his limbs are too thick to be stick

Rest Stop Part 5

Lance hadn’t broken down crying yet.

Needing to survive on your own did that to a person. Or, you know, the exact opposite. But Lance had gone nearly 17 years without someone finding out he was wingless. He was a master at delaying the inevitable.

He had already found a stream, collected shells, and used them as jars for the water to distract himself.

Hence why he was multiple stories up in a tree.

Well, there was fruit up here. That was part of the reason. Diverse trees sprouted up to the sky, the thickest wider than Blue herself and the thinnest the width of his pupil. It had felt like it was made of stone, but the fruit growing high, high above convinced him it was not. He had picked this tree mainly for it’s trunk. It was solid and thick, but he could securely wrap his arms and legs around it. Spikes adorned the bottom of the fruit, an armor for the flesh, but not the top. There weren’t many branches, so he’d be relying heavily on the trunk and the strength climbing had given his core over the years.

“Oof” Lance’s hand had scrambled to hold on to the bark of the trunk so he didn’t fall off the branch. It had been just high enough for him to have to launch himself at it. Huffing air through his nose tiredly, Lance worked himself into a standing position. Already, the greens of the leaves where shifting with the light. He grinned. There was the satisfaction, the freedom, the breathlessness he had been waiting for.

Now, who-knows-how-many miles up in a tree, he was kinda breathless. Groaning, he reached back further. His legs flexed reflexively when his back muscles shifted to stretch lower. Tighter than a New York subway system, Lance held on to the tree trunk with his legs and arched his back to hang upside down. Every part of him was tense with concentration, the open air under him making the drop apparent. His hair swayed minutely with the movement. Teasingly, the fruit hung just out of his reach, the smooth part clouded with pastel orange. He pushed a little harder towards his goal and nudged the fruit.


Plucking it decisively, he swept himself up into a sitting position, stomach aching with the sudden sit up. The air up here was cool and misty, and he breathed it in to make up for the burn. Shades of green spilled over the trees, splotches of purple and orange breaking it up without taking aesthetic. Up here in the treetops, alone, Lance doesn’t have to think about wings or the ocean that wants to spit him out. Climbing was cold, hard work. It was dull and adventurous, the sensations calm and dim, but the heights and movement invigorating. Stretching from place to place, a deadly drop below him, clinging to a bigger mass were all things that made Lance feel alive. The ocean may have been motherly, a supportive hand guiding him down the path, but climbing was the ravine he had to overcome in the middle of the path.

Carefully, he scrapes off the spikes, ignoring the weird crackling sound coming from the fruit. A light blue skin was left behind. Holding the stem with his teeth, Lance shrugs off his jacket and ties it into a basket on a tiny limb above him. He puts the fruit securely inside. Warm, bright light hums under his tan bare skin. He’ll have to be careful to not scratch himself up too much without his jacket as protection. Leaning back, he sighs. The next piece of fruit isn’t too far away, but the sparse amount of thick branches he can stand on make it a balancing act. An act that requires endurance and focus.

He grins.

His favorite kind of act.

Lance doesn’t like the disappearing act he has to play.

Dragging a stick with giant leaves tied to the ends, he sweeps it side to side behind him. The steady trail of footprints vanish back into smooth sand with each swipe. Tides dance back and forth, swishing up and away, exceling the roar of the ocean across the water to the shore. The lonely, near empty shore.

But it’s an act he has to play. Vanishing into thin air without the lift of a feather. Ironic, but safe. The act of love (if he could have called it that in the first place) pouring into hate. The counteract of lifting a shield. He doesn’t have wings, doesn’t have a spotlight on stage. He’s just running around in the darkness, bumping into the other actors and props, the audience watching in sick monotone from his shadows. It’s best to just take him out all together. It wasn’t like he was good for much anyway.

Every hide and hair of him needs to be hidden, out of sight, out of danger. Like the tides washing up against the sand, taking away the evidence of everything ever there. Hunk’s brotherly smiles wouldn’t exist for him anymore. Shiro’s nudges and parental lectures wouldn’t make him groan dramatically. Allura’s commands in battle wouldn’t fill his helmet. He’d miss Pidge being a gremlin but simultaneously sweet girl who let him borrow her headphones. Coran wouldn’t tell him anymore stories. He’d never know Matt or Samuel Holt. He doesn’t even want to think about the tight bud of affection for Keith. That bomb was being shoved underwater for today. For forever, hopefully. Washing it all away. Like the sand and waves.

