#like eyes of cows and stuff

[uss-butterscotch]

Eddie almost becomes a 4th of July finger loss statistic and runs into a pair of sailors in the ER

cw: medical terminology, references to canon-typical gore

-

Eddie can feel his uncle’s glare from the seat next to him. He’s resolutely ignoring it and also attempting to ignore the pulsing pain in his hand, which he’s currently pressing a damp kitchen towel to.

Wayne, apparently, isn’t having it. “You know how many people blow their fingers off on this day every year, boy?” He says slowly.

Eddie presses his lips together. When he can’t hold his thoughts back anymore he half-whispers, “Last time I checked, all my fingers were still attached to my body.”

“They better continue to be that way by tomorrow morning.” Wayne huffs and leans back in his chair. Arms crossed tight over his chest.

They sit in silence for about 5 minutes before the doors to the emergency room practically fly open. The sudden movement draws Eddie’s eye.

He’s met with possibly the last thing he expects. The first thing he registers is that two of the people who just entered appear to be dressed like cartoon sailors, and that one of the sailors also appears to have been recently hit by a car, then the car reversed, and ran him over again.

The second thing he realizes is that the roadkill sailor is the one and only Steve Harrington. Not only is he Steve Harrington, he’s Steve Harrington, clearly on drugs.

“Hopper, we told you,” Harrington attempts to sound convincing while teetering precariously with every step, “we feel fine. I don’t even think this is as bad as last time. Nobody even… smashed anything into my head.”

The other sailor, whom Eddie has just identified as Robin Buckley, band kid and on Eddie’s short list of suspected fellow freaks.

“Nope!” Robin giggles, “just ripped a few fingernails out.” She wiggles her own fingers in front of Hopper’s face, which at the moment is locked in a simultaneously horrified and exasperated expression.

Now that attention has been called to it, and all of Robin’s fingers seem intact, Eddie sneaks a glance at Harrington’s hands, the left one of which appears to have bandages that are becoming soaked through with blood on the index and middle fingers.

“Maybe nothing got smashed into you, but Wheeler mentioned something about you smashing a certain commandeered vehicle into a certain Camaro.” Hopper leans in and speaks in a growl Eddie assumes he thinks passes for whispering, while directing Harrington and Buckley into matching plastic chairs to the one Eddie is currently occupying.

He gapes at them and blinks a few times before turning to see what his uncle thinks of this whole scene. He finds Wayne watching the newcomers with a slight squint to his eyes and a slight raise to his right eyebrow. A clear sign that he is equal parts concerned, Eddie would assume for the obvious poor condition of at least one of the teens, and intrigued, but not intrigued enough to risk intervening and complicating his already very mentally taxing evening.

Before he can do anything about any part of this scenario, a nurse calls Eddie’s name and in a blink he’s being led into the next stage of the hell of his own making. At first it’s several minutes of answering questions, nurses looking very intently at the half burn/half gash in his hand, and antiseptic. Finally he’s left alone for a few moments while they let the topical numbing cream set in.

There are two other beds in the section he’s been taken to. One of them is currently occupied by an older man, accompanied by a younger woman in a plastic chair next to him. Both of them appear to be fast asleep. The other bed is empty. Or at least, it is until there’s a commotion from the hallway, and the sailors are being ushered in Eddies direction, toward the bed next to his. Eddie catches bits of the conversation that leads to the two-high-teenagers-for-one deal he’s about to get.

Robin’s almost frantic voice, “No! They can’t separate us! Last time we got split up-“

“It’ll be fine, Rob, these guys are probably American.” Steve cuts her off nonsensically. Eddie kind of wishes he was on whatever stuff Steve was right now.

“Considering what you’ve tried to explain so far, I don’t know how much better that is.” Robin says, giggling again.

Steve clumsily grabs her hand with his right one, reaching across is own body awkwardly to get to her, and missing on the first attempt. “You also need to get looked at, little miss ‘ask me tomorrow’.”

Robin cringes at him, “Ok now I will leave you alone so you don’t call me ‘little miss’ again.”

Eddie watches the nurses lead Robin further down the hallway, and Steve to the bed next to his own. They’re left alone briefly after Steve gets settled and the nurse has rushed off to find a doctor.

The other teen stares almost blankly at him for a long moment before he exclaims suddenly, startling Eddie, “Munson! From Biology! That’s why you seem familiar.”

“Harrington,” Eddie replies, “you are aware we shared more classes than the one Biology period, right?”

Harrington blinks slowly with the eye that isn’t swollen shut. “No, actually, I dunno if you noticed, but I was sort of an asshole in high school, so…” he wobbles his head back and forth, “I kind of only remember that time you passed out when we dissected that cow eye.”

“Ah,” Eddie rolls his eyes and nods, “so you were an asshole in high school, but you’re not anymore. Got it.” He’s really going over the top with the sarcasm, but Harrington doesn’t seem to catch on.

“Yup. Earlier Robin said that I really was, but I’m not anymore, and she’s usually right about most things, even though it’s super annoying when she is right, because she won’t shut up about it, and she remembers stuff, like how many times I’m wrong and what I’m wrong about and what I ate for breakfast in Mrs. Click’s class and-“

He’s cut off by the nurse from before returning. “Sorry for making you wait, hon, it’s a real circus here tonight. While we wait for the doctor, I’m gonna get you set up with some fluids. The EMTs said you were pretty dehydrated.”

When she brandishes the needle in preparation for placing the IV, Eddie notices all the color that isn’t bruising drain from Harrington’s face. He tries to subtly scoot away from her, but the movement is a little too rushed to come from anywhere but a sense of panic.

“O-oh, no that’s, I’m okay, no-no thanks.” He stutters out, his breath coming in quick and shallow now.

“Oh, hon, it’s okay to be afraid of needles,” the nurse says sweetly, “just look away and take deep breaths, and it’ll be over in a pinch.”

Harrington winces at that. “I-I’m really- it’s- I’m fine, you don’t-“

He stops abruptly when what sounds like a screamed “No!”echoes from down the hallway. It takes half a second longer for Eddie to place the voice as Robin Buckley’s than it apparently takes Steve, because Eddie blinks and Harrington’s off the bed and rushing toward the voice with a half-shouted “Robin!”

