#they need accents canonically

[abandonedbraininaskinsuit]

I don't care what anyone says (and this is no way a hate thing to Jennifer Lawrence and Josh Hutcherson) but everyone in district 12 should've had an an accent!!! Actually, every district should've had an accent, not just the capitol. And before you think this is because if Lucy Gray, it's not.

A lot of the Hunger Games fandom agrees that Panem has been around for at least a century before the Dark Days. And that most likely means that the district system has been around for long time. So, with minimal outside interaction because if district isolation, every district would developed their own words, their own ways of saying things which is how you get an accent! Accents are regional linguistic differences.

Also, if we think about the Hunger Games as dystopian to our current world, that would most likely mean that the USA would have existed long enough for the regional accents to form. (My personal theory is that Panem was formed in mainland North America after the end of WW1, based mostly on timeline and technology stuff.) And based on pictures from TBOSS, we can see that district 10 is Florida, district 11 and 8 are Georgia and district 12 is South Carolina. I know this isn't exactly accurate, but this is the closest North American country map to this one.

So, in theory, with district isolation and the fact that the USA would've been around long enough to form regional accents, Katniss and everyone from district 12 should've had a weirdly aged and isolated South Carolinian accent.

Other people have done better explanations, but this is the best I can do with my research.

[livecrow]

You've been kidnapped by the local butcher and he convinces you he's going to fucking eat you.

Dark!Ghost x fat fem reader

CWs: rape, dehumanization, gaslighting, bondage, undiscussed kink(?), animal play(?), threats and talk of cannibalism but no actual cannibalism

(A tidied up and extended ramble I subjected @391780 to on anon. Inspired directly from their post where Butcher!Simon draws a diagram of beef cuts on you.)

It’s pretty immediately obvious he’s a murderer. He’s probably a serial killer for all you know.

In reality, Simon doesn’t consider himself a serial killer, despite his body count. He’s just someone who doesn’t have qualms dealing with nuisances. He’s a retired vet, after you’d killed enough people, what’s a few more? 

No, his kills were just business, practical. They were men who made the mistake of getting in his way, of being inconvenient. Most, anyway—there’s at least one or two whose only crime was being an especially annoying cunt. Sometimes, some people  “jus’ need killin’”. 

As a butcher, he does find the implication funny, but no, he’s not eaten any of the scum he’s off’ed. “Don’t serve ‘em up to customers, neither”. After all, Simon’s got far higher standards than that. They weren’t even fit for dog food and he has a reputation to uphold. No one can compete with his quality. 

No, you’re nothing like them. You’re special.

Never in his life had he seen a prettier creature—and you’re absolutely prime. He’s salivating just looking at you, plump and oh so soft. He can see it in the way your skin wobbles gently as you move about. Simon couldn't find a straight line on you. And he’s looked. He’s been transfixed watching you, aching.

You live your life meandering obliviously, no brand in sight, not even a tag on your ear. He's surprised no one else snatched you up. Poor thing left to fend for itself ‘s cruel. Nothing else to it. 

Wrangling you was simple, it’s not like your large form actually offered you anything towards your defense. It was easy, really. Your lack of instincts was staggering, it was even more shocking that you lasted this long, he almost couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

You were clueless to the danger, even when it was directly in front of you, it only endeared you to him. Your eyes roved over him, not paying him any mind, just carrying on about your undoubtedly inane business. Only when he was on you and it was too late did you start to kick up a fuss.

The look of panic on your face was just priceless. All this crying and babbling nonsense like, “What are you doing?!” and “Stop!”.

Simon's main concern was not damaging you too much, he was careful. Just a single huge bicep around your neck and any fight you had seemingly evaporated with fright. You're bent over in a headlock, his grip as rigid as a pillory, but he’s not applying enough pressure to actually choke you. You’re just forced helplessly to come along or be dragged.

Not that it would have mattered if you were too wild to be led, he would simply tighten his hold, and allow up a quick nap. He’d pull out the dolly, load up the truck and be on his way.

