#there are periods where he goes off of it for prolonged periods of time to also prevent actual tolerance not the kind where his body is j

[iedolon]

alune monitoring when aphelios needs to be off and on noctum or else he’ll Die

#yeah…… #just free balling tolerance and immunity #guestimating is their best friend #a few days too long and oopsies!! nerve damage and muscle paralysis #there are periods where he goes off of it for prolonged periods of time to also prevent actual tolerance not the kind where his body is j #okay with it rather than being completely unresponsive to it

[ikarakie]

tw / roofies

after corroded coffin goes big, sometime in the mid 90s, they go on tour. mostly in smaller venues and little dive bars, but eddie fucking loves it. drags robin and steve along with him as his 'managers' (see: freeloaders) mainly because he wanted his boyfriend with him and knew he couldn't keep birdie away from him for that prolonged period of time. it would be cruel.

mid-way through the tour, they perform in a bar. eddie likes to mill around after, chat to fans, get a drink, sign things, peacock a little. this time is no different. until robin comes up to him, noticeably alone. he asks where steve is at the same time she does. not fucking good.

they both scour the bar, and eddie's about two seconds away from ripping his hair out when robin grabs his arm and points to a booth in the corner. it's filled with girls, all in battle vests and dark eye makeup, and nestled between two of them on one side is steve. he's slumped over, head rested on the table, pillowed by one of the girl's hoodies. there's an empty glass beside another half empty one, both seemingly water. he rushes over.

they're a bit surprised to see him. when he asks after steve, they regard him with fucking suspicion. he has to show them the polaroid he carries around with him to make them soften. they explain they'd spotted him looking a bit dazed, and called him over. he'd told them he thought someone, somewhere, had slipped something in his drink and he couldn't find his friend, and so they'd squished him between them to keep him safe. eddie feels his heart burst, especially seeing the little corroded coffin pins on all their jackets and bags.

he gently shakes steve awake, presses a kiss to his temple and hands him off to robin, who carefully escorts him to the back exit where their van is parked. thanks the girls, profusely. they try to wave him off but he refuses to leave until he has all their names, has signed at least one thing for each of them and taken a photo with them on their camera.

years and years and years down the line, he still mentions them in interviews. by name. gushes about how they're the original corroded coffin fans, how dearly he loves them, and how if anyone is allowed to gatekeep in his fandom, it's them. every time he sees them at barrier for a concert he fucking lights up and calls them out. they're hailed by fans as minor celebrities, even. only they, steve (who calls them each every holiday and has actually become fucking friends with them) and robin know why they're so close.

#idk where this came from tbh #i just ... wlw mlm solidarity. protective metal girls (swoon) #yes theyre all lesbians #stranger things #prompt #steve harrington #steddie #imagine #stranger things prompt #eddie munson #steve and eddie #steddie prompt #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie hc #steddie headcanon #tw roofies

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for reporting a student over their social media?

I work at a graduate/doctoral school as an instructor. I recently discovered that one of the students that goes there (who I do interact with semi regularly) has social media accounts where he posts very misogynistic and derogatory content about women. I didn't go looking for him on social media it was one of those "a person your friends with is friends with someone who's friends with them" type of thing. Students pop up on my feed from time to time as I do befriend graduated students online (networking and to see where they end up because I'm proud of them).

I would consider myself pretty thick skined, but I was very put off and bothered by his content, especially because the field we are in is at least 80% female. Coming up in the next couple semesters, the students will be put into groups and have to work closely with each other for prolonged periods of time,both supervised and unsupervised (like they will be in these geoups for an wntier year). The idea of having to put this guy in a group with women and forcing them to work closely for long periods of time turns my stomach and makes me nervous for them. And no, putting him in a group of all male students is not an option.

I'm contemplating reporting his accounts to higher-ups for unprofessionalism and ethics code violations (we have policies against hate speech). If the report is accepted and they find him at fault, it would mean him being dropped from the program, and its a mark that would follow him on his record and possibly keep him from being accepted elsewhere. My hang up is, I'm not sure if this would be unprofessional or out of line for me to report. It is on his social media and not in person (free speech and all that you know), and while he has said things that are very off putting about women he has not to my knowlage actully done anything. So basically, I would be risking his future and career over some videos and not something he has actually done, which does give me pause. On the other hand, if the female students he ends up working with were misstreated in any way, I would never forgive myself for not speaking up.

So WIBTA for reporting this student and potentialy screwing up his professional career?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[prettyboyeddiemunson]

omg vampire!eating eating u out on ur period because 1) he knows how much better/more intense orgasms r when ur on ur period 2) even as a vampire he still loves giving head 3) he just wants to eat ur blood 😭

OH FUCK YEAH

your period is his favorite time ever. like he can smell it on you before it starts, because your blood has a different scent a few days before. he can also hear it in your thoughts, because you’re going over what you need to get done before it begins, or just dreading the cramps that will come along with it. he hates that you have to suffer so greatly with pain, and wants to do anything he can to help you. he’s a gentleman with you—taking care of you, getting your favorite snacks or things in general for you, letting you sleep on his chest as he watches you, cuddling you, drawing you a bath, rubbing your stomach, anything you want.

but he’s also a goddamn beast, because you’re basically free-bleeding for several days, and the smell is going to overwhelm him.

so what does he propose as a solution to your discomfort? period sex, obviously! at first, you feel a little shy and self-conscious about the idea; after all, wouldn’t that be really messy and maybe not the best course of action because of how gross it could be? but of course, your boyfriend is a fucking vampire now; it makes sense that he would want to do something like that. you decide to give a shot, because what could honestly be so bad about it? he was on board, it would be something new, and you may end up enjoying yourself.

and dear god, are you fucking glad that you gave it a chance.

he goes down on you, right? your pussy is always far more sensitive during your period, so even the lightest little traces with his tongue are going to set you on fucking fire. believe me, this man is going to tease. he wants nothing more than to dive right in and devour you, but he also wants to prolong it, because he’s a smug fucker. the tip of his tongue gathering blood, dragging it from your entrance to just below your clit with a hum. you’re mewling, hissing at the contact, his hands in a vice-grip on your thighs. in fact, he’s holding you so hard that there will definitely be a litter of bruises, or at least sore spots where his tips dug in. his hair is in his face, his red-tinted eyes on you as he reads your mind. he can see in your head that you’re getting impatient, and that only makes him tease even harder. maybe the tip of his tongue ghosts your clit, or perhaps his fingers pull your inner lips apart so that he can drag his tongue through every little crevice not accessible before. no matter what his method, he is going to enjoy teasing you, and savor in the scent of both your period and the blood pumping through your body. he’s going to go into a frenzy from all the different sensations, and that is when he’s going to absolutely devour the shit out of you.

if you thought he was amazing at eating pussy as a human, on just any normal day? fucking god, no. this is a whole new level. the first full taste of your blood mixed with your cum, and he’s off to the goddamn races. to him, that is the best taste in the whole damn world, and he cannot get enough already. two of his fingers keep your lips apart, his mouth pressing wherever it can reach, his tongue lapping at every last inch of your blood-soaked folds. when he moves those fingers back to your thighs, they are still covered in blood, smearing crimson all over your skin as he starts to eat you out vigorously. his eyes are rolling back at the taste as he moans around your cunt, and the vibration of it nearly makes you cum already.

and the image? oh man. like his dark hair will be a mess all around his head, brushing against your thighs as he eats your pussy. his brown eyes tinted red, gazing at you as his mouth does its work. blood appearing all over his lower face as he draws back to look at you or tease your inner thighs, and some of it even gets in his long hair. he won’t stop moaning or talking about how good you taste, about how he just wants to just fuck the shit out of you when he’s finished.

speaking of, this man would jerk off as he eats you out like this, no question. he’s going to gather some of your period on his fingers, wiping it across his cock before beginning to touch himself. it isn’t only your blood flowing into his mouth that’s got him so worked up; it’s the filthy memories & fantasies of the two of you in your head, ones that he can see in his own mind as clear as day. touching himself only aids in his pleasure, and you can hear the sounds of him beating his cock, along with his groans & the wet sounds of him eating your cunt. he shakes his head back & forth quickly, and he can do it much faster now with his superhuman speed. he might even finger you with his free hand, and that’s a lot faster & harder than before, too. all of that combined—the overwhelming sensitivity from your period, the way he was eating you out, the way he was jerking himself off to you—sends you into an intense, toe curling, mindblowing orgasm.

but we know eddie. he isn’t going to stop just because you came, and that’s going to ring especially true now. you’re not done until both of his hands are completely red, until his face is drenched in blood & cum, and until the sheets are an absolute fucking mess. then, and only then, are you getting your shit absolutely wrecked.

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #vampire eddie munson

[bugeater101]

Admiration

Synopsis: Changbin and you have been admiring each other from afar for far too long, and it's finally time he's done something about it.

Content: fem!reader x Changbin, chubby!reader, dom!Changbin, strength kink (duh it's changbin) sub!reader, reader is super hot (is that a warning??), f2L, mutual pining, Changbin has a dig bick (again, is this a warning or just an observation?), vaginal penetration, unprotected sex (use protection!!!!), lots and lots of fluff (aftercare).

Word Count: 6.0 k

Author's Notes: Changbin is so incredibly handsome and muscular it makes every neuron in my brain fire. Also this fic goes out to all my thick girls 💪

Taglist: @scribblemetae @mygsis, @9900z, @taekbokki

Changbin and you are all but a couple, blatant flirting made even more obvious by the ignorance you two have to actually date each other. All of your mutual friends consider you two a "will-they-won't-they" thing. Every glance at each other is held for seconds, eye contact made through hooded lids and suggestive smiles. Gazes scan the other's body—not reading posture and assessing outfits, but truly checking them out. Actually, no. Not "checking out": admiring. An admiration which covers a hidden desire, wanting to see what's below clothes, yearning to see flesh and what it would look like in promiscuous positions.

Changbin does it to you and you do it to him. Yet, despite your unmistakable mutual flirtation, you'd never let him know your feelings. You'd never let him know that you think about those pictures of him at concerts late at night, the ones where he is showing off his arms, or those pics of him at the gym where he posed proudly, display his naked back. You've seen him scuttle by without a shirt before just as he has seen you with nothing but your underwear on, and both of you hope that one day they'll be able to look at the other for more than just a few fleeting seconds.

One day, it's just you and him left. Everyone else had abandoned your apartment long ago, and what began as a movie marathon with your friends ended with you and Changbin finishing up the last movie alone. As the credit roll by, you shut the TV off and resume playing music, turning to him and, once again, allowing your eyes to settle on him and take in his features. Strong jaw, pecs stretching his already tight t-shirt, messy hair, a mischievous smile, and crossed arms that accentuate his strong arms. God, he's perfect. You did as you always did when you saw Changbin: took in what you could, because you know that these mere sights were all your relationship could ever be.

"Hey," you mumble to him. You were smiling, a reaction you were never able to repress when appreciating his physique.

"Hey," he replied in the same tone, his smile evident as well.

"Well... what do you want to do?" You ask, leaning back on the couch and letting the music fill the dimly lit room.

No reply brushed past Changbin's lips. Instead, he opted to look back at you. The entire night, he had been enjoying your body: how you pressed yourself close to him throughout the night for warmth and how you did it now, how his hand found your thigh and gave it a tight squeeze every once in a while, how your tits pressed into his arm when you held it, how the blanket draped over you two made you overheated but never taking it off, enjoying the scorching heat radiating from your bodies.

The light of the room, though faint, still illuminated your form. He studied your face, lips, chest, squishy upper arms, plush thighs, the curve of your stomach, the messiness of your hair, everything. Regardless of the countless times he's done it before, you'd never be able to shake how Changbin's steady affection of your form made you squirm a bit, especially when he has done it for such a prolonged period.

"Changbin," you muttered. "What... what do you want to do?"

His eyes widened slightly, then he let out a slight chuckle without diverting his gaze from you.

