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candycandy00 · 6 months

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The Doll House - A Toji x Reader Fanfic Part 1

You’re in love with Toji, even after finding out he trains sex dolls at the Doll House. Taking a chance, you sell yourself to the Doll House so he can be your trainer, and you bet him that you can make him fall for you by the end of the training.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Geto’s Part Here!

Read Nanami’s Part Here!

Read Sukuna’s Part Here!

Read Gojo’s Part Here!

Read Choso’s Part Here!

On the outskirts of town, there stands a particular shop called the “Doll House”. Inside its walls you can find a “doll” to match any taste you might have. All your desires will be fulfilled, no matter how depraved. Satisfaction is guaranteed! The dolls are exceptionally high quality, thanks to the skillful trainers who work with them twenty-four hours a day, molding them into perfect toys for your enjoyment.

Each trainer has a specialty that they focus on, and they all take great pride in their work. Their methods differ greatly, their approaches vary, but they all follow one rule: never get attached to a doll. After the training is complete, they hand the dolls over to their new owners, and never see them again. However, just once over the course of their careers, trainers are allowed to pick a doll they’ve personally trained and keep her as their own.

AU! Each trainer will get their own story! This is Toji’s. I’m not sure how many parts it will have. If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged! Any feedback whatsoever is adored! I’m keeping the same tag list as Geto’s part. If you’d like to be removed, please let me know!

Note: Consider these parts AU’s within an AU. So you might see Geto with a different doll from the reader in his part, but just consider this an alternate timeline lol.

Smut. 18+. Short Fem Reader. Cock drunk reader. Age difference (Reader is 20, Toji is 38). Size difference kink. Oral sex. Fingering. Use of aphrodisiacs. Divider by @benkeibear!

You’ll never forget the day you met Fushiguro Toji. It was your first day at your first job, straight out of high school. A job you still have now, over two years later: working the register at a convenience store in town.

That day, you were still being taught the ropes by a friendly older co-worker. You heard the bell on the door signaling a customer was walking in, and you turned to give them the practiced greeting. What you found was the biggest, tallest, hottest man you’d ever seen in your life. He was quite a bit older than you, with a scar on the corner of his mouth, but he was absolutely ripped and had lovely green eyes. He was wearing simple clothes, sweatpants and a T-shirt that clung a little too tightly to his muscular form.

At first glance, he was intimidating. He had a dangerous aura to him, and you remember thinking that he could rob the place and not even need a weapon. You glanced at your co-worker, who smiled and whispered, “I know he’s kinda scary, but he’s a regular. Don’t worry.”

You watched the man grab a few snacks and a pack of beer, then bring them to the counter. When he was standing right in front of you, his imposing height was even more noticeable. Especially considering your short stature.

As you nervously rang up his items, you looked up at him and said, “May I please see your ID?”

You felt silly asking this man for ID to buy beer when he was obviously much older than you, but your co-worker was watching your performance on your first day. You’d been told to always ask for ID, no matter what, when selling alcohol.

The man didn’t seem offended, thank goodness. He pulled out a wallet and then a drivers license. You stared at it, trying to glean as much information as you could without being weird about it. His name was Fushiguro Toji. Thirty-six years old. Shit, he was old enough to be your dad, exactly twice your age at the time.

But you’d smiled and thanked him, saying the usual, “Have a nice night!”

He smiled back and said, “You too!” as he walked out the door. And you were a goner.

Over the next few months, Toji came into the store often, at least three or four times a week. You’d finally gotten comfortable enough to start making small talk with him, and a few times he even lingered after paying for his items, just chatting with you.

There was nothing romantic or even flirty about his attitude towards you. He probably thought you were too young for him. But by this point you were nursing a pretty major crush. There was something about his casual, easy-going attitude that contrasted with his huge size and the intimidating, dangerous vibes he emitted. It drove you wild.

Everything changed one night, nearly a year after you started working at the convenience store. You were working alone on a slow night when a man dressed in dark colors, a hood pulled up over his hair, walked in. He lurked in the store for a bit, browsing the magazine rack and then the beverages. When he finally brought a few items up to the counter, you began ringing them up.

All at once, out of nowhere, there was a large knife pointing at your throat. The man was holding it steadily in his hand as he said, “Empty the register!”

By reflex, you held your hands up in a motion of surrender. “Please, sir, don’t hurt me! I’m just-“

“Empty the fucking register or I’ll stab you in the fucking face!”

With trembling hands, you opened the register and began placing the stacks of money on the counter. Your heart was pounding rapidly, sweat beginning to bead on your forehead, tears threatening to leak from your eyes. You’d never been more terrified in your life.

There was a button on the underside of the counter that would trigger an alarm system when pressed, but the man was watching your hands intently. You didn’t dare do anything to anger him. Even so, when you were almost finished emptying the register, he suddenly jabbed the knife in your direction, almost stabbing you in the cheek.

“You pushed the button, didn’t you?!” he demanded, his eyes wild.

“No! I never touched it! I swear!”

He raised the knife, preparing to slash down at you, but he froze mid swing when the bell on the door jangled. Both of you looked toward the door, only to see Toji walking inside.

You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried. Toji looked strong, but he was unarmed. You didn’t want him to be hurt.

Toji looked at you, at your frightened face, your hands in front of you in a defensive position, then at the man holding the knife. The situation must have been clear, because Toji’s expression darkened as he stepped toward the counter.

The man turned his whole body around to face Toji, the knife now pointed away from you. “Stay back!” the man yelled. There was a tinge of fear in his voice.

“Are you making trouble in my favorite store? For my favorite cashier?” Toji asked, walking at a leisurely pace. “I can’t let that slide.”

Toji disappeared. That’s the only way you could describe it. He moved so fast that it looked like he disappeared and then reappeared right in front of the man, wrenching the knife free and sending it clattering across the floor. Then, in another instant, the man was on his back on the floor, Toji on top of him, giving him a savage beating.

You watched the scene with a mixture of awe and fear. Toji was grinning as he repeatedly punched the man in the face, blood and even a couple of teeth flying through the air. It was brutal, it was violent… it was insanely hot.

When the man stopped moving, seemingly unconscious, Toji stood up and approached the counter. “Are you alright?”

You looked up at him, tears in your eyes. You looked down at your own hands and realized they were still shaking. In one fluid motion, Toji jumped over the counter and stood next to you. “Hey, are you hurt? Did he cut you?”

You shook your head, but you couldn’t seem to speak. Instead, you threw yourself into his arms. He patted your back. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I took care of him for you,” he said in a voice far softer than you’d ever heard from him.

He ended up staying with you until the police arrived, and that’s the night your crush on him ended. From that night on, you were in love with him.

It would be several months after that when you confided in your friendly coworker about your feelings. She looked at you in shock and said, “Oh honey, don’t you know what he does for a living?” When you said no, she gave you a pitying look before saying, “He works as a trainer at the Doll House.”

That came as a huge surprise to you, and also felt like a knife to your heart. So he spent his days having sex with beautiful women. No wonder he never flirted with you, or seemed to notice at all when you made clumsy attempts to flirt with him.

But it was too late. You were already in love, and finding out you had even less of a chance with him than you already thought did nothing to dampen your passion. You found yourself fantasizing about being a doll he was training, about being pinned down by his muscular body and fucked all night long.

You’d only had one boyfriend, back in high school. The few times you’d slept with him had been unsatisfying and underwhelming. In fact you’d barely felt him when he was inside you. It left you wondering what sex would feel like with a guy who knew what he was doing, or a guy big enough to make sure you felt him. Toji was certainly a big guy. So you dreamed about him taking you in his bed, bending you over a table, even about him coming into the store and lifting you onto the counter so you’d be high enough for him to fuck you without bending too far.

Now, exactly two years after meeting him, your desire for him is at an all time high. You want him. All of him. You want him physically, of course, but you want him emotionally as well. You want to spend hours talking to him, because your chats in the store just aren’t enough. You want to meet his family, find out what his favorite books and movies are, to cook dinner with him, to just… know him.

And so, without consulting anyone who might talk some sense into you, you decide to do something totally reckless and probably stupid.

You’ve paid such close attention to Toji’s buying habits that you’ve figured out his patterns. Every six weeks, like clockwork, he buys a pack of beer and extra snacks. Otherwise he avoids alcohol and only buys a few items. Your guess, considering the timing, is that he buys these items when he’s finished training a doll, almost like a reward to himself for a job well done.

