#it's good shit I'm telling you

[gauloiseblue]

Hellgate

[+18 | MDNI]

2!Dante × Reader

If someone asked you what kind of hints you were citing to him, you’d only blush and refuse to answer it. And you’re ready to bet that their innocent minds can only come up with the purest form of sex, while in reality, you really want to reduce your boyfriend into a sobbing mess.

It might be something that he discovered along the way, or how the evidence slowly mounted up and his brain finally made a connection. Either way, the hints that you’ve been dropping since God knows when were finally noticed.

Well, it’s not that you’re passive-aggressively sending him a signal, and sitting back hoping that he’d pick it up. You just don’t want to frighten him, because the idea of surrendering one’s control can be really scary. Especially for a tough guy like Dante. Oh, you're definitely going to use that nickname against him.

When he finally addresses the matter—or more like confronting you about your eagerness to take the lead, you just smile at him. Even a Devil can’t escape the conventional education of sex.

Now, if we pick his brain apart, you’ll see that he has every side of him arguing. His dismay would shout a hard ‘NO’ at him, while his poor confusion would try to make out the situation. Maybe his adventurous side would shrug and say why not?, and his ego would try to smother it with a pillow. But where’s the part of him that loves you? Well, he’s the one who silences them all.

“It’s just a suggestion.” You nonchalantly said, “I don’t mind sticking with our usual way, but why don’t you try it once and see if you like it or not?”

He didn’t answer right away, as you’d expect it. But give it 5 days maximum, and he’ll get down to it. But how can you be so sure? The answer is, you just know.

Call it a lover’s intuition, but you can see through his mind. And it’s a hell of wreckage.

An explanation might be offered, but you might as well write an essay about it. Let’s dive into the haywire thoughts of his. Dante is a traditional kind of lover, and he’d prioritize your pleasure before his. Even when you get on top of him, and straddling him with your hips, he’d still try to hold back. But you knew that he wanted to cum so bad.

He’s the perfect example of Gary Stu, because never in your life you see a little bit of his weakness. Well, you did, but they’re a lovable weakness so they didn’t count. This side of him might be some kind of a dream come true (for some people), but not in your case. You just hated it. Because if he doesn’t let you see the tender side of him, it means that he doesn’t trust you completely.

This man might have the biggest trust issue you ever encounter, even rivaling his enormous insecurities. Yes, yes, you know. He had his reason, but you had yours too. You don't want to always be on the receiving end, you want to take care of him as well. He always exceeds your expectations, and he keeps building a new wall every time he does it. As if he's afraid that you'd leave him, after you see what's past behind his strong facade.

It's exhausting, for both of you. He can't keep lying like this, and you can't always pretend that it's totally fine. You've tried to encourage him to open up before, but it's no success. So this time, you're going to push him beyond his limit instead. In short, you're going to teach him some lessons. And maybe, by some miracles, he'll finally realize that what he’s done would only hurt the two of you.

At first, you see the refrain in his eyes. He's afraid, and of course he's afraid. You literally asked him to hand you his control, and who knows what he'd do during the act. What if he whines, or even begging you to let him finish? That'd be so embarrassing.

Then, comes the curiosity. What's the worst that could happen? He's a tough guy after all (honestly, you're still laughing whenever you try to narrate his thoughts), he can handle it. You’ve promised him that you wouldn’t do anything that makes him uncomfortable. And as long as he remembers, you never made him feel that way.

But here comes the fear. It’s the shortest period, but it clearly leaves the most impact on him. What if, somehow, you lose your interest in him afterwards? What if he does something so shameful that you never want to speak of it? What if you find it disgusting? What if, what if, what if…

Thankfully, he manages to snap out of it.

Anyway, he goes through that cycle again and again. Days passed, and you waited patiently for him to decide. To be fair, you don’t mind if he refuses the proposal. But it’d feel like a step back in your relationship, and he’d end up putting another wall around him.

Day 4 after the initial discussion, he comes to you. It’s just past dinner, and you’re lounging on the sofa. He approaches you, with his hands in his pockets. You pretend to immerse yourself into your novel, before lifting your head up when he’s standing by the couch.

Of course, he’s having a second thought, and it reflects in his eyes. But he manages to muster up courage and asks you,

“If I say yes, what are you going to do to me?”

And you close your book, “Do you trust me?”

“I do, but I have to know—” He corrected himself when you lifted your novel again, “I do.”

