#the whole cast is basically dead

[raccoonwxrks]

A Soukoku comic about my necromancy au

This is part of the lore of the whole story, but it's kinda spoiler (?)

Plus I don't remember posting anything else about this au here, so idk if you're interested I'll gladly make a post about this au and the role of the characters in the story 👁️👁️

[geee-three]

I don't go there (monster high) but there's a character named deuce or so ive heard

oh man. deuce. hes certainly called deuce.

monster high has both dolls and tv stuff uuuuuuu he only has one g3 doll so far and he looks like a frat boy i have nothing against frat boys but honestly give him back his sunglasses ffs. he kept his sunglasses in g2 but like the comb over is doing nothing for him (he has always had the comb over i just hate it)

also hes a gorgon. ustu-p reference

[holeforzenin]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ NEW DEAL (ROOMMATE TOJI)

You were crouched in front of the fridge, staring into the abyss of expired condiments and half-empty containers when Toji came home. The sound of his boots hitting the floor was heavy and lazy— like he’d been dragging his whole body through the day. He didn’t say anything at first; he just dropped his tool belt with a tired grunt and kicked the door shut behind him.

You turned around just in time to catch the way he rubbed his neck, his hoodie clinging to his shoulders, still dusted with sawdust and sweat from a 12-hour day on site. He looked exhausted— face shadowed, hair messily tied back and eyes half-lidded with the weight of pure, bone-deep fatigue.

“You eat?” he asked without looking at you, already peeling off his shirt and tossing it over a kitchen chair.

You shook your head. “No groceries. Just sad ketchup packets and some old rice”.

He muttered a curse and leaned his hands on the marble counter, head hanging between his arms. Then after a long moment, he looked up at you.

“Alright,” he said, voice low and worn. “New deal”.

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I cover rent,” he said, standing up straight, his voice a bit more steady now, even though the bags under his eyes said he was one bad day away from crumbling. “All of it. Every month”.

Your mouth dropped open. “What? Are you serious?”

He nodded once, grabbing a can of beer from the fridge and popping it open with the edge of his calloused palm. “Dead serious. But in return, you cook and you do my laundry”.

You stared at him in pure disbelief. “So basically, you want me to be your housewife?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart,” he snorted, taking a long sip. “I just come home dead on my feet every damn night. My back’s shot, my knees feel like gravel and the last thing I wanna do is scrub my socks or figure out dinner. You’re home all day. You got time”.

You frowned, clearly offended. “I have classes”.

“And I’m not asking for a five-star meal,” he said, already walking toward his room, peeling off his undershirt as he went. “Just make sure there’s food when I get home. And maybe fold my shirts so I’m not digging through a mountain every morning”.

He paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m not saying this to be an asshole,” he added, voice lower and more gentle now. “I trust you. And I don’t… I don’t ask for help unless I need it”.

That part hit different.

You watched him disappear down the hall, the faint sound of his bedroom door creaking shut behind him. The fridge still hung open, light casting a glow on your face as you stood there, completely stunned.

Cooking and laundry in exchange for free rent. It wasn’t exactly a romantic fairy tale but with Toji but something about it felt so raw because of how genuine and needy he seemed, and it was him trusting you to take care of him in the only way he’d allow.

And hell, if it meant coming home to the gruff warmth of his voice and the quiet pride he had in every dish you made, even if he only said, “Not bad, kid”— you figured it was more than a fair trade.

———

I’d be his housewife + from now on, in all the upcoming roommate toji dabbles he’s the one paying rent!!

[bitchthefuck1]

The only thing that actually made me feel anything remotely real about that plot point was those few seconds after the body lands behind Karen where you can see her realize she might have just lost Foggy and Matt before she turns and sees it's Dex. That was good. Everything else just felt ridiculous.

The most damning thing I can say about the daredevil reboot is that I watched one of my favorite characters get tragically gunned down in front of his best friends and felt absolutely nothing besides vague bemusement.

[boysnberriespie]

Oh my GOD I forgot that Jared Harris was in the City of Bones movie

[acepalindrome]

I got emotional thinking about Chrono Trigger tonight, and the fact that the majority of the cast could have just given up on the whole ‘saving the world’ thing, gone home, and lived perfectly fine lives with no consequences for walking away.

If you’re unfamiliar with Chrono Trigger, the basic plot is that our plucky heroes accidentally get pulled back in time after a science experiment goes wrong. On their quest to get back to their own time, they accidentally end up in the distant future, and discover that the world is destroyed in the year 1999 (of course,) and the future they find is a desolate wasteland where the few surviving humans are on the brink of starvation. It’s terrible!

But here’s the thing: our heroes are from the year 1000. The apocalypse is 999 years away from their time. Once they find the way back to their own time, they could have just forgotten about the future. It wouldn’t have affected them! They would be long dead before any of that ever happened! The only character who would have been impacted was the robot they met in the future, but they could have brought him back to their time too and called it a day. There was no consequence for them to walk away.

But they don’t, of course. They make it their mission to figure out what caused the apocalypse and how to prevent it by jumping back and forth through time. They do all that, risking their lives, for a future that they wouldn’t live long enough to actually experience. They don’t do it for themselves. They do it for the world.

It’s just kind of a lovely thought. Planting trees in whose shade they would never sit.

[bogleech]

Anyway while we're on the subject of public misconception towards living things (which is completely understandable because have you SEEN living things? There's like dozens of them!) here's a fresh rundown of some common mistakes about bugs!

Arachnids aren't just spiders! They're also scorpions, mites, ticks and some real weirdos out there

Insects with wings are always finished growing! Wings are the last new thing they ever develop! There can never be a "baby bee" that's just a smaller bee flying around.

That said, not all insects have larvae! Many older insect groups do look like little versions of adults....but the wings rule still applies.

Insects do have brains! Lobes and everything!

Only the Hymenoptera (bees, ants and wasps) have stingers like that.

Not all bees and wasps live in colonies with queens

The only non-hymenoptera with queens are termites, which is convergent evolution, because termites are a type of cockroach!

There are still other insects with colonial lifestyles to various degrees which can include special reproductive castes, just not the whole "queen" setup.

Even ants still deviate from that; there are multi-queen ant species, some species where the whole colony is just females who clone themselves and other outliers

There is no "hive mind;" social insects coordinate no differently from schools of fish, flocks of birds, or for that matter crowds of humans! They're just following the same signals together and communicating to each other!

Not all mosquito species carry disease, and not all of them bite people

Mosquitoes ARE ecologically very important and nobody in science ever actually said otherwise

The bite of a black widow is so rarely deadly that the United States doesn't bother stocking antivenin despite hundreds of reported bites per year. It just feels really really bad and they give you painkillers.

Recluse venom does damage skin, but only in the tiny area surrounding the bite. More serious cases are due to this dead skin inviting bacterial infection, and in fact our hospitals don't carry recluse antivenin either; they just prescribe powerful antibiotics, which has been fully effective at treating confirmed bites.

Bed bugs are real actual specific insects

"Cooties" basically are, too; it's old slang for lice

Crane flies aren't "mosquito hawks;" they actually don't eat at all!

Hobo spiders aren't really found to have a dangerous bite, leaving only widows and recluses as North America's "medically significant" spiders

Domestic honeybees actually kill far more people than hornets, including everywhere the giant "murder" hornet naturally occurs.

Wasps are only "less efficient" pollinators in that less pollen sticks to them per wasp. They are still absolutely critical pollinators and many flowers are pollinated by wasps exclusively.

Flies are also as important or more important to pollination than bees.

For "per insect" pollination efficiency it's now believed that moths also beat bees

Honeybees are non-native to most of the world and not great for the local ecosystem, they're just essential to us and our food industry

Getting a botfly is unpleasant and can become painful, but they aren't actually dangerous and they don't eat your flesh; they essentially push the flesh out of the way to create a chamber and they feed on fluids your immune system keeps making in response to the intrusion. They also keep this chamber free of bacterial infection because that would harm them too!

