#i wrote this all from my phone!

[rinneverse]

cw a little suggestive towards the end, mdni please and ty :)

alhaitham is the type to seethe quietly in his jealousy.

he’s not outwardly possessive—no, because he lets the stranger talk to you—his pretty girlfriend—about his thesis plans, about his academic feats, and you sit there with a smile plastered on your face, nodding your head as you listen to him prattle on and on and on.

alhaitham nearly bends the book in his hand into pieces with what he claims is annoyance. not possessiveness, no, that was out of character. he was just… annoyed, that this random man had the gall to interrupt his reading session with you.

that’s what he tells himself, at least.

of course, how was he supposed to know you were dating the akademiya scribe, when alhaitham was possibly the most low-key person ever? the two of you were quiet about your relationship, content to share it between yourselves. only your close friends really knew the extent of how deep your “friendship” with the scribe went.

as soon as the man leaves (not without leaving his number for you, of course), and the two of you are blanketed in the quiet murmurs of the akademiya library, alhaitham sets his book down. he turns to you.

he finds you staring at him, amusement flickering in your eyes. alhaitham tilts his head, all feline grace, his eyes narrowing into slits as he asks, “what?”

you shake your head mirthfully, crumpling up the slip of paper in your hand and tossing it into the nearest bin. alhaitham feels his shoulders un-tense just a fraction at the sight.

“nothing,” you say, but alhaitham knows you’re lying.

so he leans closer to you, grasping your chin in his hand as he tilts your head back and forces your gaze to meet his.

“liar. what is it?”

you smile. wide and wider it grows, and you reach a hand up to brush alhaitham’s cheek. he barely suppresses a shudder at the gentle touch.

“i didn’t think you to be the jealous type.”

“i’m not.”

“then what was that all about?” you hum. you’re… amused by this. amused by him grappling with his emotions. alhaitham feels his lips twitch downward.

if you didn’t know any better, he would appear to just be frowning. but you did… and it was like he was pouting. you giggle.

“i am annoyed,” alhaitham says, stressing the last word, “that we were interrupted by a stranger. nothing more.”

“nothing more?” you parrot, your eyes gleaming with amusement. “sure. and i’m the grand sage.”

alhaitham bites his tongue, pulling his hand away from your chin. his fingers flex—he has to stamp down on his self-control. being found in a compromising position in the library would surely wreck the both of your social statuses.

but the thrill of it… seeing you bent over the table, utterly wrecked under the careful ministrations of his hands—getting to mark his claim on you...

he quickly shakes the dangerous train of thought away.

“do you want to go home?” you suddenly ask, a coy smile dancing on your lips. he must have been obvious where his line of thinking was going, if you managed to catch on that quickly. the grin on your face tells him that you did.

alhaitham pretends to ponder it. grabs the book he set down, turns it over in his hands, then shrugs.

“sure. kaveh shouldn’t be home for another few hours.”

his voice was bedroom-soft, and the tone in which he said it—nearly purring—has heat pooling in your core.

“alright. let’s go?”

he wordlessly rises, holding out his hand for you. there’s a small part of him that feels a maddening satisfaction when you let out a pleased hum, followed by a surprised yelp as he gracefully slides an arm around you.

someone nearby makes a “shh” noise, and he completely ignores it. you giggle out an apology.

it was utterly unlike him, he thinks, as he guides you through the library with his arm wrapped around your waist, slowly moving to rest his hand on the small of your back when the two of you exit the library.

maybe he’ll try being more public in his attention to you. that would most certainly keep this from happening again.

[steddieas-shegoes]

cw: mentions of scarring, canon-typical violence, flashback (not graphic), minor body horror (again, not graphic, mostly just emotional feelings about scars)

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

Everyone gave him weird looks when they walked in, quickly schooling their features when they noticed he was awake and watching them.

He didn’t know exactly what that was about.

They had him on a lot of good drugs.

But eventually he got weaned off them, and he noticed the pull of bandages on his side, and his arm, and his neck, and his face.

He was still unable to get out of bed. Still couldn’t even reach his arms above his chest for more than a few seconds.

But he damn sure reached up to feel the cloth and plastic surrounding his cheek. How had he not noticed for days? How had no one bothered him about it?

Maybe they had and he just didn’t notice. The morphine was one hell of a drug.

Wayne was soft, patient with him. Saw him touching it, saw the way his eyes filled with tears. He’d never been particularly vain, hadn’t cared much about what he looked like to others, but this felt bigger than that. This felt like he was changed in a way that everyone could see.

Add it to the list of things people could bully him for.

He cried himself to sleep, Wayne’s hand in his, silently comforting in the way he’d always done.

When he woke up again the next morning, he was alone.

It was the first time he’d been alone since the boathouse.

He could swear he heard bats outside his door, screams coming from the attached bathroom, flashes of someone dying on the ceiling.

He felt the sharp sting of teeth puncturing his skin.

He felt hopelessness creep into his bones as he gave in.

Maybe this time they would finish the job.

“Eddie!”

Steve Harrington’s voice broke through the thoughts, panicked enough to bring Eddie back to his hospital bed within a second of hearing it.

“Shit, are you okay?” He continued, hand brushing against Eddie’s bandaged cheek.

Eddie nodded once, closed his eyes, leaned into the touch.

He could blame it on any number of things if Steve felt weird about it. The morphine, the flashback, the loneliness.

“You’re okay, Eddie. I promise. Won’t let anything happen to you,” Steve whispered.

Eddie believed him.

He fell back asleep with Steve’s hand gently cupping the mangled side of his face.

If Steve could still touch him there, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

Steve came by every day, sometimes in the early morning, before visiting hours officially started, sometimes well after Wayne had left to get some sleep. He always smiled when he walked in, a genuine one, not the one everyone else gave that was so fully of pity and pain he couldn’t bear to make eye contact. He sat down on the side of the bed, not the chair like everyone else, not scared to be close.

And every single day, without fail, he would run his finger along the edge of Eddie’s bandage on his face, watching his own movements and cataloging any changes.

Eddie sat quietly, still, scared to put words to anything happening. Scared to tell Steve what it meant to him to have someone acknowledge his pain in this way. Scared to think Steve could mean anything by it.

It was easy to pretend Steve was doing this because he cared.

Maybe he did care.

But he didn’t care the way Eddie wanted him to, needed him to.

So he stayed quiet, still.

He watched.

He fell asleep while Steve talked about his day, the kids, what Joyce made Hopper do around the house.

He woke up alone most days, but that was okay, because Steve would be there eventually.

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

“You ready to get that thing off?” Wayne asked, gesturing to the bandage.

“Oh. Today?” Eddie suddenly didn’t want to ever be without the bandage. Removing it meant he’d see what was under it.

It meant seeing how much that place had ruined him.

The pull of the stitches hadn’t been as obvious with the pull of the bandage masking it.

But now it’s all he felt.

The nurse smiled at him as she put some antibiotic cream over the area, saying he would probably still have to keep it extra clean for the next week or so while the stitches did their job.

Wayne smiled at him in the way that meant he didn’t really want to smile at all, but knew Eddie needed him to.

Steve didn’t come.

Eddie didn’t sleep.

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

He woke up with panic in his chest and a silent scream in his throat.

He woke up with Steve’s hand on his face.

Gentle, soft, but a strong comfort.

“Promise I washed them first. They said we have to be careful about germs,” Steve said quietly.

“You don’t have to. I know it’s…it’s gross. It’s ugly. I’m ugly.”

Steve shook his head. “No. Not gross. Not ugly. Alive.”

“Steve-“

“You’re alive, Eddie. You could have your entire face held together by staples and you would still be a miracle. You’d still be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Well, Steve’s charm wasn’t an exaggeration, was it?

He wasn’t even sure if the skin barely pulled together could blush anymore, or if the heat that should be on his cheek was burning on the outside the way it felt like it was on the inside.

“It’s gonna be awful when it heals. I saw it in the mirror.” Eddie could feel every stitch in his jaw, the few that spread across the corner of his mouth and bottom lip, the ones that were nearly up to his ear. “I’ll always have a crooked face. The scar will always be huge. It’s all anyone will see.”

“Then they aren’t looking.”

Eddie bit his lip, eyes searching Steve’s. “But you are.”

