#But yeah microwave that sucker

[blue-knightshade]

Your tp link drawing has activated my brainrot switch but since it's so late I unfortunately can do nothing but rotate him around my brain as if he was in a microwave 💀

Jjhehhehj real

[valeriannnn]

Don't think you did me any fucking favors.

Wolcred Week 2024 Day 3: Light | Darkness

[blue-howlite]

Whoever is sending me requests for the Doom Breaker guys and gals, just know that I love you.

I like writing about those weirdos and unfortunately lack in coming up with prompts sometimes, but you guys are a goldmine of concepts and ideas. I love it. Please keep doing it.

[dadsbongos]

for honor. and duty.

3.2k words / warnings - forced breeding, injections, drugging, unhappy end, reader is written as a woman

summary - it's his job to carry on the bloodline, and its your job to love Satoru Gojo; thankless as both gigs are.

kinktober: day nine - breeding, aphrodisiac ~~~

Satoru was disinterested in fathering children. 

While he loved teaching, and teasing Megumi throughout the years was a joy, raising an entire person from scratch? An unnecessary addition to his plate he would rather be without. Besides, he was only scratching at his late 20s, why should he rush into having babies?

His feelings were not hidden, either. Everything about Satoru screamed childfree. Most respected the decision; for the Gojo clan to be written into history with Satoru as the cataclysmic final bang -- the sole pillar maintaining his clan’s status in the big three. It would be an honor and a pleasure, were he humble enough to silently accept both.

But Satoru loves whining.

“Too bad the Six Eyes and Limitless will be totally lost to time when I die…” he pouts every time he says it. Purely to gloat that not only does he have both, but he will be the last one in history, “If only someone could take them off my hands, huh?”

Maybe he should’ve just shut his mouth.

… 

“Why don’t you donate, then?” Shoko snarks one random Wednesday, finally fed up with Satoru’s haughty huffs this particular lunch break, “I’m sure your swimmers wouldn’t be unwelcome if they could make another special grade.”

“Gross, Sho,” you gag, then pointing at the man, “Don’t respond to that.”

Predictably, you’re ignored, “But who would be worthy, Shoko? Huh?” Satoru snickers when you gag even louder, “It’d have to be another sorcerer, you know? Can’t just put a super baby in any ole lady.”

“I’m sure you could find someone for a good price,” Shoko leans onto her palm, “Some high up clan girl. A Zen’in? It’d make her life better by getting out of that place, I bet.”

“Can we not talk about this while I’m eating, please?” you gesture to your lunch, though you hardly have the appetite for it now anyway. 

“You can say you’re jealous,” Satoru teases into your ear, laying his head on your shoulder. There’s no warmth of skin to feel, and if you closed your eyes the weight wouldn’t be reasonable for a human head either -- much lighter. Airier. As if he isn’t there at all.

“I’m not jealous of not being your incubator, Gojo.”

“Harsh!” he dramatically clutches over his heart, sucking in a breath like he’d been stabbed, “What happened to first name privileges?”

“Revoked,” you flick his head knowing it’ll never land. Knowing he’ll never feel you.

Shoko simpers, long nails tapping against the creaky break room table. When you shoot over a quizzical glance, those nails stretch over her lips; covering so you alone can make out what she mouths: ‘jealous’. 

You mimic the motion to mouth back: ‘fuck you’.

“Hey,” Satoru wraps both arms around you (no warmth, no weight), “Secrets among friends is asking for trouble.”

“Donating out soldier serum is asking for trouble,” Shoto snickers.

“You suggested it!” 

You roll your eyes at the pair, hoping this was the last you would hear of Satoru’s semen stumper, “Well, I’d love to stick around, but you two are disgusting.”

“Boo,” Shoko wads up the shrink of her microwave meal and tosses it at your head.

“Boo!” Satoru echoes the sentiments louder, fingers clinging to your uniform until his long arms can stretch no further.

“Yeah, whatever!” you holler back, “As if the higher ups will even let you just donate!”

Those traditional old heads will want a “proper” heir, and there is no way Satoru would get suckered into that.

It’s part of why loving him is so difficult.

Because loving Satoru means having to share him: always. He is overwhelmingly busy between his work as a sorcerer and his passion as a mentor. Your love for him will forever be yours to own, but Satoru himself could never be.

Perhaps that’s what Suguru realized when he tried years ago, when Satoru was always gone and the space between them only grew. Perhaps that’s why he decided to close Satoru out completely.

“You actually gonna donate sperm?” Shoko returns her tired gaze to her friend, quirking a brow when he laughs and shakes out his phone.

“Nah, the geezers just keep pestering me,” he mimics a flapping mouth with his hand, “Blah, blah spreading the genes- blah, blah good of the clan. As if they care about the good of the clan.”

“They might,” she snorts, clapping a hand over her mouth to hide a grin.

Both of them know full well otherwise.

“I’m just gonna tell them,” he re-pockets his phone, purposefully ignoring the buzzing call of Gakuganji, “Face to face this time, so they can’t ignore it.”

“Ooh, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“What’re you gonna say, big man?”

Satoru smiles bright, all cocky and sure and cool, “‘There is no way that you bags of bones will ever convince me to have kids.’”

. . .

A cold, soaked cotton pad is swiped over the triangle of your inner elbow, disinfecting the area before introducing a syringe.

You once asked Satoru why he bothered remaining a sorcerer under Jujutsu Tech when he obviously hates the higher-ups. His response, of course, was lackluster and chock full of holes (“Nobody else can do what I do,” he rolls his hand laxly, “Also, it's the only thing that doesn’t make me so bored I contemplate blowing my brains out.”).

You remember rolling your eyes with a single word reply, deeply unimpressed with his typical lack of tact (“Inspiring.”). Similarly, you remember thinking that you wanted to stay by his side, despite his annoying insensitivity.

When you got the panicked call from Shoko, you considered it a test. The universe cruelly examining your dedication. Ever the fool, you sped for the address she spat over the phone to prove yourself.

Now, you can’t even have the shame of reconsideration.

The bedroom has a camera in the far right corner, on the wall opposite a large observation mirror. Men in white coats pace back and forth, scribbling notes and judging every exact twinge in Satoru’s muscles. Satoru is positioned on a king bed with white sheets, hands latched behind his back in solid shackles with a radiant lock.

“He’s not hurt, right?”

“No,” the lead man steadies a needle to the sterilized juncture, “We never want to hurt Gojo,” his eyes flick up to the pinch in your face as the needle punctures your skin, “Or you.”

“He looks miserable…”

Three doctors turn to you, glaring. The man administering a blue, gluey serum into your veins sighs loudly, “Yes, well… you will be, too…”

The doctor folding your discarded clothes on the left scoffs, shaking his head.

Sometimes you spend so much time with Satoru that you forget how mean men can be.

“It should begin taking effect in just minutes,” the man steps back, letting one of his many assistants undo your tethers, “Mostly an additive,” he clarifies, “You don’t really need it, your stamina doesn’t matter much to us here. You can head in for him now.”

Your stamina may not matter to them, but you’d personally like to be awake as long as possible for this.

“Did you tell him it was me?”

Your question is ignored. So you step through the men and creep into the other room. Casting a curious glance over your shoulder to confirm the study window only reflects yourself. And Satoru.

Satoru.

Satoru.

The name is saccharine sweet in your mind. His head twists in your direction, blindfold gone and eyes comically wide. His eyes are dimmer than usual, though that isn’t very surprising when you were explicitly told the drug dampened cursed energy.

Your eyes rake over his body -- red and writhing and naked. Satoru’s gaze falls from your face to your chest to between your thighs, eyes widening further. You know he’s had partners before (lots of them, in fact), so the shock is unwarranted. Unless, of course, it’s because it’s you and not the random woman from a high up clan he assumed it’d be.

A stern voice breaks out from the far right corner of the room.

“He is willing.”

You gnaw your bottom lip anxiously, squinting through harsh overhead lights to the two-way mirror over your shoulder. Then, your eyes return to Satoru, knelt on the mattress and bare -sans the stocks cuffed around his wrist.

“Satoru…?” your face boils, gut fairing no better. Veins direct gutters for the goopy blue in your system, and it's pumping fast.

He copies your quiet, uttering your name through the still observation room, “You?”

“Is it…” you crawl onto the bed, convinced that his skin on yours could cure the overwhelming swelter in the room, “Am I okay?”

He nods limply, hair falling into crystalline eyes, “It’s you.”

Bright fluorescents dim to a more bearable, faint glow. Swallowing the last of your reservations with the swell in your throat, you turn your back to Satoru -- both knees firm on the plush mattress. 