Botflies also exist in most parts of the world, but only one species specializes partially in humans (and primates in general, but can make do with a few other hosts)

"Kissing bugs" are a group of a couple unusual species of assassin bug. Only the kissing bugs evolved to feed on blood; other assassin bugs just eat other insects.

[toovaeloe]

curse biologist!reader x assistant!gojo hc’s

content: gojo pining off his ass . little flirty lab partners . tw for sliiighhtest mention of an autopsy and related tools . warning for gojo poppin’ a stiff one in the lab cause he’s a freak like that (ur a freak like that), so mildly suggestive

mdni

curse biologist!reader— the higher ups want you dead and gone, that’s for sure. You, who has a cursed technique that turns cursed energy into something tangible. After applying your technique to a cursed spirit, it becomes visible to a naked human eye, and instead of disintegrating, leaves a corpse behind. You’re dangerous. Crazy. And well…too weird. But they just hate progress, don’t they?

Not Gojo. He really doesn’t think you’re doing any harm to be honest (and he’ll do just about anything if it creases another wrinkle into Gakuganji’s ugly mug)

I mean, who else has been able to make waves in the integration of curses into science like you have? You’ve uncovered an exponential amount about the inner workings of curses in a few years when the rest of Jujutsu society’s had centuries, only to scratch the surface. It’s really admirable how you deep dive into the nitty gritty, as he calls it.

assistant!gojo— who loves being your little go-getter. Your own personal cursed spirit Fetch-Fido— maybe if you squint hard enough you’ll be able to see floppy ears perked to attention in his snowy hair or an eager tail whipping up a hurricane behind him as he brings you back his latest catch: a detained grade 2 curse manifested by the fear of monsters under the bed. Yeah, he knew you’d like something like that.

assistant!gojo— loves witnessing the way your eyes light up and it’s as if he can see the cogs immediately gearing to life in your smart little brain. He’s saluting exaggeratedly with a puffed out chest when you give him the go ahead to kill the thing after you’ve had your hand at it. It’s all he can do not to ask for a pat on the head and praise of how well he did. Getting a “Good boy,” out of you is on his mental vision board.

assistant!gojo— sticks around for the autopsies. Likes watching you poke around inside the creatures and is waiting on your hand and foot through the entire process. Scalpel? Bone saw? Enterotomy scissors? The bread knife??? He’s even starting to become attuned to your whims, tool already in hand before you extend your palm.

If you murmured an awed, “look at thaaat,” he’s quick to huddle in close under the pretense of observing whatever oddity that’s intrigued you. Only to squish his cheek against yours with a feigned, “hmm…mhmm…” nodding stiltedly, and not so discreetly nuzzling his face closer to yours with an impish glint in those azure eyes as he casts a sidelong glance to your skeptical neutrality.

assistant!gojo— staring at you with the widest puppy dog eyes as you discard your gloves and begin sketching diagrams of the latest brain you’ve picked apart, comparing it to the contradicting one of another curse, and contrasting from the drastically different human model you have. He can listen to you babble for hours, if only absorbing every other word of your theories on why a curse’s blood runs violet or how you’re so excited to get these samples to the lab. He’ll still chip in with his own question or hypothesis from time to time, because he’s curious too, but more than that he loves the way you answer.

assistant!gojo— purposely uses candy and sweets as a metaphor whenever you plead with him to explain how he views the electromagnetic spectrum through those eyes of his, just because he thinks it’s funny how desperate you are to know. To this day you can’t decode however the fuck that analogy about laffy taffy and rock candy was supposed to relate to infrared waves.

assistant!gojo— Satoru can’t decide what’s worse; the fact that he can’t get you out of his head or the fact that you want inside of his head

This whole situation is basically him giving you googoo eyes and kissy faces as you scribble down something on your clipboard and try to stick him with a needle

assistant!gojo— who’s willing to be a bit of a lab rat for you. He’s all giggles as he prances up to your vertical operation table, huffing lightly when you strap him against the cool steel. “Don’t be shy now, y’could go tighter than that. You know I like it when you tie me up,,” he encourages oh so unhelpfully.

assistant!gojo— chiding you to be careful when you begin application of the biosensors across his chest, cause he’ll get “a little too excited.” You don’t pay mind to his little quip until you see his already irregularly R-R intervals spike impossibly short on the electrocardiogram readings. And then again as you finish hooking him up to the machine.

assistant!gojo— thinks you might be overthinking what environmental stimuli might have caused that anomaly, or maybe judging by that poorly veiled smile and half-hearted “My mistake,” you’ve purposefully placed that one sensor node a little too low on his pelvis this time. Now that he’s thinkin’ about— yeah—there definitely wasn’t any need for you crouch so low until your nose was practically level with the apex of his thigh. Or for you to look up at him in a way that had him failing to suppress a shiver and his breath hitching when you smoothly rubbed the padding of the damn thing into his hip with your thumb. Aaaand fuck, he’s bricked in the lab. (again.)

He’d kill to know what’s going on in your noggin. And frankly he’s dying to get the pants off his fave smartypants.

a/n: as soon as I got this idea i was like ooo biting my lip and bigbig smile,, onto something? am I onto something??? would anybody maybemaybe read a one shot with this concept 👀? okay I love you byyyee

[ds-angel1]

dealer!rafe x brainwashed!reader

cw: drugs like lots and lots, ODing, mention of SMUT(18+), hospital, mention of puking, reader is basically kidnapped lmaoo, handcuffs, incorrect medical talk and drug talk

wc: ~ 1.9k

a/n: first req that I´ve fulfilled!!!! working on all the others rn, I PROMISE!! also, I´m reworking my masterlist cause it ain´t working :3

here’s the intro/drabble to them!

Your heart slammed against your ribs, erratic and desperate, a caged animal gnawing at the bars. The world teetered, flickering in and out of focus as your eyelids fought to stay open, to cling to consciousness, but it was slipping, sand spilling through your trembling fingers. A thick, suffocating warmth coiled around your limbs, seeping into your bones, poisoning you from the inside out. It slithered through your veins like a viper, whispering in your blood, coaxing your body toward surrender.

Move. You had to move.

But your body wasn’t yours anymore. The command never reached your muscles, and they lay useless, dead weight against damp sheets that clung to your fevered skin. A pitiful sound, yours, barely a breath, drifted from your lips as you forced your head to the side. Just a little. Just enough.

The door. Rafe’s door.

The dark frame swam in your vision, shifting and blurring, the chaos beyond it melting into a meaningless smear. The world shrank, closing in, the edges curling like burning paper. Black dots bled into your sight, multiplying, spreading, and devouring. Your chest stuttered, lungs gasping, body writhing in its final, feeble protest.

But it was useless. The fever of overdose wrapped its fingers around your throat. And this time, you lost.

Darkness swallowed you whole.

_

Rafe exhaled sharply, the sound bordering on a growl. The hospital chair groaned as he pushed himself up again. Paced again. The relentless, jittery energy under his skin refused to settle, clawing at his ribs, rattling in his skull. His teeth ached from grinding, his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms.

The dull hospital light did you no favors. It cast you in shades of ghostly white and sickly yellow, illuminating every fragile line of your body against the stiff sheets. Your arms were riddled with IVs, tubes feeding you life drop by drop, undoing what he’d done.

He should have been worried. He should have been fucking devastated. Instead, he was livid. Not at you. No, never at you. At himself. Because he had done this.

He had forgotten.

Forgot the way he pressed those pills into your palm that morning, his fingers brushing yours with something almost gentle—before he shoved them past your lips himself. A prelude. A sedative. A quieting. He forgot the way they melted on your tongue, dissolving into something heavy, something thick, something that made your heartbeat drag in your ears like a slow, drowning metronome. How your breath turned to syrup, each inhale a weight you could barely carry. How it made it easier for him. How it made you easier.

He forgot the way his fingers curled around your throat, a slow and lazy pressure, just enough to make your vision blur at the edges while he worked himself between your thighs.