He came in early today and bought the “magic items” as you call them. Which means his doll’s training is complete as of today. Which means he’s available as a trainer.

After he leaves, you take off early from work and head over to the Doll House. You park on the street and watch as Toji’s car pulls around to the back, then you see him walking toward the front door.

This is your only chance! If you don’t act now, you’ll have to wait another six weeks, and you don’t think you can do that.

Steeling your resolve, you get out of your car and hurry over to stop Toji before he goes inside.

“Excuse me, Toji?”

He stops and turns to face you, a flicker of

surprise on his face. “Hey, what are you doing here?” he asks, his tone friendly.

You hesitate. You had this all planned out, but standing right here in front of him is making you more nervous than you expected. He’s looking at you curiously, probably wondering why the hell you followed him to his job. In a panic, you just blurt out what you want to say.

“I’m in love with you!”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” he says. “I’m flattered, but-“

“And I want to be your doll!”

His face seems to freeze. “Huh?”

Your own face is burning with embarrassment, but you’ve come this far. You can’t back out now. “I want to sell myself to the Doll House, if you’ll agree to be my trainer!”

He leans forward and looks at you closely, then asks, “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty,” you answer.

He sighs and scratches the back of his head. “Go home. This is no place for you.”

You stare up at him, not backing down. “I’m serious about this. I want you to train me.”

His eyes sweep over you, down and back up. It feels like the first time he’s ever looked at you as a woman. “Look, if you want me to fuck you that badly, I can take you out back and rail you in my car. But you don’t wanna be a doll. Trust me.”

It’s tempting to take him up on that offer. But you can’t let yourself get distracted now. “I don’t just want sex. I mean I want that too but… I’m really in love with you! I want your heart too. If you have no interest in me at all, just say so and I’ll drop it. But if you’re attracted to me, even a tiny bit, let me be your doll!”

**********************

Toji looks down at the girl in front of him, wondering what he did or said to make her feel this way. He’s always thought of her as the cute, cheery little cashier who always greeted him with a bright smile. And that’s pretty much it. He assumed she was younger than she is, probably because she’s so damn short, so it really never occurred to him to think of her in a sexual way.

But looking at her now, knowing she’s an adult, he thinks she’s quite pretty. Still, she must be naive, or have really bad judgement, if she fell in love with someone like him. And wanting to be a doll? Did she even understand what that meant?

“It’s a ten year contract,” he tells her. “You’re signing away ten years of your life when you become a doll.”

“I know that.”

“You’re basically a sex slave. You have to do all kinds of filthy stuff, whether you want to or not.”

She nods. “I understand.”

Toji thinks she definitely doesn’t understand. She practically has hearts in her eyes. Shit, she’s actually in love with him!

Well, time to give her a wake up call.

He steps closer, looming over her, exuding a threatening aura. “My training isn’t romantic. It’s not about love,” he tells her in a serious tone, “it’s about fucking you all day and all night until you’re so cock drunk, the only thing you can think about is cock. You’ll feel empty when my dick isn’t buried in your pussy. You’ll feel hungry when you’re not drinking my cum. And even if you’re sore and exhausted, I won’t stop. There’s no breaks in my training. Love will be the last thing on your mind, because by the end of it, you’ll want any cock that’s available, no matter who it belongs to.”

She stares up at him. He expected her to cry and run away, or at least look frightened. But she has a strangely blank expression as she asks, “Are you trying to scare me away?”

He narrows his eyes. “Is it working?”

She smiles. “Nope. I know how I feel. I might get addicted to you, but I’ll never want anyone else!”

He sighs again. “See, that’s another reason I can’t do it. As trainers we’re not supposed to let dolls get attached to us. You’re already attached. How are you gonna feel when I hand you over to some random guy, and you’re stuck with him for ten years?”

She doesn’t falter even then. Instead she says, “I heard a rumor that trainers can keep a doll they’ve trained.”

Oh. So that’s her plan. “Yeah, I can keep exactly one. Not to be rude, because you’re cute and all, but what makes you think I’ll pick you as the one and only doll I can keep?”

She looks him straight in the eyes. “I’m willing to bet on my love. It’s a gamble I can take, because the reward will be worth it.”

He chuckles. “Ten years with me is a reward? You’re delusional.”

“Maybe so. But it doesn’t change how I feel. I bet you’ll fall in love with me before the training is over!”

He laughs and bends over slightly to face her. “And I bet I can turn you into a cock drunk slut who doesn’t care about love.”

Her eyes light up. “So you’ll be my trainer?”

Shit. He got caught up in the moment. He never could resist a bet. “If we do this, you can’t complain. I’m not gonna go easy on you just because I know you from the convenience store. You can’t pull the shy virgin card. I’m gonna be fucking your brains out constantly, filling every hole you have.”

Her face reddens, but there’s excitement in her love struck eyes. “I’m not a virgin,” she says, “and I might be a little shy at first but I’ll get over it.” Then she meets his gaze again. “You’re all I’ve thought about for two years. I want you to wreck me!”

His eyes widen. She’s cuter than he realized. She’s so small framed, he could snap her in half like a twig, but she’s determined and strong willed. He’s starting to look forward to splitting her open on his cock.

“Okay, if you’re sure about this, come inside and sign the contract,” he says.

******************

The inside of the Doll House is, oddly, almost exactly how you imagined it would be. Everything looked opulent and classy, the furnishings all expensive, the colors all rich. The smell of some sort of perfume fills the air, making you slightly dizzy as you follow Toji inside.

“Wait here, I’ll get the owner,” he says, disappearing into a dark hallway. When he returns a few minutes later, a beautiful woman with silver hair is with him, holding a contract.

“Read this very carefully,” she says, “then sign if you agree to the terms.”

Despite your reckless plan, you still take the time to read over the contract. Everything sounds fair, so you take a pen from the nearby counter and sign on the dotted line. Toji watches with an unreadable expression.

Once you’ve signed, Toji leads you further into the house, down a hall, and to a door. “This is my room,” he says, opening the door and motioning you in. “You’ll spend most of your time in here, but you’re not confined. You can wander the house if you want.”

Walking into his room, you feel a bit overwhelmed. It’s fancy, like the rest of the house, but there’s enough personal touches for you to see his personality. There’s a large punching bag hanging from the ceiling in the corner, a mini fridge sitting on a cheap-looking metal stand beside a large TV. The bed is made, surprisingly, but it still looks a little sloppy. There’s laundry scattered here and there on the floor.

“You can send for some clothes and stuff later. You won’t need much thought,” he tells you, tossing some clothes out of a nearby chair. “Here, have a seat.”

You walk over and sit down in the offered chair. Toji leans against the dresser and begins explaining the rules.

“As a doll under my training, you have to do whatever I say, no matter what it is. If you don’t, you’re breaking the contract. I don’t do freaky shit like punishments or collars or whatever. You’ll see plenty of that with the other trainers. If you don’t follow my orders, I’ll just send you home and you’ll get sued.”

You nod. That all seems simple enough.

Toji goes to the mini fridge and opens it, then comes toward you with a small bottle of liquid. “Drink this,” he says.

You look at the bottle without touching it. “What is it?”

“It’s an aphrodisiac. It helps with the training.”

“Oh, I don’t think I need that,” you say.

Toji frowns. “You wanted me to train you, so listen to your trainer. Drink it.”

You take the bottle from him and pull off the lid. After giving the liquid inside a quick sniff, you shrug and down the whole bottle, then give him back the now empty container.

“How long does it take to work?” you ask.

He gives you a grin. “Just a few minutes. You’ll know it when you feel it.”

“Okay,” you reply, trying to act cool when you’re about to burst from excitement. The man you’re madly in love with, that you’ve been thinking about nonstop for two years, is going to touch you, kiss you, have sex with you! You want to squeal! But mixed in with the excitement is a little bit of nervousness. What if you can’t satisfy him? What if he’s too rough?

He’s back to leaning against the dresser, one ankle crossed over the other, casual slide-on sandals on his feet. He’s wearing baggy sweatpants and a form fitting T-shirt, his standard look. God, he looks good. You can’t wait to have those big strong hands on you, sliding over your body, pinning your arms above your head, squeezing your-

Wait. Is the aphrodisiac already working? You were already thirsty for him but suddenly you feel like tackling him to the floor. Your body feels hot, like you’re running a fever. Your breathing has quickened. You look up to find Toji grinning at you. It’s a smug, knowing grin. He knows exactly what’s happening.

He pushes away from the dresser and casually strolls over to you. “Sure you’re ready for this?” he asks as he stands over you.