Though his chest beats in sporadic, panicked breaths, Satoru’s lean hips are still -- perfect for reaching between your thighs and grasping his stood cock. He clenches his angel eyes shut to your flesh, but the waves and dips of your cursed energy stubbornly persist in his vision. He sees the wavering as your lust grows, he knows his is the same. Worse, even. So swallowed up in his belly by enforced desire that a stable flow is impossible to maintain.

Satoru is easy in your grasp, slipping inside you with whimpered pleas and huffs. You curve him into you, backing onto Satoru until your soft flesh is flush with his. Heat tickles up your spine, chilling at your neck and causing a rabid shiver all down your shoulders. 

Leaning forward onto your elbows, you slip over Satoru’s cock -- sliding along him with manufactured fervor (if you focus hard enough, you can still feel the needle incision stretch in your arm). 

The stocks rattle as Satoru jerks forward with a thick groan, hips now eager to pap, pap pap! onto yours. Bonds creak, splinters wailing in protest of his strength as he claws out to reach you. Satoru throws his head back, every sensitive nerve set ablaze just by the warmth and squeeze of your cunt.

His shortburst thrusts don’t dig far enough even though you’re kissing hips every time -- he feels overstimulated and yet unfulfilled. He needs to have both hands bound on your hips -squeezing the flesh on your bones and flipping and bending and making you keen under his lithe fingers.

He cannot discern if the need is driven by drooly chemical injection or longstanding affection, and he isn’t bothering himself with the question now. 

“Wanna touch,” he mumbles pathetically, red in the face and sweat beading down his forehead, white bangs slick to the skin, “Need it…” he gasps as you arch, stretching one of your legs to curl around his thigh, “Need to touch!"

As if spontaneously occurring to the crew that Satoru is pleading with them, the leading man jingles over with his key. He looks at the sedation team for extra assurance before unlocking Satoru’s stocks. 

Once the bonds clatter to the floor, Satoru is raking his nails across your body -- thighs, stomach, back, anywhere he can reach he’s eagerly clawing. Pulling and pushing before he collapses over you, his chest scorching your back. He stretches his neck to press his cheek to yours, lips loose and babbling,

“So good, so good, love how you feel -- wanna fuck you,” his brain must be falling through his lips because he seems to forget he’s already fucking you, “Wanna fuck you, wanna fuck you, wanna fuck you,” he lays sloppy kisses over your shoulder, teething at the sensitive bone, “Gonna let me cum in you, pretty girl? Yeah? Gonna make me a daddy, yeah?”

Hanging one arm below, he swirls the soft pads of his fingers over your clit -- soaked with the syrup his cock fucks free. His large hand expands over the pouch of your tummy to snugly press his thumb into your doughy skin; thumping where he’s battering your insides.

“Feel me there, mama? S’wet ‘n’ desperate, you want me bad,” he giggles deliriously, humping at your sex in plasticine frenzy before twitching to completion.

Satoru thinks he could go all day.

Thick arms tied around your waist, keeping your chest bare to his with both knees crimped over Satoru’s shoulders. His overconfidence proves itself as he thrusts up into you, lips pressing wetly onto yours while drooling out affectionate slurs,

“Best girl, pretty and hot and so fuckin’ wet for me, aren’t you? You love me, sweet girl? I think you do- know you do.”

Satoru stills only when more cum is pumped into your womb, pitiful mewls bobbing the apple of his throat.

You’re nodding with a heavy crown, forehead thumping into his sweaty collarbones and biting cresents in his biceps with your nails, “Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh - love you, ‘Toru! Love you so much…!”

Nuzzling along your flaming cheek, Satoru wriggles you loose just to flip you around to kneel in the sheets.

“I’m tired,” he muses, fingers dancing in the baby hairs at the base of your neck, “How about you do something, princess?”

You groan and pout, but don’t disobey.

Your knees are tingling and arms shaking as you twist to nestle against Satoru. Stretching back, you splay your palms over his broad chest to balance over his standing cock; then reach between your spread legs to grasp his erection. Skin soft and warm in your palm, he whimpers at the contact and throws his head back into the plush white pillow. Snowy hair tousled against the case, hips twitching up in you.

His cock bumps against your clit in his desperation and the sensation makes you clamp your knees around his waist tighter. You’re all heavy breaths and whines by the time you finally sink base-down. His cock feels hot and thick inside you, you’re not sure if it's all the eyes or whatever they stuck in your arm or the fact you’re with Satoru but your entire body is simmering.

Satoru’s hands unwind from the sheets to cling around your hips, forcefully rocking you down on him: as if to grind both your bones into paste. Cool air catches in the back of his swollen throat, your cunt wet and swallowing him back in as he tries slipping out. He lifts his head -jaw limping open and drool pooling around his raw-bitten lips- just to watch as he lifts and drops you over his cock.

Clumsily, he jerks his knees up and feet flat on the bed as the lava scorching through his veins inspires him to fuck you faster. Sweat beading and swamping all along his hairline and joints, leaving his skin sticky and sucking against yours with every thrust. Satoru’s fingers squeeze harshly around the fat of your hips, marking the skin with plum stains in the shape of his hand. If a baby isn’t enough, then these bruises surely will be bountiful evidence of your tryst.

Suddenly, Satoru sits up fully, lips pressing into your shoulder before he stabs into bone and flesh with his teeth. His arms swiftly move to curl around your waist, flushing your back to his chest as he pumps into you. One of his hands finds your breast, squishing the swells by the handful, and the other hand swooping to toy with your clit. He works slow circles into quicker swishes, thrusts speeding as the heat climbs and climbs from where he’s inside you up to your necks. Suffocating. Enveloping. 

Ragged breaths pull with terrible effort from both you and Satoru. Wet slaps of skin and syrupy squelching echoing in the otherwise still room. Oddly, the sound is far from grotesque, instead spurring another sweetened gush around Satoru. The dirty, primal nature far overshadows the lurking men in white coats around the edges of the room.

You can almost pretend you’re wrapped around Satoru for real pleasure rather than duty.

Again, Satoru sloppily mouths at your skin, from the bend in your shoulder along your neck and unto the softness of your jaw. Arms clenching around your waist until you’re practically immobile in his embrace, bouncing along his cock only because he puppeteers you to do so. 

Satoru moans hotly against the slope of your neck, licking the sweat off your skin just because he can. You lean into the coolness of Satoru’s tongue as your gut swirls and tightens before you’re seizing in the man’s grasp. His gaping mouth is pressed against your collarbone, slobber inking across your tit and down your arm. He hugs you tighter and soaks in full the clench of your orgasm, continuing to lathe his fingers over your clit until you’re jerking and huffing in overstimulation.

You think you hear him muttering (you hope you hear him muttering), “Thank you, thank you, thank you...”

The unbearable heat is replaced by normal, merely uncomfortable heat. Satoru cuddles you against him still as he plugs you with his cum.

Soft murmurs float back into your ears, men stretching necks to gaze at the both of you and whisper amongst themselves. Satoru lazily drags the sheets high over your chest and settles back against the steely headboard. 

He yelps, back arching and eyes wide, sitting upright from the board.

“What…?” you groan, exhaustion overtaking you -- limbs numb and strewn out uselessly.

“It’s cold,” he grumbles into your ear, yawning and laying against the metal headboard again (this time prepared for the stinging temperature change), “Be nice to me.”

Weakly, you make a sound of protest from the back of your throat. Brain too fried to form words.

Satoru caresses his fingers gently over your stomach, gaze fluttering to the labcoats stiffly remaining in the room. They put much effort into avoiding his stare, heads kept low and ducking behind their collars. Rolling onto his side, Satoru keeps you caged in his arms while shielding you from the mens’ stares. 

He soothes his nails along the bulb of your cheek, six eyes searing through every layer of skin and muscle down to the beating of your heart. He knows, of course, that it beats for him.

Which makes him feel sick, beneath exasperated euphoria, because he knows why you’re here.

He knows the only way to give it back is with a baby neither of you really want.

[burn-before-reading]

moving in w joost fluff? eating takeaway pizza on the floor bc there isn’t a dinner table yet, unpacking old stuff from trips together, discussing where to hang paintings or how to furnish the place and that kind of stuff. just total domestic bliss. plzzzz I’m begging <33

Floor Pizza & Photo Albums

joost klein x reader

after finally moving in together, the two of you reminisce on how you two met and start planning your future.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: Im a total sucker for domestic shit i love this request so much. Also as someone who has moved at least once a year the past couple years i kinda need a chill moving party at some point aaaaaaaa

“ Do you want me to set the last box over here?” Joost gestures to a pile of boxes labelled KITCHEN and you nod. Setting is down, he takes a look at the work you two have left, dozens of boxes scattered around your guys new house. The two of you had planned to move in together after he asked you about a year prior. So after five years of dating, looking at too many places together, and waiting Joost to finish his tour, you guys finally found the right place to settle down.

“Thats the last box from the truck, right?” you asked, leaning up against the kitchen island.