On the big stainless steel work table the metal stings you even through your clothes. Unfortunately for you, even that scant protection doesn't last. The sight of the shears was enough to paralyze you again, and with a handful of strategic snips, Simon rips your last vestiges of humanity from you. All your skin transforms to gooseflesh, shivering on the table, but your nipples is where his roaming gaze finally settles.

He’ll have to remember to adjust the heat later. After all, “‘s a bit early to start chillin’ you”, he’d chuckle. You were a bit of silly thing, he thought. Maybe it’d be a minute till you’d actually catch on.

You're his little prize. Simon will coddle you, give you plenty of softness and warmth. You’ll not want for blankets, pillows, and other such treats, but not a stitch of clothing will ever touch your skin again. There would be no hiding your nakedness.

“Clothes? Clothes ‘re for people, what y’ need clothes for?” he scoffed. You don’t make the mistake of thinking it’s a question, because he doesn’t want you to answer. A dog doesn’t answer “who's a good boy?” does he? 

He’s measuring you, jotting things down. You think distantly that the pencil looks puny in his fist. While he's at it, he's feeling and squeezing every inch of you. You’re groped and prodded like some saran wrapped package of beef at the grocery store.

Only when you think there’s finally a reprieve, you’re being hogtied. You’re trussed up in practically half a roll of twine, fat bulging between the strands, desperate to escape its bite. Simon says it looks good on you, can’t resist taking one of your new little rolls between his fingers, giving you a teasing pinch. You struggle of course, but the terrifying man commands you to “Settle”, says the only thing your fussing will get you is rope burn. 

He claps you on the ass affectionately, assuring you that the scratchy string is only temporary. He knows a guy for leather, does good work. All hand stitched. Simon will have a proper harness made for you. Something with a lot of d-rings. It will be more comfortable for you and he can situate you how he likes with minimal bruising or chaffing. 

As he admires your skin, he’ll remark offhandedly that he’ll have to ""'ave somethin' from you" too. He’s not usually one to bother, but it’d be a travesty to waste hide like yours. Couldn’t find more supple could y’? He hasn’t decided what’ll be yet, he’ll need to do some maths to figure out how much material you'll make. Behind his mask and the façade of impassivity, he savors your reaction. That’d be about the first time your consciousness flees from you.

Simon will lay it on thick, praise how "well-marbled" you are. Delectable. So plump and well-fed, you can't blame him for any of this, really. He'll say something about kobe beef and taking good care of you. He’ll massage you daily, knead every inch of you between his huge oiled hands. He'd take his time, temple t' toes. You couldn’t get a knot in a muscle if you tried.

Your more delicate bits don’t escape his tender ministrations either. He takes painstaking work in rubbing your insides down with thick fingers, wringing orgasms from you until you're limp and still as the rest of the meat in his shop. Says it’s good for the flavor, will make you even sweeter.

It’s all completely horrifying, it has to be a nightmare. He says all this so casually, like he’s telling you the time of day. This man is truly completely deranged. 

His hands are always on you, it’s never fucking ending. He's taken it upon himself that you never “exert” yourself and you have no choice in the matter. Bastard won’t even let your hands free to eat or bathe. He "grooms" you. Brushes your hair, trims your nails, cleans your teeth, brushes, lathers, rinses, dries, moisturizes your skin. It’s humiliating and you hate every second of it.

The juxtaposition is too much, the horror and absurdity of it all. All the restraints and manhandling, your looming demise, while insisting on soft surfaces for you, water temperature just right, food carefully curated and cut up just so. He won’t let anything happen to spoil the meat.

He doesn’t spare any expense on your “feed” either. You eat what he eats, might as well be eating off his plate. Albeit simple, it’s good food, you don't see a point in denying it. It's fresh and flavorful and to no one’s surprise it includes a lot of meat. Always from his shop of course, only the best for you.