"You know," Changbin said, "I'm getting sick of just looking at you, y/n." Before you could respond, his hand clasped your chin and brought you close, pushing his lips into yours. What began as a peck quickly grew into something more, something that made his breath heavy and movements quicken. Though Changbin wanted to press himself into you, forcing you down on the couch, you were quick to the punch. With agility, you knocked the blanket encompassing both of you off, swung one leg over his thighs and straddled him. His hands never left your body, instead placing them on your ass and encouraging your gyrations as you moaned into the kiss. His teeth nipped at your lips, the light bites making you whine. Each grind through the denim of both of your pants, though confining, inevitably increased the pleasure of your ruts into his growing cock. Pressure built in the fabric and Changbin could barely handle the space between you two. His hands managed to push themselves into your pants and gripped your ass, fat spilling out of his hands as he forced you deeper onto his hard-on.

His mouth then migrated from yours down your neck, light bites alternating between pecks and sucks to your flesh. Despite desperately wanting to finally feel his chest without the shame of formalities and the barriers of platonic relationships, you instead choose to interlace your fingers within his hair, holding on to him as you moan with every drag of your clit against the seam of your pants.

"Oh, fuck, Changbin," you whine as you kiss his ear. The small praise, though minuscule to you, encouraged Changbin more than anything else you had done. His neediness became unbearable as his grip tightened on your ass, while his other hand migrated to grip the back of your head, tugging on your hair. You yelped at the newfound aggression but didn't refuse it, instead moaning louder at a volume deemed embarrassing for such small acts.

Changbin pulls away slightly to catch his breath, allowing you to seize the opportunity to attack his jaw and neck with kisses. He throws his head back at your eagerness, allowing you to kiss his adam's apple and finally, finally trace your hands along his glorious chest.

"You know how sick I of knowing that I can't touch you?" He groans as your hands rub down his abdomen, groping the muscles hidden under a small layer of squishy flesh and soft fabric, becoming intoxicated by the softness of a man so strong. "I have to settle for looking at your ass when you're not noticing, or when you are looking. I have to learn to appreciate your chest against mine in the rare hugs I get, I have to settle for your ass pressed into my crotch when I grab you from behind. Fuck, it pisses me off." The frustration in his voices causes you to stop kissing momentarily to look at him, wide eyes meeting his hooded ones. Your hands, however, never stopped touching his body, not wanting to remove them after finally getting the chance to feel him.

"I'm sorry, Bini," you respond sweetly. You place a kiss on his cheek as your hands travel up his torso slowly, moving from his abs to his chest, and up to his shoulders. "Well, now you can touch me all you want, okay?"

Changbin's grip softened on your for a second, not letting go. His eyes studied yours. It seemed that, since he was finally allowed to touch you and feel your body on his, he didn't have to resolve his urges with simple studies of your body. For the first time, he can touch you, and his eyes can rest. His eyes can finally, honestly, look into yours.

"God, every part of you is beautiful," he muttered. A blush quickly formed on your cheeks, making you even more embarrassed because you were literally sitting on this man's dick and that was what made you flush.

Before you could respond, Changbin's hands slid to grab your ass from outside your clothes, tightened his grip on you, and hoisted you up so he was now carrying you. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his torso, hands clasping behind his back for support.

"Binnie! Stop! I'm too heavy!" Now you were embarrassed for a completely different reason, one that you were a bit afraid to admit. But, Changbin wouldn't have it. Despite your protests, he continued his showmanship of strength and carried you to your bedroom, even opening the door himself, closing it shut with his foot, and tossing you on the bed with ease.

After bouncing on the mattress, you turned to Changbin with slight anger and insurmountable levels of anxiety.

"Changbin—" your voice caught in your throat. You wanted to call him out, to tell him that he knew you didn't like to be picked up. Regardless of how attractive you found yourself— sorry, how hot you knew you were, you just weren't comfortable with it. Of course, you wanted Changbin to notice how pretty your body was, how nicely your tits and peaking nipples looked through tight t-shirts, or how soft you were when you squeezed next to him. It's just that him lifting you was a different step. It was something you just couldn't shake, and he knew that you didn't like being carried.

Yet, before you could cuss him out, you noticed that he had managed to remove his shirt.

It was the first time you were able to study his body without the obstruction of clothing or social customs. You could now truly look at Changbin with no shame, and he wanted you to look, to admire him, to notice how much he wanted you.

"Y/n." You could barely respond to his voice calling your name. Your throat was dry and your attention was focused on his physique: muscles and perfect proportions had blinded you to all else. "Y/n!" He shouted, making you jump.

"Y-yes, Bini?" You stammered, finally settling your eyes back on his. They had darkened, taking on something else as if he were enjoying your appreciation of him a bit too much. He dropped his shirt and moved towards you, a walk turning into a slight crawl as he moved onto the bed. As his body moved, yours did too, trapped under him as you laid on the comfortor, staring up at the god of a man above you.

"Y/n," he said. His face bent down and kissed your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips before coming up again. "Y/n, you will never be too much for me. I want you. I want all you have. You will never be too heavy or too dainty or too whatever for me to pick up or kiss or cuddle or fuck. Okay, baby?"His words of affirmation hit you deeply: what had begun as a heated moment, the long-needed relief of tension, had turned into a much-needed confession. Nothing you could say back could mirror the love and adoration of his own words, though you desperately wanted to say something of the same calibre.

Your hands caressed his face as you brought him down to kiss you. It was not aggressive nor light like your previous kisses. It was sweet yet deep, pleasant but meaningful. When he pulled away, it looked like your own blush had transferred to him.

"Changbin, I've waited so long to touch you," you responded. "And I'm not going to let my insecurities stop me. Now, please..." your voice and pride faded as you realized how embarrassing the next request was going to be, but, true to your word, your confidence did not evade you. "Please fuck me, Binnie."

Lust incorporated itself into your loving words, making Changbin feverishly suck your neck again as his hands worked the button of your jeans, desperate to get them off of your body. After a bit of giggly and clumsiness, you rid yourself of the confines of clothing. You were bare underneath him as he was ontop of you, skin finally touching skin. His fingers couldn't help themselves and lost coordination with you under him, squirming with every brief, fleeting touch.

No matter how close he held you, how much he squeezed your thighs below him and ran his hands up your torso, he couldn't (or wouldn't) get enough.

"Please, Binnie, stop toying with me," you mewled under him. He had trapped you under the frame of his body, allowing his hands to thoroughly explore you while you lay helpless.

"You're not the one calling the shots, y/n," he mumbled between kisses to the valley between your breasts. "Remember who's in charge, okay? Because I'm not letting your whines or begs to stop me from finally being able to enjoy your fucking body." As you turned to putty from his words and actions, you did little to antagonize him. Actually, you couldn't even if you wanted to: you were helpless below him.

Though he played with you lovingly, there was still that eagerness, that aggression that lingered behind every grope. His hands finally settled themselves on your tits, his mouth sucking on them while his fingers lightly pinched your nipples. You writhed beneath him, wanting nothing more than for him to just fuck you.

"Please, Binnie," you beg, "I'm already soaked, just fuck me, please!" However, your frustration only grew as Changbin forced himself off of you and glared at you. You were about to continue whining when you finally caught his eyes and immediately shut your mouth. The aura radiating off of him was terrifying as if that hidden longing was finally revealing itself. His eyes tore from yours to look down at you. Suddenly, you realized just how naked you were, how exposed the situation truly was.

"Y/n," he groaned as he sat back on his knees, his eyes studying your form. He finally got a good look at how pretty you were under him: no clothes, no hidden desires, just you and him and nothing else. You nodded in response to your name, hoping to elicit a reaction from him, wanting to break him out of the trance your body had placed him in.

However, he was completely captivated by you. Not only were you the woman of his dreams, literally begging below him to stuff you with his cock, but you were also you. Even now—completely exposed, rutting into his thigh, hoping to gain a reaction from him and making him fuck you like he meant it—Changbin is immersed beyond carnal actions. Though your entire body yearned for him, he was still focused on something else.

Your eyes were so wide, so bright. His domineering nature was not because your perfect body had reduced him to a pussy-hungry beast (though he wouldn't deny the accusation). Rather, he was mad he hadn't noticed how beautiful your eyes on him truly were. After pining for you for what seemed like forever, he was too hung up on your body to notice how much your lingering stare on him truly made him feel. Of course, he was wildly attracted to you, who wouldn't be? It's just that, for the first time, he is noticing how much he truly values your eyes on him, and his eyes on you.

"Changbin?!" You questioned loudly. It took him a second to realize that he had been drooling over you for a few seconds. A blush formed on his cheeks; he hoped he didn't make the situation too awkward.

That's when he noticed how his hand had unconsciously started rubbing his cock through his boxers. It was the only thing left separating you too, and your eyes had become fixated on the growing tent.

Huh. He really was pussy-hungry, wasn't he?

"Y/n, I—" he began too explain himself, but you cut him off.

"Seo Changbin," you started. Though your voice was harsh, it quickly devolved into something sweet, kind, and begging to be fucked. "Binnie... if you don't fuck me right now, you never will."

Changbin was dumbstruck. This was all he needed to hear. He chuckled a bit at your demeanour, finding it funny how you suddenly dared to talk back to him after letting him lap you up like a dog all night.

"Oh, so now you're the one telling me what to do?" He laughed. You pouted, wanting to speak up again, but your voice caught in your throat as you noticed his hand dip into his boxers. Changbin threw his head back at the relief he felt by pumping his cock directly. Though you enjoyed watching him indulge in such obscenities right before you, you still were jealous. You wanted to be the one to touch him. You waited this long, so why should you wait any longer?

Before Changbin could begin taking his cock out, you sat up, caught him in a kiss, and let your hand trace down his torso and into his boxers. Changbin jumped a bit as he felt your hand snake around his cock with his, shocked at your sudden boldness. Yet, you didn't notice. You pulled him back down to the bed and completely replaced his hand, letting him fuck your hand as you felt up his dick.

"Fuck, Binnie," you breathed as he began to kiss down your neck. "Why didn't you tell me you were this big?" Your hand could barely wrap around his cock and every drag up it made you realize how large he truly was. Changbin wanted to say something cocky, to tell you that "yes he was that big and you were going to have to be such a good girl to take all of him" or that "thank God you were this wet because it will make stretching you out so much easier," but instead, a moan erupted from him as your thumb met his cock-head. He began helplessly rutting into your hand, slow drags of his cock making him squirm as you continued your motions. You giggled slightly but were still well aware of your own neediness. Your hips had begun to rub up into his hidden cock, your clit feeling the drag of his covered hard-on and making you hiss at the sensation. You let him rub between your hand and your cunt, making you soak the black cotton. Changbin shivered at the feeling of your juices around him. His thrusts then became more aggressive, wanting more than this substitute pussy that fared better than any fleshlight or his own hand. However, he still wanted you.

"B-binnie," you whined as he began to pant. His head buried itself in your shoulder, lightly nipping at your skin, while his hands continued to fondle your entire body, pinching your skin and squeezing you tightly. He couldn't take it anymore, his eyes were pressed shut and his teeth were clamped down in hopes of suppressing his moans. But, he couldn't help himself.

With a quick motion, Changbin completely changed your position. He had flipped you onto your side and he had placed himself behind you, one arm wrapping below your body and keeping you stiffly against him. His other arm had reached under your leg and held it up, making your knee push towards your chest. As he had trapped you with his arms, his hands were able to roam freely, brushing past your sensitive pussy, which was now on full display, and making you squirm. On top of that, amid his actions, he had completely stripped himself of his boxers, allowing his cock to spring free and stand proudly against his torso. He pressed it firmly into your ass, letting himself gain relief by rubbing it between your bodies. From the sensation of it, you knew that hands hadn't fooled you: he truly was that big.

"Changbin, w-what are you doing?" You stammered as he moved closer to you, your head craning to see him. He shifted his position slightly, lifting up his torso a bit so he could see your wide eyes all while his hands continued to run up and down your body, keeping you firmly in place.

He responded simply: "What I've always wanted to do."

A whine escaped you as his cock began tracing up and down your cunt, letting his dick play with you while he got to kiss you and capture your moans in his mouth.

"You're... you're so cute, Y/n," he gasped as he cock continued to torture you. "Even right now... just wanting dick so badly that you're getting wetter just from the temptation of me putting it in. I bet you love cock, don't you?" You nod aggressively in response.