“ya, i think so. this took longer than I thought honestly. we should have hired movers.” he laughed, wiping the sweat from his hands.

“yeah, and now we gotta unpack everything. and we can’t fully do that till all the furniture we ordered shows up.” you look to the barren kitchen and living room situation. “at least we got a mattress.” you add clicking your tongue in thought a few times before looking at him and smiling “ soo… Dinner?”

-

This moment reminded you of your first apartment after college, but a little less lonely. The two of your sitting in a makeshift picnic in your soon to be living room, old blanket laid out to protect the hardwood from any crumbs from a bag of chips you grabbed. A box of pizza open and slowly being devoured with some beer to wash it down. a bit more relaxing than your first night at your last apartment. sitting on an air mattress, eating microwave ramen and rewatching a movie on your laptop. yeah, this time was a lot better.

“ That was not the first conversation we had i promise you.” you chuckled as the two of you reminisced on your guys past.

“ Yes it was! I met you at Alanis’s birthday! You complimented my tattoos and you were wearing that, that one thing.”

“that one thing.”

“yeah!”

“very specific.. and that wasn’t the first time we met.” you took a sip of your beer. “it was the week before actually.”

“No, I would’ve remembered you… wait, were you at the concert?” he asked, now more intrigued than ever. his head titled slightly in curiosity.

“I was. Alanis invited me.” you nodded.

“why don’t I remember you there?”

“because you got completely hammered the second the show was over. by the time she properly introduced us you were almost black out drunk.” You teased. He just winced.

“wow, im surprised you even agreed to a date if that was your first impression of me.”

“well I already had seen you at your worst, and you still looked pretty cute.” you smirked and leaned over to kiss him on his cheek before standing up and walking over to one of the boxes.

“Schatje, we can start unpacking tomorrow. Its late.”

“I know I know, Im looking for something.” You rummaged through one of the boxes with your name on it. After a second you found what you were looking for and pulled out a book before heading back over to a confused Joost, sitting back down on the floor next to him and leaning over so your shoulders touched. You handed the book to him and opened the cover up to reveal a photo album.

“I started a photo album after moving here.”

“I remember you used to bring those disposable little cameras everywhere. Thats why I bought you that polaroid.” you nodded and continued flipping through.

First few pictures were of your old apartment, the one you had just moved out of. The sad air mattress, a blurry mirror selfie, the old cafe you used to go to.

“after the first month I met Alanis. She saw me at the same cafe all the time and said I looked sad.” You pointed to the first picture of her you took at the cafe.

“Forever glad she befriended you by the way.” Joost murmured and kissed the side of your head. your face grew slightly red but you continued the small album tour.

“yeah, me too, moving to a new country was definitely overwhelming, but two months later,” you flipped through a couple more photos, your first day at work, a couple more outings with Alanis. “I met you, unofficially.” you joked. The top picture was him performing at his concert, He was shirtless and screaming some lyrics at the crowd. The picture below was of the two of you. He clearly was wasted, and had him arm around your neck. You were smiling, facing the camera, slightly buzzed, and the two of you were making the sign of the horns with your free hands. “you saw my camera and insisted we get a picture together.”

“How had i never seen these before? and Why am I barely learning of this now?” his hand touched the picture softly, like he was trying to absorb the memory of your first meeting.

“It was for like two minutes if that makes you feel any better. I had to leave immediately after. I just felt rude leaving without complimenting your performance. And I just never wanted to correct you when we were in public.” you reassured him, but he just kept gently brushing over the photos.

“can we frame it?” he asked. You shrugged your shoulders.

“if you want? I don’t wanna take it out but I can make a copy?” you replied, but joost had pulled the picture out and was stood up to walk to fireplace mantel and held the picture up. “be careful! your hands are greasy.” you followed him with the book to see what he was doing.

“It should go on this wall right here. in the center.” he imagined.

“we can, but its like, super tiny. shouldn’t we put something bigger over there? we can do like a collage maybe.” you saw the lightbulb go off in his head at the mention of a collage and you clutched the album in your arms tighter. “wash your hands first, then ill let you start pulling all the photos out.” he set the picture down so it rest on the mantel and stood back to admire the temporary decoration.

“Volmaakt.” (perfect)

“Well if my photos are going on the wall over here then,” you went to another box and pulled out a frame that had a funny portrait Joost had drawn of you on your fifth date. “I want this to go in the living room as well. we gotta have a whole art wall honestly.”

“I bet I could commision a painting from Daan to go above the couch.” he went and moved some boxes around to make the “couch” and another for a place holder coffee table and sat down on them. “ the tv can go over there. so you can hook up your game console.” he gestured in front of him then stood up again.

“maybe the book shelf can go somewhere on that wall?”

“hmm.” you stand next to him and stick your hands out in a frame shape and squint your eyes. “I can see it. You know what I think?” Your hands go back down and you look and him and grin.

“If we invite everyone over tomorrow they can unpack and move all the furniture for us.”

“They definitely will if we pay them in beer. Appie said he would bring my dogs over tomorrow anyway. I miss them.”

“me too, that's why the house feels so quiet.” you reply.

“well I can fix that.” joost goes pulls his laptop out of a bag and starts playing ABBA.

“The neighbors are going to hate us.” you laugh as he starts dancing and motions you to join in. “actually keep dancing I need to capture this.” you scrounge around in a bag of your for another little film camera and snap a quick picture of the floor pizza and Joost having his own mini dance party. satisfied with your documentation you go to join him, the two of you vibing to Gimmie Gimmie.

When the song ends you realize how tired you are so the two of you decide to retire for the night, and deal with the mess in the morning. Heading to the makeshift bed you had set up earlier with the queen sized mattress and a mountain of pillows, blankets, and stuffies. You simply let yourself collapse on the pile and Joost joins you, the exhaustion hitting you both. He feels his way through the blankets till he finds your arms and pulls you close to him so you guys can cuddle. In the morning you can deal with unpacking and furniture, but now you two can be next to each other, in the same bed, officially.

[frankenkyle19]

Kyle Spencer headcanons

Pre-death:

•He’s a sucker for neck kisses. Kiss him on the neck and he will quite literally melt for you

•blushes really easily. If you’re teasing him, he can turn as red as a tomato as he tries to hide his face in his hands 

•He is so kind. Definitely the kind of person to give his last dollar to someone because they ‘need it more’

•I think he jogs. Idk but it seems very kyle to me

•he can’t cook for the life of him. Forgot to put water in his microwave mac and cheese once and nearly burnt down his dorm room

•plays guitar. He’s not great at it, but he can play a few songs. Will not play in front of anyone, shy little baby.

•definitely apologizes a lot, even if something isn’t his fault 

Post-death:

•He really likes mac and cheese. He’d eat it for every meal if you let him.

•Eats bubbles. Yeah. You tried to blow bubbles for him once to see if he’d like it, and he kept eating any bubbles that came close to him

•IPad kid 100%. If his tablet dies, you better have a backup or a distraction because this boy will rage 

•He loves to watch people do their makeup. If you do your makeup for a special occasion, he will always be right there watching intently. 

•if you don’t wear makeup, then he’ll watch you do your skincare routine, and even ask you to do it to him too. 

•loves having his hair played with. He absolutely adores when you sit there and hold him and just play with his hair. It makes him feel so loved. He’ll always tilt his head into your touch and let out the most relaxed sighs.

•hates wearing shoes. You aren’t sure why, but he throws a fit when it’s time to put shoes on to go anywhere. You found him soft, slip on tennis shoes and he’s gotten better about it.

•doesn’t like ice cream. He hates the cold feeling on his teeth

•uses a nightlight because he’s scared of the dark 🥺

•Doesn’t quite understand the concept of personal space, so whenever he’s around you he is quite literally throwing himself at you. 

[fibretwo]

.˚⊹. ࣪ Things To Understand To Reduce Binging 𓉸 ࣪⊹˚.

(Apologies if my english is shit, first language is german)

Wsg gang, so my post about what to do after a binge people seemed to like, so i want to share with you some stuff that helped me stop binging!

I’m no expert on this topic, but i’m a few hours off being 6 days binge free and the last binge i had was literally eating dinner so i guess i can still give some tips! Anyway, here we go :3

So, to start off, processed foods are supposed to be addictive, most of my favourite binge foods are counted as “highly processed foods” which means they have “formulations of ingredients, mostly of exclusive industrial use, typically created by a series of industrial techniques and processes.”

This means these foods are made in labs and genetically modified to satisfy you and make you want more. Understanding this can help you understand why it can be important to refuse these foods, as eating them will make you want more down the line, or even in the moment. See, if you are eating an addictive food, chances are you won’t want to stay away from it, which is why portion control can be tough when you want more of these addictive foods.

