#Rebel and Rumble

[thatdisasterauthor]

RIP Rebel

I had to have my little black cat Rebel put down this morning. She'd been going blind for a couple months, but seemingly doing alright otherwise. Then in the last two weeksish she started to lose a lot of weight, not use the litterbox as often, and pee outside the litterbox. Then over the last fiveish days she started to have some swelling in her abdomen. The vet suspected some sort of abdominal cancer, and also found she'd developed a pretty serious heart murmur.

Given that she was 14ish years old, and going blind on top of the other issues, I made the hard decision to let her go. Any treatment would've just stressed her out way to much and would've been for me, not for her.

She was such a cuddly little sweetheart and I'll miss her so much. I adopted her when she was three just after I started college. She moved between so many houses and apartments with me, watched me draw so many things, hung out with me while I wrote and edited so many books. She loved to drape herself across my knees when I had them pulled up to my chest at my desk. She was there through a lot of bad stuff, a lot of depression. I'll miss her so much.

(Please feel free to share, but I'm asking that you don't attach any photos of your own pets. I don't want to see them right now.)

[tobytost]

I really love to think about how weird in the force Ezra is

imagine Lothal's wind following him around, his hair always swaying in the air, or the moon shining brighter on whatever planet he's on

the grass grows taller as he passes through the fields of Lothal, its rustle whispering something he can't quite understand

if he stands in one place for too long the grass will grow around his legs and he'll start sinking into the ground, the planet ever-yearning to get its child back into the soil

Ezra saw the universe through the whale's eye and the universe never left his mind

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Noah Dowe and Gideon Taaffe at MMFA:

Laura Loomer has made a career in MAGA politics through attention-grabbing political stunts and extreme bigotry, blending her professed support for white nationalism and Islamophobia with obsessive defenses of former President Donald Trump. She has been at the forefront of the MAGA movement’s focus on undermining the 2020 election, advocating for extreme immigration policies, pushing Islamophobic rhetoric, spreading far-right conspiracy theories, and – more recently – attacking Vice President Kamala Harris, the presumptive Democratic presidential nominee, with sexist and racist remarks, falsely claiming she “is NOT black and never has been.” Loomer’s endless pro-Trump stunts propelled her into the eyes of Trump’s inner circle, with the former president’s son even claiming he would “love to see” her as Trump’s press secretary. After Loomer’s failed runs for Congress in 2020 and 2022, Trump himself flirted with giving her a role in his 2024 campaign and has repeatedly praised Loomer and highlighted her attacks on his opponents, including Harris. Loomer’s rise through the ranks of right-wing media has been littered with caustic bigotry and extremist ideology.

Media Matters For America has released a guide on pro-Trump MAGA cultist Laura Loomer.

Loomer has an extensive track record of bigoted behavior, especially anti-Islam and pro-White Nationalism.

See Also:

Popular Information: How Trump's infatuation with a racist conspiracy theorist is impacting the campaign

[bulletproofteacup]

i mean i can see Toph coming into the position as a police officer from the sense of "these idiots couldn't police worth a single fried octopus and somebody has to do it right," but also any type of bureaucracy would instantly lead to so many ethics violations. Whoever thought of this makes me super concerned for their idea of policing

Reblog if you also think Toph shouldn’t have been a cop.

I want to see how “unpopular” this opinion really is outside cop-worshipping Reddit.

[billlaotian]

[malakkc-poetry]

International Writer's Day

International Writer’s DayAcrostic Internet has facilitated global connectionsNever stop the growth of writersThat rend their hearts as their words flowEmpowering the weak toRemember their worthNever succumbing to oppression’sTimely propagation that cleavesIntimate family members intoOpen enemity, clearly ‘Dividing & Conquering’Needlessly aggressive, destructive,Avid in mercilessly taking…

[casdeans-pie]

Dean's ribs are aching.

He presses a hand against his skin, feeling the solid bones under his palm, and tries to imagine the ornate carvings running across them - remembers what the x-ray looked like. But his mind keeps getting stuck on the feeling of Cas's hand, strong and sturdy, in the center of his chest, and the pleasant burn that'd taken his breath away when he'd pressed into him.

A sensation that had been perfectly balanced on the knife-edge of pain and pleasure.

Dean lets out a shaky breath and tugs the scratchy motel sheets closer as he turns over, unable to stop being so aware of it all. A particularly loud snore from the bed next to him tells him that Sam isn't having the same problem.

It only takes another few minutes of Dean gritting his teeth and willing himself to go to sleep before he gives up with an angry sigh.

When he exits the room quietly, hoping to get some air and clear his head, he nearly walks straight into Castiel himself. "Jesus, Cas!" Dean yelps, then catches his volume, glances at the room behind him, and adds in a hissed whisper, "What are you doing here?"

Cas, for once, looks startled and a little guilty. "Hello, Dean," he says, voice rumbling quietly, "my apologies, I didn't expect anyone to leave the room until the morning."

"Yeah, that doesn't really answer my question, buddy. You were kind of loitering."

Cas shifts his weight a little in a nervous gesture that amuses Dean because it looks almost human. "I've been informed that watching over you while you sleep from your bedside is" - he squints his eyes - "creepy."

Dean can't help the huff of a laugh that escapes him. "'Cause it is."

Cas frowns. "And I can no longer sense either of you due to your sigils, so..."

(Dean presses his hand to his chest, echoes of the pleasure-pain running through his ribs.)

