#another draft throw

[phonification]

MORE MOUSE BITES!!!!!!!!!!!!

[leol]

logan 2017 movie canon divergent au kinda.. kurt deus ex machina, everybody lives, happy family = profit

[snarkspawn]

drew these during the simulanka event

[kastheory]

steve did not bully eddie in "the past" steve was a grade below him for 3 out of 4 years of his high school career freshman steve heard this weird loudass sophomore talking w his friends at 100 decibels in the hallway about fighting elves in the woods or something (steve did not know what larping was nor care to find out) and then he went to class bc are you insane hes not fucking w a sophomore you dont normally fuck w people ahead of your grade especially if they yell at people and wear chains and get into fights in the woods (with elves?) and you dont even have classes w them. you dont even care much about them in the first place beyond passing gossip like HAVE YOU GUYS EVER BEEN IN HIGH SCHOOL. sorry. anyway.

then steve keeps catching this guy in his periphery over the next two years shouting about board games and controversial food opinions and metal bands that steve likes a few songs from but could not ever imagine giving that much of a shit about. like at all. and by (steve's) year 3 the motherfucker is bouncing off the walls giving speeches about what the hell ever and saying he cant fucking WAIT to get out of this FUCKED UP PLACE!!!! YEP ITS TRUE IN LESS THAN ONE MEASLY YEAR ILL BE SAYING MY SWEET SWEET GOODBYES TO THIS BRAINLESS CONFORMIST PRISON!!!! and hardly anyone reacts beyond rolling their eyes or snickering to their friends about it and this includes steve because who cares literally who cares. this guys been causing a ruckus since the beginning of time and hes weird and unpredictable and not worth trying to shove in a locker he would probably evade the attack anyway like a nimble mouse or squirrel he might even try to bite you. and steve didnt shove anybody in lockers in the first place so who cares and yeah he has pretty eyes and a funny way of talking and moving around but WHO CARES

and then steve goes through the first round of nightmarish shit that would become a yearly ordeal and then wraps up junior year in a perfectly normal not haunted whatsoever fashion. and then hes a senior and in his subtly cringefail era (ongoing) and that freak guy is STILL HERE for some reason and kinda pissed off and possibly a bit devastated about it so okay great now steve has a few classes with this angry weirdo loudguy but. crucially. he has had a lot of OTHER SHIT to deal with lately (MONSTERS ARE REAL) (GIRL DIED IN HIS POOL) (GF RESENTS HIM) (HAS NO FRIENDS) (COLLEGE APPS) so the only effect eddie's constantly loudmouthed & often unwarranted input during class ever has is that it adds a little flavor to the constant metaphorical and literal headache of steves life.

and then he goes through round 2 of shit and finishes his senior year with little hope for a satisfying future ahead of him and never once thinks about that guy again except when his fellow grads whisper about oh my godd did you hear that the freak flunked out again hahaha and yep sure enough eddie's not there at the graduation ceremony. and he thinks huh i wonder what his fucking problem is and then he MOVES ON. the end. thats the extent of """their past""" at least in terms of any actual interactions btwn the two of them i promise okay listen to me. i was there

[vrieseasees]

Acesan Ace not immune to the zosan ship? (Ace calm down that Law is possessive)

Not sure why I did this sorry haha

[crybaby-bkg]

Trainer Bakugou who you're a little terrified of the first day you're paired with him. when asking for a trainer at the gym, you had expected the friendly redhead who always looked so sweet and encouraging and cut as hell. you weren't expecting his grumpy looking blond counterpart, who was all glares and shouts for his clients to keep pushing themselves.

you were hesitant at first, before you quickly realized that it was all a ruse, for the most part. he pushed those who needed that extra encouragement, but was more lenient to people like you who simply wanted a professionals guidance. so, after a few weeks, you liked him for the most part, and his looks damn sure made it easier to cozy up to the big guy.