Now, i do want to say it is definitely somewhat hypocritical saying you shouldn’t eat artificial foods. I, much like most people on edblr, am a sucker for sugar free sodas with artificial sweeteners. However, binging on processed foods means it just leaves you wanting more.

Secondly, food is designed to taste good. For example, carrots were mostly purple in colour, and tasted starchy (or that’s what my science teacher said chat, i just know they were purple). Overtime, they’ve been genetically modified to appear to the taste buds, which yeah, it worked. However, some of the best foods for you will never taste as good as a chocolate bar or a bowl of microwaved noodles. That’s because food is a necessity to keep you alive, not something to satisfy cravings and fuel your senses. My brother told me he saw a tiktok that said something along the lines of “the human body can go three days without water, however the human body can go up to a month without food, yet we still have to eat every few hours or so.” — thus proving that food is an addiction.

I hope this helped. I’m working on a list of stuff i do to avoid binging. If you feel a binge urge coming on, you can always reach out to me if you feel it will help. Drink water, stay hydrated and take care of yourselves to the best of what you’re comfortable with. You are enough <3

Rock on 🤘

- luv from Maverick <3

[just-a-carrot]

I’ve been sick for the past week or so (to which my partner got sick immediately after me) and me and them are orly coded and I am a multishipper before I am a human being so I love the idea of iggy taking care of orlam when he’s sick so much :,)

nothing crazy, just some upper respiratory virus he got from work bc it was that time of the year again at that point

normally orlam would be pretty pissed due to Not Being On The Grind but despite the fact he’s coughing like a dying victorian child, has used up 3 boxes of tissues that DAY blowing his nose (the trash can has been overfilled for the past two hours), and the fact he hasn’t been able to feel his legs for the past 3 hours, he’s pretty content simply because of the case of Pretty Boy Has Been Feeding Him Soup And Medicine All Day

he probably coughs and gives a weak smile like he’s dying in a hospital bed (he’s not)(he’ll be fine in a few days) as iggy brings in more meds and hot chicken noodle soup. “My angel…he’s returned to heal me…” like he’s so CORNY

iggy blushes a tad at being called orlam’s angel (he really doesn’t think he’s doing much? just helping the man he loves when he’s sick). “haha, yeah…” says iggy as if he didn’t just nearly burn the soup on the stove and take their whole apartment with it (their microwave has been busted for like a week and iggy’s ass has been suffering bc it’s usually orlam who cooks but obviously orlam CAN’T rn 😭😭😭)

they do that corny cheeseball thing where iggy stays with orlam in bed while orlam rests and gets Adequate Sleep and in turn, iggy gets sick as well, so it’s orlam’s turn to take care of him (which orlam is INSANELY EXTRA ABOUT BTW. bro gets a dehumidifier, candles, draws iggy a warm bath when the chills set in, orders hot soup from a rlly good place he knows iggy likes nearby and pets iggy’s hair while feeding it to him, always keeps the TV in their room on so netflix shows that iggy likes can always be playing like BRO YOU JUST GOT BETTER CHILL ‼️‼️‼️)(orlam brewbacher when he’s given another chance to spoil the love of his life)

they’re so silly I love orly so much :3 🦅🦅🦅

ohhhhhhh this is soooooo sweet... 🥺💕

i'm such a sucker for the "taking care of sick" trope as it is i will admit alkdjfas so this is extremely cute to me...

i love the dichotomy here. like iggy just desperately trying his best and hoping he's doing it right but anxious he could mess up and orlam will be horrendously offended (and/or die because iggy couldn't take care of him well enough LOL) so is constantly asking for orlam's approval or if he needs anything

whereas orlam is just like completely smooth and suave about it and handles little every tiny little thing and takes complete control and acts like he's done this 50 thousand times hahaha

this is incredibly sweet i love it 💕

[starsurface]

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Regressor Kung Lao w/ CG Raiden (Fic)

Kung Lao was normally a very sweet little.

That didn't mean he didn't like bouncing off the walls, or testing how much patience Raiden had. But he didn't like getting in trouble. Sometimes he pushed things too far and would be sent to time out. He never really served his full sentence though, Raiden was a sucker for puppy eyes and tears.

But he almost never purposely acted like a brat.

Which was why Raiden was so confused when he saw a broken vase on the floor.

More importantly, his broken vase.

Raiden had just come back from some training. It had gone smoothly. In fact, his entire day had gone mostly smoothly. But now he was home. Kung Lao had retired early for the night, mostly per Raiden's request. He could tell that Kung Lao was slipping. Raiden had just helped clean up and wipe down the place, so it wasn't like Kung Lao had a bunch of time to be mechevius. An hour at most.

He had expected the TV to be on some random channel, and Kung Lao crying about being unable to figure out the buttons. Or maybe even him trying to make food because he was hungry. He wasn't supposed to be using the microwave or stove while small. But Kung Lao sometimes threw a hissy fit, claiming he was a big kid and could do big things. Although a quick kiss on the forehead and telling him he was too small for something 'allowed' Raiden to help him.

Raiden wasn't concerned about the vase. Well, he was, he wish it wasn't broken. But he wanted to make sure Kung Lao hadn't cut or hurt himself first. He'd think of a small punishment or something later. He wasn't concerned about that right now. He needed to make sure Kung Lao wasn't hurt before anything happened.

"Kung Lao! Where are you-" Raiden cut himself off as Kung Lao waddled into the room with a dustpan and small broom.

The two stared at each other for a few moments. Kung Lao's eyes were wide. He hadn't expected Raiden to come home so early! He also hadn't meant to break his vase. He was gonna clean it up!! And try to put it back together! But now he was gonna get yelled it.

Kung Lao gasped, pointing at the broken pieces, "Oh-no!"

Maybe he could get out of trouble?

"Yeah, oh-no," Raiden nodded, smiling as he crossed his arms.

"How'd that happen?" Kung Lao put on a puzzled face.

Raiden saw through his act.

"That's a good question, Lao. How'd it happen?" Raiden asked, crossing his arms. Kung Lao suddenly looked skittish. "I'm not . . . mad, baby. I'm upset my vase is broken. But let me see your hands. Did you cut yourself? Does it sting anywhere?"

Kung Lao looked at the ground, but showed Raiden his hands. There was a small cut, but nothing bad. Raiden frowned at it.

"How'd you get that, sweetheart?" Raiden asked. Kung Lao looked at the wall. "Kung Lao, did you try picking up the glass with your own hands?"

"Are you disa-disaponted?" Kung Lao strugged, looking up at Raiden meekly.

"No, not disappointed. And especially not at you," Raiden kissed Kung Lao's temple. "A bit upset, but not mad or disappointed. I'm more concerned that you got hurt more than anything though."

"It's just a scratch," Kung Lao huffed.

"Just a scratch? No, no, this is very important," Raiden shook his head. "I'll pick up the glass, okay? Don't touch it. Let's get you a bandaid."

"But I was gonna glue it together!" Kung Lao whined. "I was playing wif the ball and it hit the vase. And so I thought I'd put it together for you!"

Raiden blinked at Kung Lao before smiling, laughing at his kind gesture. The thought was nice, but he didn't want to see Kung Lao get hurt by cutting himself on the pieces again. He was upset about his vase being broken, but the pieces did seem big enough to try to put back together. Plus he hadn't gotten the chance to put anything in it, so nothing inside spilt.

"How about we try to put it back together?" Raiden suggested. "We'll get this finger all bandaged up, and then I'll pick up the pieces, and then you and I will try to put the pieces back together, okay?"

"Like a puzzle?" Kung Lao asked, bouncing slightly. He liked puzzles!! They didn't own any, but Kuai Liang owned some!

"Exactly! But we've gotta be a bit careful around this puzzle, since it's super sharp," Raiden warned him.

Raiden fussed over Kung Lao, washing and kissing his small cut. Kung Lao got a Mickey Mouse bandaid, per his request.

Raiden refused to let Kung Lao touch the glass. He let Kung Lao guide his hands while putting the vase back together. Kung Lao fussed and huffed, but he was happy about how they put it back together!!

Although. . . it didn't look the same. Some pieces were too small to hot glue back together. And the glue was obviously sticking pieces together. It looked wrong. Kung Lao didn't like it very much.

"It looks all funny now," Kung Lao frowned.

Raiden shook his head, "Nah, it looks perfect. See? You can see all the hard work and care that went into it."

Kung Lao puffed his cheeks, "Yeah but it still looks wrong."

"Well then we'll make it a lesson, no more bouncing the ball inside," Raiden said, Kung Lao crossed his arms, glaring at him. "Did you think you'd get away without a lecture?"

"Well . . . maybe," Kung Lao shrugged.

"Wrong answer," Raiden booped his nose. "Now, it's okay to play with the ball, but we've gotta be careful when we throw it. Because if we throw it in the wrong direction, we can break something more breakable than a vase. We've even gotta be careful when we're rolling the ball! Otherwise we can hit the table leg again and drop a cup. Remember that?"