But he’s alone.

Even though they know he’s somewhere here, they don’t know where. That’s something to Lance at least.

But he’s alone. So he does what he always does when he’s alone.

Says fuck everything and starts to play.

This time, he’s dancing. Spinning, forgetting, ignoring, feeling, singing, whooping. He’s switching lyrics and rhythms, drawing them out in the sand, little bits and pieces of his heart.

-the devil in me-

He sways so he can savor the feeling, so he can write it out clearly.

-at my worst-

He steps on it and doesn’t care.

-elastic heart-

He trips. Laughs.

-I feel when you’re next to me-



And dances.

By the time he’s done, his stomach is grumbling for the crisp fruit in his cove, the damp sand is littered with words and footprints and designs, and grimy wet sand cakes his jeans and skin.

He should swipe it all away. Make it disappear.


The tides will come racing up in the night and sweep it all away. Sweep it all away like him. He’ll come back tomorrow, see if it’s gone and possibly do it again.

When he dives in the ocean, his stomach is growling, his eyes and hands switch over, he’s covered in silt, and his heart finally isn’t such a hallow canal.

It’s torture.

The silence. The cold. The worry. The humming of healing pods. The hurt.

Keith hates it.

The (un)whole team had been holed up in the living room nest for the two nights and two days Lance had been gone. Two nights and two days since they had found out he was wingless. Two nights and two days since his mind had started to question Lance’s trust in him. Two nights and two days since the hurt had started to gnaw at him. Two nights and two days since Keith had lost the light of his life.

Okay, maybe that’s dramatic, but without the human light bulb known as Lance, the castle was dim and subdued. Guilt and remorse weren’t though. They burned hot and bright.

None of them had ever even met a wingless before. They were rare to begin with, then the horrible treatment they called life…

Keith was suprised Lance was alive.

And there was another reason.


He was suprised.

He had missed every sign, every note, every craving, every regret, every fear, in Lance.

All of it.

The thought hadn’t crossed his mind, hadn’t even been a possibility, that Lance simply didn’t have wings. That he hid. That he didn’t have wings to wash, or feathers to fly.

That no matter what he wanted, he couldn’t approach them, not with the way he must of thought they’d treat him. Must have been conditioned to think.

Months of kind words and nice touches do not make up for life time without them.

And Keith can get it, he really can, having hoped around foster homes and orphanages and schools. He’s felt like he couldn’t approach people. When Voltron first started, he had no idea who to talk to outside of Shiro, and that was another bag of tangled yarn. But he was always a differently shaped puzzle piece because he was an orphan, because he didn’t understand, because he felt uncomfortable.

But those people didn’t carry him to healing pods or fight in a giant-man-lion robot together. Didn’t practice together, didn’t train together, didn’t live and laugh and lose little pieces of themselves to this war together. He can get the feeling and he can fathom reasons why, but he can’t apply them.

Not to Voltron. Much less himself.

It hurts, little knives wedged in his chest, poking a little further every time Keith thinks about all the times Lance would shy away and cover it up loudly. Lance was always there for them. Ready to take a bullet or a knife for anyone. But he was the same person who’d looked at Keith with nothing more than fear in his eyes after bursting out of the waves onto gritty sand, back bare.

The person who’d ran away from him the moment his secret got out. The secret Keith didn’t think of. Little fights and playful shoves. Loudly beating hearts. Late night talks and finding each other passed out on the couch. Screaming down the halls, running after the other.  Things Lance thought would disappear when his back appeared.  But why would they?

Keith thought they were trustworthy of something like this.

They protect each other’s lives daily. What’s a pair of wings got to do with it?

At the same time, he knows. Knows that he doesn’t know enough, that the hurt laced in his mind was warping his rationality. Keith can understand a lot of things, even with his judgement out of whack.

But being wingless?

He can’t. Lance couldn’t bring himself to tell them, hid it so hard and isolated parts of himself from them, from everyone. Keith wished he hadn’t, not from him.

He’s always had the sky. He’s not wingless.

Lance had people there physically, people who’d touch him and people who’d hurt him, but they weren’t there for him. Just silhouettes in his life.  

Days ago, he had wanted Lance to fill the space in the nest.

This morning, he wanted to fill the space in Lance’s heart like the half-gone footprints and words written in the sand.

Lance splashed into the ocean.