the only issue you've been having with Bakugou though are the...coregasms, as you've seen them been named on social media, that you keep experiencing. the first time, you weren't sure what it was, why your stomach and pelvis kept tightening up. you couldn't have...climaxed, or anything. you hadn't even been touched!

but, as the weeks go by, and the workouts get more strenuous, they've become harder and harder to subside and ignore, and so had Bakugou's commands to keep going when you suddenly stopped. you can only lie and say its cramps so many times before he realizes that something is up.

you're midway through a good morning, when that familiar feeling starts tightening in the pit of your gut. you clench your eyes shut, shaking your head a little, as if you could ward off the impending feeling. bakugou notices though, frowning at your almost pained expression in the mirror, walking up behind you to stop you as you pull yourself back up. his hands are on your waist, and as you come up, you feel his bulge glide over the curve of your ass, and something in you snaps.

you gasp, buckling over, one hand on your knee as the other reaches back for bakugou's hand to keep you up as your thighs shake. you can feel yourself spasming, clenching and unclenching around nothing, secretly wishing you had something that could fill you up, something that you felt throb against you as bakugou leaned over your form.

"Another coregasm, huh?" he asks you lowly, his lips brushing your ear as you bite your bottom lip to hold back your moan. your eyes buck open though, when his words sink in, head tipping back to look at him in the mirror, only to find his gaze already on you.

"You knew every time?" you ask quietly, panting now that its finally starting to pass over you. but bakugou doesn't let you up from this position, especially since the area you're in seems to be desolate for now.

"It's hard to ignore how pretty you look when you cum, sweetheart." Bakugou seals his words with a firm press to your ass, his cock rubbing the seam, and you can practically feel the heat and veins of it through your thin bottoms. you groan under your breath, getting lost in the feeling of him grinding against you, when he suddenly speaks again.

"You still feel it?" he asks, voice low as he looks at you through his lashes. you nod, biting at your bottom lip as you meet the steady rock of his hips, watching how he smiles before slotting his lips against your ear.

"Want me to help make it go away?" and he does, in the employee locker room after hours. he makes it go away, and rebuild, and go away again and again until you're hoarse and your legs are weaker than they typically are on leg day. bakugou helps the ache go away, but not for that sweet redheaded coworker of his, whose fists have fucked his cock the entire time of watching bakugou rail you over the locker room bench again and again.

[triglycercule]

i love that the murder time trio all have dangerous little greetings. horror has his little hand drill thing. killer puts a knife up his sleeve and then does a little switcharoo. dust INSTINCTIVELY shoots whoever he sees with a bone. no greeting whatsoever. so just imagine how things go on a first meeting or whatever. immediately horror and killer have to dodge bones from dust and horror's like hey wtf man. mildly irritated but he just met these guys so he's willing to forgive. he's not gonna lose his cool in front of these two random ass guys even though one just tried to kill him. killer just has that dumbass smile on his face like always (but he was intrigued when dust did that. like who tries to kill someone on first sight?? he's curious now :3)

and then theyre all just standing together and staring for a moment and horror sticks out his hand. killer takes the bait but then he just points a knife to horror's stolen eye once he realizes that he got duped and his other hand is now currently being drilled into. dust didn't shake either of their hands because he could see the drill and tell that killer had something off about him in general. but he does give a tiny smile when he sees the state that the two r in rn with the drill and knife. it's an eensy bit funny in his eyes

least violent mtt interaction

[emloafs]

binary boyfriends x to all the boys i've loved before au

Eli likes to consider himself a pretty tough guy. He can take almost anyone in a fight and come out on top. Not that he’s bragging. But, there’s not much anyone can do or say to get under his skin anymore. Inner peace and balance and all that shit. 

You wouldn’t think a small blue envelope would be the thing to crumble this hard exterior and send him running. 

That would be ridiculous.

“El Serpiente!” Eli greets in place of a ‘good morning.’