"I-I love cock, Binnie," you responded, eyes watering. "B-but I only love your cock, okay?" Changbin almost beamed with pride at your confession but settled for a smirk and a deep, needy kiss. Yet, despite your evident desperation, he continued to play with you as he had been doing all night.

"You're so pretty, like earlier when I got to see you all spread out for me," he giggled as he bit your earlobe, his voice reverberating in your head. "I couldn't stop think about how much I love you looking at me. You wanna feel all of me, don't you?" Again, you nodded and begged.

"Yes, please! Fuck, I want Binnie's cock! He has such a pretty cock and pretty body, I just want him!" Tears began to trickle down your face in frustration, and Changbin just kissed them away, loving the saltiness.

"You think you can handle me without having had my fingers stretch you out?" He asked with a light voice, yet he knew the seriousness behind the question. He was teasing, but behind the forefront of his taunt was his concern for your wellbeing.

You nodded. "Binnie, please just put it in, I can take it," you whimpered.

"Y/n," he mumbled into your ear as his cock continued to tamper with your pussy, but not even giving you a taste of his tip. "Know that if I start and it's too much you have to tell me, okay? You gotta tell me if Binnie's cock is too big for your little cunt."

"M-my pussy is good enough for Binnie's dick!" You practically yelled in defence, making him giggle. "I'll stretch so good for him, now please, please, just— mmh!"

Your voice was suppressed by the sudden intrusion of his cockhead in your cunt, the tip managing to stretch you a bit already. Changbin's lips captured yours as whimpers escaped him, his grip on your legs starting to hurt a little. Slowly, his cock eased into you more, making you begin to let out whimper after whimper at the stretch. You should have heeded his warning, but you were too damn stubborn. Yet, it was, in no way, bad. In fact, the stretch was delicious, making you squirm in his grip and arch your back as much as you could in order for him to push further into you.

"Fuck baby, if you don't start behaving," Changbin grunted. With his grip around your knee and torso, he shoved you into him and proceeded to push more and more of his dick into your pussy, wanting to feel your walls hugging him as he held you now. You wanted to grant him a response, to tell him how good it was to finally feel his dick stretch you. Yet, you were instead reduced to a blubbering mess, unable to say anything but his name, "please", and a series of mewls.

"F-fuck, Binnie, I— Ah! God, p-please— mmph!" You gasped.

"T-take it, baby, take all of it." Changbin's hips began to stutter as his cock moved more and more into you. Finally, he became fully sheathed in your cunt and let out an exasperated groan at the feeling. Though he had gone slowly and initially stayed still for your benefit as he wanted to let you get accustomed to his girth, he realized how much he wanted to stay like that. He barely wanted to move, opting to just stay there with you keeping his cock nice and warm and gooey, feeling as close together as he always wanted to be. That is, until your hips pressed up into him, rocking themselves on his dick and hoping to feel his tip hit just the right place.

"Y/n," Changbin responded, "are you already getting fucked out just by having me inside you?" His muscles had practically immobilized you but you still managed to nod, unable to mumble even a "yes" from your current state.

Changbin groaned, "Sweetheart, I'm so deep in your cunt already. Do you think you can take more of me? Huh?" Changbin's hips let a practice small thrust into you, testing the waters and seeing if you were truly ready for him. You yelped at the sensation, arching your back away from him only for him to pull you back, your eyes squinting shut from the mixture of pleasure and pain.

"B-binnie," you mumbled out. "B-big..."

"Oh, baby," he chuckled with a teasing nature coating his voice, "We'll have to go slow so you can take all of my big fucking cock, okay? But you have to use your words." He rocked into you again and this time you silenced your groan with a bite to your lip, instead letting out a small hum.

"Y-yes, Binnie," you hummed out, eyes barely open. "Fuck me open, please. P-please just give me your cock. It's so deep Binnie, I need more. Please fuck me, please!" You were almost yelling by the end of your speech, begs and pleas turning into demands from the volume of your voice. Luckily for you, Changbin complied.

He slowly dragged his dick out of you, your tightest barely allowing him to move. He pulled out until his tip just coasted near your pussy again, hissing at the contact of the air on his sensitive cock head. Slowly, he sunk back into you, his mouth hanging open slightly and lightly moaning at the sensation of your walls hugging him again. Back and forth his cock slid in and out of you, the pace agonizingly slow. However, for your sake and his, he continued at a stable, yet agonizing pace. He wanted to speed up, to let you feel all of him and show him how good you were for him, but he couldn't. If he had sped up, not only would he hurt you, but Changbin would lose all control.

How deep he was in you, how warm you were, how closely he was able to hold you now— it was all too much. If he was able to pound into you too, then Changbin wouldn't be able to stop. He'd end up recreating every filthy fantasy he's ever had of the two of you together. You spread out for him in different positions, in different costumes, with different toys and sometimes even other people. Yet, the only thing that held him back right now was this pace. Slow, careful, wanting, everything opposite of those perverted things about you that he pretended to hate which clouded his mind late at night. But, now that you were below him, crying out for him just from a few thrusts, and being allowed to finally, finally, have you pinned under him, all those other things didn't seem to matter as much.

"Ch-changbin, please fuck me a little faster?" You begged, yet were destroyed by the firm shake of Changbin's head.

"No, y/n," he panted as his cock dragged out of you again. "You are going to sit here and enjoy every ridge, vein, and inch of my dick, and I am going to love how your pretty little pussy gushes over me for every second I'm not pounding into you, okay? Be good." Before you could protest, his lips found yours and his tongue slipped into your mouth. His hold on your thigh relaxed, and the same hand slipped down your body and found your clit, his index and middle finger massaging it to the rhythm of his ruts. His cock pulled out with each rotation of his fingers on your clit, and pushed in with the next rotation. Combined with the perfect arch of his cock allowing his tip to hit the gummy part deep in you and his other hand lightly caressing your tits, it was unbearable.

"F-fuck, Binnie," you whispered out in between moans.

"So— pretty— fuck," he said in between thrusts. Despite his cock being unable to move faster, his fingers worked your pussy well, making you clench around him even more.

"God, Binnie," you panted, "you are so huge, such a perfect cock for my pussy... I'm so good for you, aren't I? I'm so perfect for my Binnie's dick." Fresh tears fell down your face at the praises that were partly directed towards him and partly directed towards yourself; and Changbin loved it.

"You are so p-pretty for me, aren't you?" He moaned as he let his pace stay steady but grow harsher, firmer, deeper. "You are just for me. Y/n, you are my perfect fucking baby who takes my cock so well and so g-good— fuck. I feel you squeezing at my words baby. You wanna cum so badly, huh?" And you truly did. It had become too much, and you could barely hold back anymore.

"Y-yes, Binnie. Can I cum? Please?" You cried as you began to rock your hips back into his cock in an attempt to feel more of him.

"Cream around my cock, Y/n," he whimpered. "C-cum and let me fill you up. F-fill you so deep and let it squirt out of you, take all of my pups and make this pussy mine—fuck!" Your pussy pulsed around him and soaked his cock, leaking around him and accentuating the lewd noises you were making. Changbin pumped himself deeper and deeper inside of you until he came too, letting himself rock into you until he was dry and his cum was buried in you. His hand continued to work you despite you squirming to separate from his grip. He kept caressing you until your hands finally pushed him away, giving you time to finally breathe.

You laid there panting with him behind you, his cock softening in you until he slipped it out and let your juices leak out of you. Your senses slowly came back to you, languishing in Changbin's presence. Though you wanted to lay with Changbin longer, he ended the silence.

"You're sore. You need to be cleaned up," he gasped out, still trying to regain his breath.

"Really?" You questioned. He pulled himself away from you without detecting the hesitancy in your voice and sat on his knees, nodding. You rolled onto your back and separated your legs, giving him a full view of your swollen cunt.

Changbin's eyes immediately fell from yours to the sight of your cum-drenched pussy, and he licked his lips. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Suddenly, he was between your legs, his arms wrapped around your plump thighs and his tongue lapping up his cum from your hole. Regardless of your efforts to push his head away, you were too weak for him. Changbin grabbed your hands and pinned them to your sides, letting him finish cleaning you.

"I'm working, y/n," he simply said between licks. His tongue darted in and out of your cunt, searching for the cum buried in you. You continued to writhe under his grip, unable to handle the overstimulating pressure he was placing on your swollen pussy. Then, after a few kitten licks to your clit, he placed a lingering kiss on your pussy and finally, thankfully, pulled away to kiss your lips instead.

His exhaustion had hit him then and he laid on top of you, the muscle pig who just had you utterly under his control immediately turning into a complete softie in mere seconds. His cheeks were rosy and his eyes shut, his mouth curved into a pleasant smile, satisfied with his recent escapades. You glanced at the man, heart warmed by how he held you and how he snuggled into you now, but also incredibly confused at his dualism.

"You're so pretty, Changbin," you murmured as your hands finally pet his head and stroked his broad back.

"What are you on?" he laughed, amused by your sudden softness as well.

"Nothing," you replied, "you're just so good to look at— hmph!" Changbin's eyes shot to you in worry. He had slightly shifted his weight on you and hit a sensitive point, not realizing that the anguish he had put you through had left you sore.

"O-Oh god!" he babbled, "let's run you a bath! Do you want painkillers!? Are you a Tylenol or Advil person? H-how about water?" He had sprung up and darted around the room worriedly, grabbing anything that caught his eyes but nothing of use. After a minute of continuing his antics, his eyes caught yours and he stopped dead in his tracks. "WHAT?!"

"Changbin," a snide smile spread across your lips, "you are literally running around my room screaming and completely naked. You just gave me a show; I don't need another." As your giggles filled the room, Changbin's fretting nature was lost. He dropped his hands and laughed as well before searching for his boxers and tugging them on.

You groaned, "Boo, I wanted to see you!"

He shook his head, "You will again, don't worry. But right now I'll run you a bath and actually clean you up this time." Surprisingly, the mere mention of his previous actions brought a slight blush to his cheeks, embarrassment coming with the memory of what you and he did together. Changbin stumbled to the bathroom, preparing the water and leaving you to watch him in awe. Your cheeks had become flush, as well, and you relished in the emotions which accompanied watching Changbin care for you.

"Thanks, Binnie!"

"Don't worry, about it, Y/n," he replied from the other room. "By the way, the bath is ready!" At his words, you began attempting to rise from the bed, but found your legs unable to work. You hissed at the soreness of your body, not even noticing Changbin entering the room.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Trying to get up, but I can't seem to— Changbin!" Before your feet were even able to raise off the bed, Changbin had swept you into his arms and began carrying you bridal style into the bathroom. You grabbed his shoulders to support yourself but quickly reeled due to his bare state. "W-What are you doing!?"

"You'd be crazy to think I'd let you do anything in your current state," he responded, and in a smaller voice he continued, "especially considering I was the one who put you there."

"B-but what if I'm—"

"Stop, Y/n," he interrupted, making your eyes go wide. "You're not too heavy. I told you this before and I'll say it again. Now hold on and let me take care of you, okay?"

You did as he asked, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him carry you to the bathroom, admiring his determined features as he held you with ease. Changbin placed you slowly in the tub, the warm wetter incapsulating you and bubbles cleaning your sweating form.

"Binnie, it's perfect." You almost cried as he pet your hair and placed a kiss on your cheek.

"Yeah, duh, I'm amazing," he stated simply, his joking arrogance making you giggle. "I also made it for me and you but I don't think there's enough room, so I'm going to make the room up while you relax." He began to rise but your hands pulled him back down, stopping him.

"I'd much rather your cram into the tub with me or at least stay than leave, Binnie," you confessed. Changbin's face lit up, immediately stripping himself again and hopping in the tub, water splashing as he adjusted his position. He sat behind you and you were between his legs, his arms holding you while your head laid back on his chest. He kissed your temple before resting his head on yours, trying not to fall asleep from the comfort of his position.

You, too, were also trying to fend off sleep. However, you became entranced and soon laid still in the assurance of Changbin's hold. While you rested, Changbin studied you, taking in all your features that he used to steal glances at, admiring every inch of you that was deprived of him while you remained separated by the conventionalities of friendship.

He sighed, "I like you, Y/n." He placed another kiss on your head. "I really do."