“No. I’m seeing. There’s a difference. I see you. I see what you’ve survived. I see the mark it left on you. I know it wasn’t just the scars that cover your skin.” Steve leaned his head down, touching Eddie’s forehead with his own. “We all have them. And we’re all still here. Your heart’s beating. That’s all that matters to me.”

“Who knew you were so good with words?” Eddie smiled sadly.

“Robin says I’m just good at not having a filter.”

“She’s right as always.” Eddie wrapped his fingers around Steve’s wrist, turning as slowly as he could to kiss his palm. “You’re not scared of it.”

“No. Are you?”

“I’m scared that you’ll change your mind when it’s always there as a reminder of what happened.”

Steve kissed his nose, making him smile for the first time in what felt like years.

“I’ll have the reminder that I got you out of there. That no matter what, the bats couldn’t finish the job. That you were stronger and you made it.” Steve let his hand drop, but quickly laced his fingers with Eddie’s. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you to trust me, but will you? For today?”

“Just today?”

“I’ll ask again tomorrow.”

“And what? Every day after that?”

Steve smirked.

His eyes were glistening with tears, but Eddie could tell it wasn’t sadness or fear.

“If that’s what I have to do.”

They hadn’t even talked about feelings, not really. Nothing that made any sense to Eddie, nothing that they could define. A part of Eddie was still convinced he was in a coma and dreaming this entire conversation up.

But even the nurse had noticed the way Steve watched him, how he touched him, how he fought for him. She said he’d been a firecracker from the moment he carried him into the hospital, dripping blood on the tile, staining the halls with his demands for help.

Wayne said he barely left his side the first day, only doing so when the doctors had told him they would call the cops if he didn’t.

Erica even noticed how things had changed between them, stating that she refused to watch her babysitter and the only DM she had respect for make out.

But Steve held Eddie, made him feel like he could get out of the hospital bed and live a life that wouldn’t keep him running. Steve was there.

Steve might even love him. If not now, then some day.

And Eddie could trust him today.

He could probably trust him tomorrow.

“Kiss me?” Eddie probably shouldn’t. The stitches tugged when he talked, and another mouth anywhere near his wounds was just asking for an infection.

But Steve would be careful. He knew what Eddie could handle.

It was barely a kiss. A graze of the lips at most.

But it was the best kiss Eddie had ever had.

At least until tomorrow.

[franeridart]

The Housecat Philosophy - Ep 44

Ep 00 || < Prev || Next >

Read ahead on Patreon || Catch up on Webtoon || support me on ko-fi~✨

[fuctacles]

Unusual, but maybe not in a bad way

Eddie's shoes might look good, but they were never a good choice for summer rains. He kept forgetting that and letting the reality of his fashion choices hit him hard in the face. Or knees.

The bus had a moving plate in the middle that usually wasn't a problem but today wasn't usual. Today the rain was pouring and Eddie's phone was at 15% because he had been too lazy to plug it in before falling asleep. So today he had to switch seats to one next to a charging port and as he was making the short voyage, a few things aligned perfectly to make today unusual, and in a bad way.

The rotating plate was wet from the rain.

The soles of his shoes had no grip.

The bus turned left.

"Shit."

Eddie gathered himself off the wet floor, cursing his shoes, the weather, and the throbbing pain in his knee. Without looking up he fell heavily into the seat that was his destination, afraid of the amused stares he might catch. His dignity? Gone. His pants? Well, they were torn already anyway so one new hole didn't make much difference. His knee? Bleeding, apparently. As he rubbed his knees, one of his hands came out red. He groaned.

"Of fucking course." He just had to hit something sharp on the usually safe and relatively smooth surface. 

When he was reaching to plug in his phone, someone grabbed the pipe just above the USB port. Eddie looked up and found a man looking down at him. He also realized the golden frames of his glasses complimented his hazelnut eyes beautifully.

"You should clean this up," the man said instead of making fun of him or asking if he was okay. No, he was holding out a packet of wet wipes like some kind of saint.

Eddie hesitated for a moment but while his dignity might be gone, the gorgeous man in front of him wasn't. He took the offered wipe.

"Thanks," he murmured, wiping the cut and the surrounding skin, cleaning off sand and blood.

The man dropped a backpack on the vacant seat next to him. Eddie eyed the pins attached to it; a couple of dinosaurs, a Hufflepuff crest, ‘protect trans kids’, and… a bisexual flag. Score.

"Pirates, Hello Kitty or dinosaurs?"

"Huh?"

"Band-aid," the man clarified, shaking a small tin can he fished out of his backpack. "I work with kids," he added like it explained everything. Well, it kind of did. Upon opening, the tin revealed an assortment of colourful band-aids.

Eddie hummed in thought, considering his choices.

"Dinosaurs."

"Good choice," the man praised with a smile, probably the same one he showed to the kids. Was he a teacher? Because suddenly all the teacher-student porn scenarios gained a new appeal. Where skimpy pencil skirts didn’t work on Eddie, a soft green jumper just might, apparently.

The man handed him a dino band-aid, apparently expecting him to apply it himself. Well, of course. They were two strangers on a bus, after all.

Disappointed, he put it on the cut, missing the amused tilt of the teacher's lips.

"Do you need anything else? I have some candy; lollipops, gummies…" The man flipped through the contents of his bag.

"Gummies?" Eddie's interest was piqued.

"They have colourful fillings and a tiny dragon on each wrapper," he advertised, offering him a small baggie to choose from. Again, his tone reminded him of an adult talking to a kid. This shouldn't be working on him as well as it was.

"Can I have two?" he asked, looking up into these stunning brown eyes. The level difference was not helping. Has he not sat down on purpose? To tower over poor Eddie's tiny metal heart?

The man smiled as he took a quick conspiratorial look around.

"You can even have three, just don't tell my kids," he whispered

"I ain't a snitch!" he assured and picked up two green candies and an orange one. Because red flavours belonged in the trash.

Or apparently in the plush mouth of a handsome stranger, since he picked one of those for himself. Maybe Eddie didn't hate them that much, after all. He could make an exception. Especially if he could taste them the fun way.

"You sure you don't want a lollipop? Water? Extra band-aid?"

Eddie shook his head adamantly but had a nagging feeling the man was stalling. His gaze dropped to the flag badge, giving him an instant shot of courage.

"Your number?"

The soft teacher's smile turned sly, and he knew he took the right step. His metal heart thumped in his chest, the sound resonating against his ribs. What a fun feeling.

"Better hurry up, my stop is next."

Eddie nearly dropped his phone in his haste to put in the string of numbers.

"What do I…?" he asked when the empty ‘name’ box stared at him from the screen.

"Steve," the man offered, just in time for the bus to stop. The doors swung open, and he was gone, but while the physical distance between them grew, Eddie now had the comfort of having him in the palm of his hand, hidden behind a number.

>> Thanks for the candy! 🖤 - Eddie 

[Steddie masterpost] [Ao3] [ko-fi]

[plusultraetc]

happy spooky season!! here's the Halloween header as it's own post! I'm not much of an artist but I thought this idea was really fun 🧡

[umbrace-rambles]

One Piece and Being Different

I could talk long and wide about all the things I love about One Piece, from the worldbuilding to the character writing to the political/darker topics it touches, anything. But one of the main reasons I personally love it so much and I don't believe has been talked about as much as it should, is how much it celebrates otherness. This is very much an overarching theme in the series because pirates by themselves directly go against society's standards, but this is focused more on a character point.

Objectively speaking, most OP characters are freaks and weirdos and strange and off putting, and it's good! Luffy specially, and he is the MAIN character, celebrates and embodies this weirdness to the extreme, and it's incredible how he manages to push this idea to other people around him too. It happens time and time again that he will meet someone and, the more different they are, the more he instantly wants them to join his crew. He is so incredibly driven by the wonder of discovering things different to him that he only feels happy about their existence, he wants to know and have fun with and love them because they're different!

And it has been acknowledged, the general effect Luffy has on people, how he manages to pull them to him like moth to a flame and recruit them to his side without even trying. It’s such incredible power, but it's also incredible how everybody around him, and especially his crew, always strive to become better for him, and most of the time becoming better, in OP, implies stop being normal. Being human, being acceptable by society's standards.

