#story time

[inbabylontheywept]

my grandpa was a good man. and it really wasnt his fault - recreationally lying to kids is a proud family tradition - but he told me, once, that cutting a worm in half resulted in two worms.

i think he said it so i'd be more morally okay with fishing? i actually dont remember the context.

point was, he told me this, and he understimated (by a very large margin) how much i liked worms. i was a worm boy. very wormy. and after hearing that, i went home, and i dug through the garden, flipped over every rock, did everything i could to gather as many worms as i could, and then i uh.

i cut them all in half. every worm i could find. all of them. with scissors.

i then took this pile of split worms, and i put them in a box with a bit of lettuce and some water and stuff and went to bed expecting to double my worms overnight. i have math autism, so i had a vague understanding that if i did this just a few times in a row, i would eventually have a completely unreasonable amount of worms.

i was very excited to become this plane's worm emperor.

(i think i was...six?)

anyway, i did not become the inheritor of the worm crown. i instead woke up to a box of dead worms and cried. a lot. i got diagnosed with panic attacks as a teenager, but i think i had them as a kid, i just had no idea what they were. i was kind of processing that a.) i had killed what i had assumed was every single worm in my yard, and thus would have no more worms, and b). i was going to like, worm hell.

(six year babylon spent a lot of time worrying about god.)

so i kind of freaked out, and i climbed a tree, because god can only smite you if you're touching the ground (?) and i sat up there mostly inconsolable until my mom came out and asked, hey, what's up? what happened?

so i explained to her that i had killed all of the worms, forever, and was also Damned, and she took me to the compost pile, and we dug for all of five seconds and found like twenty more worms.

the compost pile was full of worms.

she then told me that a). there were more worms, and we could put them back under rocks and stuff and recolonize our yard and b). that one day, i would die, and go to heaven, and be able to talk to the worms face to face. that i'd be able to tell them all that i was very sorry, and that i killed them on accident, driven only by excessive Love, and that she was positive they would forgive me because worms have six hearts and no malice.

at that point, i think i was sixty percent tear-snot by weight, and i had no choice but to gather enough worms that i could hug them. which my mom helped with. and then after that she helped me put some worms back under each rock.

and for my epilogue: i spent a significant portion of my childhood in trees. and for many years after, even when my mom didnt know i was watching, i would catch her giving the space under the rocks a light spritz with the hose. not because she loved worms.

but because she loved me.

[thehmn]

I want to apologize to my friends and family who have children for low key treating their kids like dogs but the standard methods for training dogs are even more effective of them because they actually understand language and are better at reasoning.

Positive reinforcement is amazingly effective, like I saw my nephew poking their cat so I sternly told him no, he stopped and I immediately changed my demeanor and cheerfully told him thank you and how happy I was that he listened to me instead of staying angry at him and he got this strange “Oh…It actually does make a difference wether I’m naughty or not” and later my sister in law asked why he��s so polite around me.

That’s literally what works best on dogs. Let them know when you don’t like what they’re doing but also let them know when you’re happy with them even if that means changing your demeanor on a dime (and even if you’re still a bit mad at them for doing it in the first place).

Oh and little treats. I skipped the aunt phase and is already turning into a grandma who has candy in her pockets for the kiddos for good behavior.

[1988-fiend]

I love that last line so much!!!

And I love the friendly interaction with all three of them in line, Foggy is gonna try to play match maker again I bet ♥️

Wonderful cheeky chapter Bella 😍

The Devil at Your Window |11: Separation|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 4.4k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

a/n: Had to give our favorite stray black cat Matt another update. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer @keepingitlokiii @kezibear @dorothleah @sarahskywalker-amidala @1988-fiend @haruari @millennial-birkin @marveious @sunflower-tia @fizanotfeeza @cloudroomblog @babygirlmurdock @writtenbyred @idontevenknow1359 @scriptedmoon @sarraa-26 @barnes21cz @loves0phelia @3sriracha @kmc1989 @midnightramble @marissamejia19 @ardent-crow @ujws5 @livvyliv15 @sweety18 @energerstar @steve-chandler @librarygremin @wanda-maxamommy  @mullins108 @valhallavalkyrie9 @spn-reader

Holding onto the strap of your purse with both of your hands, you stood in line at the coffee shop that you occasionally visited near your apartment. Normally you didn't stop into Dark Matter on a Saturday morning, but sitting inside your apartment and staring at the same few walls sounded far too depressing this morning. So instead, you'd decided to grab a book and walk half a block to read at the shop over a cup of coffee instead.

After bringing the Devil’s Pantry back inside your apartment when you'd woken this morning, the sight of it remaining untouched again had stirred up all those feelings of dejection and rejection once more. The fear that the Devil was really gone from your life, that you'd never see him again, had become an all consuming thought as you’d showered and gotten ready for the day. You were sure you'd finally ruined everything by suggesting that you could just sleep with him without involving feelings the other night.

Why had you even suggested the idea of a friends with benefits situation with him? Sure, with every fiber of your being you absolutely wanted to have sex with him, but that was a bold statement to make even for you. He probably thought you sounded pathetic. Or crazy. And you did want more than just a physical relationship with him. You were curious about the man behind the mask, the one who put his life on the line almost nightly for strangers in Hell’s Kitchen, the one you admired so completely. So why had you stupidly disagreed with the truth when he'd said that you weren’t the no-strings-attached type? Because you absolutely couldn't be. You'd tried doing that once before and it had gone horrible for you in the past, there was no way you'd ever be able to get physical with the masked man while keeping your feelings locked away.

Because you had feelings for him.

Hands tightening further around the straps of your purse, you clenched your jaw in irritation with the situation that you'd stupidly put yourself in. You'd opened your damn mouth and ruined whatever had been going on with him ever since you'd first found him on your fire escape in that snow storm. How was it that whenever the Devil was involved, you continued to keep digging yourself into a deeper hole? Somehow you just kept pushing him further and further away when all you wanted to do was to draw him closer. It was like the more you tried, the more distance he created between you two.

He really is like a feral stray cat, you thought. It’s almost not even funny at this point.

But you didn't come to the coffee shop this morning to dwell on your ridiculous feelings for the Devil, you came here for a change of scenery and a distraction. Trying to shove those frustrating thoughts about the Devil from your mind, you shuffled forward when the line towards the register finally moved. At least soon you’d have a coffee and your book to distract you from the overwhelming disappointment and regret at trying to hook up with a masked vigilante.

Who the hell even did that, anyway?

As you stood in line eyeing the menu behind the register while debating on what to order, the door to the coffee shop opened behind you. The stillness of the shop was immediately interrupted by a cool breeze wafting inside and the sound of a loud voice speaking in a rush as more patrons entered the building. Your lips pulled into a straight line as you tried to tune out what the man who’d been speaking was saying, but when he came to stand behind you in line, it became almost impossible to ignore him.