You gulp as you look up at him, probably looking the same way a mouse does before a hungry hawk. “Y-yeah! I’m totally ready!”

He kneels down in front of your chair, placing one hand on each of your thighs, and then moving them up, dragging your skirt with them. Your breath catches in your throat when your skirt is hiked up around your waist, revealing your blue and white striped panties. He locks eyes with you as he hooks his fingers into the waistband and slowly pulls your panties down, sliding them under your ass and all the way off your ankles.

His hands are firm as they push your legs up and apart, leaving them to hang over each arm of the chair, spreading you open. His eyes flick up to your face once more before he dives in, burying his face in your wet pussy. His tongue goes straight to work, teasing your clit by drawing circles around it while two of his fingers slide inside you. You’re so slick with arousal that they slip right in despite their size, then pump in and out as his lips close around your sensitive nub, sucking hard enough to pull on it, making your body jolt.

“Oh God!” you moan, your back arching in the chair, your head tossed back. Toji’s lips release you, his tongue now lapping at the juices leaking out of you as his fingers continue moving. You’ve never felt such intense stimulation in your life. And to think… the man you’re crazy about is doing this to you! It’s euphoric.

You lose track of time as Toji eats you out in the chair. You eats your pussy like he’s a starving man, and you can only quiver and squirm in pleasure, moaning and gasping.

“Ahhh… Toji!” you scream out when you feel his teeth lightly graze your clit. Then it’s his tongue again, then his lips, and finally your body can’t take any more pleasure. You cum with a loud cry of his name, and you look down just in time to see fluid squirting out of you, most of it hitting Toji right in the face.

He pulls back, licking his lips and using the collar of his shirt to wipe his face. He laughs and says, “Didn’t know you were a squirter!”

You blush crimson. “I’ve never done that before! I’m sorry it got all over you.”

“Are you kidding? I love squirters! Lets me know I’m doing a good job. You can spray my face anytime.”

Before you can respond to that, Toji stands up and then scoops you into his arms. You feel weightless when held by his massive strength as he carries you to the bed and lies you on your back.

With expert motions, he pulls your shirt up your body and over your head, tossing it to the floor where it blends in with the rest of the laundry, then slides your skirt down and off, leaving you completely bare.

Then, he begins undressing himself. You watch breathlessly as he takes his shirt off, revealing his muscled chest. God, he’s gorgeous. He wears a smirk as he shoves his pants down, watching your eyes bulge at the sight of his humongous cock. Oh, you’re definitely going to feel that! If he can even get that tower of a dick to fit.

Maybe it’s the aphrodisiac, or maybe it’s the fact that you love him, but you’re not scared at all. You just want him inside you, even if he has to tear you apart. So when he climbs onto the bed and pushes your legs up, folding you in half, you’re ecstatic. Even when you feel his tip at your soaking wet entrance, even when his heavy body presses down on you, effectively pinning you to the bed, it doesn’t even occur to you to panic. You look up at him lovingly, waiting for your fantasies to finally come to life.

He shoves into you, all the way in on the first thrust, stretching you impossibly wide and deep. It takes your breath away, your hands gripping his broad shoulders. It feels like he just penetrated your womb, even if you know that’s physically impossible. There’s a dull, throbbing ache inside you, but it’s a feeling you welcome. Because you’re stuffed so completely full of the man you love.

After giving you a few moments to accommodate his size, he begins pumping into you, slowly at first but quickly picking up speed. With every thrust, you gasp, your fingers digging into his skin. It hurts and it feels great at the same time. “T-Toji…”

You look up at him, and he’s looking back

at you with heated eyes. “Fuck, you’re tight! Holy shit!” he mutters, thrusting even harder, rocking your whole body against the bed.

“Ahhh… Toji…. it’s so deep!”

You hear him chuckle, then he leans down, putting his mouth close to your ear as he says, “Baby, I’m only halfway in.”

“What?!” you gaze up at him in shock. “But I thought…”

He grins. “You thought this was it? I’m insulted.” He laughs, patting your head. “You’re adorable. But I think this is all you can handle right now. I’m not into hurting dolls.”

“M-more…” you murmur.

“Huh?”

“I want more of you! I want all of you!” The words burst from your mouth in a cry as your arms wrap around him. “I don’t care if it hurts! I lo-“

He cuts off your cries with a kiss, his lips smothering your own, his tongue in your mouth. When he pulls away, you’re left panting.

“There’s plenty of time for that, trust me,” he says, his voice low. “This tight little pussy is gonna get every inch of me. But right now, this is your limit.”

As if to punctuate his words, he gives a hard thrust, making you moan and tighten your grip on his neck. He’s too much, but it’s still not enough for you. You want everything he has, but you agreed to listen to him as your trainer, so you drop the issue and let yourself enjoy the feeling of him inside your body, his toned abdomen scraping across you, the smell of his cologne drifting around the room.

You didn’t think you could fall anymore deeply in love with him, but you have.

********************

Toji wants nothing more than to plow his entire length into his new doll’s tiny, drenched pussy, and she’s practically begging for it, but he was telling the truth when he said he didn’t like hurting dolls. He wasn’t like Sukuna, who got off on inflicting pain. Toji could enjoy giving some asshole a beating, but he’d never understood the appeal of hurting a lover.

The girl currently writhing in ecstasy beneath him was so small in stature, and a bit younger than the dolls he usually trained. He was aware of his own size, of his unusual strength, and so he had to be careful with dolls like her. He didn’t want to break her.

As he fucks her, he kisses her again, on her lips, her neck, her breasts, tasting her sweet skin. He slides one hand down between their bodies and finds her clit with his thumb, making her tremble and cry out his name again.

He looks down at her blissed out face. She’s staring at him so longingly, her face flushed with pleasure, her lips parted and wet with his own saliva, he feels his jaded heart skip a beat.

Does she actually love him? Or has she just convinced herself that she does? Either way, it doesn’t matter. Within a couple of weeks she’ll be turning those pretty, loving eyes on anything with a cock.

As for Toji, he will never fall in love with her. He tried love once, long ago, and it only brought him misery. Much easier to have fun fucking dolls and then send them on their way.

The doll cries out loudly, her body shaking under him as she cums, her arms clinging to him. “Toji… I love you…” she says, barely conscious.

She really is cute, he thinks, and tight as fuck. He thrusts into her for a few more minutes as she rides out her orgasm, then pulls out of her. His cum shoots out onto her prone body, coating her tits. Her eyes flutter open and she looks down, touching the sticky fluid with her fingers. She looks disappointed.

“You didn’t cum inside me?” Her voice is weak, almost sad. It makes him want to fill her with his seed until it’s pouring out of her.

“Not until you get on birth control,” he tells her. It’s something all dolls are expected to do. No one wants to deal with a pregnancy, least of all Toji. One brat is enough for him.

He gives her a few minutes to catch her breath, then reaches down and rolls her onto her stomach. “Time for round two,” he whispers into her ear.

She turns her head suddenly to look back at him. “Right now?!”

He points down at his still fully hard cock. “I took one of those aphrodisiacs myself. I can go for hours! I told you, you don’t get breaks in my training.”

There’s a flicker of panic on her face, but it’s quickly replaced by excitement. She draws up her knees and lifts her hips. “Okay. Maybe you can put it all the way in this time?”

His eyes shimmer as he says, “Fuck, you’re already hungry for my cock, aren’t you?”

She blushes but smiles at him. “Well, that, and I just love you so much. I want to feel all of you, everything about you.”

He looks away from her face, focusing on the sexy little ass sticking up in the air. “That’s good for you, then. Cause we’re just getting started.”

Tag List:

@suguguro @kaedear @onyxsphynx @poopoobuttsy @butterskyy @collectionofdolls @akaotv @witchbybirth @bloofinntoona @wasurenagusaa @tclbts @tojirin @lucyrocks86 @badbyeyoongi @97britt @aydene @lzaj19

#toji x reader #toji fushiguro #toji #toji smut #fushiguro toji #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x you

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drunkenskunk · 3 months

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Something funny I've noticed while playing in the Lancer game @xeansicemane is running is that I am the odd-man (woman?) out in our merry little band of misfits. I am the only one in the SRT without an interesting backstory and/or potentially mission threatening Dark Secret.

We have:

- Fern Tiramisu, the fancy rat who has a job on Hell's Gate in a record store that sells more drugs than records. Except this is merely their cover story, as they are really an operative working for the Union Intelligence Bureau, sent to Calliope on a Top Secret Spy Mission. They've also discovered that parts of their memory have been wiped - by them - and are now trying to recover those memories and figure out why they'd do that to themselves in the first place.

