#looks like a kid wearing their parents clothes

[sooniebby]

The idea of a singer being a stalker instead of them being stalked is something that needs to explored more. Bonus, if the person being stalked isn’t particularly scared about it.

More specifically, the stalker being the reader. Bottom male reader.

A reader who’s always been watching his classmate since junior high school (middle school). The classmate wasn’t anyone special to others, average grades with average looks.

But you didn’t mind, him being average meant you didn’t have to fight for his attention. It was small things, just paying attention to his favorite foods and leaving them in his shoe locker.

Then slowly it blossomed. You made sure he got home safe. You found out what cram school he visited and made sure to leave snacks for him, can’t study on an empty stomach!

Increasingly, you noticed he began to get a bit paranoid, always looking behind himself. But he never made any effort to report you to the police or anything. Even when his friend suggested it at first, he practically shot it down fast.

However, after graduating to senior high school, you soon realized he wasn’t paranoid over you. He was getting bullied.

It didn’t take you long to handle it. Despite being a loner and a bit on the shorter side compared to the bully. There’s nothing a bully can do against castration. It’s quite easy to incapacitate someone who drinks a lot.

After, you expected him to act the same. And while he did—you noticed that he would look over at you in class. The first time it happened you practically had a panic attack and ran out of the classroom. He’s never looked at you at all despite the two of your being in the same class for four years straight.

You briefly wondered if he knew. Certainly acting like that would’ve confirmed his suspicions.

Luckily for you—he seemed to never look your way again. You’d know, you spend most of the day staring at him. When you finally graduated, you couldn’t be happy at all.

You’d failed to get into the university he applied to. Maybe you should’ve paid more attention to school. You were about to just come up with a back up plan when your sister said she wanted to go somewhere with you.

Just your luck, she tricked you in attending an audition at a music competition. You and her used to sing a lot as kids but you had stopped to focus on him. Of course, the devil was out to get you when you both managed to last until the final round.

Privacy wasn’t a thing for you after that. Your sister persuaded you to get signed at a company. Your parents as well since you technically had nothing else going for you—you did fail the exam for each college you tried at. (That was a lie, you had only applied to one)

Before you didn’t need to dress up to stalk him. You were pretty average as well—but now people recognized you. Especially because the company loved to advertise you as a “emo boy.” You took offense to that—just wearing black didn’t make you an emo.

But in any case, you had to start wearing clothes you wouldn’t be caught dead in. Watching him was harder this time… because he was surprising popular at his university. Everyone talked to him more often and invited him to hang out.

You didn’t understand, he didn’t change how he looked. In any case, you thought he was handsome first. You had dibs. It was getting increasingly difficult to just standby as men and women flirted with him.

Then your worst nightmare happened—he had a date. You stalked it, of course. Dressed in a bright pink shirt with white pants. Hair styled nicely compared to the mess you usually kept it. People really didn’t recognize you when you actually put effort into your looks.

You played with your knife as you watched them chat at the table across from you. The blade was too dull for your liking. Though you had only really used it to castrate that guy. And maybe… to scare off a few people in high school… but you’d never kill—seemed pointless.

As the date finally ended, you were pleased to see him turn down the girl’s offer to come to her place. You watched in satisfaction as she walked away dejectedly. She’s a pretty girl, she’ll find someone else.

You were too busy watching that you hadn’t even noticed someone behind you.

“I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Your body froze. You couldn’t move at all. A laugh left him as he tapped your shoulder.

“Are you going to run away again? I didn’t think you’d still stalk me after becoming a singer. You’re…”

You expected him to cuss you out but to your shock he said.

“Dedicated. Really dedicated. It’s cute.”

“A…what?” You whispered, slowly turning around to face him.

He was smiling at you. Smiling as if he was talking to a friend and not his stalker for over seven years. Was he insane?

Well you weren’t one to talk.

“Cute. I’m glad you didn’t run away this time. Here, gimme your LINE ID.” He said, pulling out his phone. You could only stare at him as he waved his phone. “C’mon, I’m speaking Japanese, yeah?”

“I… wait… are you—? Don’t you know I’ve been stalking you for almost eight years?”

“Mhm.”

“And that I almost followed you to your university? It wasn’t even a university I wanted to go, i don’t even know what I wanted, only if it had you.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you listening to me? I castrated a guy for you.”

“So that’s what you did… he wouldn’t tell me what happened at all,” he muttered, effectively ignoring everything else you did.

“….I followed you on a date, why aren’t you…” you couldn’t help yourself and grabbed his shirt, shaking him a bit. “This can’t be real. Why aren’t you scared?”

“You’re telling me things I already know.” He gazed down at you, his hand reached up and grasped the back of your head. “Why would I be scared if I liked it all?”

You blinked just as he kissed your cheek, a wide grin on his lips.

“You’ve watched me for this long,” he whispered, his hand slowly reaching down to grab your chin as he forced you to look up at him.

“But didn’t seem to notice that I was watching you too, (Name)-Chan.”

I’m bored so I made this longer than necessary. I always thought the idea of someone always having known they’re being stalked—making it easier for their stalker to learn stuff about them. That’s what he’s implying, btw. He didn’t stalk you, he just always noticed when you were watching him.

Reader isn’t a reliable narrator.

Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @tehyunnie @iwishtobeacrow @chill-guy-but-cooler @star-3214 @remdayz @mello-life25 @kiiyoooo @ofclyde @cherry-blossoms-187 @smellwell @euthymiko @rhetorical-conscience @tomoeroi @love-kha1 @secretivemessenger @mooncarvers-world @bensontrechic @yuzuukix @anchoredphoenix @roi-henri-xxii @m00n-b4b3 @ning1e

[alikesical]

pt. 2 to this silly thought

trigger warnings: mentions of death (specifically dead parents), might be out of character? idk we'll see

"Bruce? What are y-"

"Please," he said, not letting you get another word out.

He knew how this looked like. He knew it was bad, and terrible, and very very confusing, and nothing like he fantasized about.

He was at your doorstep, 3 years too late, and instead of an apology, he's got a child and a plead.