He forgot the way he tilted your chin up later, the rough pad of his thumb dragging over your lip as he held the joint to your mouth. Smoke in. Obedience out. His way of keeping you quiet, pliant, while he murmured something about dinner, something about how you needed to stop fucking whining. How the tendrils of gray curled toward the ceiling while your thoughts were shot clean through, splattered against the walls of your mind before they could form into anything useful.

And he forgot, of course, when he was fixing his cufflinks, adjusting the crisp white collar of his shirt, black suit clinging to him like sin itself. How he lined up neat little rows of coke for you, a final insurance policy against your clarity, against your ability to recognize the shape of his absence.

He hadn’t thought much about it.

Not until your body was convulsing in his passenger seat, bile dripping from your chin, your breath coming in shallow, failing gasps. Not until the doctor stood before him now, murmuring things like irregular heartbeat, overdose risk, weeks without substances.

No drugs. Five to six weeks. Maybe forever. He almost laughed. Did they think that was enough time for you to grow a spine? To find your way out?

No. You wouldn’t leave. You couldn’t leave.

His jaw twitched, his fingers flexing. The thought of you outside his walls, beyond his control, out of his grasp, no, no, that wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all.

He had carved you out of nothing, molded you into something beautiful, something his. And you would stay with him. Locked away in that vast, hollow mansion. Lost inside the walls he built around you. Forever.

No matter how many bruises, handcuffs, or locks it took.

_

You woke up slowly as if being dragged out of the depths of something thick and suffocating. Consciousness seeped in like a slow, unwelcome tide, bringing with it the dull, throbbing ache in your skull, the rawness of your throat, the stiffness of your limbs. Your tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of your mouth, and the air was stale, thick with something unidentifiable, something oppressive.

The first thing you saw was the ceiling, a high, vaulted expanse of white. It was unfamiliar, but the scent in the air, the underlying trace of expensive cologne and something darker, something purely him, told you where you were before you even turned your head.

Rafe’s house.

Panic unfurled in your gut like a coiled serpent finally roused. Your pulse stammered, adrenaline cutting through the remnants of whatever fog still clung to your mind. You tried to move, to sit up, but resistance met your wrists, cold, unyielding metal.

Handcuffs.

The realization came slow, sluggish under the weight of exhaustion and withdrawal. Your fingers curled into fists, nails biting into your palms.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.”

His voice. Silky smooth, laced with amusement, the kind that slithered under your skin and made you feel small. You turned your head, muscles protesting the movement, and there he was. Sitting in the chair beside the bed, legs sprawled, fingers tapping idly against his knee. His blue eyes locked onto yours with quiet intensity, with possession.

“Rafe,” your voice cracked, barely more than a whisper.

His lips twitched, something like satisfaction flickering across his face before vanishing just as quickly. “You had a rough night.”

Your stomach twisted. Flashes of memory stabbed through the haze, your body convulsing, the taste of bile, the cold, sterile lights of the hospital. The tubes, the machines, the doctors murmuring over you. Overdose.

You swallowed, throat burning. “Let me go.”

He let out a short, almost incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “Not happening, sweetheart.”

You pulled against the cuffs, metal biting into your skin. “Rafe, please—”

His eyes darkened, his jaw ticking. “You almost fucking died.”

The words were sharp, slicing through the thick air like a blade. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his gaze pinning you in place. “You think I’m gonna let that happen again?”

Your breath hitched. “It’s my life.”

His hand shot out, fingers curling around your jaw in a bruising grip. “No,” he murmured, voice low, lethal. “It’s mine.”

A shiver raked through you, whether from fear or withdrawal, you weren’t sure. The air between you crackled, heavy with something unspoken, something twisted.

He exhaled slowly, loosening his grip but not pulling away. His thumb brushed over your cheek, almost tender. Almost. “This is for your good,” he said softly. “No drugs. No leaving. Just you and me.”

Your stomach churned. The implications sank in like weights dragging you under.

No escape. No control. No freedom. His world. His rules. Forever.

_

The first few days were hell.

Your body rebelled against itself, convulsing in fits of tremors so violent they rattled the headboard, muscles twisting in agonizing spasms. Sweat soaked the sheets beneath you, drenching your skin, your clothes, and your hair. Fever burned through you in waves, relentless, scorching, leaving you shivering in its wake. Your stomach clenched in protest, empty but still heaving, the dry retches leaving your throat raw and useless. Every inch of you ached, skin too tight, bones brittle, your blood screaming for something, anything, to quiet the chaos.

Rafe was always there.

Perched in that chair, watching. Sometimes silent, sometimes murmuring things you couldn't understand past the static in your brain. Occasionally, he'd press a damp cloth to your forehead, his touch ghosting over your fevered skin, deceptively gentle. Other times, when the withdrawal had its claws in you deep enough to have you sobbing, begging, he'd grip your chin, force you to look at him, and simply say, "No."

No drugs. No relief. No escape.

By the end of the first week, the worst of the sickness had passed, but the craving, the gnawing, insatiable hunger for something to take the edge off, remained. Rafe was prepared for that, of course.

The handcuffs stayed. When he had to leave the room, he'd bind your wrists to the bed frame, ensuring that even if you wanted to claw your way out, you couldn't. When he was there, he left one hand free, just enough movement to allow you to eat, to drink, to touch him when he demanded it. Just enough to remind you that your freedom was in his hands.

"You're getting better," he'd say, running fingers through your hair, his tone almost soothing. "You’ll thank me for this someday."

_

Week two brought exhaustion, a bone-deep fatigue that left you hollowed out. The worst of the shaking had faded, but your limbs still felt like lead, your head thick with cotton. Time became a meaningless blur of waking and sleeping, fading in and out of coherence. The world outside might as well have ceased to exist, there was only this room, this bed, Rafe’s presence looming, omnipresent.

By the third week, your body had begun to function again, but your mind was sluggish, slow to piece together reality. Rafe made sure of that. The meals he brought, the water he pressed to your lips, they were laced with just enough to keep you hazy, and compliant, but never enough to make you crumble like you did again.

No drugs for 6 weeks, bullshit.

"You don’t need that shit anymore," he murmured one night, his lips brushing your temple as you lay curled beneath the covers, weak and pliant. "I'm all you need."

Somewhere between weeks four and five, the desperation set in. The fight in you flickered, weak but present. You started resisting. Pulling against the cuffs until your wrists bled, refusing to eat, spitting venom in every word you could manage. Rafe met each defiance with patience, a maddening, knowing smile like he was waiting for you to burn yourself out.

And then, he started rewarding your obedience.

A free hand. A warm bath. A walk through the house, always with his hand gripping your arm, always with a reminder murmured against your ear: "You behave, you get more. You fight me, you lose."

By week six, you had lost track of time. Your mind, your body, they weren’t your own anymore. Your voice barely belonged to you, your words carefully chosen to avoid punishment, your movements dictated by his expectations. The cuffs remained, but now, they were more of a suggestion than a necessity.

Because Rafe had won.

And when he looked at you, running a thumb over the bruises on your wrists, his lips curved into something satisfied, something triumphant as he shoved two little pills into your open mouth.

"See? I told you, sweetheart. You were always meant to be mine."

[wonderjanga]

What if Marvel got Amnesia

So basically, Billy as Marvel gets hit with a memory wipe spell. Only, the spell is so strong he gets amnesia so far back he now thinks he’s a former champion that came even before Adam.