“I want to try something new, and it’s gonna be all about you.” You told him, “But I think it’s wise to lay down some rules.”

“Tell me.”

“First, we have to choose a safeword. If it gets too much, you can stop it by saying the word.” You explained briefly, “Second, you have to be honest with me. When you don’t feel comfortable, or you don’t find it enjoyable anymore, you have to tell me, by using the word."

He didn't say anything, as he pressed his knuckles against his lips. He looks the other way, and you can figuratively hear the gears rolling in his head. "Alright." He muttered out, "But I can't think of any words yet."

"It should be specific, like something you wouldn't say during a normal conversation." You suggested, "You can use flowers, or anything really."

But knowing him for years, you know he wouldn't come up with such an easy word. He'd spend the whole day thinking of asking you a trivial thing, before he decided to do it tomorrow. This man would take anything too seriously, even when it's just a silly line. You really think he'd choose a rare word, like subrosa, lucent, or some sort of ancient epithet. Until you hear him say, "Hellgate."

You blinked in surprise. Hellgate. It didn't even cross your mind, how clever.

For most people, it might be just a term. But for both of you, it has developed from a simple shout to a warning. The two of you have used it, until it changed its meaning. It shifted from 'Beware, it’s a gate of hell!' to 'Absolute no go'. And when he said it to you, it conveys; It's not safe, we shouldn't go there.

"Hellgate." You repeated, "We'll use that." You push yourself up, before you extend your arm toward him, "Come, let's take it upstairs."

—

He didn't flinch when you fastened the rope, even when it dug into his skin. "Too tight?" You asked as you loosened the bind around his arms.

"You can go tighter."

"No, I don’t want to make your hands numb.”

You let out a huff as you redo the ties on his back. Not even a minute has passed, and you already run into the first problem. Dante doesn’t know his own limit or discomfort, and it’s making your guesswork harder.

“There we go.” You said as you tied the final knot.

Almost instinctively, he tries to tug his hand to test the strength. “You know I can easily break free from it right?”

“Try not to.”

He let out an amused snort, which tempted you to do the same. But you keep your facade and smile.

You touch his bare skin gently, and he sighs as he begins to relax. Your fingers trail from his chest, down to his stomach, and they pause right above his jeans. He draws a sharp breath when your hand slips under the underwear, “Do you mind?” You asked him, while fiddling with the button. He nods, just as impatient as the bulge inside his pants.

The zipper rustled down, and your hands quickly worked on his jeans. He looks away when you pull the pants down, along with his brief. Even when sex has been a part of the routine, he’s still somewhat shy when it comes to nudity.

“Lay down.” You told him as you gently pushed him to the bed. As he settles down, you begin to pile up the pillows behind him. “Look up for me.” You said as you raised his chin.

You reach into your pocket, and take a hold of the bundled piece of fabric. A look of surprise crosses his face as you unravel the blindfold, and you carefully wrap it around his head. “Is it really necessary?” He timidly asked, while you adjusted the cloth around his eyes.

“Yes." You press him against the pillows, "Like I said earlier, it's all about your pleasure."

He didn't protest further, even when you placed the earmuffs on his head. Although it's not going to prevent him from hearing your voice, as long as you keep quiet, he won't be able to tell where you are.

Climbing down the bed, you then walk to the nightstand. You rummage through the drawer, and find the plastic box beneath the magazines. Inside the case, there's a medium sized silver ring with adjustable width. Plus one remote control. Well, after knowing the exact size of his cock, the adjustable part surely comes in handy.

The bed dips as you return to his side, and he flinches when you touch his face. “Relax.” You assured him, and he slowly calmed down. Not for long though, as the clasp of the ring releases a clicky sound. Your hands work on adjusting the toy, before you wrap it around his cock.

“What did you put on me?”

“Vibrating cock ring.” You uttered with a smirk, “It’s going to keep your dick up until we’re done.”

He heaves a sigh, “Since when did you buy it?”

“Guess, tough boy.” You chuckled as you kissed his cheek. With the remote in your hand, you test the lowest setting on him.

He gasps when the ring starts to vibrate, which rouses his member up. You let it on for a half minute, before you turn it off.

“How was it?”

“... It’s fine.”

“Good.” You replied as you stepped away from the bed. You flop down on the chair by the bed, which gives you a full view of him. “Remember what we talked about before? Do you remember the safeword?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. If you’re uncomfortable, or you need to stop, just say it out loud.”