"I-" he stuttered, Bruce never stuttered, "I need help." he said, his eyes never leaving yours. It was weird, looking him in the eyes again, after all you've seen of them for 3 years were on news broadcasts, but they somehow were still familiar.

The door creaked as you opened it up, a silent invitation. A promise that whatever went down in the past, will be left there.

For now, at least.

You said nothing as he walked in, no questions asked, even if there were thousand. You could always ask them later.

"My room is in there," you pointed at the closed door, "I'll get you some spare clothes. They'll be too big for him, but it's the only thing I have." you said and headed towards your bathroom. You could hear Bruce thanking you as he moved the boy in your room, the bed creaking as he set him down.

The site that greeted you once you walked in, nearly broke your heart.

Bruce was sitting on the edge of your bed, staring silently at the boy, the softest expression you've ever seen, etched in every corner of his face. They both looked so serene, the only difference being the look of absolute, excruciating sadness in Bruce's eyes.

He almost looked like he was grieving.

"Here you go," you broke the silence, offering the clothes to him, which he took with an appreciative nod.

He turned to the boy, silently nudging him, trying to wake him up as gently as he could. You could barely hear him whispering the kids name as you left the room and closed the door behind you.

Whatever had happened to this kid must have been traumatic if Bruce brought him to you instead of going straight to the manor and having Alfred help him. Seeing another stranger wouldn't do him any good right now.

And with that thought, you moved to your living room table, picking up your mug of now cold tea and headed to the kitchen. Your movements were mechanical as you filled the kettle with water and turned it on, still confused by how your night had progressed.

You were supposed to read your book, in peace and quiet, drink your tea, and ignore the world around you for a couple hours.

Now, you had a kid sleeping in your bed, wearing your clothes, and were making tea for Bruce Wayne, your best friend whom you haven't spoken to in 3 years.

You exhaled as you filled the mugs with water, blinking a couple times, before you picked them up and headed back to the living room.

"Jesus Christ!" you jumped back when you saw Bruce already sitting on your couch, hands on his knees, spilling some of the tea on the floor.

When did he get there? How did he get there? Your floorboards are the creakiest thing in your house, which says a lot considering the apartment is very old. How did he not make a single sound? It's not like he's small. The man towered over you and probably everyone else you knew.

You shake your head a little before walking up to him. It's late, you're tired, and the night has been eventful, no wonder you didn't hear him, your thoughts are loud enough to cover up the noise.

"He's asleep." he said as he accepted the mug from your hands, "Thank you." he took a sip.

You sit down across him, pulling your legs up to your chest as you copy him.

"It's no problem," you look at him, shoulders tense, head lowered. This isn't Bruce, not the Bruce you knew, at least. The Bruce you knew always stood tall, shoulders out, radiating a calm kind of confidence. This Bruce is just a cell of who he used to be.

"You can stay as long as you need," you continued, "both of you." you say and you see him visibly tense up more, like he didn't expect you to say that.

And in all honesty, he didn't. He didn't expect any of this. Not you opening the door, not you letting him in or giving clothes to Dick, or making him tea, or letting him stay. All the while, not asking a single question.

He didn't deserve this, he didn't deserve any of it.

You saw his brows scrunch up, his eyes fixed on the mug he was holding so tightly that it could break any moment. "Listen," you spoke up again, interrupting him from falling deeper into his thoughts, "It's late and you look like hell. Why don't you go and sleep in my room with the kid and we'll talk in the morning?" you stand up, "How does that sound?" you say moving in front of him as he nods and follows your example.

You both head into the room, him making a beeline to the bed, and you heading to your wardrobe, getting an extra pillow and a blanket.

"Good night Bruce, sleep well." you say as he slowly slips under the covers, his coat resting on your desk chair.

"Good night." you hear him answer as you close the door behind you.

The next morning, you wake up, groaning as you stretched on your couch, your back hurting in ways you never thought it could.

You exhale as you stand up, feet hitting the cold floor, as you stand up and immediately head to the kitchen trying to not think about what happened last night and the reason you had to sleep on the couch in the first place.

Coffee first, you can deal with Bruce later.

You rub your eyes as you wait for the water to boil, trying to crack your neck, just to get some relief from all the built up pressure.

Thankfully, you didn't have to go to work today, so once you were done, you grabbed the mug and headed back to the couch, hand immediately reaching for the remote.

"-terrible accident took place last night as a pair of acrobats travelling with the circus, known alongside their young son as the Flying Graysons, fell to their death, leaving their son an orphan." you hear the news reporter say the moment you turn on the TV, your expression turning into one of shock,

"Their death has been attributed to an accident, the GCPD says after conducting research overnight, and their young son seems to have be taken away by no other than Bruce Wayne, who's own parents died when-" you turn the TV off, staring at the empty black screen.

So that's what happened. This is why Bruce looked so distraught last night. He didn't just watch two people die, he relived the night his parents we murdered all over again.

Flashes from the past appearing right before his eyes, leaving him unable to escape the hold they still had on him, the hold they always will...

You were pulled out of your thoughts as you heard the light pitter patter on the floor, accompanied by it creaking with every step, and before you knew it, you see the boy in front of you, wearing your shirt, that was entirely too big for him, rubbing his eyes as he looked around confused.

"Good morning," you greet him, a soft smile on your lips as he turns to look at you, only then realising there's another person in the room with him, "How did you sleep?" you ask him, but he stays silent, playing with the hem of your shirt.

"...good" he says under his breath after a while, and you exhale in relief.

"Are you hungry?" you ask but he gives no response, "I've got some cereal in the kitchen." no response, "I'll let you keep the toy," he immediately perks up, and you let a wide smile overtake your face as you stand up again.

You head into the kitchen, the boy following close behind, and suddenly a light shines on this terrible situation, because even after witnessing something so traumatising, this little boy still got excited at the thought of getting the silly little toy that came with the cereal box. After all that happened, he was still a child, and you were determined to keep it that way.