Like damn, the whole character plot of Luffy's fight against Katakuri was Katakuri coming to realize that he doesn't have to put up a front for other people, that he can keep going being himself, without hiding his monstrous features. That is when Katakuri stops fighting for his family and starts fighting because he wants to. And even after Luffy wins that fight he is respectful of Katakuri's wishes and covers his mouth with his hat.

Most of the Strawhat crew are really adopted strays, lost people and old enemies. They were othered, by people or circumstance, and Luffy gave them a home and a purpose. And in their increasing devotion to his cause, and through his constant love towards them, they have learned to stop being afraid of being different. Luffy will always accept them.

Franky had to quite literally rebuild himself into a living weapon, he chose to do that so his Battle Frankies couldn't be used against his will ever again, but despite being a cyborg he still looked mostly human. His pre-time skip design often shows how he pulls off his skin gloves to punch with his real metal hands. He was a criminal and shunned by his city and he was okay with that, but he still chose to blend in. After he joins Luffy he fully embraces himself and becomes quite extravagant in his own design, he is proud to show off his body modifications, he has fun with it, he accepts his cards and decides to use them at their full extent for Luffy. His metal parts in full display, painted with bright colors. Flame-shaped fists, changing his hairstyle at the push of a button, that is not someone trying to blend in anymore.

Chopper is a character whose biggest fear has always been being an outcast. He was bullied out of his herd for not being reindeer enough, he was hunted down by humans for not being human enough. Eventually, however, he learns that in order to be able to keep going, to defend his newfound family, he will have to become a monster for them, and he is happy to, because he would do anything for them. He knows that they will never think less of him for being a monster, for being different. These are some of the most extreme examples but every single character in the crew reflects this theme in some way.

We have people with extremely bizarre powers, shapeshifters, furries, witches, made up creatures, zombies, talking animals, talking food, living skeletons, a whole kingdom of queers, sea monsters, dragons, human experiments and so much more. In a series that mixes so many genres, so many themes, so many types of characters, such outrageous and unconventional character designs could have been used for mockery, or simply used as villainous traits as so many other stories do. And they are certainly sometimes cause of mockery, but it's rarely ever malign. In OP this extreme otherness is often a source of awe, a positive trait, something to be admired. It certainly is for Luffy.

Luffy is a main character that exclusively judges people by their true selves, beyond what they may be saying or doing, with his very keen emotional intelligence. In the world of One Piece, where the maximum power is held by the World Goverment, an organization that actively shuns everything different and is willing to sacrifice anything for the continuity of censorship, power and control, that turns a blind eye towards unaffiliated countries, the slave trade, and the underworld, that is willing to create agreements with some of the most feared pirates and allow them to continue to exercise fear in exchange for their assistance as brute force, Luffy and his recurring thread of freedom and acceptance is beautifully fitting.

[babybluebex]

based off of this post…. cw drug use, anal sex, fingering, ralph is so nasty and i love it (also short af sorry)

ralph getting you on the bed and kissing your neck, his hands roaming your entire body. you’re a little drunk from the rager downstairs, feeling light and floaty from the bubbly champagne, and ralph is too, snickering as his fingers trace the hem of your fringed dress. he tastes like liquor and his sequined jacket rattles with every movement, and you clutch his jacket and smear your waxy purple lipstick all over his lips as you kiss him. “ralph” you whimper, your legs opening to shove his thigh right against your cunt. “need you, baby.”

“i know” ralph mumbles and he rucks your dress up past your hips, teasingly snapping your garter around your smooth thigh. “but first i wanna…”

“wanna what?” you ask as ralph sits up, undoing the button of his jacket and shucking it off. he hastily rips off his bow tie and undoes the top three buttons of his shirt, just enough to show his white undershirt and the thin chain-link necklace he wears.

he goes into the pocket of his jacket before letting go of it and letting it fall haphazardly to the floor; one of the maids can deal with it later. a small vial is in his palm now, full of that coveted white powder that ralphie loves. he doesn’t indulge in it very often, just for special occasions, and today, his birthday, is the most special occasion of all. “turn over” he tells you, pushing your dress even further up to your belly, exposing your panties and garters and stockings to him. ralph is a simple man, and he loves your ass, and he sends a quick smack to your plump body as you turn onto your stomach.

you can faintly hear ralph uncapping the small vial as you adjust yourself, raising your ass in the air for what you know is coming. ralph tangles his thick fingers in your panties and shoves them roughly down to your thighs, and he mumbles under his breath “perfect ass, can’t wait…” as he makes a fat rail on your rounded ass. he knows his limits, but he likes to push them, and you shiver in anticipation. if ralphie does coke off your ass, then he’ll likely eat it too, which always ends up with ralphie screwing you up the ass. it’s debauching, it’s taboo, but you’ve never felt such a pleasure.

before you know it, ralph is leaning down and pressing his big nose to your ass, and he inhales, taking up all the coke. he does it like the expert he is, not wasting a single morsel of it, and he sniffs in deep and wipes his nose as he comes back up for air. “fuck” he whispers. “good girl, sitting all still for me. gonna do another line, do you want any?”

“no” you said. “s’all for you, ralphie.”

he smacks your ass again, watching it jiggle, and he makes another line on your bare asscheek, snorting it up in quick succession. you feel his tongue, wet and warm, lick up the bits he missed, and your belly flips as his hot hands grab your ass and spread your cheeks wide, exposing your little winking hole to him. he kisses your skin, licks over to your hole, and he presses his lips to your asshole and sucks hard.

“ralph!” you squeal, and he pulls back, spitting a mouthful of saliva onto your hole. in no time, his thick fingers are prodding you, threatening to sink in, and your cunt clenches around nothing.

“that dirty cunt wants to be filled, doesn’t it?” ralph chuckles. he’s such a sweetheart but, when he’s high, he gets a little mean, and you love it. “i’m gonna fill your ass first, then maybe, if you’re good for me, i’ll breed that cunt. you’d like that, wouldn’t you, dirty bitch?”

“yes” you moan, your thighs quivering. “i want it, ralph, please, baby!”

without warning, one of his fingers sank into your ass, and you groaned at the sudden wet intrusion. “god” ralph moans, fucking your ass with his finger. “you take me so well, this ass loves me, huh?”

“so much” you whimper, backing your ass up to him, trying to get him deeper. “fuck me, ralph, fuck me, please!”

“filthy whore” ralph chuckles, and he quickly adds a second finger. the stretch burns, and your pussy pumps out a gush of wetness at the feeling of his warm signet ring against your rim. “aw, look at you, all wet for me. good girl, i’ll get my cock in your arse in just a moment.”

he pulls his fingers out of you, making you hiss suddenly, and he mumbles out something about “on your back”. his hands are strong as he grabs you and practically manhandles you onto your back, and ralph grabs your thighs and shoves your legs up high, your knees almost nudging your ears. when you looked at his face, you saw his cheeks all red, smoothing down onto his neck and ears, his dark eyes blown wide; it was hard to tell the black from the brown anyway, but especially when he was high. he is high as a fucking kite, and you reach for his trousers. he already has a tent in his pants, and, when he tugs out his cock, your mouth waters. he is hard as a rock, red and flushed and leaking, and he doesn’t hesitate to spread your ass again and spear his cock into your wet hole.

you can’t help it; you scream. ralph fucks you hard, his gelled hair falling with sweat into his eyes, and your ass stretches around his cock with every ravaging thrust. you can feel him in his belly, and you watch as ralph removes one hand from your waist and shoves two fingers into your wet pussy. you’ve never felt more full, and tears dot at your eyes as ralph’s hot prick buries deep inside you, his heavy cum-filled balls hitting you and making the most lewd noises possible. “ralphie!” you yelp as his rough fingers find your g-spot inside you, and your ass tightens around his cock.

“fuck, baby” ralph grunts, and he pulls his fingers from your pussy and smacks your wetness hard enough to make you jolt. “scream my name, lovie, let everyone know who’s fucking you.”

“ralph!” you whimper, grabbing hard at his shoulders. “baby, i’m gonna cum!”

“i haven’t even touched your pathetic clit yet” ralph laughs, smacking your pussy again as his cock continues to fuck into your ass. “fuck, this is good, baby, perfect ass….”

“happy birthday, ralph” you tell him, your voice cracking, and ralph smiles wildly.

“i wouldn’t call this a present” ralph jokes. “you let me in your arse every other day. i think we oughta find another present”

“like what?” you ask, and ralph presses his fingers back into your sticky cunt, fucking you in time with his cock.