Cas's eyes flick down at the movement, but snap back up before Dean can put a name to the expression that passes over Cas's face. "So I have been watching over you... both of you... from outside your room instead. While I still know your current location," he adds sadly.

"Keeping tabs on us like this is still creepy Cas," Dean says, but there's no heat in it. In fact, he's surprised to realise that he really doesn't mind the idea of Cas watching over him- them.

"I can no longer sense you," Cas repeats, more upset this time.

A blue neon sign for the motel shines from above them, casting a moody blue light over Cas - catching the tips of his messy hair, and lighting up his eyes so that they're almost glowing. He's lit up in a way that reminds Dean of the Angel he really is, and it makes his ribs ache.

Dean grips the shirt over his chest in a tight fist.

Again Cas's gaze flicks down.

"What do they say?" Dean says so quietly it's nearly just a breath.

Cas must understand what Dean means, even though what he said makes no sense, because he replies, "It means you are to be kept away from all the eyes of the Angels, and none have permission to know of your location or gaze upon you." Cas reaches a hand up, suspends it in the air, and then lets it fall back to his side.

Dean feels a pulse race through his bones as he impulsively reaches for Cas's hand and places it on his chest, covering it with his own and pressing it down firmly. Warmth that feels like protection and safety rushes out from where their hands press together.

"I give you my permission," Dean says quietly, into this moment they've created, under the unnatural blue light of the motel sign, and the silent night around them.

Cas's eyes are wide and Dean feels his hand shaking. "You..." he visibly swallows and licks his lips. "You shouldn't say things like that to an Angel, Dean."

"Yeah? Well, too late. I mean it Cas. You've got my permission. And I know that means jack to symbols literally carved onto my bones, but it means you physically checking in with me if you want to know where we are - use your cellphone - and if I text you our motel room, and you're not, y’know, doing rebel Angel stuff, you can be our lookout." Dean feels silly all of a sudden and drops Cas's hand, stuffing his own into the pockets of the sweatpants he shoved on before he left the room. "And if I can't sleep, maybe we can talk outside again like tonight. Or whatever."

After a beat of pure silence the light on Cas's face from the sign seems to intensify and Dean can suddenly hear it buzzing.

The handprint on his shoulder pulses in time with the beat of his heart and the ache in his ribs.

"I would like that," Cas rumbles, a gentle smile on his lips.

Dean clears his throat and absentmindedly rubs his chest again. "Okay. Well. Good talk. I should- I should go back to bed- lots of big days coming up- world to save- goodnight, Cas." Dean doesn't want to call what he's doing running away, but he certainly does a good impression of it when he turns around and ducks back into the room.

A soft, "Goodnight, Dean," follows him inside before the door clicks shut behind him.

[short-yandere-stories]

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:

CW: Yandere behavior, forced imprisonment, brief mentions of NSFW / Non/Con, threats of violence

This is a yandere work. Proceed with caution and please be mindful of your own triggers.

Happy birthday Aizen! I couldn't help but write a short little thing I love him. The Rock Musical is living rent free in my head and has done so since I watched it. The "Smile, Orihime" scene was in it too and I almost fainted seeing that in front of me on stage.

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:

The warmth of the palms of his hands burned through the white silk of the gown you were wearing, placed possessively on your waist.

Aizen was lounging in his throne, you perched uncomfortably on his lap in just the way he liked to have you. There was just something about having your soft, warm body close that stroked his ego just right. It was as much of a display of his power and authority for both the Espada and you alike -- a show of ownership.

Any time Aizen summoned the Espada to a meeting, you would be dragged into his lap, spending the meeting trying not to squirm around as large hands held your waist or fingers traced patterns into your thigh. It was humiliating, but there was nothing you could do to stop it. 

Making a scene wasn’t an option anymore. You’d tried to protest the first few times the ruler of Las Noches had forced you to sit in his lap during meetings. He’d been amused, but not at all bothered. A few words whispered into your ear in his smooth, baritone voice had your body freezing as your heartbeat picked up in fear before you reluctantly fell quiet and stopped squirming.

You knew all too well that Aizen made good on his promises and threats. You didn’t want your remaining family to suffer at the hands of Hollows or any of the Espada, nor did you want to spend more nights than you absolutely had to folded into a mating press as fucked you until he was satisfied.

There was no escape from Las Noches, after all. You couldn’t open a portal, and even if you somehow managed to get one of the Espada to open one for you, there was nowhere in the world that you would be able to escape Aizen. All you could do was obey and try to minimise the damage done to yourself or the people you cared about. You were no fighter. You had no powers. There was nothing you could do but let him do as he pleased.

You could feel Aizen’s smile press against the sensitive skin of your neck, no doubt knowing exactly what was on your mind. There was no hiding anything from him. You’d long since stopped trying. 

“Feeling powerless, pet?” Aizen mused, ignoring Nnoitora making a jab at Harribel, trying to rile her up. 

You didn’t grace him with a response, rebelling in one of the only ways you could. He chuckled, chest rumbling in amusement pressed against your back.

“If anyone, you’re the person with the most power here.” You turned your neck, looking back at Aizen with confusion on your face. He merely smiled.

“You’re the only one who controls my heart.” 

:✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:

[redvexillum]

Laughter and the warm, heady aroma of rich Cajun spices twirled in the air, wrapping around your senses like a comforting blanket on a crisp Louisiana evening. The slight dip in temperature heralded the arrival of autumn, a season that changed the vibrant landscape into a tapestry of oranges and red. Through the dusty window of Alastor’s cottage, a stark red light from the setting sun streamed in, illuminating the man himself: tall and lanky, with slightly curled brown hair that danced around his ears, and warm brown eyes that sparkled with mischief.  

“My love,” he said, stepping closer, his voice thick as honey and just as sweet. “I must say, I am absolutely ecstatic that you finally decided to join me this time.” 

His proximity stirred a mix of emotion within you, and you wrinkled your nose as a heavy metallic tang pierced the air – a scent so out of place amidst the inviting spices and laughter.  

With a playful smile mirroring his, you leaned in, feigning innocence as you whispered, “You know, it’s a bit challenging to ignore that…unusual bouquet you’ve got going on. What’s that, a new cologne?” 

Alastor chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that never failed to send a shiver down your spine. “Ah, that would be my secret ingredient,” he teased, the corners of his mouth curling into a sly grin. “I’ve always had a penchant for the hunting arts, you see. A little blood adds flavour, don’t you think?” 

You pushed aside the insidious whisper in your mind that noted how this man always seemed to carry an undercurrent of something dark and unsettling beneath his expensive cologne. You glanced over the pile of vibrant, red, raw meat on the counter – a testament to his hunting prowess.  

The meat gleamed under the soft glow of the cottage’s flickering light, an odd sight during these trying times of the Great Depression. But then again, Alastor was a popular radio host, and with fame came a certain indulgence in life’s luxuries.  

“Luxuries indeed,” you murmured under your breath.  

Suddenly, warm hands framed your face, pulling your gaze into the depths of Alastor’s whisky-brown eyes. His devilish, charming smile ignited a warmth in your heart that spread like a wildfire. At that moment, you were captivated by a man you knew you were forbidden to love.  

He was a man whose world was miles apart from your own.  

Yet… 

Yet, here you were, hidden among the thick, twisting trees of the bayou, far from prying eyes. Here, perhaps, the love that others labelled as deranged might find a place to breathe freely.  

Looking at him, a weight of guilt squeezed your heart. "I’m sorry I kept cancelling at the last minute, Alastor, I –" you began, your voice trembling with the heavy, suffocating shroud of unspoken truths. But before you could finish, his gentle finger pressed against your lips, absolving of your crime of almost abandoning him.  

“It’s quite alright, my dear,” he replied, his voice smooth like dark chocolate, rich, thick, and silky.  

Your words of further apologies were lodged inside your throat. No matter what you said to him next, it wouldn’t change the truth of your current situation.  

You and him had different social standings, but moreover, there was the looming shadow of your engagement to another man, the one your parents had chosen for you. The one who was, by all appearances, a good match, a respectable future governor.  

“Let’s just enjoy this moment, just the two of us, darling,” he said, his voice resonating like the warmest notes of a jazz melody. He was truly born to be a radio host, whose words could make even the most stoic hearts flutter – if only they could overlook the darker undertone of his physical attributes.  

Reaching up, you clasped your hand around his, pressing your cheek against the warmth of his inviting palm. It felt like a small rebelling against the world, against your parents, a taste of freedom, a taste of love you longed for – hungeredfor.  

“Okay,” you murmured, inhaling deeply, the earthy scent of the bayou mingling with the intoxicating scent of the sharpness of his cologne. You exhaled slowly, releasing the anxiety and guilt that once clung heavily to your heart.  

Just for this moment, you wished to forget about propriety and the expectations of being the perfect wife-to-be. Just for this moment, you wanted nothing more than to be with Alastor, the man who adored you with all his heart, just as you adored him in return.  

“Now,” he said, slipping his hand away from your face and spinning back to the pile of bleeding, red meat. “I’ll handle this, and if you could be so kind as to peel the potatoes, my darling!” His voice was chipper and jovial, a perfect contrast to the weighty atmosphere that usually surrounded you. You watched in admiration as he wielded the knife with a master that only came from years of experience – his fingers moved with precision and confidence.  

Humming in agreement, you reluctantly turned your attention to the bowl of potatoes. Picking one up, you grasped a small knife, its blade glinting under the softer light. You began to peel the rough skin away while suppressing a giggle as you recalled telling Alastor that you’d never been taught how to cook. Alastor had looked at you as if you grew a second head back then.  

But, you had never told Alastor why you weren’t taught how to cook like other proper homemakers. After all, your sole purpose was to be given away like a prized horse to an affluent man. Your only duties were to remain beautiful in his arms and bear his children.  

You quickly pushed away the bitter feelings that crept up your throat and stung your nose. Instead, you focused on the memory of Alastor being shocked at your admission. “We simply cannot have that! I shall schedule us a date where I can track you my favourite recipe – my mother’s jambalaya!” He had said with his eyes twinkling with glee.  

The soft humming of a tune brought you back to the present moment, the sweet melody from Alastor floated through the air. You lost yourself in the rhythmic task of peeling the potatoes, focused on the repetitive motion of the knife gliding through the skin.  

But then, in a moment of distraction, your clumsy fingers slipped. The sharp edge of the knife sliced through your delicate skin with a sudden sting. “Ah!” You yelped, instinctively pulling your hand away as searing pain bloomed from the cut.  

