still squeaks

skam characters tag game

tag these names and let tumblr fill in from tags you have written in the past. either pick the first one or you favourite one. skip the name if you have none:

“Sana…” “Elias…” “Yousef…” Mutta, Adam, Mikael, Noora, Eva, Vilde, Chris, Isak, Even, Mahdi, Jonas, Magnus, Sara, Ingrid, Laila, Jamilla, Mari, Eskild, Linn, William (any version of his name)

A Roll of the Dice

Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction/oneshot

Word Count: 10,254

Rating: Teen for sin

Pairings: Marichat/Adrienette

Summary: Alya gives Marinette a pair of adult love dice for her 18th birthday. Later that night, Chat Noir suggests to Marinette that they play a game with them to see if they work.

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ao3 link


Yuuri is in the kitchen when he hears Victor call it out in question. They had just finished up supper and Victor had cooked so Yuuri was in the kitchen washing up the dishes to return the favor. And he’s just standing by the dishwasher, humming idly and wondering if Victor has picked out a movie for them to watch or if tonight is going to be a night where they watch game shows featuring Victor yelling out the answers that can actually be correct on occasion. It had been a long day at the rink and Yuuri even wonders if maybe they’ll have a nice glass of wine before bed.

So, Yuuri is just minding his own business, not thinking twice when Victor calls out his name. He hums back, expecting a question or statement about leftovers but then…

“What’s yaoi?”

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i really hope that no one takes any of these posts as me “attacking” their ships or whatever!

let me also re-clarify, this has NOTHING to do with me shipping mcpriceley. not one bit.

i just really need to put it out there that 2 males can be friends without you guys having to turn it into a gay relationship. it’s also really important that we have this kind of representation of friendship so that it kills the whole “dudes bein nice and supportive of each other is gay” thing.

I understand wanting more representation of the LGBT+ community in media. But let’s also not wash away this CANON, safe, pure, NON-ABUSIVE, NOT SEXUALIZED (unless you wanna count baptize me as sexual, but we know it’s all a joke) relationship between a Ugandan woman and a fat, nerdy, white boy.

Can we just appreciate that? For once? The only canon couple in this musical ended up being between a black woman and the nerdy sidekick. They could have easily made it the skinny, smart lead (Kevin Price) but instead made it Arnold. Who was never confident in himself and who was always used to being in the shadows.

That’s just. Important. Stop. Leaving. Nabalungi. Out. Of. This.

Let Kevin support his friend. Let Arnaba live on.

That’s all.

anonymous asked:

Hello... wonder if there is any chance that you made another part of "did you steal this" story... pretty please?? That's so amazing... thank you so much for writing it... ^^ ^^ (you are amazing, you know that, don't you?)

Here you go, sweet Nonny. <3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3: 


“So you’re going to wear the vest,” Plagg drawled, watching Adrien button it up. “Just like that, ‘Hi, Marinette, I’m Chat Noir’, huh?”

Adrien paused, looking at his reflection in the mirror. “Are you saying I shouldn’t?”

“Do what you want, Kid.”

He frowned. “This seems a little unlike you. You usually don’t want anyone to know my secret.”

“What can I say? I think Bakery Girl is cute and you can trust her. Also those cheese danishes she gives you are amazing.”

“I think I can trust her too.” He turned to slump against the counter. “Ladybug might get mad at me though. I still don’t know if I’m making the right decision, but it’ll be such a relief to have someone know and Marinette is so awesome–”

“And cute and sweet and blah, blah, blah,” Plagg finished. “You don’t have to convince me, Kid. I’m on your side.”

He nodded. “Okay, here goes nothing.”

“I think you meant to say everything.”

Adrien blanched.

_________________________

He sought her out immediately, having put Nathalie and Gorilla on lookout duty. Her cheeks went pink as she held out a gift, not fully looking up at him yet. 

“You look beautiful, Mari,” Adrien said softly. “I knew you’d make an amazing dress, but this is beyond even what I could’ve imagined.”

He could see the moment the pieces fell into place in Marinette’s expression. She knew now. There was no going back. She looked at his face with wide eyes and then slowly down to the matching vest, inhaling sharply.

“Please don’t freak out,” he whispered, stepping closer. “I shouldn’t have done this so dramatically. I’m such an idiot sometimes.”

“I’m not freaking out,” she squeaked, eyes still too wide.

“Are you sure? Because you really look like you’re freaking out.”

She swallowed and glanced around at the mingling guests. “Chat?” she asked, almost inaudibly.

Adrien nodded, a nervous lopsided grin taking over his face. “Is that…is that okay?” When she didn’t answer, he looked around, spotting his father on the other side of the room. “Do you want to go somewhere we can talk for a minute?”

“Please.”

Adrien quickly led her out of the ballroom, dodging anyone who might be tempted to stop them, and down a quiet hallway. They settled on a bench, Adrien taking one of her hands in his. “Okay, so this wasn’t the best plan, I see that now. I probably should’ve just told you the other night, but…” he trailed off, frowning.

“I can’t decide if I’m flattered or upset,” she said, almost to herself.

“Please don’t be upset. I…I really like you, Marinette, and no one else knows this side of me and we have so much fun when I’m Chat and…and…and I guess I just thought it would be nice if you were my person who knows, but maybe that was selfish. You didn’t ask for this. I shouldn’t–”

Adrien’s words were cut off when Marinette pressed her lips to his cheek. “Sometimes you talk too much, Chaton.” His heart stuttered for a moment as she stood, offering him a hand. “I think I’d like a dance if you don’t mind, Kitty,” she said shyly. 

The wheels were turning slowly, gears cranking inside his brain. The puzzle pieces were all there but they weren’t quite fitting together somehow. “Chaton,” he echoed.

“I never really thought about it, but I guess I do have quite a few nicknames for you, don’t I? Chaton, Kitty, mon minou. It’s surprising I didn’t out myself sooner with how often we talk.” She titled her head to look at him. “Do I need to say it?”

He nodded, lips thinning. She pulled on his hand so he was standing with her. She opened her mouth and then snapped it shut, taking a deep breath. “This seemed easier in my head a second ago. Okay, I can do this.” She nodded to herself and then looked back at Adrien. “I’m Ladybug.”

“You’re Ladybug,” he parroted. 

“Is that okay? I know I should’ve probably told you when you started visiting as Chat so often, but then it had gone on so long that–”

Adrien kissed her then, one hand fumbling at her waist while they other slid to her cheek. It was a relatively short kiss, chaste and sweet and slightly awkward, but they both were out of breath when they parted. 