“i’m not sure” ralph says. “maybe i should take you downstairs and fuck you in front of everyone and show the what a slut you are for the birthday boy.”

“anything you want” you mumble, your eyes clenching shut as the knot of pleasure tightens in your belly. “whatever you want, ralphie”

“hmm” ralph hums. “you know what? i wanna make you squirt. make the biggest mess you can, sweetheart, make the maids hate us.”

“they already do” you giggle, and ralph presses a third finger into your cunt. “fuck! so full, ralphie! i’m gonna cum!”

“fucking cum, baby” ralph says. “cum all over my cock and fingers, do it, whore.”

ralph leans down and sucks hard at your neck, surely leaving a mark, and he strokes your g-spot as his dick rams hard into your ass. your legs feel numb as you wrap them around ralph’s hips and squeeze him hard, and ralph groans into your neck. “m’gonna fill that arse” he says. “fuck, fill your arse with my cum and make you go back to the party, leaking me. won’t be able to sit without whining and remembering the way i fucked your arse. such a whore for the birthday boy.”

[whumble-beeee]

The Name of The Game

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 8

Content: mentioned past attempted noncon, hysterical whumpee/nervous breakdown (seriously yall, it gets bad), disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, tied up/handcuffs, noncon unshirtening, past captivity references

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[While following this guide, as well as generally while playing the wonderful game that is villainy, you will find that the advice can rarely be fitted to every specific scenario. But one piece of advice is universal: If you value your freedom, your loved ones, and your life, you must never reveal your secret identity to your captured hero. As soon as you do, there is no more facade. Villainy is no longer a game. It is your life. And heroes will not hesitate to destroy your life if it means they can win the game. 

If a hero (or ANY untrusted party) ever happens upon your secret identity, it is your responsibility, as a villain and as a human being, to accept the end of your life as you know it…

Or to ensure that the hero can never tell another living soul.]

* * * * * * * *

“See you soon?” Deeby repeated Sweater-vest’s last words incredulously. “See you soon?! Christ, and you know he knows– god, he just needs to stop being such un pendejo and shut the hell up, stop making everything about his goddamn god complex and shoving it en las caras de todos–”

The sudden anger from the usually cool and smug Deeby did not help the apparent panic attack seeping ever so quickly into Stan’s consciousness, especially with said seething bounty hunter circling around the room like an angry shark as he muttered to himself and gesticulated wildly. 

Stan cowered to hide his shirtlessness from said angry shark. His chest and limbs started to buzz from all the excess oxygen entering his system as he took in heavy breaths, his head spinning, dizzy, hurting, every muscle clenching.

“--y quién se cree ese cabrón para venir a joderme MI TRABAJO?” 

He was so angry. So loud, talking so fast, and what the hell was he even saying?! It was too much, too much.

 “Y la puta Lana no puede ni aparecer para decirme que me está jodiendo la vida OTRA VEZ porque es lo único que le encanta hacer, joderme TODO lo que–”

Stop it stop it stay calm stay calm please not now please please please not now you can’t show weakness like this in front of your kidnapper you can’t stop it STOP IT–

He took in an involuntary loud heaving breath. Then fell into a stuttering slew of smaller breaths as he tried to keep quiet, and Deeby finally took notice of the state of his captive. 

Stan squeaked and pulled the jacket around himself tighter. He was small, he was silent, he was invisible. 

Then he gasped in another desperate heaving breath with an involuntary cry of panic when he suddenly ran out of air. He’d stopped breathing entirely with all his efforts.

“Stan? Qué es–... Ah, you good?”

Stan nodded quickly, shaking. “F-fine, fine.”

Deeby raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t lie to me. What is this, you having a panic attack?”

He couldn’t get his eyes to focus, but he shook his head fervently. Then reeled as it made the dizziness and headache so much worse.

“Stan, talk to me, chiquito. If he actually did something to you, tell me. I need a good reason to kill him, you’d be helping me out a lot.”

He didn't actually even hurt me, did he? 

“No–! I-I u-uh-uh yes-s-s, but– but–” 

I don't WANT to ‘help you out’! I don't want to talk about it! ESPECIALLY not with you. 

He let out a whine and failed to swallow the giant knot forming in his throat.

“Alright, is this about the shirt then? Or the uh, the chest thing? Is that why you went from colonizer white to ghost white when you thought I was gonna make you strip earlier?” He walked over to the tattered shirt and scooped it up. “Because if that's what got you, I can assure you I don’t give a single crap what you’ve–... got in your...”

Deeby trailed off as he held up the grey strips of fabric that used to be Stan's button-down. 

And just stared.

Stan gawked at the unrecognizable shredded fabric hanging in the bounty hunter's hands. His breath caught in his throat. He hadn't realized how utterly destroyed his beloved shirt was. What was he supposed to wear now?

“That… Motherfucker…” Deeby muttered, almost as as aghast as Stan. “Christ, I knew he'd pull some grade-A bullshit, but this–”

“Y-you KNEW?!” Stan gasped out, surprising himself with the volume of his outburst. “You– You knew he was gonna– gonna try to...”

Deeby didn't look up from the tatters in his hands. “Yeah. He's predictable, if nothing else.”

Stan's entire body felt like it was full of angry bees. “You–... You left me-e alone with ‘im. On pu-urpose.”

“And everything turned out fine, you're fine. Look runt, we need to have a little talk about what–”

“NO!” Stan cried, ignoring the drop in his stomach when Deeby's eyes took on a slight challenging glint at the interruption. “No, don’t change the subject! You left me alone with him! You knew he was gonna try to– to rape me and you left me alone with him! Handcuffed, chained to the floor, powerless, immobile, beat up to hell and– a-and unable to defend myself and you-you left me alone with him!”

The floodgates were opening. The stifling sense of justice suffocating Stan from the inside out wouldn’t let the injustices go unsaid any longer, crashing through his body and just about ready to make him burst. Ironic, given the everything.

Deeby’s jaw set. “Stan. I wouldn’t have left that shit-for-brains alone with anyone if I didn’t have to.”

“Oh, but you– you had to?” Stan taunted, hoping the sarcasm came through in his voice even with the stuttering and heaving breaths. “What, Dee-deeby the great bounty hunter actually answers to someone? Enough to put the uh, the bounty in danger? Or are you just scared of him, wanted to get away?!” 

Deeby snorted.

“Hell yeah, I'll do whatever if the buyer asks it,” he proclaimed. "And I'm not scared of that human cringe-fail. The day I'm scared of him is the day I'm dragged away screaming and turned into… well, you, basically. But I mean, that's when he's actually dangerous…" 

He seemed to think on it for a moment. Then crouched down in front of Stan, smug grin replaced with something like the look a friend gives when they think you're about to ruin your life with a single dumb decision.

“Honesty, bud… I wouldn't be so tough around a guy like that if I were a guy like you. Best to just fuel his ego.”

Stan physically recoiled. “Don't tell me what–! Who-wh–…”

That insult sounded way too genuine. Since when was the mercenary genuine?

“Wait, wait, you'd…” Stan shook his head, trying to untangle his thoughts from the spaghetti of his mind. This concussion was killing him. He could barely think. “If you were… Who even was th-that?”

Another chuckle. “What, Tweedy? That was Vaughn. He said that earlier, though I applaud your ability to block him out. Wish I could do that.”

Then again, the hunter was most likely just trying to psych him out. Get him to behave again. Stan wouldn't fall for something like that.

“No, idiot, I mean–... I meant who is he? Why is he going to-to see me soon?… And– and for that matter, are you working together? Because it seems like you hate each other.”

Deeby let out a huff of air. “Look, bud, we need to talk about that phone call I had to take, the boss–”

“You're avoiding the question.”

“Well frankly, there's more important things to talk about,” Deeby dismissed quickly. “So I was talking with the boss-lady on the phone while you were–”

“I don’t care about what that Lana person has to say!” Stan said, slamming his hands on the floor for effect, a breath-stealing pang running through his ribs at the jostling. “Jus– Just tell me who you guys are, tell me why I’m here, tell me why I should be scared of ‘a guy like that’! Who ARE you?!”

Deeby narrowed his eyes slightly. “We need to talk about what's going to happen to you next. And you're gonna listen to that. Not yell demands at me like some asshole 6-year-old, because you already know I don't deal with all that ‘who am I, secret identity’ crap, so you're not getting those answers.”

