he's already done for. 

——————————————————

geto sits across from you at a crepe place a week later. famous for its strawberry sauce and the whipped cream they make from scratch, it's a good choice for a first date spot. the tables are covered in red and white checkered linen, there's an upbeat pop tune playing in the background, and sitting right between the two of you is a centerpiece made up of fresh daffodils. 

but this isn't a date. there's nothing romantic or intimate about it and how he's even managed to find you is still a mystery let alone what his intentions are with choosing such a scene. "my daughters like this place," is the only explanation you get. 

he's wearing what can only be described as undercover chic. greeted you by the door dressed in black head to toe. along with sunglasses and a face mask, but the earrings give him away. well, that along with the cut on his lip and the stitches over his eyebrow. "you got my letter," he merely states, without a 'hello' or 'thanks for meeting me on such short notice'. he doesn't mention why he's sent actual mail to your office instead of texting or calling like a normal person—how easy it was for you to recognize those familiar black inky lines scribing a time and place on paper with zoo animals decorating the edges—you might have ignored it, reported it, if not for the part of you that wholeheartedly gives into him, the infatuation still hasn't worn off. 

"so um," clearing his throat and keeping his voice low, geto's arms fold across his chest. it makes him look too big for his seat, bulky and broad, "about what happened the other day—" he chokes out.

"it's fine," you cut him off immediately. the last thing you need right now is to be reminded of it. took forever to wash away the embarrassment, to scrub off the eerie feeling of his dismissive gaze, his cold stare, a shining vaseline-lined face that would forever haunt you the rest of your days. "i don't even remember it," you wait for him to continue but he just..sits there. 

head tilting curiously, suddenly interested. "not even the part about me being...what was it you said...legendary?" he teases, laughing to himself. it sounds lovely, bright and clear. almost so good you think he's rehearsed it but you know it's just another one of those things geto does, that adds to his charm.

your cheeks puff up as you chew, the jam is sweet and so are the little slices of fruit. you munch and chew, growing annoyed by the second, "it's not that funny," you mumble.

geto brushes off your offended expression, "relax, it's nothing i haven't heard before, let me guess—you love me, you're my number one fan, and you want to ride me and have my babies," he lifts an eyebrow, a self-satisfied smirk appearing.

your fist clenches tight around your fork, "y-you don't know that for sure, in fact, you don't know me at all."  

geto scoffs, actually scoffs in your face, "i know what you're like, you're just another groupie who wants to get close."

"groupie?!" you exclaim, "as if i'd ever sleep with you after the way you've treated me—" your nose turns up at him, anger flaring up to the max, "i wouldn't want to be chucked around and felt up anyway, besides, you wouldn't be able to," you lie again, throwing the final jab to his overinflated ego for effect, to put him in his place. now emboldened by fury, by the urge to prove him wrong. 

you're so loud the other customers turn their heads, somewhere in the back a plate drops to the floor, the shock is evident. mainly because of how explicit you're being but....anyone would be crazy to think so. to say such a thing. how blasphemous. suguru is so physically strong that he forgets not everyone can split wooden blocks into halves with their bare hands like it were the easiest thing, hooking sandbags up to a rig with one arm, you've seen him breaking doors down with a mere shove in movies, and how could you ever forget that one picture of him holding two litre water bottles in his hand and having it look so out of proportion, dwarfed by their massive size.

there's no doubt about it, not only could geto lift and toss you around like a ragdoll, feeling you up any way he desires, but it would be effortless.

he starts grinning, "is that a challenge?" geto quips, smirking and suddenly interested in the half-eaten crepe. he gives it a once over, lightly jabbing it with his fork. contemplates if he should try it when he's been off sugar for years but maybe he'll make an exception now. he could always just burn the calories later, maybe do an extra sparring session with gojo over the weekend, but just for the occasion, he thinks he could indulge a little because he makes a decision then. 