“All I’m saying is,” the man continued, talking to whoever he’d apparently come to the coffee shop with, “is that of the two of us, I’m pretty sure I’m the one who looks a bit more trustworthy. While you, on the other hand, look like trouble.”

“Trouble?” another voice behind you asked, clear amusement in their tone. “Is that right?”

“Sorry, buddy,” the first man replied. “I’m just telling you what you can’t see in the mirror.”

There was a light chuckle to what was clearly meant to be a teasing jab, but something about the warm sound had caused the hair on the back of your neck to bristle. That laugh had almost sounded…familiar.

“Now that’s a low blow,” the other man responded. “Shame on you for using my disability against me like that, Fog.”

“I’m just being honest, man,” the man you assumed was ‘Fog’ teased. “But hey, if you don’t believe me, maybe we should get a second opinion?”

“What?” asked the other voice. “Fog, no. We don’t–”

“Why? Are you afraid I’m going to be proven right?” Fog taunted behind you.

“No, that’s–that’s not it,” the man replied, sounding a little panicked. “You don’t need to bother anyone with this. It’s ridiculous. You can handle the interview then, Foggy. It’s fine. I’ll step back.”

Your eyes narrowed curiously as you stared ahead at the coffee shop menu on the wall behind the register. Why had the other man sounded so familiar? You’d been contemplating just turning around to sneak a peek at the men behind you in the line, hoping you could figure it out with a quick glance, but then you felt a gentle tap along the top of your shoulder and the opportunity had quite literally presented itself to you.

“Excuse me, miss?” Foggy asked from behind you. “Do you mind resolving a debate for us?”

“Foggy, please don’t bother anyone over this,” the panicked plea came immediately afterwards. “This is ridiculous.”

Too curious to ignore the man who’d just tapped your shoulder, you half-turned in place from where you stood in line, entirely prepared to ask what exactly he’d wanted resolved. The growing familiarity in Foggy’s companion’s voice had made you wonder just who was behind you, but the moment you’d turned, you were immediately shocked at what you saw. 

One of the men was the exact same handsome gentleman that you’d literally run into by the bathrooms at Josie’s almost a month ago now. The handsome guy who’d offered to buy you a drink when you’d been on your first date with Dylan. It was impossible for you not to immediately recognize him with that attractive, stubbled face covered by those familiar red glasses and the cane he was clutching in his hand. That was why he’d sounded so familiar.

His companion, the one who must’ve tapped you on the shoulder that he'd been calling ‘Foggy,’ clearly didn’t notice the look of surprise that spread over your features when you turned around. He also didn’t seem to notice the curious reaction his friend had beside him–how he'd stiffened, his lips straightening into a tight line. It almost looked as if he’d recognized you with how he'd tensed the second you’d spun around and recognized him, but you knew that would have been impossible since he was blind and you hadn’t even spoken yet. There was no way he could have known that you were the woman from Josie’s.

“I’m sorry to bother you, miss,” Foggy began, drawing your attention back towards him, “but could you answer a simple question for us? Help us settle a little debate?”

You stood there for a minute, still entirely thrown by the sight of that man again. What were the odds of running into him? It had taken you so off guard that it took you a moment to recover before you could even register what his friend had asked you.

“Uh, sure?” you replied awkwardly.

Your eyes darted over to the handsome man beside Foggy once more, unable to resist the strange pull towards him. You could’ve sworn you saw his lips twitch when you'd responded. Was it possible he’d recognized your voice? Except you’d only spoken two words, that was ridiculous. You were clearly reading far too much into this because of how surprised you were to see him again.

“So my friend and I here are lawyers,” Foggy continued, either unphased or entirely unaware of the way your eyes kept darting towards the man next to him, “and we’ve got a client interview coming up. We can’t seem to agree on who seems to have the least intimidating appearance to take the lead on it, so can you give us your honest opinion? Who looks more trustworthy, me or this guy?”

You watched as Foggy flashed you a bright, friendly smile before your attention once more shifted over to the man beside him. The handsome man from Josie’s didn’t even bother flashing a smile in your direction, his lips remaining in a tight line along his face. For a moment you lost yourself silently staring at him, something else feeling like it was scratching at the corner of your mind. 

Something about him seemed familiar. And not just in the way that you recognized him from Josie’s. It was something you'd felt with him that night you’d first run into him, too. Like you knew him from somewhere. But why?

“Don’t I…know you?” you eventually asked the man, unable to keep quiet.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Foggy’s smile drop from his lips before he rolled his eyes, looking very much like this was something that happened often. The man beside him only seemed to grip his cane tighter in his hand at your question, his jaw tensing as he stared in your direction behind his glasses.

“Sorry,” you apologized, shaking your head. Of course you’d need to elaborate if you were going to get an answer. “It’s just…I swear I ran into you at Josie’s a few weeks ago. Quite literally, I mean. By the bathrooms?”

Some of the tension seemed to ease out of the man’s shoulders at your words, as if he was very gradually relaxing. A small smile pulled at his lips a few seconds later, like maybe he really was recognizing you. In the better lighting of the coffee shop as opposed to the dim light of Josie’s, you couldn’t help but notice that he had a nice smile. It was both disarming and mesmerizing simultaneously.

Sort of like someone else you knew...

“The woman who refused to let me buy her a drink? After I probably gave you a headache?” the man asked, his expression growing more animated. “Is that really you?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” you answered with a nervous laugh, shuffling forward when you noticed the line towards the register had moved once more. “Seems a strange coincidence running into you again.”

“Well thankfully this time you didn’t actually run into me,” he teased you.

His entire demeanor became vastly different than it had been a minute ago, his expression and tone turning almost playful. Biting your lip, you tried to fight back a smile at what you thought might’ve been him flirting with you. You noticed that his friend Foggy had caught your reaction and you quickly ducked your head to further hide it, trying to take a moment to recover. This guy was attractive and charismatic–a dangerous combination.

“So you and Matt…know each other?” Foggy asked hesitantly, his eyes darting between you both.

Matt. The handsome guy from Josie’s name was Matt. You were going to store that piece of information away, even if you weren’t sure you’d have a reason to remember it later.

“Oh, no,” you answered, waving a dismissive hand in the air as you shook off the notion. “No, we just literally ran into each other for a minute at Josie’s.”

“And you didn’t let me buy you a drink because you were on a date,” Matt replied, that charming smile still spread over his mouth. 

“Dude,” Foggy said with a chuckle. “Seriously? Trying to steal women away from their dates now while they’re still on the date? That’s a new one for you.”

Laughing lightly, you shook your head at his comment. “No, he uh, he didn’t know I was,” you told him. “Which was why I’d declined.”