The nurse, it seems, is just as stunned as Eddie, and it’s a few seconds before she’s racing after him down the hallway.

It isn’t until his stitches are almost halfway done that Harrington returns, now closely followed by Chief Hopper, and lead gingerly by the elbow by the nurse. The IV situation appears to have been solved, as he is now rolling a drip bag on a stand with his free hand.

Once Harrington is returned to his bed, Hopper leans over him slightly in what Eddie recognizes as his attempt to be intimidating. “Now listen closely, Harrington. You are going to stay right there in this bed, and do whatever Annette here asks you to do until I get back. Do I make myself clear?”

Steve stares at him open mouthed for a moment, before he starts giggling. “Huh, Mike’s right, you do have a little vein that pops out right…” he reaches up to try and poke Hopper in the forehead.

Before Hopper smacks his hand away, Eddie notices a thick band of bruising around Harrington’s wrist, adding to the already massive pile of questions he has about whatever series of events led to those two landing themselves here.

Steve is still giggling when Hopper stands back up, dragging a hand down his face. “Look. Just stay put for 20 minutes. Someone still has to call your damn parents.”

“Good luck with that,” Harrington says wearily to Hopper’s back as he retreats back toward the waiting room.

With all the commotion, Eddie almost forgets he’s currently getting his hand sewn back together. A distraction he’s secretly grateful for, since he was starting to get a little light headed thinking about it.

“Well, Eddie, that should be it,” the doctor says, patting the fresh bandage gently, “I’ll get someone to take care of your discharge papers and you’ll be on your way.”

Eddie gives a thumbs up with the hand that did not get nearly exploded several hours ago. As the doctor leaves, Eddie realizes he is once again left alone with Harrington. He can only handle about two minutes of the silence before he blurts out. “Ok, man, I’m dying to know. What the hell happened to you? You look like you rolled down a rocky cliffside for like a day straight.”

Harrington chuckles, “I feel like that.” He doesn’t say anything for a long moment before he apparently realizes Eddie asked him a question. “Oh, uh, the mall burned down.”

“Starcourt? The brand new mall?”

Harrington nods. “Yup.” He pops the p.

“Wh-” Eddie blinks at him in disbelief, “and you and Buckley..?”

“We were there, yeah.” He says it so nonchalantly Eddie almost thinks he’s messing with him.

“Right…” Eddie starts, not sure where he’s going before one of the questions swirling around his brain tumbles out of his mouth “so the mall was burning down and someone ripped your finger nails off?”

Harrington sits up straight, “How did you-?”

“I was in the waiting room when you came in,” Eddie answers in a rush, “overheard you and Buckley.”

“Oh.” Harrington says, then blinks slowly a few times and Eddie can almost hear him thinking. “Umm, no that happened… before the fire.” He finally says, frustratingly vague.

“Right, and the…” Eddie gestures vaguely to his own face in leu of actually asking.

Harrington hums. “Uhh, I think… falling debris…” he nods to himself, “yeah, you know, chunks of burning mall.” He mimes something falling from the sky and makes a cartoon explosion sound. Eddie’s not totally inclined to believe him, especially since he just noticed the finger shaped bruising on Harringtons arms.

“You think?” He presses.

Harrington huffs, almost like a kid throwing a tantrum. “Look man, I’m like super ultra concussed and on some kind of mystery drugs so my memory is like…” he flaps a hand around for a second, then lands on a thumbs down, “at the moment.”

Eddie nods. “Right, yeah, sorry.” Eddie puts his uninjured hand up in surrender, “Just, my curious nature, man.”

Steve shrugs, then winces. “Okay, my turn.” He points to Eddie’s bandaged hand, “What happened there?”

“Awesome firework experiment gone wrong.” Eddie says, deliberately not elaborating. It’s apparently enough for Steve who nods knowingly.

Another silence settles over the room, this time less awkward, but Eddie still feels the need to break it. “Okay this is my last question for real.” Harrington sighs, but motions for him to go on. “The outfit?”

He squints at Eddie for a moment. “Did you ever like, actually go to the mall?”

“Once. And it confirmed my suspicions that the whole thing was a capitalist nightmare that I in no way belonged within a thousand foot radius of.” Eddie proclaiming proudly.

Steve looked at him like he was speaking Spanish. “Um, sure. Yeah. That’s probably true.” He picks at some of the blood that has dried on the collar of his shirt. “Robin and I work, or, I guess worked, now that it doesn’t exist anymore, but, anyway it’s this ice cream place, and it’s like, ocean themed for some reason, so… sailors.”

The mood seems to have shifted slightly. Harrington’s no longer looking at him, instead focusing on his shoes, which also appear to be smudged with blood. No trace of the half smile that had been lingering from his random fits of giggles. With the way he’s fidgeting, it almost seems like he’s nervous.

Eddie decides the best way out of this is to pretend like he doesn’t notice and hope he can get the vibe back on track. “That sounds like the most ridiculous business I’ve ever heard of.”

Steve lets out a halfhearted chuckle. “Yeah, it was pretty stupid.”

They are both saved from trying to come up with a new direction for the conversation to go by the entrance of Robin Buckley, who is toting her own rolling stand of IV fluid with her.

“Dingus!” She calls, and Eddie notes the way Harrington relaxes slightly at seeing her. “I’m completely healthy!”

Steve mimes clapping and Robin bows dramatically. “I… am not.”

Robin taps his knee. “I could have probably told you that.” Her gaze scans the room, then catches on him. “Hey, you’re the guy that runs the D&D group, right?”

“In the flesh,” Eddie says, spreading his arms wide.

Robin cringes again. “Ew, don’t say flesh. I’ve had too much flesh for one day.”

Steve nods next to her. “He blew up his hand with fireworks.”

Robin gasps, “Really?” She turns to Steve, “I totally thought we were gonna do that, but” she holds out her hands, and while they themselves seem fine, Eddie notices the bruising on her wrists that match Harrington’s, “all my fingers. Intact.”

“That makes one of us,” he smirks and makes eye contact with Eddie.