In case you can’t tell, this is really bad, because in their eyes, they just suddenly woke up in what was practically another world. (They’d be from like 5000 BC) So, naturally, they brush off the rubble and look around what looked to be the aftermath of a fight. They fly out of the building, and holy moly, where in the God’s were they? They’re looking around the architecture of Fawcett in both awe and confusion. They’re also confused as to why all the citizens are looking at them strangely and whispering. (He isn’t smiling. Captain Marvel isn’t smiling. He’s always smiling, why isn’t he now?) Cue them whooping absolute ass, like wasting no time and turning themself into an human electricity bomb and blowing up whatever warehouse they and Sivana were in. This continues until the Marvel misses a JL meeting cause, you know, they doesn’t remember. Which, is rare for Marvel, but not uncommon. So Former Champion Marvel keeps handling business. Meanwhile, the JL is getting increasingly worried, Marvel hasn’t show up for his monitor shifts and They actually act a lot like Billy, they do the helping old ladies cross the road, helping cats out of trees, and helping lost kids find their parents. So, the Fawcett citizens know something is wrong, but something isn’t completely wrong. Their hero’s probably just having a bad day… or couple weeks… or couple months. During all this time, the champion went back to the Rock of Eternity and talked to wizard after figuring out the whole thing with the brazier, and the wizard is like, “okay, this isn’t that bad” and if anything, it isn’t, he supposes. He gets to spend time with one of his dead kinda-kids. But he also has to figure out a spell to reverse this. Now, the whole thing comes to a head when the JL has had enough and sends Flash and GL, buddies of Marvel to ask him what’s wrong, because if the champion was mad, he certainly wouldn’t drag it out this long. This ends with Former Champion Marvel trying to fight the both of them (successfully winning, and dropping a lore bomb on Flash that he’s (Former Champ) met a speedster and dropping some cold ass line like “all over you are the same” or something like that) because he thinks their villains. Soon after the fight, the wizard figures out the spell, gets Former to cast it and boom, Billy’s back and has to explain why he beat the crap out of Flash and GL, and by extension, had to explain why he didn’t go to the Watchtower for a bit and stuff. (Also he had to explain to Freddy and Mary as to why he was transformed for like a good two months)

The end.

[avelera]

Thank you for talking about how Viktor wouldn't be mean to Jayce! I do really agree that fandom really tries to boil them down to their basics or preexisting tropes and it really sucks to see people think he'd really insult Jayce or hit him with his cane. Something I started thinking about after I read that post is that so much of the cast are Zaunite and nearly every one of them are sharp-tongued, and so maybe that's why people think Viktor would be mean? But that doesn't really take into account his personality or how he might feel he has to present himself as someone from Zaun living in Piltover.

Yeah the "hitting with the cane" trope definitely feels OOC for him to me. I could maybe see him tapping or hooking Jayce to get his attention but... even then. We rarely see Viktor use his cane or crutch for anything but their intended purpose.

If I may extrapolate out, I find it notable that when he has the cane pre-time skip he leaves it aside when possible, like when standing at the blackboard, and tries to mask his disability. I know for many people with disabilities, they love their aids, and the aids given them freedom of movement and from pain, but I would venture to say that Viktor does not see his crutch or his cane all that favorably.

I think Viktor sees his disability aids as necessary indignities that he'd rather do without if he could. See how quickly he drops his crutch once he tests out being able to run post-experimentation. He probably only goes back and gets it, rather than abandoning it there, because he wants to continue to hide the experiments he's doing.

Combine that with Jayce noting how he saw his leg as a "weakness" and I think there is further evidence that Viktor sees his crutch or cane rather negatively.

Which is a roundabout way of saying, I don't think Viktor would use his crutch or his cane as a hook or a bludgeon against Jayce not only because he's arguably the most pacifistic character in the whole show, but also because I don't think he really likes using it or thinking about it for anything but its intended purpose of assisting his mobility. I think Jayce views Viktor's crutch more favorably than Viktor does, he sees it as a part of Viktor in a positive way, an extension of him.

As for the topic of Zaun, I do agree that I think some fics give Viktor more of a, hmm, "class consciousness" around Zaun than he's shown to have?

For example:

Viktor only ever calls it "the undercity" in S1. Calling it Zaun at all is something that radicals like Silco do, it's even implied that Silco is kind of resurrecting a long-dead name for the area as part of his separatist movement, so it might not even be in wide use beyond Silco's circles, like Viktor may not have even really heard of it as a common term in S1. In addition, if "Zaun" is a politically charged term, I wouldn't be surprised if Viktor would avoid calling it that at all, because he's not a separatist or a radical, he's just from there and he thinks of it as "the undercity". Viktor is not shown as someone from the undercity who really wants to rock the boat in Piltover politically and he's certainly not a separatist, he wants to help the undercity as a disadvantaged community within Piltover.

The only time I think we see Viktor call it "Zaun" is somewhat in the abstract in S2, when he admires Vander's vision for "Zaun as it could have been". To me, it felt like he was discussing Zaun as a distant ideal rather than as the place where he was currently located or a political identity he identified with. He admires that other people who are more political than him had a cohesive vision for something the undercity that Viktor knows could become.

Viktor is actually incredibly apolitical, which is interesting when you consider he was assistant to Heimerdinger, who was head of the Council. He considers Jayce's time as a Councilor a "waste of our time", it never even occurs to him to use that political power to improve lives in the undercity, instead of science. In general Viktor tends to be pretty blind to other discipline besides science when it comes to bettering the world, and is even dismissive of them, which I think is a bit narrow-minded of him to be honest.

Viktor's dismissiveness towards anything that isn't science when it comes to improving lives is certainly a factor in how his and Jayce's relationship becomes strained in S1, he never sees Jayce's work as a Councilor as potentially offering a broader avenue for achieving their goals to help the undercity, not once, which is actually rather baffling and interesting that he has this blindspot (possibly because of my theory that at a certain point in S1, once he knows he's rapidly dying, Viktor is only using "helping the undercity" as a smokescreen to others but mostly himself to cover up his shame for the fact he really just wants to use Hextech to save himself while the undercity has become secondary, but he doesn't want to admit that. That also explains his shame when he sees Sky's notes and realizes he's been trying to save himself to the exclusion of all else, that he's lost sight of his larger goals and dreams.)

Even when Viktor starts the cult in the undercity, it's not a politically motivated enclave, he doesn't describe it as part of a Zaunite movement. It really is just posed as a refuge for those in need, separate entirely I would argue from the Piltover vs. Zaun conflict, unlike Ekko's Firelights who provide shelter AND do community action and freedom fighting. Indeed, Viktor heals Salo, a Councilor, the most privileged of the privileged from Piltover. I'd argue this is an additional sign that he is "colorblind" when it comes to the conflict between the two cities.

Finally, I would argue that Viktor is from a generation that somewhat precedes the class conflicts and brewing civil war between Piltover and the undercity. I think he's from a generation where the cities were still linked enough that they were more like the "good" and the "bad" side of the tracks. He was smart enough to get out and make something of himself in the big city, he has a goal of helping to uplift those he left behind, but he sees them as one city still even if he has sympathy later for a separatist movement. The way he talks about the undercity to me feels less like a separate entity and more a particular disadvantaged community within Piltover.

Anyway, I've gone off on like three crazy wild tangents based on your reply. Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed that post! And I agree, of all the Zaunites, Viktor is actually quite different from the others and that is really interesting to explore!

[ourseasone]

CHAPTER 002 ✱ YOU’RE INTO GUYS?

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The midday bell rings across the campus of Byuksan High School, and in an instant, the energy in the building shifts. Classrooms empty as students spill into the corridors, voices rising in a chaotic symphony of teenage chatter, laughter, and the rhythmic thud of sneakers on tile floors. Sunlight streams in through the tall windows, casting long, golden beams across the bustling hallways. It’s lunchtime — a sacred, much-needed break in an otherwise dragging school day. Among the sea of students are you and Suho, navigating the crowd with the ease of two boys who have spent years weaving through these same hallways.

You have one arm slung lazily over Suho’s shoulders, a familiar gesture that makes you look like an inseparable duo out of a comic strip. The morning classes crawled by at a painfully slow pace, especially for you, having endured most of them alone while Suho snoozed with his head buried in the crook of his arm. Now free from the monotony of lectures and chalkboard scribbles, your only mission is to make it to the cafeteria in one piece and grab something edible before the good stuff disappears. You amble along, chatting about nothing in particular — class gossip, the cafeteria’s suspicious mystery meat, whether Mr. Han’s toupee is a government experiment — the usual.

“Hey… if I ate a whole candle,” Suho says, his tone eerily sincere. “Do you think I’d glow?”