Matt’s head tilted curiously to the side at your response, the motion reminding you painfully of the Devil and all those times he’d done the same thing as he stood in your apartment. For a brief moment, the flash of heartache that you were trying to ignore hit you like a sharp bolt of lightning right in your chest before you shook it off. The point of coming to the coffee shop this morning was to forget about him.

“So how did that date go?” Matt asked, the corner of his lips curling a bit higher into something like a cheeky smirk. “Such a strange place to take a woman for a first date, if you ask me.”

You shrugged a shoulder, moving a few steps forward again as the person in front of you stepped up to the register to order. “Well, he didn't exactly make it past the second date, but it had nothing to do with us going to Josie's,” you told him. “Going there was a lot less stressful than some fancy restaurant, anyway. Which was what we both wanted.”

Matt’s head shifted further to the side, his brows pinching together behind those red lenses. “Not into fancy restaurants, then?”

You shook your head, noticing the way Foggy’s eyes kept curiously shifting between the pair of you. There was a little smile gradually making its way onto his face as he listened to the conversation.

“No, that’s not exactly my thing,” you answered him. “And they also just add to the first date jitters, you know?”

The lady who’d been at the register in front of you finished paying for her coffee before she shifted further down the counter, waiting for her order to be made. You excused yourself from the conversation before stepping forward to the register. But before you could order, you were distracted when you heard both men behind you begin speaking in hushed, muffled voices. Brows furrowing faintly together, you wondered what they were saying since you couldn’t quite hear their words, but when the person behind the register cleared their throat and raised an impatient brow at you, you forced yourself to tune them out and focus on ordering your coffee. 

Once you'd finished ordering and paying, you made your way further down the counter to wait for your drink. Though when you stopped at the counter, hands still fidgeting with the strap of your purse, you couldn't fight your gaze from drifting back over to the pair of men you’d just been talking to. You watched as they ordered their coffees at the register, your eyes lingering on Matt. 

The longer you watched him, the more familiar he seemed to you. Eyes narrowing at the well dressed man, you curiously watched them pay for their coffees while attempting to place why you kept getting that strange feeling around him. Had you just seen him out around Hell’s Kitchen in the past somewhere? He was an attractive man, easily someone who’d catch your eye on the street or in a restaurant. Was that all this strange feeling was about, your subconscious recognizing him? Or was there something more to it?

Before you could really think about it further, both men stepped over to where you were standing and waiting for your drink. Matt was holding onto Foggy’s bicep as they walked, Foggy shooting you a wide smile as Matt’s demeanor seemed to have changed once again. That playfulness was gone and replaced with that uncomfortable tension again, his hand once more white-knuckling his cane.

“You never answered my question, you know,” Foggy said, breaking through your thoughts. “You got distracted by my friend here.” He held up a hand, that grin still on his face as he continued with a faint chuckle. “Which happens often, don’t get me wrong. But I would still like your opinion so I can prove a point to him.”

“Right, yeah,” you said, remembering why he’d begun speaking with you in the first place. A barista behind the counter set your order down and you picked it up before focusing back on Foggy. “Which one of you looks more trustworthy, right? That was the debate?”

“Yes, that’d be the one,” Foggy agreed with a nod. “So who is it? Me or this guy?” 

Foggy paused, gesturing a thumb at Matt standing beside him. Matt looked stiff and uncomfortable as he focused his attention near where you were standing, his grip seemingly tightening on his friend's arm. 

“Go with your gut,” Foggy prompted you. “What’s it telling you?”

Standing before them and holding your warm cup of coffee in your hand, your eyes darted between the two men as you considered his question for a moment. Once again, Foggy was smiling at you, his expression warm and friendly, while Matt remained rigid beside him. His mouth was in a straight, thin line as he stood with his shoulders tensed. He looked like he wanted to bolt from the coffee shop. 

Your answer tumbled out of your mouth with barely any further thought. “Your friend.”

Foggy’s face immediately scrunched up into a look of sheer confusion at your response, clearly not having expected you to answer that. Beside him, Matt’s dark brows twitched faintly together above his glasses, as if he’d also been a little surprised at your answer.

“You wanted me to go with my gut,” you answered, taking a step backwards with your coffee in hand. “That’s what it said. I hope that helped solve your issue.”

“It didn’t,” Foggy muttered, his face still pinched in confusion. “But thanks.”

Giving him a bit of a half-wave, you turned around and headed towards an empty table in the far corner of the room and sat down. But even as you pulled your book out of your purse, you couldn’t resist glancing across the coffee shop to where the two men had taken a seat with their coffees across the room from you.

“Clearly she was biased,” Foggy complained as he took a seat across from Matt. “She already knew you. We need another opinion.”

Matt swallowed down his coffee, making a little face as he set the cup back onto the table in front of him. The barista had added far too much sweetener this time. He might've just been drinking hot sugar water.

“We don’t need another opinion,” Matt disagreed. “You can take the lead on this one.”

He heard the faint, surprised gasp that came from his friend across the table, the sound causing Matt to grin. If Foggy really wanted to handle the interview, then why fight it?

“I just need to have pretty girls fluster you more often when we’re having disagreements if this is the outcome,” Foggy joked. “Things might work out in my favor more often.”

“That’s not what happened,” Matt muttered, drawing his cup of coffee back up to his mouth. “She didn't fluster me.”

As he forced down another sip, trying to hide his reaction to the overly sweet drink as it ran over his sensitive tongue, Matt’s attention inevitably drifted back over to where you were sitting in the coffee shop. You sounded like you were reading a book–or at least, that seemed to be your intention. With the shifts in air currents and the way your fingers kept fidgeting with the flimsy pages instead of turning them, it seemed like you were more focused on him and Foggy at this table than the book in your hands. 

Tilting his head a bit in your direction, he focused his senses more closely on you. Your breathing seemed elevated, along with your heart rate. He’d already been hit with your familiar pheromones shortly after you’d turned around when you'd been in line, the sweet, delicious taste of them only tempting him further to do something he shouldn't. You were attracted to Matt Murdock, just as much as you were attracted to the other side of him that had visited your apartment multiple times now.

He continued to try to focus on reading your body, but the tapping of Foggy’s fingers against his paper coffee cup inevitably grew impossible to ignore. Before Matt could even ask him what was on his mind, his friend’s voice cut through the silence that had fallen between them.

“Who was she?” he asked, gesturing his head towards your direction even though he knew Matt couldn’t see it. “That girl we just ran into?”

He did his best to put on his most convincing smile before he shrugged a shoulder. “Just a girl I ran into by the bathrooms at Josie’s,” he replied simply. 

“She said you offered to buy her a drink,” Foggy pointed out. “Sounds like she caught your attention. Why don’t you ask her out? She’s still here, she’s just sitting across the shop. In fact,” Foggy continued, Matt catching the way his head turned in your direction before he spoke again, his voice lowered, “she keeps staring at you.”