He’ll bring out some new parcel every night for dinner, unfolding the brown paper wrapping, holding up to you to admire his work. “‘S a ribeye”. He goes on about the marbling, the even color of the meat. “Couldn’t find fresher” he’d say, "was only jus' bleedin' this mornin'".

You’re his captive audience. There’s nothing else you can do but warily watch him make dinner, even if seeing a blade in his hand gives your heart palpitations. Steak, sautéed mushrooms, jacket potatoes, roasted broccoli.

You’ve long since stopped fighting him when it comes to meals. Because it can always get worse. After being bent over on the floor, forced to eat off a dish without the use of your hands, you’d resigned yourself to the fact that eating off his fork was a sufferable compromise. Still, if he’s in a mood he won’t even allow that. You'll eat off his fingers, and he’ll laugh at your expense and chide you when you inevitably “make a mess”. 

The food was prepared, but this time the kitchen knife didn’t leave his grasp. It wasn’t a steak knife. It was too big and not serrated, but that didn’t seem to bother Simon. It certainly bothered you. Its presence loomed like a guillotine in your peripheral.

He feeds you bites between his own. Every mouthful and he looks so pleased. You desperately missed his mask at meal times. At least then you couldn’t see his smug fucking face.

On the plate the steam billows and curls. The meat gives easily under your molars, practically melts in your mouth. Hot and rich and juicy, it’s basted in butter, with garlic cloves and sprigs of rosemary, seasoned with cracked peppercorn and flakey sea salt. It’s a touch rarer than you’d like. 

You wish you were capable of escaping the horror of it all for even a second, pretend you were anywhere else, with anyone else.

Simon punctuated his first bite with a low rumble of approval, watching you with those dark, cavernous eyes. He’d continued in that way, a man content in silence.

”...you'll taste better.”

He waited until your last bite to say it, maybe that was mercy on his part. The meat transformed in your mouth, became sinewy and bitter. You couldn’t swallow, and went to spit it out. But he expected that apparently, was on you in a second. Giant rough hand sealed over your lips, practically enclosing the bottom half of your face, smooshing your cheeks up into your eyes. 

“Chew.”

It takes longer than usual, but you try to obey. His hand hasn’t moved from your mouth.

“Swallow.”

His eyes move from yours to your neck, his thumb grazing your throat lightly, tracing the bite’s trajectory as you force it down. His eyes are back on you then. 

With Simon’s free hand he deftly pierces the last drippy morsel off the plate with the knife, popping it between his scarred lips. The hand still on you moves, migrates to cup your jaw, gradually starting to squeeze. You don’t have any fight left and open before it becomes painful.

Fear paralyzes you again, when he brings the knife towards you.

The movement is slow, as if he’s actually concerned about frightening you. He’s holding it longwise, pointed off to the side.

Then it’s on your tongue.

He drags the flat of the blade’s length across the trembling muscle, leisurely, only moving it away to flip it and clean the other side, myoglobin discarded on your tongue 

“They’ll say ’m ‘spoilin’ ‘er rotten’. Eatin’ off my own plate, sleepin' in my own bed, warm under my roof. Keepin’ you safe indoors. Such a sweet, tame thing, are you?”. He strokes your cheek, wiping at a drip at the corner of your mouth with a thumb before popping that in his mouth too.

Whenever Simon’s put up enough with your smart mouth, he enjoys the look of your wide wet eyes and your trembling lips stretched around a padded ring gag.

The sounds you make when gagged are special little nonsense noises, almost like you're trying to talk like a person would. Sweet, pitiful sounds. He also loves when wet, choked sobs that cascade out of your open mouth, forcing you to drool. “You’re so messy, sweet’eart. Nose runnin’, too.” Says you're leaking from practically every hole. Eyes, nose, mouth, cunt.

Sometimes, you might almost be fooled into thinking he feels sorry for you in those moments when you're hyperventilating and hysterical, or wailing so mournfully. He always hushes you when you're crying, pets and hold you, dries your face, as if he’s not the cause of your tears. Despite how much Simon adores the taste of them, adores the soft jingling of the little cow bell tied ‘round your throat when your whole body quivers with sobs, the stress will sour the meat. He’ll say as much, but surprisingly it doesn’t help calm you down.