Crimson rivulets flowed quickly down your fingers, staining the pristine white flesh of the potato. Food was a scarce luxury in these times, and you hated the thought of wasting it so carelessly. "I’m so-" you began, but the words faltered as you felt a wave of dizziness washed over you. Seeing blood had always made you feel a bit queasy.  

Alastor turned sharply, concern etching itself into his features. “What happened?” He asked, rushing to your side, the joviality of moments before replaced by urgency.  

“It’s nothing,” you assured him, though the pain pushed with every heartbeat. “Just a little cut.” 

He took your hand gently in his, his warmth enveloping you like a balm against the pain. “Let me see,” he said softly, his voice dropping to a soothing tone, lulling you into a state of momentarily calm.  

“Oh, my!” Alastor’s voice purred, his grin wide, yet his brow furrowed in playful concern. “My little clumsy girl, whatever will I do with you?” He sighed in an exaggerated tone, a mix of teasing and amusement lacing his words.  

You rolled your eyes, exasperated but endeared by his over-the-top theatrics. "Yes, yes, Alastor. I’m quite clumsy. As I’ve told you many times, I’m not exactly well-versed in the art of cooking–" 

Your sentence was cut short by a sharp intake of breath as his hand closed around your wrist, his grip firm but tender. He pulled your injured finger closer to his face. The suddenness of the touch sent a spark of warmth coursing through you, igniting a flush that spread across your skin.  

His eyes darkened, pupils dilated, as he inspected the cut with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. “Quite a deep cut, indeed,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, as though the sight of your blood stirred something primal within him. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and the heat of the moment hung thickly in the air between you.   

“Alastor?” You whispered, your voice barely audible, the weight of his attention making it difficult to speak. He had never touched you like this before; usually, it was your hand that sought him, your fingertips that brushed his arm with hesitant affection. This shift in dynamic left you breathless.  

With a slow, deliberate exhale, he pressed your injured finger against his lips. The warmth of his mouth ignited a dizzying mix of sensations. The pain from the cut flared briefly, but was soon overshadowed by the soft pressure of his lips, the tender heat of his breath against your skin. His lips moved, painting themselves crimson with your blood, and your heart raced, overwhelmed by the strange intimacy of it.  

His eyes never left yours as he hummed softly, the vibration of his voice sending a shiver through you. His tongue, warm and wet, traced the length of your finger, slow and deliberate, as though savouring every inch of your skin. The soft sounds of his mouth moving over your finger filled the small kitchen, a rhythm that seemed to match the rapid pounding of your heart.  

You gasped when he gently took your finger into his mouth, his tongue curling wickedly around it with a slow, languid grace. The mixture of pain and pleasure was dizzying, and you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from the sigh of him – devouring your finger, alternating between soft, gentle sucks and firmer, more insistent strokes. The sensation was maddening, leaving you teetering between the sharp edge of discomfort and the intoxicating allure of his touch.  

Every flick of his tongue, every caress of his lips, seemed designed to unravel you, to make you surrender to the moment. The air between you crackled with unspoken desire, the heat of it enveloping you both, drawing you into a world where status, propriety, expectations all dissolved into nothingness.  

Nothing mattered but the press of his lips, the warmth of his breath, and the undeniable pull that connected you.  

Heat rushed to your cheeks, an overwhelming warmth that left your skin tingling as you watched the once-proper man before you indulged in something so…raw. His moans, barely audible, danced with the soft, wet sounds of his mouth working over your finger. His thick dark lashes brushed against his tanned skin, his expression serene, almost lost in the act. 

“Alastor…” Your voice cracked, surprise and something else – something unfamiliar – swirling low in your stomach, tightening with each passing second. You shouldn’t be feeling this. The intimacy of it was unexpected, almost forbidden, and yet…you couldn’t pull away.  

His eyes snapped open upon hearing your voice, piercing through the haze that had settled over your thoughts. Your finger was still between his lips, slick with warmth. His eyes arrested you as he let your finger slowly slide out of him, agonizingly slow, the wet trail glistening under the flickering amber lights in the kitchen. His hand lingered on your wrist, gentle but firm, holding you there as his gaze traced every detail of your face.  

The familiar grin curled at the corners of his mouth, the same charming showman’s smile you had fallen for, back when you were just another listener entranced by his voice on the radio. But here, now, something was different – darker, more…animalistic. A sense of danger, maybe, or hunger.  

You swallowed, your thoughts in disarray, but you forced yourself to speak, breaking the tension. “I thought we were supposed to be cooking, but…” you paused, feeling the heavy weight of his stare, the heat of his presence. “It looks like you’re ready to devour me instead,” you chuckled, the sound weak, betraying the nervous energy thrumming through you. 

Alastor remained silent, his grin frozen in place as his eyes darkened to near black, absorbing every flicker of light in the room. There was something unsettling about his stillness, the way his expression didn’t quite match the energy that pulsed between you.  

And then, in a voice that barely rose above a whisper – smooth, low, and stripped of the transatlantic accent you were used to – he answered.  

“Perhaps I will.”   

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[wileycap]

Things that definitely happened Post-War in ATLA a.k.a. assorted headcanons that really boil down to "wouldn't it be neat/funny if...":

Zuko fought an inordinate amount of Agni Kais, to the point that some of the junior officials ended up thinking that it's custom to fight the Fire Lord every once in a while. He was notable for both never losing, and never seriously injuring his opponent.