You yawn, barely registering the absurdity of the question at first. But when you turn to look at Suho, you find your best friend staring at you with an expression of such intense curiosity, it’s impossible to ignore. You blink slowly, pretending to give it some thought — the kind of exaggerated, mock-scientific thinking one reserves for the dumbest of hypotheticals.

“Only if you scream while chewing,” you reply with a perfectly straight face. “That activates the wax enzymes.”

Suho’s eyes widen in awe, like you’ve just unlocked the secrets of the universe.

“So, wait… if I eat a candle and scream loud enough, I become a light source?”

“Temporarily,” you say with a nonchalant shrug. “You basically turn into a human flashlight. But it only works if you’re experiencing emotional distress.”

“Wow, that’s kinda efficient,” Suho says, nodding like he’s already calculating the savings. “Think about how much money I could save on electricity bills.”

You laugh, pulling Suho in a little tighter as you walk, amused by how genuinely he seems to be considering it.

“Sure,” you say. “Right up until your stomach melts and you start farting fire.”

Suho doesn’t even flinch. He looks you dead in the eye, voice dropping to a deadly serious tone.

“Dude. That’s not a problem — that’s literally evolution.”

You nearly trip over your own feet laughing. “No, that’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. Possibly arson.”

Suho grins wickedly. “Okay, but what if I eat two candles?”

Now thoroughly entertained by the absurdity of the conversation, you turn your head to give Suho a questioning look. Your eyebrow quirks in amusement as you mirror his grin. You’re just about to fire back with something equally ridiculous — maybe something like 'Then you qualify as a lamp and need a license' — but before you can get the words out, fate intervenes. As you’re focused on Suho, your eyes fixed on his face, you fail to notice the person directly in front of you. In the chaos of the crowded hallway, it’s all too easy to get distracted, and sure enough, you accidentally slam into someone with a sharp thud.

You jerk back in alarm, your heart racing as you whip around to see what’s happened. Your stomach drops when you see the unfortunate person sprawled out on the floor, eyes wide in surprise.

“Oh shit—” you mutter, stumbling back a step as the shock of the moment hits you. You instinctively grab onto Suho’s arm, using your friend to steady yourself. Your heart races, and you can’t shake the feeling that everything has just gone horribly wrong.

The guy you bumped into is sprawled awkwardly on the floor, looking a little dazed. It’s not clear if he’s sitting up or if he’s fallen completely, but he’s not moving much, save for the slight bob of his head as he tries to shake off the disorientation. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, partially obscuring his face. Meanwhile, his AirPods are scattered around him, and his backpack has landed in a strange twist, one strap hanging limp on the floor like a forgotten appendage. Your eyes widen in surprise as the sight registers.

Guilt immediately bubbles up in your chest, and you pull away from Suho without thinking, rushing over to the boy’s side. Your feet move faster than your brain can process, already crouching in front of him before you even fully realize what you’re doing.

“Hey, are you okay?” you ask quickly, your voice more frantic than you intend, laced with genuine concern. “Damn, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t paying attention at all.”

Your hands move without thinking, adjusting the boy’s twisted backpack, straightening it with a soft sigh. Your eyes dart to the scattered AirPods, immediately scanning the floor for the tiny pieces. The sight of them makes you feel like you’ve just caused a disaster. A small, apologetic smile tugs at your lips as your fingers gently brush across the cold floor, and a small sigh of relief escapes you when you finally find all the pieces. You pick them up one by one, treating them as if they were fragile treasures.

Just as you’re about to hand them back, you look up, only to find the boy staring at you. And not just a glance — he’s locked in a silent, intense gaze, his dark eyes fixed on your face with an unblinking focus that feels almost like being caught in the headlights of a speeding car.

And that’s when you fully register who he is. Yeon Sieun — that’s his name, the one on the tag stitched neatly into his uniform. You’ve seen him around before, sure, but never up close like this. Sieun’s dark brown hair is soft and slightly tousled, falling into his eyes in a way that’s almost endearing. The bangs just barely brush his forehead. But what really strikes you are his eyes — dark, deep, and so expressive. There’s something mesmerizing and… honestly, really breathtaking about them, something that pulls you in without warning. You can’t help but think, Wow, those are some eyes. You couldn’t tear your gaze away even if you tried.

“…My AirPods,” Sieun mutters, his voice soft but clear, snapping you out of your trance.

You blink, realizing just how long you’ve been staring. You look down at the earbuds in your hand, then back at Sieun, mentally scrambling to catch up with the situation.

“Oh! Right, your AirPods,” you say quickly, the words spilling out faster than you intend. You instantly feel like a complete idiot, realizing how ridiculous you must seem. “Sorry about that. Here.”

Sieun’s fingers brush against yours as he takes the AirPods, and you can’t help but notice the stark contrast in your hands. His are smaller, more delicate, while yours feel large and clumsy in comparison. The moment lingers for a second too long, and you find yourself standing awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. You shift your weight, feeling a sudden rush of heat in your cheeks as you reach down to offer a hand to help Sieun up.

Sieun, however, just stares at your outstretched hand. His gaze flicks between your face and the hand offered to him for what feels like an eternity. Long, awkward seconds stretch by before he finally hesitates and, with a small sigh, places his hand in yours, letting you pull him up to his feet. The height difference becomes more apparent now, with Sieun having to tilt his head up slightly to meet your eyes. It’s… cute. Really cute. You can’t help but think it’s endearing, but you quickly push that thought aside, focusing instead on the odd tension in the air.

Just then, a pointed cough pierces the silence, and you snap your head around to see Suho standing a few steps away, arms crossed, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. Oh, right. You’re still in the middle of a school hallway, and this moment of awkwardness isn’t going to last forever.

You quickly turn back to Sieun.

“Are you okay?” you ask again, your voice softer this time, a genuine concern lingering in your words. You never really got an answer the first time, and you need to make sure the boy is all right.

Sieun blinks, taking a moment to process before muttering under his breath, “Hm. You walk like a drunk giraffe.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, a light chuckle escaping you despite the awkwardness of the situation.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you reply, the awkward tension of the situation easing just a bit.

Just to be sure, you quickly scan Sieun for any visible injuries. When you don’t see any bruises or scrapes, a small sigh of relief escapes you, and a genuine smile returns to your face. Then, without thinking too much about it — more out of habit than anything else — you reach up and brush a stray lock of hair away from Sieun’s forehead, a gesture you often make with Suho when you’re joking around.

“I’m really sorry again,” you say, your voice warmer now. “See you in class, Sieun.”

You give a quick wave and turn to rejoin Suho, who’s already giving you a teasing look. As you begin walking away, Suho gives you a playful slap on the back, causing you to stumble a little.

And Sieun stays there for a moment, watching you walk off with a look of complete disbelief in his eyes.

If the hallways had been loud, then the cafeteria was on a whole different level — it was complete and utter chaos. Voices bounced off the high ceilings, chairs scraped across the floor, trays clattered, and someone in the back was already yelling over a spilled drink. It was the usual lunchtime madness at Byuksan High School.

You and Suho had managed to snag one of the last empty tables, sitting across from each other with trays of lukewarm cafeteria food between you. Suho, as expected, had not stopped talking since you sat down — and worse, he hadn’t stopped teasing you either. For ten excruciating minutes, he’d been reenacting the hallway incident with far too much enthusiasm; flailing arms, dramatic sound effects, and talking with his mouth so full of rice that you had to look away to keep your appetite.

“Yah,” Suho said again, barely containing another round of laughter. He pointed his chopsticks across the table like they were weapons. “You demolished that poor guy. Like — full body slam. Out of nowhere. Just bam!”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face as you chewed on a mouthful of rice. You didn’t dignify the reenactment with a response — instead, you casually tapped Suho’s chopsticks aside with your own and shot him a look.

“Yah,” you mimicked dryly. “Eat your damn food before I glue your mouth shut.”