He nods.

You look at him once again, and observe how his chest rises and falls. He’s nervous, if it’s not so obvious already. You wanted to tease him a little more, but you didn't want to scare him. Fiddling with the controller, you flick the switch to number two.

Almost in an instant, his body jolts from the stimulation. Though it's more of the abruptness rather than the pleasure itself. But as the shock subdued, the feeling began to build up in the pit of his stomach. It starts slow, and you raise one more level.

He hisses when the toy's setting is getting higher, and his cock begins to swell. He bites his lip, trying to suppress his moan. Alas, you can hear it from his breath. Not sure if he can hear you smirking, but you're barely able to contain yourself. The sight of him is such a feast for your eyes. You finally get why he's eager to please you first, because the reaction from the receiver is worth watching.

You reach into your pants, but you hesitate. You're unsure if you should do it, as you might have missed some of the signs he's showing. The least thing you wanna do is ignoring his subtle stop.

After a short contemplation, you decide to watch him only. You lean back, and prop your head against your hand. You notice his legs tremble slightly, and you pick up the pace for one level. Which makes him throw his head to the back, and moans loudly. His toes start to curl, and his hips move in a jerking motion.

His first orgasm comes with quite an eruption, as his cum spurts out to his abdomen. The opaque liquid glistens on his skin, which makes him look even dirtier. You lean forward, while biting your nail. He looks absolutely ravishing, and you'd jump on him if not because of your self-control.

Helping him ride his orgasm down, you set the setting to three. It will help him recover from high, while keeping the rhythm going. He sighs heavily, before his breath hitches up when he feels the soft vibrations. "(Y/N)—" He called out, but you didn't answer.

Your quietness confuses him for a second, as he can't hear your breath. Not even a sound that can indicate your presence. But you didn't let him think too much, and you immediately hit the second highest setting.

The jump of the beat startles him, and it takes a moment before his numb member gains its sensitivity again. When it happens, the build-up pleasures hit him all at once. And he almost screams when the toy mercilessly pulses around his cock. "(Y/N) please—" He choked up, as his body went stiff.

He's gripping at the pillow, trying so hard not to break the rope. Every muscle in his body becomes prominent, and his dick is red and veiny from the strain. You press your hand against your lips, in an attempt to conceal your smile. The blindfold and the earmuffs really help to reduce his sensory function. Leaving him only with his sense of touch, and smell it seems.

The sight of him arouses you, as you feel yourself wet. He pauses when his nose picks up the scent of your arousal. You notice the cue, and immediately cross your leg. “How long are we going to do this?” He muttered out between the gasps. Still, you refrain yourself from speaking. But even when you didn’t say it out loud, you both already knew the answer.

His shout rips out from his throat when he feels the speed is increasing. Your thumb has set the remote to the highest setting, and you sat back, watching.

He calls out your name again, along with him begging you to speak. But you keep your voice still. You narrowed your eyes on him. The pleasure that he feels will soon turn into pain, and it’s going to be excruciating for him. One orgasm turns into two, and he’s unable to keep his position straight as time goes by.

It’s just one word, really. Hellgate. And you’d immediately stop. For some unknown reason, he didn’t say it. The thought of it just pops up in your mind, as you notice the discomfort in his manner. The buzz from the ring is slightly muffled by his thighs when he curls up. With his heightened sense, and constant stimulation, he’s soon coming with a loud groan.

This time, it’s more unforgiving as the pace stays the same. You didn’t turn down the level of vibration, as your eyes fixated on him. His body is glistening with sweat and his own release—both dried and sticky. Then he sinks into the fort of pillows, while he squirms and moans. But still, he doesn’t yield. Part of you—your inner detective—knows the reason, and it’s not good. He’s an attentive lover, and he could figure out what you want in a second. Yet this time, it’s completely wrong. Based on your reaction, he drew a conclusion that you like watching him in this state. It’s half-true, but it’s not your intention to set up such a play for a selfish reason.

On the seventh counts of his climax, he’s become barely coherent. His semen has stained his body and the bedsheet, and some of them even spewed out to the pillows. If he was certain that you’re there in the room with him before, he couldn’t be sure of it anymore. You kept everything just the same, no movement, no talk, and not even a sound.