Matt’s lips twitched at Foggy’s comment. He knew you kept looking over at him, a mixture of desire and curiosity radiating off of you since you’d turned around in line and saw him. But there was something else he’d noticed about you, too. The same thing he noticed about you that night at Josie’s when he’d run into you. He could almost hear your thoughts racing in your head.

You were trying to figure him out. Something people didn’t usually do when they met someone for the first time–not in the way you were doing it. And he worried if Matt Murdock got too close to you, you might piece it all together. You were smart and perceptive. Too many clues and you’d learn that he was the Devil, which was a secret that only Claire knew out of necessity. A dangerous one he didn’t want you to learn. You were far too good for Matt to put you in danger like that. It was bad enough that the masked man’s repeated visits to your apartment could already potentially do the same.

“Why don’t we focus on the interview,” Matt suggested, switching the topic. “That’s coming up on Monday. You should be prepared for it.”

There was a hesitant pause before Foggy reluctantly agreed. Matt could hear the way his head had turned, as if he was focusing back on you again. You, who were now across the coffee shop ducking your head away to clearly avoid Foggy’s gaze because you were once again staring at him and not wanting to be caught. That had Matt’s hand tightening around his coffee cup, struggling to keep himself seated. As Foggy finally relented and began discussing the upcoming potential client, Matt’s mind drifted back to the other night when he’d been at your apartment.

Back to your surprising suggestion.

You weren’t wrong. He’d felt what you felt. He had almost kissed you–truthfully more than those two times that you’d mentioned. You were just something else entirely to him, something he couldn’t wrap his head around. The way you always left that Devil’s Pantry on your fire escape every single night just for him, even when he’d been trying to avoid your apartment, had certainly made him feel something he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to name. Without fail, you were always eager and willing to assist him, whether it was warming up from the cold or helping with an injury to the best of your ability, you were always steadfast in your attempts to help over the past few months. Reliable in a way he’d never experienced before, and you had no idea who he was or what he really looked like.

But no-strings-attached sex? Adding some physical element to your friendship? Matt couldn’t deny he wanted that, especially not after his reaction to the way he’d accidentally overheard you the other week in your apartment. He’d certainly had moments laying in bed at night when he was wound up after a patrol and he couldn’t get you out of his head even when he hadn’t stopped by your place that evening. And he’d certainly taken care of his frustrations while thinking about you–your laugh, the feel of your touch when you’d helped care for a wound, the scent of you that filled your apartment, the way you’d felt sitting in his lap when he’d been soaked from the rain, the memory of the taste of your arousal thick in the air almost every time he visited.

God, did he want you.

But he had a feeling sleeping with you would only end up hurting you in the end. He was positive you had feelings besides just attraction for him. And this thing between you both couldn’t continue as anything serious, not with him as the Devil. The Devil couldn’t have a relationship.

But he knew Matt Murdock could have something with you. That part of him could’ve taken you on dates and maybe let you into his life a little bit. Gotten to know you better somewhere outside of your small apartment. Taken you into his own bed and let you stay the night if you wanted. Cooked you breakfast in the morning. That side of Matt could’ve given you his number, called you on the phone whenever he wanted to hear your sweet voice.

Except he knew that side of himself couldn’t have you that easily. Not now. You were too close to the Devil. Not unless the Devil stopped visiting your apartment and you somehow didn’t catch any coincidences that pointed you straight at the truth. The two sides of himself would have to be kept separate from you, that fact was clear. You could only know one of them.

Focusing back on Foggy’s conversation while half of his attention was still on you in the corner of the coffee shop, those thoughts continued to run through his mind. He’d have to make a decision on which side you’d get–unless he chose to cut you out of his life altogether. 

Drawing his coffee cup up to his lips, he drank down more of that overly sweet liquid. Matt pulled a face at the taste, his lip curling back as he struggled to hide his revulsion at the coffee. But as he was setting his cup back onto the table while Foggy continued talking, one other thought suddenly occurred to him.

He still hadn’t gotten your name.

[bibbityboppidi]

Buckle up children, cause I have a short story.

It just happened this week. It all started with some guy. This person placed in order for a new Bible. Nothing out of the ordinary. But when they get the package, they realize that this was not the Bible they ordered from Amazon. Oh no, it’s this.

Now once this picture is posted, everyone starts explaining what the book actually is, what Gravity Falls is and giving recommendations in overall they’re taking it really well .

Now this isn’t the funny part. Sure, getting the complete opposite of the Bible is one thing but then this happens…

 you couldn’t write better material than this. It’s been verified to be authentic story. The entire Gravity Falls Sub Reddit has gone wild over this.

[foldingfittedsheets]

Every sales job I’ve worked has that one item. The white whale. The biggest ticket you can sell. The sale you brag about when you’re chatting with other industry people.

When I sold mattresses it was a split king adjustable base. That’s two twin extra long mattresses next to each other to make a king, but each side can move independently. They’re insanely expensive and honestly kind’ve impractical but it was the biggest ticket thing to sell.

When I sold sex toys though our white whale was the 20lb ass. It was a female pelvis, a cut out from the waist to the tops of the thighs. It was hyper realistic material and cost about $500. I definitely had bigger tickets but not in one item typically.

In my time at the sex shop, I sold three. Each time was completely different in terms of how the guy acted about buying it. The first man was a little embarrassed and shy about it. I was professional and supportive as I rang it up. Once I handed him the receipt he looked at the box. Then he looked at me.

If you’ve ever wondered how big a box has to be to fit a 20lb ass let me just tell you: it’s pretty damn big. It’s an uncomfortably large armful of box and every side has a picture of the sex toy inside on it. It’s not subtle.

“Could I get a bag….?”

There was no bag that existed that could possibly contain all that ass. “Hang on,” I told him.

I got scissors and tape and covered the box in cut up black bags. Looking relieved he picked up his purchase and left.

The next man to buy one carried it proudly to the counter; self assured and not embarrassed in the least. When I said I didn’t have a bag, but I could wrap it for him he gave a hearty shrug and hefted it into his arms, marching out the door with the butt on full display.

The last man to get one was just kind’ve an odd guy. Not creepy, but eccentric. We got along great, and as I rang him up I said, “Well one guy wanted his taped over, and one guy carried it out. What would you prefer?”

“There’s no bags?”

“No store bags. I think our jumbo trash bags in the back might fit it….?” It seemed rude to suggest putting a $500 item into a trash bag, but he wasn’t bothered.

He considered this then said, “Bring me the trash bag.”

When I delivered it to him he still managed to surprise me. Instead of shoving the huge box into it he opened the box. He took out his new $500 sex toy, and all the little things it came with, tipping them unceremoniously into the trash bag.

“There! Now I don’t have to deal with the box later!”

I was slightly stunned but agreed that I could easily deal with the trash. Then in a move I still think about with delight he flung the trash bag over his shoulder like a Santa with a sack full of ass and sauntered out the door.