“Did you know that on the Fourth of July, over 30% of hospital visits are related to injuries from fireworks” Robin says unprompted.

“Why would I know that.” Steve says flatly, “Why do you know that?”

Robin shrugs, “I read.”

It’s then that a nurse comes back to get Eddie out of there. As he goes, Steve waves a goodbye to him that he awkwardly returns. As he leaves them behind he hears Robin ask, “Did Johnathan Byers cut open a girl’s leg, or was that the drugs?”

He shakes his head as he returns to the waiting room, resigned to never have answers to his mountain of questions.

[gingermintpepper]

U mention in 1 of ur tags that Poseidon has vitiligo? Could u tell us more about that pls?

Okay so, I saw this ask and went "oh man this is a wonderful opportunity to ramble about some of my design decisions for the Olympians" then I also, simultaneously went "This is also a perfect opportunity to doodle Poseidon" so I spent like, way too much time doing a dinky little doodle to show both what Poseidon's vitiligo looks like + what I generally envision his design to be like when he's on Olympus!

Of course, in true Ginger fashion, it's very messy but I think it gets the point across well enough! The big reason Poseidon has vitiligo (or why I've interpreted his skin as being speckled) is because well, as a horse/hippocampus (which is his actual preferred form) he has a piebald/pinto coat and the only way really to translate that onto a human-presenting form is some form of pigmentation disorder like vitiligo or leukoderma.

Poseidon, like almost every other Olympian (save for Apollo who has the most human-like appearance of them all) has multiple animal/mythical creature elements incorporated into his design/interpretation, many of these I've chosen to allude to what their 'truest' forms are like, for example Zeus' big bull horns because he was born a horned god or Aphrodite's feathered hair and talons because she is directly descended from Ouranos. Because gods are always changing and evolving as the world changes and evolves, these features of theirs can change to better match their current 'truest' self, but most deities, especially the older ones, tend to settle after a period of time and don't experience much drastic change. For my purposes, Poseidon was born with horse like features which he inherited from his mother including his striking piebald coat and his horse's ears, but he later acquired sea serpent traits such as his tail, sharp teeth and water-like hair after acquiring the domain of the Ocean and being forced to adapt very rapidly to his new environment.

Due to geneology and generational inheritance being such a major theme in my work, I chose to let that stand for the descendents of the gods as well! Humans naturally aren't born with coats and such, but many of Poseidon's children do end up having some form of leucism from minor things like Ancaeus' double coloured hair or Bellerophon's 'peeled' hands and feet (they were a lighter colour than the rest of his body) to much more intense expressions of the trait like Theseus' albinism or Triton's very unique speckling. It's rare for his human children to get an extreme expression of this trait due to humans just kind of having less melanin to work with compared to nymphs, spirits or animals, but it does happen from time to time.

[jtownraindancer]

oh damn ok

Burn Gorman starring as Richard Carter in Ransomed, 2023.

[slavhew]

had a weird nightmare last night. pic unrelated

[starlos-soulmate]

I'm back at my family's house for spring break, and I found a cow plush I kinda forgot I had. Naming her Star, any guesses as to why XD

[the-acid-pear]

Coincidentally "ohh doggy!" Is the same thing that comes to mind spotting you out in the wild of my dashboard

Don't have any fucking doggy reaction pics only kitty cat and horsey so have this crude edit. Wags my tail at this ^_^ correct reaction too. If you catch me around you gotta do a Tommy Wiseau and hit me with the oh hi doggy!. It's the morally correct choice.

[decembermoonskz]

soooo… uh anyways….

i love this man :)

[lizardho]

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about some of the people I interact with. I have a coworker who I am pretty sure is a MAGA type, and she is also a lovely woman who is dreadfully overworked and so good at connecting to patients when they call. I can see the conflict on her face when she talks to me, a gigantic tranny dork who speaks Spanish and affirms the LGBT community, but can also talk to her about her cows and knows about guns and stuff. I can see the fear in the eyes of my former Young Men’s leader when he misgenders me and realizes that I’m not an ideology but a person he has known for a long time. I can see the way my extended family stop and stutter over political discussions when they realize they are talking about me. And I don’t know why but lately it’s just made me think about my neighbor as a kid.

When we moved to Arizona, we moved next door to a lovely retired couple - John and Lucy. John was a veteran of WWII, he had an M.D. and a Ph.D. in radiology, and he LOVED us to pieces. His wife, Lucy, was a sharp and gifted woman - well spoken, very observant, and VERY clever. I just know that she used that cleverness as a mom to great effect, because with my and my siblings she always managed to find a way to send us home with candy and treats for a week despite my dad’s protests. We loved them, growing up, and even though they have long-since passed away I love them still, and I love what I learned from them.

John was, as stated, a WWII veteran. He was enlisted as a rifleman, and later as a front line medic, starting at Point Du Hoc and moving inwards to France and towards the Rhine. He let me do a report on him in 6th grade where he shared war stories with me he had kept to himself his whole life - he said it was out of respect for his friends who didn’t get to come home and tell their stories.

He said he told me because he knew I could respect the memories of his friends.

He showed me his collection of medals, and which he’d kept hidden away in a sock in his attic because he’d feel an immense grief any time he saw them. He had wanted to be a doctor his whole life, prior to being drafted he was studying medicine and had taken the Hippocratic oath to Do No Harm. He saw his medals as a reminder that he had Done Harm.

After telling me his stories he was able to convince himself that while he had Done Harm, it was only because his only other alternative was, to him, cowardice. He chose to be brave even if it meant acting against his Oath because he felt that if he didn’t do it someone else would have to go in his place and he would be responsible for the harm that befell them. I don’t think that’s true, but for him it was and that was something no being on earth could have ever dissuaded him from believing.

He shared wild stories - melee combat on the beach, clearing artillery bunkers, receiving a Purple Heart for being injured in hand-to-hand combat with a Wehrmacht rifleman he said he felt pity for because they were the same age and he had to imagine the man he was fighting had been drafted just like him.

