#miserable mean old fart

[elfieafterdark]

[ruh--roh-raggy]

Home Sweet Home (William Afton x Wife! Reader) - Part 5

Hello hello! After a bit of a delay I am very happy to present you with part 5 of Home Sweet Home! This chapter we get to see William and Reader's first date, super cute, super fluffy, I've been dealing with a lot of emotions so a lot of gentle reassuring William about readers self doubts. I hope you guys enjoy, if you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know!

WARNINGS: None

You can find my Masterlist here!

Word Count: 4,913

Part 4 - Part 6

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You stretched with a soft sigh, your feet sliding against the cool, soft sheets. A smile spreads across your face at the feeling of William’s arm slung over your waist. Your eyes fluttered open, a thin slit of light through your heavy curtains the only indicator that it was morning. You roll over, your hand trailing over his stomach as you cuddle into his chest. He lets out a soft hum as he wakes up, “good morning beautiful.” His voice raspy and thick with sleep.

“Sorry I didn't mean to wake you up.” You whisper, placing a soft kiss to his chest.

“Why are you apologizing? I get woken up to the most beautiful sight in the world.” He tilts your chin up, his lips capturing yours in a slow, needy kiss. His hand kneads at your waist, you smile as his mustache tickles your nose.

“What's the plan for today?” He rolls into his back with a groan, pulling you on top of him in the process. You lay your chin on his chest, bright, sparkling eyes staring up at him. He smiles softly, tucking some loose hair behind your ear.

“Well,” he starts, “we need to go to the store, we’ll try to make it quick but we have nothing.” You both share a chuckle. “And then we come back here and work our butts off until dinner.”

“And see you be all sexy and strong lifting those heavy boxes again? Yes please.” You grin at him, yelping as he lightly pinches your butt.

“You always have your mind in the gutter, don't you?” He teases back. “I'm surprised you can still even consider me sexy.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” You reach up to gently caress his cheek, he lets out a soft sigh as he leans into your touch. “You're not allowed to be mean to my husband, I'll have to beat you up.” He chuckles at your serious expression.

“I'm an old man now, rabbit.” He responds wistfully, combing his fingers through your hair as he studies your face. “I'm definitely not the rugged, muscular little punk I used to be.” He chuckles and you can't help but breathe out a laugh in response. Remembering all the photos of a much skinnier more awkward reflection of your husband that Henry had shown you. ‘The pride and joy of our robotics team.’ he would always muse, struggling not to get emotional over the loving expression you had while looking at them. “I've got all these wrinkles now, my hair’s going gray-”

“William,” he snaps his mouth shut at the sound of your voice. Your age difference was something that had eaten at him since the two of you had first started dating. Always worried he was going to move too fast or make you feel tied down. He never could quite wrap his head around how a pretty young thing like you could stand being around a miserable old fart like him. “It wouldn't matter if you were 20 years younger and were built like some sort of Greek God.” You shuffle around under the blankets, allowing you to push yourself up enough to be face to face with him, the tip of your nose brushing his as you talk. “I wouldn't give up any of the time you and I have spent together for anything. Will, I love you. A few wrinkles and a change in your hair color isn't going to change any of that.”

“So, you don't mind that I don't have shredded abs?” He jokes, making you laugh in response. Despite the sudden loss of seriousness you could tell your words helped.

“Abs are overrated,” you shoo off the thought with your hand. “I happen to love your soft tummy.” You state matter-of-factly.

“Well I'm glad.” He pulls you in for a soft kiss. “You’re perfect, you know that?” He mumbles against your lips.

“You're one to talk.” You quip back. He smiles before pulling you back to him. You hum as you feel his arm tighten around your waist, wanting to feel every curve of your body pressed firmly to his. The way William’s lips moved against yours was slow and methodical, he always knew how to kiss you in a way that left you feeling utterly breathless and dizzy by the end of it. You rest your forehead against his when you separate. Both of you shared soft, tired smiles as you enjoyed being in each other's company. He reaches over to his nightstand with a groan, wiping his hand down his face before putting on his glasses.

“What do you say sweetheart? Ready to start the day?” You nod, both of you reluctantly leaving the warmth of your bed and each other's arms as you got ready to tackle whatever obstacles you would face.

You stood at William’s side, trying to manage your wild bed head as he brushed his teeth. “What do you want for dinner?” He asks with a mouthful of toothpaste.

“I don't know, something easy.” You wince slightly as your brush gets caught on a particularly nasty snarl. “We could always get something frozen to throw in the oven I guess.”

“Absolutely not, I won't let my wife eat that filth if I can help it.” He places a kiss on your head as he heads out of the bathroom. You chuckle, shaking your head in response. “Think about it, I'm gonna go start the car.” He disappears around the door with a wink. You groaned at his request, you hated making food decisions. You threw on some clothes, deeming your appearance good enough for the grocery store, before heading downstairs. William stood at your kitchen counter, holding an old recipe book that looked almost comically small in his massive hands.

“Whatcha got there?” He wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side.

“I saw this in your box of memories yesterday.” He smiles down at you, lowering the book in order to make it easier for you to read it. You looked at the worn, yellowing pages with a special fondness. This was the one cookbook William owned, a collection of recipes put together by a group of little old ladies around Hurricane. One of them managed to pass it off to him at their grandson’s birthday years ago, saying how a hard working man like him deserved some good home cooked meals every now and then. You ran your fingers over your husband’s handwriting in the margins next to one recipe ‘add garlic’. On the next page there was a recipe for chocolate cake, next to it in your own neat script it read ‘Will’s favorite' punctuated with a heart.

“Is this the one that has-”

“The recipe from our first date.” You finish in unison.

“Yes it is.” He chuckles. You remembered it like it was yesterday. The whole morning went horribly before you were supposed to spend the day with Will, you were about ready to call him to reschedule. “I think we both could use some comfort food tonight, what do you think?”

“I think that sounds wonderful.” You jump slightly as he snaps the cookbook shut in front of your face, you push him playfully before the two of you head out.

Will’s hand was warm as he held your own, his thumb languidly rubbing over your knuckles as he drove. Your eyes trailed over the treeline as it whipped past your window, smiling softly to yourself as you reminisced about how something as small and silly as beef stew could hold such a powerful memory.

You tried your best to quiet your sniffling as you listened to the phone ring, your heart jumping into your throat when you heard the click of the receiver being picked up. “Hello?” You felt yourself begin to well up all over again at the sound of his voice.

“Hey William, it’s-uh, it’s me.” You hoped he would be able to recognize your voice despite it cracking. “I think I'm going to need to reschedule-”

“Honey what's wrong?” The genuine concern in his voice opened the floodgates. A sob cracked free from your throat as you tried to explain the situation. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“No.” You manage to croak out.

“Can I come see you?” You froze for a moment. He wasn't mad about you canceling at the last minute, he just wanted to make sure you were okay.

“Yeah, that's fine.” You stutter.

“I'll be there in about fifteen minutes, okay?” You nod before remembering he couldn't see you. You rolled your eyes over how ridiculous you were being.

“Okay, I'll be here.” You sniffle before hanging up. You jumped as your buzzer rang, picking yourself up to the couch and slowly shuffling over to unlock the door. You undid the chain latch, meeting William in the hallway.

“Rabbit,” he starts softly. Seeing your cheeks still red and streaked with tears from another wave of crying that had hit you when he was on his way over. “Come here beautiful.” You hurried forward, melting into his embrace as he wrapped his strong arms around you. His fingers gently slide into your hair, cradling your head against his chest. You felt stupid for crying, you were supposed to be going out on this big, fancy date William had set up and now you've ruined it.

“I'm sorry.” You manage to get out after you have calmed yourself down somewhat. “You went through all the trouble of getting us that reservation-” he cuts you off, quietly shushing you as he continues to hold you, slightly rocking side to side.

“It’s okay bunny. It's not like we’re going to get banned from the restaurant for canceling our table.” He chuckles, managing to elicit a soft laugh from you as well. “But, I would like to know what's making my girl so upset.” He nods in the direction of your apartment. “Would it be alright if I came in for a minute?” You nod, his hand instantly taking yours as you separated from his embrace.

“I'm sorry about the mess, this morning definitely didn't go as planned.” He looked around the cramped space. The flowers William had sent you lay on the kitchen counter, the stems still glistening with water. A half cleaned up pile of broken glass lay on the floor next to the counter. He noticed a white dress that appeared to be covered in some type of tomato sauce laying in a heap on the dining room table. You started to explain before he even had a chance to question it. “My roommate got into a big fight with her boyfriend this morning.” William sat next to you where you had positioned yourself on the couch, elbows resting on his knees and his hands folded neatly in front of him as he listened attentively to what you had to say. “I was woken up by them yelling at each other, I heard some glass smash so I came out here to try and diffuse the situation. It turns out he had smashed the vace I had put your flowers in onto the floor.” You let out a weak chuckle as you felt a tear slip down your cheek. William reaches over, intertwining his fingers with yours in an attempt to offer some form of comfort without risking overwhelming you further. “And my-uh, my dress…” you looked over at the table, your throat growing tight at the sight. “He also ruined my dress in the process of us throwing him out. So now I have nothing to wear, and the flowers you got me are starting to wilt, and I ruined our date-”

“Woah, sweetheart, slow down. You didn't ruin anything.” He moves closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you into his chest. “There’s going to be plenty of other fancy dinners. Baby, I'm not upset over you not wanting to go out after the morning you've had.” He places a kiss on the top of your head, his thumb soothingly rubbing your shoulder. “Would you like to come spend the day at my place?” He asks in an almost timid manner. You look up at him, eyes still wet with tears. It made his chest tighten, you looked so small against his much larger form.

“I'd like that.” You smile.

“You go get ready, I'll clean up in here.” He offers with a small nod.

“Oh, I can't ask you to do that.” Your breath catches in your throat as he gently tilts your chin up with his fingers.

“Don't worry about it bunny.” He tucks some hair behind your ear. He nods for you to go get ready. You scurry off to your room, William cleaning up the glass on the floor. He searched through your cupboards, finding a suitable enough vessel to hold the flowers you seemed to love. He smiles at how adorable you were, getting upset over something so simple, it was sweet. His attention turned to the dress on the table, making an irritated sound as he picked it up. It wasn't a guarantee he would be able to get the sauce out, but hand washing it in the sink couldn't hurt. He thought about how pretty you would've looked all dressed up. Though somehow he thinks your new plan would end up being more fun.

You hurriedly looked through your closet for something to wear, not wanting to appear like you were trying too hard to impress him. You decided on a cute pair of jeans and your favorite T-shirt. You passed back out into the kitchen, smiling as you saw the large man hunched over your sink, trying to get the stain out of your dress. “Will?” He paused, a smile creeping across his features. This was the first time you had called him Will.

“I got it mostly out, we can throw it in the wash at my place if you want.” You nod, smiling at him adoringly.

“I wouldn't want to trouble you.” You start.

“It's no problem.” He rushes to reassure you. He slowly steps closer to you, almost as if he was worried he was going to scare you off. “You, uh, look like you’re going to cry again.”

“You’re just really nice, that’s all.” You crack out a laugh, William chuckling alongside you.

“Well, I’d like to be able to take care of my girl when she needs me.” He winks, making your cheeks flush. He holds out his arm for you to take, you smile softly as he pulls you into his side.

William opened the door, letting you step inside before him. You neatly tucked your shoes beside the door before padding across the soft gray carpet. Looking around you would definitely define William as a minimalist. You didn’t see any pictures or trinkets, everything was very neat and orderly. “Make yourself comfortable, I’m going to go start something for dinner.” You ended up trailing after him into the kitchen, wanting to spend as much time with him as you could. He unzips his hoodie, tossing it at you with a flirtatious smile. “You look cold.” You slip your arms into the too long sleeves, blushing slightly as you wrap yourself up in the warm fabric. William’s sweatshirt smelled like machine oil, cheap cigarettes, and musky, warm cologne. He pulled out a large wooden cutting board from one of the drawers, brandishing a pristinely sharp knife not long after. He hums softly to himself as he wanders around his kitchen, pulling ingredients from cupboards and setting them all out in a row on the counter top. He pulls out a large stew pot from a small closet, setting it on the stove as he sets in motion preparing the meal he had decided on.

“Do you want any help?” You offer with a smile.

“You just sit back and relax, bunny. Throwing this together shouldn’t take me too long.” The two of you chatted idly as he cooked. You had always enjoyed William’s dry humor, but this was the first time you had seen his full genuine personality outside of Freddy’s.