But Suho wasn’t fazed. In fact, he doubled over laughing, almost choking on a piece of kimchi in the process. Several nearby students glanced over, clearly wondering what was so funny. You, though thoroughly annoyed, couldn’t help the faint grin tugging at the corner of your lips. No matter how dumb Suho was being, his energy was infectious. You shook your head and exhaled, somewhere between amused and exasperated. This was just Suho — loud, ridiculous, and completely incapable of letting a moment pass without turning it into a joke. But still, you wouldn’t change a thing. As chaotic as he was, Suho had a way of making everything around him feel a little lighter.

Still, even as Suho went on ranting about how you might be charged with ‘attempted murder by shoulder-check’, your mind drifted. Back to the hallway. Back to him. Back to Sieun. The image returned in full detail; tousled hair, serious eyes, that slightly blank but piercing look — like he could see right through you without saying a single word. It had lasted seconds, maybe less, but it had stuck to you like gum on the bottom of a shoe. Inescapable.

“Yeon Sieun,” you murmured, almost to yourself, letting the name roll off your tongue like you were tasting it. “He was kinda cute.”

The words hung in the air for a second.

Suho froze. Literally froze — like someone had hit pause on him. His cheeks were still puffed out, his mouth full, eyes wide open. For a second, he just sat there, unmoving, staring at you with a look that hovered somewhere between shock and betrayal. If you had thrown a pencil at his head right then, he probably wouldn’t have even blinked. He looked like a hamster who had just witnessed a crime.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“What did you just say?” Suho demanded, leaning forward now, chopsticks clutched in one hand like he was ready to cross-examine you.

“That he was cute?” you repeated, nonchalant as ever.

“Yeah, that!” Suho jabbed his chopsticks through the air like he was pointing out a crime scene. “That.”

You just stared, visibly unfazed.

“What?” you asked again, head tilting slightly, your tone genuinely confused — as if Suho were the one acting weird, not you.

There was a beat of silence as the two of you just… stared. Suho was squinting now, chewing much more slowly, eyes narrowed like he was trying to read hidden subtext in your face. Meanwhile, you looked like a golden retriever trying to understand quantum physics — head cocked, eyebrows lifted slightly, lips pressed into a casual line. Then came the question, dropped in a flat tone, like it was both an accusation and a revelation.

“Wait… you’re into guys?”

“Yep,” you said without missing a beat, lifting a spoonful of rice to your mouth as if you were talking about the weather.

The sound that followed was a metallic clink — Suho had dropped his chopsticks straight onto his tray. He was now leaning over the table, mouth slightly open, eyes comically wide. He looked like someone had just revealed a long-lost twin or told him the cafeteria food was actually edible.

“Wait— seriously?!”

You looked up mid-chew and nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I told you. Like… two years ago? Three?”

Suho’s eyes went wide. “No, you didn’t!”

“Yes, I did. You were half-asleep, and I said, ‘By the way, I think I like guys.’ You grunted and then asked me if I wanted your extra pudding cup.”

Suho squinted, trying to rewind the memory. Slowly, realization dawned.

“Wait. That… actually sounds like something that happened.” He looked betrayed by his own brain. “I thought you were joking!”

You chuckled, setting your spoon down. “Yeah, I figured you did. But I wasn’t. You just never brought it up again, so I assumed you got the memo.”

Suho leaned back, eyes still wide, but the shock was quickly melting into amusement. “Damn. And here I thought you were just a sad little loser who couldn’t get a girlfriend—”

Before Suho could launch into another overly dramatic reaction, you reached across the table and shoved a big bite of rice into his mouth using your chopsticks. Suho sputtered mid-protest, nearly choking on the unexpected ambush.

“Mmph— what the— mmphf!” he mumbled through a mouthful of rice.

“Chew,” you said, grinning as Suho glared at you with puffed cheeks like an angry squirrel.

You both burst out laughing after that — loud and unfiltered, the kind of laughter that made other students glance over, but neither of you cared. The conversation drifted into nonsense again : dumb jokes, petty arguments about food, and exaggerated gossip about your classmates. Nothing heavy. Nothing different. And yet, even as you polished off the last bites of your food and wiped your mouth with a crumpled napkin, your thoughts kept circling back to one place.

Or rather, to one person; Yeon Sieun.

No matter how loud Suho got or how silly your banter turned, you couldn’t shake the memory of those eyes — quiet, unreadable, and somehow still echoing inside your chest.

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note ∘ ∘ ∘ i hope you’ll enjoy this chapter! feel free to let me know what you think of the story and please don’t hesitate to reblog or leave a like — it really helps motivate me to keep writing! 🩶

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[16ferrari]

Sweet dreams | R.G

‧₊˚ ☁️ ✩ Rick grimes x fem!reader

‧₊˚ ☁️ ✩ summary: a horny dream made into reality

‧₊˚ ☁️ ✩ warnings: unprotected sex, light choking, light slapping, I hate the ending very much. Proofread but maybe some missed errors

Walking into the house rick noticed it was quieter than usual. Usually you’d be up and about, cleaning, cooking or doing the laundry. But it was silent

He kicked off his boots and wandered further into the house, taking notice that you did in fact clean up, but you were still nowhere in sight. He walked up the stairs, each step he took a noise was made beneath him from the old wood the house was built on.

As he reached the door to your shared bedroom, he couldn’t wait but come to a halt as he heard a voice coming from the closed bedroom door. Hand covering the door knob he expected nothing less than a dark room, a light breeze coming from The window you left open every night in order to fall asleep faster than listening to the dead-silence that filled the house when Rick wasn't there.

He grunted as sat down on the bed. he ran his hands through his hair, tugging at it in pure exhaustion. he heard moving from behind him which made him cast a look over his shoulder to where you were laid down at.

you had Huffed and puffed in your sleep, hips grinding against the pillow you slept with in-between your legs. he raised his eyebrows, suddenly remembering the voice he heard, which turned out to be none other than you moaning in your sleep.

He slowly got up from the bed and walked over to your side of the bed. he stood over you and waited, and waited, until he heard that sweet song of his name fall from your lips.

"Rick, fuck. baby"

Rick crouched down, his hand reaching out to softly move your hair from your face to see the fucked-out expression you had in your sleep.

"aw, poor baby" he muttered to himself. His pants got uncomfortably tight as he continued to watch you basically fuck yourself in your sleep.

In your dream everything felt real, so fucking real.

He had you, hands pinned above you while he forced your body down to the bed. The entire room was filled from wall-to-wall with the sounds of your moans and the distrusting sound of his wet cock slipping in and out of your abused cunt. Your whole body shook with another incoming orgasm.

"wanna cum, please" you begged again, having been denied to cum since he put you in the position you were in. But again, no matter how much you begged he just simply chuckled and continued on fucking you like you were some sort of toy.

He never said anything to you in your dream. Just simply fucked and fucked you until your whole body ached.

Rick listened and absorbed your movements. The way your face twisted into nothing but pleasure and neediness while your hips shamelessly grinded into the pillow, fuck, he felt his breathing pick up, he needed to wake you up now.

“Sweetheart” he lightly shook your arm. “Sweetheart wake up, now” he saw the confusion in your eyes as you opened them, however he also saw a tear fall from your eyes.

“Rick?” You lifted your hand from your pillow to softly crease his cheek. You couldn’t stop the sob from falling from your lips as you looked right into his blue eyes. “It wasn’t real?”

Your body fucking ached with a strong desire to cum.

“No, sweetheart it wasn’t” he moved the hair from your face and tucked it behind your ear. “Want me to make it real”

You nodded your head, body laying flat onto the bed as he climbed ontop of you. He placed both hands on either side of your head as he leaned down to place a gentle but firm kiss to your lips, immediately you moan hands flying to grip onto his grayish hair. He took your moan as opportunity to force his tongue into your mouth.

He opened your legs wider for him to settle in-between. The kiss turned sloppy and nasty in a matter of seconds. He broke the kiss to plant kisses down your cheek to your neck, he left harsh bites that would be insanely hard to cover up but you didn’t care, you loved the pain of his teeth sinking into your neck. A deep groan from behind your throat fell from your lips as he backed his knee into your throbbing cunt

He knew exactly what he was doing by doing that, knew that just the slightest pressure on your cunt was on a high risk of making you come undone.