#Changbin #changbin smut #seo changbin smut #changbin fluff #seo changbin fluff #changbin x y/n #changbin x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #changbin x you #stray kids changbin

[tgmsunmontue]

Once Upon a Time in 1996... 2/?

IceMav TimeLoop. Maverick wakes up to a great day. Then it all turns to shit.

Chapter One

Once Upon a Time in 1996 - Chapter Two

                He wakes up and he feels… not hungover.

                That’s… surprising.

                He blinks his eyes open and he sits up, even more surprised.

                He’s in his bedroom at the Bradshaw home and he knows he ended yesterday drinking far too much with Tom…

                Huh.

                Maybe that entire thing was just a colossal fucked up nightmare his brain decided he needed to experience so he’d truly appreciate how good everything is… 

                Except Bradley runs out of the house and he’s got that piece of toast hanging out of his mouth and his stomach sinks, Carole comes into the kitchen wearing exactly what she was in his nightmare and he knows the next words that come out of her mouth.

                “I’ve got an appointment but I should be home around ten.”

                Everything is the same and he just sits on the porch and stares at the grass.

                Did he cut this grass yesterday?

                Was it yesterday?

                Or is it simply a prolonged and intense period of déjà vu?

                Is this a blessing? Something to help him navigate the horrors he knows are coming?

                He can’t stop Carole’s cancer, but he won’t be letting Bradley on his bike again. He won’t be skipping lunch and then making Ice break out his emergency vodka and he can’t remember why Ice had vodka, the nightmare hazy around the sixth shot, which he thinks is very realistic for a nightmare…

                Carole comes home and this time he doesn’t wait, goes out to her immediately and hugs her when she tells him, doesn’t say I know despite it being the first thing that pops into his mind. When he goes to the school to pick up Bradley he takes Carole’s car, adamant not to repeat that part of his nightmare. He’s far earlier than he needs to be, having been unable to stop Carole from reaching for the same bottle and still deciding not to tell Bradley. He leans against the car as the kids stream out of the gates, waves out and calls Bradley’s name, deals with the same happy surprise on Bradley’s face at seeing him and he can’t help the answering grin, because the grin on this kid is simply infectious.

                “You’re here!”

                “I am! I thought that maybe we could go and get ice cream on the pier, you know? Play hooky before going home to your mom?”

                “Ice cream!” Bradley agrees instantly and damn but the kid is so easy to please. He maneuvers the car out of the lot and heads toward the pier.

                “So, how was school today?”

                “Fine. We have a graduation thing next week. You’re coming right?”

                “Sure am. All finished with middle school and off to high school next. You know where you’re going yet?”

                “Nah. Mom’s letting me decide and I don’t really know what I’m looking at. Surely she can just tell me right?”

                Pete freezes, because yes, surely she can just tell him? Except obviously not, and he wonders how angry Carole would be if he just blurted out what was going on, if it would be easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. He can’t do it though, keeps it to himself festering away in his gut.

                “I think she’s trying to give you some control over your own life. There’s so much you can’t control, so maybe she’s trying to give you some of that…”

                As he thinks about it, about Carole’s diagnosis and what she wants to keep from Bradley, he thinks that maybe that’s what she’s trying to do. He wonders just how long she might have known or expected the news she’s gotten today and why she hadn’t told him earlier if she had suspected. He drives carefully, worried that maybe his nightmare warning is just going to somehow include a vehicular accident regardless. If there is going to be one it’s damned well not going to be his fault.

                They park a distance away, willing to walk in the warmer weather and Bradley keeps up a steady stream of chatter about his baseball team, then the goings on of the dramas of middle school and Pete lets the mundanity of it wash over him, glad that this drama is something he can just listen to and not be needed to worry or have to solve. His mind still trying to figure out how he can maybe make things right for Carole as much as possible. And Bradley. They need to provide Bradley some security. They need to talk about that.

                He doesn’t want to talk about that at all.

                Doesn’t know if he’s ready to be the sole remaining adult in Bradley’s life who will love and care for him. He can take care of himself, doesn’t know if he’s capable of stretching that skill to include a kid. He shakes his head and shoves his shoulders back. It’s not a kid. It’s Bradley and he’ll do anything and everything to keep him as loved and happy as he is right now. Except for wanting to keep him in the dark… Oh god. He gets it. He gets why Carole doesn’t want to tell him but he doesn’t have to like it.

                Bradley asks to go home and he can’t think of any good reason to keep him out longer, already bought two ice creams and at least he’s not having to endure Carole’s quiet rage and disappointment about letting Bradley on his bike. Which he’d never do. So it was obviously a nightmare. They head home and he asks Bradley to just wait in the car for a moment, wants to check that Carole is in a fit state, or semi-fit state to be a parent. She’s not drunk, her eyes are red and she just meets his eyes with sadness and he just gives her another hug, tries to convey that he’s here, even if right now he wants to run away and not deal with it right now.

                “Bradley’s just in the car. Let me go get him.”

                “What did you tell him?”

                “Nothing Carole, just that you’d had a bad day and might need a little time to feel up to being around people…”

                “So not far from the truth,” she says with a watery smile. “Thanks for helping me out, Pete.”

                “I just wish I could do more,” he says, and he wonders if he said anything along those lines in his nightmare-dream, even though it’s different now.

“You’re doing plenty. Now aren’t you meant to be having dinner with Tom?”

                “Yeah, but I don’t need to go just yet –” he starts, even if the urge to run away is still there.

                “Go send Bradley in and then go see Tom, I’ll be fine.”

                He wants to argue that she’s anything but fine, but he can’t bring himself to say anything, instead gives her another quick hug and heads back out to the car, grinning at Bradley and giving him a thumbs up.

                “Your mom is feeling much better, waiting for you inside. I’m off to see Ice so I’ll see you later okay?”

                “Aw man! I wanna see Uncle Tom!”

                “Tomorrow okay? He said he was going to come and see you this weekend sometime.”

                “Fine. I wanna hear about his trip!”

                Pete laughs, because calling a deployment a trip makes it sound far more interesting and glamorous than it actually is. But he guesses the idea of flying planes does sound far cooler than going to school everyday.

                “I’m sure he’ll love to tell you all about it. Take it easy on your mom okay? She’s feeling pretty tired I think.”

                “Sure thing Uncle Pete!”

                He gets a quick hug and then Bradley is running into the house and he wonders if the kids ever walks anywhere, he always seems to be in a constant rush to get from one place to another. He decides to take Carole’s car again, remove the chance that she might decide to go for a drive and heads toward base where Ice’s accommodation is based.

                He get’s to Ice’s an hour earlier than he did in his nightmarish dream and he knocks, hopping from one foot to the other in impatience. He’s not going to drink, except maybe one beer, but he wants to see if things are different here. Almost wants to check Ice’s freezer for the bottle of vodka, tries to remember what dream-Ice has said he had it for. Ice opens the door and he looks spooked, like he wasn’t expecting him and that’s so different from yesterday that Pete almost hugs him with glee he’s so relieved.

                “Sorry I’m early, needed to uh, get away from Carole and Bradley, there’s something I…” he trails off, pausing in the act of kicking off his boots. The table is different. It’s usually covered in paper work, and he tries to remember what it had looked like in his nightmare… he’s pretty sure it had been completely clear but he’s not sure. It definitely didn’t look like a table set for two, there are even wine glasses.

                Ice owns wine glasses. Who knew?

                “Am I… interrupting something?” Pete asks, looking at the table and then to Ice, trying to figure out why this is so different from his dream-nightmare when everything else has seemed almost identical. Ice is even wearing something different, one of his dressier shirts and shit, did he get the day wrong?

                “I was just clearing it away actually, just figured we could eat in front of the television like usual…”

                He’s early.

                Earlier than his dream. That’s the difference. He’s caught Ice by surprise and this is… This dinner setting is (was?) meant for him. He’s staring at it like it somehow holds all the answers, wonders if there are things already put away because he’s over an hour earlier, Ice had this table cleared in his nightmare and now…

                “I was just… I was thinking about telling you something.”

                His stomach plummets, flashes of Carole telling him she’s dying and he’s frozen to the spot, suddenly terrified.

                “What?”

                “Nothing, it doesn’t matter.”

                “Tell me anyway?”

                Ice stares at him then, the silence stretching out between them and he can’t really remember much after the fifth or sixth shot of vodka in his nightmare, but he’s pretty sure Ice hadn’t told him anything earth-shattering.

                “I’m gay Pete.”

                The relief he feels is almost palpable. He’s not sick, or hurt, or anything bad. It’s fine. Ice is looking at him like he’s waiting for Pete to say something and he just smiles and nods, not really sure what to say in the face of it being something that doesn’t make his world fall apart at the seams.

                “Okay. Cool.”

                There, that feels safe.

                Ice sucks a breath in through his nose, the short sharp one which always makes his nose twitch because he’s usually either annoyed or about to say something he’s been trying to say, piecing it together like a puzzle.

                “What? Is there something else?”

                “I… “

                “Oh my god, is there someone? That you like?”

                “Fucks sake Pete…”

                He snaps his mouth shut, Ice doesn’t often break out his name, but he had in his nightmare, and he has just now, and he doesn’t like it. Not at all. Fuck, he hasn’t even told him about Carole, the line getting blurred in his mind about Pete telling him in his nightmare… The look Ice is giving him is sad and he frowns.

                “What?”

                “You, Pete. I’m in love with you…”

                Pete freezes. Doesn’t respond in the positive or negative, just completely doesn’t make a move and he can feel Tom pulling away even though neither of them move physically.

                Him.

                It’s him.

                He doesn’t know what to say or do; he’s never thought of Tom that way before. Well. That’s a lie. But he’s never thought he’d ever act on any of his very fleeting thoughts. People he works with, flies with, they’re all very firmly off limits. He’s never acted on any of his passing thoughts, keeping his eyes firmly focused on women as much as possible. He’s had some passing things with some guys, but never a relationship, never someone in the Navy, never something meaningful. He can’t imagine having anything but meaningful with the man in front of him.

                “I’m going for a walk.”

                “I'll come with you.”

                “Alone, Pete. I just… I need to walk. To think.”

                He opens his mouth to object, but Ice is pulling on his shoes and pushing past him, heading out the door without a backward glance and he wants to follow but he won’t, will respect his desire to be alone and instead wait for him to come back. He walks into the kitchen and the oven is on and there’s something cooking in there, but he has no idea what it is. Obviously Ice isn’t planning on being gone too long with food left cooking and just out of curiosity he opens the freezer.

                Hidden under some frozen peas is a bottle of vodka and he swallows nervously.

                Hours slip by.

                The sun sets and there’s no sign of Ice.

                He turns off the oven, whatever is in there well and truly ruined.

                He falls asleep on the sofa, Ice still not returned home.

CHAPTER THREE

#icemav #Once Upon a Time in 1996... #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #Top Gun fanfiction

[legendofzoodles]

Zelda deserved to become a Dragon tbh

No scientist worth their salt pushes forward ignoring the glaring gaps in a picture. She and the rest of Hyrule made that mistake once: practically handing the Divine Beasts and Guardians on a silver platter for the Calamity to turn against them.

She suffered for a hundred years because of that blunder, it should have made her cautions, patient, wise when approaching the unknown...instead she did the same shit again! It’s pretty on Zelda that what happened to her, happened.