@whiskytoast hope you enjoyed it! I'm not gonna lie, while I did plan on continuing this at some point, I lowkey screamed when I saw your comment and immediately got up lmao slept is for the weak after all

[priyajoyy]

Home

Just straight up bunny physiological torture and angst icl 😭

Also havnt even watched the episode yet lmao so soz if some of this doesn’t make sense contextually

Bunny 🤝 collecting parental figures that are gonna inevitably die

Warnings:

Normal Yellowjackets stuff, murder, blood, gore, cannibalism, trauma, abuse, abusive relationships, dark characters, trauma responses, Stockholm syndrome tbh…

“Hi”

It was a small squeak that caught Hannah off guard, if she hadn’t have been paying attention she wouldn’t have even heard it.

Bunny had practically snuck up on the older woman, her footsteps light and silent as her bare feet tiptoed towards her.

Two eyes started at the young girl, who stood infront of her fidgeting and restless, the anxiety radiating off of her.

Bunny avoids eye contact with the brunette, one of akilahs bunnies clutched tightly in her arms like she’s afraid to let go of it.

“I brought you some water” she mutters, almost a whisper, using her spare hand to pass some sort of wooden cup full of water to her.

Hannah takes it, but only eyes it uncertainly, making bunny squirm in her place even more, her legs moving every few seconds like she couldn’t stay still.

“It’s clean…we boil it to get rid of the germs” bunny tries to reassure her, not getting much of a response.

Elizabeth sniffles, pulling the bunny that she had named Maggie after her mother, closer to her, letting her get more comfortable against her chest.

“Um…I’m bunny” the blonde tries to tell the other woman, her voice soft and uncertain as they hold eye contact once again.

Hannah watches the teen, taking her in from her place sat on the floor.

The blonde girl looked terrified, wearing the closest to normal clothes she’d seen compared the to some of the strange outfits the others were wearing.

She had on a ratty looking hoodie that swallowed the girl, the sleeves covering her arm that clutched the bunny, and long floral pyjama bottoms, all hannah could see was a scared little kid.

They all looked so young really, but this girl more so than some of the others.

She can’t help but eye the girls face, taking note of the mark on her cheek that looked like some sort of healing bruise, the cuts and rips that lie on her lips, and as she looked down, the cuts lining her neck and parts of her arms she could see, resembling bite marks.

Hannah gives her the closest she could to a small reassuring smile, softly asking, “bunny?”

“U-um Elizabeth really…” the girl says, her lips catching between her teeth, “but everyone calls be bunny”

Hannah only smiles, deciding that this girl wasn’t so much a risk as some of the others, patting the ground by her as an invitation to sit, “I’m Hannah”

She took her invitation hesitantly, sitting slowly with her bunny still in her lap, stroking it to ease her own anxieties.

“And you have your own bunny” the woman tries to joke, a slight laugh as she notices the blondes anxieties easing, even if it was just a tiny bit.

Bunny smiles a little, continuing her strokes of Maggie in her spot now sat cross legged across from the woman.

“They’re akilahs really…” bunny responds softly, her voice quiet as she speaks, breaking for a moment before continuing, “but I help her with the animals sometimes…this is Maggie”

“You guys have more animals out here?” Hannah asks with a confused voice, trying to gage the whole situation.

Nothing she had seen or heard about these girls so far had made any sense, more so the strange ritualistic activities they had walked in on, where what looked like one of their leaders, killed Edwin.

She remembered seeing bunny then too, the tears streaming down her face as they all screamed, and the terror in her eyes as she rushed towards Edwin when he fell to the ground, axe in the back of his head.

If she had stayed any longer she would have seen the blonde hurriedly trying to shove the man’s organs and blood back into his body in an attempt to save him, and their way home.

“Um yeah…” bunny said with a small uncertain smile, her voice growing less tense talking about the animals, “we found them at the beginning of spring, we have a goat too”

The woman can’t help but frown at the blonde teen, watching her hug the bunny close and smile about the animals.

She looked so young…

“Do…” bunny started, voice little as she looks away from the woman again. She tucked some hair behind her ear, before turning back to Hannah, his eyebrows furrowed a little.

“Do you think you could get us home?” Bunny whispered, like someone could appear and shoot her down for saying the words.

Hannah doesn’t know what to say. What can she say? She wants to reassure this girl, to tell her she would get them back to wherever they came from. But she didn’t want to lie.

She didn’t want to say how she truly felt, that she thought herself as dead as Edwin was now they had practically imprisoned her, her guide too as soon as one of them catch him.

“Because we didn’t want your friend to die!” Bunny says in a rush, panicking at the older woman’s lack of response.

“I promise, we didn’t know Lottie would do that…” she continued, desperately trying to tell the woman, “w-we just wanna go home i swear”

“How…how did you guys get out here?” Hannah asked in confusion, slightly avoiding the blondes questions.

The younger girl eyed her for a minute, clearly hesitant to speak.

“We were in a plane crash” she says softly, sighing slightly as she retold their story, “we were on our way to nationals for school…um we’re on the soccer team”

Hannah wasn’t sure what to say, she could remember the story slightly, all over the news a year ago about a group of teens and their coaches having disappeared on their flight, probably dead.

They were out here this long?

“From New Jersey?” The brunette asks hesitantly, making bunny’s eyes light up.

“Y-yeah! Wiskayok! Have you heard about us?? Do you know how my parents are?!” She starts rambling out in a rush, “Does everyone think we’re dead?”

“I um…” Hannah starts, unsure what to address first.

The blonde stares her down, wide eyed with a faint look of hope on her face at getting some sort of answers about he outside world.

Hannah hated to break that hope.

“I don’t know much about it…but um” the brunette didn’t know what to say, she didn’t want to lie, she wasn’t even sure what exactly would comfort Elizabeth, what could she say that would make it better?

“I’m sure your parents are ok” she says in a softer voice, “I would have seen if something happened I’m sure…”

The blonde nods slightly at her words, biting her lip again in thought as they settle into a somewhat comfortable silence.

“I just wanna go home…” the blonde whispered, looking up at Hannah again, her eyes wide and a little glassy, “I miss my parents”

Hannah’s frown deepened.