If this or my other escapades made you laugh you could pop a tip into my Ko-fi! For more like this check my tag "ffs foibles".

[1988-fiend]

OMG SOULIE!! What a chapter!! I’m glad that Reader is able to be more of themselves when taming the Devil 👿♥️

[[and then I met you || ch. 34]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s while Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

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Words: 4.3k 🌶️🌶️

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It is not often that you get a night to yourself. 

Usually, once you get Minnie down, you dive into your laptop to clock into work, but tonight there is server maintenance, and you are free to do as you please. You wish you had checked your e-mail before Matt had given himself over to the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, but alas, you did not think that far ahead. 

You don’t mind too much, however, as you use the opportunity to stretch out on the couch, relax, and binge trash entertainment. You allow yourself to be half tucked under a throw blanket that Matt’s cologne clings to and try to turn off your brain. You do not want to think or follow a plot and quickly wind up watching catty women start drama over things like seating charts and the differences between the color lilac and the color lavender. It is fun without being too serious and easily keeps your attention.

You decide you need a glass of wine after two episodes of your show. Even with the distraction, your eyes won’t stop darting to the corner of the screen to check the time and with each siren in the distance, you tense up. You know Matt’s plan is to be out late, combing the Kitchen in search of clues to lead him to people who butchered Enhanced children, but you can’t help but worry. 

Daredevil is more than capable of taking care of himself - you have heard and read plenty of stories about his fighting prowess - but whoever is out there seemingly has no morals and that can lead to situations where enhanced senses and fists don’t cut it. You trust Matt to know his limits - only if that trust comes from knowing he would never do anything that would make his daughter cry.  

Mouse’s happiness outweighs all of Matt’s faults - at least according to Foggy. 

But you will still stay awake until he is safely in bed with you, and you can fall asleep to his steady heartbeat. It is the least you can do for him and under the multicolored glow of the billboard across the street, you lounge, caught up in a world that is so far from your own, trying to enjoy your brief time alone. 

You don’t hear it when a pair of feet land firmly on the roof above you and you don’t hear it when the access door creaks open, but when a streak of moonlight shines across worn hardwood floors, you do notice. 

You pause your show as you lurch up into sitting, heart racing. You know no one other than Matt would be coming down the stairs, but you weren’t expecting him for hours, and your panic is pointing out you are woefully unprepared for any type of fight. There’s not even a baseball bat laying around so you can pretend you can defend yourself. 

Luckily for you, you would recognize the silhouette that comes through the door anywhere - Matt in his ‘Man in Black’ outfit - and your heart turns from panic to worry. You scramble up, shoving the blanket you had been bundled under to the side, and hurry to meet him at the foot of the stairwell. 

As he enters into the area of the apartment with enough light for you to actually see in, your heart catches in your throat while simultaneously sending the pulse in your nethers into overdrive. 

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen clearly had a very different night from you. Dried and drying blood cakes his face - coming down from his nose and mouth with smudges on his jaw line. His Muay Thai ropes are grimy and disgusting, and you can just barely see how they are tinted red. His shirt is ripped in various places, and it clings to his torso like it has been drenched in sweat. It has ridden up quite a bit from all his movement, so a band of skin shows, teasing the firm muscles that lie beneath, and his pants hang low, giving a hint of that V you so admire.

Despite the state of him, he oozes confidence and danger. He’s standing straight, head held high, and shoulders pushed back to emphasize how broad he is. Every muscle is pulled taut - ready to jump into action at the slightest of provocation. His chest is rising and falling with each breath, and it makes you wonder if he ran back to the apartment or if he is having trouble breathing through his nose. Either way, it is animalistic, and you are reminded of documentaries showing a predator before it pounces on its prey.  

In the dim light, your eyes zero in on Matt’s mouth and you watch with an intensity you know he can feel as he pulls his lips back into a slight sneer and runs his tongue over his teeth. 

You decide then and there that you are going to do something Matt has been denying you the chance of for weeks. 

You are going to suck his dick. 

You have found Matt loves to tease you sexually. Little touches here and there and sly comments with double meanings are his game of choice. He likes to get you nice and worked up and to deliver on his promises with his mouth to the point you are pretty sure enjoys oral more than the act of penetration. While you very much are thrilled being on the receiving end, it doesn’t mean you don’t also want to indulge in giving. Having his cock on your tongue has been a fantasy for quite a while and it is high time you turned it into a reality. 

After making sure he isn’t about to bleed out on the floor. 

“You’re home early,” you breathe out as a greeting, gaze still firmly locked on his cut lips. You want to kiss and bite them, but not in their current state. As much as you want to jump him, you do not know whose, or what’s, blood is covering his face, and you do not want it getting in your mouth.

The man in front of you tips his chin up just slightly, head tilting in a way you know means he is examining you. By the way his sneer turns into a smirk, you know exactly what inputs he is receiving. You don't need super smell to know your panties are already soaked through.

“Didn’t expect the Irish to be setting up shop in the tunnels,” he replies, voice low and rumbly and going right to your core. You let the shiver run through you and try to not react as your nipples pebble under your shirt.

“They certainly don’t belong there.”

You force yourself to turn away from him then. You don’t want to fall into the trap of becoming flustered while Matt teases you - if he gets his hands or mouth on you, he will be insistent on pleasuring you and you won’t get what you truly desire. 

He follows you like a shadow into the kitchen, barely letting you stay a literal step in front of him. You can feel the heat from his body against your back and the smell of his sweat and whatever he rolled in is wrapped around you like an all-consuming cloud. He practically boxes you in as you grab some paper towels and when you go to wet them, he looms over you. 

When you do turn to face him, your breast just barely brush against his torso. You have a feeling he wants to crowd you into a corner and get you onto the counter so he can eat you out, but you won’t allow it. Your body is thrumming with need and want and that is overruling in any anxiety and doubt you may have. 

You know he likes to tease. You know he likes to banter and push back and that helps to embolden you as you reach up and begin to wipe his face. You want to play his game right along with him.

“They aren’t the ones hurting the kids, are they?” You start, trying so hard to be nonchalant. You know you are both very aware how your bodies are responding to each other, but that is part of the teasing.

He allows you to clean away the blood, but he doesn’t lean into your touch - he remains tall and cocky, like he’s still on the streets. “No, they’ve got a warehouse with an access hatch. They were trying to store things. Probably weapons.”

You hum, taking in the information as you dap up gore that may or may not be his. He does not appear to be particularly injured, but you know he can hide that pretty easily - and stories and your own experiences tell you he will pretend he is perfectly okay, even when he isn’t. But, still, you probe because you want to be thorough in your care before you get your mouth on him. 

“Do you need any stitches?”

He huffs in response, and you take that as a ‘no’, which makes things much easier. You aren’t sure how much your desire would fade if you had to focus on needles and thread. 