Here’s why:

~~~

When she was in the catacombs with Link she acted like a giddy tourist, taking pictures of the murals like novell snapshots of history, and not the attentive scholar she claims to be. It’s fine to get excited about what you’re passionate about, we all do that, but a professional wouldn’t let it cloud their judgement. Bearing in mind she was down there originally to solve the mystery of the gloom; people were literally immobilised sick on their beds on the surface while she was geeking out over Zonai statues.

More of a critique of the prologue but if that’s not tonal dissonance, idk what is.

Anyway, those murals were an obvious warning, clear cut context for what awaits in the next chamber, like, “hey, there’s some gnarly shit in the next room. Here’s what went down prior...make sure you’re prepared. Maybe bring an army, it could get wild.”

If Zelda was able to immediately connect them to the imprisoning war of her studies without trouble then she should have starting thinking about why there was even a mystery surrounding it. How did it end? Why was it forgotten? Part of the mural- arguably the most vital- was blocked off. Why not leave and come back with a team to carefully excavate?

It sounds overly meticulous, but this is the level of thoroughness I’d expect from an academic coming across something she knows so little about and is clearly dangerous.

I do kind of get why she wanted to rush forward; while the gloom in small hazy clouds couldn’t affect them immediately, prolonged exposure could make them sick and halt progress...but like, there was nothing stopping them from just turning back and going about this slowly. If anything, the creepy murals and sight of a whole mummy being held down by a ghost hand was screaming at them to turn back, think, regroup, and come back with a careful plan with backups and failsafes to make sure nothing happens to the Princess. 

This doesn’t ruin some kind of plan. Zelda wasn’t sent to the past for a reason. It wasn’t part of some grand plan concocted by Rauru. He had no idea why she was there, neither did Sonia, neither did the genius Mineru. She accidently sent herself there because she was falling to her death and understandably distressed when Link failed to reach her.

Remember, the stones don’t grant new power or have any kind of senscience. They just amplify existing power. When Zelda fell, she unconsciously used the power of the stone to teleport to safety. Because she had been thinking about the imprisoning war and that period in the past, that’s where sent herself, and the stone magnified her time/light power to make her travel that huge distance in the timeline.

...so, as long as there’s an outcome where Zelda isn’t put in a life threatening position making her yeet herself into the past, there’s no dragonification (reminder she contributes very little, if anything at all in the past. Only becoming a dragon to restore the master sword and get her back to her own timeline in the slowest way possible). 

Even if it all goes to hell and Link is still arm snatched, so long as Zelda makes it out fine she and Purah can take what they’ve discovered and learn from it. While experimenting with the stone Zelda could then unlock her time/light powers and, with a lot of practice, amplify them using the stone to restore the Master Sword (maybe she only sends the master sword in the past to her ancestors Rauru and Sonia, to then be recharged and collected brand spanking new in their time) and be there in the fight against Ganon. All while helping her kingdom get through the Upheaval as a pillar or order and stability.

...speaking of dragonification, as it happened in game, she really didn’t need to do that. Honestly. Sure, that’s what Mineru suggested, but it’s not what Sonia, her pseudo-mother figure, suggested. Sonia said wisdom takes time, that if Zelda practices, she will be able to control her powers. I’m fairly sure the battle was over when Zelda turned herself into a dragon, Ganondorf was contained by Rauru, she had time. 

TL;DR: Zelda getting herself stuck in the past and going with the nuclear sky-wyrmification option was her own fault. Had she just been a competent researcher, she wouldn’t have put Link and herself in the dangerous position that led to the game’s events.

~~~

Thanks for reading! I like this game, but the story and Zelda’s characterisation are fundamentally broken.

Btw Link clearly didn’t learn anything from the Calamity either; he didn’t try stop her. But when you’re seen as nothing but a bodyguard I can see why he just assumed she knew what she was doing...even when the darn Master Sword was flashing a warning.

Masterlist

Short Story: Blunt Crown (Wild and Flora)

Headcanons: Flora is Feral, Parkour team  

#hot take #the prologue annoys me so much #so so much #the number of times i tried to turn back #only for zelda to keep telling me to run blind into danger #loz totk #totk #totk spoilers #totk spoiler #loz tears of the kingdom #tears of the kingdom #zelda totk #zelda tears of the kingdom #light dragon #totk light dragon #totk zelda

[babycharmander]

Raz for the headcanon meme? Please and thank you :)

Sure thing!

Headcanon A (realistic): Raz absolutely 100% has ADHD. Can't stay still, constantly talking and narrating things to himself, keeps EVERYTHING organized via notes, doodles constantly while working, has very intense special interests, and so on. He's unknowingly built up some pretty good coping mechanisms for his ADHD (such as the note taking) but goodness help him if he has to stay still for a prolonged period of time. Also, I like to headcanon that he was homeschooled by his parents, who would do the homeschooling while they were practicing their acrobatics or setting things up, and this actually helped Raz concentrate on learning things, because he could constantly move around while learning!

Headcanon B (hilarious): Even after the events of Psychonauts 2, he still sends submissions to True Psychic Tales. Sometimes they're about actual missions he goes on, but also he just... sends the wildest fabrications. Like, downright Psychonauts fanfiction because it never occurred to him Not to do that. Some of the folks who actually work for the publication are like "...wait isn't this Agent Aquato. why is he doing this" but no one really has the heart to stop him because he is Ten Years Old. Eventually though as the years go on he gets into drawing comics as a hobby, and some of his comics (about things that absolutely did not happen) wind up getting published in the magazine.

Headcanon C (ANGST): He never fully untangles the mess of emotions he feels about Ford. Ford is his mentor and close friend, but he's the one who did... everything that happened to his family. He's the one who actually "cursed" them. He trained him, but also he caused his family to have a fear of psychics, which messed with him during his early life. He broke Lucy, but he also kept her safe, in a way, but was also part of the reason Lucy became Like That to begin with... Raz does stay friends with him, but there's some occasions where some bitterness and anger rise up. They don't stay for long, and Ford wouldn't blame him for any of it. Raz struggles with it up until Ford dies, and even past that, he still doesn't fully know what to think, but he tries to remember Ford in a positive light regardless. One thing's for sure--his life would not be the same without Ford.

Headcanon D (probably doesn't 100% fit canon but I dON'T CARE): Ever since Meat Circus, Raz has been very much put off by the thought of eating meat. The sight of raw meat especially messes with his head, and the smell of it (or the smell of blood) makes him feel lightheaded. As a result he's gone vegetarian for the time being. His mother is confused by this and insists he needs protein because he is a Growing Boy, but she manages to find things he can eat, and Oleander gives him tips as well. I don't know that he would stay vegetarian for his whole life--he might eventually get over it. But at the very least, he'd probably go vegetarian for the next month or so at least.

#razputin aquato #psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #psychonauts 2 spoilers #bc answers nonsense #anonymous

[password-door-lock]

Unknown doesn’t really care about you. That’s been his conviction from day one, the truth to which he has clung with a vice grip throughout his acquaintance with you. He doesn’t care about you, he doesn’t care what’s convenient for you, and he doesn’t care about your feelings. He certainly doesn't care that you've been restless all night, waking up at odd intervals to sniffle for a bit before returning to your tossing and turning. He supposes that he does care if you’re able to help him fulfill his plan, though you’ve already thrown a wrench into it once by refusing to enter the code correctly at the apartment. He had no choice but to bring you back to Magenta, which may have been a bad call, but Unknown has about as much patience for surprises as he does for liars— which is to say, none at all— and your inability to listen forced him to make a snap decision on the spot. 

Presently, he's working at his desk, and you’re asleep on the couch, stirring and whining occasionally in what he imagines is discomfort. He wonders if you're experiencing something akin to the nightmares that plague him when he forces himself to rest, but then goes out of his way to dissolve the thought. Unknown doesn’t like to linger on his own pain. Why would he? So instead, he watches you sleep fitfully. After a few minutes of this, you blink awake. You sit up, looking around frantically. “Did you have a bad dream, prince(ss)?” Unknown asks, amused despite himself. You look adorable even in the faint light provided by his monitor, with your eyes wide and your head swiveling comically from side to side.

“No; don't worry,” you reply, “But my throat hurts, and my nose is all stuffed up— I think I might have a cold or something.” That much is obvious from your voice. 

Even so, Unknown’s fingers pause where they are above his keyboard. In fact, his whole body freezes. He’s stiff, unsure of how to handle the situation. If you have a sore throat and a stuffy nose, then you’re almost definitely sick— Unknown doesn’t have time to process all the reasons why he doesn’t like that thought. He only allows himself to acknowledge the fact that it irks him. “You’re sick,” he informs you, trying not to sound nervous. It’s important that he maintains a calm tone in order to maintain his iron grip on the situation. 

You’re already starting to tremble so obviously that he can see it even from his vantage point across the room. What reason do you have to be trembling? Unknown wonders. He’s the one who might get sick as a result of your negligence— he’s been in here with you all night, breathing your air and touching things you’ve also touched. If you’re sick, then there’s a pretty solid chance that Unknown is going to be next— he growls, annoyed at the thought of losing progress with his work for something so pointless. If his head gets foggy with fever, he’ll work a lot slower, which will doubtlessly cause problems for him in his quest for revenge. It pisses him off that this is something over which he has no jurisdiction— you might be at the mercy of his whims, but your illness is not. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. He should feel good that you’re apologizing, taking responsibility; he should enjoy the knowledge that you’re shaking in fear of how he might respond to this latest inconvenience. Yes, you should be sorry, shouldn’t you? You’re the one who brought some bug into the intelligence room, after all. 

But, inexplicably, Unknown does not feel comforted at all. “Don’t waste time apologizing,” he snaps. It’s always grounding to snap at people— it reminds him that he’s in control. Of course, you do that well enough on your own; you make your devotion obvious with every thoughtful gesture and every offhand word. It’s almost cute, the way you bend over backwards for him. 

Before he can tell you what you should start doing in lieu of telling him you’re sorry, you lapse into a prolonged period of violent coughing. “Sorry,” you choke out again once you’re finished. 

“Okay.” Unknown doesn’t even bother telling you not to apologize again. He’s annoyed that you’re sick, but he’s even more annoyed that he has to stop working to help you deal with your emotions. Can’t you handle your feelings on your own? Why would you rely on him for something like this? Wouldn’t it be easier for you to just sulk in the corner without making a peep? But Unknown concedes that in all other cases, your reliance on him is a good thing. It makes you easier to control. 

Maybe this is a necessary sacrifice, he decides, and that’s what’s compelling him to continue this discussion. If he handles your feelings neatly, you might follow his instructions better, and he can spend his time on more important things. If he lets you stew with your strange guilt, especially when you’re trying to recover from a cold, then he’s going to have to deal with it later, when your emotional and physical condition are both significantly worse. Unknown isn’t interested in that. 

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” You ask, as if he hasn’t already made it clear to you that there isn’t.

Unknown is beside himself. What are you talking about? How could you possibly help him? You can barely carry on a conversation without losing your train of thought in a fit of coughing. “No. You don’t need to worry about that,” he tells you flatly. “Just keep quiet and rest so you get better fast, hm? I don’t want to deal with a sick assistant any longer than I have to.”

“Are you sure?” You ask. Though he doesn’t understand why, Unknown is suddenly very glad that you’re feeling well enough to pester him. “There’s gotta be something I can do.” 

“I just told you what to do,” he reminds you, “So maybe you should start listening before you regret it.” 

“You’re threatening me? Even though I’m sick?” As if your feigned shock wasn’t annoying enough, you take the liberty of pretending to cough into your hand. Of course, this fake cough soon turns into a fit of very genuine coughing— good. It serves you right for trying to mock him. 

“Mhm,” Unknown hums, "Now, why don’t you try to follow directions instead of talking nonsense?” It puts him at ease to play this game with you. He doesn’t have to contend with any emotions he may harbor about the situation if you’re up for a verbal sparring match, and he’d never pass up an opportunity to assert his control. 

“Whatever you say.” You salute him, then sneeze obnoxiously into your elbow. For how long, exactly, is he going to have to deal with this behavior? “What did you want me to do, again?” 

“Now you’re just looking for attention,” Unknown decides. He has no idea why you’re so committed to the idea of working when he’s giving you not simply the license, but the direct order to rest, though it doesn’t really matter. He’s already told you several times that he doesn’t need you to work on anything, and besides, he wants you to feel better. But that makes sense— of course he would want his assistant to be functioning normally. His motivations are entirely justifiable. “Go lay back down and don’t bother me again.”

“Okay, okay,” you hold up your hands and gaze at him with adoration. “I get it! You don’t want me to work! Who are you and what have you done with Unknown?” He just glares at you, waiting for you to finish giggling at your own joke. “But, sure, whatever, I’ll try to rest. Feel free to wake me up if you need something, though. I want to help you if I can.” 

Unknown rolls his eyes. He’s glad to have such a loyal assistant, but you seriously need to stop challenging his authority like this. “I’m not going to tell you again,” he warns. 