Aang and Katara helped with the reformation of Ba Sing Se. They became friends with Joo Dee. Katara helped her regain her own memories, and her own name. Some of the women formerly known as 'Joo Dee' formed a theatre troupe, which produced highly subversive counterculture plays. Their anti-authoritarian nonconformist plays became a huge cultural movement, though they did face a fair amount of criticism from the more traditional groups. Aang loved them, and the patronage of the Avatar definitely helped them grow. They also produced a play on the history of the Air Nomads, at the request of Aang. Aang, of course, helped write it.

Sokka once hit his thumb with a hammer. This led to the invention of the nail gun, powered by pressurized air. Aang spent over four days bending air into canisters and pressurizing them. The invention never saw widespread use. The day after it was complete, Sokka drove a nail through his thumb.

That one old guy who ratted out Haru for being an earthbender stubbed his toe every single day for the rest of his life.

Lieutenant Jee resigned his commission. He requested that Zuko accept his resignation in person, and Zuko was happy to oblige. The moment his resignation was official, he went on a 45-minute tirade attacking the Fire Lord, which was never written down in its' entirety, but was described as "extremely vulgar, even for a sailor" by attendees, and mostly had to do with their time on Zuko's ship.

Toph actually ended up having a great relationship with her mom after a long and harrowing process. She competed in a couple more Earth Rumbles, and her mother was in the audience, cheering. She never really got along with her father, after the whole "hire two guys to kidnap her by any means necessary"-thing.

Momo started several diplomatic incidents. Future historians would forever puzzled by the many mentions of this mysterious 'Momo' in official documents, with the theory that Momo was the Avatar's pet being dismissed by the leading historians. Clearly, Momo was some sort of rebel leader - perhaps a Water Tribe extremist?

[thatdisasterauthor]

She keeps waking up too late for the sunny patch and then staring at me like it’s MY fault.

[lipglossanon]

Day 17

Kink: Dacryphilia

Pairing: Cthulhu!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dacryphilia, monster!Leon, tentacles, tentacle sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, indifferent Leon, more horror than smut in this one chat, cut it short for time lol

Not proofread

The desert is cold at night. You knew it would be—not unsurprised by the drop in temperature. However, this coldness settling over you like a second skin feels unnatural. You run your fingers across the amulet a fortune teller gave you earlier. 

“Your third eye will open yet, young Miss.”

You didn’t really think much of it, but after repeating the ritual from the book you picked up in her shop, you’re starting to worry a little about what she meant. 

The small fire you built douses itself until complete darkness fills your vision; eyes adjusting, you can still see the blanket of stars dusting the sky—but as you keep your gaze trained on them, they slowly wink out. 

One…

By…

One…

You shiver, pulling your thin jacket tighter around you, chills racing along your body and not from just the cold. A dark void rolls across the sky, your eyes stinging with the strain as you open them as wide as possible. No light to be found anywhere and in its place fear—so deeply rooted in your hindbrain that you subconsciously start to cry. 

A deep droning sound, like that of a bell underwater, resonates across the desert. Your body is screaming at you to run and never look back, but the fear keeps you frozen in place. Legs tucking up closer until you’re a tight ball of nerves seated next to your dead firewood.

Something touches your shoulder and your eyes roll to the side like a spooked horse.

Empty inky darkness. 

You blink and everything is as it was before. The fire crackles and pops as a piece of wood splits from the heat. The stars twinkle and shine like they always have, millions of miles away in the cold vastness of space. Your body, however, stays locked into place. Breath hitching in your chest like you’re about to hyperventilate, you squeeze your eyes shut and just listen to the stillness and the flame. 

The amulet’s clutched so hard in your fist, its split open your palm like ripe fruit. Blood drips from your skin to stain the sand below. 

“That little trinket won’t do much, I’m afraid.”

A voice slithers from the dark, from the void, from your eyes—

Blinking, you see a strange man sitting across from you—the fire a flimsy barrier against his cold, fathomless gaze. Your throat locks up, voice trapped as your heart races. Who even is he? What is he? How is he here? Did the old woman know this would happen? How—

“Your kind cannot pronounce my true name,” he grins and horror descends upon your mind, making your vision blur. 

“You called for me, yes? And I answered,” he shifts and you can see something wriggling behind him in the dark.

You feel violently ill, stomach coiling like snakes trapped in your intestines. “What sh-sh-should I c-call you?”

A pressure against your cranium and you cry out weakly. He chuckles yet his mouth doesn’t move. 

“Leon,” it spills from his lips like a dying man’s last breath. 

Your thoughts unspool, a strange calmness settling over you, letting you relax. Humming dreamily, you smile at this… man.

“There we go, little one,” he grins wider, too wide, but it doesn’t can’t bother you.

A strange tentacle, at least that’s as close as your mind can come to understanding it, slinks across the cool sand to gently wrap around your bare ankle. The cold slippery feeling sends chill bumps racing across your skin. 

“You are quite sweet, not my usual consort,” his voice rumbles, pleased.

The tentacle slips across your leg and up across your shorts to wrap around your hips. “Why did you summon me?”

Your mind tries to rebel against the lethargy of your thoughts, but it’s exhausting. 

“I wanted to see if it could be done,” you murmur. “I needed to know if there is more outside of this.”

You gesture around at the open desert and his eyes flicker a multitude of colors before settling back on blue. His attention is focused all on you and it makes you break out in a cold sweat. 

“Curiosity has always been a detriment to your kind,” he flexes the tentacle around your waist. “Is knowledge all you seek? No revenge on your enemies? Granting of wishes?”