“But, you and your friend…you’re going to go home at some point aren’t you? We…we could come with you” bunny continued hesitantly.

“I don’t even know where kodiak is…” Hannah said unsure, “and…our phone broke…”

Elizabeth’s eyes watered a little more in panic, staring at Hannah and clutching her bunny even harder in panic.

“B-but…you can take us home right?” Bunny stutters almost desperately, her voice breathless as she stares at Hannah wide eyed.

“I-I don’t know…” the older woman responded hesitantly.

“Please?!” Bunny continues anxiously, her breathing getting more ragged, “you have to get us home!”

Hannah swallows, watching as the young girl gets more panicked, her breathing shaking and body restless.

“I’ll try” the brunette says with a sharp exhale of breath, “I-i promise”’

Bunny only pulls her bunny up to her chest like a teddy bear, sniffling as she nods slowly.

[sightseerbat]

Ok, so...

I showed a pic of Porky to my mother and explained his lore, and her FIRST take was: "Why do his parents let him walk around dressed like that?"

I asked what she meant, and she elaborated with

"If the family is so rich, why do they let their son go around with a missing suspender flap?"

"Doesn't he have other pairs to use instead?"

"And if not, can't they just go and buy new ones?"

"They have the money, don't they have a reputation to keep? Who would want for others to see their child always wearing damaged clothes"

And Y'ALL. This got me SPIRALING.

Do Porky's parents spend too much on themselves and in turn cheap out on their children?

This would actually be in character for them if you think about it. This just means the abuse runs way deeper than we thought.

Some other examples of this observation are:

-Such a big house, but the kids still have to share a room?

-Picky is portrayed with an oversized T-shirt, most likely an item he will have to grow into and use for YEARS, or maybe second hand from his brother

-Porky buys new clothes as soon as he leaves home and has his own money

I'm not saying these things are inherently bad, some like second hand clothes are completely normal, it's just scummy that Aloysius and Lardna are always spending on restaurants and other ostentatious things while seemingly neglecting their children's needs

...

Omg just noticed as I was typing that all the Porkybots in Mother 3 are supposed to be what Porky thinks the"perfect" version of himself should look like, and they all are well dressed with a full pair of suspenders 🥺

[doughnutwolf]

Honestly elaborating on this i think , I did not know what furries were until I was an older kid, but from a young age I was drawing dragons and animals and cartoon reindeer because I just loved the way they looked. Animated shows and movies like the Aristocats and All dogs go to heaven and more, many many Disney films and otherwise, the art of hand drawn animation always appealed to me.

I found the furry community through warrior cats and Pokemon being an insane hyper fixation of mine, on YouTube I saw you could just make your own??? Cats and Pokemon characters? And then I came across furry, and these were just. Characters people made up that weren't from anything. I realized I could do that too and my elaborate head world meshed instantly.

I was also raised in an evangelical apocalypse prophecy obsessed church that was telling me to vote for prop 8 and that gay marriage was evil and ruining regular nuclear families (never had one of those so was already in a weird situation) (my family also thought these were satanic or evil: Catholics, owls, meditation, communism, weed, soda, etc)

I was extremely pious until middle school, so unfortunately at like 10 years old left a comment on a YouTube furry animator who I looked up to when I saw she got a girlfriend, because I did not want her to go to hell for being gay and that I hoped she would turn back.

it was also because I was told it was "righteous" which in middle school led to a lot of praying and self hatred internalized because I realized I had a crush on a girl and I thought I could pray it away. I tried very hard to be righteous or whatever. But overall like. According to Christianity we all sin by nature? There's not like. A mega bad sin. A lot of churches lie which is worse than loving someone by a million.

The furry community was one of my first exposure to characters who were gay and trans and more in a way that wasn't sensationalized and was just. Part of characters? It was easier for me to accept others being queer (even though I had already had many proto lesbian experiences I didn't really acknowledge this) and deviantart was the first place I ever even thought to tell anyone that I wanted to be called a boy.

I was berated by family at the time about wanting to dress like a boy, wanting to be called a boy, wanting short haircuts, told I was basically unlovable in a relationship if I had body hair (???) or didn't wax and bleach my face and wear women's clothing. I was told I was "just too insecure" to wear "girls clothes", even though the "boys clothes" felt more right to me than anything else.

My fursonas were my first ability to express myself without being directly ostracized by my parents. I could change their pronouns, and when I realized characters could have them, suddenly most characters I made were Agender (like me) or intersex (I did not go through normal puberty until I was prescribed progesterone hormones later in my teenage years)

Being a furry was simultaneously the biggest part of my life and also a part of my life I felt like I had to squish and shrink and hide, and by proxy also my queerness. Which being a furry is undeniably a part of for me. As a child I dreamed of a day where maybe I could have a tail or ears or anything other than this. Therian feelings were something I was horrified to admit to having because of shame, and that's a whole other thing.

Overall I was so afraid that being myself meant I could never be happy, never have people that loved me or accepted me, because that is what I was told my whole life. The furry community showed me people living the life I was so desperate to hide, but being happy. My parents told me to not tell anyone I was a furry because they were all pedophiles or crazy or really most of all, gay/ queer.

I am a furry and I think the attempt to group an entire subculture in because you don't understand it is ignoring the bigger picture, because all of these problems exist outside of furry culture. The closest I ever was to an offending pedophile was in my church and he was the youth group leader, and he is literally in prison.

The issues of predators exist across most boundaries, cultures, and countries. It's an issue of power and access to people who are more vulnerable than you. Churches are a massive place for this because you can wear their garbs and say their words and be let in to be around kids which is awful and terrifying. It is ignorant, willfully, to decide an entire subculture, furries, LGBTQIA+, RACIAL minorities, immigrants, etc are the only thing causing predatory behavior and that they can be "weeded out" .

It's a scapegoat used by abusive power hungry people to make them look the other way. It would be too convenient if every one who is "evil" just happened to be a certain skin color, or just happened to be wearing a rainbow flag. The world isn't that simple.