“Oh,” Marinette said, touching her lips.

“All I want to do right now is transform and run across Paris with you,” he said breathlessly. 

“You have a party full of people here to celebrate your birthday.”

“I don’t care.”

“Silly Kitty.”

He got a more secure hold on her waist. “I can’t believe you’ve been in front of me this whole time, my Lady.”

“Technically behind you,” she flushed as he pulled her closer. “Wow, um, this is changing really quickly, huh?”

Adrien paled, dropping his arms and stepping back. “Sorry. I…I think I got caught up and–”

“I don’t mind!” Marinette interjected quickly. “I mean, you can…we can…the kissing was….” Her shoulders slumped. “Why is banter so much easier in our masks?”

He ducked his head and glanced at her through his lashes. “So this is really okay?”

“This is perfect,” she smiled.

He beamed at her, offering his arm. “Then I think there was talk of a dance, Bugaboo.”


Prompt List

Buy Me a Coffee? <3

Imagine you tried to rob a wizard's tower

The cold stone walls close in on you. There’s fresh, clean straw under you and an empty bucket in one corner. A torch burns resolutely in the hallway. You knew this was a stupid idea. One of the boys in your village convinced you that the wizard is a fraud, that his potions are sugar water and his magical talismans are useless bits of junk. The boy dared you to sneak into the wizard’s tower, steal something, and bring it back. You agreed, but mostly to shut him up. You’re not afraid of the wizard or his alleged power. There’s no such thing as magic, after all.


The wizard’s tower was just outside of the village, at the edge of the forest. If it had any kind of guards or defenders, you’d never seen them. You snuck in through a crack in the wall and looked through shelves of bones and crystals and things you couldn’t even identify, searching for something small enough to slip into your pocket. You were startled by a noise behind you, and even more startled when you turned to look at the source. A little humanlike figure, about the size of a pigeon, sat perched on a shelf and grinned at you. It spread out its batlike wings and said something in a language you’d never heard, a few syllables that echoed strangely in the small room. Everything went black, and when you woke up, you were in a cell.

So here you are, imprisoned. There’s a man looking at you through the barred door. He’s a short and slight, with a neatly trimmed beard. You’ve seen him before, hawking the wizard’s wares in the village market, all smiles and lofty promises as he peddled healing potions and fertility charms. He is not smiling now.

“Why did you invade my tower?” he asks. “Go on, let’s hear it.”

You’ve always assumed that he was actually the wizard’s assistant, or just a hireling. He looks nothing like you’ve always pictured wizards. He’s wearing a look of extreme annoyance and the kind of tunic and trousers that wouldn’t look out of place on the village innkeeper. You don’t know what you expected. Elaborate robes and a long gray beard. For some unknowable reason, you’re unwise enough to say so.

“The robes are only for ceremonial use,” he says. “They are dreadfully uncomfortable. I can’t be bothered to wear them all the time. You break into my home, and now you expect me to walk around draped in all that nonsense just to meet your expectations?”

Lost for words, you can only shake your head.

“And what about you?” he asks, crossing his arms. “Why are you here? I warn you, I won’t take pity on you no matter how heartrending your story is. Your mother’s dying from some horrible disease the healers have never seen before? Is it your sister? Are your crops failing? I rather liked the thief who said he needed a lucky charm so he could win enough gold to pay off his gambling debts. I can imagine how he got into trouble in the first place.”

“A boy in the village dared me,” you admit, and your voice comes out as little more than a whisper. It sounds pathetic even to you. Your heart is pounding and if you weren’t still on the ground, you’d probably collapse anyway. “I only said yes so he’d shut up. I didn’t even take anything. I swear, I’ll never come here again-” You trail off as the words die in your throat.

The wizard closes his eyes and sighs deeply. “Those charms I sell in the market? Those are mere trinkets,” he says. “Little things to keep the villagers happy. You have no idea what I can really do. If you ran off with something really dangerous, you could unleash horrors you can’t even imagine. I mean hellfire raining from the skies, cattle transforming into ravenous beasts. And that would be the least of it. You could end the world.”

“I’m sorry,” you try to say, but it just comes out as a squeaking noise.

He’s still glaring at you, but something in his expression actually seems to soften a little. “Still, you’re honest,” he says. “That’s a rare trait.”

“Are you going to let me go?” you ask.

The little winged creature is sitting on his shoulder. It chitters at you and draws one slender finger across its throat.

The wizard smiles coldly. “Eventually,” he says. “I can’t let intruders just run off on their merry way. You might decide to pay me a return visit. Or tell someone that I’m soft on thievery.” He pulls a bottle out of his pocket and holds it up to the bars. It’s clear glass, with a cork trapping some clear reddish liquid inside. “Here’s the deal. Drink this, endure what’s going to happen to you, and then you can go. Don’t drink it, and you’ll stay locked in this cell forever or until I find another use for you and all those delightful organs of yours. You would not believe what you can do with a human spleen.”

You hesitate. “Endure” is a very scary word, considering your current situation. But he did promise to let you go, and whatever that potion does can’t be worse than staying locked up forever. At least, you hope not.

The potion bottle clinks against cold iron as you pull it through the bars.. It’s heavier than it looks. “What is it?” you ask, studying the contents. “What’s going to happen to me if I drink this?”

“And ruin the surprise? It will hurt,” he says. “It won’t kill you. If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have bothered with the cell or dangling the thought of freedom out in front of you. I’m not that sadistic. Well, I am. But only sometimes.”

It’s still not very reassuring, but what he’s saying makes sense. He hasn’t hurt you so far, besides locking you up. And to be honest, taking his offer is the best option you have available. “Okay,” you say. “I’ll drink it. And then do you swear by the Light that you’ll let me go?”

The wizard is quiet for a moment. “The Light and I are not on particularly good terms,” he says. “But if it puts you more at ease, I swear by the Light that I’ll release you alive and unharmed.”

Somehow, it doesn’t put you at ease at all. But you believe him.

You try to open the potion bottle. The cork’s wedged in tightly and your hands are shaking too hard to pull it out. The little winged creature flutters off the wizard’s shoulder, flies right through the door, and lands beside you. Its agile fingers work the cork out easily, and the creature holds the bottle out to you expectantly. The potion smells like herbs and something you can’t quite identify.

“My familiar will have to stay here to keep you company,” says the wizard. “I can see through its eyes, and it is rather stronger than it appears. I’d advise against trying anything. Now, drink that so I can get back to work.”