“You’re a gossip!” You exclaim your accusation through a fit of laughter. He gives you an offended look, his hand clapping against his chest.

“Me? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You couldn’t miss the smirk that passed across his lips as he turned his attention back to the cutting board. “You’re acting like I don’t know about your and Ashley’s little gossip sessions at the prize counter.” He rebuttals in a teasing tone. He straightens up, striding over to you. He puts a hand on either side of your thighs, caging you on the counter, “I bet you talk about me, don’t you?” He gives you a wink and a lopsided smile. Your cheeks immediately heated up as you thought about how much his name actually came up between the two of you. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead before moving away. He glances up at you as he slides a cutting board of carrots into the large pot at his side. “I’m glad you’re finally starting to relax.” He remarks happily.

“You promise you’re not mad about having to cancel the reservation?” You ask nervously, balling up the sleeves of his sweatshirt in your hands.

“I’m happy just spending time with you.” A small smile creeps across your lips at the sincerity in his voice. “You had a bad morning, I wouldn’t want to go out either.” He reaches out for your hand, you accept his request with a flustered grin. “Plan’s can change, okay? I won’t be upset.” He tries his best to reassure you.

It was a rainy day outside, the stew was left to cook on the stove. Will held your hand loosely in his, giving it a gentle squeeze whenever he reached a point of interest when he was talking about one of his newest projects. He leads you into his workshop, keeping you close to him as he guides you around various piles of mechanical parts. His hands find their way to your waist, easily lifting you from the floor to set you on a clear space of workbench. He bumps a button with his elbow, the garage opening to let in some of the warm, damp air from outside. “Mr. Emily was right about you being a workaholic.” You tease.

“It’s not my fault there's always work to be done.” He bites the tip of his tongue as he concentrates on what he had pulled in front of him, you noticed the glint of something silver catching on his front teeth.

“Will… is that a piercing?” You ask with genuine curiosity. His eyes widened slightly for a second before he cursed under his breath.

“I forgot I had that in.” He admits bashfully. “I got it in college, I just got so used to wearing it I never let it close.” You hop down from your position perched on the workbench, placing yourself directly in front of him.

“Show me.” You nod up at him. He raises an eyebrow and smirks slightly at your demanding town. He stoops lower, bringing himself face to face with you.

“I don’t know,” he purrs, “you didn’t ask very nicely.” You swallow thickly at his gravelly tone.

“Show me, please?” You try again. He chuckles at your flustered appearance before sticking out his long tongue, showing off the silver barbell. “Wow.” You found yourself nearly drooling at the sight of it, something about the small piercing made your heart race in your chest. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that William was a very attractive man, with his sharp features and broad, strong body he's drawn the attention of many wandering eyes. But, this new found detail about him only seemed to highlight the tough yet playful attitude you had grown enamored by.

“Maybe if you're good I'll show you how talented I am at putting it to good use.” He winks with a smirk. “Come on, this stuff can wait.” He places a kiss to the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist as you're escorted back inside of the house. It hadn't occurred to you just how much of Will’s day you had disrupted up until now. He was supposed to come pick you up at six o'clock sharp, glancing at a clock that ticked quietly on the wall you had realized it wasn’t even eleven.

“Will, I don't want to get in your way if you're busy.” You speak up, both of you pausing in unison.

“Bunny, let me tell you something.” He fully turns to face you, his hands resting comfortably on your waist. His dark silver eyes held a particular softness as they scanned over your features, his hands sliding around your back to pull you closer to him. He speaks in a low tone, giving the conversation a new found sense of intimacy. “I'm in no rush to get that work done, and if I'm being entirely honest if you left right now I wouldn't be able to get the image of how cute you look in my sweatshirt out of my head all day.” He breathes out a laugh. “I know you're worried about being a disruption but honey I promise you you're not. I want to spend time with you, I want to be there to make you feel better. If that means pushing off a couple projects to cook a homemade meal and to spend the day with you… we'll, I don't know about you but that sounds pretty alright to me.” He smiles softly at you, giving you time to allow his words to sink in.

You couldn't get over just how different he was than anyone you had been with in the past. There was no yelling because of the wasted effort, no being left alone to wallow in how awful you felt about messing everything up. Right now there was only you and William; how warm his large hands felt as he soothingly rubs his thumbs over your waist, how the smell of dinner cooking in the kitchen drifted through the hall, how he looked at you with so much kindness and understanding, and that was plenty. You pushed into him, burying your face against his chest as you welled up with emotion. William held you tightly against him, determined to brush away any negative thoughts that tried to creep their way in from the back of your mind. He had a pretty good idea of the guys you had experienced before him, the shithead he had met before he confessed to you said enough. You were used to being pushed around and treated like you were never enough, leaving you to feel like you were always taking up too much space and anything that went wrong immediately fell into your lap. William hoped that, given enough time, he would be able to help you remedy that way of thinking. “How about we throw on a movie? It's Saturday, there's bound to be something on.” He offers in a patient tone.

“I'd like that.” You sniffle in response. You slip your hand into his, allowing him to guide you to the living room. He pulled you into his side as he clicks on the TV, absentmindedly flicking through the station past re-runs of whatever shitty sitcom happened to be on and action movies that would definitely ruin the quiet intimacy the two of you had fallen into. He paused on a romantic comedy, looking down to gauge your reaction. You adjusted yourself in order to be more comfortable, your arm resting across Will’s stomach as your head fell against his shoulder. He was praying you wouldn't ask him anything about the movie he had thrown on, he wouldn't have been able to focus on it right now if he tried. Your small form was so warm against his side, the sweet scent of your shampoo was nearly intoxicating as he waited for you to get comfortable. He pulls the blanket off of the back of the couch, laying it over both of your laps.

“Will?” You call for him softly.

“Yes, rabbit?” His eyes drift down to you and the sight alone was enough to nearly break him. You looked so incredibly tiny curled up against him, your big doe eyes holding so much adoration as you gazed up at him. William froze, feeling as if he even breathed in this moment it would be over.

“Thank you for taking care of me today.” His heart nearly jumped out of his chest at the sight of your sweet smile. You slowly and carefully pushed yourself upwards, your lips pressing against his scruffy cheek.

“Of course, bunny.” He smiles, eyes dropping to your lips for a brief moment before he shook the thought from his mind. Today was about making sure you were alright, kissing you should be the furthest thing from his mind right now. Unfortunately for him, it was all he was able to think about since the two of you had started seeing each other. He hadn't kissed you since the night of his confession, worried that he would take things too quickly without realizing it. He jumped slightly as the timer on the stove started to beep. “I'll be right back.” He places a kiss to your forehead before getting up. Once he enters the kitchen, out of your line of sight, he drags a hand down his face with a soft groan. “Get a hold of yourself.” He chastises himself quietly.

You remained curled up on the sofa, smiling to yourself as you ran your fingers over the soft material of the blanket William had draped over your legs. You glanced back at the kitchen before turning back to the TV with a soft sigh. There was something about being with William that was so undeniably effortless; the way he pulled you into his arms, your body molding to his like you were always made to be pressed against one another, the softness in his voice that was reserved just for you, how the smell of his cologne calmed your ever racing mind. Your fingers drifted to your bottom lip, breathing out a laugh as you thought about your first kiss. It felt like a lifetime since then, your mind often wandering to the memory, leaving your heart racing and your cheeks flushed. You knew William wanted to take things slow, he was very concerned about you feeling pressured to do things you weren't comfortable with just because he was older. Even though you constantly reassured him that wasn't the case he still seemed to treat you as if you were made of glass. You heard the soft clinking of him grabbing soup mugs from a cabinet, your feet thudding softly against the hardwood floor as you stood from the couch. You sucked in a deep breath as you nervously made your way towards the kitchen, thumb running over the worn fabric of your boyfriend’s sweatshirt. William stood at the stove, humming softly to himself as he added the finishing touches on the dinner he prepared. You swallowed thickly as you watched his muscles shift underneath his fitted black T-shirt. “Will?” You continued to walk forward as you called his name, knowing if you stopped now you would lose your nerve. He turns to face you, his silver eyes catching yours. His arms opened to greet you the moment he realized how close you already were, your hands slid over his shoulders as his landed on your waist. You pushed yourself up on your toes, guiding his lips down to meet yours. He lets out a surprised yet pleased sound, melting into you as he kisses you back. You both pulled back, breathless and wide eyed. He swore every time he looked at you he found something new to fall in love with. The blush that dominated your cheeks from doing something so bold, how small you looked wrapped up in his sweatshirt, he hoped he would be able to keep the memory of you looking like this forever.

“Will?” He’s jolted back to the present by you nudging his shoulder. “Everything alright, baby? You spaced out.” He looked down at you now by his side. Your soft smile and twinkling eyes are still as captivating as they always have been.

“Yeah bunny, I'm alright. Just thinking about our first date.” He smiles. The two of you stood in your kitchen preparing the ingredients for the stew, the sound of you singing along to the radio a learned comfort to William’s ears. He still couldn't wrap his head around why you chose him of all people, his gruff and dry demeanor was a sharp contrast to your bubbly personality. Yet, despite how difficult he knew he could be sometimes, your love for one another never waivered. It took him a long time to be able to provide for you the way he felt you deserved, lots of late nights at the pizzeria and sacrifice were needed to get to where the two of you are now. But, through every rough patch, every struggle that would have seemed insurmountable on his own, it only solidified one thing.

You loved each other.

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Tag List: @yellowbunnydreams @zoey5252 @redflowery @loudchaosking @weirdoartist21 @residentevilbeast @lokanda (if you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know!)

[bambina-lita]

imagine being at one of those old dive bars in town with friends, and after a few drinks in, you get dared to take an egg from the giant glass container of fermented, pickled eggs. only thing is, you’re an absolute lightweight when it comes to alcohol, so in your buzzed brain, you somehow misinterpret the dare as to take them all. this container is absolutely huge, mind you, at least half your body weight. the bartender has no idea how old it is, he says it’s been there since they started working, and this is an older gentleman whose been here a long time.

while the bartender and many others as distracted by an ongoing game on television, you manage to lift the entire container and tip it back in your mouth like its a drink. again, in your drunken stupor, you think you can handle this like it’s a drink. so the softened eggs come rolling in down your mouth, down your throat, one by one. you can’t even decide how they taste, because you’re just blindly sucking it all down. gulp gulp gulp. loud, obnoxiously slurping sounds as your throat bobs visibly taking in each egg and all the fermenting juice. and the effect is almost instantaneous. your stomach protrudes like a slow rising dome. it peeks out from your sweater, and then before long, the massive, gravid bump is pushing back the whole fabric. halfway through, you are stuffed beyond measure. but you keep going. you want to finish the dare, don’t you? so you spread your legs a little to adjust to the growing new weight — a literal globe distending from your belly —and keep going. it’s a good thing you’re drinking the fluid too, otherwise your belly would be awkwardly shaped from all the eggs squishing and crammed inside you. instead, the additional bloat allows for them to slosh inside. chug chug chug, your idiotic brain is chanting as you keep going.

by the time you finish, a highlight of the game is over and the bartender realizes what you’ve just done. he shakes his head disapprovingly. some of the patrons notice your apparent late-end pregnant belly that was definitely not there when you first arrived. they all shake their heads, as if in agreement. what a stupid, attention-seeking girl. she’s gonna pay for it later, for sure.

you wobble your way back to your friend circle; half of them are mortified, the other half are mystified. someone playfully slaps your drum-tight belly playfully, it elicits a hot, hearty burp you didn’t even know was welded up in there. the alcohol is preventing you from feeling any pain over your error; you just feel so warm, so stuffed, so packed. is that such a bad thing on this cold night? it’s not. but what is bad is how distracted you are from all the mystery gases brewing and churning inside. your friends can hear it when they curiously place an ear beside your bump. it’s just like the patrons all said before — you’re gonna pay for later.

when it’s time to leave, one of your friends mercifully helps you shuffle towards their car. the bump hasn’t gone down by any means. you’ve been stifling burps for the last few minutes. swallowing them back down means you’re only keeping in all the air you foolishly sucked down, on top of the fermented egg jar. now you’re acutely aware of the tightness too. everything hurts. you’re shamelessly moaning open-mouthed, leaning back miserably in your car seat. your friends are just barely able to get the seatbelt around your distended middle. they tell you that they’ll be home soon. but at some point, they hit a bump. that jostles you terribly. your painfully stuffed stomach jostles and sloshes loudly for everyone to hear. and then;

frt. frt. frrrrrt.

it’s like an air leak from a balloon. you don’t do anything to stop it. the plethora of little noxious farts slips one by one in quick succession. everything is bubbling up inside of you. burps soon accompany it. you can taste the stench of the pickled eggs and your liquor. each burp, each fart, grows shamelessly louder and louder. your friends whine and moan, windows are immediately rolled open for the mercy of fresh air. at least the air being released is somewhat helping with the bloat. somewhat. barely. no, honestly, it’s barely made a dent in the damage you self inflicted.

one of your friends sitting next to you rubs your belly in small circles, as if to coerce some more air out. they’re one of the only ones who is sympathetic to your plight. that is, until they whisper in a voice which only you can hear; “i think you can handle more, don’t you?”

the one fragment of common sense remaining in your head screams no. that’s absolutely insane. why would you go any further than this with mindlessly stuffing yourself? you’re already a ticking time bomb, your belly is ready to implode from being so overly packed.

but you dumbly nod your head, a cute little squeak-fart following. in your head you’ve somehow conjured up the image of those pickled eggs as being your own brood now, so you’ve gotta eat for two now. or two hundred, or whatever the number was.