- Cassilda Halloway, the very large, very Stronk, practically indestructible crocodile lady who is a champion in Calliope's fighting scene. Her first, last, and favorite solution for any and all problems is "Imma punch it REAL hard." She's hiding out in the system specifically to get away from her family, a bunch of wealthy and influential fucks back in the Karrakin Trade Baronies. Complicating things is that her brother is also here, for reasons unrelated, and has fallen in with the Faith of the One Plumed in Golden Flame, the local Apocalypse Cult.

- Pearce Collartug, a hyena hacker enby who is practically a JoJo character. They pilot a giant snake-shaped Balor, spending most of every fight covering everything that gets close (and lots more besides) in corrosive nanite swarms. In the last session, we all found out that they also used to be a member of The Circuit, a renegade HORUS cell pirate ring run by Triple Point, a Legion Fork NHP (Fern: "It's a fucking WHAT?!") The Illegal Shape has currently escaped its box and is now doing lots of spooky horror movie shenanigans inside a big asteroid.

- Agarin Raankell, a genetically modified supersoldier dragon man hailing from Clan Thunder Skink, and if you think that sounds a little like the Clans from Battletech: you are absolutely correct. Apparently where he came from, someone generations ago found a Battletech source book about the Clans and went "Hey, y'know what would be awesome?" Probably the most stable and level-headed member of the entire SRT, which is hilarious if you know anything about the Clans, but it does make him the de-facto squad leader in most situations involving direct combat. Also, he's psychically bonded with all of us. Because of Reasons.

And then you have my character.

- Scarlet. She's an alcoholic fuck-up.

Personally, I'm fine with it. My design doc for her boiled down to "What if me, but Girl, and also mech pilot?" She's a grunt. A humble footsoldier. Currently License Level 2, and still piloting her Everest. If this were Battletech, she'd probably drive a Hunchback. She's here to fight and get drunk, because she's no good at anything else.

I just think its hysterical that I'm the only one here not doing A Bit.

... come to think of it, I'm also the only one who hasn't been gene modded to be a Funny Animal Person lol

#lancer #lancer rpg #in golden flame #vex wasn't lying that one sure is plumed in golden flame

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contemplatingoutlander · 8 months

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"Far from being exceptional in American history, gun-control regulations are the default. If 'Bruen' was designed to nullify the constitutional basis for many gun laws, it ought to fail."

--Robert J. Spitzer, political science professor emeritus at SUNY Cortland

Robert J. Spitzer, professor emeritus at SUNY Cortland outlines the early--and plentiful--history of gun regulation laws in early American history. Consequently, Clarence Thomas's 2022 Bruen decision might not be the disaster for gun control that some people have thought. Below are some excerpts from the article.

In the summer of 1619, the leaders of the fledgling Jamestown colony came together as the first general assembly to enact “just Laws for the happy guiding and governing of the people there inhabiting.” Consisting of the governor, Sir George Yeardley; his four councillors; and 22 elected “burgesses,” or representatives, the group approved more than 30 measures. Among them was the nation’s first gun law:

"That no man do sell or give any Indians any piece, shot, or powder, or any other arms offensive or defensive, upon pain of being held a traitor to the colony and of being hanged as soon as the fact is proved, without all redemption."

After that early example of gun control came many more laws placing restrictions on the ownership and use of firearms. If guns have always been part of American society, so have gun laws. This fact might come as a surprise to some gun-rights advocates, who seem to believe that America’s past was one of unregulated gun ownership. That view received a big assist in 2022, when the Supreme Court declared in "New York State Rifle & Pistol Association Inc. v. Bruen" that the constitutionality of modern gun laws depends on whether they are “consistent with this Nation’s historical tradition of firearm regulation.” In other words, the constitutional standard for any modern gun law boils down to whether you can find a good precedent for it back in the 1700s or 1800s. The advocates’ assumption is that such precedents are few and far between, but thanks to the work of researchers and the digitization of archival material, thousands of old gun laws, of every imaginable variety, are now available for reference. Far from being exceptional in American history, gun-control regulations are the default. If "Bruen" was designed to nullify the constitutional basis for many gun laws, it ought to fail. [...] Throughout this long period in the history of the republic, up until the beginning of the 20th century, gun laws placed conditions or restrictions on weapons access for a wide variety of citizens—in particular, indentured servants, vagrants, non-Protestants, those who refused to swear an oath of loyalty to the government, felons, foreigners, minors, and those under the influence of alcohol. Numerous laws regulated hunting practices, as well as firearms’ carry, use, storage, and transportation; regulated the manufacture, inspection, storage, and sale of firearms; imposed gun licensing; and restricted dangerous or unusual weapons. Despite the Thomas opinion’s claim that “the historical record yields relatively few 18th- and 19th-century ‘sensitive places’ where weapons were altogether prohibited,” some local authorities outlawed the discharge of firearms in or near towns, buildings, or roads, as well as after dark, on Sundays, at public gatherings, and in cemeteries. In some jurisdictions, any use of a firearm that wasted gunpowder was also an offense. [...] In the post-revolutionary 1800s, as rising violent crime led more people to arm themselves, a total of 42 states (plus the District of Columbia) enacted laws against concealed carry. Three more did so in the early 1900s, so that the total included almost every state in the Union. As many states from the 1700s to 1900s also enacted some form of weapons-licensing law. That’s not all. Over that same period, at least 22 states restricted any gun carrying, including of long guns. Moreover, across the entire period, three-quarters of the states had laws either against “brandishing”—waving a gun around in a menacing or threatening manner—or merely having a weapon on display in public. [...] In addition, even though for much of its history America was an agrarian country...its lawmakers and enforcers were inventive and determined about ensuring public safety. When they perceived a threat to that order from firearms, they passed laws to restrict or prevent them. And back then, by and large, no court struck those laws down. That is what is truly consistent with this nation’s historical tradition of firearm regulation. So if we accept the originalist premise of "Bruen," the actual result should be to render a broad array of gun regulations constitutional. [color emphasis added]

#american history #gun control #america's original gun control #robert j. spitzer #bruen decision #the atlantic

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the-trans-folk-witch · 2 months

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The Green Devil of the Ozarks: The little green fairy of... moonshine?

It was 2005. I was with my grandfather in an old shop similar to "dick's 5 and 10" outside of Branson, Missouri. This is where The Green Devil caught my eye.

My grandfather frequented little old fashioned stores like this. He loved collecting all kinds of gadgets. Old movie posters, salt water taffy, and soda parlor paraphenalia. It was heaven on earth to him in this little corner of the world that was stuck in an older Ozark time. His house wasn't too dissimilar to a crackerbarrel gift shop. All kinds of wooden toys and dolls. He loved his little knickknacks. But on that day he found it. A copy of an old French absynthe poster with "the little green fairy" smirking at the viewer. He had to have it. It was being sold for $8! frame included! If only the seller knew the true value of it. Or how it's mere existence was breaking so many copyright laws.

Maurin Quina, as it's named, is a French apéritif advertisement painted by Leonetto Cappiello in 1906. The drink was made illegal soon after its creation. But this poster is now being reused today. It was not well known in the US at all back then. Not even in the 2000's. but my grandfather being a moonshiner, absynthe fan, and art history drop out, knew all about it.

My grandfather was not as religious as the rest of my family. But he sure prayed to God when he was trying to avoid the law. He was selling homemade moonshine without any sort of license or proper knowledge of sanitary practices. It was an arte form he learned from his father that I never had the pleasure of learning.

He decided to hang this new poster up in his storm cellar where he kept his aging bottles of various liquors. Over time it developed A life of its own. My grandfather would kiss his hand and place it on the poster of the little green fairy after every jar was sealed or sales were made. I Don't think he saw this as devil worship so much as just a simple good luck ritual. Not too disimilar to his high school basketball team kissing the image of their mascot before a game. He always practiced these superstitions even though he didn't seem to really believe in them.