If it was necessary, he's not opposed to sedation. After all, he's done the research to find one that won't affect your flavor. But most of the time, his solution to your despair is yet another thorough fucking. Dopamine to counteract the stress.

Simon forces the orgasms out of your body as easily as he forces his cock into it, you're utterly helpless to stop either. His livelihood is working with his hands and unfortunately he’s damn good at it. When all's said and done and you're spent, he’ll lightly chastise you for working yourself up, for fussing.

He loves the heft of you in his hands, weighs your heavy tits in his palms, grips your ample belly. Simon can't resist taking mouthfuls of you into his mouth, worrying your supple fat with his incisors. Your tits, ass, thighs, arms, belly, back fat, hell, your double chin. It doesn't matter, any squishy bit of you. You're always afraid he might be getting impatient, that he’ll take a bite out of you, but he never does. Simon says he's just sampling, maybe tenderizing you a little. 

His favorite taste of yours is still between your legs. He has you thank him for being so careful there. Past you inner thighs and plump mons, the pressure of his teeth yields, feeling barely a graze. 

He likes putting mirrors in front of you, says he wants you to see how lovely you are. Your hands are clipped together, chain snagged in one of the shop's many meathooks, just low enough that you don’t strain your shoulders or quite have to stand on your tiptoes.

He directs you to watch, popping the lid off of a permanent marker with a squeak.

He maneuvers you this way and that as he works, dragging the marker down your body. His lines are surprisingly clean considering his canvas is such a pliant, organic shape. Hands are as steady as a surgeon. The marker tickled terribly on skin, the ethanol smell burning your nose, making it hard to think.

It only took a minute to recognize what he was doing. Your skin itches under the felt tip. You flail, trying desperately to smear it, to muss his work, but the ink dries too quickly.

Simon wouldn't let you keep your eyes closed, so in that moment you were grateful for the onslaught of tears blurring your vision somewhat.

That day, he showed you all your different cuts, as if you cared, as if you were together enough to pay attention.

Chuck, rib, loin, sirloin, rump, round, flank, plate, brisket, shank.

He tells you which are his favorite. Tells you which of his mates he’ll have over to enjoy you, ponders what pieces he’ll think they’ll like best. How to cook different cuts to get the best effect, that some cuts are naturally tougher and have to be cooked slowly, while the other cuts are tender and fatty, can be cooked at a higher temperature, quicker. 

From the very beginning, he’s referenced the “Big Day”.

He’ll ask if you're excited over the shinnnnk of a knife against a whetstone. Simon always keeps his tools in order, clean and sharpened expertly, but he thinks he'll polish them up extra shiny for the occasion. To a mirror finish, so you can see yourself. You're so beautiful, it'd be a cryin' shame for you to miss it. 

It’s been months now you’ve been with him and the day never comes. 

...

You didn't dare question it.

But if you did, Simon would just chuckle, amused that you're so eager. Maybe he'll say that he decided he wants some milk from you instead.

[sunsetsandsunshine]

Hiii! Great job on finishing your WIPs by the way! 😁

For requests, I'm curious as to how you'd write tmnt 2003, so maybe lee Mikey, if you're up to it? (Ler can be anyone, your choice!! 😘)

I hope you're doing well! 😊

~ 𝚆𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚃𝚅 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚎! ~

💙🐢🧡 𝙵𝚒𝚌 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢: @savemeafruitjuice 💙🐢🧡

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚈𝙾𝙾𝙾 🩷💓!!! 𝙷𝙴𝚈𝙰 𝙹𝚄𝙸𝙲𝙴 🤩💕💘💕💘!!! 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚃𝙼𝙽𝚃 𝟸𝟶𝟶𝟹 (𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢’𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚃𝙼𝙽𝚃 𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚕) 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝙾𝙾𝙲 𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚔𝚢 🥲💔. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚋𝚛𝚘 😗💖— 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝙷𝙸𝚃 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚢𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚢. 𝚂𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚝’𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝 😅…˚*• ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟷,𝟺𝟽𝟽