"i like you, we should do this more often," he shoots you a look that isn't like the rest. assured, demanding, knowing you wouldn't deny him. "any objections?" leaning forward he cuts himself a piece of the pastry, lapping up every last bit of jam before he stabs at a large chunk of berry. taking a big bite of it, your eyes widen at the instant blush blooming on his cheeks because he more than likes it, in fact, he keeps at it til there's none left.

[twicesserafim]

desperatly need a campus crush nwjns gip!minji! AKCKCKCKCKCK

G!p Minji

Smut heavy‼️

Not proofread

Third Person Pov:

Minji was a year above you, you've seen each other around, on campus, in the hallways, in between classes. You've ran into each other a few times. Haerin and Danielle were luckily your friends.

Well, not really close friends. But you knew each other, they were in your music class. "Minji's really been liking these shoes but she can't find any in her size" "what shoes?" you asked confused as the pointed to yours.

"what's her size?" "230 (6.5)" "oh, we're the same size" "really?" "yeah" "where'd you get yours?" "online, on this app. I don't think theres anymore though" "aw, that's unfortunate. what're they called again?"

"jordan 4 retro sail i think?" "oh? is it new?" "yeah, came out, end of september 2023." "ooh, so they're like, really new." "yeahh, i can help her find it, maybe i can" "thanks, y/n." "i got you"

"oh also! what to you think of minjiii" "what do you mean?" "is she cute? pretty? what do you think of her?" "uh, i mean yeah. She's pretty and she's cute too, she's attractive." "really? you think that?" "yeah"

"would you say you like her?" "im not sure." That's a lie. you find her so attractive that you want to bash your head on a wall. You have the biggest crush on her. "hm.. that's interesting.. would you be down to go to lunch with us?"

"uh, sure. i don't think i made plans today" "okay, bells gonna ring in a few, pack your bags." "i never take anything out of my bags" "true that"

...

Hanni, danielle, haerin and hyein all pushed you and minji in the middle, making the two of you stand beside each other. "is it too crowded, we can walk behind them?" "sure" you agreed as the two of you backed up, the four of them walking in the front as the two of you walked in the back.

"how was class, y/n?" "it was fine, kinda boring. I was sleepy" "i always sleep in my classes.. nice shoes." "thanks" you muttered, looking down. Hoping you could find something for her too.

"so uh.. the stores over there, just a few more minutes" "yeah, i know, it's all good" you replied, turning to face her. You were about the same height. You were maybe an inch shorter? Similar height though.

The others ordered, you passed some money to hanni, she smiled and went to the counter. "y/n what do you want?" "anything, it doesn't matter." "okay"

You and Minji just sat there, the two of you sitting beside each other. "so.." "how's badminton?" Right. You're on the badminton team. "it's okay, it's like really hard at times." "really?" "i'm good at saving, i'm not great at spiking though"

"oh, that's important" "it is.. it's hot" you whined, you took the hoodie off as minji's breath hitched; Both at your whine and you taking your hoodie off. She gulped, taking a breath in. You were in a compression shirt so it showed off your body pretty well.

The cargo pants honestly showed off your lower body pretty well too, the thought made her nervous as she got fidgety and slightly sweaty. She doesn't usually think of these things, why was this happening?

Your hand brushed on her thigh before you placed a hand on her back. "are you okay?" "um.. yeah i'm.. ahem, i'm okay." "are you sure?"

...

Minji Pov:

Fuck. I'm hard. I'm fucking hard. That's so pathetic, fuck! why am i hard! im just gonna have to walk around school with a boner?! Fuck my life, oh my god. It's gonna fucking stick up! I'm literally going to end it all.

Bro why did i get hard?! Fuck my life. Fuck everything. Y/n's right beside me too. I have the biggest crush on her. She's so perfect. Fuck! stop thinking about her! i'm actually gonna burst through my boxers. This is so scary.

"minji?" The way she says my name. Imagine if she was screaming it though.. oh my god. "yes?" "are you sure you're okay? you've been staring at the table for a few minutes? the food is here, eat, okay?" "yeah.."

I cant focus. Im going to the washroom. "i gotta go to the washroom, i'll be back." I need to finish my business quickly.