As far as mornings before class go, neither Eli nor Miguel are ever that chipper. But as Miguel half-heartedly responds to their signature handshake, Eli can tell something else is up. Miguel looks completely out of it. 

“Hey,” Miguel says with a tight smile that resembles a grimace.

Eli quirks an eyebrow. “What’s up with you?”

Miguel sighs audibly. He purses his lips and meets Eli’s eye. “We should talk.” 

Eli feels a tight knot form in his stomach. That’s never a great line to hear, no matter who it comes from.

“Okay, what’s up?” He responds, trying to sound nonchalant.

Miguel bites his lip and hesitates. He scratches at his neck and starts, “I’m flattered and everything, don’t get me wrong but…” Miguel shoulders his backpack to one side so that he can reach into it. He yanks at the zipper of the front pocket. “I just- I really had no idea, you know? You’re my brother. I love you like a brother. And- things with Sam have been tough in the past, but we’re finally in a good place-”

“Wait- what?” Eli furrows his brow. What the hell is Miguel talking about? 

Eli watches as Miguel pulls out a small blue envelope from his bag. It has a stamp with a little American flag in the top right corner, and Miguel’s name and address in the middle. Eli’s own name is in tiny lettering in the lefthand corner. Eli doesn’t need to see it to know exactly what is written on it, though. Or what’s written in it, for that matter.

His heart stops in his chest. Or at least it feels like it does. He can’t breathe. Eli is distantly aware that Miguel is still talking, shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking sheepish. The hum of the hallway noise around him turns into a muffle and fades into the background. Eli hasn’t had a panic attack in years–he honestly thought he forgot what they felt like–but as his chest tightens and his breath quickens, he feels like collapsing. 

“I care about you, man. I just don’t want anything to change between us,” he hears Miguel say. 

Eli can’t answer. He feels frozen. He opens his mouth and nothing comes out. His hand flies to his chest as if that will somehow clear his breathing pathway and shake him out of his panic. He jumps when Miguel places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Miguel’s eyes widen. “Woah- hey, Hawk, it’s just me. Are you okay?” 

Eli swallows roughly and tries his best to count evenly, matching the length of his inhales and exhales. It doesn’t work very well. Maybe he’s too out of practice. Eli’s mind races. 

He wants to ask Miguel a million questions, starting with where the hell did you get this? but something catches his eye over Miguel’s shoulder.  

Eli sort of has a sixth sense for when his best friend is around. He thinks it’s a side effect of being attached at the hip from such a young age. It’s not for any other reason. Why else would his head perk up when Demetri walks into a room?

Usually seeing Demetri would light Eli up. As Eli catches him walking towards them, it really should be no different. Except Demetri is sort of marching towards them as if he’s on a mission–shoulders set back, a slight frown tugging at the edges of his mouth, eyebrows knitted together. And he’s clutching something in his hand. Eli squints to make it out.

It’s an envelope. A letter, for that matter, nearly identical to the one in Miguel tugged out of his backpack. 

It’s a letter that Eli swore would never see the existence of a world outside of his bedroom. It’s a letter that certainly should not be in Demetri’s hand. 

Shit. 

Eli has been programmed to strike first and to strike hard. In karate or in any fight, that’s easy. But, right now, when given the option of fight or flight, it seems his body still reacts to its natural instinct to get the hell out of there when facing danger. Running from bullies was his everyday experience when he started high school. So, as his panic bubbles up inside of him, there isn’t much of a cognitive decision involved. 

So again, to clarify, Eli doesn’t run from a fight. But he does run from this. 

The sound of the bell rattles out in the hallways like a saving grace. And, without another word to Miguel, Eli bolts in the opposite direction of Demetri. 

“Hawk, wha- Hawk!” Miguel shouts after him.

[j-nor]

Hey. Grisps you.