He shared how he was awarded a Silver Star for charging a machine gun nest, but shared that he was most proud of not killing anyone in the process. He threw a grenade with the pin still in it and when the machine gunners jumped to avoid being blown up they were killed by someone else so he didn’t have to do it. He took the machine gun and shot the other machine gun in that French field to pieces so he didn’t have to kill the people operating it. He said they were giving out Silver Stars like candy but I knew he was being modest.

He told me about being redesignated as a medic, about how he crawled for about 500 yards on his belly to rescue an injured tank driver, then threw him over his back and crawled the same 500 yards back (1000 yards total) to treat his injuries. He said he met the man in an Army hospital in England after his spine was broken by a high explosive panzer shell was fired through a hollowed out French farmhouse and landed about 20 feet away from him.

He told me about all the people he helped and saved as a medic, he told me about his work in radiology and research after the war. He showed me a hallway that was quite literally wallpapered with academic honors he’d earned as a researcher. He told me about how his first Fourth of July back was a horror show for him because fireworks and German artillery make very similar sounds. He told me about how he woke up in a cold sweat well over half a century later hearing the screams of German artillery men being burned alive with flamethrowers, or hearing his own voice apologizing to the young German soldier he stabbed in the heart at Point Du Hoc.

He told me that when he was asked to present at a medical conference in Germany 25 years after the war ended that he was so scared he couldn’t step off the plane, and that his wife had to hold his hand and lead/pull him with her. He said he was not scared because he was worried about being triggered, but because he knew that someone somewhere outside of that plane had the course of their life irreparably altered by his military service. That to someone out there he was the cause of immense suffering and harm. That some unwitting waiter could be the son of the Nazi Officer he stabbed in the heart with a 12-inch hunting knife. That some woman asking questions in the audience would be the daughter or widow of a man he sent to judgement with a .30-06. He was scared that they would hate him.

He knew what the Nazi’s had done, he knew better than anyone I’d ever met. He’d watched the documentaries, he’s seen the PoWs returning from camps, he’d seen the civilians massacred and tortured by their regime, but he also knew that among the monsters were people like him - idealistic 20-somethings who only wanted to make the world better and were ripped away from that life by the Nazi war machine. And he spent his whole life mourning the loss of innocence and peace that was forced on so many people by such a corrupt power.

To be honest I don’t know if I could do that, but he could. He told me he could still feel the dead and lost with him, both when he slept and when he woke. He told me he thought he’d go to his grave never having told a word of this to anyone. That the stories of him and his friends and allies would disappear silently with him and those like him. That he had wanted that until he realized that he didn’t have to sell out to share the stories - that he could give the stories away for free to someone who would love the people in them, and not just the content of them. He didn’t want his stories to be used as Patriotic Pornography by some TV network or magazine. He wanted the people he knew to be respected, he wanted their memories to be honored and loved, and he entrusted me, a 12-year-old “boy” to do that.

He told me for years afterwards that after telling me these stories that he slept better than he ever had. That by sharing the stories with someone who could hear Him over the din of victory and glory and honor and revisionistic history. Someone who could see the man in the story and not just see the plot of a battle being won. He wanted to be human, and he wanted the people he saw die to be human too - everyone, not just the people on his side. He wanted someone to see and to know the anguish of having to look someone in the eye as heartblood muddies the ground beneath them and hope that they understand that this was not an act of love or hatred but an act of desperation. To hope that you had just taken out One Of The Bad Ones instead of a medical student or a poet who had been drafted. He wanted me to see how hard he had worked since then to build a world without scarcity, to build a world of peace. He wanted me to know SO badly that the cost of violence, any violence, even necessary violence, is always ALWAYS paid by both parties involved.

I think about the rise of the new right wing - the new Nazi movement’s traction in politics, and I feel sad and scared - the world that Johnathan J Yobaggy, my neighbor, my friend, and my hero, worked SO hard to build is being done away with by people who do not understand the cost of the path they are entering. I can see brief moments of recognition in the eyes of some of the people I mentioned - The former young men’s president who immediately regrets misgendering me and hen he makes eye contact with me and sees Me staring back at him and not a faceless “ideology.” I can hear it in the voice of my uncle who quietly comes up to me to apologize for some homophobic comment he made absentmindedly. I can see it in the eyes of racists and sexists being interviewed on TV when they realize that they didn’t vote for a concept, they voted for a real thing. And honestly, I have mixed emotions about it. Because while I understand frustration with the status quo, the importance of basic human needs like affordable good and rent, and I know the fear that comes with feeling powerless, I also can’t help but grieve the endless wheel of history bringing us back to this God Damned Fucking Place again. I hope we can avoid this fate, not just for our sake but for the sake of everyone who has ever tried to make the world safer. For everyone who has ever tried to make up for human nature, for everyone who has ever placed themselves on the offering plate to protect others from the cruelty they know lies just under the surface of mankind’s tenuous grip on progress. I want SO badly for there to be a solution to this, for the people who idolize the Nazi party and the impact of fascism to see that the price of this path is paid in more than just blood but in soul. That they’re allowing themselves to be devoured too. I want for the centrists and the fence sitters and the idealists who want to “change it from the inside” to see how dangerous our politics have become. I want them to see that they’re losing the things that make them great in exchange for a security blanket that’s now become far far far too small to ever work for them again.

Safety found in the past is already gone, and safety found in the future is only as real as a daydream. That any ideology that promises that by “joining us now we’ll make things rough so we can make things safe in a decade” is a promise made by those who will not have to fight the battles they send you to.

I don’t know if America was ever really great, but as long as John was alive it felt great to me. There is no ideology that can replace a neighbor. No tax plan that can replace a friend. No grocery bill that can replace community and connection. No amount of budget cuts that can replace kindness. No amount of suffering from people I hate that will ever make more love. I don’t know how to make America great, but I know how to make my America great and it is not by selling out integrity and compassion and community and fucking humanity to make eggs and gas cheaper. It is by seeing and hearing the people around me. I’m not Mormon anymore, but I still know the value of mourning with those that mourn and comforting those that stand in need of comfort. I’m not Christian anymore but I still have Eyes That Can See and Ears That Can Hear. I want to make this all stop but I can’t stop the collective power of tens of millions of people so instead I listen to my MAGA coworker tell me about how sick her kid was last week. I make jokes with my Young Men’s leader. I hug my uncle. I let them see me fully, as a human and not an ideology. As a woman and not the concept of gender. As a whole person and not someone who can be easily summarized or boiled down into something short and quippy. And I let them know I can see them fully too, and I can see all their humanity as easily as they can see mine. I just have to hope that this works - that enough people can See and Hear the people in their lives who matter to them to bring them out of their personal world of forms and into the real world.