Kung Lao giggled at the memory. Raiden had done it when he was small. He rolled the ball in the wrong direction and it smashed into a standup table, knocking it and the stuff on it over. Nothing broke, but it was a huge mess. The poor baby sobbed over it. Kung Lao didn't yell at him, since Raiden really hadn't meant to do it.

And Kung Lao hadn't meant to break his vase. It was fixable, although they'd probably never be able to put anything in it anymore. Which was fine, it was more for decoration anyhow. He'd have to put it in a safer place though.

"I'll remember!" Kung Lao nodded. "Oh! Papa?"

"Yes, dear?" Raiden smiled, kissing Kung Lao's temple.

"The TV remote came apart again," Kung Lao said, holding back a giggle.

Raiden shook his head and ruffled Kung Lao's hair, already leading them both to the living room. So that's why he was playing with the ball. Raiden would have to leave simple instructions on how to put on Kung Lao's favorite show instead of just smashing buttons and dropping the remote on the ground when he gets upset. Maybe a picture design?

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

And this was the second Mortal Kombat fic I ever wrote! :D

[daydreamerwonderkid]

Obi-wan Kenobi

Send Me a Character Ask Game

First impression: Oh, look! A cool old wizard guy who cracks jokes and does really neat shit with a glowing sword! :D

Impression now: This is the galaxy's most traumatized sad man to ever sad and holy fucking shit he did not deserve to have ANY of this to happen to him, omfg.

Also, he's hilarious as fuck and I wish more people realized what a snarky bitch he actually is XD

Favorite moment: Fuck, this is difficult. There's too many moments.

I'm sure I'll think of more later, but a moment that's coming to my mind right now is when he kept trolling Maul while he was ACTIVELY TRYING TO KILL HIM XD

And basically every moment he's teasing Anakin. Obi-wan refuses to pass up any opportunity to be funny as shit pffttt

Idea for a story: The amount of Obi-wan centric WIPS I have, dear fucking god. Will they ever see the light of day? Who fucking knows. But yeah a good portion of my daily brain activity goes to rotating this guy in my mind like a microwave.

Favorite relationship: The Disaster Trio will forever hold a place in my heart. Man, they make me mentally ill.

Oh, and of course Codywan. I will always be a sucker for a leader and their right hand dynamic. These two drive me fucking bonkers, you don't understand. Anyway, I'm gonna go fucking cry now.

Favorite headcanon: Too fucking many to count. I'll just say I think it's hilarious the fandom decided Stewjon (Obi-wan's home planet) is Space Scotland, though. I have a WIP somewhere with that premise, I think.

I do like the headcanon that he's an avid tea drinker. Idk why, it just makes sense to me. That and that he's fluent in Mando'a/Mandalorian culture for obvious reasons :3c

I'm also a sucker for headcanons/AUs where Obi-Wan takes on Cal Kestis as a padawan. I just need the only two red heads in the entirety of SW to stick together XD

[verfound]

FIC: "The Microwaved Mugs Incident" (MLB; Lukanette)

Rating: Teen and Up

Characters/Pairings: Dingo King (OC), Luka Couffaine, Marinette Dupain-Cheng; Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Summary: When Luka ruins dinner for the third night that week, Dingo makes an observation that sets Luka on a path that will destroy every single mug in his (and by ‘his’ he means ‘Marinette’s’) kitchen: Tom…knows you can’t cook, right?

Author’s Notes/Warnings: I had a note here that said “Laurel knows what I she did.  😝”, except that was all the note said and neither Laurel nor I remember what we actually did.  😂  I think it was something my mum did with mug cakes, I told her the story, she made a comment, and the next thing I knew I was back on my “Luka Can’t Cook” bullshit.  I’m a sucker for that gag, y’all know that.  😂

“The Microwaved Mugs Incident”

It started…well.  Not innocently, not really.  Accidentally?

Yeah.

It definitely started accidentally.

Because Dingo had been over to work on the set list for their upcoming gig, and they had started jamming, and Luka had maybe forgotten about the casserole he had put in the oven.  Which…wasn’t really anything new?  It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten lost in his work and had missed the alarms (multiple, because it was always the oven timer, the little ladybug timer he had gotten Marinette as a joke when they’d first moved in together, and a few on his phone to boot) signaling it was time to remove something from the oven, all usually set when he still had a good five minutes before whatever he was heating up actually needed to be removed.  It was almost old hat by now, and it was why there was a spot in the top drawer for takeout menus right next to the utensils.

Because Marinette knew him and knew, even if all he had to do was throw the damn thing in the oven and make sure it didn’t burn…well.  It was still a fifty-fifty chance it was definitely gonna burn.

[laurel-finch]

'I Don't Bite' S1.Ch11: In The Dark

Summary: An unusual case yields new discoveries and old faces... Referenced Episodes: S1 E16 "Shadow" CW: The usual Supernatural shenanigans. Word Count: 4709 Recommended Song: Bad Moon Rising -- Creedence Clearwater Revival Previous Chapter -- Masterlist -- Next Chapter

I pushed our motel room door open harder than anticipated. My eyes flitted towards Dean, his green ones wide with surprise and his phone held to his ear. I half-smiled in apology and made my way toward the table where he sat.

"You trying to bust the hinges or something?" he asked. My cheeks dusted red and I glared at him as I dropped a bag of gas station goodies on the table.

“Got lunch,” I replied dismissively as I shrugged off my coat and tossed it onto the back of the other rickety chair at the table. “They didn’t have the Black Forest ham sandwiches you like, so you’ll have to make do.”

"Sure, thanks,” he muttered as he turned his body away  slightly and returned his attention to his phone. “Right, sorry Sammy," he started again, leaning back in his chair. "Like I was saying, she checks out. There is a Meg Masters in the Andover phone book. I even pulled up her high school photo," he sighed and held his unoccupied hand up, gesturing as if Sam could see him. "Now, look, why don't you go knock on her door and, uh, invite her to a poetry reading, or whatever it is you do, huh?"

I laughed and Dean's eyes slid over to me, a smirk resting on his features. He winked and then returned his gaze to the ceiling. I rummaged through the contents of the grocery bag, pulling out my own drink and chicken pot pie. Thank God for hotels having microwaves.

Dean hummed and leaned forward once more, scanning his notebook resting on the table. "Yeah, that I did have some luck with." I straightened and turned to him to see him hunched over his hastily scrawled notes. I moved to stand behind him, staring down at his wrinkled paper. "It's, uh—turns out it's Zoroastrian. Very, very old school, like two thousand years before Christ. It's a sigil for a Daeva."

My finger ran lightly over the sigils and words that I had never seen before. I had no clue what a 'Zoroastrian' was, nor a Daeva. It certainly sounded demonic, which was far above my educational paygrade.

"What's a Daeva?" I heard Sam's voice from the end of the phone. Dean changed his phone to his other hand and hit the speaker button.

"It translates to ‘demon of darkness.’ Zoroastrian demons, and they're savage, animalistic, you know, nasty attitudes. Kind of like, uh, demonic pit bulls."

I chuckled. "Pit bulls aren't that bad. Sweethearts, really."

Dean quirked a skeptical brow and Sam laughed breathily from the other end. "How'd you figure that out, Dean?"

Dean huffed in an almost offended way. "Give me some credit, man. You don't have a corner on paper chasin' around here."

"Oh yeah? Name the last book you read."

Dean fell silent and visibly sweat. After a few moments, he finally spoke up and said, "I called Dad's friend, Caleb. He told me, alright?"

I bit back a laugh and hid behind my hands. When I looked up I found Dean already scowling at me and the clear sound of Sam’s laughter over the speaker. I grinned somewhat sheepishly and collected my food from the table. I felt Dean’s eyes burning into me as I strolled to the kitchen and readied my meal.

"Anyway," Dean continued. "Here's the thing: these Daevas, they have to be summoned, conjured." That piqued my interest and I turned back towards Dean, resting my back against the counter.

"So someone's controlling it?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm sayin'. And, from what I gather, it's pretty risky business, too," he took a deep breath. "These suckers tend to bite the hand that feeds them. And, uh, the arms, and torsos." I scrunched my nose in distaste.

"So what do they look like?" Sam's voice was tinged with obvious confusion and worry.

"Well, nobody knows, but nobody's seen 'em for a couple of millennia. I mean, summoning a demon that ancient? Someone really knows their stuff. I think we've got a major player in town." Dean smirked and leaned back in his chair again. "Now, why don't you go give that girl a private strip-o-gram?"

"Bite me," Sam snapped.

"I can arrange that!" I hollered from the kitchen. Sam laughed and Dean rolled his eyes.

"No, don't!" Dean said quickly, waving his hands wildly. "Bite Meg, Sammy! But don't leave teeth marks-" the line went dead. "Sam? You there?"

