#can you Fuckin Tell?

[inkskinned]

we were sitting on the floor and i was cutting out tiny pictures to make a collage for a friend's birthday. you were on your phone and you laughed about something, and i was still in love with you then, so i asked what had you giggling.

"sorry. i was just..." you took a moment and went back to texting. "i was telling someone about how you're afraid of the dark."

i'm afraid of the dark because something bad happened. "oh." i felt a little slinky of shame crawl down my throat.

you glanced up, and maybe it showed on my face, because you rolled your eyes and held the phone to the side casually so i could see the group chat. "what? was it a secret?"

i looked down to the scissors in my hand. "i just..." no, it's not a secret. it just felt like something private, something serious. saying why would you tell someone that just feels like an accusation. it's unfair. i honestly am not even ashamed of it, it's just a fact about my person that i don't usually share.

what a strange experience. is this a human thing or a generational thing? for our grandparents: did they need to worry about how quickly someone can just... share your personal information? again, i didn't even really have a true objection. what could i say? i want any person in my life to feel they can be honest with their friends. it's not like i said don't tell anyone this.

i cut out another letter to complete the rainbow happy birthday, started hunting for the exclamation mark. i heard you sigh dramatically.

"don't make a big deal about this," you said.

this entire conversation was a pattern for us, and this was when we got to my least favorite part of the pattern. i would get my feelings hurt in some oblique not-technically-terrible way, and then it would be making a big deal about something. you'd get frustrated for me for being soft, but i was born soft. you knew i was soft when you pierced me. it's one of the things that made controlling me so easy.

"i'm not," i felt my voice crack. the question came without my wanting. "why are you guys talking about me?" and why are you saying that thing? why not like - i'm telling them how you're generous and kind and pretty.

you let out this low, tragic groan. "oh my god." you tossed the phone away from your body. "there, see? i just won't talk to them if you don't like it."

the rest of the hour went the way it always went, between us: i said i don't actually mind if you talk to your friends but -, you found a way to call my minor expression of discomfort "being dramatic." you got upset that i had been offended. i ended up apologizing, even though i hadn't actually done anything.

afterwards, you picked up the phone again. after texting for a little bit, you snorted. "okay," you said, "but it is kind of funny you're afraid of the dark. i mean, when you think about it."

[ask-the-rag-dolly]

anyways good episode

[brainrotcharacters]

makes me giggle to think of X2 Logan meeting dp&w Logan when this is a thing

[thatone-highlighter]

I love you albums. I love you songs connected by similar themes. I love you listening to songs in a specific order picked by the artist. I love you reoccurring motifs throughout the same album. I love you album covers. I love you albums with extended editions. I love you songs that reference each other.

[hannibalspubes]

IM LOSING MY MIND RIGHT NOW GUYS !!!!!

LOOK

She’s standing on his feet 😭😭😭😭😭

This is so cute I’m going to die

[slurmpinheimer]

And that is the story of how Harry learned he cannot *Out-Kim* The One and Only Kim Kitsuragi

[reactionimagesdaily]

[sowearecleariamhere]

Penelope could easily be painted as the damsel yearning for her lover, the woman without much agency waiting for her husband to come home (which of course we all know she isn't, she is a literal and metaphorical queen), and in a lesser story*) she might have been cast into that stereotype. I think that is why I love her almost yelling "You're mine" at Odysseus in WYFILWMA.

It is so possessive and decisive, ruling out any "buts". It perfectly underlines her steadfastness, her loyalty, her agency. She claims Odysseus as hers without question once she knows it is really him, that he is finally back home. She is seemingly offended that Odysseus even suggests that she might not accept him after how much he has changed. (She will make her own mind up about that, thank you very much, and said mind has been made up for 20 years btw)

It is not only that Odysseus has come home and now she chooses him. No, she has been choosing him over and over and over for the past 20 years with every action she took. It is not him coming back that now puts her in the position to choose him - it only reveals that choice, that there never was another choice other than Odysseus. Which leads me to my honorable mention:

Ody: "[...] You’ve been waiting for love."

Pen: "I've been waiting for you."