Anyway. I'm a furry and I'm trans and I'm gay and I'm in love and I'm happy and sometimes I'm sad, but the happiest I've ever been in my life is letting myself enjoy my art I've made my whole life, loving the people who I've met in ways I didn't think was possible, loving multiple people, drawing and animating and just spending time with people who don't have an issue with that even they aren't exactly the same as me. I am happier than I have ever been.

In 2018 I was trying to live a life that I thought was right. I was dating a boy who was in the closet, so we seemed straight even though we weren't. I thought it would be marriage and then whatever else and that was just what it had to be for me to be stable and "normal" even though we were not happy.

But making other people happy is never going to make you happy!!!! Be weird be you be whatever you have to. Someday I'll be even further.

I feel like a lot of furries start off in denial because they hear how toxic the fandom is, or get exposed to it from cringe art blogs, them realize that it isn't that bad and a lot of the vocal haters are burned furs and bigots.

I been a furry for so long since I was like elementary school and it's never stopped but I think I still felt like I needed to grow out of it

But it's like a part of me on a primal level since I could draw animals and like identify with feeling like a creature and I don't think it's going to change

[holmesoldfellow]

Sherlock Holmes bear by Gabrielle Designs (1987)

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

Like the majority of society I’m obsessed with Nimona

And I rewatched it a million times and one thing always sticks out to me 

There are moments when Ambrosius is surrounded by light like a little protective bubble 

That keeps him away from the man he loves more than anything 

[metropoliswhite]

does anyone else feel as devastated by this as me?

[the-words-we-sung]

I finally received my Omar tour tee shirt and I'm incredibly disappointed...

I took a Small one and it's just gigantic. The tee shirt is really really large and long (it even makes the logo on the front looks very very small). It's not gonna be wearable for me at all. I'm disappointed AND annoyed because the website says "no return" since it's supposedly made at the time of the order...

I can't even verify if they sent me the right size because it's written nowhere on it.

For comparison, here is my Cirkus tee shirt, also a Small size:

The difference is crazy. The material is very different too: the new one is very thick. And I find the printing of a way lesser quality.

I'm very mad I spent so much money for it >< Not sure what to do now...

(Sure it says "mens boxy tee" but that's a very big boxy, it would look big even on a man a bit bigger than me ><)

[hootybal-lecter]

Y'all I bough a vest and a suit jacket with a slight plaid pattern yesterday

Hannibal is a terrible influence

[inrainbowscd]

is it THIS fucking HARD to make oversized t-shirts for short ppl? why do they even market it as oversized if it's just big and long...... that's just. a big size, not really an oversized model

[sammansonn]

I don’t understand how so many people Love law and order svu like that’s your Comfort show??? I have never watched a more depression show in my life every episode ends on the saddest moments that will never be resolved I don’t get ittt

[jackass-jones]

Had a very bad day Gotta eat gravel

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Gravity Falls was strange, and the townsfolk even stranger, it seemed.

The twins had been unceremoniously dropped off on the side of the dusty road, the roar of the bus engine fading away as the driver wordlessly drove off without fanfare. The poor man had almost seemed close to tears ever since they had entered the thresholds of this seemingly innocuous town, all too eager to speed off and away while leaving the two children coughing and wheezing in its dust.

It had not even been a full minute since their lackluster drop-off before they became well acquainted with the oddly sociable and irritatingly chatty inhabitants of Gravity Falls. A single conversation with a pair of boisterous policemen already told them all they needed to know about the history of the town, as well as the whereabouts of their Great Uncle Ford.

"The Mystery Shack," the townsfolk had called it. It seemed as though their distant uncle had earned himself somewhat of a reputation amongst the locals. He was the town cryptid; the ever elusive mad scientist that lived in the outskirts of town in this so called "Mystery Shack". No one really knew who he really was; but everyone knew exactly who he was.

So, when the twins found themselves stood hand in hand in front of the rickety old shack, they hadn't really known what to expect when door had swung open with a deafening slam.

He was a strange man, their Great Uncle Ford. He seemed nothing like the cackling looney lab-coated madman they had imagined from what meager hushed information the townsfolk had offered them. It seemed as though the tales of a scientist gone mad that experimented on stray children that wandered into his spooky "Mystery Shack" was but a cruel rumor.

He mostly just seemed unhealthy, to be honest. His sickly, pale frame utterly drowned in the thick red woolen sweater that practically seemed to hang off of his lanky body like a second flap of skin. It made him look almost child-like, like a kid trying on their parents clothes; which somewhat diluted the intimidating effects of his looming height.

Although, the townsfolk's apparent fear of their Great Uncle Ford seemed to have some merit.

For one, Grunkle Ford really didn't seem all too human. He wasn't inhumane, per se; just, not entirely himself, if that made any sense. Looking at him was like looking at an incomplete puzzle; or looking at someone who you remember all your life wearing a hat, suddenly coming to work one day without one, and it takes a little too long for you to remember what is missing.

It was like Grunkle Ford had lost pieces of himself. Somewhere, to someone. His eyes seemed... almost empty. They were a little too dull and a little too opaque, lacking the lively shine of life everyone else seemed to have.

Another thing was that Grunkle Ford wasn't entirely alone. There was... someone else. The twins couldn't exactly pinpoint where, but they could feel its stare, whatever or whoever it was. They could almost feel its stare, a non-existent eye trailing a weird prickling sensation across their skin. The twins recalled the words of one of the townsfolk, a tall bestacled man with haunted blind eyes; although unseeing they could have sworn his gaze never seemed to leave them, as all he said was:

"Don't catch IT staring at you"

The twins had an odd feeling that IT was looking at them right now.

They didn't even notice when the pale bony hand of Grunkle Ford suddenly reached into their personal space, barely registering his words at all, much less the extra fingers that adorned each of his rough, worn palms.

They didn't take the hand.

If the twins had thought the outside of the shack looked decrepit, the inside seemed somehow even worse.