“Rick, please” you sobbed grabbing a handful of his shirt. “It hurts please” it truly did hurt, everything hurt on your body, you’ve never needed him more than before.

“Aw, baby, where does it hurt" he slowly traced his hand down your body, starting from your neck down to your tits and finally down to your panties, his hand hovered above the white cotton ones you wore. “Does it hurt here?” He messed with the waistband and watched as that small movement made your breath pick up.

You nodded fast, “y-yes, there it hurts” your back arched off the bed as he laid a slap to your covered cunt. You tried to close your legs but he was quicker than you and prided them open.

He pulled your panties down your legs, tossed them somewhere behind his head and Immediately went to work. You moaned loudly as you felt the wetness on his tongue lay directly on your cunt. His tongue moved all sorts of ways that he knew would make you more than Beyond weak. You couldn’t stop the tears from flowing down your face as you felt his tongue slip in and out of your hole, while his fingers rubbed circles on your bub.

“My god, rick please” one of your hand flew to grip onto his hair while the other grabbed onto your tit, “don’t stop” he continued slurping your wetness from your cunt.

You felt your body began to shake and finally that high you were chasing in your dream came true in reality. Your mouth hung open as you came, a load of silent moans fell out. “Fuck, fuck rick” your breathing was fast as you came back to reality.

Rick lightly slapped at your cheek, “you still with me honey” you nodded, completely dumbfounded. “Aw she can’t speak” he mocked your silence.

He sat up on his knees, “i know a way to make you speak again” he unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down just enough for his cock to spring free. He hovered back over you, “still stupid, uh?” He tapped his tip against your wet and clenching cunt which made you snap back to reality.

“Am not stupid” just saying that made you feel stupid, and the laugh that left his mouth made you feel even worse.

“Of course you’re not stupid-“ you grasped as you felt his cock fill your tight hole, “just stupid enough for my cock that you dream about it” you grabbed onto the bedsheets as he sped up his movements enough that the headboard started banging against the wall.

“Fuck you feel good honey, tell me” he grabbed onto your neck, bringing your face close enough that you could feel his breath on your face, “tell me, you prefer the real me, not the dream me. Because only I can make you feel this way.

A slight jealousy of himself wasn’t something you would expect, but you suppose the real rick was ten times more better than a dream version of himself.

“Of-of course the real is better, fuck rick” he threw your head back down onto the pillow and continued on with his brutal thrust

“That’s what I expected”

[sunseed-fandump]

What are your witch headcanons?(Thinking of making a story about young kids witches/wizards that shrink down the size of cookies)

Congratulations! You have opened Pandora's Box of shit I brainrot about! BEHOLD!!!

The Many Cookie Run Human Headcanon/Theories I Spin Around in my Brain

Based on what bits and pieces we've seen of the Witch of Light and her Coven (and some bits of concept info from the Witch's Castle Artbook). the human world seemed to be spiraling out of control. War, famine, greed, and more was leading the planet to death. The world was practically self-imploding. It seems like this specific Coven - which I call the Coven of Light - wanted to change things and make the world abundant once again via Dessert Magic.

Whether they discovered this kind of magic or it was already a thing before this is unclear.

They must have been experimenting with Life Powder, and I wouldn't be surprised if why they focused on desserts would be because Life Powder might just be easier to bake into things than use it for anything else. It seems like a very unruly substance that even Dark Enchantress has a difficult time handling.

However, even tho the Witch of Light and her Coven had good intentions that doesn't mean whatever magical breakthroughs they discovered were going to be treated with respect by OTHER Witches. The other Witches we've seen so far (like the ones at the Banquet) seem to be in the magical-baking game for entirely different reasons. What those reasons are have been left pretty vague, but I wouldn't be surprised if it had something to do with extending their lifespans or increasing their own magical abilities. After all, consuming Life Powder might have an effect on humans we aren't privy to.

Basically: WoL goes to an island/continent/whatever to do her Life Powder research and make the world a better place, winds up creating an entire sugary ecosystem and becoming a goddess WHOOPSIE!!!

Other spellcasters see this and go "oh shit that's some powerful stuff over there and also the land isn't dogshit and can sustain life" hence City of Wizards, other Witches arriving, etc.

From a conversation we see between the Shadow Witch and Sheriff Whiskerton, along with some interviews leading up to the release of Witch's Castle, it seems humanity has survived whatever near-extinction was going to claim them. However, as a result, magic is being abandoned and those who practice it (Witches and Wizards) are being persecuted.

Before arriving at the Castle, the Shadow Witch lived with her Grandmother who owned a bakery. It was massively successful! Until rumors started being spread about them practicing witchcraft. Suddenly, the whole town turned against them. (Witch's Castle Special Story - Lab in Chaos)

“…magical baking has become a forbidden craft. Attempts at the Ultimate Recipe shook up the world, you see. Now, Magic is almost forgotten. Witches and Wizards hide their true identities and seemingly, magic had all but disappeared from the world.” - Witch’s Castle Launching Showcase

Magic is a dying art in the human parts of the world, and is seemingly a shunned practice. This might have had something to do with why the Wizards abandoned their City. Maybe they were trying to escape persecution? Perhaps they were under threat of attack?

The City of Wizards seemed to be an independent city-state, and a powerful one at that, so I can imagine nations with strong bias against magic-users would probably feel threatened.

Regardless, the general human populace seems ignorant of Cookies and other living Desserts, just as cookies seem ignorant about humans. It looks like Earthbread as a whole is difficult to get to and difficult to leave. Perhaps this was put in place by the WoL to protect it from the wider world?

Or maybe what few Witches are left cast such a spell at one point in order to hide away from a world that wants them dead? After all, there's evidence of Witches still living across Earthbread, hidden away and isolated in huts and castles.

Regardless, Witches and Wizards are far and few, but what human spellcasters remain practice in secret. I can imagine them viewing Earthbread as a safe haven since such a place gives them freedom to practice their craft without having to be afraid of getting burnt at the fucking stake like in the Salem Witch Trials.

[pinkie-quinns]

(posting some old twitter threads here for posterity's sake)

rocker eddie actor steve fame au p1 | p2 p3 p4 p5 interlude p6

Steve follows Eddie out to LA. Indiana’s home, sure, but Eddie’s got dreams bigger than the both of them. And Steve loves him, wants to be there with him the whole way through.

He does odd jobs to pass the time, nannies a lot, works on sets. Extra work pays the best, quick easy cash, so he dances to click tracks in cut scenes of teen shows and pays for their groceries. 

A producer on one of the bigger jobs picks him out on set, tells him he has a good screen presence. He gives him a contact for a proper agent. Steve books the third thing he tries out for.

It's a small role on a pilot that hasn't been picked up yet. He's excited but doesn't think much of it. Mostly he’s just happy for the paycheck. Corroded Coffin's really struggling to break through. They just got dropped from their tiny indie label and Eddie's really bummed.

And Steve uses some of the money from his big, SAG-approved paycheck to try to cheer Eddie up. Make him feel better about the whole thing. But it does the opposite. Eddie keeps acting resentful. 

It only gets worse when Steve's show does get picked up.

Turns out he tested really well with audiences. So the writers rewrote him into the main cast, extended his two episode arc into the whole season. And Steve's really grateful for it, figures they both should be. Eddie's not really working and they need the money.

Corroded coffin is still labelless and basically broken up by the time the show comes out. 

It's a smash hit. Steve's character is a fan favourite. Overnight, he finds himself within the throes of fame. He gets a manager and a PR team and a personal assistant.

He's away from home a lot, doing the media circuit to promote the show. People start prodding into his personal life. His manager, his team, and the network all advise him to appear single and available. 

Eddie makes it easy for him. He leaves without saying a word.

Years down the road, Steve is settled into his fame. He's done a couple movies (some hits, most misses). His show is heading into its final season. He's dated a lot, mostly other celebrities.