The sky was a stirred up grey, a color out of a witch’s pot, rain threatening to fall sometime in the nearby future.  Bobbing on his back, Lance tilts back to look up at the sky, the cool wind chaffing him dry. Clouds of sand trail from where his toes almost reach the ground, mirroring the sky above. He’s lazily pivoting off the ground, almost sitting in the water, staring at the clouds above him. Clouds were perfect to look at and space out while doing it and not feel completely alone.

Most days were hot on his little island, so he wore his jacket wrapped around his waist while he swam. Then, when he’d crawl out, he could put it on and stay cool easier. The sleeves billowed up against his stomach now.

Closing his eyes, he lets he second pair blink into place, his ear covering slipping over his ears, and the webbing between his fingers growing. Sharp little pricks poke his mouth before his jaw adjusts to his new teeth. Breathing out, he opens his eyes and twists to kick off the sandy coast.

He’s only drifted a little when a giant disturbance echoes through the water.

There’s nothing alive on this planet that big. There’s nothing alive-

Against his better judgement, he shots off to the source, water wicking through his hair. It doesn’t get in his eyes for the miles he swims in seconds or when he notices a big, dark shadow above him on the surface. A human shaped shadow.


“Dumbass! The hell!” Lance exclaims, rising above the surface, arms cradling Keith up away from the water. Blue waves rock and bob them, and Keith’s wings are stretched high above them. One wrong move and they’d be wet. Wet and heavy, would drag him down to the see floor, oxygen betraying him and floating to the surface. “I knew you’d come.” Keith shrugs, seemingly not panicking about the sea water he’s in. Panic is pushing through Lance’s veins, but deep breathes and focus let him grip it by the handle. The team most likely hates him, so why would Keith know he would come? Why should he have come? Would they have baited him out with Keith to beat him lifeless? Did they?

Something soft and bubbly closes around his wrist.

An inflatable he hadn’t noticed in his angry concern was wrapped around Keith’s waist. Connected to it was a smaller one on his wrist.

They did.

“Lance, you need to come with us-”

They hated him enough to try to capture him.

Now that he was searching he could see the team on the grainy, gritty shore not too far away, hidden in the shadows of trees.

Fuck this.

“Fuck this.” He says, pauses to let his eyeteeth push out, and swoops his head to the plastic.

Tearing into the plastic, it pops with little resistance.

He drops Keith, sinking back down into the current, the cold flourishing in his senses. Kicking back, he retreats a few feet, letting the ocean bloom around his eyes. The blue here is prettier, but the intentions are not.

Keith starts to struggle above him, the shadow distorted . Something’s wrong -

The tube was connected.

Rushing back up, Lance pushes Keith out of the water, legs spinning for extra strength. Soaked feathers drape against his arms and get in his mouth. The taste of foreign salt and pillow fluff fills his mouth. Fear eats Keith’s face, terrified frown sharp against his expressive eyes. The grip on Lance’s arms leaves his knuckles white. His legs trail in the water beneath him and Lance tries not to groan with how heavy he is.

Then, hands are reaching down and pulling Keith up, supporting him, flying away with him. Shiro and Hunk are looping hands under his arms, Pidge’s arms are snaked around his side, Matt’s on his other, Allura and Coran are grabbing his waist, right above Lance’s arms. Grunts and groans echo from the team as they struggle to fly upwards, away from the death rippling below. Stupidly, Keith refuses to reach up and let go of Lance.

Plucking him right out of the sea.

“Hey! Let me go!” He shouts, wriggling against Keith, then rocking his arms. “Never!” Keith yells back, clenching his fists so hard Lance can feel his bones being squeezed. Erratic breaths puff past his lips, his knees clicking in and out of place. He tries harder to shake out of the hold, adrenaline lacing his veins. Hunk’s free hand shoots out and clasped his shoulder, trapping him further. Ear-splitting screams leave his mouth, wordless.

Not fearless.

He gasps, other hands grabbing his body, forcing him still. Without his struggling, the emergency flight that ends up as a crash landing into wet sand goes as a smooth blur. A mess of limbs is what they’re reduced to. Keith lets his forearms go at some point. Lance tries to roll away from the pile of ex-friends.

“OOOOOOHHHHH!” Howling screeches attack his ears, his ear covering pulling back in surprise as Keith descends upon him. “AH!” Rough hands brawl against Lance. Anger radiates off them. Two knees are digging into his sides. Sweat streaks their faces. Lance tries to punch Keith, but he catches the swing. With a fast spin of colors, he’s flipped on his back. Coarse sand sticks to his face. He tries to buck backwards. With a grunt, Keith straddles his back, one hand pulling his wrists back and the other pushing his head down.