Well actually, judging by the horrible sticky weight that slammed Stan in the gut when Deeby said that, he didn't want to know what horrors awaited him next. So next best thing? Keep being an asshole 6-year-old.

“Why?”

“Anonymity is the most valuable tool you can have in this game.” Deeby recited it like a script, exaggerating a monotone boredom. “Also I'm not an idiot, it's protocol that's saved me before, it helps me do my job without getting invested… take your pick.”

“You're not even wearing your mask any more!” Stan cried. “So much for secret identity!”

“I think what you're meaning to say is ‘thank you for rushing to save my damsel-in-distress ass from some twink with scissors when you heard me screaming for help even though you were dealing with a really important phone call from the worst person ever’. And you're very welcome. Now we need to talk about what I found out in that dumbass phone call and what it means for you.”

He always had an answer for everything, huh? Always another quip.

Stan's blood started to boil, and he may have actually, genuinely growled a little. 

“S-so-so so what, you are scared of her, then? You're scared of her and that's why you left me with that monster?!” He tried, spitting back as much smug asshole-ness as Deeby had been throwing at him. “Is that why you hate them, you’re just their damn lackey doing whatever they tell you to do?! Just a puppet for them to guide around, running around capturing supers and serving them up on a silver platter like a good little servant?!”

Deeby stared at him, genuinely stunned by the sudden venom in the captive's words. His fists clenched by his side.

 Hm. Stan may have gone too far.

“Look, McKellen,” Deeby spat as he took an authoritative step forward, voice slow, low and dark. “There are things at play here that you can’t know about–”

“Why not?!” Stan felt like he was losing it, voice creaky and high and hoarse. “Obviously I’m gonna be trapped here with you assholes for the rest of my short life until you kill me with some new form of torture experiment bullshit! Why not tell me everything?! Why not do whatever you want with me?! Just tell me! Please!!”

Stan glared desperately at the bounty hunter. He knew he wasn’t even just crossing the line at this point; he was sprinting over the line and stomping on it repeatedly in a panic-fueled frenzy, kicking at it and letting out his full fury as if the line itself had done this to him, as if absolutely decimating the line would somehow fix everything.

Way deep down, almost too far down to admit to himself, he almost hoped the mercenary would see through the insults and the fighting to see the pleading, hurt, scared man underneath. And then take pity. Just let him have this one thing, before he broke entirely.

But the bounty hunter glared right back at him.

“No.” He stated venomously. “Right now, you're going to shut up. And listen.”

As if Stan would ever listen to the orders of his kidnapper. Of a villain.

A small laugh, just a little chuckle, took root his chest. A disbelieving smile cracked across his face.

The absence of the signature unbothered grin, the absence of the mask, the deathly seriousness? Not to mention the gun, the knives, the chains, the handcuffs, the power suppressing collar, no cane or crutch or any viable mobility aid in sight, and beaten so hard multiple times that he probably couldn't run properly anyway even if he did have a knee that actually worked…

This really was hopeless, wasn't it? 

He could rage against the dying of the light all he wanted. Scream and shout and cry and fight and say witty things to hide the excruciating, never-ending pain. 

But the light would still die all the same.

He clutched Deeby's very own stupid cowboy-ass jacket around his shoulders. He couldn't even defend himself from getting his shirt ripped to shreds right off his body!

And this bitch–

“You– you don't think…” he had to pause to let out a barrage of inappropriate giggles, then shoved up shakily to his feet, back braced against the wall. “You don't still think I'm gonna– that, that I'm gonna escape, do you?!”

Deeby gave pause, eyeing Stan up and down. Really thinking about it. He took a deep breath. A low grumble emanated from the base of his throat.

“No. I don't.”

Stan laughed out again, full force this time. Desperate. Tearful.

“Then just–... just TELL ME!! IT DOESN'T MATTER!! IT DOESN'T!! IT'LL DIE WITH ME!!”

The mercenary's mouth pressed into a thin line. Was that confusion etched into his features? Or worry? Maybe anger…

“It does matter,” He growled through gritted teeth. “It's probably the most important thing you could know, who I am. Who we are.”

Stan let out a loud cry of anguish, screeching out every single frustration at the unfairness of the world, at this situation, at Deeby and Vaughn and whoever Lana was, at the collar and the chains and the cut and bruises and broken bones and his broken, useless knee into a single, guttural sound. 

“WHY WON'T YOU TELL ME ANYTIN-GAH-AH!!”

Very, very suddenly, the lapels of Deeby's loosely draped jacket tightened around his body and slammed him back into the wall, the fleece-lined collar of the jacket twisting and pulling on the power-suppressing strap clamped around his neck, contracting it, choking him just as the slam forced all the breath out of his lungs. 

Stan clawed back against the force, only managing to grasp at Deeby’s forearms uselessly as they twisted the jacket ever tighter around him. Pinning his arms. Trapping him. He had to heave in and out gasping breaths just to get enough air to breath through his half obstructed airways.

“Look at me, chiquito,” the bounty hunter snarled. “Look me in the eye!”

Stan's panicked eyes paused their sporadic dance around the room. They locked dead onto the mercenary's fiery gaze.

“Did you break your damn brain in the 3 minutes I was gone?” Deeby hissed into his ear. Stan almost screeched in terror. “I don't know what sort of fuckery your mind has been conjuring up that you can't get this very simple concept without going insane,” he jolted Stan and dragged out an involuntary whimper from his throat. 

“But whatever it is, shut it down. Now. I'm gonna tell you the bare minimum of what you need to know, and you're gonna sit there and listen or else I won't tell you jack shit and knock you unconscious so I don't have to deal with your bullshit. Agreed?!” 

“I– Ah, a-ah, I– No, I- I, no-no no No-o–”

He couldn't get his thoughts to line up properly. They swarmed around his head like locusts in a dust bowl, bouncing into each other, frenzied, an indecipherable cloud of fear and frustration that his horrible attempt at defiance, futile as it may have been, always just made everything worse.

He could never stop himself.

Angry tears rimmed at Stan's eyes. His body hurt. His brain pounded in his skull. His ribs cried out in protest as they pressed into the wall. The various bruises and their dull, throbbing aches, the cuts and bleeding wounds and their sharp, searing screeches, the sticky and caked on dried blood, so familiar now it was almost a second skin, Deeby's weight pinning him to the wall, so similar and yet so different to the way Vaughn had done the same.

No. No, no, no, no.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears finally falling in hot, fat drops down his cheeks. The bounty hunter was so close, too close. Stan tried to pull away, and he just leaned on him harder, their faces barely inches apart.

“Agreed, chiquito?” The voice rumbled through his entire body, sending shivers up and down his spine.

No no no no no no no he needed to get away, get away now, please please that's all he needed he couldn't get away he couldn't even move his arms he could barely breathe–

“WHY DON'T YOU JUST RAPE ME ALREADY?!” Stan screamed into the endless cacophonous void.

And silence.

And the entire world went still.

Deeby’s mouth fell literally agape.

His grip on Stan loosened considerably. Not out of pity or any other considerate emotion. Just shock.

At least Stan could finally breathe again. Not that he took a single breath in the silence.

“I–...” Deeby finally choked out. “I-I beg you finest fucking what?!”

“Just fucking do it,” Stan hissed, gasping. “We both know you could. I couldn't even stop Vaughn, you think I could stop you?!”

The words spewed out of his mouth faster than he could stop them, like a volcano that had finally exploded its top off in a fiery glory. And the way Deeby looked at him, as if his features were having an all out war over shock, horror, or honestly very justified anger? Oh, that did nothing but fan the flames of Stan's sorrow-filed hysteria.

“Tall ass muscle-bound freak with an actual gun that captured me and beat me up again and again then left me to die?! I don't even know who you are! You can do whatever you want and I can't do jack shit to stop you! Just do it, hurt me, rape me, it doesn't matter! Vaughn knew that, you can too!” Stan attempted to shove the bounty hunter off, but he still didn't move. 

“Please, please, I'm begging you, is that what you want?! I'll get on my knees!”

Stan collapsed against Deeby's hold, and to his surprise, Deeby finally let him. Well, not ‘let him,’ more like ‘recoiled and jumped back when he felt Stan collapsing in his grasp'. 

All the same.