[d4ndylionn]

BREAK UP WITH ME THIS INSTANT, WORM!

In which Ajaw finally gets a taste of inhabiting a body, specifically the “Malipo” Kinich’s body.

Warnings - The great K’uhul Ajaw being the great K’uhul Asshole, like contractor like contractee (they’re both total losers), light swearing (like once)

“Are you serious, you miserable worm?! What’s the matter with your stinking brain, you insufferable fart?!”

Kinich, who from the depths of his barely-conscious space, mentally pulled at his hair at what he was about to say, “Ajaw, take over.”

Kinich, who hadn’t been thinking straight since this morning and Ajaw has been taunting him about it, he just didn’t have a clue as to why his lowly servant was being how he was right now.

Ajaw, the said Almighty Dragonlord, who was stunned for the longest minute ever before erupting in a series of blabbers of cheers and insults,

“Woah! Finally! FinallyyoudecidedtoactuallyletmesteerthewheelittookyouwaytoodanglongwormwhatshouldIdofirstonceIfinallygaincontrol?!?!”

“Quit yapping and lock in, Ajaw.” Kinich, who firmly told him off before slowly succumbing to darkness, feeling the Dragonlord’s presence inhabit his limbs one by one before his mortal body finally stood up to face on the incoming saurian warriors. Quick work really, the fight ended as quickly as it would had Kinich actually controlled his own body. “Eat shit, worms.” Except Ajaw was still in control with a plan to execute.

Ajaw, in Kinich’s body, who devised a plan to destroy said host planned to do it step by step, starting with his only weakness, you. Your backstory was awfully simple in the dragon’s opinion, two loving parents, enough toys to play with, an adequate number of friends, so very unlike his servant!

Ajaw, who thought you so simple that he knew the reason why you and Kinich were together was because of how much the guy wanted what you had, how embarrassing! He’ll definitely separate you from Kinich first!

Ajaw, in Kinich’s body, who strutted confidently towards you with a pompous smirk so unbecoming of the actual Kinich you thought it was uncanny, did what you say to him earlier affect him that much?

“Hey, worm- I mean woman! I’m through with you, I don’t have stupid feelings for you anymore!”

Ajaw, who yells your ear off through Kinich’s mouth ignores the stares of the passing children and their Yumkasauri as they wonder why the “Malipo” Kinich is yelling at the “Ukweli” (Name) because they know that Kinich is never one to shout at anyone, especially you.

“…that’s…” Ajaw, who waits with bated breath as the first step to his plan finally takes fruition, though he cannot understand why you have such a relieved look on your face- “-wonderful, Kinich! I’m so glad you feel that way now!”

Ajaw, who slowly feels his control on Kinich’s body fading and is now being handed over to its rightful owner as he goes back to being his old 2D form. He doesn’t understand why you don’t hate Kinich right now, you should be crying and begging and cursing at him to take you back, weren’t you his girlfriend? “Hey, wait a minute! What do you mean, ‘you’re glad?’, you shouldn’t be-!”

Kinich, who is now fully conscious and has taken back control of his body, sighing deeply as he finds that the first thing he sees is you with an extremely confused expression. “I’m deeply sorry, (Name), I yelled at you, didn’t I?” He slaps a hand on his forehead when you nod soundlessly.

Kinich, who bids you a goodbye after an apologetic bow before slinging away with a raging Ajaw. “Why didn’t it work?!?!? Answer me, worm! Answer the Almighty Dragonlord, K’uhul Ajaw!!!”

Kinich, who, earlier today, was rejected by you when he finally decided to confess after years of pining, who purposely lent his body to Ajaw for him to ‘break you and him up’ so that he didn’t have to tell you the words that stabbed at his heart.

Kinich, who still loves you and harbors deep respect and affection for you despite your rejection.

[blerb-f1]

"Let them talk" - 2008!Sebastian Vettel x Engineer!Reader (platonic???)

This one is again based on another Song called "Lasse Reden" (Let them Talk) by Die Ärzte. I really like it so give it a listen if you want to.

Let em run their mouths 

Did you do something that normally no one does?

Are you wearing high heels or even a hat?

Or did you wear too skimpy of a dress,

Without asking your neighbors for permission first?

Sebastian flipped the newspaper open, staring disgruntled at the articles badmouthing him. For some reason, German Media weren't a Fan of him. A young, overly confident upstart they could step on easily is what he was to them. 

Of course, now you'll be treated with contempt

You're a disgrace to the whole neighborhood

You don't even know their names

And they're already running their mouths about you. 

You just stared at the awful stuff they said about him. Just where exactly did they get that stuff from? What made them get those ideas? Were they so miserable in their own boring little lifes? 

You leaned forward, comfortingly holding Sebastian's right hand. 

"They don't know you Seb, that's why they're able to pull shit like this" 

Sebastian looked at another article, eyes scanning the rude words laid in front of him. 

"I know that THEY don't know me. That's why they are so rude. I mean, I've just joined Red Bull properly. Taking over after David Coulthard won't be easy but what do they expect? If Horner wants me to be Driver 1, I have to become Driver 1. That's how the Business works. Bashing Me because they wanted Mark to get the spot is idiotic. It's not like we two have that many choices to make in that regard"

You eyed a smaller article, reading the insults that were hurled at you. Being Sebs' equally young and inexperienced Engineer at Toro Rosso was already pretty special but Christian Horner invited you to follow him to the Main Team. Like a Buy one get one free deal. Pretty nice money and friendship wise but pretty bad gossip wise. 

Let them talk, and don't listen to them

Most people just don't have anything better to do

Let them talk, day and night

Let them talk - they always have, anyway

Apparently, something you didn't know about yourself,was that you were the lover of Helmut Marko and got Sebastian into this position by fucking said old fart on top of the RB03. Interesting. Another, even meaner comment, had implied that somehow Sebastian was a paid driver that got in thanks to Flavio Briatore and you had planned Crashgate. Considering that you were just a little engineer at Toro Rosso, that seemed very outlandish. Furthermore, something about Briatore always irked you the wrong way so there was no way in Hell you'd be caught dead around him. Being the same age as Sebastian, you didn't think that people were taking you as capable of stuff like that. A 21y.o. planning something like Crashgate? And even if you somehow were that big brained, in what manner would Fernando Alonso winning the Race benefit Sebastian? You just shook your head at the brainfarts that managed to get printed. 

You've certainly robbed a bank

How else could you afford your rent?

And you've been banned from the United States

Because you're Osama bin Laden's lover

Seb sighed as he read another news out loud: "Michael Schumacher reveals: Vettel too cocky for his own good. The 7x champion despises being around the moronic Rookie". As he finished reading and slouched back into his seat, you just stared in shock. Michael liked Sebastian. He appreciated him as a driver, a young fresh talent and as a fellow German. He treated him more like a son than anything. He was a better not dad than most of those so-called journalists must have had growing up.  You stood up from your own booth seat, sliding over to Sebs Side, bumping into his side while sending him a Comforting Smile. You both sipped the bad Coffee they served in Hospitality, trying to form fictional race tracks out the stains the mugs left on the table.

Do you shave your women's-beard daily

Or do you have a few corpses buried in your garden?

The neighbors surmised as much

So don't be surprised when the detectives drop by

You pointed at another article. "See this one?". The young man moved his eyes to the next page, gazing upon the article squished between ads for most likely racist books and lawnmowers. "Fernando Alonso actually deceased, replaced by a driver that got plastic surgery."

He chucked at the thought of someone learning to be like Fernando Alonso. Some poor bloke forced to do that bunny dance on top of an F1 Car. How even would one imitate a Driver?  "Imagine getting someone to look like Coulthard? Would they put new bones into that chin?" you joked while pointing at your chin. You then hollowed out your cheeks, stretching your face. "Or imagine someone looking like Mark. Like, how do you initiate that?”

Seb started laughing along with you while pretending to give himself a longer chin:"Sebastian Vettel imitates Michael Schumacher. Has this rookie gone too far?" 

The laughter coming from deep down your stomach was so loud that some of the other people in hospitality turned around, staring at you two. Normally you’d hide away in some empty office, eating your cold food there while racing against Sebastian on your two PSP’s that he won in a raffle.

Let them talk and just don't listen

Most people don't mean anything by it

It's their monotonous life that bothers them

And the day becomes much more interesting when you tell stories

Mark, who'd heard your imitations, while walking in, came over and scooted into the booth you sat in earlier while giving you two a comforting smile. "That's the correct way to deal with those stupid fake news" he stated, while stretching his legs under the table. "They'll always think of something stupid to talk about. What are they supposed to report, if not stupid shit like that? You think normal people buy the headline 'Red Bull Racing' s new Talent Sebastian Vettel is a kind bloke'?" 

Seb seemed to tense next to you for a second before relaxing again." You mean, this will go on forever? "

" Yes", Mark answered bluntly. "That's how it's always been and always will be." 

And they probably don't feel ashamed

They lack discretion

And repeatedly prove: [that] they are petty,

inescapable, xenophobic

"Look at the stuff they write about Lewis Hamilton, for example" he said while smiling sadly. "Your slander is just normal slander, he's getting hate simply because his skin colour isn't on their approval page. Formula 1 features people from all over the world, so they pick the easiest target who could be someone who's from a minority group like Lewis or a young fool like you. Those people can span from idiots to hyenas. You gotta learn how to ignore them and especially, not feed them. Fake articles can be fun for a hot minute but blow up and grow into some massive thing "

Did you hear, and say, did you already know?

That is to say, you earn your money through prostitution

You work the corner by the bus station

The colleague of a brother-in-law saw you the other day

"So my Advice for you two: Don't run with what they say about you in public. Be so kind that it hurts. Y/N, don't mention that Crashgate stuff anywhere. The Brazilians won't be happy with your jokes and the media will spin it like you're actually involved and somehow hate everyone from there. Seb, don't treat Me different just because People hate Christian Horner putting you in this position. That's on them, not you. Just be polite and let your racing do the talking. "

His statements were the whole damn truth, leaving you and Seb too stunned to speak. Mark took this chance to take the newspaper away from you, just to chuck them into the trash bin." Let me resolve those issues for you. Drivers need to look out for one another, don't they? Someone gave me the same advice back then so i’m giving it to you now," Seb nodded in agreement, watching the tall man leave catering while the newspaper quickly got covered by leftover Spaghetti. 

Let them talk, just laugh it off

Most people get their information from Bild*

Which consists of, who knew,

Fear, hate, tits, and the weather report

Let them talk, because this is how it is:

As long as they talk, that's the worst they do

And you can afford a little hypocrisy

Stay polite and say nothing - that annoys them the most.

Seb stared at you for a short second before getting up and holding out his hand towards you like a knight to his princess. 

" Y/N, may I invite my strategic Genius to play an evil round of Gran Turismo 4?"

You grabbed his hand, pretending to flip your skirt. 

"Of course, Mr. Evil. But you take the Mad-Catz Controller" 

Seb stared at you with fake shock. The audacity. The Mad-Catz Controller was reserved for poor younger brothers around the world normally. You lost your other proper one during the move to Red Bull though and this one was the one Horner had gotten you after asking you for a new one.

"How dare you make Christian Horner's secret Love Child take the shitty Controller?" 