"I think he's busy now, Dean," I called over my shoulder as I put my pot pie in the microwave and started it.

"I sure hope so," Dean grumbled in response. "Kid doesn't get laid enough."

I scoffed and made my way back towards the table and Dean. "I'm sure Sam does gets laid enough, not that it's any of your business." I rifled through the plastic shopping bags to pull our food and drinks out. Dean paled as I slid a chicken salad toward him.

"I can't eat this."

"Then I guess you'll starve," I answered with a shrug. "That's what you get for sending me to the store by myself."

"I was doing research!" he argued, thoroughly exasperated, and threw his hands in the air.

"No, Caleb was doing research. Who knows what you were doing. Probably something I don't want to know about." The microwave dinged, signaling to me that my meal was ready. I sauntered towards the kitchen and pulled my dinner out of the microwave.

"You got a pot pie, and I get rabbit food? What kind of injustice is this?" Dean demanded, shoving his salad away from him.

“It’s good for you.”

“So’s pot pie,” he said, lowering his voice to a piteous grumble. “Can’t I just get a bite of yours?”

I turned to glare at him over my shoulder. “Like Hell, Dean. Your version of a ‘bite’ is half the frickin’ meal.”

“You must want me to starve to death-”

“I picked up some of that raspberry vinaigrette you and Sam like.”

He fell silent for a moment and I heard him fishing through the plastic bag again. From across the room I could hear the quiet but not displeased sigh he let out. “At least there’s some meat in it… but you’re still on thin ice.”

—

Dean tapped away at his laptop for a solid thirty minutes before either of us spoke up. He combed through county clerk records, his preferred type of research… which subsequently left me with the mind numbing task of researching a several thousand year old Iranian religion with a fine-toothed comb.

I eyed his father’s journal from where it sat beside Dean. Now wasn’t the time to bring any sort of drama into this case, not when we knew we had a demon on our hands. But God, that phone number… it itched at the back of my mind. How did John know him?

"Holy fuck!" Dean exclaimed. I jumped from my place across the table and met his excited gaze with one of surprise. "How the hell did we not notice this before?"

"What is it?" I asked. "You find something important?"

"Hell yeah, I did! Take a look at this," Dean said as he spun the laptop to face me. His cursor highlighted a line from the deceased man’s obituary, the first victim. "Look at where the banker guy was from."

My eyes trailed over the blue highlighted text. "Lawrence, Kansas," I breathed out, practically a whisper. Dean nodded.

"Now look at our girl Meredith," he said excitedly as he clicked to the next tab. My eyes searched for her birth city on the webpage.

"She's from Lawrence too..." I mumbled and handed the paper back to Dean. "You think there's a connection?"

"Of course, there's a connection! How could there not be?" He stood abruptly and practically jogged towards the door. "I'm going to go find Sam. If we don't get to him soon, he could end up being our next Lawrence victim."

"Dean-" I said, holding up a hand for him to wait. He quickly threw his jacket on and yanked the front door open to find himself face to face with Sam.

"Dude, I need to talk to you," the brothers said in sync, without skipping a beat. Sam pushed past his older brother and into the room, pacing beside one of the beds.

"Meg's the one controlling the Daevas," Sam stated, tossing his hands into the air in frustration. I left my spot at the table and narrowed my eyes in worry.

"What? How do you know?" I demanded.

"I followed her to this abandoned warehouse thing and-" he took a deep breath. "She had an altar there, with that symbol we found in Meredith’s apartment. She was- she was talking to this, this bowl, and telling whoever it was she was talking to that they shouldn't come."

My eyes widened and I turned to meet Dean's. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door contemplatively. I could see him connecting the red string in his mind, pressing each push pin into place until it all made sense.

"So, hot little Meg is summoning the Daeva?" he asked thoughtfully. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as his eyes moved from the floor to his brother.

Sam nodded. "It looked like she was using the black altar to control the thing."

Dean chuckled and nudged me with his elbow. "Looks like Sam's got a thing for the bad girl." I rolled my eyes sky-high. "So what's the deal with this bowl thing?"

"She was talking into it. The way witches used to scry into crystal balls or animal entrails. She was communicating with someone," Sam replied. I raised a brow.

"Is that a thing witches actually do?" I asked.

"Not all of them- most don't. That's more of a folklore thing, but scrying does have its purposes," Dean answered quickly. "Who was she talking to? The Daeva?"

"No, you said those things were savages. No, this was someone different. Someone who's giving her orders. Someone who's comin' to that warehouse." Dean suddenly straightened and moved toward the table. I hurriedly snatched his laptop from his side of the table and handed it to him. 

Dean hurriedly thrust his laptop into Sam’s hands and stood beside him, pointing over his brother’s shoulder at the screen. "What I was gonna tell you earlier. I pulled a favor with my-" he cleared his throat, " -friend, Amy, over at the police department. The complete records of the two victims—we missed something the first time."

"What'd we miss?" Sam asked, eyes scanning the papers.

"The two victims," I interjected. "Look at where they were both born."

Sam flipped between the two papers as it dawned on him what we were implying. "Lawrence. They were both from Lawrence, Kansas. Holy crap."

"Yeah," said Dean.

"I mean, it is where the demon killed Mom. That's where everything started. So, you think Meg's tied up with the demon?"

"I think it's a possibility," Dean answered with a shrug.

"But I don't understand. What's the significance of Lawrence? And how do these Daeva things fit in?"

"Beats me," he replied. "But I say you and I trash that black altar, grab Meg, and have ourselves a friendly little interrogation."

"Don't," I growled firmly. "You'll just tip her off- you'll get hurt."

"We'll stake out the place first," Sam offered, attempting to be reassuring. "We've gotta see who, or what is showing up to meet her."

"And I'm going to need you," Dean used his whole laptop to point at me, "to stay here."

I snarled. "What!? You expect me to let you track down some crazy blonde demon summoner without my help!?"

"What would you be able to do against her!?" he snapped back. "You can't go wolf-mode on her right now, and I doubt you'd be able to take her and a bunch of demon things."

"Have you forgotten that I’m not a dog!? I have thumbs, dumbass! I can use weapons too!” I shouted. I crossed my arms indignantly across my chest and fixed them both with a heated glare. “If I can't take her and a few 'demon things' then you certainly can't either! I literally have built-in fangs and claws, you two only have guns! I'm not letting you two go alone!"

"We won't be going alone!" Dean shouted back. "I have a plan."

I glared as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He dialed a number and leaned back against the table. I watched the brothers exchange glances. Sam looked reluctantly between the two of us but eventually withered under Dean’s heated glare. I scoffed as he stepped out of the motel room, likely to prepare the Impala.

I sat down on the bed, fuming. The dialing finally ended and went to voicemail. Dean swallowed dryly.

"We think we've got a serious lead on the thing that killed Mom," he started, sounding rather nervous. My eyes widened as I realized just who he was calling. "So, uh, this warehouse – it's 1435 West Erie. Dad, if you get this, get to Chicago as soon as you can." He closed the phone and slid it back into his pocket, running a weary hand over his face.

"You called your fucking dad?" I snarled from my place on the bed. "The guy who hasn't answered a single one of your calls since this whole shit show started!? You're expecting him to show up when you could just take me with you!?"

"Well, it's not like you can do much against her!" he growled back. "You're in no shape to be fighting demons and crazy people!"

"I can handle myself just fine, Dean, fur or not!" I paced up and down the edge of the bed, raking my fingers through my hair. My eyes were swimming with a dull golden color, fighting to get out. "I was raised by hunters too! I know how to fight! Let me help you!"

"You're not coming with us!" he shouted, pushing off the table and stalking towards me.

"Like Hell, I'm not!" I felt that familiar clawing sensation in the back of my mind. She was digging her claws into the barrier, fighting to tear it down. I inhaled sharply, expecting her to fight to put Dean in his place – instead, it dawned on me that she was yearning and fighting for his safety. "Dean, you don't even know what you're walking into!"

"And you do!?" he challenged, practically in my face at this point. "Sam and I can do this without you! This isn't your fight!"

"My fight is your fight! How long is it going to take you to realize that you're part of my pack now!? It's my job to look out for you!"

He scoffed. "Yeah, great job you've been doing there! Last time you tried to help out, someone died! Sam could have died! You could have died!"

My eyes widened and then narrowed just as quickly, a low growl rising in my throat. My wandering hand clutched onto a rather firm pillow. I inhaled deeply, puffing up my chest, and swung the pillow towards Dean, who raised a hand to block it.

"You-!" I screamed and smacked him again, "Are such-!" I hit him in the ribs with the pillow, causing him to drop his raised arms and expose his head, "A fucking-!" I whacked him in the shoulder, "Asshole!" I screamed, slamming the pillow down on his head and sending him stumbling backward.