Penelope definitely had a surplus of suitors (108) and even if their motives might have been questionable, she could have easily found a new husband if that was what she wanted, maybe even one that genuinely loved her. But Penelope's love is Odysseus. Love for her is synonymous with him. No one else is even worth considering, she would rather be alone or even die before she gives any other man the time of day.

tldr; I love love LOVE the wording in WYFILWMA, how it shows how Penelope is just not taking this shit from her husband. She knows what she wants and that is Odysseus, even if it is not the original model but the slightly banged up version, the heavily traumatized, now with grey hairs probably, war criminal, ruthless god torturer version of her husband.

Because he is still her husband, goddamn it.

This might very well not make much sense bc I am insane over them currently

*) "lesser story" is not referring to the odyssey or saying epic is better than the odyssey, I mean to compare them both to any completely different work (or franchise if you will) that does not give characters agency where they should have it

[soapcan18]

I absolutely LOVE Wiggly’s characterization in NPMD. He’s in the show for less than ten minutes and he fuckin STEALS it.

Obviously he’s terrifying in Black Friday, that’s HIS show, but throughout the entire show he keeps up the cutesy persona to trick the characters, occasionally saying something rlly fucked up but still in that register (“RIGHTTT THE FUUUUCK UPPP” and “DEEECKKK THE HALLSS WITH UR GUTSY WUTSIES”).

But in NPMD, he’s a bit different and it’s INTENTIONAL. During The Summoning, he’s still using cutesy-speak, but his voice is a bit deeper as he’s not presenting as an innocent plushie anymore, he’s asserting his power over the teens and toying with them. When he gets excited, he loses the act and yells “WHATEVER WE WANT???” is a deeper tone. When he gets pissed, him and the rest of the LIB scream “WE DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOUR PHONE!” Finally, at the end of The Summoning, he’s completely dropped the act: “Pay the price, or FUCK OFF.” He doesn’t care if the teens go through with the deal or not, and because he’s not actively being worshipped by them or exploiting them like in Black Friday, he doesn’t bother with the niceties or particularly care. Overall, he just seems very done with them by the end of the song (bro did NOT wanna be summoned).

THEN, the final time we hear him, he grabs hold of Max and shows himself. His voice is the deepest it’s EVER been, and there’s NO cutesy-speak to be found except the teasing “Maxie” nickname. He’s ELATED to have another soul, and fully yells: “You’re in my world now, BITCH.” THIS is the true Wiggly—not masking his intent with friendliness, not playing nice to manipulate someone, not even toying with them, just FULL sadistic pleasure to have another soul to claim. And that’s SUCH an epic high note to end the character on.

Hats off to Jon for being to portray such a horrifying, larger-than-life character with such depth and depravity, not to mention his INCREDIBLE voice work and physical acting. I didn’t even note Wiggly’s terrifying laugh yet; I fuckin LOVE it and you can hear it in NPMD if you pay attention.

In summary, Wiggly is the best. Thank you.

[feyinvestigations]

LawTwt on Apollo justice

Found this in the drafts from like literally 3 years ago. Happy aai2 official teanslation

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

katsuki, to me, is so dramatic. when he deems you haven’t been paying enough attention to him when he’s hanging out in your room, he decides he has to become the most insufferable person on earth.

katsuki pokes and pulls at your cheeks, bites you randomly and when you don’t cave he rolls on top of you with his full weight despite your groans and whines of protest and he doesn’t budge no matter how hard you shove at him cus he has those stupidly big muscles and hes so stupidly strong. he pulls your shirt up slightly above your belly button and blows wet raspberries all over your stomach. you’re squirming around and desperately pushing at his head to push him away and catch your breath but he doesn’t move an inch and you can feel him smirk against your skin, the asshole.

when he finally, finally stops and you can finally breathe he grips your waist with all his strength and squeezes hard and chuckles when you glare at him cus he thinks he’s so funny.

he pokes at your stomach and the absolute bastard straight up laughs in your face when you pout at him, shit eating grin on his face as he weakly defends himself “that wasn’t even bad, quit being a baby.” you huff, crossing your arms “you jerk, what was that even for?” you ask. he smirks.

you’re pouting and glaring at him but fuck do you look cute, and more importantly you’re looking at him and to katsuki, that’s mission accomplished. he grabs both your arms and brings one of your hands to his lips, his other hand intertwining with yours. he bites at your hand and chuckles some more when you glare at him but you don’t pull away and he feels your hand squeeze his.