Closing your eyes, you swallow the bottle’s contents. It tastes overly sweet and your throat tingles afterwards. You’re tingling all over, actually, and you can feel something shifting deep inside of you. There’s a twinge of pain deep in your belly. “What did I just drink?” you ask, trying to fight off a feeling of impending doom. “What’s happening to me?”

The wizard’s already setting off down the hallway. “You’ll see,” is all he says.

***

The familiar can’t seem to sit still. It paces up and down the length of your cell, occasionally flying out through the walls and back again. Whenever you try the walls they’re solid rock; the familiar must be able to pass through them magically. Once, you get up to try the door but the familiar just chitters at you menacingly. You sit back down and try to ignore the growing ache in your belly.

It started out as a mild annoyance, so slight you thought you were imagining it. Now it feels like someone’s punched you in the belly; not hard, but it hurts enough to be distracting. It feels like hours have passed but aside from the stomachache, nothing else seems to be happening to you. Maybe the potion really was sugar water after all. Or maybe it just didn’t work. You hope it didn’t work. Then the wizard’ll have to let you go just like he promised, right?

Your clothes are getting tighter around your middle. That’s odd. As you reach down to put a hand on your stomach, an icy rush of panic fills you. Your belly’s growing. It’s slow at first, but it soon starts growing faster. Eventually you have to strip out of your clothes just to make room for your new bulk. Once, a woman in the village gave birth to twins, and you’re bigger now than she ever was. You sit with your back against the cold stone wall and watch as you grow bigger and bigger, pinned beneath your own growing belly. Whatever’s inside you, it’s so heavy that you’re not sure you could stand up if you tried to. You run your hands over your belly, oddly fascinated by the feeling of it under your fingers. Your curiosity almost overcomes the fear.

Something slick is running out of you and down your legs to pool in the straw bedding. You wonder what’s inside you, and if it’s close to being born. Some kind of creature? You’ve heard that pregnant women can feel their babies moving, but you don’t feel anything besides a steadily growing weight. So maybe it’s not a creature.

That’s almost comforting. You’ve been imagining all kinds of horrible scenarios. Now you don’t need to worry that there’s some sort of demon beast about to claw its way out of you. Well, you weren’t worried about that before. You’re a little worried now.

All at once you feel a rush of fluid and some immense weight slipping into your passage. All your other thoughts vanish. There’s something inside you and you need to get it out, that’s all you know. You push, but you feel like the thing inside you is barely moving at all. You whimper in pain as you push harder, and you think you can feel it just barely inching its way down your passage.

You can feel your skin bulge outwards as the thing moves downwards one agonizing push at a time. The wizard said it would hurt, but this is so much worse than you feared. You feel tears streaming down your face as you try to force the thing out. You can feel it straining for release at your entrance. It’s barely half out and it’s already stretching you impossibly wide. By the Light, it feels like you’re going to split open. But you don’t, and you watch dumbfounded as an egg slides out of you.

An egg. You’re being held prisoner by a sadistic wizard, and he’s forcing you to lay eggs. It would be almost funny if you weren’t in so much pain right now. You let out a groan as another one enters your passage, begging you to squeeze it out. Again, you start to push, and again, you feel like the egg is barely moving at all. You scream, but it dissolves into helpless sobbing.

This is impossible. That first egg felt bigger than anything you could possibly squeeze out, and who knows how many more you have inside you? The wizard said he’d release you “eventually”. What does that even mean? How long does he expect to keep you here? Hours? Days? Weeks?

The familiar picks up your egg and flies out of the cell with it, apparently having no trouble carrying an object bigger than itself. You wonder where they’re going, what the wizard intends for these eggs. But then you need to push again and the effort drives everything else out of your mind.

The second doesn’t come much easier, but after another exhausting ordeal an egg drops out of you and onto the straw below. And, again, the familiar scoops it up and flies off with it to who knows where. You feel a third egg enter your passage. Then a fourth, a fifth. You’re losing count. All you can do is keep laying eggs and pray that there’s an end in sight.

They start coming faster and faster. After you birth each egg you barely have time to catch your breath before the next one starts working its way out. You barely noticed it through the haze of pain but now you realize that your belly hasn’t been shrinking. In fact, it’s growing. New eggs are forming inside you faster than you can push them out.

A horrible thought occurs to you.

“When I lay them all, that’s it?” you ask the familiar, between gasps. “He’ll let me go?”

The familiar nods excitedly.

“But-” You thought you were out of tears but now you can feel more welling up. You just keep growing more. You’ve been tricked. The wizard lied. He’s never going to let you go. You’ll just stay here in this cell forever, spewing out eggs until you die, wondering when the tide will finally stop. Your throat’s already hoarse, but you scream as another egg starts to slide down your passage.

***

You cry in relief when you notice that your belly is finally shrinking. By the end, the eggs just slide out of you with no resistance; you couldn’t stop them even if you wanted to. Your hole is stretched beyond recognition and every part of you hurts. You lie there in the straw, too spent to move. “Please, let it be over,” you whisper. You’ll never steal anything ever again. You’ll go to the Chapel of the Light every Sun’s Day and pray for forgiveness. You’ll kill the bastard who dared you to come here in the first place.

The wizard steps into view in the hallway as his familiar carries the last egg away. “Normally I give my guests a second or third dose of the ovigenesis potion,” he says, by way of greeting. “But, well, you were honest with me. If you like, you can have this instead.”

The potion in his hands now is one you recognize. It’s one of the milky-pink healing potions he sells in the marketplace. He offers it to you and you drink it down without an argument. It takes effect almost instantly. Your pain fades and you can feel your poor, abused muscles repairing themselves. In a few minutes you feel almost as good as new. Almost.

You were too exhausted to realize that you’re still naked. Naked in front of a strange man who has you locked in a cell. Reflexively, you cover yourself.

The wizard chuckles a little. “I can see through my familiar’s eyes, remember? I’ve seen all you have to offer and I have no prurient interest in your body. To me, you’re just a source of raw materials.”

You really don’t like the way he says that. Your hands stay where they are and you look over at your discarded clothing. Your discarded, wet clothing. Ugh.

“I can clean the…assorted fluids out of your clothes. You know, with magic.” He mutters something and waves his hands. The familiar neatly folds your clothes and lays them on a dry patch of straw. “There we go. Do you have any other pressing needs? A glass of water, perhaps?”

You answer no. Actually, you’d love a cold drink of water right now but besides the healing potion, you’re not sure you’d feel safe drinking anything he might offer you.