I am probably, honestly, just spiraling a little bit. I took my ADHD meds today and in addition to helping me focus they make me a little anxious so I doubt things are as bad right now as they seem. But just in case there’s any truth to the way things seem to be going, remember, and I mean this seriously: Be kinder to each other, be gayer, and read more Terry Pratchett.

And for the love of god day hello to your neighbor.

[emmaspolaroid]

drawing transformed Okarun…. I am scared

[roughentumble]

you know it really isnt immoral, if you do it right, to raise cows and sheep for meat. so. well. i think there should be a story about, vampires who have a town of humans that they keep well-maintained, so long as the humans donate their blood once a month, like vampire blood farm stuff

but instead of antagonistic everyone's like. no he's a nice man you leave the count alone. he keeps us safe and cared for and he just needs a lil snack now and then, it dont hurt anyone. like a cow that loves the farmer and the farmer that loves the cow, even with both knowing one will end up on the other's table. because its like. its like. cows just have such pretty eyes, you know? they love you so much. i think it should be like that

[ulmus-spellook]

Votive offerings my beloveds

I'm not sure how to explain how much I love these things, these little guys people make and give to the gods.

[punxsutawneyfilth]

Not to be dramatic but if you put untagged eye horror on my dash I think you should die

[bunnis-monsters]

Sacrificial Heifer

Bull Hybrids x Cow Hybrid!Reader

Commissioned by: @yuriohoe04

WC: 1k

A/N: Only 2 more slots for my commissions rn! Make sure to get them while you can. Once my comms are closed I won’t be opening them again until all my comms are finished ^^

Warnings: dubcon, breeding, lactation, pregnancy, gangbang

🥛 🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛🥛

It had been a week since the farmer announced that you and your barn mates were ready to be bred for the first time.

At first, the lot of you were excited, some even ovulating and ready to breed. One of your friends had her tail lifted up, and it swayed softly as she sighed.

“Can’t you imagine it, being bred by a handsome bull? Do you think they’d want to settle and become mates?”

You rolled your eyes, swatting her thigh with your tail. “Not likely. Most bulls are just looking for a heifer to breed and toss aside for the next one. You’ll be lucky if they give you more than a few minutes of your time.”

An older cow had warned you many times that bulls liked to play with young heifers’ hearts, and that if you wanted to live a peaceful life on the farm, then you’d just breed and go about your day.

That’s what you told yourself out of fear of getting your heart broken… until the day finally came to breed.

All the other heifers were filling themselves up, brushing out their hair and tidying themselves up. The pheromones wafting through the barn were thick, almost stifling.

This all changed when the bulls walked in. They were big, bulky, and honestly? Terrifying.

They walked in with confidence, eyeing the new heifers with keen, sharp eyes that told you they were more than experienced when it came to breeding.

“Alright, who’s first?”

All the heifers shivered at the authoritative tone of voice. They had never been spoken to in such a way. The farmers they’ve had in the past had always been gentle, giving their bottoms hearty slaps as they herded them into the barn.

These bulls didn’t look like they even knew what the word gentle meant. They knew how to work with an inexperienced heifer, how to breed them into submission and stuff them full of cum.

You looked on with a mix of nervousness and curiosity. The bulls were definitely handsome, and despite their rough way of speaking, the way they tried their best to look a bit smaller told you that maybe they weren’t as bad as you had been told.

Before you could retreat to observe them from the back of the stall, you were shoved out into an open space, landing in the arms of one of the bulls.

“A volunteer. Cute one too.”

You yelped as your ass was groped, the bull squeezing it lightly before inspecting your face. “Little heifer, no need to be nervous. Gonna put a calf in you, alright?”

“Quite small, ain’t she?”

Another bull approached you from behind, lifting up your tail to get a better look at your fat ass. “Perfectly plump too. Got them child bearing hips… mmm…”

The feeling of a cock rubbing against your panties made your body freeze up. They both cooed at you, already able to sense your pheromones spiking. “Someone’s begging to be fucked silly, huh?”

One of the bulls traced circles over your clothed clit, laughing as you blubbered our half hearted pleas for them to let you go. “Hush, heifer. You’re soaking my hand, gotta breed that fat cunt of yours.”

Before long you were being hoisted up, a big fat cock pushing against your pussy. It was huge, and you were sure it would tear your body in two!

“Sure this little thing can take it?” another bull asked, this one playing with your clit as the other two bulls prepped your hole. “Smallest heifer in the herd I’ve seen so far…”

“She’ll take it.”

And with that, he rutted into you, stretching your fat pussy out as he bounced you on his cock. It was painful at first, tears prickling in the corners of your eyes, but your body was built for this. You were made to be bred by bulls, to get pregnant and produce milk and calves.

You felt your pussy gush as he fucked into you, biting into your shoulder. “That’s it, baby. Cream on my cock, lemme hear you cry out for me.”

You were passed around by the bulls, feeling so full and happy. As you were bent over and groped by another bull, you let out the prettiest of moans.

“God, that’s it, that’s a good heifer. Take my load, fuck…”

A bull took one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling as another mounted and bred you thoroughly. Before you were a virgin, and now you were being fucked by so many different cocks that you could barely think.

They rolled you onto your tummy, lifting your ass into the air and eating the cum out of your pussy, wanting to give you a nice and fresh creampie and hoping their’s would be the load to impregnate your fertile womb.

All the other heifer’s watched in awe and jealousy as the bulls kept their attention on you, unable to spare a second glance to the others. You were so cute, a small, chubby little heifer that was perfect for beating calves. How the hell were they supposed to breed anyone else when you were bouncing on their cocks?

By the end of the breeding session, your belly was distended, stuffed full of cum. None of the other heifers were bred because the bulls were way too busy doting on you after they all got a turn.