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝙻𝚎𝚘 🐢💙

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚓𝚘 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙻𝚎𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚜𝚔? 𝟷. 𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝟸. 𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝? 𝙰𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙻𝚎𝚘’𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚜…

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: @itzsana-kiddingmenow @saturnzskyzz @tmntalways

@shut-up-jo @someone1348 @rice-cake-teen10 @turtletimewriting

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚐𝚘 𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚢 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 😵‍💫…𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝟸𝟶𝟶𝟹 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜 🫶🏾💖💕💗! 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝚃*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚃𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐— 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 😌👍🏾💓 

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚃𝚄𝚁𝚃𝙻𝙴𝚂 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃 𝙸𝚃 𝙾𝙵𝙵!!! 🌚𝙾𝙽𝙴🤪𝚃𝚆𝙾👁️𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙴💅🏾𝙵𝙾𝚄𝚁🌝˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

“Leeeoooooooo!!! Come watch TV with meeee…” Mikey whined loudly, resting his head on his eldest brother’s shoulder as the other sat quietly on the dojo floor, meditating. 

“I’m obviously doing something here, Mike.” Leo said calmly, trying to concentrate on his meditation. 

Which…was kind of hard when his little brother was literally breathing down his neck. 

The orange banded turtle huffed, hugging onto his brother’s arm like the clingy koala that he was, “I thought you loved meeee…”

The slightly taller turtle sighed longly, stopping his meditation for a quick second as he opened his eyes, looking down at his brother, “Don’t be ridiculous. You know I love you.” 

Mikey smiled at the slightly defensive response, hugging the other’s arm tighter, “If you love me so much then watch some TV with me!!!” 

Leonardo fondly rolled his eyes, squeezing the freckled faced teen in a side hug, “I’ll watch TV with you later, okay? I promise.” The blue banded turtle exclaimed as he went back into the sitting position he was in beforehand. He put the both of his hands in his lap, closing his eyes as he tried to concentrate quietly. 

Mikey sighed loudly, resting his cheek on his older brother’s shoulder, causing Leo to stiffen slightly. The taller turtle opened his eyes once more, glaring at the other as the smallest turtle just grinned back, batting his eyelashes dramatically. 

“Mikey.” Leo hissed. 

“Yes~?” The younger sang innocently as his free hand started to squeeze at his big brother’s side. The blue banded teen’s eyes widened, biting back down the laugh that was bubbling in his throat. 

The youngest snorted at his brother’s reaction, raising an amused brow, “What’s going on, man? I thought you were concentrated with meditating.”

“I. Am.” The other said through gritted teeth.

“Really? You sure about that, bro?” The younger asked teasingly. 

Leo sighed knowingly, cracking his knuckles at he took one more glance at his baby brother. 

So this is the way Michelangelo wanted to play? Fine by him. 

If he was going to interrupted during his personal meditation/training session, he should at least take what he’s learned to good use, right? Right. 

The elder quickly and swiftly got out of the hold the youngest had him in. And as soon as he did, Leonardo pinned his brother’s arms on the dojo floor as he sat on his legs effortlessly.   

The orange banded turtle’s eyes widened in panic, his cocky demeanor immediately crumbling as he realized the situation he practically dug himself into.

But the eldest did take notice how his younger brother wasn’t really fighting and/or resisting all that much.

If Mikey really wanted to get away, Leo would’ve gotten punched in the gut right now.

“Waha— wait wait wahait!!!” The smaller turtle squeaked out, kicking his legs behind his brother “C-Cohome ohon— cahan’t we tahalk about thihis first…?”

“I don’t even know why you’re acting so surprised. You knew this was going to happen, Mikes…” Leo said as he couldn’t help but chuckle at his now flustered brother. 

“Buhut Ihi— *snort* Leeheeo!!” Mikey whined, shaking his head back and forth repeatedly as his giggles raised an octave due to the fact that his mean brother was wiggling his fingers above him teasingly. 