Every inch of exposed wall, ceiling or floor were utterly covered by sprawling symbols, summoning circles, and indecipherable words that seemed to be in an entirely different language than any the twins knew. They overlapped and tangled into one another into big, messy, red splotches of clustered nothings.

There were notes, diagrams on ripped pieces of aged looking paper scattered everywhere, with hardly any room for post-it notes squeezed wherever there was room. Lit and unlit candles were placed absolutely everywhere; either hidden in the dark corners or openly stood in the middle of the floor; sometimes in a circle, sometimes not. The melted fallen wax had coagulated into a hard white mess onto the floor; the smell of cheap vanilla scented candles intermingling with the smell of halloween fake blood (and Dipper was convince there had to be some real blood there, too) to create a sour concoction that stung their noses unpleasantly.

The shack was sparsely furnished with rarely any furniture at all. Not even a couch, the tables and chairs simply pushed to the walls to make more space for the endlessly swirling symbols and pentagrams. The twins were hesitant of stepping on any of the summoning circles, carefully sidestepping the candles and walking over the line of the pentagrams.

The attic, where they would be residing, was not much better.

Maybe they did end up in a mad scientist's house, after all.

[fozmeadows]

the older I get, the more the technological changes I've lived through as a millennial feel bizarre to me. we had computers in my primary school classroom; I first learned to type on a typewriter. I had a cellphone as a teenager, but still needed a physical train timetable. my parents listened to LP records when I was growing up; meanwhile, my childhood cassette tape collection became a CD collection, until I started downloading mp3s on kazaa over our 56k modem internet connection to play in winamp on my desktop computer, and now my laptop doesn't even have a disc tray. I used to save my word documents on floppy discs. I grew up using the rotary phone at my grandparents' house and our wall-connected landline; my mother's first cellphone was so big, we called it The Brick. I once took my desktop computer - monitor, tower and all - on the train to attend a LAN party at a friend's house where we had to connect to the internet with physical cables to play together, and where one friend's massive CRT monitor wouldn't fit on any available table. as kids, we used to make concertina caterpillars in class with the punctured and perforated paper strips that were left over whenever anything was printed on the room's dot matrix printer, which was outdated by the time I was in high school. VHS tapes became DVDs, and you could still rent both at the local video store when I was first married, but those shops all died out within the next six years. my facebook account predates the iphone camera - I used to carry around a separate digital camera and manually upload photos to the computer in order to post them; there are rolls of undeveloped film from my childhood still in envelopes from the chemist's in my childhood photo albums. I have a photo album from my wedding, but no physical albums of my child; by then, we were all posting online, and now that's a decade's worth of pictures I'd have to sort through manually in order to create one. there are video games I tell my son about but can't ever show him because the consoles they used to run on are all obsolete and the games were never remastered for the new ones that don't have the requisite backwards compatibility. I used to have a walkman for car trips as a kid; then I had a discman and a plastic hardshell case of CDs to carry around as a teenager; later, a friend gave my husband and I engraved matching ipods as a wedding present, and we used them both until they stopped working; now they're obsolete. today I texted my mother, who was born in 1950, a tiktok upload of an instructional video for girls from 1956 on how to look after their hair and nails and fold their clothes. my father was born four years after the invention of colour televison; he worked in radio and print journalism, and in the years before his health declined, even though he logically understood that newspapers existed online, he would clip out articles from the physical paper, put them in an envelope and mail them to me overseas if he wanted me to read them. and now I hold the world in a glass-faced rectangle, and I have access to everything and ownership of nothing, and everything I write online can potentially be wiped out at the drop of a hat by the ego of an idiot manchild billionaire. as a child, I wore a watch, but like most of my generation, I stopped when cellphones started telling us the time and they became redundant. now, my son wears a smartwatch so we can call him home from playing in the neighbourhood park, and there's a tanline on his wrist ike the one I haven't had since the age of fifteen. and I wonder: what will 2030 look like?

[fushitoru]

all i want for christmas is you! a gojo satoru fic

pairing ⸺ bf!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ after a well needed rest from the kids, you and your boyfriend focus on baking christmas cookies for your pta responsibilities. however, it ends up taking a naughty twist when satoru finds out the surprise you've planned out for him.

warnings ⸺ FLUFF, smut in the form of fingering and p i v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied, some jealousy, but mostly crack, pta cookie baking for megumi, very domestic, not edited, “good girl,” teasing, use of pet names like “baby,” gojo is a warning in himself

a/n hbd to my husband and loml 😚😚 i hope you guys enjoy this it kind of made me realize only long fics heal my soul but this is anticipation of holidays :33

general masterlist

You sometimes did not know what to do with Satoru.

When he told you to come over to make Christmas cookies that are part of his PTA commitments for Megumi, you really didn’t expect him to come out of his room with that sweater on. It’s an ugly sweater—so he’s got the holiday spirit nailed down—that has printed “BIG PACKAGE JUST FOR YOU.” Below it, a cartoon Santa stood pantsless, strategically holding a neatly wrapped gift box over his crotch.

You give him a look as he comes out to join you in the kitchen. “Please don’t tell me you wore that in front of Tsumiki and Megumi.”

He has the gall to look offended as he puts on his even stupider “Your opinion wasn’t on the recipe” apron. “Of course, what kind of father do you think I am?”

You sigh, moving to put in the last of the dry ingredients. “I saw Megumi watching Breaking Bad on his iPad last week.”

“What?” he gasps dramatically as he pauses while moving for the fridge. “I swear I downloaded Youtube Kids!”

Look, Satoru is a good dad. Foster-dad. Whatever. He’s been taking care of Megumi and Tsumiki for ages now, ever since that incident happened, and he’s been doing his best. But, unfortunately, his adult life and burdens and responsibilities cause him sometimes to be a absent father. He makes up for it—goes shopping with Tsumiki for her clothes, spends quality time with Megumi.

One thing he’d never miss, however, are those PTA meetings.

He is the PTA mom final boss. No matter what event is being held, he’s going to go all out. You don’t miss the smirk he gives to Karen everytime he brings an even bigger cookie platter for Megumi’s homeroom than she did for her son Sam’s, nor the sassy pursed lips as he donates artist-grade markers from Michael’s instead of Mia’s cheap ones from Walmart.