Now, as your belly began to swell with a calf and your tits got heavy and full, the bulls couldn’t help but cum all over and in you. Your pretty mouth and pussy was always keeping someone’s cock nice and warm.

Drinking milk from your fat and heavy tits was the best part of their day. They had to test your milk to make sure it was high quality… and they also just wanted to suck on your nipples.

After all, you were their perfect little breeding cow. None of the other heifers compared to you, none as sweet and soft and pretty. If anyone had a problem, they could take it up with the bulls.

You sat on your bed, being fed strawberries as your belly was massaged.

Maybe that older cow was wrong, because these bulls adored you with their entire heart… and you were excited to be thoroughly bred again once you gave birth.

You were a cow hybrid after all, and needed to produce lots of milk and calves. Being a breeding cow was your job…

And you were damn good at it.

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @buckoothecow @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143

[unassumingtherizinosaur]

Sorry for furry-ifying them. Inner demons win this round.

[nightingale-prompts]

Danny adopts himself

It's a common joke in Gotham that Bruce Wayne will adopt any black-haired and blue-eyed traumatized boy he finds. So much so that even he leans into it. But he was completely shocked when Damian confronts him about having a new brother that he did not want.

Bruce could barely get a word in when the rest of the family arrived upset that they weren't told about getting another sibling after Damian texted the family group chat (for once).

Damian had encountered a boy around Drake's age moving stuff into what was an empty room. The room was now furnished top to bottom with glowing green lights, tapestries of stars, random artifacts, several telescopes, and model rockets.

He knew the moment he saw the black hair and blue eyes that his father had taken in another ward.

Apparently Bruce was the last the know about his new "son" who was currently rearranging furniture and asking to help Alfred with dinner.

Said dinner was an uncomfortable as Bruce was grilled by his kids on his addiction to adoption. Simultaneously they tried to get to know the new addition to the family.

It was easy to see that Damian didn't like Danny but it was equally easy to see that Danny could cow the boy like a border collie on a lamb. When Damian thew a dagger the teen caught it with one hand as it passed his face and then slid it across the table back to Damian.

"Try again. " Danny said "And this time don't aim to miss on purpose. If you want me dead you need to do better."

Damian put the knife away and huffed.

Tim and Danny hit it off almost instantly. The way they were able to bounce their thoughts back and forth made Tim believe that he found an equal.

Danny was able to understand Cassie immediately with just look in eachothers eyes like he was reading her mind but not in a creepy way.

Jason of course noticed the strange energy in the air around the kid. It was soothing. Like lavender wafting in the air. Well lavender for everyone else for him it was like opium. His eyes felt heavy like he had eaten a handful of poppy seeds. At the same time he felt full, like he had eating a full meal after starving for a week.

Whatever it is Damian was feeling it too. The demon looked even more his age as he rubbed his eyes and yawned. The crease in his brow gone.

Duke on the other hand was more on edge as his eyes flickered towards Danny before looking away. He had something he wanted to ask about the glowing boy but since no one can see it or just isn't saying anything he will keep quiet for now.

Next was Barbara who teased the new kid.

"So how do you like your new family? Ready to be the new robin?" She asked.

"Im robin." Damian mumbled groggily.

The others were waiting for Damian to finally fall asleep and glared at one another in a challenge to be the one to pick up Damian and put him to bed. Dick was winning.

Speaking of Dick, as expected he was off the wall excited to learn more about his new little brother. He wanted the full story as to why Bruce took him in. He could almost certainly guess it was because of a tragic situation and Dick was already ready to handle it as the greatest big brother ever and he wasn't sharing the title no matter what Barbara said. Even if she was Stephanie's favorite.

Bruce cleared his throat and the table went silent. "So, Danny. Where exactly did you come from? Why are you here? And how did you know who I am?"

Everyone went white. Did they all just risk their identities believing that Danny was a new Robin? Why didn't Bruce say something? Not even a signal for the protocol they would use.

Danny frowned looking a bit hurt.

"What do you mean, Bruce? You said you owed me. You said you'd give me anything I wanted if saved your son. I even helped you get back home when you got lost in time." Danny huffed feeling betrayed.

The table went silent.

Bruce made a few calculations in his brain before something must have come to mind. "I lost my memory for a bit so I need a bit of proof."

Danny placed a batarang on the table. The batarang had an engraving on it in a code that only Bruce knew.

"You told me to show this to Alfred when I came. We had a deal, Bruce. You promised me whatever I wanted." Danny huffed clearly insulted.

Just like Danny had said the code was the one Bruce had made. However this code wasn't a promise to grant a favor but to welcome someone new to the family. Past Bruce must have had plans to take the boy in but told Danny something else to lure him here.

Bruce recognized that everyone was right and he has a problem now that he's looking at it like this.

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

Hii im so glad to see your rq open again!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

Can you write a something for amphoreus men (add some of your favorites if you want or can) with a reader that is small chested, please? 🤍

SMALL CHEST GIRLS ARE WAY BETTER!

✧ paring : mydei, phainon, anaxa, aglaea x fem!reader (separate)

✧ tws : nsfw/smut, boob obsessed men, nipple sucking, spanking, scissoring, creampie (vaginal), mentions of reader drooling, tit play, cow girl (anaxa), doggy style (phainon) and other stuff! mdni.

－ 𝐌𝐘𝐃𝐄𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐒!

He always looked at you like he was on the edge of something dangerous.

Even now, with your back arched and legs trembling on either side of his hips, Mydei’s golden eyes never left your face. Not even once. He watched the way your mouth parted, how your brows pulled together when he rolled his hips forward, slow and heavy. You felt every inch of him. Every thick, deliberate thrust of his cock as it dragged deep inside your wet pussy, stretching you open like you were made to take it—and nothing else.

You choked out a sound, a broken moan as your body tightened around him.

“M-Mydei—ah—too deep, I c-can’t—!”

“Yes you can,” he snarled, voice shaking with restraint. “You’re going to. You’re going to take it, every fucking drop. Look at how your pussy’s swallowing me. You were made for this. For me.”