“jus’ felt like it.”

[toshidou]

previously on "toshidou's horny rambles":

𝟏𝟖+ 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖

your jaw is aching, just barely able to feel simon's fingers as they curl around a fistful of your hair, the other hand pinching either side of your face between his thumb and forefinger to watch how your lips purse around the girth of his cock. lidded, darkened eyes staring down at you as he fucks lazily into your mouth; the slick sound of spit accompanied by the slap of his balls against your chin, wet with your saliva and precum.

and if that wasn't overstimulating in of itself, thick, strong fingers indent into the flesh of your hips, followed by the aching thud of könig's sharp hips jackhammering into the soft flesh of your ass, a cacophony of lewd, debauched sounds that shouldn't make you nearly as wet as they do.

you have little choice but to focus on trying to stay balanced on your hands and knees and take it, every forceful thrust, every notch of ghost's tip against the back of your throat, every delirium inducing drag of könig's cock, so thick it has no choice but to stimulate every nerve ending your poor cunt has to offer.

there is no holding back, no small mercies, you're fucked to within an inch of your life, pushed through so many orgasms you barely remember what year it is, unable to think of anything other than the two men that bookend your trembling body.

by the time their hips both stutter to a stop, once their cum dribbles down in flithy rivulets from your aching holes, plump flesh littered with bite marks, bruises and handprints; you're just lucid enough to make out the two men as they tower above you, twin sets of irises engulfed in black, still hungry, still not satiated.

it's fair to say you may have "voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir"ed a little too close to the sun.

[greenglowsgold]

The List.

Based on the Cass Apocalyptic Series.

The first part of this has been rumbling around in my brain ever since that Super Sad Scene a month ago, but yesterday’s update gave me the other side of the coin, so to speak, and finally pulled it all together.

@somerandomdudelmao thanks for the fuel, friend

                              -----

                              Donatello’s days have become a series of checklists, as of late.

No, that’s not exactly true. His days have always been about lists: what he’s done, what he can delegate to someone else, what still needs doing. But these days he’s been doing less and listing more, piling tasks from the first category onto the second as fast as he can manage, hoping he has enough time to empty the queue.

The full catalog is written out in a series of files, reorganized for accessibility to the layperson and meticulously up-to-date as of yesterday. He meant to run through it again this morning, ensure all the relevant instruction manuals were attached to each item and double check his protocols, but he wasn’t… he couldn’t…

He’s going to die tonight.

It irritates him, his own miscalculation of the timing more than the stark presence of his oncoming demise. The latter has been inevitable for quite some time, long enough that he’s gotten used to the idea. But he thought he had another week or two, and he doesn’t like being proven wrong. He wonders if his brothers know.

Probably not. They know it’s bad now, obviously, because they’ve piled him with pillows and blankets and surrounded him on all sides, and Leo has finally gone quiet. But they trust him, they’ve always trusted him, even when they shouldn’t, so if he swears he’ll last a few more days, they’ll believe him. He thinks. He’s pretty sure. If they knew it was tonight, he doubts they would choose to sleep through it. Donnie thinks about waking them up, but only for a moment. He’d like to say it’s a noble act, to leave them in peace a little bit longer, but the truth is he’s just too fucking tired to move.

There’s something settled bone-deep in his chest, a heaviness that sits on him like a stone, a peine forte et dure pressing him down and down, stopping his voice and his breath and his heart. He wonders if this is what dying usually feels like, or if it’s unique to the Kraang. Raph would know.

He cranes his neck to the right, to catch Raph’s face out of the corner of his eye. Raph’s working eye is half-open, staring down at the floor. Donnie could ask him. (He won’t. Let him fall asleep.) The movement of his head is so slight it doesn’t even catch Raph’s attention. He’s too tired for anything more. He’s so goddamn tired.

His lists are out of reach at the moment, with his physical interfaces back in the lab and his ninpo locked behind a wall of oh-god-it-sounds-too-exhausting-to-even-try, but he memorized them all long ago.

Raphael: Maintenance (delegated to Casey, who has it well in hand). Plans (tucked away in a dedicated folder, long term, but someday they’ll have the materials, and Raph will have a proper body again, someday). Honey (yes, he passed that along last week).