You stuck out your tongue towards him. "I'm sorry Sebastian Horner, I think having Helmut Marko, Flavio Briatore and Bernie Ecclestone on speed dial makes me the instant winner of the original Controller." 

While Mark had told you to not make fun of that stuff, doing it once or twice won't be too bad, will it? 

*Bild is like a shitty german newspaper with clickbaity titles known to stir hatred, show lots of nudity and general stupidity.  Also yes, i'm having Seb Brainrot rn.

[intheorangebedroom]

Hi Maddie! I hope you are having a wonderful September and you are enjoying the start of autumn. This might sound obsessed or weird, but PTMY and TYBTM are seriously some of my favorite things I've ever read... ever, like I'm putting it up there with novels I've read. It is insane to me how much talent there is in this fandom. Like the Pedro girlies are literal authors, putting out works of art. For me, you are the best of the best! Obviously, both stories have me very hot and bothered lol, but it's just the way you write intimacy and relationships, the peculiarities of your characters and the world's they inhabit so brilliantly, beautifully. I'm sure you know that at times you write like it is poetry! It is so immersive and I love it deeply. My question (apologies in advance) is about writing. I was wondering if you have any tips on (a) how you have improved as a writer, like in terms of how you've been to find your style? (b) how to overcome perfectionism? I've been wanting to take a crack at some Frankie ideas I've had, but I get so weighed down by self doubt and inertia. And also, I worry it's just not original enough. Okay, sorry for the rant! I will never be as good as you OBVIOUSLY lol, but for you I am grateful. I'm so excited for the next part of TYBTM and sad we are almost halfway to the end. I'm so excited for whatever you have in store for the future. Sending you so much love and hope you're having a great day.

Hey Nonnie 🧡

I apologise in advance for the length of this answer. 

Your kindness, your generosity and your time mean everything to me. I’m the worst at expressing gratitude when I’m paid a compliment. "Compliment" doesn't cut it to qualify what you said about my stories, it’s too much, it’s so incredibly kind. You made me so soft but also so much stronger. Thank you 🧡 My first impulse upon reading your message was to throw away my phone and scream I’VE NO IDEA WHAT THE FUCK I’M DOING but I owe it to you to at least try to answer you. Also do you need some blood? A kidney? I have two. You name it it's yours.

I would like to start with the second part of your question, if you don’t mind. 

I have never ever thought any given piece I wrote to be perfect. At best, I think it’s not that bad, but that’s when I read it again a month after posting, because at the time I post it, it’s more like omfg if I read that shit one more time I’m gonna stab myself in the eye.” 

But life is too short for perfectionism. I’m sorry to be speaking like an old fart, but it is. You blink and it’s over. If you have a milligram of creativity in you, do not hesitate. Channel it. Create what you want, what you like. I’m serious. DO IT. Enjoy doing it. 

Self-doubt is a fucking bag of dicks. I’m riddled with it. In every corner of my existence. Every step of the way. Every word I type (not in my mother tongue…). How many times have I wanted to give up, especially during PTMY. The current tybtm chapter has fucking killed me dead. I hate it. It’s not good. Bad. But I’m forty fucking five years old and I’ll be damned if I let self-doubt and fear prevent me from achieving what I set out to do.

When I came back to tumblr in 2020, I saw numerous posts saying “you write for yourself first,” and I did not really understand what they meant. It’s nice to have an audience! It’s nice to be liked and validated! It’s nice to connect with people over something you’ve created. Musicians play live, and get a hell of a kick out of it, right? Why not us, writers? And one day, I think at the beginning of tybtm, it hit me. I understood. Fuck yeah I’m doing this for me. Because I need it. I need to tell this story. I need the satisfaction of having done it. The entire process makes me both incandescently happy and abysmally miserable, and you know what? That’s the fucking spice of life. I want both. I am alive when I write. Through the pleasure and the pain. So if you need it too, well, go for it. Don't let anyone, including you, tell you you're not good enough. Got for it.

There are 99% of chances that what you’re gonna write has already been written. So what? It hasn’t been written by you. No one sees people, life, or Frankie the way you do. Even if you write an age-old trope, even if you write the same trope over and over again in every story (me!), you’ll still bring your own precious singularity to the story, the characters, and the narration. That’s worth EVERYTHING. Please trust me. Maybe no one will like it. Maybe every one will like it. Whatever. At the end of the day, you still did what you set your heart on. I cannot stress enough how important this is. Carpe diem, baby.

Then, how did I improve as a writer, oh Nonnie, I’ve no idea. I don’t think I’m any good. I don’t think I am legitimate to give you any advice. 49.5% of the time, I think I’m too much (too gothic, too lyrical, too big with the feelings and emotions). 49.5% of the time, I think I’m not enough (not precise, concise, clear, good enough). But alright, I’ll try. For you. But please bear in mind I say all this in the most humble spirit.  

I write. All the time. In my head, in the shower, walking in the street, driving, aaaaaall the time. And then I type it down in a doc. And edit it and revise it again and again and again, until it feels smoother and/or I want to puke at the thought of having to go through it again. 

I try to take my time without panicking. If I’m stuck or in a bad mental place, I try to let it rest a bit.

My first year at uni, I studied screenplay writing. I would be unable to tell you precisely what I learned, but I think some of it is ingrained? In terms of conveying intentions through actions and dialogues (I know I tend to write pages and pages of introspection, and I swear I try to restrain myself, even if it doesn’t always translate to the doc).

Then, I’m an art vampire. I soak up everything I can, especially painting, music, and movies. I let it inspire me. I take notes on my feelings, fleeting emotions that I can’t articulate at first, and reflect and work on them until they become fully formed ideas I can inject in the writing. 

I read. A lot. And sometimes not at all when it feeds the self-doubt (comparison, you bitch!). I wait until I feel better, stronger. It may take time. 

With books/fanfics and movies, I analyse the narrative process employed. What I liked or disliked, what moved me, what didn’t. I take notes. To that effect, you can read reblogs of your favourite fics! Sometimes people reblog with some pretty neat analyses, just soak it up!

My obsession is finding the Right Word. I can spend days on the quest. A thesaurus helps. And sometimes it doesn’t. I also read my stuff out loud, because I like when it has a certain rhythm. And when the meaning of a sentence doesn’t work in a rhythm, I rework it tirelessly until it does. Fun times... 

I want to say that if you take the leap and start writing, after a while, you will feel instinctually what works for you. What feels right in terms of personal style. Maybe at the beginning you'll subconsciously write like someone else, but with practice and patience, your style will come out. If you need someone to cheer you on, I'm here.

Oh yeah because, very important, I whine to the very good angel friends in my phone whenever I’m stuck (they will recognise themselves if they read this)(okay they are @dreamymyrrh and @pedrit0-pascalit0). I forfeit all dignity and beg them for virtual hugs. I don't know what I did to deserve them.

And lastly, I have been privileged to witness the genius of Kelli ( @frannyzooey ) in the works and wow. She's it for me. Everything she writes resonates with me, so I just soak. it. up.  

So yeah. to sum it up: carpe diem and be a vampire 🦇

Hope that helps 🧡

I’m also gonna leave that here: 

Claire ( @just-here-for-the-moment ) is one of the best people I’ve been fortunate enough to meet here. She’s patient, sweet, kind, and SO FUCKING SMART. Don't be afraid to reach out.

Nonnie, again, I'm so sorry this is so long. I sincerely hope you'll find something useful in all this gibberish. If not, come back to my ask box with any question. And again, thank you 🧡 From the bottom of my broken vampire heart, thank you 🧡

[class-of-2009]

some class of 09 headcanons

nicole spit on jeffery's face and in his mouth and on his dick when she was doing the foot fetish shit.

she has a really fat ass and thicc thighs.

she lowkey has a crush on jeffery and crispin and hunter but doesn't know what to do with her feelings. and wants to fuck ari and jecka and kelly and emily.

jeffery also has a fart fetish and jacks off to porn of giantesses farting on entire cities. and had jecka wear cat ears for him and pretend to be a cat and use him as a "litter box". and by that i mean shit on him. and in his mouth. (he also has a shit fetish) the reason he didn't tell nicole about his toilet fetishes is bc he was too embarrassed.

jecka's dad beats her. like routinely. and screams at her.

also she has really big tits. like huge. like f-cup. and a really thin waist and no ass. wide hips. her and kelly have the biggest tits. both of them are definitely f-cups.

nicole is flatchested. like an a cup.

crispin is agender/nonbinary/a trans girl. he's definitely really feminine. i'd say he's agender and trans and crossdresses but never takes estrogen or gets any surgeries. (which is very relatable)

hunter is an anarchist and that's why he cheated on megan. bc he doesn't really give a fuck about christianity. he wants to get laid. megan was getting on his nerves anyways. nicole and hunter should totally date.

nicole kills herself and jeffery almost shoots up the school.

all the girls constantly get laid off screen. kylar is a virgin even after he graduates, and just keeps raping people until he can find a girl dumb enough to go out with him.

kyle definitely killed his mom and went to jail. but i think they let him out after only like ten years. bc of his age. and it genuinely fucks with him really bad still that he killed his mom. and all the time he spent in prison definitely made him a little crazy and he was miserable the whole time. but yah he gets out of prison at age 27 and just like. lives life. like normal. he also calls jecka again and tries to get with her, but, she says he'd have to become rich before she'd date him bc she's a gold digger. he says he can't immediately become rich but then he gets beaten up and thrown off a building by his landlord and gets awarded a bunch of money after sueing him and then calls jecka back like "hey im rich now" and she starts dating him and he uses the money to become actually rich and ends up getting a really high paying job and making really good money and then when they're both 31 they get married and soon after jecka has their first child which is a boy that they name kyle jr. he's blonde with brown eyes like jecka.

nicole's mom throws nicole's older brother out after nicole kills herself and tries to de stress and also moves but stays in touch with the principal. she goes through a lot more different guys but finally finds the right guy when she's like 50 and miraculously is able to have another kid with him. they get married and she's finally happy. they name the child onyx to honor nicole (since her hair was black). they try to have more kids but can't so they adopt another one. a little girl named kylie that's 4 years old at the time. kylie is 3 years older than onyx. they grow up to be really close. their older brother also becomes close with them. he finds a place to live at some point after his mom throws him out.

after nicole kills herself, jeffery is heartbroken and wants to kill himself too. one of the only things that keeps him from doing it is being able to fuck jecka for money. he starts hiring other girls (some prostitutes, some not) to fuck him too over the years. kelly ends up dating him at some point after she and him bond after they start talking on facebook a few years after graduation. she's really innocent so she just helps him clean himself up and gets him to buy some cooler clothes and starts dating him. she tells him that she didn't actually mean it when she called him ugly in high school. jeffery never falls out of love with nicole, and she always has a special place in his heart. but he loves kelly too.

hunter and kylar make out when they're drunk at a party at kylar's house one time. they do it a few times after that, but, stop bc hunter says "it's weird" and that he doesn't wanna do it anymore. that they're better off as friends. they both jack off when they think about it though, and kylar tells hunter that he still thinks about the kiss and jacks off to the memory to it sometimes when they're like 19 and 20.

hunter dates and marries a super hot girl later on.

ari ends up marrying a man and having a kid with him and staying in the closet and just cheating on him with girls she meets online or while out. she at least enjoys being penetrated by a cock so she uses her husband as a dildo. at some point she tells him she's bi (which is a lie, she's gay) and they make their relationship an open relationship and have sex with girls on the side, and have threesomes with them. she has like 5 kids.

[ask-rick-c137-and-morty-prime]

Rick you are a wonderful old, wrinkled, ancient, old cow, old fart, old fashioned,old gezzer,miserable old soul, miserable old git, looks like a dinosaur fossil, limp-dick-old-asshole :) Love you old man.

*Rick stares at the screen, eye narrowing*

*Morty walks by* Did we get a new ask- *Stares at the screen and holds in laughter*

Morty...

*Morty bursts out in laughter*

Ohhh you're just lov-*burp*-ing this aren't you.

*Morty wipes a tear off of his eyes* I-I mean *Morty bursts out laughing again*

Shut up Morty!

They aren't wrong!