The wizard shrugs. “As I promised, you’re alive and unharmed. Mostly unharmed, at least. My healing potion will take care of that. I’m sure you can feel it working already. When you’ve recovered, you can leave.” He turns and walks off into the darkened hallways.

Strength returns to your body and your poor, abused hole even starts to close up. When you feel confident that you can stand without falling over, you dress yourself and follow the chittering familiar out through the wizard’s dungeons. You head out through the tower’s front doors and into the night. Outside, the breeze smells sweeter than the finest perfume. You stagger home and collapse into your bed, sleeping soundly until well into the afternoon.

***

You never go near the tower again. The village boy shows up at your house the next day and asks what happened. You’re tempted to punch him, but you don’t have the strength. Instead, you tell him to fuck off as viciously as you can manage. He doesn’t bother you again.

But it doesn’t quite end there. You try to avoid the wizard’s stall on market days but somehow he’s always right in your path, and he always greets you with a wide smile and a cheerful “Well, if it isn’t my favorite customer!” Sometimes, he tries to offer you a very familiar red potion. Your heart stops when you see it, but then he gives you a wink and slips the bottle back into some hidden pocket.

Lately he’s been selling “dragon’s egg” potions and carved amulets. Whenever you see them set out and glinting in the sunlight, you ache somewhere deep inside. You’re sure those eggs didn’t come out of any dragon, but you can never work up the nerve to ask.

You develop a profound sense of appreciation for chickens and egg-laying creatures of all kinds. You can never look at an omelette the same way again.

And it turns out that the potion never truly wore off. Once every few months, you’re awakened in the middle of the night by a sharp pain in your abdomen. The wizard’s familiar swoops in as you push a giant egg out of yourself, cackling to itself as it watches you strain. Laying the egg is always worse than you remember; every push feels useless, like the egg’s trying to cling to your insides out of sheer spite. Eventually it crowns and then slides out, leaving a void where your insides were stretched around it.

Every time, you wonder if this egg will really be the last one. Every time, you ask the familiar to tell the wizard you’re sorry, you never meant any harm, and can he fix what the potion did to you?

The familiar just grins at you and flies off into the night, holding your newborn egg in its arms.

(Hi! I’m deepoceanblue and when I sat down at my computer, this happened. Thanks for reading <3)

anonymous asked:

OMG I love your newest scenario!!! Can you do the same one but with Keith? (btw, I really love your blog~ you're an inspiration tbh)

(omg ur too sweet?????)

The original prompt was thus:

“Sooooooo I was thinking what would Shiro do if his s/o showed up to party in a sexy black dress just to get him back for spending so much time with Voltron.”

Implied nsfw and some sweet, sweet angst. Just in time for season 3 (¬‿¬)

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anonymous asked:

A prompt, if I may? :) To celebrate Catco's 20th anniversary, Supergirl agrees to a televised interview with Cat Grant. It's a smash in the ratings, of course, and some viewers notice the chemistry and sexual tension...which leads to some angst and feelings being revealed. :)

“Like forty percent of these comments are about you staring at Cat with heart eyes,” Winn said, scrolling through Youtube comments in the middle of the DEO. “I mean, they aren’t wrong.”

“Winn!” Kara hissed, leaning over him and closing out of the page before J’onn caught him goofing off at work again. He’d already been given several stern talking to’s about it. A pout formed on her face and she crossed her arms over her crest. “I do not stare at Cat.”

“Everyone stares at Cat.” Maggie piped in, leaning back in the chair beside Winn at the console. “You are not an exception.”

“You’re not even supposed to be here,” Kara said, pointing at her threateningly. “You’re supposed to be at work.”

“I can’t believe we’re even wasting time talking about the ‘heart eyes’ comments,” Maggie said, pretending to ignore Kara completely. “Cat spent half the interview trying to act like she wasn’t ready to climb Kara like a tree.”

“I can’t hear you,” Kara muttered, walking away from the two newest annoyances in her life. Not that she could really get away from it; it seemed everyone had something to say about the interview she’d volunteered to give Cat after she’d helped save everyone from the Daxamite invasion. It seemed about the only way she could really thank her for coming back just in time. And it had actually went really well. People had loved it, she hadn’t given away too many secrets about herself or her work at the DEO, and she hadn’t completely embarrassed herself. Or, that’s what she’d thought before people start dissecting every single detail of her interaction with Cat.

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do you wanna touch me (there) - Isaac Lahey one shot *smut*

Summary: After an exhausting day of running errands, you were disappointed to return home to an empty loft. Or so you thought.

Pairing: Isaac Lahey x reader

Rating: Mature for graphic sexual content, heavy swearing

Originally posted by smutdiaries


“I’m home!” you announced as you entered the loft, struggling to carry a week’s worth of groceries. Thinking you could hulk it out, you had grabbed all the bags from your car at the same time. Second trips were a bitch.

One of the bags slightly teetered against your arm, threatening to topple over. “Anyone here? I could use some help!”  you desperately requested. You were met with silence.

“Guys?” you squeaked. Still nothing.

Yeah, you regretted everything. 

Feeling like a rejected soccer mom, you huffed against a lock of hair that had fallen over your face. You trudged across the loft and into the kitchen, gingerly setting the groceries onto the counter. 

“Children,” you grumbled bitterly to yourself. Even though you were all the same age. Well, excluding Derek.  

“Everyone just runs around town chasing their little monsters, trying to save the whole damn world when they can’t even take care of themselves… So I’m just supposed to cook, clean, AND do their shopping for them… Which, okay fine, I don’t even mind that much. But it’s not like anyone has ever offered to help me with anything… “ You continued to mumble grievances under your breath as you stored the food away.

You placed Stiles’ favorite Cap’n Crunch cereal into a cabinet and Isaac’s cookie dough ice cream into the fridge followed by Lydia’s fat free Greek yogurt and Derek’s ample selection of lean meat and vegetables. Then, you put Scott’s specially requested three different flavors of Lay’s chips into the pantry and arranged Allison’s vegan cheese and bread on the counter.

You sighed as you leaned against the counter to relieve your sore feet. 

Suddenly, you heard a crash followed by a swift “fuck!”

You swiveled around, startled by the unexpected outcry. Sounds like someone was home after all.

Irritation bubbled under your skin as you set off to track down the source of the noise. You were rather curious as to who it was and what they were doing because apparently it was far more important than responding to your cries for help.

One by one, you kicked open the doors lining the hallway. You were feeling dramatic. 