My chest rose and fell with labored breaths as I watched the red recede from my vision. The door clicked and my wild, golden eyes fixated on Sam as he peeked inside.

"Bad time?" the younger brother asked.

"No, perfect time," Dean grumbled, rubbing his shoulder and doing his best to smooth out his now messy hair. "We just finished." He glared at me, one full of hurt and irritation. I glared right back, standing tall under his scrutiny.

"You sure?" Sam inquired and gestured over his shoulder with his thumb towards the door, "cause I can leave again, if you want, let you get everything off your chests."

"We're fine, Sam," I said, my short temper obvious. "We can talk about it more when we get back. What'd you get from the car?"

"I ransacked the trunk. Holy water, every weapon that I could think of, exorcism rituals from about a half dozen religions. I'm not sure what to expect, so I guess we should just expect everything," Sam answered with a nervous laugh and dumped his haul onto the bed furthest from the door.

I wasted no time in helping the boys load their guns and pack their small bags. I had a feeling that there was no point arguing in packing my own. The boys carried on their own conversations as I pondered, lost in thought.

There was something seriously dark swirling overhead – I felt like something terrible was going to happen soon, like everything would come crashing down. It was a foreboding feeling and one that brought that familiar chill down my spine. Something was going to go wrong on this hunt, I could feel it.

The boys were going to get my help whether they liked it or not.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. Once again, Sam seemed to understand my frustration. Likewise, I understood why he sided with Dean, although he wasn't outright voicing his opinions. If he had, I might have smothered him. I just wished Dean would understand. I wanted nothing more to protect the brothers, just like I only wanted to protect my pack. I know Dean felt the same way, considering how hard he was fighting to make me stay. So why couldn't he see that I felt the same way, just from the opposite end of the spectrum?

After a few pain-staking goodbyes, the boys were finally prepared to leave me to my own devices while they fended off whatever evil Meg was. God, I wish I could have smacked them hard enough to make them understand.

I huffed as Dean stood in the doorway, an apologetic but confident look on his face. He looked as though he had something he wanted to say but just wasn't sure how. It was the same look he had given me in the bar when I first tried to tell them about the number in the journal.

He lifted a finger to point nervously at me. "Sit," he said. "And stay."

I raised my own middle finger at him, glaring harshly. "Bite me."

He chuckled and turned to leave, calling out over his shoulder. "Don't tempt me, fido!" And with that last remark, the door closed on him, leaving me in the dark, in more ways than one. Alone.

I rushed to the window and drew back the curtains just enough that I could see the drive away, but they wouldn't see me. As soon as I heard the Impala's purr and watched it race out of the parking lot I was off again, rushing around the room.

I stuffed whatever weapons I could find into my small bag, dumping out whatever clothes and utilities I once had in it. Since my first hunt with the boys, I had been sure to pack whatever necessities I may need for either a solo hunt or a situation like this: salt, two lighters (they were notoriously unreliable), holy water, shotgun shells preloaded with rock salt, two knives, one silver and one not (I didn't like to use the silver one) and a pistol with extra bullets. Needless to say, I was prepared, although I would have been more prepared with the help of the brothers.

I checked my pistol to make sure it was loaded and zipped up the backpack, leaving everything easily acceptable but not easy to steal or see. I donned Dean's old coat and slung the bag over my shoulders, marching out the door of the hotel room with fury and confidence licking at my heels.

The boys had to know I would do something like this. Perhaps they thought they could wrap up the case before I made it there on foot.

They were wrong.

—

Surprisingly, it didn't take me long at all to get to the warehouse. Iwas panting with my hands on my knees, gazing up at the sheer scale of the building before me. It must have been seven or eight stories. My stomach felt queasy. My instinct and I could both agree that a skinwalker's place was with all four paws on the ground, not high in the air.

God, the things I do for those boys. They were lucky I put up with this bullshit.

I steeled myself and shrugged my shoulders, preparing to march across the road and enter the building. I was stopped by the odd whining sound of a large truck. My eyes scanned up and down the road until they settled on a black pickup, a rather tall and bulky vehicle. The truck pulled into a side alley a few buildings down and stopped. The engine cut out.

My hackles rose once more, and I felt that unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. I chalked it up to my nerves about facing my first demon. If my uncle could see me now, I don't know if he'd be terrified or proud. He tried to stay away from demons and magic, and just stuck to good old-fashioned monster hunting. My parents would certainly be terrified...

I tightened my jaw and marched across the street. Despite this being a busy city, there were no cars out tonight. I was thankful for that, the fewer people to see me, the better.

The inside of the building was ratty and honestly a mess. I really hoped it was condemned. If not, someone was going to get seriously hurt in here. My eyes scanned the broken-down elevator shaft that went up to the highest floor.

"No fucking way," I grumbled at the very thought of scaling that monstrosity. Instead, my eyes flitted around the room, searching for any other option, before finally resting on an old wooden door, tightly shut. I grinned and paced towards it, trying the handle and frowning when it didn't budge. I pushed against the door, hoping my weight would make it pop open. It didn't.

With a puzzled frown, I took a step back and rolled up my sleeves. I squared my shoulders and turned slightly to the side, angling my shoulder towards the weak point near the door handle. With a shake of my arms and a preparatory inhale, I launched at the door, ramming into it.

And suddenly I was falling forward with the door as it came off its hinges, a mess of cobwebs raining down on top of me. The door, and I, landed with a crash at the foot of a long flight of stairs. I lay there for a few moments, catching my breath.

"They definitely heard that," I whispered just loudly enough for myself to hear. 

I stood and dusted myself off, my eyes following the length of the steps. If I wanted to make it to the boys before they did something stupid, I'd need to hurry.

I ran up the steps as quietly as I could, hoping the pounding I heard was my heart and not my feet. Whatever was up there, I didn't want to alert it to my presence. I was lucky I didn't have a swarm of evil thousand-year-old demon things descending upon me as I ran.

My heart thumped in my chest as I made it to the top of the stairs. In front of me was a rather short hallway with a single dark door at the end, the glow of light from something on the other side peaking through the crack under the door. I licked my lips and tip-toed to the door, nerves rising, hoping to hear something on the other side.

I did in fact hear something. It sounded like a muffled conversation. I put my ear to the door and listened.

"It doesn't mean anything. It was just to draw you in, that's all," I heard a woman say. I ground my teeth together as my lips pulled back in a silent snarl. Meg.

"So you killed those people for nothing?" came Dean's unmistakable but muffled voice.

"Baby, I've killed a lot more for a lot less," Meg purred in response. I bit back a growl. My blood was boiling and it wasn't long before I was fighting with myself. Should I charge in and risk their safety, or play it safe and sneak in?

My ears pricked at Sam's voice. "Dad. It's a trap for Dad."

Shit. A trap for John? But there was no way he could make it to Chicago in time, was there? Not unless she planned to use him as bait. For a moment, I was glad I had stayed behind. Now I had a chance to warn John and maybe save the boys.

I straightened as my skin suddenly prickled with goosebumps. I felt an itch at the back of my mind, as if urging me for my attention.

My attention was redirected yet again to the sound of a scuffle on the other side of the door. I heard a crash and what sounded like a person tumbling across the floor – one of the brothers. I went to reach for the handle, but something stopped me. A buzzing between my ears.

My fist clenched, struggling to identify the feeling. My eyes widened as I felt pressure in my head.

Duck, ordered a whisper.

And I did. I ducked low enough to see a fist fly over my head and narrowly missed the door handle that I had just been reaching for. With a growl I spun in my crouched position and lunged towards my assailant, flinging them into the door.

The door splintered with a crack, light filling the once dim hallway. I snarled and tossed myself at my assailant as they struggled to stand, landing a harsh blow to their ribs and a kick to their shin. They grunted and dropped low, attempting to tackle me. I side-stepped just in time to see two shadows tear into Meg's flesh and toss her out a seventh-story window like nothing but a heap of trash.

I heard Sam's voice shout my name from beside the once meticulously arranged altar. I didn't have time to look at him before my assailant knocked me to the floor in a tackle. The two of us struggled and I felt them land a harsh blow to my cheekbone and mouth. Blood careened down my lips and dribbled into my mouth.

Suddenly, the weight was being dragged off of me and I flailed as a set of hands grabbed me under my arms, dragging me away. I kicked and screamed, fighting against whoever held me as an arm wrapped around my torso, struggling to hold me still.

"Easy, tiger!" shouted Dean, from his place beside my assailant, his hands extended toward me in an appearing gesture. My sight cleared enough to rest on the man before me. He was tall and his features were dark, a line of blood dripping down his temple from where I had hit him. He scowled at me and I glared back, struggling to get at him and fight. My eyes widened, seeing Dean's hand on the guy's shoulder.

"It's OK!" shouted Sam near my ear, struggling to hold me still and calm me down. "It's alright, we know him!"