Okay…well on the bright side of things, Leo and him were hanging out now!

Although, them 'hanging out' was just Mikey about to get his shit absolutely wrecked, but hey! Maybe Leonardo would go easy on him…?

I mean, Mikey might be the smallest turtle out of the four, but he was also by far the cutest out of all of them (April definitely said so at one point in time so therefore it’s automatically correct), so Leo couldn’t and wouldn’t be…that malicious, right?

If he would, the youngest would file a restraining order. 

“What? You what, Mikey? You saw I was meditating and I said I would watch TV with you later. And yet you still persisted on bothering me.” 

“I-Ihi’m *snort* sohORRY, okAHAY?! Juhust pLEHEASE *snort* d-dohon’t—“

“Please what?” 

“TIHICKLE MEEHEE!!!”

“Tickle you? Oh, whahat a wonderful idea.” Leo mused as he scribbled his free hand against his little brother’s side. Michelangelo shrieked at the sudden sensation to his sides, squirming and wriggling as he tried to get out of the hold.

“Gehet *snort* oHOFF *snort* OHOF meehee!” The youngest whined loudly through his laughter, kicking his feet on the ground repeatedly. 

The eldest turtle huffed out a small chuckle, letting go of both of his brother’s hands and letting them flail around before digging his fingers into his brother’s underarms. 

The orange banded teen let out a loud squeal, putting his hands down as he pushed on his brother’s arms, “GOHOH *snort* A-AWAHAHAY!” 

“Your snorting already? I’ve barely done anything yet.” 

“S-SHUHUT *snort* *squeak* UHUP!” 

“Ehexcuse me? What did you just say?” Leonardo asked, ceasing the tickling for a second as him and Mikey rustled and tussled with each other’s arms.

“NONONONOHO— *snort* PLEHEASE DOHON’T!!!”

“Then moohoove your hands, Mike!”

“IHIHI *snort* CAHAN’T!”

“Then you put this upon yourself…” Leo said as he leaned in and blew a raspberry in the crook of his baby brother’s neck while kneading his hips.

The younger basically screamed in loud laughter, throwing his head back as happy tears shined in his eyes, “EEEEEHAHAHA!” 

“Wow. This must tickle really bad, huh?” 

“BEEHEE QUIHIHIET!!!” 

“If you really want me to stop, you can just say stop, y'know.” 

“NAHAHAH— *snort* SHUHUSH SHUHUSH!!” 

“Unless…” Leo hinted teasingly, his fingers clamping down on the other’s thigh as he squeezed it mercilessly, still blowing raspberries on the orange cladded turtle’s neck. 

“JAHSHHSJAKAHAH!!!” Mikey stuttered through his laugh. 

“What was that?”

“MABSGHAJAHAH— *snort* *snort* JDHDHAHAH!!!” 

“Oh, you don’t say…”

“MANSHSJWKAHA— *snort* *squeal*!!”

“Really? Wow. You don’t hear news like that everyday.” The blue cladded turtle joked, going back to squeezing Mikey’s hipbones.

“NOHO *squeak* STAHA— *squeak* IHI— *snort* L-LEEHEEHEEO!” 

“Yes~?”

“PLEHEHA— *squeak* PLEHEASE NAHA— *snort* STAHAP I-IHI CAHAN’T!!!” Michaelangelo cried as happy tears ran down his cheeks. Leo couldn’t help but giggle at the adorable sight of his younger brother completely lost in his own cackles. The eldest stopped, sitting to the other side of Mikey so the youngest could catch his breath. 

The orange banded turtle slumped on Leo’s shoulder once more as the eldest wrapped him in a comforting hug, “Yohou’re freeheeaking *snort* evil…” 

The leader in blue snorted softly at the remark, “Ahand yohou’re annoying as hell.” 

“Tahakes one toohoo know one, dear ohold brohohother ohof mine.” The orange banded teen grinned, the two enjoying each other’s company in comforting silence before the eldest spoke, “What TV show did you want to watch with me anyway?”