All of the rooms were vacant so far, but there was one left at the end of the hall.

It belonged to Isaac.

You narrowed your eyes at his door, ajar and unsuspecting. You marched forward, ready to FBI his sorry ass when suddenly a deep, guttural moan broke through the air.

“Fuck… yes…”

You froze. Was he…? 

No. No way.

But it couldn’t hurt to confirm.

Creeping towards his room, you carefully nudged his door, peeking inside. What you saw caused your jaw to drop to the floor. 

It was Isaac, laying naked on his bed with a fist wrapped resolutely around his cock. He was a sight to behold with his mouth gaping, eyes screwed shut, face twisted in ecstasy as he stroked himself up and down. A sheen of sweat was visible on his forehead and chest. His cheeks were tinted bright pink. He looked divine, ethereal even, a sharp contrast to the filthy moans that tumbled sporadically from his lips. 

Irritation quickly forgotten, you stood dumbly outside his door, transfixed by his movements. Well, this explains why he couldn’t hear you earlier. Looking down at his floor, you saw a broken lamp discarded by his bed. You thought back to the loud crash you’d heard. Perplexed, you wondered how in the world this kid managed to break his lamp trying to have a wank.

A faint whimper redirected your attention to Isaac. His bed was positioned against the wall of his doorway, so he was facing away from you, but you had a full shot of his body. You couldn’t help but just stare at him. You knew it was wrong, lurking like a creep behind him. Even though basic human decency would dictate that you leave immediately and give your friend his privacy, you physically couldn’t turn away, too afraid to miss a single moment. 

He was somehow more beautiful than you’d imagined. His body, splayed out in careless abandon, was something straight out of a Michelangelo painting. His arm strained to maintain his pace, muscles taut under glistening skin. A light smattering of hair adorned his chest, followed by a provocative trail leading down to his considerable erection.

Captivated by its sheer size, you swallowed your gasp, inspecting all the prominent lines and veins that decorated his cock. You licked your lips, mouth dry with desire. You’d never been so turned on before. 

It’s not that you weren’t sexually experienced, but those other guys barely lasted thirty seconds before they finished without you, leaving you unsatisfied and underwhelmed. Seeing Isaac pleasure himself was getting you off more than any of them ever had. 

You closed your legs, rubbing your thighs together in a feeble attempt to quell some of the tension pooling in your stomach. You weren’t even in the same room as Isaac and he was sending you over the edge. At this point, oxygen was becoming an issue as your struggled to even out your breathing. In response, your heart rate spiked, trying to restore equilibrium to your wanton state. 

Passively, you wondered why Isaac hadn’t sensed your body’s reaction yet, what with his werewolf hearing and smell. He should’ve heard your heart pounding or at least caught whiffs of your arousal. You were embarrassingly drenched. 

You strained your ears, trying to listen to what Isaac was saying. For about a minute, all you heard were soft moans until a rather strangled grunt caught your attention.

“[y/n]…” 

Your mouth fell open, eyes widening in shock.

Did he just say your name? Did Isaac Lahey just moan your name as he jerked himself off? It seemed more likely that you had finally reached the point of being horny where you just straight up start hallucinating.

In your everyday life, Isaac never regarded you as more than just a friend. You let him copy your Chemistry homework and he helped you train, running miles with you and teaching you fighting techniques, insisting you needed to learn in case he “wasn’t there to protect you.” 

Sure, every once in a while, he fell asleep with his head in your lap and you pretended that he didn’t nuzzle your inner thigh with his nose. And sometimes, he pulled you towards him and wrapped his scarf around your neck because he said he liked knowing you were warm and you ignored how good he smelled up close. 

But just because you fancied that there could be something deeper between you two doesn’t mean that he felt the same. It was impossible that Isaac was getting himself off thinking about you, especially because he was seemed so engrossed in his actions that he didn’t even notice that you were standing less than six feet away from him.

You were definitely hallucinating. 

“[y/n], fuck,” Isaac grunted again.

Or not.

He was louder this time, rubbing himself more aggressively. You sucked in a breath. Nope, definitely hadn’t imagine that.

This was real. Isaac was saying your name. Not Allison, not Lydia. You. 

You leaned pitifully against his doorway, your knees giving out at the realization that you were the driving force behind his euphoria. Out of all the resources at his disposal, he chose to think about you. You were the reason he was panting like a dog, gripping his sheets and muttering obscenities, one hand still deliciously twisting around his engorged shaft. 

“God, fucking dammit,” Isaac gritted, his voice quivering with desperation. He was close. 

You started to bounce on your toes, all of a sudden torn between your feelings. Fear hit you first because all you wanted to do right now was straddle him and help him finish, looking directly into his eyes as he repeated your name again and again. But what if he got angry that you’d been spying on him? You were currently in major violation of his privacy and if this went south, your friendship might not sustain the awkwardness.

A wave of courage surged through you. What if you decided to be bold? And what if he actually reciprocated your feelings? It seemed your lust, combined with your infatuation and dangerously inflated ego, had fostered a new brazen personality. You were tired of always putting others first, never pursuing what you wanted. 

Fuck it. What did you really have to lose? If he rejects you, you could just tell him to go fuck himself. Literally. While moaning your name.

Also, not only did you really want to do this, but you’d always considered yourself a good friend. If Isaac wanted to get off, then you were going to help. 

Taking a deep breath, you confidently strode over the threshold of Isaac’s bedroom, slamming the door into the wall. Your sudden intrusion alarmed Isaac out of his reverie. His unfocused eyes met yours, then widened in bewilderment.

“[y/n], shit,” Isaac scrambled around, seemingly trying to stand up and cower away at the same time. You swiftly made your way over, mounting his thighs and pushing his shoulders back down. He looked up at you, stunned in disbelief. You were both surprised by your dominance. 

“Hiii,” you chimed, your mouth tugging up at one corner. “What’s up?” 

You affectionately brushed away some curly tendrils stuck to his forehead. Isaac stilled at your touch, almost imperceptibly tilting his head into your palm. He swallowed, still unsure of what was happening. Frankly, you didn’t know either, improvising as you went along.

“[y/n], what’s going on?” he asked nervously, still panting a little. 

“I could hear you from the kitchen.”

“Oh–wait the kitchen?! You heard me… all the way from the kitchen. Great,” he finished lamely. “Was anyone else with you?”

“Nah.”

“Okay, that’s–that’s good. Yeah,” he stuttered. “Um, did you hear everything I said?” 