“I said okay! Look, here I am resting.” After another prolonged coughing fit, you make a big show of laying back down on the couch and closing your eyes— and if Unknown finds himself smirking a little at your fake snoring noises, that’s none of anybody’s business.

#I've been sick for the past few days but now I'm FINALLY well enough to write and edit #So I figured I may as well project onto MC a little bit lol #Also completely unrelated to the fic but also a little related to the fic I got up at 1am so in my mind it's like afternoon right now #anyway enjoy #mystic messenger #mystic messenger drabble

[whisperprime]

Note: Archdemon from previous entries now has a name. If you get to the end of this and wonder, “Who’s Mammon?” that would be him. I’ll be editing previous entries to include the new change.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

Hob allows himself his pity party, unfair that it is to call it that. He has been through a traumatic series of experiences and he understands the necessity of allowing himself time to recover.

In so much as recovery is ever possible after nearly a century of being tortured by a literal demon.

It likely doesn't help that he can't quite decide if staying in his friend's home for any prolonged period of time is a good or bad thing for him.

Oh, he is more than aware that you don't turn away a safe haven when you need to rebuild your life from neatly the ground up.

He's also aware that being in this house when his friend who has very much never stated they are indeed friends in this timeline is going to tear his fool heart to pieces.

The first night after Dream left, Hob had made his way back to the master bedroom, listless and restless at the same time. He'd found himself staring at the bed until his eyes burned, first from not blinking, then by the first hint of tears.

He is many things over his beloved, but he has not been brought quite this low for him.

Hob had taken the clothes from the wardrobe and set up base in the guest room downstairs. The bed didn't hold a candle to the one upstairs, but his dreams were haunted enough without the reminder of whose bed he was sleeping in.

Hob begins the arduous task of rebuilding his life in stages. It has been a very long time since he had to build it up from quite this near to from scratch.

He always had his contingency plans. They all had the emergency plan built in if he needed to disappear for a hand full of decades. Most humans that might hunt him would either have long given up or died by then, not having the same gift of a long life span like him.

He could afford to be patient when all he had was time.

A hand full of decades, though, is a very different beast than a century, though. Not the worst, but hardly the best, though.

It will be more trouble than worth to come back as a relative of who he was back during World War I. Better to start off fresh. It will be good to clear up any loose threads he might have left laying around. He is only sorry for the effects that he will have lost in the process. Some of those objects he had originally managed to hold onto, even into the 22nd century.

The best thing he has going for him is that he has already lived through this time period once before. The outside world isn't going to blindside him with technical advances. If nothing, it's going to feel a bit primitive.

But that's him getting ahead of himself.

After dragging himself out of the three day old cocoon of blankets and pillows he's made for himself, Hob feels ready to tackle the next stage of his plan: figuring out where Dream's house actually is and how much travel it will take to get him to one of his caches. Most of them are in the UK, but there are a few scattered between the United States, France, and Germany, respectively. As long as he’s not too far from any of them, it shouldn’t be too hard to get to one.

He goes out to the kitchen, grabbing himself a banana to snack on as he stares at the leather pouch that had appeared on the counter the day Dream left. He had found it along with a pantry full of food to easily last a single man several weeks, even with a generous appetite. It contains a generous amount of money, more than enough for transportation and lodging, but Hob does not want to dig into it if he doesn’t have to. His cache will be more than enough to get him back on his feet while he reestablishes himself.

There is only so much he can stand to accept. The clothes on his back, the roof over his head, the food in his belly, they are more than he could have asked for. Any money that he accepts will be only what he needs to get to his cache and to carry it with him back to London.

With a grunt, he grabs a bottle of water and then the pouch, the latter of which he stuffs into the pocket of his sweater. He finds some shoes that fit him as perfectly as everything else by the door. A key ring with a key to what must be the front door is swiped from the hook it hangs off of. He is all set to go, and yet he still lingers, a hand hovering over the door knob.

He hasn’t been outside in over a century. The thought is sort of mind boggling. Oh, he’s gotten near the windows, but he hadn’t felt like opening them just yet.

And now he’s going outside. Completely of his own free will. There is nothing keeping him here beyond the general effort it takes to open a door and walk through it.

Needless to say, he stops hesitating and near throws him outside.

He pauses on the door step, breathing in the crisp air of what appears to be either a fall or spring day. Whichever it is, he has caught it on a sunny day, and he feels no shame as he tilts his head back and lets the light of it soak in.

Humans are creatures of the light. They need it to combat fatigue, boost their mood, and to strengthen the density of their bones. Although Hob does not have to worry about the last on the list, he has felt the lingering touch of what felt like an ever lasting seasonal depression.

If it didn’t feel like it was 7­°C out, he would absolutely go sunbathing about now.

He reigns in the urge, shuts the door behind him, locks it, and then makes his way down the drive way. Halfway down the driveway, he pivots to get a good look at the house. If he’s not mistaken, it appears to be a Victorian era style house. Old enough to be from that era, from the looks of it, although effort has been made to upkeep it. Hob half expected it to be predominantly black in color, but it’s blue-grey walls and dark grey roof tiles are more color than he thinks he’s ever seen from his friend.

Not by much, but still more colorful than black.

The house isn’t secluded, but it isn’t right up on top of any other properties, either. At the end of the drive way, he glances left and then right. Neither particularly look more promising than the other, so he simply shrugs and picks a direction. He makes note of the house’s location and starts walking.

It’s not a terribly long walk, but his ankle is still smarting by the time he reaches civilization. It doesn’t take long from there to figure out where his old friend dropped him and he has to laugh a little.

His friend has property in Scotland, as it turns out. Aberdeen, to be exact.

Oh, this is not nearly as terrible as he had feared. He kind of hoped he’d be closer to London - that’s still a eight hour trip one way by train - but at least he’s still in the United Kingdom.

It’s easy enough to get his hands on some luggage. Everyone is sympathetic to the story of the traveler who’s luggage has gone missing. He thinks it helps that he’s wearing what looks like high end clothing, because nothing Dream makes can be otherwise, apparently. The cashier who rings him up regales him with a time her husband had the same thing happen and how they never did see that suitcase ever again, thank goodness nothing of true value was in it.

He parts from the shop feeling better for the pleasant chat with a friendly soul. He lingers around the shops, buying some lunch and a simple pay-as-you-go phone to tide him over until he can get one with a plan. He chats with some more friendly locals and reacquaints himself with the early 21st century.

The sun is setting by the time he drags himself back to the house. While making dinner, he considers his next move. He is tempted to remain another day. To linger in the library or hide away in the guest bedroom until he is forced to leave. The offer was made that he could stay as long as he needed.

But if he stays, he will not want to leave. And what he wants most, he will not find here.

The next morning, Hob goes through it and clean the areas he's inhabited. He saves the upstairs bed - Dream’s and, for a single night, Hob’s bed - for last, pulling the sheets off, dragging them down to the washer and dyer on the first floor. He takes them back upstairs and erases the final traces of his visit as he sets the bed back to right. He laughs at himself in self-deprecation because here he is getting worked up about a bed his friend who is not his friend has likely never even laid in.

He takes a few changes of clothes for himself, packs his necessities along with the phone and pouch of money he will have to find some way to return at some point, and leaves the house, locking the door behind him. He forces himself to walk away, never once looking back no matter how much he wishes to.

By 9:52AM, he is sat on a train on a one way trip headed for London. By 11:00PM, he has found his closest cache and a room for the night.

Over the next several months, Hob pieces together who he wants to be for the next 20 years. On paper, he becomes Robert Gadsen, 31 years old. He’s just moved to London after getting his Master of Education in Teaching and Learning in the United States. He tacks on a Bachelor of Arts in History to have an excuse to get him in the door for history classes when he applies to teach at a local college for some teaching experience.

His biggest risk, he is aware, is when he purchases the building that, in another life, had been The New Inn. 

He had not been surprised when he went looking for what had become of the White Horse Tavern and had found it completely gone. In this timeline, Hob had not been there to slow down the closure of the tavern. No one had petitioned for it to be declared a historical site, which had tied the hands of the demolition team for the better part of a decade. Eventually, Hob and his team had lost, but not before delaying things long enough that The New Inn was up and running with a sign pointing from the old meeting spot to the potential new meeting spot for Dream to find.

Because he does not want to have to dig another cache too soon, he decides to move in to the building from the first day instead of living in his own flat near by. When the Inn is up and running, he might revisit the idea of moving out, but for now, he will save money where he can.

The first day after moving in, Hob sits on the floor he has just finished sweeping and simply allows the moment to sink in. 

He does not know why he is insistent on doing this. There was no indication that Dream will meet with him in 2089, as there was no indication he even came to the 1989 meeting. This could all be for nothing.

But Hob had built The New Inn the first time on nothing more than a hope and a prayer, the offering little more than an out stretched hand should Dream ever wish to take it. And perhaps it will become that again, in this new timeline.

Most of all, it had become his lode stone, after Dream’s death in the other timeline. It was the place he returned to when the loneliness of his immortality got the best of him and he needed to reflect on why he wanted this life. He hadn’t always lived there or even near it, but knowing it was there - this place where he had once been able to be honest with who he was and how he lived - was enough.

And so, the next day, he hires a contractor and got to work. Like the first time, he is just as involved with the construction and the creation of the blue prints. The contractors are a little skeptical at first, but it helps that this time, he knows what he’s doing. Remembers what worked and hadn’t worked. It saves time, even if it takes out some of the charm of the original build.

It is six months to the day of his rescue from Burgess’ henchmen that things take another turn. 

The construction of the New Inn coming along nicely, his teaching job secured and ready to begin with the fall semester. The flat above the Inn has not received quite as much love as the pub, but it is not that far behind it. He is bone tired and he is almost asleep before his head hits the pillow.

In the time since the seal broke and his ability to dream like every other person returned, Hob has revisited the basement at Fawney Rig quite frequently in his sleeping hours. He visits it nearly as often as he does not get rescued and finds his way to the bottom of the English Channel instead.

He has tried his best to keep up his ability to lucid dream, but with the Dreaming now fully able to draw him in, he finds himself able to move around his dreams as if they are mere sets rather than events he is reenacting. He hasn’t gotten the hang of changing things, but he takes what he can get.

On this night, however, he does not open his eyes to a familiar basement with Mammon standing over his naked self, unable to escape the archdemon’s wrath for the binding circle. Nor does he find moments from being from some horrific death he will not stay dead from. Nor does he find himself moments from a dip in the water.

No, on this night, he opens his eyes to what is still that familiar basement, but instead of an angry archdemon, this one has a glass and metal sphere hanging from the ceiling. A stone walkway provides a way to cross the moot that has been built to isolate and protect a circle painted in yellow under the orb. 

Hob presses his back to the metal gate behind him and stares, horrified, because this nightmare is not based on a memory that belonged to him.

It is based on a memory that belonged to the Dream of the other timeline.

Interlude

#the sandman #hob gadling #dream of the endless #dreamling #my fics #title: carry you back into the light #i finally decided on a name for the archdemon #i was a little hesitant #as supposedly mammon is another name for beelzebub #but i liked the idea of there being princes of hell #let alone a prince of greed #so for this story they are separate characters #all the names of the degrees in this part #are taken from wayne state unversity #ie the university i currently attend #also kudos to all the writers that have dream experience a flashback #and accidently drag hob into things while he's dreaming #ps: the next part is written #and its an interlude from dream's pov #i'll post it in the morning #in the mean time #have this

[sickficideas]

some hcs i’ve been thinking of recently …!