"Who the fuck is he then!?" I snapped back and dropped my arms, ceasing my struggle. Sam let go and helped me stand, a hand under my elbow to steady me. His voice was filled with awe and his eyes were wide with shock.

"He's our dad," he said, quietly. My own eyes widened to the size of saucers, flitting between the two shocked brothers and their raggedy father. My round eyes locked with his brown ones.

"John?"

[seat-safety-switch]

I think we all have that family member we don’t want to see at the big functions. Family reunions. Family cookouts. Family feuds with a rival family over the distribution of methamphetamine in the tri-state area. Family funerals. Family violent reprisals shattering the peace of an otherwise calm suburban neighbourhood which had thought that it could just ignore the fact that a predator was living in their midst. Family bowling night.

In the past, I’ve told you about my squabbles with my incredibly rich cousin from the old country, Blyat Safety-Switch. He drapes himself in the most exquisite clothes, flies first class everywhere, and pays a person to wash his car for him. That last one is a little confusing to me, but I’m assured that very rich people opt to forego the simple pleasures of the hands in order to attend more business meetings. Yeah, he’s a real dick, and I don’t care if my mom reads this one and phones me up super angry in the morning. He’s not in this story.

Closer to home is what I would call the “less extended” section of the clan. When I was a young kid, my older cousin Mort and I would work on RC cars together, only to inevitably crank up the current a little bit too far and blow up the primitive batteries of the era. Sure, you could break open disposable cameras, remove the flash capacitor, and improve your thirty-foot times, but we had no money, and the tourists had long stopped coming by our neighbourhood once that issue of Time Magazine about our living conditions faded into memory. Mort and I had to come up with a new source of energy, and unfortunately at that time Mort had gotten the internet.

You see, back then the internet was full of bullshit. Not like today, where that bullshit is precision-engineered by an interlocking matrix of advanced computers and bad-faith foreign operatives. No, back then it was just made by bored people. Or at least mentally ill ones. Mort would download all these textfiles from BBSes, and then he would excitedly tell me about the things he had found with the help of his trusty Apple III+. You can make napalm in a microwave using styrofoam. You can make napalm in a microwave using gasoline and a kitchen sponge. You can clean a microwave before your parents come home using a combination of lemon juice, baking soda, and a toothbrush.

So what happened to Mort? He’s gainfully employed now, at a complicated office job that involves using Excel to save all of humanity. In other words, he’s still a sucker. And if he comes to Maw-Maw’s cookout this weekend, he still owes me a Tamiya Lunchbox.

[bomberqueen17]

ok ok ok ok. ok ok. ok

yeah so i think i mentioned this? we'd contracted with the same company that replaced all the windows in our house to also completely remodel our kitchen. and we were on the schedule for february. and obviously what happened was someone was like "wait i can't have my kitchen torn out from Thanksgiving through Christmas through New Year's that's insane", and the company was like "ok cool we'll postpone," and then called everyone on the list asking if they wanted to move their project up, and got all the way to us before some sucker (us) was like "tear out a quarter of my house during the holidays? oh sure sign me up."

anyway. I hadn't realized but they're tearing out to the studs, and adding insulation and replacing the plaster with drywall. i mean this is all the way. Which is good because when they installed the bay window in the front wall they left a crack that the wind literally blows in from outside, in among the layers of plaster and lath and such, and i have a napkin shoved in there and had sort of been wondering if they were gonna fix it and if so how well. That well, the whole wall is going. So, good.

Anyway. So. I've been back from the farm for six days now and I've spent all of those cleaning the house-- clearing space in the living room, which fortunately hadn't really been put back together after the windows thing-- all the living room chairs are still in the basement-- and now the sideboard is in the living room, with all the dishes in it and all the food on it. We had our microwave and toaster on a stainless steel countertop unit from IKEA and now that is disassembled in the basement and the microwave and toaster are on a bookshelf in the living room. And our coffee has always been on a wooden cart shoved against the entryway wall, and now that's moved to a corner of the living room as well, to Chita's great delight (she can get on there. there's nothing to do on there but she can Sit There which is great.)

So anyway. Today I have to take everything out of the cupboards in the kitchen, that's what's left to do. Pots and pans, all our glasses and mugs, our dry goods and baking supplies, and then last but not least our tupperware and shit. It's not that much. it's okay. It's going to take me a bunch of hours. I can do it. It's not that much heavy lifting. Dude is at work with a full slate of meetings, so he'll be away the whole day. I have yet another sinkload of dishes to do, too.

AND a DIFFERENT company is also coming today, to replace our garage door, but that should be straightforward. They had said they'd do this two weeks ago and then just never got back to us, and yesterday we were going to call them and tell them that they were going to have to negotiate for driveway space with the kitchen remodelers, but they called us instead and said they'd be by today. the last possible day they can come. which is good because until they come, we cannot get our snowblower out of the garage, since the existing door is broken. which i did not know about until i was home the time just before turkey processing, during which time i had set up the estimate and contracted for the job and then they just didn't call us back and we hadn't thought it was urgent until the kitchen thing suddenly got wildly moved up. (I had MENTIONED the impending kitchen remodel to the estimator too, but only in a conversational "well it's not until february" kind of way, but i HAD mentioned it.)

So anyway. I need clothes on and I was just finishing my coffee and Chita has just climbed up into my lap and informed me we're going to sit here for several hours. Sorry booboo, i'd love that for us but nope.

[catcze]

via that princess treatment ask that you got, i'm thinking about an angsty sugar daddy wriothesley au in which he truly is spoiling you because he loves you more than life itself, but you're either afraid of ruining whatever contract the two of you came up with or losing what little luxury you can get through him

- cinna ☕️

HAKJSDN BROOO 🥺 Wait that has such potential as like a mutual pining slow burn type of fic wtf 🥺♡ Dude can i b real im such a sucker for those sugar daddy x sugar baby type fics where it's the sugar daddy that falls first, and spoilers their bby so much like lord 😭😭 Dude I'm like actually lost for words ?!?!?!

And omg wait i can definitely see Wrio, who invited you out to be his arm candy at some big, posh event, asking you if you wanna go anywhere before he lets you go for the night. And and and, since you didn't really eat much at the event, scared you might get a stain on your outfit, you tell him that you wanna eat somewhere. Nothing much or fancy, just some quick snack.

And it ends up with you and him dining together on some cheap cup noodles and microwaved pastries at the convenience store on the corner by your apartment. You're both still in your formals, just a bit more laid-back now. Wrio's got his tie loosened, and your hair has already started to get messed up from the careful style you've put it in earlier.

⠀⠀"You know, it's been a while since I had these," Wriothesley muses absently, blowing on the noodles he's snagged with his chopsticks. After he's taken a big bite, a happy sound escapes him. "Forgot how good these tasted." ⠀⠀You have to laugh— it's hard to imagine him eating anything less than food served in three star michelin restaurants, or sitting in some rinky-dink convenience store. But anything is possible, you suppose. Just look at the situation you've found yourself in now. ⠀⠀"Well, if you ever want someone to come with you, you already know that I live nearby." ⠀⠀And he grins— the one that has your stomach flipping and an unknown feeling in your chest. "Really? I might just have to take you up on that offer." ⠀⠀You swallow, pushing down that feeling. Not even daring to think what it could be. "Yeah." You hope he doesn't hear the shake in your voice.

AND OH can you imagine when he walks you back to your door that night? It's already unusual for you— typically, when one sees their sugar baby off for the night, they stay in their car. Hell, sometimes they don't even see them off, merely sending them home in a chauffeured car. But Wriothesley? He walks you right up to your door, hands in his pockets, and it makes you feel something. It makes it all seem too much like a date, rather than a contractual relationship. Your hands shake— from fear or excitement, you're not sure.

And Wrio— Wrio presses a kiss to the back of your hand before he leaves. Holds it tenderly in his warm palm as he thanks you for giving him your time tonight, again with that stupid, heart-flipping grin on his face.

It ends soon enough, thankfully. He releases your hand and leaves once you've shut the door behind you and fuck— you slump down right then and there in the foyer of your apartment, head in hands with the realization that you might, just might, have feelings for him.

[starheirxero]

i may be behind like hell but the title. MY BOY NO! DEVIATED BY THIS GREATLY!

@multifandomcutie13 (tag 2 let u know i answered)

GHOD YEAH I GET Y'ALL SO HARD 😭😭😭 I'm honestly haven't seen a soul who isn't at least a little upset about this. It sucker punched like 95% of us huh GDJABSJHS

AND WHILE I GET WANTING TO THROTTLE RUIN..... I MUST ADMIT I STILL THINK HE'S COOL. I miss Solar terribly already and I know it's going to be so sad for other characters moving forward too, but also the silly gray morality swag........... I think he's microwavable /pos