Then he walks into a CVS on Venice & sees a name he's been trying to forget for 7 years.

Right on the cover of NME. Eddie had gone to London, apparently. Finally broke through there. Was releasing his debut album later this month. 

At least that's what Steve could tell from looking at it. He doesn’t buy the magazine. He hops into his car and drives til he’s out of gas.

He used to do that back in Indiana. When everything got too loud. Used to do that with Eddie, once they finally got their shit together. Just drive until the tank is near empty & then pull up to some blinking gas station. Head home.

Steve strands himself in Santa Barbara instead.

He sleepwalks through the next few months. The town is buzzing around the impending arrival of Eddie Munson. His album, Penitence, debuted to solid numbers & has only been gaining traction since. He's promoted it in London, New York, done Glastonbury & the late festival circuit.

It's gotten to the point where it's big enough that its hit single is even terrorizing Steve's local grocery store. He knows the first three notes really well. Knows cause that's his cue to leave. 

He hasn't listened to the album. He hasn't read any of the interviews.

In his head it's a good kind of revenge. Eddie left without a trace. Steve should respect his wishes, right? That's what Eddie wanted so badly that he couldn't even call. 

He should respect that too, be staying dead instead of haunting every busboard like a poltergeist.

But he's Eddie so of course he doesn't. So instead Steve spends all his free time thinking about when he'll inevitably run into him. Will it be the VMA afterparty? Will it be the CBS lot? Will it be the whole foods he keeps running into Michelle Pfeiffer at? (Probably not that)

In the end, it's a knock at his door.

Eddie came straight from the airport. Big duffel at his feet. He looks a decade older but his eyes are the same. He doesn't say I'm sorry, or I fucked up. Doesn't get down on his knees & beg. He just asks:

"Did you listen to the album?"

There's a part of Steve that wants to throw a fit. Be big and loud and start lobbing things at Eddie. He'd seen a movie star do that on set once. Over a PA bringing him the wrong brand of flavored water. But he's not Wahlberg, so he invites Eddie inside. 

And they sit and listen to Penitence.

It's an apology. A long one. Fifteen tracks though Eddie always used to be a real asshole about albums that were longer than twelve. 

And it covers everything. All the regret and resentment and the ego that clouded him when fame happened for Steve and not for him. When Steve didn't even want it. It's sorry over and over and over again. It's I fucked up and please take me back. It's ego death. It's disgust and guilt and self-flagellation. 

And when it's over, it dawns on Steve, who feels just as heartbroken as ever, that it's not enough.

[erosiism]

RAVENOUS HUNGER | YANDERE! MUZAN

prompt: muzan kibutsuji who keeps his darling locked up

character(s): yandere muzan kibutsuji, demon!reader

warnings(s): mention of violence, yandere themes.

note(s): male reader, second person, past tense, AU where muzan defeated the demon slayers and he is immune to sunlight, basically he’s the most powerful person, not beta read

Muzan Kibutsuji was no saint.

The man—no, the demon that stood in front of you was responsible for hundreds of thousands of deaths. He was the creator of human-eating monsters. He was a monster. 

And he was also the one who turned you into a demon eons ago. It had happened so long ago that the details of it had long been cast away from your memories, but the imprint of his fangs stayed etched onto your skin—it was a reminder, Muzan told you. A reminder, darling [Name], of who you belong to.

It was strange knowing that you had lived for centuries. Thousands of years, even. You fed on blood: slippery, wet crimson blood that would pulse down your throat like it was still alive. You never killed: the blood was brought to you by none other than the progenitor of Demons. You were not a corpse, yet still you rotted, confined within the room you had stayed in your whole life. Nakime made sure that you would never escape.

Technically, you were strong. You knew as much because the blood you ingested belonged to Muzan. But you were cursed with a weak body. Muzan was too—had he not been on his deathbed years back due to a fatal illness? Wasn’t he supposed to die? You had shared the same plight as him, which resulted in a close bond. But he had taken the doctor’s medicine before it was fully developed—and you hadn’t. In front of your very eyes he had morphed into some horrifically strong being; some being that craved blood, some being that had a hunger that could not be whetted. His eyes had flashed scarlet then, and he had reached out to you almost in maddening desire and hunger—

The sound of his fingernails—now grotesque sharp—against your skin had been obscene, almost. Blood had jetted out of your wound in rhythmic spurts. Each minute seemed like a ticking of death’s clock.

(“[Name],” Muzan hissed, “your blood. It is divine. Heavenly.”

“Muzan—!” You could barely escape, your fingers scrambling about desperately to avoid him. The doctor lay dead.

His fingers traveled down your throat. You choked, feeling as blood was forced down your windpipe. You struggled to breathe. And soon your heartbeat became erratic. Your body started to convulse, and inside you something was replaced. It was bloodthirst. There was a sudden urge for all things gruesome, sinful: blood, flesh, humans.

“Don’t worry, my dear [Name],” Muzan cooed, his voice slow and sweet, “you know i would never hurt you.”)

He broke his promise. Your bones had been broken countless times when you tried to escape. Your flesh had redness and bruises blossoming over it. At times, it would be horribly swollen.

And up to now, you would sit on the mat in whatever yukata, awaiting for his arrival. His blood lacerated you, but it also made you impervious to many things—your wounds healed swiftly, you could feel the power that thrummed beneath your skin. You were strong. Horribly strong. And yet in the face of Muzan, you were weak: a helpless fool.

His touch was delicate as his fingers grazed your skin. His affections at times, obfuscated you. They stunned you. Paralyzed you. He could be so dangerously tender at times, affectionate—that you would feel yourself soften under his touch, become less stilted, almost—and then you would remind yourself again, for the millionth time in a thousand years, that Muzan Kibutsuji was a monster.

His desire for you was sacrilegious. Ungodly. 

“You must understand,” Muzan said softly, before his fingers trailed down the expanse of his neck. His touch was cold. “That you are so weak, so beautiful. You must understand,” he repeated. “What I’m doing protects you.”

“It’s been years.” You said at last, “haven’t you already found the blue spider lily?” You asked desperately.

“The doctor didn’t lie about your health. You are sick. Patience is all we need.”

We, he said. He made it seem like this was what you wanted. But oh god, desperation sat heavy on your tongue. You wanted so badly to go outside; to feel cold air caress your cheeks, to feel the billow of wind once again dancing against your skin. You ached to feel alive; almost human. Sure, you would not be able to go far, but you didn’t care. Just outside. You just wanted to be outside. 

“I have searched far and wide,” Muzan continued. “And yes, I did find the blue spider lily. Nezuko was ingested. I fed you myself; in front of my very eyes, you had swallowed down her flesh. And now you will stay by my side.”

The demon slayers had almost killed him. Almost. Some of the uppermoon had been slayed. Only Akaza, Kokushibo, Douma, and Nakime remained. You had wished selfishly then, for the demon slayers to kill you. 

Muzan Kibutsuji claimed he loved you, that he adored you. But demons felt no such thing. Perhaps he liked the idea of you: of pliant, innocent, devoted you, who had been with him since the beginning. You assumed he would kill you. You assumed that Muzan would have hated the idea of someone seeing him at his weakest, at his most vulnerable.

Clearly, you were wrong. He treated you with tenderness, an evil kind of affection in which he called you by sweet endearments, in which he touched you sweetly and lovingly, on which at times, you would fall under his spell. 

Then there were the punishments. 

The thing with Muzan’s punishments, he made sure they stuck to you. If the man wasn't obsessed with keeping your skin unblemished, he might have tattooed a mark onto your skin, proving his ownership of you to everyone else. Then when you cried or begged, Muzan would soften, a small smile surfacing on his lips. He would relax—he would smile with amusement, kiss your neck.

Muzan Kibutsuji had already achieved whatever he wanted in life: so why couldn’t he let you go?

You were a bird trapped in a pretty cage, and you feared he would never let you go.

experimental work, like/reblog! comments always appreciated