The small of his back is prominently empty.

Lance squints his eyes together, trying to keep the tears in and the sand out.

An animalistic scream runs his throat raw.

“Let me go!” It’s almost lost in the guttural letters.


“Don’t kill me, leave me alone-”

His arms spring forward with a thud. “Lance?” is barely more than a whisper.

“I’m not going to kill you.”

His breathing starts to slow.

The hands pull back.

Wet hair drips on the small of his back.

Where his wings would be.

Should be.

Slowly, more wet hair starts to slather his back with salty sea brine. Pidge huddles close under his arm, Matt shadowing over her. Hunk’s short hair and headband take up the space between Keith and Pidge, his legs resting on Lance’s. Coran forces himself between Shiro and Keith, and Allura snorts before curling up and taking his arm.

He’s not sure how long they lay there, silently breathing, covered in sand.

“So, I’m guessing you don’t think I’m the filthiest scum of the Earth?”

“We couldn’t if we tried.” Hunk admonishes, rubbing circles into his skin. “You’ve been a vital part of the team since day one. Don’t you ever forget it.”

“We need our sharpshooter. It doesn’t matter that you don’t have wings.” Shiro adds in. “We’re family, Lance. Your body doesn’t exclude you.”

“Even though it has some freakishly cool features.” Pidge reaches up his arm to play with the blue webbing between his fingers.

“Two sets of eyelids, an ear flap,  and retractable, sharp teeth.  My knees click in and out, so they aren’t always a joint. Webbed fingers.” He agrees.

“Besides” Keith snuggles into his back “ I have no idea how someone could hate you for your back. It’s smooth, and really warm.” He sighs out tiredly.

Lance doesn’t know how to reply to that.

“Lance, the team quite literally almost fell apart without you. “ Allura says. Lance turns his head to meet her eyes.

“We need you back at the castle, Lance.” Coran smiles.

It’s okay.

They want him.

And he’s always wanted them.

“Okay.” he breathes.

Two beats of silence are filled with smiling from his space family.

“Alright, my back’s starting to ache.” Pidge complains, pushing Matt back to stretch out her wings. The cuddle pile disengages with that, everyone taking their time to pull away.  All except Keith.

“Keith?” Lance asks, sitting up. His hips are still trapped, so he mimics a seal. Keith had sat up, but he’s still on top of him. The rest of the team was heading back, leaving him helpless. Lance swore Shiro had a little grin on his face as he walked away.

“Don’t you ever run away again.” It’s dark and demanding. A trace of past distress leaks into it. “ I thought you trusted us. Even though you never showed up for group preening or cuddling or flying, I thought you felt supported by us, enough to tell us if something was wrong or you wanted comfort. At least me.” Sadness dulled through the last words.

“Oh, Keith-” He frantically swivels his head to get a better look at Keith. “Done. And I do trust you. If it came down between you or Shiro fighting for my life I’d pick you. I’d pick you for everything. Being wingless and alive though, it’s not safe or simple. I was holed up in my family’s attic for years. The Garrison was my first real social experience. I didn’t know how anyone - you’d react. I was scared.”

“You don’t have to be scared of me.”

“I know.”

“You’d pick me for everything?”

“Yeah. Go ahead, ask.” A warm flower of affection blooms under his heart for this boy. The fear nulling it with brackish water had drained away and it was just as persistent as it had always been.

“Brother?” Keith blurts out.

“Not sure how that’d work, but sure.”

“The person who yanked you out of a cave?”

“I’d think I be worried if it was someone else.”

“Room mate?”

”Hunk snores like crazy, please.”


Lance tilts back to slot their mouths together.

[DRABBLE] Husband!Wonwoo: Watching after you as you give birth for the first time (G)

Word Count: 1,449
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: None
A/N: Because we simply can’t get enough of Wonwoo’s unique little way with coping with stressful situations on OFD - singing.

Originally posted by jeonswonwu


It had already been three hours since you’ve been wheeled into the delivery room, sweaty, hot and harassed, hands pressed protectively against your protruding belly. The baby wasn’t supposed to be due until a week later, but it seemed that your newest addition was more eager to meet his parents than the both of you were. After eight and a half gruelling months, you were ready to welcome your bundle of joy.

The initial painful spasms of your water had long dulled into a numbing ache. All you could do was sit in the delivery room, flipping idly through magazines as you waited for the baby’s father to arrive.