[moongothic]

Okay so realistically speaking, giving birth is an excruciating, painful nightmare, and from the few Crocodad fics I've seen most people seem to prefer to write realistic pregnancy and make Luffy's birth a (physically) painful thing. Because it makes sense, it might be more relatable for some writers that way etc, and that's perfectly fine (like genuinely, it's not an issue at all, this is not a critique or a complaint)

God I don't know how to make this segue- Have any of you watched Ore Monogatari!! (My Love Story)? It's a great early 2010s romantic comedy series, funny as hell, super cute and sweet, would reccomend, but that aside. During the series the protagonist Takeo's mother gets pregnant and she ends up giving birth to Takeo's baby sister. And it's that scene, where Takeo's baby sister is born, that I keep on thinking back to whenever I wonder how Luffy's birth might've gone.

Takeo and his mother alike are Sturdy Motherfuckers. Like absolute gigachads, borderline superhuman, it's great and it's funny as hell. And because of that near superhuman nature... Takeo's mother goes to give birth at 4:15 pm. And she has finished giving birth at 4:16 pm. One fucking minute is what it took for this woman to bring a child into this world. An absolute legend

The screencaps do not do justice to how fucking funny this is in the actual episode

And so like

Like we know Crocodile's been through absolute hell, being an amputee and all. And as Domino told us at the entrance of Impel Down, we also know the man did not even flinch when forced into Impel Down's traditional 200 Celsius cleansing bath (or 392F)

So Crocodile has better pain tolerance than the average person. Like, you might have to put in a bit of effort to cause him actually hurt. So if giving birth to Luffy was an absolute cakewalk for Crocodile, not only would it make perfect sense in-universe and be completely in-character for him, but also

It would be objectively funny as hell

[gogodollie]

dawg i can’t even lie, i pity the groupies/literally any fem fan of nihil because i KNOW sister was beating the absolute shit out of them outside of the bar😭 hunting them for sport and shit😭

she’s telling nihil that she’s just going out for a quick smoke/fresh air but some chick is behind the dumpsters taking a platform gogo boot to the chest.

[organised-disaster]

I GUCKING DID IT

SHE LOVES ME

I HAVE SUCCESSFULLY MADE HAYLEY MY GIRLFRIEND IN STARDEW VALLEY

and now onto the marriage. and the children.

[avirxy]

beauty and beast au but Claire’s the one cursed because she’s the only one I can see literally pissing a sorceress off enough to get cursed. (If we’re going off the original movie Jim would probably offer them a hot meal and a room for the night, knowing him he’d make everything super accommodating)

[mangofresca]

cloudburst

He taps his fingers when he’s bored.

Not that Spain blames him. Not that Spain isn’t also just as bored, dulled, yearning and longing and aching for the willowed shade of broken sunlight through blooming Juniper trees, warmed by humid air and clouds so soft he could pull them from the skies, if only he had the will to lift a hand to them, to try.

His boss will likely scold him for not paying attention, but Spain can’t be bothered today, too unfocused to listen to off-handed bickering made worse through obligation, not when he can still hear the thumping of rain on the roof, pattering against the windows.

Not when he can watch Romano skate his nails against the table, pressing the soft of his fingertips up and down as if he were writing something, composing something, following the tune of a melody only half-constructed and–

Spain sits up a little straighter, squinting.

Romano keeps his eyes half-lidded and hazy, looking for all the world like he is two seconds away from drifting to sleep, but Spain can see the way his fingers move, curled, as if cradling the neck of an invisible guitar, other hand almost imperceptibly pressing down into the table, plucking notes Spain can almost hear being strummed aloud, if only he tried hard enough to listen.

Spain watches, head propped on an arm that fell asleep about half an hour ago, too lost and transfixed on the image of Romano shirking his duties in favor of– of writing, maybe, or composing, creating something Spain is already desperate to hear, to mold into his life in the way he molds everything Romano does, every noise Romano makes.

He’s out of his seat seconds before they’ve officially been dismissed, but Romano doesn’t notice, still in that world of tabletop timbres and notes unwritten, of hands born to cultivate.