*Rick scoffs and crosses his arms*

[facefartdreams]

Tyler Posey lifted a cheek from the hot cement basketball court next to all his best guy friends. In typical Posey style the guys winced as they braced for another Posey fart. The fart shot out in three beats, airy and muffled. "pffffsshhp, pphhrrmmpph, phrmpph!" The heat from the cement heightened the smell and his friends pulled their shirts over their noses. “Damn Pose! Another one?!?!” Greg was used to this behavior. Tyler was a 5 year old when it came to gas humor, and it seemed you couldn’t hang out with him without getting at least one fart from him. John took his shirt down and sniffed the air “Ugh! It’s still bad!” Tyler Hoechlin knew his friend’s fart was gonna linger, and sat with his shirt over his face, rolling his eyes at Posey. Posey began to waft the rest of his gas to all three of his friends.

Tyler Posey didn’t do this to be mean, or teasing. Tyler in fact wanted his friends to retaliate. and one day he knew they would. Posey had a fart fetish. When he was younger, he would fart on his pillows before bedtime and take deep whiffs. That got him searching for fart stuff online which led him to some fetish websites. Overtime he learned how to masturbate and from then on he got off on the intense imaginary smells of gas from hot guys in photos or even real farts on Youtube. Tyler sat in class with Greg & John as a new kid walked into the room. Dylan just transferred from a tech school into a University and was sort of a dweeb, so Tyler thought. Dylan took the lone empty seat next to Tyler and waited for class to begin. Posey took this empty moment to rip a fart in the class full of guys, bring chuckles and moans throughout the class. Dylan looked at Tyler with eyes of fear and shock. Tyler smiled at the dweeb and leaned back in his seat to relax. Class began. The teacher was young, just a year or two older than the average senior. So when talking about solids, liquids, and gases, the guys in the class all had some good chuckles about the gas substance. "Posey's got a lotta gas teach!" Tyler laughed and looked over to Dylan who stared shyly at the man. Tyler gave him a smile… fuck he was kind of weird… That afternoon Posey walked to Hoechlin's dorm to chill and play some video games. "Hey Ty, have you met Dylan? He's my new dorm neighbor!" Posey gave the same look of awkward shock Dylan gave him at school. "How many more times am I gonna have to see this kid?" Dylan smiled and acknowledged that they had met. As the games progressed Hoechlin left the room to use the bathroom. Posey sat with Dylan in awkward silence until Dylan tried to spark a conversation. "So… what do you do for fun?" Tyler continued staring at the game and ignored Dylan as a person in the room until he responded with "huh… this…" Dylan stared at the video game Posey had his eyes glued on. Posey sat with a stare and with a hint of remorse tried to spark up some conversation with the weird newbie in return. "So… huh… what's your last name?" Tyler asked. "O'Brien, you gonna add me to Facebook? I have one!" Dylan lit up. "What? No! Just trying to be nice and talk…" Tyler went back to his game. Then out of thin air Dylan shot back with something that sent chills down Tyler's spine. "That was some fart in class today…" Dylan smiled at his comment and Tyler's eyes lit up in shock. His eyes moved from side to side as Dylan stumbled upon the one thing Tyler really wanted to talk about. "It was okay… I… guess…" Tyler tried focusing on his game when the other Tyler reentered the room. You could cut the tension with a knife. Posey was silent. O'Brien smiled and watched the now failing Tyler continue at his video game. Tyler sat in chemistry class groggy and miserable. He didn't sleep a wink and mostly because he sat in bed thinking about Dylan and the way his eyes lit up in awe when he brought up Tyler's fart yesterday. Did he like them too? He couldn't! Some straight laced guy with a happy go lucky grin couldn't possibly like something so foul. Greg and John entered the room and sat near Tyler. "Dude! You look like shit" Greg laughed at his own comment and John spoke up. "You and Hoechlin must have gotten wasted last night?" Posey made some underhanded comment about how Hoechlin's new buddy Dylan doesn't drink and the guys cracked up. "He just sat around and talked, no booze, no girls, no fun, worst free time of my life!" "Dude! You should just fart on him today, aim em' all at him. Be merciless!" John's idea sparked a smile within Tyler. Dylan was gonna get served. As Dylan walked into class he looked well rested and pulled his water bottle out of his backpack… "he must still use the same one from high school. What a loser, just carry the one book, you just have one class today dumb ass!" Tyler thought. At that moment Tyler tapped Greg on the shoulder and Greg turned around as Tyler shifted his eyes towards Dylan, still facing Greg. Tyler lifted his rump

slightly from his chair and a small squeaker of a fart blasted from his seat. Dylan looked shocked and stared at the two guys and laughed. Greg laughed back… primarily at Dylan rather than with him, and turned around to prepare for the lesson. Dylan looked a Tyler to comment "Yesterday's was better…" Tyler said nothing and prepared for the lesson. His butt lifted from the seat again and a faint hiss left his shorts. A faint whiff of ass hit his nose and Dylan's. That's when the strange part occurred. It was 15 minutes into class and the four guys in the back were hit by a stronger smell. Rotten eggs, foul skunk, and sweaty ripe ass filled the air as Greg and John began to choke. "Teacher! I think Posey needs to be excused!!!" John sounded worried. The professor made no reaction, these guys break wind in class everyday, it was just another day for them. Posey made no comment but to laugh and claim the attack with a grin. John and Greg turned back around to the lesson when Tyler looked at Dylan… Dylan winked an eye at the once champion farter and smiled. Knowing he just bested the champion. Tyler lifted a leg and ripped  a rather audible blast at Dylan and the class erupted in anger at the 20 year old stud. Dylan secretly lifted a cheek and although silent, the smell was unbearably worse. Tyler blushed red as John and Greg turned around to egg Tyler on. "Dude, we said be merciless, but this is too much! Give the poor guy a break and take some beano" John was in near tears. Greg was on the verge of dry heaving. "Dylan, buddy! You're not even flinching! You're a beast to put up with this!" Greg was impressed by Dylan's composure. What John and Greg didn't know was that Dylan had just let loose another series of gas attacks into the room. Tyler let out a bigger fart, which, accidentally timed made it seem like the smell came from his loud blast rather than Dylan's SBD. Within 40 more minutes of class the guys were now all well equipped to handle a chemical war.

Class was over and the guys walked out. John and Greg were applauding their newfound hero Dylan for taking Posey's gas like a champ. Neither guy knew that the smell was Dylan's brew. Posey sat back and watched as the weird kid got high fives and back pats for his stamina. "We're now a group of five bros man, you're in!" John said as Dylan got bright eyed. He just wanted to fit in. Posey felt even sicker… what if Dylan wanted to fart more?

The party was a huge hit. Posey and the gang threw a huge bash at his dorm. There was beer, chips, salsa, bean dip, and more "Everclear" than you'd know what to do with. "Do we really have to invite him? I still think he's a dweeb!" Tyler asked John. "Dude! You're just upset that you can't throw him off with your stink. That guy is more of a man than you! haha!" Tyler focused on that conversation between him and John for the duration of the party as Dylan sat right next to Posey with some bean dip and broccoli. "Hey Tyler!" Dylan tried to be nice. Tyler sipped his beer and scoldingly told Dylan "How come you don't drink?" Dylan looked at him sheepishly; "I'll drink, if you'll be nice to me." Tyler obliged and Dylan took a swig of Everclear with his juice. Tyler laughed at Dylan's facial expressions each shot and asked him to try it again. 5 shots later Dylan said "This doesn't have a taste? *hiccup*" Tyler took a shot himself and wrapped his arm around Dylan. "Come here kid, I'll show you some beer…" Tyler brought out a Guinness for them both. "This is only for special occasions, that cheap PBR is nothing…" Dylan LOVED it! And drank happily with Tyler the rest of the night. They laughed and got to know each other better. Tyler even calling Dylan "cool" in his book. Dylan smiled… but began to look sick from the alcohol. Greg was scoring big with the ladies as Hoechlin and John left with no one. "Man, Dylan's pretty fucked up tonight. What did you do Pose?" Tyler Hoechlin looked worried. "He's fine, he can crash here tonight. I don't want his dorm leader finding him drunk when you take him home." The guys left for the night and Posey and O'Brien stayed. Tyler wrapped him in a blanket on the couch and headed to his bed to go to sleep.

Tyler laid awake in his bed to thoughts of men from his porn library ripping ass in his dorm room. As he stroked his cock he imagined the smells and sounds they produced just for him. He threw one of them on the bed in his imagination and began to eat his ass out. He imagined the smooth run fleshy ass against his tongue ripping fart after fart and soon he was furiously stroking his meat in an intense sweat that was absorbed by the bed. The man in his dreams ripped a fart that went on for ages, his cum shot out onto the sheets and the guy's face became more prevalent in his mind… it was Dylan! Posey gasped for air and rose up from his bed panting in fear. "What the fuck was that?!?" Tyler thought. He got up and walked back into his livingroom. Dylan was curled up on the couch and sleeping like a baby. "Fucking dweeb" Tyler mumbled under his breath. He got a glass of water from the kitchen and began to head back to bed, but something came over him. He walked over to Dylan on the couch… "Don't do it" Tyler tried stopping himself. He took a sniff of the air, a loud sniff. Nothing. He would regret this next move… he moved in closer. Posey got within inches of Dylan's ass and although it was snuggly fit under the covers the smell was amazing. The dweeb had an ass odor, and Tyler was getting hooked. Posey went to bed in shame of his secret sniffing adventure. But his mind raced with the thoughts of Dylan's gas in the classroom that afternoon. Could he be… falling for the dweeb? Tyler's dreams were tame, except for one. Dylan was snuggled in bed with him and he was dutch opening him as a prank. He woke up and headed to the kitchen for some breakfast. Dylan was up and at it. "What? No hangover?!?!" Tyler pointed out. "That? Oh, last night was nothing. I drank twice as much at home. Dylan was acting rather alpha male this morning; Tyler was confused. Talk of the weather and classes grew old between the two and Posey tried coming up with other conversations. Dylan had other ideas. "Man, I bet I had some GAS last night. Dylan winked at Tyler and Tyler felt uncomfortable again as Dylan aimed a fart into Tyler's direction. The smell wafted to Tyler who winced and coughed on the smell. Tyler had to retaliate and ripped one of his own. It stunk, but Dylan's was stronger. Just like the classroom experience Dylan was besting the gassy fetishist. "So you can retaliate?" Dylan ripped a longer blast. The smell intensified and Tyler's dick grew in his shorts. "I thought I'd freshen the room a bit with my brew." Dylan smiled and then smoldered his stare at Tyler.was he flirting? Tyler turned red and tried to get up and do his book report. "Have you read your book yet?" Dylan asked. Tyler played it off and said yes, but Dylan's next quote sent chills down his spine. "Was your book against my ass last night? Because you had your nose there for part of the night. Did it smell good?" Dylan was going in for the kill. Tyler was sweating and told Dylan to get out. The fear was all over his face. "Get out? I think I have something you want Posey Wosey. Dylan sat on Tyler's lap and Tyler tried bucking him off. The fart was loud. It was warm. not just warm, it burned! Fuck it burned! Tyler winced from the smell, but it was the most magical moment of heaven he ever experienced! Dylan wrapped his arm around Tyler's shoulder and Tyler wrapped his around Dylan's back. Dylan let out another fart after lifting a cheek and aiming it at Tyler's stomach. "I see you've stopped competing. is someone out of gas? Dylan cooed at Tyler. "You're the king." Tyler moaned over and over. "The king?!?" Dylan smiled. "Well, that's pretty impressive. Am I more kingly than that farter you have saved on your computer?" Tyler was taken aback by Dylan's remark. Dylan looked at his Internet history last night! But it didn't matter. In fact it felt safer. Dylan was doing this willingly.Yes Dilly! OH YES!!! FUCK MORE!!!" Dylan smacked Tyler in the back of the head and ripped an angry fart in his lap. But you told me to get out. so I guess this is goodbye.