“Chiquito,” Deeby rasped. “I'm– not exactly sure what or why you're demanding, but I'm not going to–”

“Why not?! It doesn't matter!” Stan assured, holding his arms out to fully present himself now, shedding the jacket onto the floor behind him and taking a daring scoot forward. “I bet you just kicked Vaughn out because you wanted me all to yourself! I bet you just love seeing me scared and helpless and half naked in your stupid fucking yee-yee jacket–”

“Alright, Stan, enough!”

“AT LEAST VAUGHN had the decency to not pretend like he was a decent fucking person like you!” Stan yelled. “We both know you're not above it, fucking professional kidnapper and torturer! So just do it! Like Vaughn wanted to, like he tried to! Finish what he started, you have me all to yourself now! DO IT! DO IT I DARE–”

“The name's Declan.”

The statement was a whisper in the storm. Stan almost missed it. But the resolute certainty of the southern twang stopped him dead in his tracks.

“What–… What did you just–?”

It was astounding how quickly his voice had turned meek from the cacophony of chaos mere seconds before. Dark freckles stood out against an even starker white face than usual.

“It's Declan,” the mercenary stated once more. “My name. My name’s Declan. You wanted t’know who we are, who I am? Fine then, I'm Declan. Want the last name too?”

“I– wait–!”

“It's Cansano. Declan Cansano.”

Stan was shaking, a million thoughts crashing down upon him like a tidal wave. If he weren't already on his knees, surely he would have collapsed. 

He hadn't actually… meant any of that. No. Had he? No. He couldn't have. He didn't want to know who the mercenary was. No, he didn't. He didn't, not really! He would never want that! Never!

“That’s not… Wh-why would you…?”

The bounty hunter shrugged. “You wanted to know who I am. You asked, you screamed, you insulted me and you went fuckin’ nuts over it.” His thunder-filled eyes betrayed his completely relaxed demeanor. “Declan Cansano. Don't forget‘t.”

“I just– That's not what– Wait, Deeby, you– Where are you going?!”

Deeby was already halfway to the door when he swiftly spun around, fists clenched and any trace of the easy demeanor vanished in those bright blood-stained eyes. 

“I can't fuckin’ deal with you right now!”

Stan nearly launched himself back in fear, right back onto Deeby's stupid, soft jacket. He grasped it up as a barrier between him and the mercenary without even thinking. The mercenary's demeanor relaxed from absolutely terrifying to merely extremely angry at the sorry sight.

“I'm leaving for a bit.” He whipped around and grasped for the lapels of his jacket to yank it on, only for his grasp to come up empty. He whipped around a third time. “And I'll be expectin’ my coat back when I get back! You better've calmed the hell down by then, if you know what’s good for you.”

Wait, wait, he was leaving? No!

Stan tried to scramble after Deeby, but immediately fell to the agony of his knee and the length of his leash. 

“Don't go, please!” he pleaded.

Deeby didn’t stop. “Why?”

What if you come back with more torture tools? 

What if you don't come back at all? 

I still have more questions for you. 

You can't just leave me here, I'm hurt! 

I shouldn't be alone right now. I can't. I'm scared of what will happen, I'm going insane.

Even you are better than no one at all.

“What– what if Vaughn comes back?!”

Deeby scoffed. “I'm not going that far, damn. Eat some protein bars while I'm gone so you don't die, should help with the insanity. Back soon.”

And the door to the room closed shut behind him, the click echoing off the walls in the sudden unbearable silence. 

Stan collapsed to the floor, defeated.

He clutched the jacket closer. 

Pulled it tight around his shoulders, fingernails leaving small crescent-shaped indents on the well-worn hide. The cotton lining was so surprisingly soft against his skin. Hell, he could smell the dirt and musk that permeated the jacket from years of use, the smal signs that this jacket had seen the capture of dozens of supers.

Declan.

Declan Cansano.

Professional Superhero-Hunter.

Stan screamed into the endless abyss around him.

And this time, Declan didn’t come back to save him.

* * * * * * * *

Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything | @paperprinxe | @lovethiswriting

[pardonmydelays]

I might not have ani's wloquence with words but I have percy, so here's a picture of him cuddling with his toys (i hope u like cats)

oh my god i actually love cats so very much so THANK YOU!!! HE'S THE CUTEST!!! AND I'M SORRY BUT ONCE I REALIZED PERCY RHYMES WITH CLANCY I JUST COULDN'T HELP IT AND-

oh my god please don't kill me i may have turned your cat into this little guy jdhdjhdhe i love him and i'm sorry

[soultiio]

day 2: timeloop au + see you in hell

"there's nothing you can do about it. you will kill me over and over until you have to do it again. you can't wipe my blood in your hands, in your mouth. it's yours now, too. see you in hell"

[mintleafkitty72]

Okay, random thoughts about ROTTMNT regarding a "what if" scenario:

I saw this post and it got me thinking about what if the last back up plan of all back up plans for the bad future timeline in the Rise movie was supposed to be Both F!Leo AND Casey Jr. going back to the past to stop the Krang?

(Really really (that's two reallys) long talk about my thoughts on this under the cut)

Like, they both go back and it roughly follows the same timeline as the movie but so much would still be different just because f!Leo is there too with CJ. Which would be nice for CJ specifically because then he wouldn't be alone after the events of the movie and f!Leo and CJ would have someone that could talk to from the bad future, but I just can't stop thinking about how everyone would react and how differently conversations would go during the events of the movie specifically. There is just so much that could happen and it could go more into depth on how CJ feels about the events and how f!Leo would react as well. And every time Mikey tries using his mystic mojo, f!Leo and CJ's hearts break just a little and that also happens every time any one of them does something that their future selves would do in the bad future. (I wish we got more into CJ's character and how he was feeling during/after the events of the movie and I'm so glad that there are so many writers and artists who have dove into his character, thank you guys)

Just imagine f!Leo seeing his younger self come back from the initial attack on the Foot where he's panicking and Raph isn't back yet and f!Leo just gets a flash back to when he lost his Raph. And then past Leo would still go after CJ (and possibly f!Leo too) about how they knew this would happen and then both Splinter and f!Leo try to talk to p!Leo (or maybe it could go a different way, there's just so many possibilities). And then from that point on, f!Leo sees what p!Leo is doing and deciding as the leader and f!Leo is simultaneously irritated that his past self is being reckless and not listening to anyone's input but also realizing that he is a 16 year old kid and that he was too when the invasion first began in the bad future. (I personally don't think f!Leo would hate his past self if he ever went back in time and that he wouldn't act hostile towards his past self, there'd just be a lot of feelings that he never got to really acknowledge during the apocalypse and a lot of realizations and thoughts occurring that he also wouldn't be able to properly address until after the invasion is stopped. Plus, both Leos I feel like have a lot of self hatred but I don't think f!Leo would take out his hatred on his past self).

Then when the bros are going to the turtle tank, f!Leo either stays with Splinter and April while the bros and CJ go to where Raph is or f!Leo goes with the bros and CJ. If he goes to help find Raph, they'll all still get separated in the subway system but it would still be p!Leo and CJ and the PB&J duo + f!Leo and after that, the final fight would happen. How? Idk lmao, but it would still lead to p!Leo alone to fight Krang Prime and his self sacrifice. And it makes me wonder how f!Leo would react to his past self's decisions, knowing what he was getting himself into? Knowing he would have done the same? Understanding how CJ felt every time he made a similar decision in the bad timeline and barely made it out alive? Knowing exactly how p!Leo feels but also knowing exactly how everyone else feels when losing someone close? The dread of knowing that they're gone but not wanting to accept it? Thinking about how he is going to be the last of their family to die from the bad timeline but the first in this one? Then once a few minutes pass, Raph uses his comm to reach them.

And he tells them to get to Staten Island asap, his voice urgent and filled with worry, but not grief. Questions are asked and eventually Raph says that p!Leo is alive, awake (barely), but severely injured and needs medical attention like now. Then one of the four (either Splinter, April, CJ, or f!Leo) ask Raph how p!Leo isn't in the Prison Dimension anymore and he answers by stating Mikey made a portal with his mystic mojo and CJ and f!Leo's hearts stop. Because they think that Mikey died making that portal just like their bad timeline Mikey did.