Faces and names flicker through your mind’s eye along with hazy wisps of forgotten dreams. He hums in pleasure, but you quickly shake your head. 

“No, I’m doing this for myself,” you affirm, voice wavering when he tilts his head. 

“There is a price, little one. An exchange has been made and I intend to collect it from you,” he stands, and walks over to you—at least it seems like he walks; his body is rotoscope movements against the desert background. 

Muscles wound tight, you can’t find room for anymore fear from this creature man. He settles down next to you, seeming to eat up more space than he actually occupies. 

His hand hovers over your temple, fingertips barely touching your skin—

You’re weightless—sightless. Floating in the ether of darkness that makes up his mind. He’s everywhere and nowhere. It feels like a million hands touching your body before it morphs into that smooth tentacle you recall from earlier. 

Crying out, your mouth is filled with one as another notches itself at your cunt, pressing into your hole and fucking you with shallow, rough thrusts. The pleasure thrums behind your eyes, fireworks going off in your brain to the point you weep with the ecstasy. 

You’re suspended in this world he’s created; taking everything he’s giving you. 

It’s too much and not enough; it’s infinite yet only happening to you at this exact moment in time. You’ve orgasmed so much, your thighs are saturated with slick. His tentacles continually fuck you, one pulling completely free before another is filling your clenching walls to the brim. 

You’re openly weeping, wishing for an end to this sea of ravishment. Muscles shake and twitch as another orgasm is wrung from your overwrought body. His laughter fills your head, as cold as it is mocking. He speaks to you in tongues, a myriad of languages that your mind can’t comprehend. 

Although you’re unable to speak, you beg him for an end, an out, anything but the paralyzing sensation overtaking you from your repeated orgasms. Your vision clears and you catch sight of too many eyes..

Then suddenly—

You jump, nearly falling off the log and onto the sandy floor. 

The fire crackles and pops, wood burning brightly against the dark backdrop of the desert. The starry sky yields no answers as your mind runs a mile a minute, holding the amulet in a loose fist at your side. 

You’re alone now…

and yet that brings no comfort.

[cera-writes]

Hello! You’re friendly neighbourhood request stalker here, just having another little moment of self inserted love.

Gambit strikes me as someone who would be an absolute nerd. I see him as a secret Star Wars fan or Trekkie. Reader is a mutant who lives in the mansion - maybe a teacher rather than an X-Man? Halloween rolls around, big mansion party and of course reader is big into costumes and cosplay.

Everyone has to dress up and no-one tells anyone about their costume until the big reveal at the party.

She does the Leia. /That/ Princess Leia. And he just spends the whole night with an uncomfortable nerd boner, torn between talking excitedly about the movies and just being his usual flirty lusty self? Maybe even a flustered fanboy? NSFW or SFW, I’ll leave that to you.

I’m gonna go sit in the corner and squee to myself.

A/N: yes yes yes!! I was listening to this song while writing this and I wanna imagine it playing it in the background of the party... 🤣 Pairing: Remy "Gambit" LeBeau x F!Reader Tags: fluff, sweet sexy fluff, making out, sexual innuendos, teasing, flirting, reader gives Remy a constant boner

"Then show me, Scoundrel."

The X-Mansion buzzed with an energy that rivalled Danger Room training. Tonight wasn't about honing mutant abilities, it was about unleashing inner demons – the good kind, fueled by fruity cocktails and booming music. Professor Xavier had thrown a rare costume party, and the place was a kaleidoscope of capes, masks, and questionable fashion choices.

You, however, were channelling a very specific kind of fantasy. Standing by the punch bowl, you were the epitome of Rebel Princess badassery. You'd raided Storm's wardrobe for a flowing white drape, leaving enough strategically placed gaps to make even the stoic Ororo blush. The pièce de résistance, though, was a leather belt Professor X had unearthed from a forgotten box of "mutant memorabilia." It did wonders for accentuating your curves. You'd even fashioned your hair into a pair of space buns, completing the look.

You were scanning the room, feeling a thrill at the envious stares from Rogue and the appreciative nods from Beast, when a familiar drawl sliced through the music.

"Well, well, well. Looks like someone wandered straight outta Jabba's Palace."

Remy Lebeau, ever the charmer, stood before you, his trademark grin plastered across his face. He was a dead ringer for Indiana Jones, complete with a Traveller hat and a leather jacket that wouldn't look out of place on one of the members of his former Thief Guild.

"Just call me Princess," you countered, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. Up close, his eyes sparkled with an amusement that sent a shiver down your spine. Remy was, in fact, all hot and bothered at the mere sight of you. He was fangirling so hard, flustered by the sight of you wearing that costume.

"Princess, huh? Think you can handle a scoundrel like me?" His voice was a low rumble, sending another delicious jolt through you.

You leaned in, close enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath on his ear. "Try me, Gambit."

The way his name rolled off your tongue, laced with a deliberate challenge, had a visible effect on him. A flicker of heat replaced the amusement in his eyes.

"Careful, cher," he murmured, his voice husky. "You might jus' get more than you bargained for."

The music shifted to a slow, seductive melody. Remy held out a hand, the invitation clear. A mischievous grin spread across your face as you bit your bottom lip. "Take the lead, scoundrel."

He took your hand, the touch sending a spark igniting between you. As you glided onto the makeshift dance floor, you couldn't help but brush your hand against his chest, the worn leather cool against your skin. He inhaled sharply, the movement pulling the fabric of his jacket taut across his impressive physique.