Dylan sat up and walked out the door farting almost each step of the way. Tyler's legs had lost circulation but that didn't stop him from crawling to the door in hopes of getting Dylan back. Tyler laid in a fetal position alone in his apartment dorm breathing in the smells of Dylan's crop-dust. He was so sexually frustrated he was in tears. What if Dylan told the guys? What if he told the school? Class on Monday had Posey freaking out. He sat at his typical desk when Dylan walked in… he sat right in front of Tyler. John and Greg noticed this and took seats next to Dylan instead of you. "Man, I see Dylan is learning from Friday's mistakes. Can't sit next to the gas bomb for too long!" John chuckled at Tyler's expense and Tyler stared at Greg. pointing to the empty seat next to him. "Man Posey, I don't think anyone is gonna sit their after you nuked it last week!" Posey tried to laugh it off.deep down he was hurt, lonely, and feeling left out. His new view was kind of worth it though… Dylan's round butt spread right in front of his view. Dylan pulled his jeans down and Tyler sprung a boner when he noticed… he wasn't wearing any underwear in class. His jacket covered his front view. To the teacher and the rest of the class it looked like Dylan was fully clothed. The smell hit Tyler like a ton of bricks. He focused more on Dylan's ass, the hole opened up and the smell magnified. Every minute Tyler was hit by a wave of stink from Dylan's butt in class. Tyler had a show of Dylan's ass right in front of him. As class ended Posey's notes were blank. Dylan pulled up his jeans and got out of his seat. Greg and John walked out with him with Posey trailing behind. "Yo Dylan! We still on for tomorrow?" Greg asked. "Yeah, see you then! I'm bring Hoechlin!" Dylan smiled as Tyler spoke up, "Wait? What's going on?" Posey looked confused. "Oh, we're hanging out Tuesday… you can come right Dylan?" Greg looked at Dylan as though Dylan was in charge of the group. "Yeah, come on!" John and Greg headed to their next class as Dylan was pushed against a wall by Tyler. "What the fuck was that!?" Tyler was furious with the mind games. "Chill buddy, you getting' jealous of me taking over? Afraid of my power?" Dylan bit his lip and chuckled at Tyler's grip as it lightened. Dylan smiled and ripped a fart and laughed harder. Tyler asked Dylan to hang out after his classes, his voice cracked from the question. "Well, what would we do together?" Dylan smiled more, it was a shit eating grin that made Tyler feel two inches small. "Well… we could… study…" Tyler sulked. "Oh, because you didn't record any notes today and need mine?" Dylan laughed and tickled Posey's nipple. Posey flinched and responded. "We… we… can do the thing…" "Oh! The thing… yeah… well, I knew I'd hook you soon. Tell you what, I'll give you my notes, but at a price…" Dylan looked powerful. Tyler was scared. "All the notes you can ever need… but you'll be my personal fart sniffer… for life." Dylan massaged Tyler's shoulder after the proposal. Tyler struggled to speak as Dylan's other hand moved down to Tyler's member… "I think your little friend has chosen for you". Dylan walked right into Tyler's apartment. "Man, you still got any of that bean dip?" I'm hungry. Tyler pulled the dip from the fridge with some broccoli and handed it to Dylan. Dylan had wrapped a blanket around his body and pointed to a hole. "In." Dylan commanded. Tyler stuck his head into the covers right against Dylan's ass. He was wrapped tight against Dylan's hole. The first sniff was incredible. Dylan's ass smelled just like the gas Tyler was subjected to in class. That's when the first fart hit. Tyler's nose burned as he carefully sniffed Dylan's ass and stroked his cock. Tyler woke up with his face trapped in a bed sheet. Dylan was gone. It was 3am. He read a note on his bedroom door: "You couldn't even last 5 minutes down there. You're pathetic. If you don't do better next time I'm gonna twist your nuts until they pop off. Love you sweetie! -Dilly" Posey was scared, but his hard on still grew.

He threw himself on his bed, face to pillow, when a foul smell hit him… Dylan farted on his pillows before leaving… he sniffed until he passed out drunk on Dylan's gas. Tuesday night Posey was dressed to the nine's. The guys went to a club and were sitting at a booth. Dylan was leading the conversation and John, Greg and Hoechlin were eating it up. Greg drew everyone's attention to a girl. Dylan glared at Tyler and pointed to the restroom with a wink. "He wants me to do this now?!?" Tyler thought. The two guys passed the bathroom and Dylan led them to an area behind the building. Dylan guided Tyler so that his back was against a brick wall, and with no words Dylan began to fart onto Posey's thigh. Tyler was mesmerized by the showing. Dylan was blowing out gas like a champ. Most were inaudible, but the breeze, and the foul smell was a dead giveaway. For 5 minutes Dylan let rip constant streams of gas, but at minute 6 Posey tried bucking him off. "Dude! That's enough, you're proving your point you're a fucking GOD! Now get off me!" Posey felt a little nauseous from the performance. "No Pose! I got GAS! I need you to sniff it. Come to think of it, my shorts are probably filtering the stink. It may travel back to the other guys." Tyler was listening to Dylan speak and he felt lightheaded with excitement and fear. "Can you pull my shorts down… with your teeth?" Dylan gave Tyler the sweetest puppy dog eyes he could muster. Tyler dropped to his knees and praised the bubblebutt before his eyes. Dylan backed his ass up into Tyler's mouth as Tyler opened wide and bit down on the back elastic of Dylan's shorts. As Tyler pulled down on the shorts his nose rubbed against Dylan's open crack. Tyler could smell the scent of trapped gas between the cheeks flood his senses. A quick sharp toot filled the air and Tyler's oxygen was tainted further with the gas of his new fart king. "Air my shorts out and keep your face in my ass. I got a lot more" Dylan was talking as though this was the most normal behavior in the world. Tyler began to moan. How did Dylan never run out of gas!?!? "You're doing a lot better than Monday night. Just don't pass out" On the word pass out Dylan let out a fart that could singe nose hairs of anyone in the parking lot on the other side of the building. Tyler tried to escape but his head was trapped against the brick wall. He was in Dylan's fart trap. "We better go back… I still have a lot of gas but you'll just have to claim whatever I have to release in the bar." Tyler stared at Dylan. He was embarrassed to fart. Dylan was embarrassed about farting in front of the other guys. But around him he was a gas bomb. If that didn't say love, what did? A few months later the guys were hanging out at John and Greg's house. Dylan was sitting on a bean bag and munching on some taco bell when a fart erupted from his ass. This fart scared the living daylights out of the guys and they stared at Dylan. Dylan was about to cry when Posey spoke up. "Sorry guys, hahahaha! That was me." John looked back at Dylan on the other side of the room. "Uhh… bro… that noise came from Dylan!" The smell hit the guys with force. "UGH! Wait y'all, ever since Dylan came into the picture, Tyler's farts have stunk SO much worse!" Hoechlin looked confused. "Guys! Seriously, I can throw my farts! See?" Tyler leaned and motioned to Dylan to rip a fart from his seat. Dylan let out another loud monster and looked scared and cried "STOP!" They guys busted out laughing as Tyler waved a hand behind his ass to waft the magnify smell from his ass. Dylan lived to see another embarrassment free night. Posey was sure to be rewarded for that save tonight… when the taco bell finally reached Dylan's gut. Dylan was sure to make Posey suffocate and cum his dick off that night.

[karizard-ao3]

Headcanon that rizz is Marleyan slang from the continent and completely foreign to Paradis’s dialect. Therefore, the irony. Despite the fact he has exactly 0 (zero) rizz, since Grisha is Marleyan, Eren is the only one who knows rizz and uses it in a sentence. He fails miserably at explaining what it means, and when his friends do find out, the first thing they do is point out Eren is rizzless. Mikasa disagrees and believes Eren is climbing mount Everizz as we speak

1) Mount Everizz is the funniest thing I've heard all day. 2) I see your idea of rizz being Marleyan slang and raise you this: because Grisha is an old fart, it's outdated Marleyan slang and it is very hard for Annie, Reiner, and Bertholt not to laugh at him when he uses it because it sounds so corny. Ymir Freckles predates rizz as a term and is mystified by it.

[nostalgicamerica]

True story:

When I was a young teenager I truly lived a blessed life thanks to my mother and father. I never really wanted for anything. All my needs and most of my wants were met, I felt loved, I had a warm bed, and I never went hungry. I had more than I deserved and certainly more than most.

So I felt a little guilty to feel a longing inside me that seemed to grow with time. Eventually, the yearning crowded out all other passions (with the possible exception being Maija Saaronen, but that's a story for another time). That longing was to have a dog of my own.

To be sure, we already had a dog, but Musta, a black lab, was the family dog. He belonged to everyone, and by the time I pushed through puberty, Musta was already old and spent most of his time on his bed, snoring and farting.

To be honest, I loved Musta as much as the rest of my family did, but he wasn't mine. Besides, his hips and joints were too sore for him to hike the rivers with me, and on cold or rainy nights he was as likely to curl up with any of my other siblings as me.

I repeatedly talked to my parents about getting my own dog and the answer was invariably, "No." Or, "They are too expensive and money is tight as it is and if we let you get a dog, then all of the kids will want one of their own and we'll be overrun with dogs." Or, "You can't have a dog because we are evil and we want you to be as miserable as possible." Well, that last one I made up, but that is how I read their refusals.

Even the promise to pay for everything myself fell on deaf ears. I had my paper route. No. I could mow lawns and shovel snow and do other odd jobs to raise money. No. I'll not shirk my chores around the house anymore. That's what you're supposed to do anyway, and no.

I think Dad had more sympathy for my yearnings than Mom did, because he only acquiesced to her refusal. I don't recall him ever putting his foot down like Mom, and after one particular defeat at the hands of the 'No-Dog-For-You-I-Don't-Care-How-Miserable- You- Are-Woman' who professed to love me, Dad followed me from the kitchen and, gripping my shoulder in his large hand, he winked and whispered, "Don't give up, buddy. Life has a way of getting us what we truly want."

-

So I wandered through my days essentially dogless. Most of my friends and acquaintances had dogs, if not their own, at least their dogs had the decency to occasionally act like it. Here comes Eino with his beagle trotting along beside him. There goes Skunk with his Dachshund/Chihuahua yipping at his heels. I don't know who that kid is, but he has a dog, too.

Darned near every family had a dog that the boys in the family could do things with. Even the meanest local bully, Mikko Aho, had his own dog, a German Shepherd cross named Daisy that was just as mean as her owner. Daisy easily topped 120 pounds and, although she was getting long in the tooth, she still made my bowels loosen whenever I saw her, whether she was on a lead or not.

Fortunately for the rest us - not so much for him - Mikko, a few years older than me, had recently begun his life-long love affair with alcohol, so Daisy spent her days chained up in the Aho's back yard. Periodically she would get bored, break her chain, and wander around looking for somebody to bite, which usually wound up being a child or defenseless grandmother working in her garden.

As a general rule, I didn't believe there were bad dogs; just bad owners. Poor Daisy had been raised to be a kusipää by and like her owner.

-

July and August came and went with no movement from Mom despite my best efforts to wear her down. With September came my fourteenth birthday, school, and cooler, rainier weather.

I was a freshman that year. A new school filled with new challenges, new classmates, and, of course, new girls. I didn't dislike school, generally speaking, I just disliked the feeling of being jailed.

Never an academic, I did well enough in English, Literature, Civics, and History, but I never got along with Math and the sciences. Those two thugs would wait for me every afternoon at home in my room and taunt me and my lack of mental acuity. I always managed to squeak by those courses, but it was always a knock-down free-for-all to even manage a C.

To this day, if somebody asks me what endoplasmic reticulum is, as a general rule, I punch them in the face. And in well over 50 years I've never once had to solve a quadratic equation. But apparently, to continue on into my adulthood, these subjects were a rite of passage.

-

I can't remember the first time I saw him. I was getting off the bus after school and happened to glance behind the general store and saw a scruffy, black and white dog pulling at a garbage bag. The mongrel was dirty and looked emaciated and only glanced at me warily when I whistled for it. I didn't see a collar.

When I approached, the dog sidled away and whined at my impertinence in disturbing the meal it just knew was in the black plastic bag. The dog took one last wistful look at the trash bag and slipped into the waist-high weeds at the rear of the parking lot.

I dug out the remnants of my lunch and left half of a liverwurst sandwich and a couple of cookies at the edge of the pavement where the dog had disappeared and headed for home and the dreaded algebra homework I had facing me that night.

-

Over the next couple of weeks I saw the stray a few more times, usually scrounging for food, and looking forlorn. Each time I tried to coax it to come to me I was met with failure. The dog, who, my brother opined was the filthiest dog he'd ever seen and bestowed the name Lika (short for Likainen) on, was as skittish about me as I was about polynomials.

Lika, was unlike any dog I had ever dreamed of owning, but even a mongrel was better than no dog at all, and I was sure I could convince Mom to let me keep it if I could convince it to follow me home.

One Saturday near the end of September heralded the arrival of that most glorious of natural phenomenon - Indian Summer. One last taste of summer and a brief and wonderful reprieve from the winter that was headed our way.

By the time our chores were done the mercury was nudging up against 70, and my brother and I decided to head to the river for a few Rainbow or Brown. We threw a few sandwiches in a bag, grabbed our gear and headed for the trailhead.