Raph has access to the tracking programs, so he can keep an eye on everyone himself, even when Donnie can’t pull up locations or vitals for him anymore. He has his own space in the base once more, somewhere to close a door when he needs to (he insists he doesn’t, but Donnie isn’t a fool). He has more excuses to spend time with Casey, who’s taking over his upkeep. Donnie hopes it fills in some gaps for both of them.

He runs through the list, double checks each item. It’s his last chance to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything important.

He looks down, finds Mikey.

There’s a stockpile of the anti-aging serum in his safe, the formula in his database, plans for the permanent solution clearly labeled. As long as they have his lab, his systems, Mikey will be as young as his years. He’s walked him through the greenhouse, even if most of it is controlled by the computer system. Mikey misses the world being green; it’ll do him good to spend more time around the plants. He has his tea, his candles. He has Draxum, who by now should have received a — mildly — threatening message warning him not to pull any disappearing acts anytime soon. He has their ancestors, just a short call away.

Donnie’s sure Mikey will call on him soon. He doesn’t plan to stray far.

Up a bit. To the left. Leo.

The arm — Leo knows how to take care of it, as does Casey.

The passwords — reset, something even Leo will be able to remember without resorting to blackmail.

The schedule — reshuffled for the next few days, he’ll have a hard enough time sleeping as it is.

The photos — everything they have, even the embarrassing ones. He even managed a couple of prints, and one precious shot from their pre-apocalypse days, something for Leo to tuck into a pouch and carry with him, when they’re not around.

Raph, Mikey, Leo. He doesn’t think he’s missed anything. Donnie lets his head fall back, too exhausted to hold it up any longer.

Is it enough?

His mind stretches further out. He’s unraveling.

What about April? Her prescription is up to date, they just checked a month ago. She has the latest in his combat tech, which has kept her safe in the field this long, so he has no reason to think it will falter now. He’s leaving her a few extra pieces, since he won’t be able to use them anymore. Leo will find the time for a movie night once in a while, he’s certain, even if his taste in Jupiter Jim movies is horrendous. They still have coffee; he’d die before he let that particular supply run out. He will, actually.

Casey. Fuck, Donnie’s gonna miss his birthday. But he did plan for this, his protocols will kick in. The mask is finished, everything is in place. He’s reconfigured his workstations, fit them for a tiny human instead of a seven-foot turtle. Casey has a better head for mechanics than any of his brothers ever did. Kid likes to be useful, so Donnie’s left him as much use as he can. He’s taught him everything Casey can learn and left instructions for more, when he’s a little older and wiser. His family will take care of him, they’ll make sure he gets there.

The base. It has to hold, to give them somewhere safe. The infrastructure is sound, and they have people to manage repair work. Supplies are decent, the most critical items in stock, everything that can be made renewable is. Their allies — Leo handles interpersonal issues and leadership, but Donnie’s checked the list with a pragmatist’s eye, left notes and rankings for priority. Security is the largest concern, but he’s spent nearly half his time with his assistants since his self-diagnosis (he could have spent it with his family), running them through the programs and adjustments, trying to bring them up to somewhere in the realm of his own expertise (a fool’s errand, but still). They’ve been rigorously instructed, they understand that the little things like sleep are secondary concerns. It has to hold.

Is it enough? For them to be okay?

He’s done everything he can. He can’t do any more. So it has to be enough.

Donnie blinks, and for a moment isn’t certain his eyes will open again at the end of it. But they do. At least one more time, they obey him.

Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Home. He rolls back through the list. It’s his last chance. He can’t miss anything.

Mikey’s hand tightens unconsciously around his wrist, fingers meeting easily on either side. Donnie feels only the echo of the pressure.

Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Home.

Something bright sparks at the edges of his vision before it fades. The last gasps of a dying brain, he supposes. Synapses firing one last time before they’re snuffed out.

Raph.

Mikey.

Leo.

                                                            April.

                                                                                                                        Casey.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Home.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Light.

                                                                                                                         There’s light.

                                                            It hurts.

                                                            He thought dying would stop the pain, but it’s risen to a fever pitch instead. His brother’s arms are gone, but the disease wraps around him in their place, consumes him. It rages like a wildfire, burning through his center until pieces start to flake away like ash.