“Yeah, I was standing outside your door,” you bluntly confessed. His face turned a deeper shade of red.

“Shit, okay, you know that I wasn’t being some creepy guy just jerking off to your name, right? I mean, I was jerking off… and saying your name… But it isn’t like that, I promise. You’re more special than that, okay? I didn’t even know anyone was home! Fuck, [y/n], you have every right to hate me–” 

You swooped down suddenly, pressing your lips against his, cutting him off mid-rant. Isaac sharply sucked in through his nose, going rigid under you in shock. You kept some distance between your bodies, supporting yourself on your hands to avoid overwhelming him all your weight. You lingered for a few moments, your hair curtaining your joined lips as you waited for him to recover. Hesitantly, Isaac responded, parting his lips as he leaned up to meet your movements.

Gradually gaining confidence, he lifted his hand to the back of your head, fisting your hair and bringing you flush against him. He cradled your jaw, holding you in place as he kissed you back emphatically. 

Your hands instinctively gripped his shoulder, clinging to him as your mind swam in delight. But when Isaac started to grind his bare hips into yours, you swiftly pulled away, surprised that you’d gotten carried away so fast. You sat up, taking in the flustered expression on his face, his eyes half-lidded in disorientation. You bit your lip, stifling the laughter bubbling in your chest.

“So, I guess I don’t hate you,” you remarked casually, gently caressing his cheek with your knuckles. You brushed your thumb against his bottom lip, which was still very red from your previous ministrations. 

Isaac blinked, absorbing your words, his chest heaving up and down. He looked forward at where your clothed sex hovered a few millimeters above his still erect cock that now rested against his stomach. 

“Christ, [y/n],” Isaac breathed out. You could tell he was still wrestling with his emotions just like you were earlier. His eyebrows were scrunched in concentration. Patiently, you waited for him to sort out his thoughts.

“Let me get this straight. So you just barged in here, fully aware of what I was doing, then climbed on top of me, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I am naked.” Isaac’s voice inflected at the end as he flippantly motioned to his persistent erection. “Then, you kissed me. And pulled away like ten seconds later!”

You nodded thoughtfully, then burst into giggles, amused by how baffled he sounded. If this is how people reacted when you stepped out of your comfort zone, you never wanted to play it safe again.

“And your point is?” you inquired innocently, a smirk teasing your features. 

He raised an eyebrow at you, locking his jaw. 

“I mean, was there a problem with what I did? Because if you’d prefer to just take care of yourself, you can tell me. I’ll just leave you to it,” you shrugged nonchalantly, slightly lifting off the bed. You were abruptly pulled back down by Isaac’s large hands clasping your thighs, squeezing the flesh as he held you down. You huffed out a breath of laughter, placing your hands on his torso to balance yourself.

“You shouldn’t start something you’re not going to finish,” he warned evenly, his thumbs tracing circles on your inner thighs. You sobered at his tone, now trying to hold back a whimper. 

“What if I want you to finish?” you challenged. “What if I want to watch you finish, hear you say my name over and over like you were doing earlier.” 

He raised his eyebrows, an amused smirk pulling at his mouth. Neither of you had ever experienced your smug side before.

“Tell me what this is, [y/n], and we’ll do anything you want. Tell me what happens next,” he demanded, his voice so commanding that you felt it rumble through your core.

You exhaled, considering the implications of his questions.

“Well, I don’t know what ‘this’ is… but I know I don’t want to stop,” you offered candidly. 

“Yeah?” Isaac murmured with a small smile, kneading his hands up and down your thighs. “I don’t want to stop either.”

“That’s good,” you whispered airily, shivering as his fingers trailed the bare skin just below your ass. “And as for what happens next…”

You crossed your arms over you body, grabbed the hem of your t-shirt and lifted it over your head. 

“That depends on you telling me exactly what you pictured me doing while you were touching yourself.” 

Even though you spoke confidently, you secretly wished you’d worn a different bra. Maybe something lacy or black, just anything that wasn’t white and cotton and thrown on in haste. But Isaac didn’t seem to mind, staring open-mouthed at your chest. 

He looked at you, rendered speechless by your initiative. He quickly regained his composure, his eyes a darker shade of blue than before. 

“This looks about right, actually,” Isaac approved. He folded his hands behind his head, propping himself up. He observed you, cocky and thrilled that you were giving yourself to him. “We’re just missing one thing…”

You frowned, cocking your head to the side. What did you forget? 

He chuckled lightly at your questioning look, answering you silently by gently tugging you forward to slam his lips against yours. Oh. 

You smiled into the kiss, giddy with contentment, thinking back to before when you’d pulled away a little too early. You were eager to act out all of Isaac’s fantasies, but you would’ve also been happy if this is all he wanted to do tonight. 

Because right here–you wrapped in his embrace, his hand in your hair, your tongue in his mouth–was exactly how you pictured it.

percyyoulittleshit  asked:

♤: Taking a bath together

♤ Taking a bath together | Percabeth 

It was dark. Percy fisted his hands in the sheets, sweat making his shirt cling to his skin. He looked around, searching for the last echoes of his nightmares but found nothing. Next to him was an empty, cold spot where Annabeth should’ve been. 

Percy leaned forward, pressing his hands to the back of his neck and panting. Gods, he hated this feeling of helplessness, of need, of an emptiness in his chest and an aching in his lungs and fear making his limbs tight and grief—

He tore out of bed, shoving the sheets away. He needed—

Percy didn’t know what he needed. His mind raced. Run, run, air, air, gotta breathe. 

The golden light spilling out from under the bathroom door made him pause. Just for a moment. 

Annabeth, he thought, stumbling to the door. She must’ve come home late, like she did some nights. Thinking of Annabeth helped; he focused on the thought of her, of her hand in his, of her smile, the way she looked at him. 

“Annabeth,” he called, voice hoarse. His hands were knocking before he could stop himself. 

The sound of running water stilled. There was the squeaking of bare feet against the ground, and then the bathroom door cracked open. Annabeth, dripping wet, saw him, and her expression immediately softened. 

“Percy,” she said, and he walked into her arms. “Percy, it’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he said into her neck, and she rubbed her hands up and down his back. He was still shaking; he didn’t know why he was so scared, just that he was. His dreams had been full of losing her. 

“We made it, Percy,” she whispered, and he let her take his hands. “Together.”

“Together,” he murmured, and his racing heart began to calm. She led his hands up her body, the way she knew he liked to. He let his fingers run over bare skin, mapping out every part of her, taking comfort in the warmth under his hands. She was here, and she was real, flesh and bone and beating heart. 

