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Choose your ingredients and mix a Cocktail for you and your friends.
Hier findet ihr nützliches Zubehör für Rollenspiele.
Einfach einen Würfel auswählen und das Ergebnis erscheint im Chat :)
The next time you want to go shopping on Amazon, you could do it with this link:
Amazon for Belletristicans
(Only works for amazon.de at the moment)
... because if you get to Amazon via Bellatristica, we get up to 10% of the value of your shopping cart, without making it cost more.
The same thing works from everywhere on Belle, no matter if it's a book recommendation in our Blog or an Amazon link in a profile.
Everything we earn this way, will be added to Belletristia's development budget.
Thank you very, very much! :)
- Ben & Sebastian
It all started last Sunday on the trip from the plasma donation
center. My head began to ache, though it was a different head ache from
any other I've had over the last few months I've been here. It was June
17, 2117 at 7:42 P.M, and we had gotten lost and missed the last bus to
the next town over. All of a sudden, a giant two head dragon cyborg flew
down from the sky and ate me in one piece. It all happened so fast, I
barely remember anything that happened between looking awestruck, and
seeing the skeleton inside of the cyborg dragon's stomach. I woke up in
an emergency room bed, and they said I was ran over by a bus.
But that wasn't what I remembered. I remembered it being a dragon. Whether it's a cyborg dragon or a bus, the effect is largely the same. I'll be out of commission to do much of anything for the following weeks while I consume my first porn pills. Down the gullet it goes. The pill went down, down, and down into the throat, and dissolving into a foam in my insides. My eyeballs bulged, and I almost threw up. "You need to stay still," said the nurse. She whipped out my junk, and gave me head. "This should help you relax while you rest for the following weeks."
I fell asleep around midnight, and suddenly found myself in a daze when I walked in a city not to unlike my own, but unlike just enough to call it a different neighborhood. A neighborhood I've never been. And yet not part of any map of the Seatak area. I found I wasn't waking up when I went back to bed on the new bus line. But then suddenly the new city and the old city blended into a mix reality, and found the new city view blended with the hospital room.
I walked to the window.
The same looked the same as always.
... I didn't notice that building before.
"So that's how it happened, I found myself in a new city." I said to my room mate, the following week.
"It must be a side effect of the pills." she said.
"No because I was there, I could feel it."
"A good outlet for your creativity, not let me sleep."
We had been rooming together for the last five months. Are clothes were being bitten by moths. And we mostly survived on ham sandwiches, pig and rice, and moldy baguettes. I would have rather spent more time with the nurse, with her face hopping up and down my shaft. With her slinging brownish curly red locks, and her long "art teacher" styled stockings in nurse clogs. But instead I am here now, waiting for the next bender into the next reality.
The room mate came back home the following night with a pirate lady, who was dressed entirely in black. Her eye patch was the color of petunia purple, and her eyeballs looked as if they were tattooed a color rather than having any specific colorization in and of themselves.
I had my next dose of the porn pills, and pictured myself being given head by the pirate girls. If there was one thing about piracy, it's promotion for the author. I was unsure of how she would pirate my trans feminine junk, you can't sell meat in the inter webs without lots of cooling packaging. My room mate played with her hand held, while I was writing poetry that following evening. I was unsure of how I could manage writing poetry while having my lady cock sucked on, but there you go. And that was the first portion of the evening came to a close.
I finish up by watching reruns of slice of life television I hated growing up, but had grown a slight growing fondness for, but was never as found of it as unsolicited blow jobs based on consensual non consent.
It was the following evening my room mate was at work, that the blond boy wanted to show me the building where he worked. It was a dimly lit abode, filled with strange gadgetry I never heard of.
Rather than spending time telling me how things worked, he showed me the clone room, and wondered if perhaps he was created in these tubes. He remembered having a female body at one point, but considered himself a man. So immediately I knew that perhaps something must have went wrong in the tubes. Well that OK, with me and the pirate girl in bed, I'll be sure to use lots of lube. He treated me to a Thai restaurant, and when we got back my room mate wondered where I went.
But I no energy for speaking.
I felt socially spent.
We had just came from the deli, and put our beef sausages in the fridge, when our spiky blond room mate decided to try this new Mexican place just down the road. It advertised itself is uniquely British Mexican food.
But it was the Seatak area, and most of what we know of Mexican is Tex-Mex, and that varies by whatever state your in. You aren't going to find fajitas in an authentic restaurant. So we exited the motel, and took the bus down a few block into Federal Way, and found the place he spoke off. Due to the nature of his cloning, he inherited the tendency to super taste, and therefore tried the Mexican place briefly having the money to do such. We came inside and sat down by the waitresses direction.