Oh, this is what it does, what it was built for. The Kraang could have killed him in a lot of different ways. He’d wondered why they chose this one.

He hasn’t planned for it. This is something he didn’t even know to fear.

It’s bright and it hurts but it’s quiet as he crumbles, folds in on himself like a black hole in the utter silence of outer space. It’s quiet enough that the voice that breaks through does so clear as a bell.

His head turns to follow the sound, instinct. He’s lost half his field of vision, but what’s left is enough. He looks, and finds Casey.

Casey looks at him, at him, not the body. Donnie opens his mouth to ask a question — What are you doing here? How? Why? — but something else sloughs out instead. Not blood. He doesn’t have that anymore.

Casey calls his name once more and starts running.

Donnie’s questions fold back into his mind. His mouth clicks shut, he swallows back the putrid rot and pushes himself up. His arms are shattered but they’ll have to hold him. They have to. Because Casey is here and he needs something, which means Donnie missed something, which means he isn’t done.

His spirit disagrees with him, doesn’t see the logic. His arms don’t hold.

Casey reaches to catch him as he falls, and the touch ruptures him instead. He scatters. Into the air and the ground and Casey. For a moment, he’s just pieces, fumbling around and latching onto anything that welcomes them, and Casey does that. They flow into him. They’re him. They’re…

He’s…

Casey, he’s…

Donatello pulls himself back together. Most of himself, anyway. The infection hasn’t followed him but the damage persists. He’s run through with cracks and crevices, shaking bits away into infinity with every movement. But there’s more of him here than not.

Unexpectedly, Donnie is not gone. He’s still dead, but that’s fine, he planned for that one.

                                                                                                                         Casey has him now. He wraps himself around Donnie in layers, helps hold him together with a kind of sheer will that makes up for any lack of mystic knowledge in spades. Casey asks him to stay, and Donnie takes up the task like Sisyphus sizing up the hill. This time, this time I’ll do it right.

Even better, Casey has taken him to another time, one where all of Donnie’s long-term plans are now completely-fucking-reasonable plans. Casey’s going to fix it, so Donnie can fix everything else. Whatever else needs it. He hasn’t really asked. And he knows he’s missed something, but he doesn’t think too hard about what, not yet.

First thing’s first: he needs a body.

It’s so simple to accomplish that it seems like the universe is mocking him. Just a quick 1-2-3, ticking off the list. It feels almost stupid, like running back through the early levels of a video game after unlocking all the ultimate weapons and burning through enemies and obstacles, laughing, shit, did I used to think this was hard?

In no time at all, his own face has formed in front of him.

In no time at all, he’s gasping.

It’s only been a few hours since he last breathed air, but he’s missed it.

Another thing he’s missed? Functional musculature. Casey slams into him and Donnie is startled to find that it doesn’t knock him over. His arms and legs look like actual limbs again, not fragile little sticks disguising themselves as such. He stands, dragging Casey along without a second thought. The weight barely registers. It’s amazing.

The power trip is heady, but it only lasts a few minutes before reality kicks it in the ass and pulls him back down to earth.

We lost, Casey says.

They’re dead, Casey says.

It wasn’t enough, Casey does not say, but Donnie hears it just as clearly.

All those plans, the preparations, the precautions and protocols, they only borrowed a year or two before they fell apart. He sees the timeline spiral out before him, tighter and tighter until it collapses in on itself, rendered all the more insignificant from his own point of perception. He was alive yesterday. His family is dead today.

Everything he did, it wasn’t enough. Of course it wasn’t. He was stupid to think otherwise.

(Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Casey’s still here. It was enough for him, at least.)

It cuts at him a little, to have been so wrong. But he’s strong again, now. He can take the wound. More importantly, he has another chance to get it right.

Donnie breathes. His chest expands smoothly, easily. The air doesn’t rattle in his lungs. He’s alive, he’s a genius, he can fix anything.

He pulls up a list.

[linktoo-doodles]

dig me up, let me go

[front-facing-pokemon]

[sergle]

The unspoken part of that too, being called "soft squishy marshmallow mom shaped uwu" and then going, hm, no thanks. That's weird and uncomfortable. Is that people get SO TAKEN ABACK. And almost immediately switch straight into anger, because the idea of a fat person turning down a "compliment" is absolutely unthinkable.