Fast forward to today. I'm an Ozark trad witch. So of course I now work with this image as if it is the devil himself. He is a devil that rules spring and summer. Drunkenness, poison, lunacy, fairies, and nature. He is associated with law breaking, alcohol, healing, harming, and fertility. With Easter coming up He is on my mind heavily. A time I feed him red dyed eggs symbolizing the blood of christ and the blood of good Christians. I feed him this with intentions of causing those which share the eucharist to lust. Poisoning the church so to speak. I attend mass in spirit form and dip my blessed turkey wish bone down in the communion wine. The turkey is symbolic of love in the Ozarks. And the wishbone is horned like the stang, and my devil. Midnight mass on Easter is filled with drunkenness and sex. Those consuming this spiritually poisoned wine are consumed with lust for others in the church. An orgy ensues in the great house of God. Only for all members to awaken Easter morning with no memory of the incestuous rituals performed with their brothers and sisters in christ. To do such things in the house of God and not confess them (due to not remembering) is damanble. This is my goal as a witch. To bring the witches Sabbath to the church and to pervert the souls of good men.

By turkey wand and lustful stang I complete my work in the devils name.

A call to the Green Devil:

"Envy is his name. Drunkeness and poisoning are his arte. He is Lord of the little people and plants alike; come little green fairy and bring your lust and your lunacy. Green devil rise from the roots below like a serpent. Green devil come down from the tree tops like a booger in the night who takes its flight. Join me in this witching hour oh beast of the green and hear my call to the wild. By my witches flame may it be so."

Look out for a post on the black and red devils later this year. Our horned one changes with the seasons

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secondscns · 10 months

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jack corvin

AGE: 40 DATE OF BIRTH: may 10, taurus PLACE OF BIRTH: seattle, washinton GENDER: cis man OCCUPATION: public defense attorney RELATION TO HOPE: n/a PERSONALITY: obsessive and addictive personality, cutthroat in work, ignores his personal life, desperate to prove he can make a change

bio

rough childhood, alcoholic father, dead mother, anarchist teen years, blah blah blah, it’s all been heard before. no one really wants to hear about the band where he fried his voice and did drugs at sixteen until it started burning his friends alive. they don’t want to hear about how losing people, friends who were more like family, drove him to want to make a change beyond just screaming at a crowd in a warehouse full of people who already agreed with him. he got through law school through the force of a chip on his shoulder and working whatever odd job meant he could afford tuition, rent, or food. hopefully two out of three.

but that was years ago.

he graduated, he passed the bar, he got his job. and he ended up in rehab and aa when his job burned him out and he crashed hard. he had to realize how much like his shitty dad he really was. he had to dedicate himself to changing. he can't say he managed to stay sober, but he did blow up his career, get through most of a 12 step program, and decide a change of pace was for the best.

but that was years ago.

now he’s a small shot public defender in mercer hollow because he just isn’t cut out for big city life anymore. he figured he’d slow down a few years, do easy cases like jaywalking and selling weed without a license. wasn’t really expecting to have to deal with a murder investigation in a town that hasn’t seen a murder since the seventies.

this would all be much easier to handle if he ever actually put his life together and got himself to a place where he could handle it. instead he throws himself into the problems that aren't his and manages those.

wanted connections

the defendant - maybe they can't afford an attorney or maybe they think they don't need one, but jack corvin will go to bat for you and get you off the hook. (0/?) the inside man - a cop or investigator who is willing to give up information about the investigation in exchange for cash, goods, services, or perhaps they don't even know they're being used for information. (0/1) the broken heart - he hasn't ever held a half-decent relationship, except for this once. except for this one beautiful part of his life that he held onto for as long as possible, then royally screwed up. he'd do anything to get this person back. (0/1) the accountabili-buddy - sobriety isn't entirely possible him, but at the very least he can stick to alcohol and nothing else. but doing it alone isn't easy. this person sticks together with jack corvin in keeping it together, even if it means smacking sense into him. (0/2) the one who has it together - they had their rebellious youth together, but this person grew out of it, had a good life, maybe a family and kids, and never really misses the days of spraypainting denim and wearing spikes while jack thinks about it as the best time of his life. (0/1) the bad influence - this person is chasing the feeling of rebellion the same way that jack does, and it is ruinous for both of them. he's not a teen anymore who can go wild, but that part of him is always just below the surface and this person makes it dangerously close to happening. (0/1)

#about ;; jack corvin #tw addiction

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jameswattbrewdog · 1 year

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Is it possible for a homebrewer to earn money selling beer?

With the advent of craft beer culture, more individuals are taking up home brewing as a pastime. However, some wonder, "Can I earn money selling my homebrewed beer?"

The quick answer is that you can make money selling your homebrew beer. However, before venturing into commercial brewing, various issues must be addressed.

To begin, it is essential to understand the legal criteria for selling alcohol. In the United States, for example, each state has its rules governing the manufacture and sale of alcoholic beverages. Homebrewers who intend to market homemade beer may need a license, ranging from necessary permission to a full-fledged brewery license. Researching the rules in your location is critical before trying to sell homemade beer.

Following that, analyzing the costs of commercial brewing is essential. While home brewing may be a low-cost pastime, expanding to a retail level requires substantial expenditure. This entails investing in more extensive equipment, renting or acquiring store space, and getting the relevant permissions and licenses. Furthermore, ingredients and packaging materials must be obtained in quantity, which may be costly at first.

Marketing and distribution are other crucial factors to consider. While some homebrewers may be able to sell their beer to people directly at local markets or festivals, others may need to locate distributors or shops to offer their products. This time-consuming and expensive procedure may require effective marketing and networking efforts.

Despite these difficulties, many home brewers have successfully converted their hobby into a viable company. Here are some pointers for anybody thinking about selling their homebrewed beverages.

Begin small: Begin by selling to friends and family or at farmer's markets and festivals in your area. This allows you to evaluate client interest and get feedback on your brew before investing in more extensive operations.

Create a distinct brand: Differentiating out is critical with so many brewers on the market. Create a unique brand and marketing plan to appeal to your target demographic.

Emphasize quality: Successful brewers emphasize beer quality above anything else. Ensure that your product is continuously of excellent quality and satisfies the expectations of your customers.

Join local brewing groups and attend events to meet and network with other brewers and industry experts. This may lead to beneficial collaborations and distribution possibilities.

Be prepared for setbacks: Setbacks are inevitable in every business effort. Prepare to modify and change your tactics as required.

Ultimately, whether or not to sell homebrew beer is a matter of personal choice and ambitions. While beer of sale may be profitable, it needs a significant commitment of time, effort, and resources. For others, the pleasure of home brewing may be sufficient without the additional burden of commercial operations. Turning a pastime into a flourishing company may be both enjoyable and lucrative for others.

While selling homemade beer might be difficult, it is feasible to generate a profit with the appropriate technique. Home brewers must be ready to invest in their craft, do legal research, and create a solid business strategy. Homebrewers may effectively traverse the commercial brewing world and transform their love for beer into a viable company by emphasizing quality, networking with other brewers, and building a distinctive brand.

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golbrocklovely · 7 months

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Yeah no Hot Topics over here, which is very sad as from what I've seen they look to have alot of cool styles of clothing (plus lots of nerd clothing without having to enter a comic book store or a disney store) I don't really know if we have an equivalent here. Maybe H&M or Primark, but that's a very loose comparison.

We also don't have white claws over here as far as I'm aware, so when people say the boys get drunk off 2 whiteclaws like its a joke I'm like white claws must be equivalent to our ciders here (cider here is different to cider in America incase you did not know, cider here is a very weak, alcoholic fruity beverage served usually in pint sized bottles like beer but you can get it in cans) You can tell me if I'm wrong in my comparisons to whiteclaws lol

sorry for the super delayed response. i wasn't really on here all that much yesterday haha

hot topic is like part alternative clothing and part fandom stuff, so i think any store that at least sells licensed clothing is similar enough to hot topic lol

and white claws…. you are not missing out on much, trust me. so in america we have ciders too, but we also have malts, which can be in a can like white claw. and white claws themselves are actually sparkling water with alcohol and 'natural flavors' in them. and since i don't like sparkling water, i don't like white claws lol

white claws only have a 4.5% alcohol content in them (which might be measured differently for yall) but just so you know, it ain't that much and snc are very much light weights lol

#ask #personal

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oddlysweet · 9 months

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Daddy Issues

My Libra father comes from a very remote village in the north-eastern corner of what some random white folks dubbed “Afghanistan” and yes, my disdain for the word comes from him. The patriarchs of his family have been the religious scholars of the province for a millennium; as the oldest surviving male, he was teaching the Qur’an and the works of Hafez, Rumi, and other Islamic philosophers at nine years of age. Obviously brilliant, he left home for Baghlan hundreds of miles away so that he could pursue a higher education as there were no high schools nearby. He takes great pride in his academic achievements and when regaling the memories of a time long past, one can tell just how much of his identity was forged in the pursuit of excellence. Having always been at the top of his school, he was offered a full-ride scholarship to the University of Tehran, where he would be studying for the next decade, becoming a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine.