Our day turned out beautiful; an azure and cloudless sky, yellow, orange, and red foliage everywhere we looked, and the river was almost languid. We wound up getting skunked, but that was no matter. My motto was - and is - a bad day fishing is better than a good day doing almost anything else.

Walking home through town, I saw Lika again. The dog didn't immediately dart away when I approached but it was cautious. I extended one of the remaining sandwiches to it and crouched down to make myself smaller.

Ever so slowly Lika inched closer, the liverwurst acting like a magnet to an empty stomach. Up close I could see Lika was a male and that he was terrified. But his hunger was stronger than his fear, and delicately, he took the triangle-cut meal of home-baked bread, liverwurst, and horseradish and skittered back a few feet. I watched him wolf the sandwich down, his eyes never wavering from mine.

My brother just laughed, "You know Mom's going to flip out if you manage to convince that kirppupussi to follow you home." My brother always was smarter than me, but I ignored his negativity. "I just gotta get him there. She'll come around."

Lika looked like he was ready for a nap. Up close I couldn't see anything wrong with him. He just needed a bath and a few meals to fix what ailed him. And a boy to call his own. And maybe some flea powder. He was a medium-sized dog, maybe forty pounds or so, a patchwork black and white but so dirty the white looked brown.

When my brother and I resumed our trek home, Lika did follow us, to a fashion. He stayed about 10 yards behind us, stopping occasionally as if unsure about the bipedal creature who gave him food. As we turned down our street and I whistled to encourage Lika, he stopped at the corner and wouldn't come any closer.

-

The following morning, after breakfast, my mother gave me a dollar and sent me to the general store for a bag of flour. Almost immediately, Lika emerged from the ditch at the side of the road and cautiously approached me. I sat down on the shoulder and waited as he nervously edged closer.

His tail was slowly wagging. Whether it was me, or the scent of the breakfast sausage I had squirreled away in the front pocket of my overalls, I'm not sure, but it didn't matter. The little black and white stray stopped within arm's length and sat down, looking at me expectantly.

He shied away when I reached into my overall pocket but showed renewed interest when I eased the napkin out and unrolled one of the venison links. I broke off a small piece and held it in the palm of my hand and I almost squealed like a school girl when Lika leaned forward and took it from me.

I could almost see gratitude on his face as he ate one chunk of sausage after another until, with a silent gesture I held up my hands to him, fingers splayed. I wondered if he could smell Musta on me or it was something else because he recoiled away when I tried to pet him.

"It's okay, buddy." I grinned, "I have time."

Lika followed me to the store, waited in the parking lot as I went in and was still waiting when I came out with a five pound bag of flour on my shoulder and a couple of coins jingling in my pocket.

The two blocks home found Lika shadowing me close enough for our morning shadows to almost touch on the dirt road. I talked to him softly, almost whispering, and tried to avoid sudden movements. My confidence and joy were growing with each step. What I would do about Mom and her 'no dog' edict eluded me. I figured I'd cross that bridge when I got to it.

-

I spent the rest of that week sneaking food to the dog in the mornings and after school, while trying to avoid Mom's scrutiny, as well as that of my older sisters who would likely rat me out, depending on their mood. Musta wasn't eating much by that time so I was able to swipe some of his kibble, and I could always slide a hot dog, or some kielbasa, or pork chop from my plate into a pocket.

The problem was, the days were creeping towards October and the nights were getting cold. I couldn't let Lika fend for himself. I thought about hiding him in the basement where at least he'd be warm, but Mom kept her canned goods there and I could imagine the fun ensuing if Mom or one of my sisters tripped over the dog.

The best solution I could find was the dilapidated tool shed behind the garage. The shed was no longer used for anything, it listed badly to the south, had large cracks between nearly every board, and it survived only because Dad always told Mom he'd tear it down as soon as he got the chance. To that point the chance never presented itself.

But cardboard would block most of the holes and keep my new dog out of the wind, and a quilt I stole from the attic would make a decent bed.

Lika wasn't exactly enthusiastic about the accommodations but the shed was better than bedding down in the open. It would work for awhile until I could figure something else or wear down Mom.

The real problem I faced was I couldn't be at home every moment of the day. I had school and my paper route and other chores that would take me away from my dog, and hockey season was bearing down. On top of it all, Lika didn't seem overly concerned about being discovered.

I considered asking one of my friends to keep him until I broke Mom but immediately discarded the idea; all my friends already had dogs, larger families than my own, or both. The shed was the best I could do.

-

By mid-October, the stray was no longer a stray. He was mine; I was his. His whole body would wriggle insanely at my approach and his tail would wag so violently it would create a ruckus banging against the side of the shed. He would let me pet and hold him and for hours, when I wasn't in school, we'd lay on the quilt and talk to each other.

I had no way to bathe him - the weather was too cold to use the garden hose, so I tried a few wet towels, which helped a bit, but he needed a bath in the worst way. He smelled worse than a week old and well-used gym sock.

-

January and February are typically the coldest months of any year on the Keweenaw Peninsula. The year I turned fourteen, however, October reminded us that we were closer to Canada than Mexico and tossed us a surprise; a week before Halloween a storm rolled through that dropped over 20 inches of snow and, after the front passed, the temperature plummeted.

I was in a panic about what to do about my dog. It was already 10 degrees and the radio breathlessly informed us that we could expect sub-zero temps overnight.

I didn't care if I got caught, when our parents weren't paying attention, I was going to bring Lika into the basement. It was then I learned one of those lessons that usually seemed to pass right over my head.

I was getting frantic and Mom always seemed to be underfoot. "Go knit a sweater or dust something." I pleaded with her in my head. Usually Mom was always dusting or cleaning as if the Pope was going to drop by. Maybe she sensed something wrong, or she decided the pretense was over.

She touched my shoulder as I was pulling on my boots and smiled gently. "Why don't you bring your dog into the mud room?"

I just stared at her in disbelief. "You knew?"

I could hear Dad laughing in the family room, "Honey, we've known since the first day you brought him home. You can't put anything past us, besides," She smiled, "He isn't exactly stealthy. That little guy waits everyday in the middle of the yard for you to get home from school. Besides," she smiled again, "Your little bothers have been playing with him for weeks."

As I raced out the door to get Lika and his quilt, Mom yelled at me, "He can only be in the mud room and it is just temporary."

So Lika moved indoors where it was warm, and where there was no shortage of little people willing to bestow hugs and belly rubs and snot on him. He stayed in the mud room on his quilt for a few days and then we began testing Mom by letting him in the family room for a few minutes until she yelled.

A warm bath with Ivory soap worked miracles. His black was inky and his white patches glowed. He was still scruffy, but he was clean. A steady diet packed a few pound onto his frame and his eyes seemed to leak the happy he had been missing. A visit to the vet two towns down the road confirmed Lika was healthy and about two years old, and although the veterinarian suspected a terrier-husky mix, he really wasn't sure.

Over time Lika warmed to everyone. My siblings couldn't leave him alone and I even caught Dad feeding him and rubbing his head. Even Musta welcomed Lika and acted like a puppy when Lika approached his bed in the family room. Mom, though, kept her distance.

She often said the dog had to go in the spring when the snow melted and it was warm. She was insistent that we could easily find a good family that would be happy to give him a home, especially since he was so well behaved and quiet.

She was right. Lika was nothing if not quiet. In the entire time he was capturing my heart, I had never heard him bark.

-

Things went that way for awhile.

I once overheard Mom telling Dad about how she couldn't help noticing how responsible I was becoming in taking Lika for walks every day, feeding him on schedule, and cleaning up his lawn mines after he did his business. She showed Dad her tally book showing my payments for his food and the vet bill and she was smiling. It made me feel good inside, and I was sure she was coming around.

By the time Christmas showed up, Lika had moved in with Musta and they shared Musta's bed like two old friends. Their food bowls were side by side. In a testament to the size of his heart, Lika would walk by the old dog's side until they reached the bowls and he wouldn't eat until his new friend began.

Mom had ceased threatening eviction for Lika and on more than one occasion I caught her slipping him a scrap of ham or bacon. She hadn't said he could stay, but at least she wasn't proclaiming from the rooftop he was gone.

-

One January night, I was wakened by a cold dog nose on my back. It was probably around two am and I had been sound asleep. Groggy, unable to focus, I tried to roll over and go back to whatever dream I had been involved with; around that time it likely would have involved Maija. Again, a cold nose.

I rolled over and sat up. Lika was sitting on the floor at the edge of my bed just looking up at me. In the dark, I assumed he just wanted to snuggle with me and I held up the blankets. He stood up and moved halfway to the door, looking back at me.

I lay back down and my dog came back to the bed and raising up on the edge, he gently nudged my leg. He waited as I reluctantly rolled out of bed and then led me out into the hallway. Silently he led me down to the first floor and into the family room. Lika almost looked sorrowful in the dark as he walked up to Musta and looked down at him.

Sometime in the night Musta slipped his leash on life and quietly slipped away. I knelt by his side and held Lika and together we said goodbye to a good boy.

-

February, March, and April visited awhile and departed without fanfare, leaving May to set up camp. It was unseasonably warm for May and most of the snow was gone save for the plow piles and those were nearly melted. On the last Sunday of the month my youngest brother turned six.

Mom always celebrated her brood, and even after 13 kids, she still went out of her way to ensure our birthdays were memorable. That meant a party for the birthday boy and several of his friends from school and the neighborhood.

So after church services, a group of boys feted my youngest brother outside at our house. The day was certainly warm enough for the gathering to be held outside, but I mostly think my parents just couldn't tolerate to have eight or nine 6- and 7-year olds under their roof.

The kids were roughhousing in the backyard as young boys do, laughing, and crying, and picking their noses, Mom and one of my sisters were shepherding the group, and Dad was in the garage working on his truck. Lika was laying in the yard in the shade of one of the Maple trees probably trying to decide if he should join the festivities, or find somewhere to hide.

I was in the bathroom doing my business, reading an article in the Culture and Entertainment section of the Sunday paper about some actor (Ronald Coleman, if my questionable memory serves) who had passed away a week previous. I happened to glance out the window towards the street and saw Daisy skulking along the ditch, dragging a length of chain in the dirt. Even from where I sat I could see her attention seemed riveted on the gaggle of boys and Mom, who were all oblivious.

I raised up off the commode, slid up the window and yelled as loudly as I could in warning. Dad, stepping out of the garage, heard me, and saw Daisy. I've never seen Dad move as fast as he did at that moment. He brandished a tire iron as a weapon and sprinted towards Daisy who had decided she was going to gnaw on a few limbs and was running towards the eighteen legs, all ripe biting targets. From where I watched, petrified, my butt bare and still unwiped, I could see Dad wasn't going to be fast enough.

I watched in disbelief as a grey streak passed Dad and slammed broadside into Daisy, knocking her off course and off kilter. My little dog was full of righteous fury and tore into the much bigger dog, jaws snapping at her legs and neck, snarling like a banshee.

Daisy tried to put up a defense and bit at the insane dervish that chewed at her, but she was almost as old as Musta, and much, much slower than Lika. She also didn't have a vested interest in attacking the kids - maybe she was just bored - and her heart wasn't in the fight. She turned tail and ran with Lika chewing on her backside, just as Dad reached the cloud of dust and dog.

Mom had put herself between the dogs and party and held her hand over her mouth at the scene playing out in her yard. Her fear overwhelmed her and she was sobbing even as Lika returned to where Dad knelt, holding out his arms for the little dog. Lika's hackles were still up, he kept looking back at where the bigger dog had disappeared, and I could hear his low growling from where I watched from the bathroom. And he was limping.

Fortunately, his one wound was insignificant. Daisy had bitten him on his right front leg, but there was only one small puncture wound. Dad scooped him up and tried to carry him into the house but Mom stopped Dad and descended on her little furry hero, smothering Lika with hugs and kisses and I knew two things at that moment: 1. Lika wasn't going anywhere, and, 2. I had lost my dog to Mom.

And I was okay with that.

I knew I could still take him on my fishing trips, or walk the streets of town with 'my' dog by my side, but Lika belonged to Mom just as surely as I did.

-

So Lika earned a permanent home, I got my dog, although he belonged to everyone else, too, especially Mom. He was her hero and she showered love and affection on that little guy throughout the remainder of his life. Without consulting me she changed his name to Pela - a shortened version of Pelastaja. I had to admit it certainly fit him better.