Keep reading

Slave to Pleasure [19]

(gif not mine credt to the original owner)

A/N: SURPRISE! With all the feedback I got from the last update I knew I had to show my gratitude with two consecutive updates <3 

Warning: Disappointing lack of sexual content, terribly written fight scenes and HELLA PLOT TWISTS. 

Keep reading

Reverie Pt. 1

Group(s) & Members(s): BTS’ Suga/Min Yoongi

Genre: Dystopian Society AU

Warnings: none

Reverie: (noun)  a state of dreamy meditation or fanciful musing; a daydream, a fantastic, visionary, or impractical idea



The soft pattering of a rat skirting across the cell woke him up. The ache in his head jolted back as his eyes struggled to adjust to the small peek of sun that appeared from the crack in the corner of the ceiling. 

A chill swam across him as he pulled the thin and scratchy material of his tattered blanket around him. No matter how hard he tried, he could never escape the cold. The icy winter on the other side of the small four walls raged on, the dense concrete unforgiving each night he had to sleep without the comfort of heat. 

The bitter taste of blood lingered in his cheeks and on his tongue. He grimaced, scooting over to the corner and picking a small bowl up. He took a sip from it, the water stagnant with the faint taste of chemicals. But it was water, nonetheless, and so he drank with a grimace on his face. 

His stomach jolted, aching from the lack of food, near hollow for what was now the 80th day. 

He didn’t know how he managed to keep track…. but he did. Time didn’t exist within this prison but for the sake of his sanity he forced himself to not give in to losing his mind. 

He couldn’t. He refused.

He sat there, warming his nearly numb legs with his palms. The sound of screaming pierced through the cell block. He shut his eyes and forced the shrill cry away - he could almost always tune it out but that didn’t mean it was easy.

Anger welled up in heart as he thought about that person. That innocent person getting locked up away just like him. 

All for what?

Freedom was something long forgotten in this world. You can’t speak your mind, even in the own safety of your home. You can’t be yourself, you can’t have an opinion. 

God help you if you decide to rebel against any one of the people that bestowed upon society such inhumane and radical laws.

A menacing smirk spread across his face as the memory of what he once was popped up in his head. 

A budding revolutionary” His people had once called him. But now all the ones that followed along with him were either dead or locked up, too. 

He would never know and he nearly hated himself for it. 


“How did you sleep?” 

Yoongi let out a sigh and skirted across to the small vent that was in the corner near his bed. He laid himself on the cold floor and rested his chin on his hands, his eyes peering through the open slits, greeting the inquisitive and tired gaze that was looking back at him. 

“Like shit, as always. You?” He asks. 

“About the same. Hoseok says to tell you Hi” 

Yoongi felt himself smiling, the temporary joy of knowing his friend was alright for today was fleeting but welcome.

He may have been a rebel - but rebels are part of rebellions and it was in his rebellion that he met the people he held most dearly to him. 


When the power began to shift…when the good leaders were being overtaken by the bad and the sinister…his city was one of the firsts to submit. 

The takeover of those sinister people - the ones that everyone called The Heartless or The Inhumans, was global. Each country fell little by little, until all that remained were walls and gates, locking each away quite literally. 

The first wall that went up was around the United States. Some say 2 million people died in it’s creation, some say more. Those who were tasked to build it were “prisoners” but really, they were innocents only deemed guilty for their “crimes” of speaking their minds and rebelling in the name of free will. 

That wall, 5 times larger than the Great Wall of China went up and set precedence for all the others until it was impossible for people to flee anywhere. Whole societies of people, caged away and forcibly kep where they “belonged” 

Any and all rebels were found and imprisoned and made to work for their crimes of speaking and acting freely. 

Yoongi and his friends were serving their time and each day that passed where one of them didn’t die from starvation or from the perilous and hard labour that was forced upon them was a blessing. 

“The guy in the cell on the other side died yesterday….” Yoongi recalls grimly and he can hear Namjoon let out a sigh. He hadn’t gotten to talk to him much, as the guy kept to himself, spiraling into insanity from the reality that the four walls surrounding him were his permanent penance. The guy had succumb to his own mind and thoughts sometime in the middle of the night, the guards finding his limp body in their afternoon patrol. 

“Poor soul. I feel awful for the guy that ends up in that cell next” Namjoon says solemnly. 

Yoongi nodded, resting his cheek on his forearm. 