“Star Trek! Dad brought new DVD’s and—“

“AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?!” Leonardo basically screeched, leaping unto his feet as he quickly helped his brother up, taking his hand and almost dragging him to the living room. “I-I just said I wanted to watch TV with you!” Mikey yelled as he was being dragged along the hallway, “I didn’t know Star Trek was that important to you—“

Leonardo stopped in his tracks, slowly turning around to his brother, “Star Trek is very important to me.” He explained, turning back around as he saw the TV starting to play his favorite Sci-Fi show. The blue banded teen sat down next to his Father on the couch, becoming almost entranced by the television. 

Not so far from where the leader in blue was sitting, Raph was leaning on a wall as he was talking to the second youngest. Mikey approached the two with a big, happy grin on his face, putting an arm around Donatello.

“You got Leo to come out of his meditation cave, I pressure?” The scientist asked. 

“Yessir!” The youngest said happily, “But I just don’t understand how he meditates for, like, three freaking hours. I can barely do one!!! It’s impressive honestly…” 

“More like concerning.” Donnie added on.

“Well…impressive or not, Fearless over there needs to take a break every now an' again. So thanks for doing what you did, Mike. We all appreciate it.” Raphael said, a small, embarrassed blush appearing on his face as his little brother’s looked at him teasingly. “Awe…Raphie you looooove us~!” Donatello grinned.

The red banded teen rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, “I take back everythin' I said about lovin' any of you dunderheads…” He muttered, although his voice lacked his usual snarky and cocky tone— which the two youngest turtle’s definetley took notice in. 

“My sons, are you going to come and watch the space alien science fiction show with me and Leonardo?” Splinter asked the three teens. “Sure, Sensei.” Donnie said as they walked over.

“SHHH SHHH!!! IT’S ON MY FAVORITE SCENE!!!” Leo hissed as he was still looking at the television.

“But…every scene is your 'favorite scene'…” Raphael laughed.

“SAME. DIFFERENCE!!!” 

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[epic-dragon-hell-99]

skin entry of "rockbreaker gryphon if i designed it" (passenger pigeon + thylacine, with occasional artistic liberties taken). honestly not up to my standard level of detail because i got worried abt time; might make a fully-shaded version later? staff have been giving wins to more player-styled entries as of late, though, so I might have a chance... ough >~<

Base is F-Pose Gaoler, © Stormlight Workshop @ flightrising.com.

[rustedleopard]

Usually I'm not too fond of how, when a character is revealed to like something, fandom takes that preference and turns it into a personality trait except (☝️) when it's Starlo liking cowboy stuff, because the man literally turned cowboys into a personality trait.

[enhanced-operatives-division]

This blog is gonna end up posting purely Prism stuff at this rate ..good lord

[solar-halos]

i’m coming for another one of yall this mood board monday. this one is for you and me on the rock by @the-sun-and-the-sea

[hold-him-down]

Either 9 and/or 14 for the ask game please ! Stuck in an elevator + losing something valuable ✨️

Lock a few of your characters in a broken elevator from this ask game

The elevator screeches to a stop somewhere between the 11th and 12th floor of Capitol Place, which is particularly inconvenient because it’s midday rush, and so it’ll take a few minutes for maintenance to come and free him.

Luke’s annoyance comes out in an tense huff of air, at the same time that a man, full suit and thick Russian accent says, “This fucking thing,” and pushes the call button no less than fourteen times.

“I think we’re stuck,” Luke says lightly as he texts Leo about missed lunch. 

The man levels a particularly icy gaze on him. “No shit.” His accent is more pronounced, with a pause between each word. 

Luke waits a beat and then smiles. Lovely.

He busies himself by looking down at the pictures Leo sends back to back of a singular duck he spotted carrying a stick that had to be 3x its length. He can feel the man’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t look up.

“You are Senator Bennett?” the man says then, and Luke puts his phone away. 