On the menu, they served Spotted Dick along side the Mexican fare one might more easily expect from such a restaurant. I had Steak Ranchero with Spotted Dick for desert. I never had such a fruity after taste combined with cumin, chili powder, and slightly more apple tasting seasoning on the Mexican fare combine into a single surreal taste before. I found the combination made my hoot like a Trombone, and my room mate turned into a giant goose for the occasion. "Has the fare roasted you yet?" I asked my room mate, who had a tendency toward spicy food."
"It is just approaching spicy."
"I've never had a spotted dick, I always wanted spotted dick." said the spiky blond room mate man.
"We are trying to get rid of ours." I said.
"Indeed we are."
So we walked home, and were bothered by the flying crows again, until eventually we swatted them with a beer bottle we took from the restaurant, and with that we closed up the nightly occasion. I've never swatted a crows cawk before. At the motel room we finished up with some weed, and spoke of the nature of dreams, and how autistic people had higher levels of sensory perception.
I could hear the dog whistling next door.
Higher senses indeed.
The thing about Mexican food, it truly varies by the region. Even just coming here from Tennessee, already you could notice the difference in the level of flavor. A chain restaurant simply isn't going to have the same quality of cuisine as a mom and pop place, as they are trying to make everything even. But finding a British Mexican place was an experience I could never forget. As it turned out there was a large portion of British and Australian people visited the Seatak area at the time, and so there was lots of opportunity to cater cuisine to the local immigrant population. Their home country was being bombarded by invading wild Turkeys that turned to eating people, and so anyone who wasn't military was suggested to move to the US.
The blond spiky haired boy once dated one such British girl, before he had met the Pirate girl we had met earlier. We hadn't seen her much. He says she is in the Pastafarian Church meeting at the moment.
But then we found her chilling at the local Irish pub.
She we trying to the new Diaspora glass.
It was an ordinary day at the Seatak parade, when a group of fellow Satanists entered the pub. Food was massively cheaper here than in my home state, and you could five a hamburger meal for about five bucks. A single slice of pizza could run you about one dollar, so you could eat a whole circle for around eight dollars. I suppose it's only cheap because you're suppose to pay for one slice. But the local supermarket has fresh pizza for about five bucks, but compare that to a $2.35 slice at my local skating ring back in my hometown, and you just about get the picture.
I was in that bar, and only had that five bucks for a hamburger meal. This was of course before we had gotten on food stamps, which while it's still a rough ride, at least we are still able to buy food. One of the guys purchased a big gallon of beer, of which I had one glass. Now anyone who knows me knows that I'm a lightweight, and as soon as I started drinking it was all over. My mind was literally gone. Except the thing about me is I tend to remember things from when I was drunk. There was a cute lady with shoulder length black hair in a white dress wearing Jesus sandals, and the entire picture was completed with an old fashioned projector playing the local sports team, of which I had no personal interest not being a football fan.
I was so preoccupied by the lady in Jesus sandals, specifically her Jesus sandals, that I almost forgot I needed to pee. It was the first time I used the women's restroom as a trans woman, and I had largely grown up having to mainly use the boy's due to family life not accepting of my gender presentation. So I was sitting in the stall, mainly hearing ladies gossip for the first time, which felt both invasive and oddly comforting sense I had not never gotten to hear ladies gossip while I was drunk before. I carefully exited after the ladies were gone.
As someone always hungry, I wanted it to be Halloween or Christmas already, so I could have a nice holiday feast. But instead most of what I got to have was a swiss cheese burger and freshly made crinkle fries. Finally a place that used common sense, and refused to put on the mayo.
Would have been nice if it were spicier.
Today, on the other hand, my life had became a sort of hamburger sandwich, where I was the meat patty, and crammed between two large roll halves of pure starch, keeping into shape. One side of the bread was my reality, the other was the reality of the spiky haired trans guy.
I was standing right between my room mate and the other room mate with them trying to hug each other after smoking lots of pot. My mind was going all sorts of places anyway, having gotten my pet Turkey that had sworn off eaten humans. So all together we were paying a higher price plus an extra one hundred bucks for the privilege of keeping an animal not intended as a pet. And I was angry, because I didn't get to have that Turkey on the next holiday, my own birthday.
I craving a plasma donation all the more.
But that will only lend smokes for a while.
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