Just how long is he gonna keep the act? He’s almost at his limit, even when he hasn’t broken the restraint. It’s pitiful to watch, as the blindfold becomes wet with both tears and sweats. Though you initially enjoyed the view—maybe your inner sadist still enjoys seeing that—it quickly got to the point where you’re more concerned than aroused.

Once again, his body convulses as another wave of pleasure hits him. His cock was in the shade of angry red, as it wept out his cum. The white string of fluid oozes out from the tip of his dick like a stream, dripping down on his inner thigh. You did it, you made him into a sobbing mess, just like he always did to you. But with your hand fidgeting nervously on the controller, you’re beginning to think if you should put it to stop.

“(Y/N), I can’t—” He cried out, “Turn it down.”

Just like that, he puts you in a dilemma. You don’t want to continue it any longer, and doing as he said can lead you to a longer playtime. That’s not your intention, because you just want him to understand, and you want him to say it—

His voice snaps you from your thoughts, and you blink as you realize that he’s repeating the same word. “Hellgate.” He quietly whimpers, as if he’s surrendering himself, “Hellgate.”

It takes two seconds for you to register it, before you’re fumbling with the remote to turn it off. The sigh of relief falls from his mouth, as he collapses on the bed. His breath is heavy, and every fiber in his body seems to shrivel, while exhaustion takes over him.

With caution, you make it to his side and touch his arm. His body jerks at the sudden contact, and you softly mutter to him.

“Shh, it’s just me.” You gently remove the earmuffs and the blindfold, “How are you feeling?”

His teary eyes search up your face, before your smile comes to his view. You roll him over, and begin to undo the bind that you put on him. It leaves a little bit of marks on him, but it’d probably disappear in a minute.

As you reach to pull the ring, he pushes you to the mattress before you can even touch it. Your eyes widen in surprise when he crushes his lips against you, and his hands frantically hold the side of your face. The kiss that you both share is almost hungry, as he presses his mouth closer without giving you a room to breathe.

The stains on the cover stick to your skin uncomfortably, but it slips from your mind when his kisses prove to be a hell of distraction. You regain your control after a while, and quickly work on getting the ring off his cock. He moans at the friction, but his lips are reluctant to part from you yet. He only pulls away from the kiss to murmurs against your lips, "It's awful." He frowned, "I don't want to do it again."

"Okay." You mused as you caressed his hair, "We won't do it again. But you should know that I did it for a reason."

His brows then furrowed, "What do you mean?"

"I did it because I want you to know what I felt." You confessed, "You always gave me so much, but I never felt your presence at all. Only pleasures, but never you."

Your words seem to affect him as his face turns gloom, "So you didn't like the way we had sex?"

"God, no! That's not what I meant. It's just that… I want you to enjoy it as well. You're always trying to make sure that I'm satisfied, but you never even thought of yourself." You smile at him before you kiss his cheek, "I love you, alright? And I want to make you feel good as well."

It's something that has been said before, and you've told him several times. But in this particular moment, he finally understands what you're trying to express. He seems to be taken aback by the idea, and it makes him uneasy. "I'm sorry." It's all he could say.

"It's okay." You pull him to face you before he can turn away. His clear irises stare back into you, and you see guilt. "Just don't ignore me next time."

He nods, and he relents when you tug him closer to kiss him again. He doesn't even fight it when you roll him over, though you suspect it's more because of his exhaustion and muddled mind. But you trust him.

By the end of the day, as you both lay down side by side, completely spent but satisfied, he murmurs something to you. A smile blooms on your face as you peck his lips. Even if he felt compelled to say those words, there's no question that he meant what he said.

[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."

[teaboot]

tranny freak :)

[bonicedemandarina]

Click for better quality

Shotout to Leona and Cheka for singlehandedly getting me out of the worst artblock I've had in months, love these guys

Tbh I just wanted to draw Cheka doing that one thing kids do when they treat you like a climbing tree, I have other drawing about that but it's a work in progress, it was supposed to be animation practice but Ibis got some crunchy quality on the canvas if you don't pay so. Yeah. Also Grim is here bc why not

[thesmokinpossum]

If My Body Could Speak, Blythe Baird | The Godfather, Mario Puzo | My Father's House, Sylvia Fraser | To The Daughter Who Secretly Longs For Her Mother’s Affection, Lynne Shako | Storms from Jupiter, Wanda Deglane | DO NOT REPLY, @filmnoirsbian