You danced with him, slow and close, the playful banter escalating with each stolen glance, each lingering touch. He twirled you, the white drape billowing around you like a cloud, and for a moment, you could almost believe you were dancing with Han Solo under a Tatooine sunset.

When the song ended, Remy leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek. "Let's get outta here, Princess. I know a place with a much better view of the stars."

A shiver snaked down your spine at his suggestion, a delicious mix of excitement and apprehension. The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the heat building between you. Remy's hand slipped around your waist, his touch sending a jolt through you that had nothing to do with his mutant power.

He led you away from the mansion, the party lights fading behind you like dying stars. The silence was thick with unspoken desire, broken only by the soft crunch of gravel beneath your feet. He stopped suddenly, pulling you against a large oak tree, the moonlight filtering through the leaves casting an ethereal glow on his face.

His eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were now smoldering with a different kind of intensity. A single gloved finger grazed your cheek, sending shivers down your exposed skin. "You know, cher," he murmured, his voice a low caress, "this princess needs a little less…" he trailed off, his hand gliding down your arm, lingering on the exposed sliver of skin above your elbow. His eyes followed the traces of his fingers dancing along your skin, causing goosebumps to form as you bit back a whimper.

Your breath hitched as he slowly unfastened the clasp on the leather belt Professor X had unearthed. It felt symbolic, a shedding of inhibitions, a slow reveal that mirrored the growing tension between you. The white fabric parted further, revealing a hint of smooth skin and the enticing curve of your hip.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear. "And a scoundrel," he whispered, his voice husky with desire, "needs a little more…" his breath tickled your earlobe as he trailed a finger down the exposed skin of your back, sending a jolt straight to your core. He had you practically squirming.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "Then show me, scoundrel," you breathed, your voice laced with lust and a newfound confidence. The playful banter had morphed into something far more primal, a delicious urgency hanging in the air.

Remy chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated through you. He captured your lips in a kiss, a slow burn that quickly escalated into a heated exploration. His touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine as he explored the exposed skin of your arms and back. You responded in kind, your fingers tracing the contours of his chest, relishing the feeling of his worn leather jacket beneath your fingertips. He hitched one of your legs up, pinning you against the tree and him.

The kiss became a desperate battle for dominance, a delicious push and pull that left you breathless. He finally pulled away, his eyes half lidded, a red glow in the moonlight.

The crimson glow in his eyes sent a tremor straight down to your core, a primal counterpoint to the heat that had already taken root in your belly. His touch, a slow, deliberate graze against your exposed skin, was pure, unadulterated fire. The playful princess facade had melted away, replaced by a woman yearning for something raw, something untamed.

"Patience, cher," he murmured against your lips, his voice a husky rasp as he thumbed your bottom lip. The restraint in his tone was a delicious torture, a dam holding back a flood of desire. He trailed a finger down the exposed skin of your neck, sending goosebumps erupting in their wake.

"This night isn't over yet. We can take it slow under the disco ball, or..." He paused, his eyes flickering with a devilish glint, "we can rewrite this lil' fairytale of ours under the moonlight, with a little less fabric and a lot more…" He didn't need to finish the sentence.

The suggestive leer in his eyes spoke volumes.