- dazai gets short of breath easily and coughs often due to his attempts at drowning leaving some water in his lungs

- ranpo gets stress induced low grade fevers when he feels that he messed up

- when fukuzawa first took in ranpo, ranpo got sick regularly bc his immune system got rather weak after living on streets

- firm believer that ranpo gets motion sick and that’s part of why he doesn’t care to learn how to take the train- he’s less likely to get asked to run errands since he needs to someone to with him. but eventually he’ll have to take the train and although he manages to figure it out, one of the members has to pick him up bc he feels so weak after emptying his stomach on the train

- kenji won’t eat for prolonged periods of time in case his ability is needed but this results in him getting dizzy and fainting when he gets up quickly

- yosano gets migraines when cleaning the infirmary because the chemicals irritate her

- sometimes when dazai falls asleep at his desk he’ll have nightmares and is so stressed out when he wakes up that he throws up

also ty for your blog T_T i love it so much we need more bsd sickfic people !!!!! love your content lots 🫡

when i read your fics i always feel inspired to start one myself lolol also sorry this is kinda long

ANON NEVER APOLOGIZE this is such a fantastic list and it's beautifully long i couldn't be more grateful for finding this in my inbox...AND THANK U SO MUCH i am so happy to create content for you guys and YOURE INSPIRING ME WITH THIS BEAUTIFUL LIST!! anon please write a fic you have great ideas!!! Send it to me if you do!!! until then u should totally send over some port mafia headcanons to match this list teehee😏

- the dazai ones are so...💔 the nightmares were things that he was able to easily brush off at first and he could chalk down the throwing up to just being hungover, but they get worse over time the more time he's away from the mafia, it gets so much harder for him to brush it off and he goes quiet for a while to process it. kunikida will take him over to the couch and encourage him to rest or distract himself and offers to stay with him, even if he's just doing his work real close by 💔 and you're so right i like the short of breath bit a lot, he will Die taking the stairs at the agency. begs atsushi to carry him whenever the elevator is out of service

- RANPOOOO....I never considered motion sick ranpo before but it's perfect 😭 that first time he went with atsushi he was probably like wait okay he doesn't know how to use the train but he gets motion sick too??😭😭 and the bit about him with a weak immune system i can totally imagine he and yosano as teenagers and she's taking care of him and teaching him ways to boost his immune system and take better care of himself💔 and she's always the first to notice those fevers while they're working and tries to coerce him into her office to chill out for a while 💔 she cares him so much

- i love yosano getting migraines she's so migraine sufferer coded...i love atsushi getting nauseous from the antiseptic bc of his very sensitive senses too and this is also fantastic...if he's ever helping her out and it gets too much for either of them she's like okay let's go run some errands and get some fresh air

- KENJI LITTLE BABY 😭😭😭 they all look after kenji very well i love that anthology where he overworks himself and at the end it says they all look after him better...he always thinks he's gotten used to not eating but if he gets excited and stands up too fast from his desk he'll pass out and scare everybody 😭😭😭😭

#i love these so much thank you ur mind is beautiful #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #dazai #yosano #ranpo #kenji #illness #bsd #sick #ill #emeto #vomiting #motion sickness #nightmares #dizzy #fever #headcanons #hcs #ask box #bsd headcanons

[mansanas-art]

🕸️🕷Arachnid Wally Darling🕷🕸️

Spider Traits

(Pls take note that not all of the info below is accurate to the actual traits of spiders )

🕸 He can make strings with his hands and then weave it into a web. The strings are very sticky and hard to get off unless you ask Wally to remove it, then it just easily slides off. After repeated instances of his neighbors getting stuck in the webs laced throughout the neighborhood, it has been decided that there will be designated spots for the webs that everyone (with the exception of Wally) can easily avoid.

🕷 Sometimes they accidentally spill their digestive fluids from their mouth. It is usually used for eating since the fluids help with breaking down food but sometimes they get overexcited and it drips out of their mouth even when there's no acceptable food near.

🕸️ He mainly uses vibration to navigate around since he has REALLY poor eyesight. Though he is not blind, he can't see anything unless it is directly in front of his face.

🕷️ Her venom is very acidic and can liquify a person's insides in a matter of minutes. She can also voluntarily remove her two extra arms. This is painless for her unless say... Someone just rips off her arms. She 'relaxes' her limbs and the rest of her body just drops them.

🕸️ Other than the adhesive quality of the webs, there are also psychological effects for those unfortunate enough to make physical contact with it. The victim will experience auditory, then visual hallucinations after a prolonged period. They will express aggressive behavior to those who try to free them from the web.

🕷️ Every few years, Wally goes through a process called molting. They shed their old skin to make way for the new one(Yes their clothes are a part of their skin they collect them to add to their wardrobe). They just leave their skin wherever they molt but after one time Julie saw one of them in the living room while visiting Wally (She ended up crying for an hour while Wally was comforting by saying 'No, I'm not dead, it's just my old skin pls don't cry'), they decide to be more tidy with where they leave the molt.

#welcome home #welcome home arg #wally darling #welcome home au #arachnid!wally #art #arachnid wally darling #welcome home puppet show #info dump #welcome home wally #character info #character sheet #? #idk what to call this #character design #welcome home fanart #wally darling fanart #mild body horror #wally darling imagine #welcome home imagine #my art #mansanas art

[mariacallous]

In early 2006, Russian Pvt. Andrei Sychyov had his legs and genitals amputated from frostbite after he and at least seven other conscripts were forced to squat in the snow for hours during New Year’s Eve celebrations, during which they were brutally beaten. It took three days for him to get any medical aid. In 2018, Pvt. Artyom Pakhotin had the word petukh—meaning rooster (figuratively, “prison bitch”)—carved into his forehead as a punishment for smoking in the barracks. Two weeks later, he killed himself with his AK. On Oct. 25, 2019, conscript Ramil Shamsutdinov opened fire on fellow soldiers, killing eight of them, after what he said was a prolonged period of beatings and threats of rapes.

Every six months, approximately 130,000 Russian conscripts are called up for their year of service, where most of them will face sadistic hazing. In Russian, it’s called dedovshchina, a brutal internal army regime that began in Soviet times but is thoroughly embedded in modern military culture. Western militaries have worked hard to reduce bullying and hazing in the ranks with some, but not complete, success. But in Russia’s army, dedovshchina is a unique cultural staple and a formative part of the military identity. It’s a process that leaves Russian soldiers brutalized and traumatized; it in turn teaches them to inflict pain on others.

Multiple sources, both those who served in Soviet times and those with experience in the modern Russian Armed Forces, have described this hazing to me as not just a byproduct of service but as a deliberate part of Russian military indoctrination. (I interviewed these sources during my history studies and early journalism work on this subject and reached back out to many for this piece.) The same attitude is expressed all over the Russian internet. In 2006, as Lenta.ru reported, the then-prosecutor-general of Russia, Vladimir Ustinov, even admitted in a speech to President Vladimir Putin and his prosecutor colleagues that he “is unable to do anything about the criminality in the armed forces.” 

The survivors of this hazing say the main goal is to break young men. They are turned into submissive, intimidated, and obedient drones who will not ask unnecessary questions nor show any independent thought or initiative. The methods are brutal. Take punching the plywood, used as a so-called toughness training exercise and also as a form of collective punishment. Service members stand in formation in a single line at attention. An authority figure passing by the formation hits each of the standing service members in the chest with the butt of an AKM assault rifle until the bolt jerks in the frame. Soldiers who’ve been through this say that it leaves your chest black and bruised for at least a week. 

Then there is staking the moose, especially prominent in the Russian Air Force. The soldier puts his hands on his forehead with the palms facing outward, like a moose’s spread antlers. His abuser hits the center of the crossed palms with his fists, or a rifle butt, or a stool, or whatever else is on hand. The task of the “moose” is to remain standing. Failure to do so will, undoubtedly, result in even more severe beatings and other punishments. There are various versions of this, such as “suicidal moose,” where a far-off wall is chosen and the conscript is forced to run toward it as fast as possible until their “antlers” slam into it. If they don’t run fast enough, there are more beatings.

Not all punishments are physical. In a blog called Army Diary of a Conscript 2012-13, the author, who just goes by “Sergei,” writes: “It is one thing when you are awakened at night by a blow on the head with a stool, after which you get bullied just for ‘fun,’ and another thing, for example, when younger conscripts are sent to hard and dishonorable work in the first place. The difference is in the goals—sometimes suffering and humiliation is the main purpose, and sometimes it is a side effect.” 

Another former conscript posted about his experiences in a link that’s now only accessible through waybackmachine: “Fear. Misunderstanding. And fear again. To the point of shaking at the knees. It’s a strange feeling. I’m surprised it’s so prevalent. We weren’t ‘guests for three days’ in the old army tradition. We got picked up and beaten senseless the first night.”

“Guests for three days” here means the unwritten rule once adhered to in Soviet times, where the conscripts were treated with overplayed kindness and politeness for three days, before the horror began, just to see what kind of people they were and how they would act in stressful situations. Such niceties have largely disappeared.

But those are just the regular methods. Some of the ways to dedi, or break, the young conscripts are genuinely disturbing—and those who’ve served seldom want to talk about the worst experiences they’ve had. This isn’t surprising, because oftentimes it’s on the same level as the worst punishments in the prison culture, and parallels incidents in today’s police torture cases in Russia. There are cases of rape and being forced into prostitution and threats of such. Then there are abuses like the infamous sitting on a bottle, often used by Ramzan Kadyrov’s Chechen units to punish those who oppose them. It’s all about humiliation—some of it imitated from the ponyatiya, the sadistic regime of Russian prison culture. 

As the name, literally the “rule of the old-timers,” suggests, dedovshchina is based on the superiority of veterans to rookies. While there’s always been bullying, going back to the tsarist military, Soviet dedovshchina began right after World War II, when the army was still swollen by the wartime call-up. Of course, the military command realized that hazing was a foolish idea, but the army severely lacked manpower, due to the immense number of casualties it had suffered, and there was little appetite for cracking down on soldiers. Due to the lack of manpower, prisoners were also often transferred to the army, which led to the spread of their own unwritten laws, the ponyatiya, among the armed forces.

Veterans who had survived a war that killed 8.7 million of their comrades and around 19 million Soviet civilians were not interested in peacetime military affairs and everyday chores like washing floors or cleaning. Nor did they care much about proper dress code and discipline. Their officers had often served with them in the war and tended to treat them with well-earned respect—so these veterans instead delegated all the daily work to the fresh recruits and also took it upon themselves to teach them proper discipline and the ethos of the army, severely beating them in cases of disobedience. And then the veterans demobilized and the previous victims took their place, creating a permanent cycle of violence. 

This only intensified after Leonid Brezhnev’s 1968 reduction of the term of service in the army from three to two years. Since the Soviet Union had become a stagnant bureaucracy, the reduction had numerous flaws and was implemented carelessly and haphazardly. Those who had already served one year had to continue serving for two more, while the new recruits had to serve for only two years. This caused resentment in the older recruits and hatred in the younger, so the older service members began to amplify the violence and humiliation they inflicted upon new recruits, who then did the same to subsequent conscripts. 

After the introduction of the one-year system, in another half-hearted attempt at military reform in the mid-2000s, these term-based beatings became less formalized. However, this didn’t mean a stop or even a general decrease in violence, just a change in the reasoning and pace behind it. Today, the older service members just beat up whomever they like. A soldier used to take beatings for a year and then spend another year giving them to the fresh recruits. Now a conscript does both for six months apiece. Once-organized violence has become general brutality. 

Another form of hazing is zemlyadstvo: hazing on national or regional grounds. It started when the various nationalities of the Soviet Union—and today the Russian Federation—formed cliques and clustered together to collectively deal with “outsiders.” The nature of zemlyadstvo has not changed much since the Soviet era—save for the general disappearance of some of the nationalities, like Georgians and Armenians, once involved. But there are still plenty of minorities inside Russia, and they’re particularly targeted for conscription. It is disproportionately the minorities, especially those from the eastern regions, who bear the brunt of the Russian invasion of Ukraine.

Despite selling itself as an international workers’ paradise, the Soviet Union was anything but. Russian culture was always pushed to the national republics as a superior one, and if you weren’t seen as properly Russian, then you’d often be treated as a second-class citizen. We in the Baltics were always “evil Nazi sympathizers,” with Estonians especially portrayed as slow and dim-witted. There was a range of ethnic slurs: Caucasians were chernye, “blacks,” or “black-assed”; Central Asians were cherka, “blockheads”; Ukrainians were nothing but khohols; and so forth. Those attitudes have persisted, producing conflicts between the ethnic Russians, who tend to view themselves as superior, and everyone else.