I'd like to say that Pela had bonded to me more than the rest of my family but that simply wasn't so. He snuggled with me on cold nights, but no more than with any of my siblings. Pela didn't exactly take a rotation - he somehow chose the child who needed it most; the child who was sick, the child who was sad because of a bully at school, or the child who just needed more.

Growing up is about learning lessons and along the way I mostly learned them (except Plane Geometry). Many I learned from my teachers along the way but more I learned from my parents.

One in particular I learned in my efforts to bring home a dog - Dad was right. Life does have a way of getting us what we truly want. I've tested this idea many times over the span of my life and added to it: Life has a way of getting what we truly want if our motives are right and if we maintain a positive outlook.

When I left for college and, later left Michigan to see what I could make out of life, I left Pela with my family. It was the right thing to do for them, and for Pela, and it would have been selfish to do otherwise.

When I returned home as I often did, Pela always acted like I had just been using the bathroom or at school. He'd cock his head up at me as if to ask, "Where've you been?" before jumping up on my lap.

They say love goes on and maybe the love I had for my first dog never left at all. I can still feel it.

-

Note: The photo is not of Pela - I know some exist but I have no idea which of my remaining seven siblings have Mom and Dad's photos. Ultimately, it doesn't matter - I can still see him in my memory. The photo I used as a heading is from a Google search for "Scruffy Dog Black and White." Of all the images, this one looks most similar to Pela.

[louistomlinsonhasanicebum]

I'm miserably depressed and I had a horrible day at work and I have no friends. So fuck it, I'm going to post to my tumblr. I need an outlet. I work, come home at night, listen to music, smoke pot and browse my tumblr tags.

I used to LiveJournal all the time when I was a teenager. It actually got me in trouble at school with my schoolmates; there was a girl in the grade above me who had the same Good Charlotte shirt as me and I was complaining about it on lj, lol. I think she commented on the post and called me out for it. But of course I didn't learn my lesson and continued to post to livejournal publicly. Once a girl IMed me on AIM to tell me some people in the computer lab at school were reading my livejournal and talking shit about me. I was MORTIFIED. I should have been in therapy when I was like 14 but my home life was really really bad and a whole fucking story... so I still used LiveJournal, because it was an outlet and I didn't have a lot of friends and was seriously depressed. I mean obviously I wasn't talking shit about my schoolmates anymore, at least not publicly. I have always very much related to Harriet the Spy and I love that movie with all my heart. It was understandably one of my favorite movies when I was little, along with Matilda.

I grew up in a very small town with very small-minded people who told me my brother was a faggot and disgusting because he's gay and that he's going to hell. So.

I went to a wedding this summer and was sat at a table with really cool people who don't live in the same area as me. It made me realize I'm really fucking lonely.

Stream of consciousness, feeling sorry for myself I guess and still need therapy. Haha. I never truly grew out of my fangirl phase and I KNOW there are other old farts on tumblr geeking out over Louis Tomlinson like I am!! I'VE SEEN Y'ALL! Message me please and be my friend oh my god I need friends so badly. Therapy is expensive lol I can't afford it be my friend so I don't need therapy 😚

When I wasn't into Good Charlotte anymore I moved on to River Phoenix, and John Frusciante. Random, right? Wait, Pirates of the Caribbean was like my favorite movie in 2003; I asked for it for Christmas, got a VHS copy (we didn't have a DVD player!) and literally watched it every night for like a month. I had a short-lived obsession with Johnny Depp. This was twenty years ago people so we didn't know he was a piece of shit. I don't like him anymore; I remember thinking "Gee, I wonder what Johnny Depp is up to nowadays" in 2018 and googling like johnny depp interview or something, and found his very recent Rolling Stone article... yikes. I especially never liked him since then. Very incriminating.

Well anyway... um... I can't believe LiveJournal still exists, I've been lurking on tumblr since 2010 at least and I need friends. Please be my friend.

[denvcrs]

“ why would you say that to me . ” picking an ice cube out of her glass to fling it at him . “ i am already living in absolute terror you gremlin . why else would i be at your house instead of mine ? ” a silent ‘ answer that question you smarty pants ’ lingering in the air . “ alright but if i fart after ... it’s your fault for giving me cheese . ” she grinned only half joking as she nibbled on the tart . making a small grimace though she kept eating it , “ i hate it . ”

a laugh leaves him as he ducks to avoid getting hit-- much to his dismay he fails miserably, " because i feed you and let you pick what we watch on tv, " denver replies popping a tart into his mouth. brown eyes roll at the girl's critique, " you're a liar and that's why there's an old man in connecticut sniffing your panties right now." he doesn't mind being being on clem-watch if it means the girl is more at ease, even though he's joking right now he can't imagine having his own privacy violated like that. curiosity gets the best of him so he asks, " what did they take exactly ? "

[sketchydan]

Self conscious person gets roasted by immigrant and wants to cancel the feelings they make "them" feel.

Old people are the best!.. Except the miserable ones, they suck. But, they're cool because they honestly just don't give a fuck. They are not "down" for your "woke" shit "bro". If you feel insulted when they were genuenly complementing you, they'll insult you to show you what an insult sounds like. So much so that you'll be rethinking your entire life. And why would they give a fuck? They're outta heree, pronto. "Let the next gen handle it" and God help us! Though, maybe we could do without racists, yeah? I mean how many old farts are on their death beds still complaining about Jews or Blacks? We all got that one uncle, am I right!

[jujurose222]

“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, thy angels watch me through the night, and keep me safe till morning's light”

I highly admire old people. How the fuck did you make it that long????? They deserve that senior discount, I’m sorry for ever getting mad at you miserable old farts. I would act like a fart if I were you too. How the fuck are yall still alive? I’m sorry for ever disrespecting yall. That shit has got to suck major dick to just fucking decay and wither into a slouched over lady with arthritis. Constant pain.

The result of choosing instant gratification over long term health choices.

I’m trying to choose the long term health choices, that shit is hard. I don’t want to be in pain when I’m old like that.

Not only have they lived so fucking long, enduring this bullshit, but now their pain is even more severe as the years go on! That’s fucking wild.

They get addicted to pain, trained to withstand worse and worse. Not me.

Imma get addicted to GAINS. lol not like physical gains I don’t care about physical strength. I mean a healthy immune system, you know, things like that. The ability to breathe properly, move well.

I don’t wanna lose my ability to think, I think that’s the worst part of a lot of these old people. They lose their minds, literally.

I get one ounce of pain in my shoulder or back, and I act like a little baby. Imagine being an old person whose pain is their normal.

Lives of lies and pretending. Lead them all to beds of aching and misery.

“You made your bed, lay in it.”

Imagine being so sucked into the pattern of misery that you’re just stuck.

I get claustrophobic now as a young girl. Imagine being old and alone.

I cannot imagine what it’s like for my grandmother.

She has never gotten over my grandfather cheating on her. She has been alone ever since he left. She is envious of every pretty blonde she has met.

My grandmother spends her life alone, in pain, with sons who pay for her, but make fun of her every move. All she has is that church. It’s no wonder she has ended up where she’s at.

She has been alone ever since my father was 3 years old. Totally, utterly alone. All she has is her grand babies. She’s never had someone to hold her in the night, someone to coddle her and tell her it will be alright. Someone who looks at her in pure awe. She’s only had a man who impregnated her and left her side. Then another man who impregnated her, cheated on her all the time and stole identities so he wouldn’t have to pay taxes. She’s never had a stable lover.

I don’t wanna end up like that. I love her so much. I can’t believe how well she has survived, how well she breathes, how well she walks around. How happy she portrays herself to be.

She’s so alone. I am too. I spent all my time with her. She means everything to me. She made me, me. I want her to be in love. I want her to experience the true joy of pure love. I want her to find God in a moment of ecstasy, not in a moment of suffering. She finds him there often. Please God, I want her to find it in a state of gratitude. Probably won’t be until next lifetime, but please guide her there. She guided me here.

Grandma I love you. The healthiest old lady I know. But emotionally, she’s never been fulfilled, and I think that’s the worst part of her pain. Please God. I used to pray for everyone besides her, because I knew you two talked. But now I want all my goodnight prayers used on her.

“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, thy angels watch me through the night, and keep me safe till morning's light.”

Then I would name every single person I was grateful for. I’d sit there forever thinking of every person and animal I knew.

Amen.

I’d go to sleep in my Grandmas water bed. She’d play me Enya.

“And who can say when the day sleeps/ If the night keeps all your heart?”

I’d snuggle with my dad’s blanket he used as a kid. The neighbor lady made it for him. Now I got to keep it, it’s mine now.

She always lets me keep things, she says, “I know you’ll take the best care of it.” It’s because she’s taught me how.

She gave me her book that first belonged to her mother, “The Medicinal Herbalist.” Inside the cover she has written her name all over in cursive, I think it’s from when she was a young girl. I love to admire her messy handwriting. It’s from a whole nother time.

Her handwriting on those pages is stuck in time, it’s beautiful. Just as my Uncles written name on his artwork, his vinyls, his desk. He labeled everything. Each of those written versions, frozen in whatever time he wrote them.

Words and letters mean the most to me. Those signatures stuck in the time they were written. I’ll never get back my handwriting from when I was eleven.

When I can see something written I can touch it and feel the essence of the time it was written.

This is why I love old things, I can feel the essence of where they first belonged.

I love old people, I love old objects, I love everything wise and old. Time is beautiful, I’m sorry for ever doubting it. I’m sorry for mistreating the absolute splendor of time, let me return to patience.

Dear God, help me to remember the prayers my grandmother taught me as a girl. They were uttered constantly, but I seem to forget them. Help me to find my way back again.

[anthonysstupiddailyblog]

Anthony's Stupid Daily Blog (556): Sun 24th Sep 2023

My last day in Gran Canaria. I was a bit depressed knowing I had to go back to freezing Sunderland but reassured myself that I won’t have to tolerate the cold for long because I’m going to start making a holiday in the sun a regular treat for myself. I think I’ll start coming here four times a year to celebrate the end of the Autumn, the Winter, the Spring and possibly the coldest season in the UK: the summer. Unlike the hotels I stay in when I travel around the UK the hotel I was staying at didn’t require me to be up and out the door at the break of fucking dawn so I got a little bit of a lie in this morning. I’m already a little bit sunburnt and my clothes are irritating my skin so I didn’t go in the sun today in case I made it worse and was in agony for the entire journey home. Instead I sat in the shade and started reading the next book in my Edgar challenge: The Lock Artist by Steve Hamilton. It’s about a mute kid named Michael who from an early age becomes gifted at unlocking locks and naturally turns to a life of crime. While I was waiting for my coach to arrive I played some pool on the table by the pool area. After one shot the white ball went in one of the pockets and a guy walking by said “Two shots” and I replied “I’ve already had five pints” and despite this being the funniest thing anyone has ever said / ever will say he didn’t ask if he could be my best friend. I got picked up at 6pm to get taken to the airport and waved goodbye (for now) to this little slice of paradise. I’m so glad I decided to not bring a suitcase because being able by I get checked in and through to the departure lounge in a matter of minutes made this one of the most pleasurable journeys I’ve ever been on. I still had two hours to kill before my flight so I walked around looking for stuff to write jokes about. I walked past a clothing store and they had a big life size plastic cow on display and for some reason it was on wheels. Now I’ve heard of a milkfloat but that’s just ridiculous (that will not be one of the lines I use when I do stand up next year in case you’re wondering…unless everything else I write in the meantime is absolute shit). When I finally got on the plane the pilot told us that we were expected to get there ahead of time which got a big cheer from the passengers. The old woman next to me fell asleep and her head dropped down and to the side. If she was sitting alone in a room on a chair like that you would’ve sworn she’d been shot from behind. I assumed that she’d be really uncomfortable when she woke up but she was really old so I assume that every time she wakes up she’s just happy that she’s not in Hell. We got home in just under four hours and I immediately darted past all the suckers at baggage claim, through the passport checking place, out the front door, let out the mother of all farts I’d been holding in for just over four hours then headed back in and got myself a taxi home which arrived almost immediately. This trip has been just what I needed. The cold autumn, winter and spring months are torturous but they’re made even more so by the fact that I constantly tell myself that the summer will be amazing and more than make for it…then it isn’t and it doesn’t. Say I live to be 75 that means I’m doomed to suffer through the miserable lead up to summer and then the crushing disappointment of summer 40 more times and I simply won’t do it. Once every three or four months I’m going to start booking a week long trip away to the Canary Islands as a reward for plowing through and enduring another shitty season.