“What are you playing?” Spain asks, and he smiles when Romano startles, eyes widening and fingers dropping, forming into fists atop pages with not one word written on them.

Not that Spain blames him. His own are the same, after all.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Romano snaps, cheeks ruddy with caught-out indignation, and Spain knows he was right, that he’d formed himself an audience for a performer who didn’t know he was being watched.

“You were playing something,” he says, beaming when Romano collects his papers with more stumbled force than necessary, always too combative, too cagey with his vulnerabilities.

Romano huffs, says nothing, brushing past Spain with shoulders that are a little too tense for comfort.

Spain follows, whistling, doing his best to find the cadence of whatever rhythm Romano had been tapping against the table.

It takes two months for Romano to bring it up again, and when he does, it’s by dropping down next to Spain in the sand, feet and ankles damp with dusk-sweetened sea foam, hands steady and curled around a guitar he had always insisted he rarely used, that sits too comfortably in his lap to be anything less than adored.

“Don’t say anything,” is all Romano says, and Spain can only bring himself to smile, arms pressed atop his knees as he feels the kiss of broken waves and clumped seaweed against his toes. He’s more than content to wait, would always be content to wait if it meant Romano pressing himself into the space at Spain’s side, frown on his lips like he’s shy, wary.

Romano shoots him a look—I mean it, bastard!—but Spain only rests his chin on his arms, watching with slowly blinking eyes and a smile he is sure is horrifically besotted.

Romano doesn’t look at him when he plays, head tilted down so his hair falls across his forehead, curling around his eyebrows and the rounds of his ears. Spain bites back the urge to brush it away, and when Romano begins to hum, the softest accompaniment to a tune Spain has never heard, Spain can feel his heartbeat in the palms of his hands, in the urge to mold himself against Romano’s back, to be close and close and close.

Still, he does not move, waiting until Romano’s fingers pluck the final string, mumbling hums and soft breaths petering out until the only noise left is the swell of the ocean and the rustle of air through grains of sand and surf.

Spain blinks—once, twice—and Romano clears his throat, forefinger and thumb drawing absentminded patterns across the guitar’s body.

“I wrote it,” he says, voice low, deep, barely above a whisper. “I’ve been working on it for…fuck, I don’t know how long. A while, I guess. Mostly when I mi–”

He flushes pink, voice cutting off in a choke, and Spain sits up immediately, thinks he knows, and his delight is immeasurable, second only to grand, enamored infatuation.

“When you what?” he asks, because how can he not when Romano is looking like that, like he’s already cursing himself for speaking, as if Spain wouldn’t lay himself and his heart and his soul bare just to find the words humanity hasn’t created yet.

“Forget it.” Romano is scowling, bristling in that way he gets when he speaks before thinking, when Spain is close enough to hear him—when he’s paying attention—and Spain couldn’t forget this if he was given a millennium, if he was given an eternity and longer.

“When you what?” he asks again, because he has to, has to, would be a fool not to, would die, maybe, if he doesn’t. “When you…miss me?”

Romano shoots him a look so blistering and venomous that Spain knows he’s right, knows immediately and without question he’s right, and his hand is around Romano’s wrist before Romano even has the chance to stand, to run, because of course he’d run, and Spain can’t bear the weight of solitude right now, anyway.

“You wrote a song for me.”

Romano splutters, snarls. “It is not– I didn’t fucking write it for you!”

Spain could kiss him, wants to, wants to. “I can’t believe you wrote a song for me!”

“Are you even listening to me? I just said I didn’t–”

He’s red, so red, every shade the most beautiful color Spain has ever seen, and he can’t find it within himself to temper the need to touch, to be close and closer still, to kiss, fingers following the curve of ocean-misted waves caught on dark eyelashes, tangling in knots around his knuckles.

“My song,” he insists, lips light as they brush the warm of Romano’s mouth.