[starliteonearth]

I'm seeing a lot of discourse on the Daemyra divorce scene and some are arguing that Rhaenyra was terrified and she flinched when Daemon raised his hand, but I've rewatched the scene over and over, for research purposes, and Rhaenyra wasn't petrified, she was PISSED (and very turned on considering her eyes literally drop to his lips right after but some of y'all are blind I guess). And she didn't flinch, she SNARLED. It was very much "try me bitch, i'm not playing with you today", which is why Daemon pulls back his hand so quickly. Mans had to consider his next move very carefully lol

Like come onnnnnn now

[dawnofiight]

Are yall the type to have one huge playlist or a bunch of mini playlists that have certain moods and genres put into them

- sincerely someone with a playlist filled with 4K songs

[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.

[moongothic]

Madoka is the promise you won't turn from a child, full of hopes and dreams and the wish to save the world, into a bitter adult who just wants to hurt others and ruin people's lives

Madoka promised to be there for you to remind you of the person you wanted to be and to stop you from becoming what you sought to destroy

Madoka made that promise and became the very embodiment of it

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

underrated garashir scene is when Garak makes THIS gesture right in Julian's face

[lepusrufus]

In case you're wondering what I've been up to

Dragons

The answer is dragons

[the-muffin-master]

"Since the Netherbrain fell, you and Astarion have seen more of Faerûn than you ever thought possible. One night, he tells you that these last six months of happy memories are the counterweight to two hundred years of misery."

idk what's up with my obsession with drawing astarion being happy and cared for but I'm sure it's not gonna come up in therapy. AFFECTION BEAM!!!!

[simplynims]

Me when they brought this motherfucker back to life after a YEAR of him being dead:

[backpackingspace]

I am once again thinking about how odysseus who witnessed the horrors that the captured women went through (one of his main duties in the iliad was taking the women back home and making sure they were as comfortable as possible and safe because he was the only one trusted not to violate them further due to his devotion to penelope. And in the odyssey part of the reason circe sent him to the underworld was so that he'd have to listen to all these women's stories (before he could talk to the prophet) ). Who was one of the few that saw women as people and respected their space and opinions. And was then put in those exact same situations. I don't have the motivation right now to do a full literary analysis of this (I'll site the sources too) but oh man one day I'm going to write a full essay on this.

[orbofrommyshows]

Do you ever just sit and think about the fact that Ralph might have been the first person to ever outrun Turbo in a car and he was able to keep such a wide margin between him and Turbo that Turbo didn't even see he drive into Diet Cola Mountain? And the car wasn't even on, that was all just Ralph's strength and quick thinking. Sure, Turbo was focused on Vanellope and the cart at that point but do you ever just wonder what was going through Turbo's head once he realized that Ralph legitimately beat him in their chase/race?

[svtskneecaps]

lukewarm take of the evening: y'all care too much about being ""outdated"". fellas this smp moves inhumanly fast. it is ok to CHILL holy shit CHILL. y'all are like "(posts BANGER ART) super late guys sorry" friend i am hitting you with a blanket i am snapping you with my metaphorical towel WHAT DO YOU MEAN SORRY. "(posts BANGER FIC) rip this is outdated now" WHO CARES???? I LOVE YOU, OK. ohhhh woe is us as the fandom at large for having MORE HAPPY PILLS ARC CONTENT oh no how outdated!! how could you be writing speculative fiction about how forever felt during happy pills :( slash SARCASM!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN!!!! THERE ARE SO MANY BANGER ARCS, WHAT, YOU THINK WE'RE COMPLAINING????? FOR GETTING MORE OF THE CONTENT WE LOVED????? oh no we're past the period where everyone thought green gay ninjas were like Dead Dead, my work is now outdated and noncanon :( WDYM. GIMME. A BANGER IS A BANGER IDC IF IT TAKES THREE MONTHS. you think rome was built in a day?? fuck you, baltimore, GIMME. my ass has been cooking a goddamn backflipo family fic since july when it was ALREADY outdated do you think i fear god??? "oh no, you're making an edit of slime's (attempted) egg murdering spree?? how could you, that was months ago it's irrelevant" SAID NO ONE EVER.

save your wrists kidlings ok carpal tunnel is no joke. CHILL!!!!! CHILL!!!!!!!! TAKE YOUR TIME SHEEEEEESH OK LOVE YOU <3