You whined, eyes fluttering shut, but his hand suddenly gripped your jaw—rough, but not cruel—and forced your gaze up to his.

“No,” he hissed. “Look at me. I want to watch your face while I fill this greedy little cunt. You want it, don’t you?”

“I—I do,” you whispered, tears clinging to your lashes. “I want it. I want your cock.”

“Louder.”

“I want your cock, Mydei! F-fuck, please—just fuck me.”

A sound rumbled in his chest, low and dangerous, and he slammed into you harder. Your entire body jolted with each thrust, your small chest bouncing under him, nipples stiff and begging for attention. He saw it—of course he saw it—and a dark, wicked smirk curved his lips as he leaned down. Without slowing, he latched onto one of your nipples, tongue hot and rough as it circled the sensitive bud before he bit—light, but just enough to make your back arch off the bed with a sharp gasp.

“Mydei!” you cried out, voice cracking.

His free hand came up and squeezed your other tit, thumb rubbing over your nipple until you squirmed under him, legs tightening around his waist.

“Too small to hide from me,” he growled against your chest, dragging his teeth across your skin.

He did just that—switching to your other nipple, licking and sucking while his cock continued pounding into you, filling your pussy over and over with heavy thrusts that made your eyes roll back. Every time he pulled back, you felt the drag of his thick shaft against your walls, felt the way your cunt tried to cling to him, desperate to keep him inside.

Your head was spinning. The heat building low in your stomach had already crested once, but he hadn’t stopped after your first orgasm—he barely let you breathe.

“You feel that?” he muttered, lips brushing your ear. “That’s your body begging to be bred. Look at how tight you get when I say it.”

You whimpered, breath shuddering as your cunt clenched around him again.

“Y-You’re gonna cum in me?” you asked, voice soft, dazed, filled with need.

He slammed into you hard, groaning as your pussy squeezed him again, greedy and soaked.

“Damn right I am. You’re not walking out of this bed until I’ve filled this pussy. I want it leaking out of you. Want to see my cum dripping down your thighs while you're crying from how full you are.”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat over your skin, shame and desire tangled together in the tight ball of need coiling in your belly. You whimpered, burying your face in his shoulder, body shaking as he fucked you through another orgasm.

“Please,” you sobbed, “I want it, I want you to cum inside—please, please—!”

And that was it. Mydei let out a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a groan, deep and guttural, as he drove into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt. His cock throbbed inside your pussy, thick spurts of cum spilling into you with each pulse. You felt it—hot, heavy, filling you deep—and you cried out his name, clinging to him like you’d fall apart without him.

He didn’t pull out.

He stayed there, locked inside you, one arm tight around your waist as if he was afraid you’d vanish. His other hand slid up to cup your breast again, thumb softly brushing over your overstimulated nipple while he kissed your temple.

“I’m not done,” he murmured against your skin, breath still heavy. “Not till you’re full. Not till I see it dripping out of this sweet pussy.”

You whined beneath him, trembling, already overwhelmed—but the look in his eyes promised more.

And you knew Mydei always kept his promises.

－𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐍!

Phainon didn’t need to speak to make you tremble. He only needed to look. Those piercing blue eyes pinned you down harder than any grip ever could, calm and cold, but burning underneath. As if he’d already decided you belonged to him long before you even knew his name.

And when he said, “Climb on,” voice low, almost a whisper—you did. You didn’t even think. You moved without hesitation, straddling his hips, thighs shaking slightly as you stared down at him. Phainon’s chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths, but his cock, thick and flushed and resting against his stomach, was already hard for you.

You hesitated.

His hands came to your waist, fingers wrapping around you with a firmness that made you feel small—fragile even—under his strength. His thumbs brushed your skin.

“I want to watch,” he murmured, blue eyes locked on yours. “I want to see how your pussy swallows my fingers… then my cock.”

You let out a quiet, shaky breath, and his hand slid down. His fingers were deceptively gentle at first, brushing along your folds—already soaked from anticipation—before he dipped two fingers inside your cunt.

You gasped, knees twitching around his hips.

“P-Phainon—”

“Shh,” he said, leaning up just enough to kiss your chest. “You’re dripping for me. I barely touched you.”

He curled his fingers, and your whole body jolted. He knew exactly where to press, exactly how to angle, like he’d memorized you already. Your walls clung to his fingers so tightly, greedy and slick, and he watched—unblinking—his mouth now trailing lower, brushing your skin with every breath.

You felt his lips close around one of your nipples.

“Ah—!” you whimpered, bucking your hips against his hand.

His mouth was warm, wet, and perfect—sucking your nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue across it as his fingers kept working your pussy. Your chest was small, but he gave it attention like it was the most precious thing in the world, tongue swirling, lips tugging, fingers pinching your other nipple while his hand stayed buried deep inside your cunt.

You could feel yourself unraveling, your thighs twitching, your voice cracking with every whine, every gasp that fell from your lips.

And when you clenched hard around his fingers, your orgasm spilling over, he only murmured one thing against your chest:

“You’re going to do it again. But on my cock this time.”

Your body was still shaking, your cunt fluttering from the aftershocks when he pulled his fingers out and guided the head of his cock to your entrance. His grip was unyielding, holding you in place as he rubbed the thick tip along your soaked slit, pressing gently—teasing, letting your own weight do the work.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

You did.

You looked at his pretty face.

And you sank down.

It was slow—achingly so—but he didn’t rush you. He held you firm while your pussy stretched wide around his cock, inch by inch, until he was fully inside, your ass flush against his thighs. You whimpered, hands planted on his chest, nails digging into his skin as your cunt pulsed helplessly around the length of him.

“So tight,” he whispered. “You were made for me.”

He moved his hands from your waist to your chest, cupping your tits again. His thumbs rolled over your nipples as you started to ride him, slow at first, then faster, each bounce making you cry out softly, your tits jolting under his touch.

“You like this, don’t you?” he said, voice breathy now, strained. “Look at how your pussy’s sucking me in. You want me to cum in you, (name)? You want me to breed you?”

Your head dropped forward, eyes squeezed shut, voice shaking.