“Here,” she said after a moment, tugging his shirt over his head. Percy pulled off the rest of his clothes, and Annabeth climbed into the bathtub, their hands still together. 

He followed her, the two of them sinking into warm water that felt soothing to his tight muscles. 

“Sorry,” he said again, and Annabeth shifted at his back. He turned his head so he could see her. 

Lithe arms wrapped around him; wet tresses of hair fell over his shoulder. Percy suddenly wanted to cry. Annabeth had always been too good to him. 

“Shampoo?” he asked a beat later, and she passed him the bottle. They switched so he could work shampoo into her hair, the smell of lemon drifting in the air. Steam clouded around them, and Percy took a deep, steady breath, then another. 

“I missed you today,” Annabeth said, her voice calm and quiet, fingers trailing over his thigh, “but work was really good. We were running interviews today — you know how Chiron is looking for interns — and they all went really well. I have my eye on this girl from NYU…”

Percy let her words wash over him, and something in his chest settled. She kept talking, pausing only to run her hair under water, letting him run his fingers through her locks. He leaned back against the rim of the bathtub, and she curled up on his chest. 

“Thanks,” he said when she’d trailed off, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. Percy kissed her hand, and she smiled at him. 

“Here,” she said, lifting the soap bar, and he ducked his head obediently, pressing his chin to her shoulder and kissing it. 

“I love you,” he murmured against her skin, and he felt her pause, soap and fingers at his back. 

She didn’t need to say it; her hands at his back was enough, and so was the kiss she pressed to the side of his face. But she said it anyways.

“I love you, too,” Annabeth said, and the last of nightmares swirled down the drain.

pick one of the following and send me a pairing! (non-sexual acts of intimacy)

anonymous asked:

Why the fuck would you keep a rat in a bin! That's awful! That's the worst thing ive heard from this blog. You are one of the most unethical breeders I can think of. You just breed because you want to & see it as a hobby rather than trying to better the standard of rats and mice which is unethical. I cannot agree with your practices. Look at saison mousery or teacup mousery, or strongbrew hamsters or the pipsqueakery. THOSE are ethical breeders/rescuer and most certainly do not keep rats in bins

Er- Goodmorning? 

So! 

I have discussed this before, actually! However I’m not sure if you never saw it or simply don’t quite care, baha! But, lets go down the line here, yes?  


Why do you feel keeping rats in a bin is awful? Honestly! I want to know!


Is it because you feel rats prefer to climb? Because they don’t- they’re fossorial creatures and prefer horizontal spaces!  


Is it because you feel there isn’t enough space? Because I follow the AVMA recommended space for rats and often times exceeded it.


Is it because you feel it isn’t sanitary? Because the reason I switched to bins was the fact that it was more sanitary than wire cages.  

Is it because you feel that they don’t have enough ventilation? Because I cut out the entire front of the bin into one giant window so they would have appropriate (aaand maybe excessive, judging by the bedding all over my floor) ventilation.  


Is it because you felt like they didn’t have enrichment? Because I have boxes- er, had… boxes… of toys, tubes, hides, baskets, climbing items and hammocks (because, believe it or not, hammocks can go in bins, too) that would be rotated in and out of the bins depending on what I needed that day. (I.e: often times when I had timbercreek coming over I’d clean the bins out from toys so they were easier to see/grab out.  


“You breed because you want to” uhm- well I mean that’s an important part of it.

“you see it as a hobby” It’s called the rat hobby / rat fancy for a reason, sweets.


“Rather than trying to better the standards of rats and mice”  Ah yes because the two years of temperament, bone structure, muscle mass, facial structure, eye size, genetic health both in the physical and mental sense, coat strength and rat-to-rat interaction improvements waaaas…. what now?


“I cannot agree with your practices” and you’re in the full right to do so.  


“look at….”   And here we go-  


Isn’t Saison mousery also teacup mousery?

Aren’t they the same people? I feel like they’re the same people, aren’t they?

 Ah heck I dunno, Teacup is who I know them by though and their mice are freaking stunning.


Anyway, Teacup mousery has rats, however they don’t have 50+ rats. However, they do have 50+ mice. Aaaand from what I’ve seen, many of those mice are kept in bin cages. Because they understand keeping 50+ mice in wire cages is impractical. 


Strongbrew Hamsters has rats? O.o.

I thought they just had hamsters… Which are kept in bin cages.  

Pipsqueakery is a rescue who doesn’t have many rats. I don’t even know what their cages look like aside from a dailymail article from however far back, so it could have changed. 

However, their hamsters are kept in bins and tanks. They have the most gorgeous shelf setup for their hamsters. I want it. Imma steal it :P  In fact, on their page about their cages- found here: http://thepipsqueakery.org/cages they bring up amazing points.  


These points about their cages include:  Space  Ventilation Safety  (and the fact that their favorite cages are bin cages. :P )   

My rats had: Space, ventilation and safe habitats.

The issue  is people not doing research on why these cages are okay.

Wire cages can be amazing, good, awesome, beautiful. But they can also be disgusting, mismanaged, poorly stocked, over crowded, and boring for the rats.  

Bin cages can be amazing, good, awesome and beautiful But just the same they too can be disgusting, mismanaged, poorly stocked, over crowded, and boring for the rats.  

Bin cages allowed me to keep my animals sanitary and happy, and also see the numbers I needed to see in order to make a difference in the stock I had.



With wire cages I was permitted 1-2 litters a year and would be seeing no improvement and simply would be breeding to just /breed/.  Which, as you said, is unethical and I refused to do so.


Anyway, please tell me if I missed anything and you need me to elaborate or expand on my answers.  

Until then,

-           Lilsqueakers

Closer (Hercules Mulligan x Reader)

Time Period: Modern 

Word Count: 2,949

Warnings: Smut. Language.

A/N: Super cliché teasing/jealousy leads to smut, but there just aren’t enough Hercules Mulligan fics out there dammit. This is the first time I have ever written smut and I’m very nervous aahh. Feedback would be appreciated. 

Tags: @avengershavethetardis @bjwrites

————————————

It had been a long, long day. Work had been difficult, your boss had been a bitch, and all you wanted was to do was curl up on the couch with your boyfriend. 

“Hey babe,” you heard Hercules call as you entered the apartment. “How was work?”

“Uuugghh,” you groaned loudly, kicking your shoes off by the door. You shook your jacket off and hung it up in the closet. 