As you begin to finish running the paper towel over his face, Matt moves impossibly closer to you - he presses forward, his knee starting to wedge between your legs, and it takes everything within you to not adjust so he can slide fully between them. He ducks his head to be closer to your face and tells you in that low, growly voice of his, “I might need a chest wrap, though. Why don’t you check to see if you agree?”

You understand the challenge he is giving you and you accept it. You toss the dirty paper towel into the sink, then drop your hands to hover in front of the hem of his shirt. Your heart pounds loudly in your chest, in your ears, in your cunt, as you hook your thumbs under the fabric and push it up. You go at a snail’s pace, letting your touch ghost over defined abs and feeling them flex under you. You only look down to examine the damage once his torso is almost fully exposed.

He will most definitely need a chest wrap. Bruises are already blooming around his ribs, and you can see they go around to his back. 

You make a soft, sympathetic noise in the back of your throat, “I think you might be right.” 

Again, Matt moves. His hands skirt over your hips, teasing at the fabric there and you are fully aware you are probably right where he wants you. This is confirmed when he bumps his nose, which is still hidden under his mask, against your cheek and drags it up to your ear.

“Do you know what else I think?” he breathes, voice pitched low enough to make your entire being quake in want. 

You know he is about to say something absolutely filthy, something that will make your knees give out - something that will have him winning this little game. 

And you can’t allow that. 

So, you tilt your head to the side and up, brushing your nose against his, and say in your own low voice, hoping your sound alluring, “I think you should go sit on the couch.”

Fabric crinkles as Matt’s brows raise in surprise and a tinge of Pride shoots through you at that. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting push back from you and his mouth curls up into amusement.

“Mmmm, and why should I do that?”

You resist the urge to wet your lips, not wanting to seem weak. Instead, you slowly start to guide his shirt back down, so he is covered again.

“Because I want you there.” 

“You want me there?” He confirms as he pulls his head back enough you can see his full face. His hands, however, are defiant - they finally settle on your hips, and with the slightest of tugs, you are flush against him and can feel his hardness pressed against you. Your cunt clenches around nothing in desire and you mentally chastise it as Matt grins like the Cheshire cat. “I think you want me here.”

Your mind races for a solution. As long as your body is weeping for his touch, Matt is not going to back down about getting what he wants but you need him to let you be in control. With his senses and with his suaveness, he has the upper hand. You need to undermine that.  

You need to use his advantages against him. 

Plus, the one unique advantage that he has given to you. 

You decide the only way to control the Devil is to tell him exactly why he is going to listen to you. 

You bite your lip, trying to be a bit coy, then whisper out as confidently as you can, “I want you on the couch so that I can get on my knees and get my mouth on your cock. So, you are going to do that because I know you can smell and taste how wet the idea of sucking you off makes me, and you said that you are mine. You are mine and this is what I want, so that is what you will do. Understood?”

Matt doesn’t respond at first and you try to not panic about pushing the boundaries too far.

But then his lips part just slightly, and his nose flares and you can practically see all of his bravado crumbling. He tightens his grip on your shirt for just a moment before he lets you go and slowly, slowly steps back. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he finally replies, his voice not as growly, not as deep. 

“Good boy.” 

You watch him back away from you until he pivots to be able to head towards the couch, relief flooding through you. You wait until he has actually sat down to grab the first aid kit from its hidden cupboard and make your way to the living room. 

Matt has manspread so that you can comfortably kneel between his tree-trunk thighs, and as much as you want to take your place there, you do need to actually wrap his chest. His Muay Thai wraps are going to keep him from taking his shirt off, but you don’t mind that much. The idea of him staying in the Man in Black outfit is rather thrilling.

As you go to sit beside him and open the first aid kit, you direct him, “lift your shirt up.” 

You expect a comment or resistance, based on his teasing earlier, but he is surprisingly quick to obey you. He sits up straight and tugs his shirt up as high as it will go, giving you plenty of room to work with.

Wrapping is one of the things you have practiced doing on some of Minnie’s toys, so you feel well versed in the task. The gauze is much better quality than what you have, but the motions are the same and Matt is stoic as you bind his ribs. With each rise and fall of his chest, your cunt drips with anticipation, and you wonder if his dick is twitching with the same. You consider taking your time with wrapping, but you don’t want to drag things out for yourself. 

You want your reward for taming the Devil.

You clean up your mess once finished and set the kit on the coffee table, so it is out of the way. Matt’s attention on you is nearly physical in how aware of it you are. It makes your insides bubble with delight.

You let yourself make a show of standing up and stepping to stand between his legs. Matt’s hands are planted on the couch, and you watch the way his fingers flex and curl as you lower yourself to your knees. 

“This is what you want?” he confirms as you settle yourself. His voice is losing that harsh edge, and he sounds so much more like the Matt you are used to. 

“Very much,” you purr. “It’s all I’ve thought about for days.”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat in response, and you watch it as you place your hands on the inners of his thighs and slowly push them up towards his crotch. You then deviate, going around where you know he wants you to touch him and going instead for the buckle of his belt. As you do, you lean up and forward to kiss at the sink just under the gauze. 

You give light, soft little pecks as you make your way down his stomach and Matt arches up into it, fully giving himself to you and stopping with his tough guy act. Pleased with this reaction, you nuzzle him before sinking your teeth into his flesh and starting to suck, determined to make a mark. 

Under you, Matt hisses in pleasure. His hips buck up with want and all his former words about wanting to be scratched and bit flood your mind. He likes the bruises. He likes the pain. 

So, who are you to deny him when he is being so good for you and you very much like the idea of him having reminders of why it’s a good idea to listen to you. 

You treat his washboard abs like a canvas - you bite and suck and scratch, leaving all sorts of different traces of you on him. Matt paws at the cushions, unwilling to put his hands on you for some reason, as his breathing turns harsher and needier. He doesn’t moan, but your name starts to slip out like a prayer and that is the motivation you need to keep going.

You are not satisfied until you’ve touched all the bare skin on the front of his body. 

Only then do you undo his belt and pop the button keeping you from your prize. 

Hard doesn’t begin to describe Matt’s cock - it's swollen and red and leaking like a faucet. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he had already cum all over himself and wouldn’t that have been the ego boost of the century?

His musk is nearly intoxicating as you dip down to rub your nose and lips against his head, smearing precum all over yourself. 

“Please,” Matt begs from above you, voice ragged and needy. It sends an electric thrill through you and you can’t help but want to tease him.

“Please, what?” You ask, throwing it back at him like he always does with you when you are a mess. “Use your words, baby.” 

“Put your mouth on me. Please suck my cock,” he mumbles, rolling his head back and pushing his hips up like you have no clue where to find what he is asking for. “Please. Take what you want. I’m yours. Please.” 

“Don’t worry, my good boy, I’ll take care of you,” you promise before wrapping your mouth around him. 