A/N: Lemme know if ya'll want a part two to this! I really enjoyed writing this one! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[trilobitepunch]

~~~

As much as Donatello loved his elder brother, there were times where having one as big, strong, and protective as Raphael demanded some significant drawbacks.

"Rescue like a BOSS! "

This moment, limbs bound all the way to his wrists and ankles, ignominiously slung over Raphael's shoulder as blaster bolts peppered the hallway behind them, was one of those times.

"For the last time, this is not a rescue!"

"You're tied up in the middle of a rebellion lair!" Raph exclaimed, shouting to be heard over the sizzle of blaster bolts and the crack of crumbling concrete. "How does this not count?!"

"Firstly, I would hardly deign to call this second-rate hovel a lair. I mean, they barely have a functioning network, and their data scrambler was so pitiful I could have cracked it in my sleep! Secondly, I elected to allow a temporary restriction of my motor faculties to increase the probability our success by seventy percent."

"Ya wha now?"

"Oh my neutrons, I let them tie me up!"

"Well that was stupid! Why'd ya do that?!"

"To lull them into a fake sense of ease in order to illicit greater quantities of quality intelligence of course. Also, three incoming on your six!"

Donnie ducked in close to Raph as blaster bolts sang overhead, wincing as a chunk of rubble slammed into his bound elbows. Raph snarled, the sound echoing menacingly within the restricted confines of the hallway.

"Hang a left. There's a defensible room," Donnie gasped, and Raph followed his direction without further question. Before long the durasteel door was slamming closed behind them, cutting out the chaos as beyond the rebels floundered and failed to coordinate through the virus he'd implanted within their communications array.

"Did you really have ta let them turn you into a sausage?" Raph huffed, gently lowering Donnie to sit against the wall. "You know hand-to-hand Don, I know ya do! I taught ya!"

"It's hard to extract information through a mouthful of broken teeth Raphael," Donnie huffed, fighting back the beginnings of a pout as his big brother pulled out a small vibro blade. "Besides, that would leave no fun for you."

"Awwwww, you thought of me? I'm touched, brainiac."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, then hissed as the ropes snapped away, returning blood flow to his limbs in a shower of pins and needles.

"Easy."

Raph's big hands carefully eased his arms down to his sides, surprisingly deft fingers massaging blood back into his palms and fingers until the tingling stopped.

"It's fine Raph, you don't have to-"

"I want ta Dee. I'm your big brother. Looking out for you is my job. So let me do my job, okay?"

"I… you…could help me up? I do not think my equilibrium is yet up to the task," Donnie acquiesced, smiling ever so slightly as Raph's face brightened.

"You got it buddy! Alright, up we go!"

Another hiss squeaked past his lips as Raph carefully set him on his feet. Dull pain flashed across his lower back, throbbing a low threat that more would come should he attempt to move before his body agreed to.

"Ya good?"

"Mmmmm. Just a minute," he sighed, ignoring the growing shouts beyond the door in favor of leaning into his taller brother's embrace. A greedy part of him drank in the feeling of encompassing warmth, reveling in the elusive sense of safety only Raph could provide. For these stolen moments there was not a power in the cosmos that could harm him. Not with Raph around.

"… getting kinda noisy out there," Raph rumbled eventually, reluctance in every line of his body as he slowly pulled back. "You ready, or do ya need a lil longer?"

"No," he replied, stepping back. He ruthlessness clamped down on the small, childish part of him that wailed yes and shoved it deep into the box within his mind. "I'm ready."

Blood red light painted the room in harsh contrast as two blades hummed to life.

"You take out those at the door. I'll tidy up the loose ends."

----------

I apologize for my awful writing... I don't remember how this scenario came up but I've been wanting to draw it for some time now. I also wanted to include @colibrie 's original text for it! How do these nerds go from goofy to scary in 0 seconds?

[imjustudders]

His hands are rough and masculine as he runs his hands along the soft swell of your hanging tits and it tears your mind in two. One part of you wants to rebel, to run, but you've struggled against the restraints holding the stubs that used to be your arms and legs still and you know that all it does is give you bruises. The other part of you, the part that's been broken down and trained, the part of you that grows stronger and louder every day, wants to arch your back and push your chest more firmly into his grip. He can see the conflict on your face and in the furrow of your brow and he lets out a low, rumbling chuckle.

His hand suddenly clamps down on your tit, squeezing it hard. Milk spurts from your sensitive, swollen nipple, splattering against the ground. "You aren't thinking about running away again, are you? Don't tell me you've forgotten what happened last time. I didn't want to reduce you into a stumpy torso. You did that." His hand slides down the side of your breast, groaning softly as he gets closer to your nipple. He pinches it and pulls, more milk gushing from it. "God, look at you. You've come so far. Can you remember how small you used to be? Daddy helped you, didn't he? He made you big. He made you soft. He made you productive." His hand slips away from your breast, letting it hang once more, letting you feel the immense weight pulling down. "You're coming along so nicely. Just a few more inches and you'll be ready to breed. I know how much you hate those shots, but I promise they'll stop once you're carrying my child." The warmth of his breath as he kisses your forehead is strangely comforting, a kind of comfort that worries you, knowing that you're starting to adapt to this horrid situation.

He smiles as he tilts your chin up to look at him. "You've become such a good pair of udders, but we're not done yet. No, you have so much more to grow." You shudder instinctively as he reaches behind him and grabs one of the suction pumps of the automated milker. His eyes widen for a moment before chuckling again. "I know, udders. It'll warm up as it goes and I'll be able to afford a heated one soon. Just keep making milk and Daddy will keep taking care of you. That's what udders are supposed to do."

im on a bit of a break right now but i just have to say this is like the sexiest thing ever written holy shit pleeeaaaaaseee

[could-they-be-a-pro-wrestler]

As someone who took a hiatus from wrestling for a couple of years and has recently come back to it, I just wanted to share how much of a shock the current wrestling scene was for me. Breaking this down by individual wrestlers:

1) Cody Rhodes: male model who went crazy after he thought he was disfigured —> actual Captain America/Homelander

2) Drew McIntyre: Scottish guy who is just kinda there, a bit of a loser —> holy crap, he’s a major player now? And he’s apparently this obsessed crazy person who wants CM Punk dead?

3) CM Punk: best in the world, the company rebel —> not much has changed, except he’s now an oldhead who is vibing in the WWE space. He’s like that cool old guy who always has a story to tell about his younger days.

4) Rey Mysterio: the guy who does really cool tricks, but is sadly always getting injured —> he’s beefing with his son? And now he’s leading the Latino version of NWO?

5) Dominik Mysterio: Rey’s son, a NPC in the WWE universe —> biggest asshole ever, fuck this guy (not serious, I mean storyline-wise), 2nd coming of Eddie Guerrero

6) Triple H: Undertaker’s greatest enemy, the last of the old guard —> the best WWE storyteller in the last couple of years?

7) Michael Cole: annoying heel commentator —> really good face commentator

8) John Cena: All Might in his prime —> All Might in the present day, retiring and giving out wise advice to the younger wrestlers

9) Christian: Edge’s best friend, just kinda there in the WWE space —> AEW’s biggest menace

10) Kofi Kingston: the guy who does cool stunts at Royal Rumble, doesn’t really get to do much else —> was part of a nerd trio that took off in popularity, actually got to see his comedic chops

11) R-Truth: going through a mental breakdown after several years of being a rapper —> he somehow turned into Deadpool (of the people on this list, this is the most logical character development so far lol)