Yea, he is just petty like that, but it’s always the moms whose sons have gotten into fights with Megumi that he outdoes everytime. You know better than to question his peculiar form of revenge.

“I think that means he found a way to break through the parental controls. He’s definitely your kid,” you reply with a bit of mirth in your voice. Then, you quickly move to intercept Satoru’s journey to get the eggs as soon as you notice a miniscule movement of his. You were not about to let Satoru force another trip to Whole Foods with the clumsiness you’re all too familiar with in your five years of dating.

Grabbing the eggs before he can, you turn around to find him staring at you, a dazzled look on his face.

“What?” you ask, already smirking. The view of the outfit you’d worn today had been obscured by the apron when he first came in, but when you moved to get the eggs in front of him, he definitely got a view of your ass in your tiny red skirt and fuzzy, festive top.

“Why the hell are you wearing a sexy Mrs. Claus outfit?”

“I was thinking we’d watch Christmas movies and chill today after the cookies!” you exclaim, just as Satoru interrupts with, “We’re baking cookies for children, you freak.”

The room went dead silent.

Your cheerful smile dropped instantly. Meanwhile, Satoru’s face lit up like he’s just won the lottery, full of pure glee.

Both of you shout at the same time, “What?”

You slam the eggs down onto the counter with just enough force to make him flinch, narrowing your eyes at him. “Excuse me? Did you just call me a freak?”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he yelped, backpedaling so fast you were surprised he didn’t trip over his own feet. “It’s just—” He gestured wildly at you. “—that outfit is… is…”

“Is what?” you demand, crossing your arms and daring him to dig himself deeper.

“Babe,” he starts to whine, apologetic like a wet dog and padding his way back over to you while pulling you in for a back hug. “It’s hot, okay? Don’t get me wrong, it’s driving me crazy. I’m trying to focus on cookies, and you’re over here looking like every Christmas fantasy I didn’t know I had.”

“Get off me,” you grumble, shooting him a glare as you try to shake him off. “You are not touching these cookies. Sit on the couch.”

He yelps as you slap his hand. “Babe, but I’ll just be reinforcing the patriarchy if I let you stay and do all the work in the kitchen.” Then, he moves closer to your ear like the chronically online loser he is and whispers, “6’ 3’’ btw.”

“Go away!” you shriek, waving him off. This process would indeed be two times faster if Satoru was on his couch. There wasn’t any rush, but you’d really appreciate getting to the dicking-down part of tonight after much appreciated privacy from the kids for the first time in forever. You take a mental note to thank Yuji’s grandpa and Nobara’s grandmother with extra cookies for the sleepover as you shoo your boyfriend to the couch.

You get back to work on the wet ingredients by cracking the eggs, but not before you hear a “I’ll be reflecting on the systematic oppression women face in the workforce.”

Pulling off the oven mitts on your hands, you wash your hand but not without sneaking a peek over the kitchen counter. You were locked in on the cookies, paying no mind to Satoru’s existential bemoaning, and now that you’re done, you can’t wait for the fun part of tonight.

After waiting a few minutes and checking and rechecking the cookies to make sure they’re done, you set them aside to cool and make sure to turn off the oven. Tonight, you were determined to get that big fucking package Santa owed you, and your boyfriend was going to be the one to deliver it.

As you walk out, you know the strat you’re going to use: innocently suggest a Christmas movie to watch, snuggle close to him, and he’ll fall into the trap you set for him like a bear towards honey. You know your boyfriend all too well, and today, you were feeling coy.

He’s stretched out on the couch, scrolling on his phone, his posture as awful as ever. But the second he hears your footsteps, his head snaps up. His eyes immediately dart to the movement of your bare legs, lingering on the tiny red skirt you’re still wearing, before slowly traveling back up to your chest. Wow. He really wasn’t making this difficult.

You plop down next to him while grabbing the remote, pulling up Netflix. “What movie should we watch today?”

He blinks, clearly distracted. “We’re watching a movie?”

The Princess Switch catches in the side of your eye as you scroll through the options. Without looking at him, you answer, “Yes? What else were we going to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawls, his voice already dipping into that teasing tone you know so well. “Maybe something that doesn’t involve Vanessa Hudgens playing herself two times.”

You roll your eyes, nudging his shoulder with your own. “Don’t knock it till you try it, Mr. Holiday Spirit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave you, though, and when you finally glance at him, his expression has shifted. He’s not teasing anymore. His eyes are a little darker, his lips twitching like he’s holding back a grin. “What?” you ask, already smirking.

“Nothing,” he says, his voice lower now. “Just... you look really good in that outfit.”

Your cheeks heat, but you play it off with a laugh. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Satoru.”

“Won’t it?” he murmurs, leaning a little closer, his hand brushing against your knee. The heat of his palm lingers even after he pulls it away, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

You’re about to respond—something witty, something to keep the banter going—but then his hand moves again, this time resting firmly on your thigh. “You’re really going to make me sit through a Christmas movie when you look like that?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.

Your breath hitches, and you can’t help the way your body reacts, leaning just a fraction closer to him. “What would you rather do?” you challenge, your voice softer now.

His gaze dips to your lips, and that’s all the invitation he needs. In a second, he’s closing the distance, his mouth pressing against yours in a kiss that’s anything but sweet. It’s hungry and demanding, like he’s been waiting for this all day, and when his hand slides higher up your thigh, you realize you’ve completely forgotten about the movie and the preview playing. Satoru, clearly a little annoyed judging by the pout on his face, moves to close the preview featuring Vanessa Hudgens’ obnoxious British accent and then the room is silent except for the wet sounds of your sloppy kissing.

When you’ve both made out for a while—now with you on his lap—you both pull back with fastened breaths, looking at each other’s glistening lips. Finally, from Satoru comes out a, “That. I wanted to do that.”

Maybe it’s the attention whore in you always looking to rile up Satoru and get his affection, but you couldn’t refrain from blurting out a “Are you sure you wanted to do this with me, or would Linda have sufficed?”