For some groups, these were essentially protective alliances, shielding members from the brutality. My late father told me that, in his unit, people from the Baltics used to hang out in the vehicle workshop, doing all the necessary work there, while those from the Caucasus took over the canteen. That spoke to their power, since it was always warm there and they had access to extra food. Neither of these groups spent much time in the barracks, thus avoiding the dedovshchina that took place there. Teaming up in this way was vital, because otherwise Russian racism led to minorities being subjected to the worst bullying—as in the tragic case of Shamsutdinov, an ethnic Tatar from the Tyumen oblast who snapped and shot his comrades.

This case blew up all over the Russian internet at the time. My interviewees agreed that because he had an “Asiatic look,” he must’ve been treated extra harshly by the ethnic Russians. “He must have jumped higher than his place,” a Russian sailor currently serving in the North Sea told me on the phone. “Must’ve tried to complain to someone about the beatings or dared to stand up to someone. Bad idea. For the army, they (the non-Russians) are meat. They’re far from Moscow or Saint Petersburg. Nobody cares when they die.” Today, the attitude of Russian superiority beaten into soldiers feeds into the racism of Putin’s war, where Ukrainians are portrayed as subhuman.

To some extent, dedovshchina thrived during peacetime in the absence of anything else to do—and traditionally it diminished during war. However, as Putin fuels and supports hate groups within his own country for political reasons, it’s only getting worse. One traditional aspect that hasn’t changed about brutality, however, is that it tends to play out in violence against civilians. Ukrainian civilians suffer war crimes from brutalized Russians, just as Chinese suffered from the brutalized imperial Japanese. That, too, was a militarized society, where people were taught that their lives belonged to the emperor. Training was brutal, and beatings—for very little reason or none at all—were often. And those who endured became brutal and desensitized themselves, capable of justifying any cruelty. Similar parallels can be drawn with the South Korean Army of the Vietnam War, whose ultra-harsh internal discipline and brutal training produced its cruel treatment of the Vietnamese.

And the internal violence in the Russian army has gotten worse—even before the brewing ethnic tensions are taken into account. There are reports of those who want to refuse fighting in Ukraine, or just misbehave in the Russian army, being beaten by the military police and then being put in torture pits for days. The soldiers who are returning home are committing crimes, and violence in Russia is becoming ever more normalized. 

This is nothing new—statistics published by the U.S. Department of Justice in 1992 showed that, in 1989, when the Soviet-Afghan War ended, the overall number of recorded crimes grew by 31.8 percent. Obviously, the last returning soldiers weren’t the only cause for this, but they certainly played their part. And then came the 1990s, when veterans of the Chechen wars played their part in creating the peaks of murder reached in 1994 and 2002. 

Another generation will be put through the wringer of Russia’s self-inflicted misery. Russian opposition journalists are already talking about how Russia has changed and what it’s going to be like to live there after the war. But none of this brutality, nor the hate groups and crime that have spawned from it, is going to go away easily.

[wrenaspun]

Please do a dvd commentary for the following 💖 it's so beautiful and would love to hear your thoughts:

A huff. “I was so ashamed of it. I can’t believe you didn’t see it on me. I would have hidden it in the lighthouse, at first, and then buried it on the north point of the island, deep… It was so clear to me. I didn’t even have to think about it.”

Laurent wanted to shriek, wanted to beat at Damen with his fists, demanding: why didn’t you? Damen pulled away to look down at him, eyes impossibly warm in the sunlight.

“I told you,” he said, as though reading Laurent’s mind, “it would have been a monstrous act. If I asked you to cut my legs off, would you do it?”

“That’s not the same thing at all.”

“Isn’t it?” said Damen. “Without my legs I couldn’t walk away from you.”

“Stop it,” said Laurent. “There’s no — this is how it always goes for us —”

“That doesn’t mean it can’t be wrong,” said Damen, with his simple clear certainty. “I said before I loved you too much to do this. I meant that. Laurent.” He dropped Laurent’s hands, which instantly grew cold with sorrow, to cup his face. “Because I love you, I want you near me always, and yes, I was tempted to take the skin as you offered it. But because I adore you, and I cherish you, and you are my heart’s beloved, I would have you go back to the sea whenever you wanted it, and make your return every time a new question.”

Laurent, breathing fast, had turned his face down into the cradling hold of Damen’s hands, almost overwhelmed by the flood of words, their impossible weight. Until — that last phrase, that last word, knocked at something vital within him.

“A question?” he echoed. Looking up at Damen’s well-loved face. “Damen,” he said. “You can’t doubt that I’d come back to you.”

“No,” said Damen, and then a smile flickered over his face, brief, and his thumb traced a slow and intimate curve across Laurent’s jaw, the kind of touch which could only be given after a prolonged period of tenderness. “But you always could leave.”

“I’d never,” said Laurent. The idea that Damen could doubt this was deeply, viscerally upsetting. “Damen, I’d never —” pushing him backwards, sliding hands into his curls, looking down at his sweet, open face as he let himself be moved.

By the time they stilled, Damen’s hands had slid down, one to Laurent’s shoulder, the other on his waist, holding him together. “I know it,” he said. “I do know it. But it’s the choice that matters. Don’t you see? I want you to go because it’s good for you, because it rejuvenates you, because you love the sea, and then I want you to choose to come back, every time.”

Laurent’s exhale was shaky. Involuntarily, it came out sounding like an oh, half-formed and tiny. Damen’s hand slid up his spine, devastatingly gentle.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured. “Oh, there you are. You do understand.”

Laurent said, “Yes,” — to this, to everything, feeling almost delirious, like he’d been driven mad by the shock of relief, of disbelief, of pleasure. Something in him had been unlocked. All this time he’d sought to thwart his uncle’s influence by undermining him, by subverting the same gestures, telling himself that what had been taken could be given as a gift. All this time, what he’d been saying was, I could give up anything for you, and Damen had looked back at him and said, you don’t have to. It was no wonder that Laurent had barely been able to comprehend it.

Thank you anon!!! I'll put my answer under the cut, since there's enough going on here that my answer got long...

(dvd commentary meme)

Following the snippet chronologically -- I feel like that initial moment of Damen confessing that he was tempted to take the skin is quite important to the fic, where he is generally (through Laurent's eyes) seen as a beautiful perfect lover. The fic doesn't delve into Damen's POV very much, and he does ultimately conduct himself very well, or this would be an entirely different story, so I felt like that hint of his internal conflict helped to round him out just a touch. And it serves to emphasise the difference between them at this point, which is the way Damen knows & can verbalise the ways in which taking the skin would be wrong, while Laurent is still caught in an older and more harmful way of thinking.

Damen's little speech here is something I wrote and rewrote and edited for a WHILE, since it's ultimately what brings Laurent around! A fun fact is that my original draft had this moment of resolution take place when Damen gave him the box, but that ultimately felt a little too clean and neat -- I scrapped that, and ended up really liking the slight complication it provided, the way it made the fic feel more like a journey, not quite as straight a line. And that also contributed to the way this particular speech was constructed, i.e. it was deliberately very overwhelming for Laurent (as opposed to the slightly calmer version which appended the box-gifting scene) because I liked the way the drama of the moment shook out: the fact that it had such a powerful effect on Laurent, he's basically swooning and insensate, except he still had that moment of "wait, no, that's not right" when Damen mentioned that he could leave. I think those elements combined very nicely to convey that Laurent also has extremely deep seated convictions, but his real priority is just a step sideways from where he'd thought it was -- it's not actually about possession of the skin, but what that possession signifies.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured. “Oh, there you are. You do understand.” < one of my favourite lines in the fic!! It's a quiet moment, but I think it functions really well as a release of tension, both for Damen & Lauernt and for the reader, where we get to exhale and relax a bit because they're finally on the same footing. I find that those moments of pause can be really impactful, and a couple of people remarked on that line specifically in the comments, which was very gratifying!

And everything after that is Laurent coming to terms with his revelation, which also serves as a fairly explicit narration for the reader, I think, of what the struggle of the fic has been about. I always think it is super compelling when a character is determined to outwit/subvert their old life or their old patterns of thought, and end up constrained by their own determination -- they're trying so hard to get away from something, but in so doing they still end up defining themselves in terms of that thing. It feels so fitting that it would be a character like Damen who could cut through that and offer a better third option 💞

#thank you for indulging me!!! #dvd commentary meme #my writing #wrenaspeaks

[wildegeist]

🕷 for Arctos!

🕷️ What is their biggest fear? Do they have any irrational / mundane fears?

Arctos is afraid of lots of stuff, to various degrees, for various reasons. I'll break some down. Yay a psychological profile of this guy and how fear and insecurity works for him, what joy

Profound/innermost fears:

Innocents or people he cares about being harmed, especially if it's something he considers to be his fault. This goes hand in hand with losing people. It's a mixture of the general fear a person would reasonably have for people who they care about, and a self-worth issue. He values the safety of others over his own because the only metric he measures his self-worth by is his ability to protect people. He'll destroy himself just to avoid this fear being realized- but funny enough, he also seems to do better at fighting if the focus is protecting people, and be more willing to face problems he'd otherwise avoid if someone else's life is on the line.

Death. Considering what awaits him if he dies, this is a perfectly reasonable fear for him to have. That's why he tries to cheat death so much, even when he's being self-destructive due to the fear listed above.

Powerlessness/a lack of freedom. He lives his life with people and things trying to catch or use him for whatever reason constantly, and he's endured a lot of imprisonment (or similar) from multiple sources for extended periods of time. He doesn't like being ordered around, and any situation where he's not in complete control over himself drives him crazy. It's led to him becoming a bit of a power freak sometimes, and engaging in certain unhealthy behaviors just to feel like he has control over his life.

His fear/insecurity/weaknesses becoming known/obvious. In knight fashion, he tries to put on a brave face and hide any sign of weakness. It bothers him severely if the mask stops working and the wrong people notice. He doesn't like people knowing how weak he actually is. Also that knowledge can be used against a person obviously

Other fears:

He doesn't like areas where he can't easily locate an exit. Part of why he's such an escape artist is because his brain is always actively scanning the area for outs or exploits in case something goes wrong, even in safe situations. If there's no door or exit in his line of sight, he starts feeling uneasy. By extension, he's claustrophobic and hates cramped spaces.

He often has panic reactions if he finds himself restricted/restrained in any way. This is also why he hates unannounced physical contact and being grabbed, and tends to react to those things strongly. He doesn't even like putting on seatbelts, but he will if he has to, because he at least understands their purpose. The guy's gotta be able to move freely for the sake of his sanity, he's like a bird

He's uncomfortable with topics like vampirism or cannibalism. Considering some of his history, it doesn't need explaining

Unnerved by dolls, doesn't seem to know why. (You monster.)

Afraid of the concept of pixies/fairies, doesn't seem to know why. If he saw a real one he'd reach for a fly swatter. He'd smack the shit out of Navi and he'd scream while doing it*

Attention's a nightmare to him. Usually when attention's paid to him, there's a malicious reason behind it, so it's instinct for him to feel like this. He gets paranoid about others' intentions easily, and actually does best with people who start off neutral to him. Doesn't do well with prolonged eye contact or staring either. Do not perceive this man he just wants to go about his day

*(Pixies/fairies aren't even real in his universe.)

#i feel like i ramble so long on these #but my god i give some of my characters... complicated minds and i love detailing what makes them tick #wilde answers #ask game

[leave-your-body]

ok so i have an idea now for the los campesinos story (which i rly need a name for LMAO) but id also rly appreciate feedback if any of u have it :D

the whole premise is that charlotte, the character based off romance is boring, goes on a roadtrip where he essentially hunts down a bunch of the people his best friend (based off alls well that ends) knew before she died, and they live really scattered from each other. when everyone is picked up they go to the pacific coast and dump her ashes into the sea. there's a little more to it than that and it definitely needs a lot of tweaking but yea

the interesting (and abstract) part comes with the van; basically, having a bunch of teenage-ish characters based off of lc! albums after a very close friend has recently died in an enclosed space for a prolonged period of time is. well Erm its a bit bad. as emotions intensify and things get kinda heated, the van sort of starts reflecting their emotions. like some kind of weird mystic echo chamber, except there's no magic involved- it's supposed to read off as artistic expression rather than a real world function. the closest thing i can think of is gwen's dimension in atsv. and yea !!

#thinking of calling it 'little mouth' jus cuz i reference just abt EVERYTHING ELSE in the los campesinos cinematic universe other than that #one song