“That bad?” He had poked his head into the entry way. You said nothing, but nodded your head feebly. “Aww, c’mere.” In two long strides, he crossed the room towards you and captured you in a tight hug. “Sorry to hear.” 

“S’okay,” you mumbled. You hugged him and let out a sigh. “You smell nice,” you muttered, inhaling his cologne. You felt his body shake as he let out a chuckle. 

Hercules pulled back and kissed you lightly on the head. “Do you want to have dinner now or grab something when we get there?” 

You tilted your head. “When we get where?” 

His shoulders dropped. “You forgot.”

Keep reading

1adyshad0wcat  asked:

Fitzsimmons prompt: "hey babe, sooo we have a cat now"

“Fitz?” Jemma called, padding into the kitchen in her pajama bottoms and blazer, having only gotten halfway through changing. “What is this?”

Fitz blinked owlishly up at her from the bar stool on which he was perched at the kitchen counter. (They had a perfectly good table and chairs, but he always gravitated to this spot – Jemma theorized it reminded him of the seating arrangement in past labs.) “What – what do you think it is?”

“Honestly?” She looked skeptically at the pink and yellow … something dangling from between her thumb and forefinger. “Well, I suppose, we are three years into our official relationship, and I know there often comes a time when couples find a need to… well… spice things up in that area, but I thought we were—“

“We are!” Fitz rushed to cut her off. “It’s not a sex toy, Jesus, Jemma.”

“I wouldn’t have judged you if it were,” she shot back defensively. “I’d have had a few questions. Such as why it looks worn in but I’ve not seen hide nor hair of it before today.”

“It’s not. I didn’t. It’s—“ Fitz puffed up his cheeks and scrunched a hand in his hair, watching her nervously. “It’s a cat toy.”

Jemma was silent a full thirty seconds, staring at him, before it registered. “A cat toy.”

“Yes.”

“As in something for an animal of the feline persuasion.”

“Yes.”

She shot another look at the object. “Which we have because…”

“Oh, bollocks. I was hoping to warm you up to the idea, but…” Sticking his pencil between his teeth, Fitz knelt in front of the sink, opened one of the cabinets, and drew out a cardboard box.

“Fitz—“ Jemma said warningly.

“Shhh,” he whispered, moving towards her achingly slowly so as not to jostle the box. “He’s sleeping.”

Sure enough, curled up amongst some of Fitz’s rattier t-shirts and one of Jemma’s favorite dish towels was a very fluffy, very tiny calico.

“We have a cat?”

“We do now.”

“My mum’s allergic.”

“All the more reason to—“ He caught her expression and quickly shook his head, re-directing. “I’ll make that joke later.”

“You hate cats.”

“I don’t hate cats!” he squeaked, still in an undertone. “I hate when their organs somehow find their way into my food-designated refrigerator. As you can see his liver’s still where it belongs, so I’ve got no problem with him.”

Jemma could only maintain her frown a moment longer, so she ducked her head to look at the kitten again. Tentatively, she reached into the box and stroked a finger along one soft foreleg. The kitten whimpered and curved towards her hand but didn’t wake up.

“Why the sudden desire for a pet?” she murmured.

“Just saw him, you know, at one of those fairs the shelter sometimes does downtown – I’d been at the farmers’ market with Daisy, and – well – I don’t know, it feels like time, doesn’t it?”

“Mmhm,” she smirked, understanding finally reaching her.

“Aaaaaaaand,” Fitz wheedled, eyebrows drawing up slightly in that endearingly innocent and pleading expression he’d recently learned to use against her, “if it acts as a scaled-down test run of what it might be like to have a small human in our lives, adopting Mr. Whiskers could be the best decision we make this year.”

Jemma snorted. “We are not naming it that.”

Him, Jemma,” Fitz hissed indignantly, twisting so that the box was farther away from Jemma, as if to shield the cat. “Mr. Whiskers is a him. Or at least—“ He glanced down. “I think?”

“This is very encouraging material for your audition as a father.”

“So we can keep him?” Fitz breathed.

“Of course we can keep him,” Jemma sighed, shaking her head indulgently. “I’m just glad when we have children I’ll know about it well in advance.”

Fitz’s beam was luminescent. “You said when.”

Mall Gothic
  • A wind blows across the parking lot. It smells of the sea. You are nowhere near the sea. A seagull calls overhead.
  • In the lobby, a small dog walks forwards, then backwards, then forwards again - never progressing, always squeaking. You have heard this sound every time you’ve entered the mall. It is never the same dog.
  • A furniture store’s display begs you to enter, promising the softest cushions, the coziest chairs. You step forward, but the man behind the counter locks eyes with you, abject misery in his expression. You know that if you go inside, you will never be able to leave.
  • Music plays everywhere. Songs overlap into an unearthly cacophony. But whenever you enter a store, you can only hear one song. It was not playing outside the entrance.
  • An enticing smell wafts from the tea store. It is sweet, almost sickening, but you are helpless to resist. You drink from the samples at the front, and it is not enough. Your nose is so saturated with the scent that you can’t remember ever smelling anything else. Is it still blood that runs through your veins, or is it tea?
  • When you walk back to your car, it is gone, replaced by one of the same make and model. It is identical except for the hubcaps. You look across the parking lot, searching, but all you can see is a sea of gray SUVs that stretches from horizon to horizon. A seagull calls overhead.
  • One day you get lost and stumble into a store you’ve never seen before. Everyone inside is friendly, the prices are incredible, the atmosphere is perfect. You leave feeling high, elated, at peace. When you come back, you can’t find it, and no one you ask knows what you’re talking about. 
  • A store you admired as a child closed as soon as you were big enough to fit their clothes. Now that you are an adult, too big for their merchandise, it has returned. You wonder if your adolescence was a dream. Mocking laughter follows you as you walk past.
  • “Buy 3 get 3 free!” proclaims the red and yellow sign in the window of Claire’s (there is always a Claire’s, and it always has that sign). As you leave the store with a bag full of jewelry, you realize that you do not remember what you bought. You do not remember entering the store.
  • As you retrace your steps, you pass the dog. It is still moving. It is still squeaking. Does it ever stop? You look into the creature’s wide, dead eyes, and the question becomes, rather, can it?
  • A server asks if you’d like some chicken. You take it and move on. Another server asks you the same question, and then another, and another. Their faces begin to blur. How many pieces of chicken have you eaten? “Free sample?” you hear, over and over again. Capitalism is collapsing before your eyes. A seagull calls overhead.