“Not what I sai–”

Spain swallows the words he knows are only half-hearted, can feel the truth in the press of the guitar into his sternum, in the hand fisted in his shirt, in the lips humming against his.

[javierduffy]

ohh javieran … javieran post kieran’s death .., javier is a poor lonesome cowboy in america a long way from home with no more sweetheart to sit and talk with him ooohhh can anyone hear me ….

[szilverer]

so, after a timely realization post-hallowmas,

reisz has officially joined the great hellbound railway's board! 🥳

...although. they did not think they'd be put in a position of power when they decided to invest contributing money from the sidelines. what do you mean reisz is on equal grounds with all these important people.? was it really that much money???

liveblog rambling about latest developments under the cut lol

wait, but the last i've updated of them they were still slowly dipping their toes into seeking and peckish enough to eat an entire clown car's worth of people! well, to sum it up, every addict has a wake-up call moment and reisz' came after the unexpectedly disturbing nightmare that left a little gift on their skin. reisz was not pleased by this in the slightest, but it's not like they immediately recognized it for what it was. they wanted to believe it was just a particular dream phenomenon, yeah, surely they'd be able to sneak away from it in parabola as always.

(this was when i realized the surprise benefit that was marrying them to edward-- i can use him as a plot device LMFAO. aight eddie i bet ya dont wanna become a widow while that moonmilk is still lingering so your job now is infodumping your clueless spouse every now and then. hence: )

after a little kidnapping, a frenzied feast of rubbery lumps and a bit of denial, reisz gets so goddamn pissed at the prospect of forever staining all their shirts (and their ivory gowl!!!) with blood that they quit seeking outright.

SIGHS.

so. that was that.

alas, after stitching themself up, reisz took up on an old invitation to concord square where some ppl (for some reason??) wanted to handle them the Jack case. considering reisz had already freed london of a menace of a man, sure, let's do it again.

it was there that they came across an invitation to the railway venture. once again, barely reading the details, they went headfirst into it. scrip? ya want scrip? i can get scrip stat. no idk what scrip is but i got it by accident when i sold some lab reports. hahaha yes im joking of course! of course.

reisz sacrifices 3 of their headless skeleton friends to the bone market the very next day (these being their first skelly dealings in that market ever...) and heads to the board. there were faces both old and new.

HAL - acquaintances, hadnt seen him in a while but had good times drinking before. fun company. alright.

The Efficient Commissioner - never seen before. (me, player: HIIIII HELLO FINALLYYYYYYY)

the board has reisz recommend choose a third member (why.) they only heard of Jenny way back in the waswood, and the last time they saw Feducci they had hacked him to pieces after a shared gaze of profound understanding that reisz didnt wanna think about, so... Jovial Contrarian my lad. come on over! we always chat at parties anyway!

reisz was immediately forced to go excavating to pay a bribe. off to a great start there. then the deviless reisz duped months ago invited herself over to the board and they sincerely hoped she had forgotten all that stuff about the stones.

finally, the church meddles in, and they have to choose between... a bishop they never heard about and the dean of xenotheology. they chose the dean solely bc she reminded them of Dr. Vaughan. (no, the bishop that edward kidnapped was never an option. he's one of the handful of people that know about the whole marriage thing so no way.)

this entire thing had barely started and it had already begun to give them a headache. reisz goes to sleep tired as all hell and is woken up at an equally unholy hour:

(cue me screaming bc i FINALLY get to meet this absolute celebrity. furnace the woman that you are. shes SUCH an interesting character right off the bat.)

reisz is not even close to being a political person -- they've been a red player through and through -- so they didnt particularly like the idea of being the bridge between the board and the union. it was to their relief that this furnace person seemed quite level-headed and someone they could personally get along. some good news, at least? (i am also very 👀 at the possibility of reisz actually giving a damn about a political faction in the future. lets see!)

now all the bureaucracy was out of the way, and the GHR can finally start laying the actual track! surely the other members are gonna make the arrangements soon, right?

...right...?