He recognizes the man immediately, the patriarch of a big mob family that mostly runs out of Maryland. Which, if he’s going to be stuck in an elevator, of course it would be with this man.

“And you’re Mr. Petrov?” Luke extends his hand and Petrov takes it, shaking it, then holding on a little too hard. “What brings you all the way out here?”

The man smiles, genuine, and shakes his head. “You would not fucking believe me if I told you,” he says then.

Luke takes the bait, squinting into the camera in the corner. “Try me.” He keeps his voice casual.

“If you insist,” Petrov responds. He clasps his hands together, the former agitation completely wiped from his features, replaced now with a look that could only be described as undiluted glee. It’s a little bit alarming, and makes the hairs on Luke’s arms stand up.

A sound whirrs as the elevator begins to power back up.

“You have something that belongs to me,” Petrov says then. “And I came to see about getting it back.”

Luke’s heart skips, and he stares straight ahead.

“Is that a fact,” he says. And he knows, as well as he knows his own hand, he knows to what Ivan Petrov refers. 

Ivan smiles again. 

“Has he been a good–”

“I say this, not as a threat, but as a promise,” Luke interrupts him. His voice is deadly, his gaze fixed at the elevator doors. “I don’t know who you’re paying off to keep things under control, but I have power, too. Stay away from me, and stay away from Leo, or I will use every bit of favor I have with every person in this country to end your, and your family’s, operation.”

He doesn’t say what he’ll really do, but it lingers in the silence between them as the door opens.

“Tsk, tsk, Senator Luca. I did not intend to strike a nerve. On the contrary–” Ivan steps out of the elevator, and Luke clutches his phone tightly in his hand “–I just wanted to introduce myself. Please, give Leo my regards, and tell him I miss him desperately,” he says. “And, if you would, please let him know I look forward to his return.” Luke takes a step toward him just as he retreats into the office of Senator Jacobs, of Maryland.

[autistic-katara]

due to the amount of fics where ppl take non-american characters and make them american for no reason other than uwu it’s the stuff i know or whatever i may have to set all my fics abt american media in scotland

[d4rkshad0w]

manifesting Kit has an english accent in tlkof

[thesearchforbluejello]

Okay first of all it apparently rolled out months ago and even though my app is set for automatic downloads, I just got it, but THE DUOLINGO OWL MAKES A SOUND NOW?!?!?!

The sound immediately made me think of the Moopsy, which is SO on brand.

But this better not be a Geico gecko situation because as a millennial I am old enough to remember the gecko commercials from before he talked in all of them, and how much LESS ANNOYING they were. I am begging for Duo to never actually talk.

[megatronsmegapussy]

I need to talk about how fucking weird jazzprowl is y’all 💀

[sideblogdotjpeg]

naddpod c3 fae wild arc. hits different. um frog sex canon i guess

[tetheredfeathers]

I'llI swear to god if they don't give us a dark haired Haymitch.

[bonetrousled]

what is in the air that makes people who make those ut voice headcanon videos make the worst choices imaginable

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

My favorite thing my warden says in combat is "Have you no concern for your own existence!?"

She says it in every fight, I love it so much. Every time I replay, Rose needs to have the wise voice, I need to hear her say her battle catchphrase a million times per playthrough.

But my favorite time she's ever said it was when we went back to Ostagar. We've got Rose, Alistair, the mabari, and Wynne all together reliving the trauma of the battle right before we head to the landsmeet. We're actually super close to the end game so tension's high.

We're fighting darkspawn, but uh oh! "Look there--a cunning trap!" over by the stairs!

I rush Rose over there to disarm the trap, only to get interrupted by the last hurlock jumping in my way... and I see Alistair step in the damn thing just as Rose shrieks, "Have you no concern for your own existence!?"

I know in my heart of hearts that she actually said that to him. Alistair cannot stop himself, if there's an obvious bear trap on the floor, my man's gonna step in it.

By the way, I wanna know other people's favorite things their warden says. I know the ladder comment is a popular one for the violent voice, but I wanna hear all the others.