So, the four of them head to Staten Island as fast as they can and CJ and f!Leo are confused but relieved to see that Mikey is okay and not dead (but they take note of the markings on Mikey's hands, Donnie's right hand, and Raph's left hand). Then, they see Leo's extremely broken body, they make their way home, and they ALL start their healing processes. How all of that may occur can go in many different ways and I'm down for any of them.

I'm sure others in the Rise fandom have also thought of f!Leo going with CJ to the past to "find the key and stop the Krang" but I just had that thought occur and I had to just talk about what that could entail and all my thoughts about it. Because there are a lot of works where f!Leo goes back in time but I don't think I've seen one where he goes back in time with CJ in order to stop the Krang and is there for the events of the movie. If any of you do know of something like that, would you mind sharing it? I'd love to see it.

[mpregspn]

cleaned it up a little here

It had been a good day - as good as it gets nowadays, anyway. The ghost terrorizing the small populace of bumfuck, nowhere had been put to rest with little fight (Dean did get slammed into a headstone but after all they've been through, it really seems like nothing) and Sam was alert and clear eyed and present and he had saved Dean's ass and laughed afterwards, flushed pink in the cold and high on adrenaline of a job done right. He hasn't looked this carefree in years (ages, Dean doesn't want to do the math but Sam said three minutes felt like a week and ages, he must've spent ages down there) and having him back should be enough already but Dean missed this, the sound of his little brother's laughter and the smell of gasoline and graveyard dirt. It was a moment so perfect Dean was sure it's gonna be over in a flash but somehow it continued on, Sam easy and relaxed in the car on their way back, bickering about who get the first shower and how he was right that the murders were the doing of the ghost of a local preacher, decades dead, and not a werewolf.

It was early enough still that usually Dean would go out to the local bar, partly to hustle some pool, mostly to get drunk, trying to forget, just for a moment, that his brother is insane (because he didn't protect him, because he let him go to hell and didn't get him out, not soon enough) and that the world is ending for the uptenth time (one of these things is more important than the other and it's not the one that ought to be) but with Sam looking so young, looking his age for once, smiling so widely, not pressing on the wound of his palm and not flinching at something Dean can't see, he could bear to make himself leave. He'd still cracked open a bottle of jack, because it's just a good way to round off a good day, poured himself and Sam one, then another. Sam's tolerance had increased in the years since Dean had gotten him back but since getting his soul back he seems lighter, the burden of Dean's deal and the apocalypse lifted off his shoulders, at least whenever he isn't toremented by the memories of what the devil did to him, and even in these moments he looks heartbreaking young. It didn't take much to get him giggling, flushed pink again but this time with alcohol, which reminded Dean of the first time Sam had gotten drunk, the time they'd broken into John's stash because it had been Dean's sweet sixteen and he'd gotten back home after celebrating with the friends he'd made at the local high school, and Sam had been waiting for him at home with a lecture on underage drinking, and Dean's solution to the problem was to spend the rest of the evening introducing Sammy to the wonders of beer.

Now he's found himself in the same position he'd been in that night a lifetime ago, pulling off Sam's shoes and manhandling him into the bed, tucking him in, brushing his hand through Sam's too long (perfect) hair and letting it linger, taking advantage of the fact that while Sam will probably still remember it in the morning he won't ever bring it up. Then he starts pulling off his own boots and he lets himself hope that this could last, that tomorrow morning they could just go get coffee and find a next not too complicated case that doesn't lead to yet another end of the world, but then, Sam asks -

- Dean, has dad ever, y'know, hurt us? hurt me? - he's loose limbed, burrowing his face into the pillow, and Dean has just reminisced about how they were scared shitless dad's gonna tan their hides when discovers their little bender, but that was just that, just joking, if John had noticed that his stash had gotten lighter he had put it on the account of Dean celebrating with his friends, he probably wouldn't have clasped Dean on the back and given him the keys to the Impala if he'd suspected Dean had gotten his twelve years old brother smashed.

- What do you mean, Sammy?

- You know, back there - he doesn't have to specify. Dean knows what back there means, even though Sam never talks about back there.

- back there, Lucifer, he would, - he still looks loose and open, and Dean would never think a few shots would be enough to get him talking about Lucifer, and if he did, he still wouldn't try to get him talking, because god, he doesn't want to hear this. Despite Sam easy tone, he doesn't think he's gonna like what comes out of his mouth next - He could. Make up scenarios, you know? Sets. Like Gabriel did. It was all empty and he could just, do whatever - His eyes are closed, he's frowning, but the corners of his mouth are still lifted up slightly. They just had such a good day.

- He would go through my memories. Sometimes it would be you - He snorts. Dean doesn't know what's so funny about this. He remembers Sam driving away with his imaginary doppelganger, pointing a gun at his head. He doesn't want to imagine what else his face did to Sam

- And, you know. I can tell the difference, but dad was his favorite, and we went over it so many times, sometimes - it gets mixed up. So I thought, I decidee, I just have to assume it's all bull.

He stops, for the first time seeming to catch on to Dean's silence. But what is he supposed to say to that? Sam had been down there long enough for Lucifer to create fake memories of abuse, god knows just how terrible, and even if he knows they're fake, he still remembers them. What difference does it make that a memory is fake?

He opens the eyes he didn't realize he was screwing shut, tries unsuccessfully to unclench his jaw. Kneels next to Sam's bed. Strokes Sam's long, perfect hair. So soft. Just like when he was still a kid.

- No, Sammy - he swallows - dad loved us. Never did anything like that. You two fought like hell but he wouldn't, he would rather die than hurt you, okay? You get that?

- Thought so. Thought he wouldn't. See, I still got it.

Dean thinks he's not sure what it is that Sam's got but it's most likely not it but he realizes he should be more grateful. He got Sam back and in one piece, even though everybody and their dog said Sam would be a drooling mess. And Sam is drooling, just a little bit, face is smushed into a pillow and mouth slightly open and he's gonna complain in the morning because he hates going to bed, especially drunk, without brushing his teeth.

If it's a good day. Because miraculously, they still get good days. It's just that even on the best of them, Dean can't help but think there's something irrevocably broken about his brother.

He keeps stroking Sam's hair until he drifts off into sleep. Then he finishes off the bottle of jack.

[caterpillarinacave]

for your prompt (I‘m bad at this I‘m sorry) — Christopher Lightwood + his scientific spirit + mushrooms (throw in some of the merry thieves or henry or grace or anna whatever you feel like)

——-

“It’s fascinating,” Christopher continued, holding the mushroom up to the light, “Fungi exist so entirely separately from the rest of the world. They aren’t plants, they aren’t animals; they can wreck crops and grow them, they decompose piles of debris like it’s nothing and can be squished beneath a boot. They’re the tool and the builder of the natural world, they save everything and they kill everything. We see them everywhere, as these tiny little things, as if the mycelium doesn’t stretch for miles beneath our feet, as if we aren’t so small compared to them.”

Christopher fell back into his chair, looking immensely satisfied, and upsetting tall glass full of strange shimmering liquid, that seemed to slosh around in its container at an oddly delayed pace. He did not seem to notice.

“Christopher-“ Henry began.

“No matter how many you pulled up, or what ground you burned, you could never kill- oh.” 

Henry, thankfully, had managed to lean across Christopher, narrowly righting the glass before it could tip its shimmering contents onto the table; the likes of which flashing with little streaks of color as it hit the sides of the container. Henry set it down on his side of the table, carefully away from the papers he’d been scribbling on, to search through a drawer for a lid.

Christopher looked sheepish; “I did not mean to do that.” 

“Do remember that you can, in fact, be killed,”  Henry responded mildly, ever agreeable, capping the glass bottle and offering it to Christopher “Gesture vividly away from the table.”

“Of course,” Christopher replied, looking a little abashed, but took the bottle none the less “Thank you.”

Henry hummer amicably in response, unbothered. “I believe you were saying something about the mycelium?”

“Oh, yes indeed” Christopher replied eagerly, sitting forward “Wait a second, I’ve got some about this in my notebook…”

—-

[lunarharp]

leftover vibes from yesterday

[stuffedsand]

for the violence ask game: 8 common fandom opinion everyone is wrong about. for milgram. i know exactly what you're going to say i just want to see you go off again

Hiii bestie. You do know what I'm about to talk about. Yippee

Disclaimer that this whole essay is like. For fun and how I say things is ramped up to be funny. I don't mind if you disagree w me cuz like that's the nature of things! We disagree but we can get along.