The burst of saltiness has you moaning and very suddenly your goal shifts from taking care of Matt to taking care of yourself. You’ve thought so long and so much about this experience, and you want to enjoy it exactly how you have imagined it. 

You haven’t given a blowjob in a very long time, so you take your time adjusting and exploring. Your tongue swirls around as you bob up and down, taking more and more in each time until it feels like too much. Then you back off and start again, continuing the process over and over until you no longer gag around him. 

He is heavy on your tongue, filling your mouth and making your jaw work to take him. It's perfect and how you pictured it in your mind. You know, in another time when you weren't so determined with your task, you could get lost in him fucking your throat.

The thought makes you drool, and you pay no mind to the spit gathering in your mouth and dripping down to soak Matt’s pants. 

You know he doesn’t mind being messy. 

When you feel you have thoroughly mapped Matt’s cock by swallowing it do you switch tactics. He whimpers and writhes as you pull off of him only to start panting when you attach your lips to the underside of it. Years of reading dirty books and sex tips has you knowing the frenulum is sensitive and you imagine Matt’s is doubly so. You are proven correct when you start moving your tongue and the filthiest sound you’ve ever heard comes from deep in his chest. 

You relish in how you are undoing Matt. You drag your lips and tongue up and down his length, sucking and flicking your tongue to get different responses. You want to know which one gets him moaning the most, so you are sure to take your time experimenting and learning. One hand wraps around his base to pump slowly, so no part of his cock is neglected, while the other reaches up to resume clawing at his skin. 

Praise and need and begging come pouring down from above you and you want more. You want Matt to feel as good as you do when he lays you out under him. You swallow him again, taking as much as you possibly can in, and when you reach your limit, you stay there. Your hand above you finds the gauze you wrapped around his chest and you move it to where you know the worst of the bruising is hidden. 

Then you press down. 

His cock twitches hard in your throat, a single salty spurt coating your insides, and you know he is right on the edge with the way he moans your name. 

You want more. 

You need more. 

Your cunt is pulsing and gushing at how much you want to make the Devil into a pretty mess, and you know just how to do it. 

You pull back to give yourself room to maneuver, but you keep your mouth on him, worshiping the tip of his cock as the hand wrapped around his base drops to go between your thighs. It is easy to push your sleeping shorts and panties to the side, and you begin to coat your fingers in your own slick. You are so very wet, and your own touch leaves you quivering, but you know your time for physical pleasure will be soon enough. 

You make sure your fingers are absolutely dripping before you remove them from between your legs and enact your plan.

With your mouth still on him, you reach up, your fingers pointed forward and Matt does not need to be told what you are wanting of him. He practically dives for them, slurping them up greedily - like he is parched, and they are his salivation. You push your fingers more into him, until the heel of your hand is flush with his chin, making him start to gag and drool around them. 

As you do that, you swallow him down again and dig your other palm into his bruised ribs. 

The result is instant, and you get no warning as Matt’s hips buck and stutter and he fills your throat with his seed. 

You drink it as greedily as he drinks you down when he is between your legs. You very much understand the pleasure he gets from it - you’ve barely just finished, and you already want to lay him out again. Pulling away from him feels like a Herculean Trial - you yearn to stay there with his cock in your mouth until it gets hard again, but you know you should check on him to make sure he enjoyed himself. 

You give one last tease as you drag your fingers from his mouth, though, letting them tug as his lips and smear spit and slick down his chin, timing it so his cock falls from your mouth at the same time. 

You can only see the bottom half of his face, but he looks pretty blissed out. Matt’s lips are puffy and red, and he has this dopey, pleased smile on his face - something very contrasting from his all-black outfit. You are gentle as you tuck him back into his pants and even more so as you push yourself up so you can climb into his lap, straddling him. 

His hands are on your hips immediately, looping around to tug you flush against his chest. You brace yourself on his shoulders and smile down at the masked man. 

“Did you like that?” you ask, pitching your voice to be sweet and flirty. 

His response is to lean in and begin to kiss your neck, nice and slow and leisurely. You tilt your head to give him better access and he makes his way up to your ear, purring out a ‘yes, ma’am’ as he does. 

His breath against your skin has your core thrumming and reminding you that you need your own release, and you do not plan to deny yourself of that. 

So, as Matt begins to nuzzle and nip at your neck, you pull his mask from his head, tossing it to the side before you tangle your fingers into his hair. You let yourself be rough as you yank his head back so his sightless eyes can stare up into yours, all while clawing your other hand into his shoulder. You then contrast that by giving him the sweetest peck on the lips.

“Good. Because you still need a shower, and I need your cock in my pussy for at least an hour. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

---

This one goes out to @pastafossa . Matt always needs a good Domming session.

--

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[ymahousewine]

There's something you need to know about US health insurance

While the topic is still hot I want to mention something I think is important. I have made a post or two before but it bears repeating.

I once worked at a call center of one of the leading health insurance companies

The corruption and coddling of "the rich" is REAL.

None of the executives of Facebook, snap chat, twitter (any social media or tech company) pay deductibles

YES THE RICH DO NOT HAVE DEDUCTIBLES

Not only that but ELECTIVE SURGERIES (noes jobs, boob jobs, face lifts, tummy tucks ect.) for these people was also covered in full.

And these are RICH people. Not your neighbor who collects fancy watches with the lake house. Not the guy with the loud shiny car or the lady with fancy clothes. Oh no those neighbors might as well be paupers cosplaying as rich compared to these people.

The other thing that I need to tell you is this: the children of the rich are walking pharmacies. All the party drugs normal people go to jail for "abusing" yeah these kids have a script even if the medications don't make sense to prescribe together.

One of the most radicalizing moments in my time there was:

I had one call with a RICH person and let them know their elective rhinoplasty and boob job for their wife was covered with no deductible. The plan they were on was like $250 a month, for a billionaire, for the whole family.

Right after that call I had to tell a young woman that her medically necessary abortion would not be covered.

Walking out of that job was not difficult. Keep in mind, the call center reps have no control over what insurance will and will not pay for. They cannot "do you favors" and push a claim in faster. I have plenty of stories from my time there, from people loosing their minds to actual threats to completely incompetent supervisors. But the thing that stuck with me the most is that the unfairness and corruption is baked into insurance from the start.

It's designed to keep/make you as poor as possible

[lunarsorcerer]

i once went to vegas as a child pre smart phones and there was a store in one of the hotels selling gold and diamond phones and i walked right in and pointed at one and said hey can i hold that i might be interested in it and the worker looked at 10 year old me and asked if i could afford it and i told him well ma has been extra generous with the lunch money lately and i've been putting a little away each day and i hadn't checked interest in a bit and he said the phone cost $50k and i stood there and thought for a moment and said well i'll have to do a couple extra chores around the neighborhood but i could handle that if i could do a payment plan and he asked me what kind of chores i did to make so much money and he did not like me answering "burglary"

[thesporkidentity]

i have some follow-up questions???