“Y-Yes… please… I want it—I want you to fill me, Phainon—”

He groaned low in his throat, pulling your chest to his mouth again, tongue lapping at your nipple while you bounced harder, your slick thighs slapping against his as the room filled with the sound of skin and breath and desperation.

And then he grabbed your waist, slammed you down one last time, and held you there.

You felt it.

The way his cock pulsed deep inside you. The thick warmth of his cum flooding your pussy. Your body quivered as your orgasm broke again, your voice cracking with the force of it.

“I’m not pulling out,” he whispered against your skin, still softly sucking your nipple. “You’ll sit right here until it’s dripping out of you. Until you’re full.”

You nodded, tears in your lashes, dazed and breathless.

And his blue eyes never looked away.

－ 𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐗𝐀!

Anaxa’s hand gripped your hip with the kind of precision that left no room for escape. His touch was rough—too rough, as he pulled you into position, kneeling before him with your back arched and your ass presented just the way he wanted. You could feel the heat of him behind you, the weight of his desire pressing against your back, his breath hot on your skin.

He didn’t need to say a word for you to know what he wanted. His fingers slid between your legs, tracing your folds, feeling how wet you were for him, how eager your pussy was to be claimed again. The touch was slow—deliberate, torturous as he teased your entrance, his thumb circling over your clit.

“Anaxa,” you moaned, hips shifting, searching for more. “Please…”

“Please what, darling?” His voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it, a command that made you shiver. “Tell me what you want.”

You couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“I want you inside me. I want you to fill me.”

He gave a low, approving sound before pulling his fingers away and positioning himself behind you. The head of his cock teased your entrance, pressing just enough to make you ache with want. He didn’t give you time to adjust. Instead, he thrust forward in one smooth motion, his cock burying itself deep in your pussy, making you gasp as the stretch hit all the right places.

He didn’t pause. He began moving, slow at first, until the weight of each thrust had your body rocking forward, your hands braced against the bed as your ass jutted back to meet his every push.

“Such a good girl,” Anaxa growled, his hands moving to your waist, holding you still as he picked up the pace. “Taking me so well. Just like this, huh? You were made for me.”

His words sent a shiver through your spine, and you moaned, desperate for more. Your pussy clenched around him, your body trembling with each deep stroke.

Your breath hitched as you felt his cock hit that sweet spot inside you again, the one that made your whole body quiver. Each thrust was deeper, harder, and you couldn’t help but let out a string of moans, your body pushing back to meet him with every movement.

“Yes, Anaxa,” you whimpered, voice thick with need. “I want it. Fill me. Breed me.”

He growled in response, his hand moving to your hair, tugging your head back so your body arched even further. His cock slammed into you, again and again, each thrust harder than the last, until you were crying out, your pussy clenching around him in a desperate attempt to keep him inside.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I’m going to breed you. I’m going to make sure you’re carrying my seed, darling. You’ll never forget this.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat flooding your core. You could feel the pressure building inside you, your body close to the edge. The intensity of his thrusts, the sound of his voice in your ear, the feel of him so deep inside—it all built up until you were trembling, your orgasm crashing over you in waves.

He groaned behind you, his cock twitching as he buried himself deep one final time, spilling into you. You felt the warmth of him filling you, his cum flooding your pussy as he held you in place, his hand gripping your waist firmly.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, voice softening as he slowly pulled out, leaving you feeling empty—but full at the same time, his seed dripping from you. “You’ll always be mine.”

－𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐄𝐀!

Aglaea's hands caressed your waist as if she were handling glass—so careful, so reverent. Her touch always made you squirm, not from discomfort, but from the slow burn that bloomed beneath your skin. She looked down at you now, golden eyes half-lidded, smile lazy and teasing.

"You’re so small," she murmured, voice thick with lust, a soft chuckle leaving her lips as she brushed her fingers along the sides of your breasts. “Cute little thing. Barely even fill my palms…”

You flushed, heart fluttering as her thumbs circled your nipples. She always teased you about your size, but somehow it never felt cruel—just possessive. Admiring. Like she liked having something delicate to play with.

You reached up shyly, your hands cupping her chest in return. The difference made your breath hitch—her breasts were full, heavy in your hands, her skin soft and flushed from arousal. She smirked when she noticed your dazed look.

"Want to feel more?" she whispered, lowering herself so her body pressed against yours, the heat of her chest spilling over your own. Your nipples brushed, hers so much fuller and sensitive, the contrast making your head spin.

You moaned softly as her thigh slotted between yours, grinding slow, patient circles into your cunt. The slick heat between your legs had already started to build, and you were desperate for more—more of her, more skin, more pressure.

Aglaea’s fingers slid down, guiding your legs open with gentle insistence. She settled herself between them, her soaked pussy dragging against yours as she began to move—slow and fluid at first, her lips catching yours in a breathless kiss.

Your thighs trembled as your clits aligned, the friction driving sharp, needy shocks through your core. She moved with purpose, her hips rolling as her breasts swayed with the motion, occasionally brushing against your chest just to make you gasp.

"You feel that, baby?" she moaned, voice thick. "That pretty little pussy rubbing mine raw?"

You whimpered, nodding, completely overwhelmed by the way her body moved against yours—so confident, so in control, her slick mixing with yours, dripping down your thighs as she rutted harder. The wet sounds grew louder, and you found your fingers digging into her back, clinging to her as your orgasm built fast.

"That’s it," she growled, breath hot against your neck, her hand grabbing one of yours and guiding it to her tits, making you squeeze. "Come on, use me—let me fuck you until you cum, sweet girl."

Your hips bucked, desperate for more pressure, and she gave it to you—grinding deeper, faster, clits swollen and soaked, your pussy trembling against hers. When your orgasm finally hit, you cried out, voice breaking, eyes rolling back as your whole body tensed and quaked beneath her.

Aglaea came just after, hips jerking as she gasped against your ear, grinding out her high against your slick folds. The heat, the pressure, the closeness—it all blurred into one dizzy, aching climax.

She collapsed on top of you after, breathing hard, her breasts pillowing against your chest.

"Still think small boobs aren't sexy?" you whispered, teasing.

She grinned, breathless. "You make me cum like that again, and I’ll worship yours every night."

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