Anyways short answer for people who don't wanna see the essay: organ harvesting theory. This is about shidou.

Idk how prevalent it is rn since not many people even talk about shidou but it was prevalent enough in June when I got into milgram that I believed it for a bit anyways the rest in under the cut cuz I'm insane sorrg

SO the main reason I think the theory is WRONG (hyperbole‼️) is because I just think it's unrealistic. Man works in a hospital in Japan. How would he pull it off. Scuff an operation bad enough to cause braindeath/death and I'm p sure they suspend your medical licence, if he participated in an organ harvesting operation pre-family-accident his case would then be black and white cuz he was doing it in complete sound mind with no regard for human life. Also it wouldn't justify the extreme reaction he's had to realizing, specifically, "what I've been robbing people of" (t1 voice trailer), and he wouldn't have as heavy a focus on the relatives' feelings and reactions. At least story writing wise it'd make less sense since it doesn't allude to anything if that's the end goal? Imo at least. Idk maybe this is because I really like tragedies in media. Also because it'd be a really disproportionately severe crime compared to every other direct murderer???? Like. We have strangled someone, stabbed someone, bludgeoning, bludgeoning, kicked someone to death. Organ harvesting looks cartoony in this context. It's also not a very prevelant issue in Japan iirc.

Also to prove my point further. If we use this theories the murders would be

Strangling, abortion??????, cyber bullying, stabbing, organ harvesting, toxic r/s, telling the truth (lmao), bludgeoning, bludgeoning, bludgeoning (minus weapon). Organ harvesting is goofy cuz it seems so.... Extreme,,,,,,,

ALSSOOOOO funny point. If he's not directly involved in his murder (as in, unintentional and indirect) that makes 5 direct and 5 indirect. Silly.

Also also his murder seems somewhat tied to how he feels about his job itself ("I wanted to contribute to society (about his career choice)/I had thought my work was a contribution to society", use of past tense) and to me it reads like hes disillusioned w his job esp since his reason for getting a highly sought after, high paying and high social ranking job is "I wanted to contribute to society". Doctors with that empathy can be affected by the death around them more severely and I think that's a fun topic to look at

I count this under "common fandom opinion" cuz it was common enough around June (whenyours truesly got into milgram) that I believed it. I mean I introduced shidou to my friend (hello clown) as "maybe Dr malpractice. Organ harvesting dude" and said friend (hello again clown) is also the one who's heard me bash the organ harvesting theory like 6 times at least now so. Yippee.

Take none of this seriously I just got off a plane and am so very eepy. If you like the organ harvesting theory good for you!!!!!!!💥💥💥💥💥 you do you bestie !!!!!!!!!!!!!! I literally do not think less of anyone who believes that theory I just personally dont lmao

[dear-ao3]

Favourite pasta recipe??? :) I need new recipes to try out. doesn't have to be very detailed if u want. Alternatively, dessert recipes for holidays!!

Tysm

Okay So

i love fucking around and finding out with pasta. its what my dad always did with pasta when i was a kid and it’s so fun. i’ve made some good stuff. tho, i must warn you, this might be some absolute white bs seasoning so feel free to adjust that as needed

the absolute ride or die of pasta recipes that i make at college is called tuna noodle casserole. is it mid? to a degree. but it’s better than the dining hall and it makes good leftovers and you can kinda add whatever you want. this was one that i grew up eating and i think it came out of an ancient cooking light cookbook. here is my version:

what you need: 2 packets of cooked tuna, 1 package of egg noodles, frozen peas/corn/ whatever you really want, 1 can of cream of mushroom soup, some kind of grated/shredded cheese, a decent amount of bread crumbs (like a cup), half a chopped onion, like a cup of milk, a dash of lemon juice or some kind of acid, salt and pepper and whatever else you want for seasoning

preheat oven to ideally 450 but you can also do 350

sauté your onion in your preferred oil until it has some color and smells good

while that’s sautéing boil your egg noodles to just slightly aldente cause you’re gonna bake them eventually

once your onion is sautéed, add in your can of soup, milk, lemon juice, and salt and pepper/whatever else spices you want.

once that’s in a good sauce consistently, take your cooked noodles and put them in some kind of oven safe container. dump the sauce on top of the noodles along with the peas and corn or whatever vegetables you want and your tuna. break up the tuna and you can put in the juices if you want but i never do. mix it around pretty well.

combine your breadcrumbs and your cheese. you can also add seasoning and spice here. i’ve put in old bay before and my boyfriend likes it with his moms balachong. sprinkle over the top evenly.

bake until the top looks crunchy (usually a half hour or so but keep an eye on it)

and that’s it. it tastes decent and it’s good leftovers. making it in a wide pan is best for maximum breadcrumbage. it’s also pretty cheap. i’ve made it for less than 10 dollars before when i’ve bought everything at target.

i’ve also made this funky pasta and sausage thing before a few times. i absolutely invented this based on whatever i had in my measly fridge and what was on sale so.

what you need: a pack of chicken sausage (i had chicken soup sausage but anything works), some chicken soup (a can, a premade thing, i think i had a small cup of wawa chicken soup), pasta of your choice, seasoning, vegetables if you want (carrots, celery), seasoning (i used garlic powder, onion powder, chili powder, thyme, worstershire sauce, fish sauce, and dried basil) and an onion/few cloves of garlic if you want

sauté your onion/garlic in your oil if choice

slice your sausage into little coins (i use all 4 links cause my boyfriend is a himbo weight lifter who can and would eat a refrigerator, but 2 is fine for a normal amount) and add it to the pan along with any vegetables

cook until it has some color/ vegetables get soft ish

add in your chicken soup. if you don’t want to add the chicken, you can just add the broth. the sausage shouldn’t be swimming in the broth but it should be nicely covered (you wouldn’t need more than a can)

continue cooking down the broth, ass whatever seasoning you want to make it taste good

while that is happening, boil your pasta

once the pasta is boiled and you have a nice soupy ish sauce going on, add in the cooked pasta. the pasta should soak up the rest of the broth (especially good if you are making this to have leftovers)

and that’s that one. i suppose you could do this with any meat and soup combination.

another good and easy one is basically just some pasta and vegetables that i add some funky chickpeas to. my boyfriend really likes this one cause of the flavors because he is asian and if it doesn’t have flavor he doesn’t want it

what you need: pasta of choice, broccoli or green beans, a can of chickpeas, cheese for putting on top, meat if you want it, cloves of garlic, chili powder, garlic powder, onion powder, maple syrup, pepper, soy sauce/fish sauce, seasoned salt or regular salt and olive oil.

preheat the oven to 350

open the can of chickpeas and rinse them off, place on a baking sheet covered in foil or parchment paper

combine some garlic powder, onion powder, chili powder, seasoned salt soy sauce/fish sauce and maple syrup in a bowl (measurements don’t really matter, we cook with vibes here) in a bowl and then spread over the chickpeas, coating them well

put the chickpeas in the oven, checking on them and rotating them around every 10 minutes. they take about 30 minutes.

boil water for your pasta

chop your garlic and sauté in some olive oil

add the broccoli or green beans and your meat if you’re using meat

once that’s all done put the vegetables in the pasta and top with the chickpeas and some cheese and munch

as far as dessert goes. i’m ukrainian and we mostly just eat whatever generations old recipes my great aunt uses for dessert. but, there is a cranberry bread recipe in the back of the cranberry thanksgiving book that is very very good (esp with cream cheese). my grandma used to always make raspberry squares which were SO GOOD but i don’t have that recipe and we haven’t made them in literal ages.

the cranberry bread:

there is a really good and really simple butter cookie recipe tho that’s like basically three ingredients. i’ve made it gluten free before and it works as long as you have the 1:1 complete flour.

what you need: 2 cups of all purpose flour, 2 sticks of unsalted butter, 1/2 cup to 1 cup of white sugar, a bit of salt

beat the room temp butter and sugar until combined. add in the pinch of salt (can also add in vanilla if u want)

add in the flour little by little

roll out dough on floured surface

cut into shapes and add sprinkles if you want and cook in a 350 oven for 10-15 minutes each batch.

we make these literally every year, they’re perfect for gifts cause they’re easy and not very expensive. everyone loves them. i love them. i’m going to go make a batch now.