[ispaintingcalmly]

Camelot sketches (I’ll probably add more in the future)

[sophiamcdougall]

I am never going to complain about Greek Duolingo again

I mean, I am. But still.

So, as some of you know, my family has been coming to this tiny Greek seaside village for several years. Just over a week ago I came out here with my mum, under the impression that early September, after the height of the summer heat, would be a good time to have a holiday. ANYWAY Storm Daniel had other ideas about that. Locally things are improving (I'm actually really pissed off about the disaster-porn tone of most English-language media coverage, but that's another post). The power is back on, there's running water most of the time, and though the latter is not drinkable, a truck from the government came and handled out free bottled water yesterday. But we are currently kind of stuck. Can't do tourist things. Can't go home. There aren't any local flights out until Saturday and the road to Thessaloniki is still closed.

So this evening, feeling kind of aimless and depressed, I go down to the nearest beach with a couple of binbags and start cleaning up in an effort to at least do something positive. I always try to do this at least once out here and obviously, after the storm, there's a lot more plastic and rubbish than usual.

At some point I find this large, round bit of metal - some kind of machinery part, I think -- that's too big for the bag, so I take it to the bins on its own, leaving the rubbish bag on the beach. And when I come back for it, something among the stones beside it moves.

Specifically, it pulls its head sharply inside its shell

So, meanwhile I've been trying to learn some Greek with the help of Duolingo.

I currently have a 33-day streak and... I have questions. Shouldn't I be able to use the past or future tenses by now? Shouldn't I be able to say "x is like y"? I can't do those things. But one thing I absolutely can say all day long is έχω μια χελώνα : I have a turtle.

This is far from the limit of Duolingo Greek's turtle-related content. "An obsession with turtles" is my mother's characterisation. I can inform you that the turtle is not a bird, and, improbably, that the turtle is drinking milk. I can introduce you to a turtle in company with a horse and an elephant. As far as Duolingo is concerned, it really is turtles all the way down.

Now this, you may be able to see, is not a turtle. It has claws rather than flippers. It is a tortoise. I know there are wild tortoises in Greece: my aunt once rescued a pair of them shagging in the middle of the road -- but that was up in the mountains. I've even seen one myself, but it was also on a road and very dead.

I am 95% certain they don't belong on beaches. There's nothing for it to eat, except, unfortunately, a lot of plastic. Even if it gets off the beach it will immediately find itself on a road where it could get hit by a car. I'm pretty sure it must have been washed down by the floodwater and has been just sitting there, dazed, ever since.

Now obviously the first thing I want to do on encountering this unusual animal is to go and tell my mummy, so I do. The tortoise immediately brightens her day. She agrees that the tortoise is not happy on the beach and needs to be taken somewhere safe. it gets surprisingly wriggly when picked up so we put it in a carrier bag with some grapes and cucumber and go looking for somewhere to rehome it.

We find a path leading up between the houses towards a likely-looking field, but before we get very far a dog in a yard goes berserk and a man's head pops over a fence and demands to know what we're doing. He does this in English, as evidently we're just that obviously tourists.

"I found a tortoise on the beach!" I explain. "We want to find somewhere to put it."

"A what," he asks.

"It's like a, you know," I begin and then to my astonishment I find myself saying... "μια χελώνα"

"Oh! A turtle!" he says.

"But from the land. δεν είναι χελώνα", [it is not a turtle,] I say, as I am worried he will tell me to put it back near the sea where I found it. As it turns out it actually IS a χελώνα, Greek does not distinguish between turtles and tortoises, but I don't know that; I can't even name the days of the week or identify any colours other than pink yet, give me a break.

The man's entire demeanour changes and thaws. He does not worry about my turtle-that-is-not-a-turtle conundrum. He knows where οι χελώνες come from and where η χελώνα μας belongs. He leads us through a gate into a courtyard area.

"[somethingsomething] μια χελώνα," he explains to the assembled onlookers, of whom there are, suddenly, a surprising number.

"ΜΙΑ ΧΕΛΩΝΑ!!!" crows the throng of delighted small children, who are, suddenly, everywhere.

"μια χελώνα!" I agree, accepting that at least for current purposes, that is what it is.

"Μπορούμε να δούμε τη χελώνα σας; [can we see your turtle?]" asks an adorable little girl, shyly, and I understand??

The children fucking love looking at the χελώνα and showing it to them is kind of magical?

I finally put the tortoise down on the grass of this wild area off to the side of the courtyard, and marvel aloud that it is weird that I barely know any Greek except how to say μια χελώνα.

"I think she will soon run off," a kind lady called Aspasia assures me, seeing I remain slightly anxious about its fate. "I don't know why I'm saying 'she'. I suppose because χελώνα is feminine in Greek."

"Yes! I know that!" I exclaim, thrilled.

"Well done!" she says. And also she asks if we are OK for drinking water after the storm and if we need any help with anything and is just generally incredibly lovely and now we know more of the neighbours!

So "μια χελώνα" has just become, by a long way, my most-used and most understood and all-around most conversationally successful phrase in Greek. So I guess I have to admit I was wrong to doubt Duolingo's wisdom: it is correct to be obsessed with turtles. And I concede that prior to learning how to count to ten or to distinguish right from left, the simple ability to yell the word TURTLE over and over again is, it turns out, a crucial element of the responsible traveller's social skills.

(I am pretty fluent in Italian and turtles haven't come up in conversation even once?)

[too-many-lavellans]

Oops 💄💋~

(Please don't tag/comment with your Rook, thanks)

[fatty-lit]

I want to show you off. Show the public how good I've been taking care of you. Show them how fat pampering can make a person. Show them how big you are, how you got there, and most importantly that you're all mine.

Take you out to eat and order appetizers and entres. I place the order and make sure the waiter knows it's all for you. I want them to know that I'm the one keeping my big girl so well-fed. "Oh, you can set that in front of her." "Oh, no that's not to share. You can set that there." "Yeah, she said she was pretty hungry tonight." And then feed you from across the table while people shoot side eyed glances at our display.

Then when you've finished it all like the good girl you are, I'll help your heavy body out of the booth. My hand around you soft widening waste, squeezing you closer to me as I help you waddle out of there. A victory lap of sorts, showing everybody how much my baby likes to eat.

We obviously got desert at the restaraunt but no date night is complete without ice cream. Kisses and PDA while waiting in line and discussing what you're going to get. Everyone loves seeing a fat girl in an ice cream shop, and I need them to know this fat girl is mine. I make sure to order you and extra scoop on top of your cone.

Kisses and squeezes while you eat it as strangers pass by and see. I made you fat and I couldn't be prouder.

[charlesoberonn]

Based on a true story