At the scrunch of Satoru’s nose, his face practically spells out a Who the fuck is Linda? “You know, the one that gets really friendly with you when I’m going to the bathroom at those PTA meetings.”

Satoru sometimes did not know what to do with you.

Here he is, trying to make out with you when you’re looking like that, makeup done perfectly and looking beautiful as always. He hasn’t gotten laid with you in a hot minute, and here you are, picking at him. He has no fucking clue who Linda is, but what he does know is that you’re really cute when you get jealous. “Yeah?” he teases, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. His grin is maddeningly smug, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Linda sounds nice. Should I call her up?”

Your jaw drops, but the sharp retort forming in your head is lost when his hand slides from your cheek to your neck, his thumb brushing lightly along your jawline. He leans closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You know,” he continues, his voice a low murmur, “if you’re jealous, you could just say so.”

“I’m not jealous,” you shoot back, your voice unconvincing even to yourself. You shift under his gaze, trying to keep up the façade, but it’s hard when his lips hover so close to yours.

Satoru’s grin widens. “No? Then why are you bringing up some imaginary PTA Linda when I’m clearly only interested in you?” His lips press against the corner of your mouth, a slow, deliberate kiss that makes your breath catch.

“You’re clearly only interested in being annoying,” you quip, but the words lack their usual bite as his hand slips lower, trailing down your side until it rests on your bare thigh. His touch is firm, possessive, and it sends a shiver through you.

“Annoying?” he echoes, his tone mock-offended. “That’s a big word for someone who just ruined a perfectly good makeout session to talk about Linda.”

You glare at him, but the effect is ruined when his thumb begins tracing lazy circles on your thigh. “I didn’t ruin anything,” you argue weakly.

“Didn’t you?” He dips his head, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Because now, instead of kissing you like I want to, I’m stuck reassuring you that Linda doesn’t stand a chance against my very sexy, very jealous girlfriend.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, but it turns into a soft gasp as his teeth graze your skin, his tongue soothing the faint sting. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but your hands betray you, tangling in his hair and tugging him closer.

“Mm, but you like it,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. His free hand slides higher, skimming under the hem of your skirt, his fingers teasing against the soft skin of your hip. “Admit it.”

“Shut up,” you manage, though your voice is breathless now. He’s too close, his scent overwhelming, his touch setting your nerves on fire. When his hand tightens on your thigh and he pulls you closer, you give in, letting him capture your lips in a kiss that’s all desperation.

Linda, whoever she may be, is long forgotten as Satoru kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every second you’ve spent apart. His hands roam, his touch firm and confident, and when he pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, “You’re all I want,” you believe him completely.

A breathless “Satoru” leaves your lips as he gently–but hurriedly–lowers you down to lay on the couch while he bends over you, inching down the hem of your top to bury his head in your tits. “Oh my god,” he groaned. “I missed my girls.” He starts to leaves rough kisses, an occasional bite and suck, and then stops. Takes in a deep breath. “Wow, you smell good babe.”

You look at him, flustered. “Stop smelling my tits, oh my god.” For good measure, you grab his hair to bury his face against your breasts once more.

“No,” smooch, “it’s,” smooch, “smelling good. Like the new holiday scents from Bath and Body Works.” He then abandons your chest to kiss his way down your body, sliding your skirt down as he kisses around the edge of your panties. “I’ve missed her, too.”

Despite yourself, you moan, spreading your legs to give him full access. He takes it enthusiastically, giving you a little kiss in your middle. Then, his eyes don’t leave yours as he uses his teeth to pull your panties down, slowly and sultry. Your pussy leaks even more, and the motherfucker notices, because there’s a faint smirk on his face as he hones back in your wetness, running his fingers to spread your slick. “Wow, my girl must have been sooo pent up,” he croons, eyes not leaving your hole and the way it clenched every time he spoke. “My good girl is soo desperate.”

Without missing a beat, you sneakily reply, “Don’t call me that, that’s so corny oh my god—-“ You’re interrupted with your own gasp as he enters a finger in. When he finally curls it, hitting your g-spot dead on, you suck in your breath. You really missed this.

“Oh, really?” He giggles, clearly amused by you trying to rile him up. “If my baby doesn’t like being called a good girl then why is she clenching so hard on my—“ thrust— “fingers?”

And suddenly the feminist in you leaves as his big, thick fingers ram into you faster than ever, and you start squealing like the slut you are for your incredibly hot boyfriend who’s equally as much of a slut for you, judging based on the rock hard erection against your thigh. Take that, Linda.

You’re in a daze of pleasure, too fucked out to notice Gojo wrenching down his sweats to pull out his throbbing cock, to pump it to full mast. It’s only when he rips his finger away from your cavern that you start to whimper, clawing at his arms to continue fingering you.

And he starts cooing, giving you a small kiss on your cheek as he aligns his dick with your pussy. “I know baby, I know,” and he groans as the soft, wet heat of your pussy grips on him hard as he pushes in. It’s not long before he starts thrusting, wiping your tears while driving in even faster. “Wow, good fucking pussy.”

“Satoru,” you whine, but you don’t even know for what. You were close enough when he was fingering you, but now you’re steadily approaching your climax. But Satoru, who’s attuned to what your body needs, readjusts himself to go even deeper.

It’s when you gasp loudly that a glint lights up in his eyes. “That’s the spot, isn’t it?” He drives into that spot like a jackhammer, savoring in your little squeals and moans of his name, until finally, he feels you climax.

“Oh my god,” you says breathlessly as your orgasm takes over you, convulsing while Satoru doesn’t let up, continuing his pace until his hips become more sloppy. After a few off rhythm thrusts, he comes in you, collapsing on top of you.

He’s breathing heavily from exertion, and you run your nails on his back and hair gently. You both bask in the glow of your orgasm. Of course, that is until Satoru perks his head up. “Do you think I can eat that kid Martin’s cookie? Megumi told me he doesn’t like him and that he’s annoying—-OWWW, what was that for?”