Though it might seem like he was all work and no play, each summer, after having saved up his scholarship funds by living extremely disciplined, he would make the trek back to his home, buying goods at low cost and selling them along the way back to Takhar to give money to his parents. He would spend a few weeks there maybe, before going off on vacation to various parts of Asia and Europe, very much living his life to the fullest along with millions of other hippies. By the time the bloodshed was to arrive in his homeland, he was almost done with his studies and had planned to go back and practice medicine in the highly agrarian society. Those dreams were dashed when the massacres began, and his youngest brother--not even having completed high school--was conscripted and sent off to die in the foreign land of Kandahar alone, and for nothing.

He, like many millions of others, made his escape and found himself in Europe for a couple years before making it to southwestern United States as a political refugee seeking asylum. He found work as a vet tech and started the long, humiliating process of getting licensed as a doctor from a foreign country. At the time, only one school in the country indulged graduates from abroad and he worked tirelessly to provide for himself and jump through more hoops in a language that was his weakest of the five or six he could speak fluently enough. Like all Afghans in their thirties, he was feeling the pressure of procreation, and pragmatically went about to find a wife.

When asked why he chose my Aries mother, he joked it was decided by a game of wishbone, and it was down to her or her Gemini sister. This I would reluctantly learn was egregiously untrue given the amount of shit she talked about her and her innocent children, not to mention the schism between my parents has a name and it is my only aunt--and by extension--the entirety of the maternal side of my tree. Years later when I was old enough, I would learn he married my mother because her own mother came from a relatively close place to where he grew up, counting on future resonance and harmony given an undoubtedly similar set of cultural values and upbringing. It also helped that the first time he went inquiring to my grandmother’s household, my mother came home exhausted from work, sat down at the tablecloth, and proceeded to wolf down three heaping, delicious servings without a care in the world so he took it as sign that he would never go hungry.

They eventually married on the condition that they would live far from her family and moved to Arizona. On the night of their wedding--which was a triple wedding with one of her brothers and her sister—my father, who had drunk his share of alcohol in his travels, offered my mother her first sip, some celebratory champagne. The last thing she remembers is bringing the glass to her lips, and as my father puts, promptly went out like a lamp. In the nights to come she would complain about the stink on his breath and told him that he would not be sleeping in her bed if he was drinking, so he gave it up and never looked back. This was the beginning of many compromises he would make for his wife, not that this one was anything he would ruminate and tear himself up over for decades to come.

While studying for exams, language proved to be more of a barrier than he initially thought, and with my mother’s biological clock ticking down (but not really, at the age of 31) he caved to her impatience, and they decided to drag me out of bliss and foist me upon a time and world that would never be ready for me. This highly accomplished man--literally one in a million--a polymath with no limits to his intellect, gave up his licensing aspirations and bought a landscaping business for 500$ in the classifieds the year I was born, eventually moving into a small apartment a block away from his in-laws.

I am sure given that he had no family of his own--all his siblings were stuck in desolate nightmare where the rivers ran red—that when I was born, all the loneliness and suffering became worth it. I can only speak from my experience, but the relationship the parents from my diaspora have with their children is extremely charged and morbid. Their own lives cease to exist the moment we take our first breaths, and every action and thought derives from the urgent need for the safety, security, and success of their offspring. There are times when I would get sick and in turn, he himself would come down with illness, or back aches. He worked extremely hard, to the admiration of all my family, and went on to purchase a house with a half-acre where my brother and I would spend our formative years, a couple hours away from the nearest relatives.

I would bounce from school to school in my pre-adolescence and be uprooted before my slow-warming awkward self would begin to make friends or feel like anything other than an overly sensitive, misunderstood outsider. This would be another regret he would beat himself up over, cursing his compromises to keep his wife happy--who traumatized, like every other Afghan who made it out--clearly needed her family. For as long as I can remember, my parents had their hearts set for me to attend the most prestigious public school in the East Bay, although the moves closer every few years were justified by cutting my father’s three to four hours daily commute down significantly.

Near the end of junior high, I was closer to my father as I would ever be, in the sense that I was within the top percentile of an underfunded, overcrowded school of thousands. Despite my identity crises and the demolition of the towers (which served as a baptism of sorts, being the day that my time here had truly begun,) I was making strides, and almost felt good enough to indulge in that which I always knew in my heart to be my raison d’etre, the sharing of the very same organ. Of course, we would move again and my father’s pride in me would be extremely short lived as this new school, in a city of one square mile, had consistently tested high in offered a 96% university acceptance rate to its students, the majority of whom were classmates since preschool. I struggled to fit in obviously and adopted a friend to many but tribe of one kind of existence; barely keeping up with the higher standards and pace of a place in such demand that admission was limited to only those who could afford the impacted property tax rate of the miniscule municipality.

Life began to make itself known to me and my inability to get through the days with an acceptable enough fake smile and submissive attitude towards my progenitors was especially unacceptable. It wasn’t just the random undeserved beatings anymore, although I did decide I wasn’t going to be hit anymore, by my mother or my father, and started hitting back. They started drug testing me, which wounded our relationship beyond anything they’ll ever be able to realize, and they forced me on SSRI’s, another thing he regrets immensely when he’s romanticizing his life and mistakes but is quick to point out in the same breath that I am mentally ill, sick beyond redemption and a mistake to put it lightly. I remember being 14 and finally unburdening myself of the sexual trauma that occurred under his nose ten years prior, which I internalized and began to understand was the catalyst of my social anxieties and disappearing smile, but he just wrote it off and suggested I was depressed and needed medication. They wouldn’t make it official, fearing for their reputations of producing a fucked-up kid, and getting me diagnosed, instead they went to family and slipped me drugs now proven to quadruple the chances of developing Alzheimer’s under the table.

The 12-year-old child who left home to ascend over mountains of mediocrity would stand at the top of the stairs with his phone ready to call 911 as he shut the power to our home erasing all the work I was barely managing to submit to get the A’s—now B’s, that they greedily expected. Once I decided I had enough of the theft of my being, I stopped taking their poison and we had the inevitable blowout loud enough for them to give up on me, I foolishly admitted to the swine arrived to fuck up the day that I no longer wanted to live. Four times, these two traumatized survivors completely out of their depth--who never deserved to have each other let alone two kids--did the unforgivable and brought a useless property-protecting, slave-hunting band of inferiority complexes into my home to cart me off to a mental institution.

I barely survived high school, and when I did get into the two nearest UC’s aside from Cal, my first choice which I pissed away the follow up application--fresh out the hospital, my mind addled on their drug regimen--I chose the wrong one, farthest from my home and didn’t speak to my father for half the year until the day he drove down to pick me and my things up, having admitted defeat that I wasn’t cut out for it. They may blame my washing out on my newly found crutch of cannabis, which they sabotaged my experience with for years before I ever tried it, but I was completely adrift and unhealthy, falling below 150lbs for my 6ft stature, and just weeks away from full-blown auditory hallucinations.

In the many years since dropping out, I’ve made great strides to become the person I always imagined I could be. I’ve found some amazing friends, learned a lot of hard lessons, and cultivated a more balanced, well-rounded personality and demeanor. My calming energy might just be my double-Virgoan, quadruple-earth primary placements but I think it is in the innate desire to be good, to do good, ponder deeply, see clearly that my naturally healing and wondrous energy gets noticed by those few I expose myself to—but if I’m being completely honest, I could do without all the heroin addicts that flock to me, for so many reasons, which I’ll get into some other time.

Ever since I expressed the desire to cultivate my own cannabis ten years ago, I have been viewed as a junkie in my father’s eyes. Strange considering where he comes from is responsible for most of the genetics we have today, progressive as he may seem, I guess wanting to become self-sufficient and reduce the bad karma involved with scoring “drugs” off the street is where he draws the line. At least he hasn’t disowned my brother for being less than heterosexual…though I think there’s a fair amount of denial and hoping it’s just a phase involved.