...

Third Person Pov:

You saw it. You noticed it a while ago, a few minutes after Minji had left for the washroom, you spoke up. "i'll go check up on her" "go ahead" the washroom door could lock. You knew that.

As soon as you came in, you locked the door, "minji" you muttered, "huh? what's wrong?" "let me help" "what do you mean?" "don't act all clueless. do you want me to help or not?" "we need to be quick" "i know that. now open the stall up."

She did as your eyes widened at her size, her hand was still wrapped around it. "are you close yet?" "no. for some reason i can't seem to get the job done" "well i hope i can.. the floors dirty" you whined as minji rolled her eyes with a smile.

She threw her jacket on the floor and you closed the stall, kneeling down in front of her. Kissing the tip and pulling it out of her hand, into yours. "oh my god." she whined as you put the tip into your mouth. "i haven't even done anything yet"

"come on then." you took more of her in, minji groaned as she let out a shaky breath, taking her clean hand and gripping onto your hair as you started going at it, you bobbed your head up and down, gagging on her and just taking more and more of her in.

"fucking shit y/n.." she sighed, whining a bit. she pushed your head closer as her balls touched your chin, you hummed, sucking on her, drooling a bit and gagging. "too big, darling?" you nodded as she chuckled.

Fuck was that hot. Minji thrusted into your mouth a few times making you gag. "are you ready for it?" you nodded. "come on, baby. tell me. you want my cum down your throat?" "yes.. please" "as you wish, sweetheart."

She groaned, gripping onto you tighter as she let out a whine, cumming into your throat as you swallowed all of her, you pulled away making minji chuckle. "fuck you're so hot" she muttered making you shrug.

"you're hotter" "hey.. wanna come over to my dorm tonight? my roommates on a trip.." you just smiled and nodded. "i'll give you more of me this time" you muttered, cleaning up yourself and walking out making minji smile to herself.

"damn."

...

"hey" you said as she let you into the dorm. "hi baby" "i like you, you know that?" "straightforward. i like that." "thought you would" "i like you too" "so.." "my rooms right there" "great"

...

Your face was in a pillow as you let out a loud moan. "fuck! it's big" "relax, princess. i've got you." "minji.." you whined, your breathing shaky as she pulled you up, making you face her while straddling her.

She slipped the tip back into you, "slowly, baby." you slowly sat down on her, the two of you groaned. "come on, hun. once you get used to it.. that's when it gets fun" "whatever you say.."

...

You let out small moans before whines left your lips. "fuck.. i'm gonna cum.. minji.." "hm.." "please." "what are you supposed to call but you don't?" "unnie" you whined making her chuckle. "good, go ahead."

"do you have protection on?" "no.." "minji" you whined, she pulled out, "open up then" you opened your mouth as she pumped her hands up and down a few times, before shooting her load straight into your mouth.

"you're so pretty" minji muttered making you roll your eyes with a smile. "yeah, with your cum all over my face?" "exactly."

...

"if i'm your girlfriend.. do you think i could steal your shoes then?" "min" you chuckled, rolling your eyes. "are you sure you love me then?" "nah, i just like your shoes" "meanie!" "kidding, baby!"

[lesbianneopolitan]

For the 42 ask meme

10. what’s your favourite piece of clothing you own?

12. what’s your favourite store to shop at? (online or irl)

37. what’s an uncommon/specific /obscure topic you’re interested in?

26. favourite kid’s show character?

42 personal questions ask game

10. what’s your favourite piece of clothing you own?

Right now it gotta be the NGO t-shirt with this design!

12. what’s your favourite store to shop at? (online or irl)

EMP-Online will always be in my heart, even if I don't even shop THAT much in it

37. what’s an uncommon/specific /obscure topic you’re interested in?

I honestly think I don't have any of those, HONESTLY...none come to mind because in the end all the ones I can think about have a fandom, and to me that's already not obscure enough LMAO

26. favourite kid’s show character?

Marceline from Adventure Time counts, RIGHT? Her