“I have wall duty today” He states with numbness in his voice. 

Namjoon looks down in worry and then scoots his face closer to the vent, his brown eyes now peering closely. He stick his long fingers through and wiggles them, beckoning his friend. Yoongi smiles and sticks his fingers out too, the digits interlocking, allowing for a small pass of warmth. 

“Be careful. Remember to never stop working - if you do then the cold will get to you. Stay warm….and for God’s sake keep that smart ass mouth of yours shut.”


She couldn’t stop her limbs from shaking as the gruff guards gripped her arms tightly. They continued to walk her, face paced through the intertwining halls of the dark and damn cell block. 

Fear had consumed her entirely as the thick and rusty doors stared at her, their occupants cries and yells seeping into her ears, fueling her agony. 

The steady flow of tears were dripping down from her cheeks, landing on the thin and itchy material of the jumpsuit she was issued to wear. 

Her eyes flicked up to the door before her blurry through her glassy eyes. 

She watched as one guard stepped forward and opened it, the metal creaking as the dark room came into view. Panic gripped her once again as she felt a hand on the small of her back push her forward. 

She fell on the cold hard ground, the sound of the door slamming behind her sending her jolting. 

There was no hope now. She was trapped here and there was nothing she could do or say anymore. 

She had said and done enough things - that’s what landed her there in the first place. 

She curled up into the corner of the dim room, crying but maintaining her thought that although she was now serving her time for her rebellion, she didn’t regret one moment of it. 


Yoongi walked, pinching his fingers together in an act to regain feeling in the tips. His hands felt as if they were frozen solid and he brought his palms up to his mouth, breathing warm air on his skin. 

The sun was low in the sky as he walked, the guard gripped his forearm tightly.

 No matter how many times he was forced to do this, he would never get used to it. Each second he was made to work, each minute that he felt as if he were about to pass out from exhaustion made his anger grow more, fueling the fervor of rebellion within him even greater. 

But he had to be smart, he had to be calm. 

If he wasn’t, he would be killed. 

He often thought what the point of even being alive still was. Many nights he sat awake contemplating ending everything. But then he would hear Namjoon in the cell next to his and then he would hear Hoseok purposely yell through his cell on the other side of Namjoons and he would have hope. 

They all had to live, if not for themselves, for each other. 

He nearly collapse into his cell, the slam of the door a relief to him. He wouldn’t have to work for another two days. He darted to his cot and curled up, draping the blanket around him, hoping for the shivers to subside soon. 

He could hardly hear anything over the sound of his breathing and the heartbeat in his ears but once he began to calm down he heard it. 

His perked his head up and glanced to the vent that peeked into Namjoons room. No..it wasn’t Namjoon he was hearing. 

His eyes darted to the vent on the opposite side. The noise was coming from there. He sat up, not surprised that they had placed some poor guy in so quickly. 

As he listened, he felt his body stiffen - not because of the cold, but because of the cries. 

They were unlike any sobs he’s heard in his time here. Heart racing, he twisted his ear to hear better, his face warming with sudden realization.

They weren’t from a man, but from a woman. 

Part 2 Coming Soon

a/n: I’ve always wanted to write something dystopian and so here it is. The idea from this came from all the books I’ve read and slightly from current/past events like the election of Mr. Rotten Cheese Potato aka Donald Dump aka The Worst Kind of Trash aka The Reason I’m About To Vacate This Country, lol. I hope the perspective change isn’t too different either. I just feel like with 3rd person I can go into a lot more detail with the characters. As always, I enjoy your feedback and comments so send them in - here

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sammiethesamoyed  asked:

Does Skookum not eat his toys or do you buy new ones? If I was to give Sammie the same type of stuffed animals that Skookum has, she would rip them and begin to take the stuffing out!

He eats them too! He’s mostly obsessed with the squeaky element, and the tags and anything sticking off of the toys. Here is Raccie the Raccoon, his best friend, who only has one limb left.

Being a quilter, I’ve been able to stitch him back together in like nine different places, otherwise the stuffing would have been out of him long ago! This one is hardier than it looks, it’s like a really rough terrycloth with thick seams (that Skook still managed to get through!)

Generally, Skookum seems most interested in getting toys to squeak or make a sound, so he more presses them against things (including our legs when he wants to play) rather than trying to actually get at the squeaky thing to eat it. He will bite down on them, but not rip at them, if that makes sense? Silly billy :)

Poor, sweet Raccie the Raccoon. So loved, so few limbs :)