In the times since our first period of silence, it has repeated half a dozen times. Since that time, I can count on my hands the phases of happiness to contrast with my perpetual low that is my normal and most those times, it was me realizing I could make a life for myself unfettered by the guilt of capitalism and all the unnatural things we do to seek some semblance of financial stability. Living with friends and trapping, selling my hard work to people looking for a little relief at universally low prices, I was providing a public service rather than emulating your favorite rapper. I remember leaving from drops with a genuine grin shared privately with the cosmos and whatever innocent bystander that happened to bear witness the live giving smile they would momentarily fall in love with skating by. Unbeknownst to them I was realizing just how similar I was to my father; being my own boss, carrying my own destiny in my hands, adding some temporary escape to people’s day from a world rife with suffering and convolution, and detachment--not unlike the serenity one feels when drinking tea in a garden he had a hand in.

I had so many plans for my path and this plant—not that I would devote my entire being to it forever like he unrealistically feared, but just a means to start the rest of my life, without the burden of funding genocide, working for the man, or filling the pockets of those undeserving of my time and energies. By doing something that incorporated all my being into a craft, to allow me to become the artist I know I am, to no longer have a “habit” that costs me hundreds of dollars a week and counting or thousands of hours of my youth I’ll never get back, serving my brethren of the plant to offset my own expenses. Suffice it so say it’s all but a pipedream now, like everything else, the window has closed, and capitalism and greed won, like they always do.

Our time together is growing short and the day we are to throw him in a ditch per his dying wish becomes more of a reality. Whether he in control of his faculties or not at that point is an ever-looming, snowballing question. I quit my dead-end service job and went back to school in earnest. When that wasn’t enough, I got a job in a laboratory, earning my first non-minimum wage rate. Once the War on Hugs broke out, I moved up here to MAGA country to steward the decades neglected land of his retirement, with his blessing to finally begin to provide for myself. I have had my hands tied behind my back at every possible juncture. I’m not sure whether it’s him teetering on the precipice of dementia or a deep-rooted shame that a plant has kept his first-born son alive better than any lies he told him. Make no mistake, without the love and acceptance this plant offered me in my darkest times, I would have taken my own life long ago. This attempt to grow a humble garden to last all year is one of the few remaining ways a father and his son could have anything to do with each other—I’m not bringing any grandchildren home anytime soon.

The man hasn’t lifted a finger, has not educated himself on any laws or scientific findings. He is obstinate in his hatred for my love of this plant. I feel as though in one of the few relationships that truly matters, no progress has been made—no more so when forced to look into the malice in his eyes on his unforgiving face, red with the frustrations of a man who will not accept what he can’t control, brandishing a log that would surely kill me if he struck my head, with a cellphone dialing 911—not one month ago. What a fucking waste. What good is sacrificing everything for one’s family, doing anything and everything under the moon to provide what you think they need if you never do a single thing they ask?

My mother and father have not spoken to each other for most of this year, and that spiteful silence was only broken when my mother started the asylum paperwork for as many of his family members that were able to escape the returning hell on earth of the Taliban. So much capacity for love this woman has within her, it is no surprise to me why I fall in love with larger-than-life women, the kind of character legends are made from. She has been my rock and my tether my whole life, and really stepped out of her comfort zone in attempts to understand and support me. It is only dreading her sorrow and the cries of my four-legged children and less so the fading flame of creating my own that I can’t begin to ideate the irrevocable. He has strung her along for years about buying a home without stairs that they with their destroyed backs, can both die in. Instead opted to buy four dumps in an unlivable area where he can generate income as a landlord so they can in his words, “provide for the family.”

What family? Ours is a farce; he has no sons, no friends, no life, and he will most likely die alone. I am not ignorant of the tremendous sacrifice, the obvious great lengths he went to provide for us, but in most ways, it was time and energy wasted. Neither my brother or I have any desire to become landlords, or owners of properties to have a faceless corporation to manage as we are both fundamentally opposed to the concept of rent. It blows my mind how much of myself I see in him, and it’s even more heartbreaking when he is so insistent on misunderstanding and dismissing two of the only three people who ever loved him. Before we took our own hiatus this year, he bore his soul to me, explaining, now that I was old enough, all the behind the scenes to his marriage and our upbringing. I have never felt so bad for a person; I could barely listen without falling to the floor wailing. In his admissions and unburdening I saw what comes hand in hand with the three men in my family’s extraordinary intelligence, and it almost seems inescapable. I do it enough in my own mind, but it was tragically disheartening to witness a man in his seventies try and retrace his steps, obviously leaving pieces of himself behind in compromise stuck in moments he was doomed to regret forever.

With all his capacity for love, not even being able to witness the slaughter of the animals he foisted under my care—it is inconceivable how cruelly he tramples upon my dreams. Every single argument I’ve ever had, I know will be revisited upon me should I ever meet my son—despite my sincere desire to stop the traumatic and karmic cycles. We’ve both said unforgivable things to each other. Devout and pious though he is, he harbors unacceptable malice towards the blood of my mother—half of me. I do not understand how a person can consider themselves godly all the while placing the sins of the father on their children. Even the Prophet (SWT) forgave the murderer of his uncle who mutilated his body. It breaks my heart that although this man set the bar so high that I can’t even glimpse it anymore, is becoming less and less a role model, a man I should aspire to emulate and surpass, and more and more an example of whom I don’t want to end up like, an example of what not to be. He gave his life for us, but lost his way in the details, and we all know who lives there.

Truth be told, I probably will relent at some point down the line, despite my adamancy that this was the last time, that there was no coming back from this, because I need his approval, and as much as I’ve wanted to be done with it, need him to be proud of me--despite our obviously 99% toxic relationship. I know it would make my mother happy, and the meetings with the other side of my family I never had a little less awkward—or introducing my wife to where I come from…but I can’t be the useless, incompetent, waste of life he makes me feel to be. I have so many mountains to climb before I can find my own soul mate--and be sure to understand, it will never be anything less than seeking out who was meant for me and not some practical weighing of options in a small diaspora—so many leaps and bounds of growth I must struggle and endure before I think to bring a life into this world to subject to all that I am, thorns and blossoms and everything else that comes with a man doing his best.

#the narrative of slouching shytooth #⚰️⚰️⚰️#oddlysweet

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beardedmrbean · 2 years

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A North Texas man who federal authorities say bought nearly 100 guns and sold them to other people without a federal firearm license and without conducting background checks was arrested Friday.

Demontre Antwon Hackworth, 31, of Dallas, bought 92 guns from federally licensed firearms dealers, with 75 of those purchased within a six-month period from a single dealer who later gave up their seller’s license, the U.S. Department of Justice said in a news release. Hackworth resold the weapons and at least 16 of the guns have been found in Texas, Maryland and Canada connected to violent crimes, including murder and aggravated assault, the DOJ said.

“We are cracking down on the criminal gun-trafficking pipelines that flood our communities with illegal guns, and we have instructed our federal prosecutors and law enforcement agents to prioritize prosecutions of those who are responsible for the greatest gun violence,” Attorney General Merrick B. Garland said in the release.

Three of the seized weapons have been used in at least seven crimes, the Justice Department said, adding that one gun alone was unlawfully possessed and used in two aggravated assaults.

“At least 14 of the 16 recovered guns were recovered in incidents within one year of purchase,” the release said. “One was recovered from an incident just seven days after Hackworth purchased it.”

The 31-year-old was indicted in early June on charges of dealing firearms without a license and making false statements while purchasing the weapons. If convicted, Hackworth can face up to 35 years in prison.

“Illegal firearms trafficking is not a victimless crime,” said Special Agent in Charge Jeff Boshek of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives’ (ATF) Dallas Field Division. “There are real consequences when individuals illegally engage in the business of buying and selling firearms.”

#nunyas news #like I keep saying #enforce the laws already on the books #to see if that does any good #before making new ones #dude should be charged as an accessory #to every single crime those guns were involved in

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 8 months

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"HUNDRED DOLLAR FINE OR SIXTY DAYS IN JAIL," Toronto Globe. September 10, 1913. Page 7. --- STIFF SENTENCE METER OUT TO MAN WHO SOLD LIQUOR TO AN INDIAN ----- (Special Despatch to The Globe.) Sarnia, Sept. 9. - William Ritchie of Şarnia was taught a severe lesson in the Circuit Court in Port Huron to day, and it will probably be his last attempt to furnish Indians with liquor. Ritchie was caught on Saturday night by Patrolman King in the act of selling two flasks of whiskey to William Henry, a Sarnia Reserve Indian. Henry was to pay Ritchie twice the amount he had paid for the liquoг. The Indian and Ritchie were both arrested, Henry being held as a witness. Ritchie was bound over to the Circuit Court. and when arraigned before Judge Law pleaded guilty. He was fined $75 and $25 costs, with the alternative of serving 60 days in the Detroit House of Correction. Unless some of Ritchie's friends come to his aid he will have to serve the sentence.

#sarnia #port huron #selling liquor without a license #liquor control #indian act #illegal possession of alcohol #aamjiwnaang first nation #first nations #indigenous people #anti-indigenous racism #american criminals #border crossings #u.s.-canada border #fines or jail #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada

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micahdcwson · 1 year

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Character Name: Micah Dawson Character Age: 38 years, January 30th, 1984 Gender & Pronouns: cis-male, he/him Time living in Tonopah Falls: his whole life Occupation: Police Sergeant Gang Affiliation?: Sons of Silence Where do they live: Glenn Estates Face Claim: Chris Evans

Background:

Tw: fertility struggles, miscarriage, parental death, drunk driving, alcohol & substance abuse

The Dawson’s have lived in Tonopah for generations. They weren’t necessarily founding members, but they’ve lived here for years have been apart of the framework that makes up the town

Henry and Juliette struggled with fertility issues for most of their marriage, so when Micah was born, it was a huge blessing for them

They wanted to have more children, giving Micah younger siblings, but after multiple miscarriages, their doctors finally convinced the Dawson’s that they should give up for Juliette’s health

Needless to say, the Dawson’s became quite a tight knit unit. Growing up, his parents were Micah’s biggest supporters and favorite role models

Tragedy struck just after Micah graduated from high school. His parents were both killed instantly, when they were run off the road by a drunk driver

Micah went into a bit (ok a whole freaking lot) of a tail spin. Whereas he had originally intended to go on to play college and even professional football, he dropped every plan he and his parents made and decided to become a cop with the sole intention of getting to enact his version of justice on assholes like the drunk driver who had killed his parents but had walked away without a scratch

He went through the police academy and did pretty well, joining the Tonopah PD immediately after and quickly rising through the ranks due in some part to his determined attitude, but also because of his connection to the Chief of Police, Harold Donovan

Growing up, Micah and Cassie Donovan were best friends. They met in kindergarten when Cassie came up and said hi to him at the playground and were joined at the hip ever since. In middle school, their friendship turned into crushes, and they dated off and on throughout high school. They were each other’s firsts, or so he thought, so when Cassie up and left for New York the day after they slept together the first time, to say Micah was shocked, would be an understatement

On top of this connection, Micah was pretty good friends with Nate Donovan. The two went through the police academy together and when Nate quit the force, his father, Harold, placed his interest & investment instead in Micah

When Nate started getting involved with the Sons of Silence, Micah couldn’t help but feel envious of the family type relationships the club fostered. Eventually, he started getting involved until pretty soon he found himself in the pocket of the club, covering up incidents for them, hiding evidence, etc.

In the years that followed, Micah spent much of his time insisting he was perfectly fine, meanwhile he drowned his loneliness & the huge hole his parents’ death had left in his life, with alcohol and substances

He has a bit of a drinking problem & a bit of a hoe problem in that, he’s a hoe

Since Cassie, Micah has only had one serious relationship, but when Reese ‘died,’ the loss of Cassie, then his parents, and then Reese compounded and created a refusal to put himself at risk again. He’s a serial dater and one-night stander, but as soon as anything remotely close to feelings get involved, he does something asshole-ish. It’s become quite the defense mechanism

Headcannons:

He inherited his parents’ ranch and while he doesn’t keep any animals, he loved having all the space

His one normal hobby out of work and his connection to the club, is beekeeping. He’s spent a lot of time and done a lot of research on beekeeping and now sells his own honey at the local farmer’s market

He holds the record for winning the man vs. food challenge at License to Grill the most times

#about

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samsgayblog · 2 years

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David

I so crushed on the guy that worked at Pizza Hut, but he was so goddamn sweet and looked a lot like Darius Ferdynand oh and more than likely straight lol.

So far David is the only person I've written about who's name is actually true. I change the names of all the people I've written about to protect my identity and also there's to a certain extent.

In David's case then I don't much see the point seeing as it would be extremely unlikely that he would stumble on this and even if he does then I've already made a fool of myself once so what the point ayy?

So the story of David …

When I was still in secondary school it was considered super cool to drink underage 🔞 and me being the conniving manipulative sod I am (or at least can be when I really want something) I was very good at getting booze for me and my friends.

I used to have an arrangement with the dodgy man from the off license at the local council estate and would pay twice the RRP for booze he couldn't sell. Over the years probably between the ages of 15 and 18 I did a good few deals with this man who we will call Mr Singh for the purposes of anonymity. It's not like I would visit him every week or every month but probably about 2 or 3 times per year I would call in on a Monday early evening.

One of the big scores I got from him or deals I managed to pull off was to buy about a liter of Gordon's Gin. I'm not a major fan of Gin but a teenager who wants to get pissed underage tends not to be too choosy. I won't give too much details about the shop or anything and I don't think he tended to sell booze to underage people but the way I managed to get him to sell it to me was a pretty ballsy move if I do say so myself.

I literally walking and told him 'look you know I'm not 18 and can't buy alcohol but I want to buy, your a self employed man and I know your just going to put the cash straight in your pocket and not put it through the till so let's make a deal' Mr Singh did have a reputation amongst some of the locals for being a bit dodgy in regards to Taxes and such lol (this I learnt from some the local old woman at the care home down the road but that a story for a different time), so I figured if any local shopkeeper was going to sell to me then he would.

I thought I was the shit for doing this and other than my best friend, nobody knew where I got the booze from but it did score me some serious street credit lol.

Anyway back to the David story lol …

One of my favorite things to do when I was in the last year of school was to go to the local leisure complex (bowlplex) with my best friends, go to the cinema to watch whatever the latest horror film was, and poor shit loads of Gin into one of those frozen drinks that the cinema overcharges for.

If your wondering how I got the money to do this then before you make an assumption, NO, Mummy and Daddy didn't give me loads of money (unlike some of the other kids I went to school with) instead when I was 13 my Dad told me to 'go out and find a Saturday job and don't come back until you've got one' which I did, kind of. Well I did end up coming home without a job after visiting all the little shops on the local high street (they all said not sorry you too young) but when I got home I told my Dad there aren't any jobs so I'm going to start my own business which ended up meaning I started doing window cleaning for people from Dad's church for £5 a house. After a few years I had some disposable income lol.

Seriously I will tell you how David factors into all this now I promise …

So me and my friends would go to the cinema and get pissed up a couple of Friday evenings a month (getting home in time for my curview of course). Anyway as we got a bit older and left school and after I started my apprenticeship we continued this little tradition but at 16 added a stage to our night out. food!

Next to the cinema there were a couple of restaurants and one of our favorites was Pizza Hut. Why was it our favorite? Well because who doesn't like pizza and oh yeah there was a really hot guy that worked there lol.

I had come out to my closest friends at this point (who were mostly girls) and so we had fun going to Pizza Hut and ordering some large cheesy bites pizzas to share while eyeing up the eye candy that was David, we would then of course go off to the cinema and get drunk while whispering about how hot he was and how one of us should ask him out … you can probably see where things go next lol.

I don't remember exactly when but one of us eventually came up with the brilliant idea of sneaking vodka and or gin to our drinks during one of our little pizza hut dinners. The short story is we got pissed at Pizza Hut and I got over confident and said to our waitress 'can you go tell David that we all think he's really hot' lol. It's amazing how confident you can get when you have a few drinks isn't it lol?

The waitress of course went over to him after cleaning up our table, and spoke to him behind the bar. I could hear what she said but she literally pointed at me directly and he stared at me and started laughing. Now don't get me wrong this isn't some trumatic story for me and it's really just a silly story I often think about from time to time, usually when I drive past a pizza hut lol.

I never did know if David was Gay or not an neither the waitress nor any of the staff ever said anything. I was too embarrassed to go back for a few weeks and when I returned, David never seemed to be there. I don't think he quit his job because of it or anything but it kinda made me sad. He was the first guy I ever really plucked up the courage to ask out (without first finding out if they are gay or not).

Its hard asking guys out, it's a straight world and let's face it most guys are straight. You gotta be careful about asking guys out Incase they take it the wrong way. I've been there and although things are getting better I know guys who have been beaten up or made fun of for telling a guy they like that he's hot and the guy in question who turned out to be straight didn't like it.

By the way you may be wondering why I picked a picture of Gay Pornstar Darius Ferdynand for this post and it's simple. David from Pizza Hut looked just like him 🤤 he was probably a few years older than I was and was probably one of the first guys I ever had a crush on lol.

#personal blog #gay crush

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