Certified ghoul-fucker | Mrs.Mantzoukas | Rex Splode's dead heart
STOP! If you are a fellow zouks fan and are following me because we share an interest, please read this post!! This page does NOT tolerate creepy behavior, and I will block you! This is not to gatekeep our lord and savior husband, but rather in an effort to keep this page clear of negative stalker energy.
...Now that's out of the way!
I see you've stumbled upon my treasure trove of special interests. Feel free to explore and follow if you're interested in my ramblings or want to be moots!!
P.S. If you know me IRL, I don't necessarily have any gripes with you being here, but please don't question me about my content in person.
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THIS BLOG IS NOT SAFE FOR WORK OR MINORS!
A majority of my posts are of sexual nature and is absolutely NOT safe for work or for the consumption of minors. I also (occasionally) trauma dump, and that may be triggering. I am not responsible for your consumption of this dead dove!
we gotta get back to torrent distribution, i just watched someone eat eight grand in bandwidth charges because they ran a direct-download piracy site with local file hosting through cloudflare. torrents were invented literally for this exact reason
i have a file or folder on my pc that i want to share with other people. let's call it gayshit.mp3
unfortunately gayshit.mp3 is 750mb and im not paying for discord nitro so i need another way to send it
i put it into qbittorrent and it makes a torrent file. this is essentially a very small file that points to gayshit.mp3 so other computers can find it. kinda like a treasure map
i send this tiny file to my friend, who loads it into qbittorrent. their computer takes a moment to find mine over the vast expanse of cyberspace and then (as long as my pc is running and the file is still where it should be), it gets copied from my hard drive to theirs
this is the cool part: if somebody else loads that tiny file, they can download it from both of us. if i'm offline but my friend is on, the third person can still get it. this also means that if two people have separate halves of the file, they can download the other half from each other. as long as some combination of people have the pieces between them, they can all have the whole thing.
crucially this does not require a server!!! you can just upload the file to a few people and as long as they keep it, it's still accessible. as long as somebody, somewhere is still connected, it's available forever. the only way it goes away is if everybody disconnects from it.
The first trimester passes in a blur, quickly and not fast enough all at once. You spent far too much time bent over a toilet and surviving on saltines. Rex learned the exact angle to hold your hair back without it pulling. He had alarms set for vitamins, even though you threw them up anyway. The exhaustion was so deep it felt like gravity had doubled.
There were apologies folded into everything. For snapped words and for canceled plans. For the way your body becomes unfamiliar territory even to yourself.
Rex adapted badly at first and then all at once like it all clicked in exactly how he needed to care for you. He learned which smells make you gag and quietly switches all soaps in the house. He stopped bringing home takeout unless it’s on ‘the list’. He started reading things at night on his phone, face lit blue in the dark, like he’s cramming for an exam he didn’t know if he would pass.
By the time the nausea finally loosens its grip, he’s already built a routine around you. The second trimester felt like a much needed breath of fresh air. Food tastes like food again. Your energy creeps back in cautious increments. Your body changes in ways that are startling but no longer frightening. There’s a heartbeat you’ve heard more than once now, and it’s a sound that no longer feels unreal.
Rex talks to your stomach when he thinks you’re asleep and you pretend not to notice.
There’s laughter again. Soft touches that aren’t careful for fear’s sake, but because he wants you to feel loved in the quiet ways. Arguments about paint colors and whether the second bedroom needs to stay a gym for “as long as possible.” And now you’re buckled into the passenger seat, the city rolling by outside the window, the afternoon sun cutting through the windshield.
Today’s the anatomy scan and you find out the gender.
“I’m just saying,” Rex says, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, far too casual for a man vibrating with anticipation, “we should consider something strong. Powerful. Something that says apex predator.”
You sigh, already knowing where this is going, “Rex, honey, for the umpteenth time… We are not naming our child ‘Raptor.’”
“It’s not that weird,” he argues, pouting your direction for a moment before looking back at the road, “People name kids Hunter. Or Bear.”
“Rex,” you say flatly before your interrupted.
“Or Rex!”
“…I wouldn’t choose those names for any child.”
He grins, unapologetic, “Okay, fine. What about Cera?”
You pause, a couple of students coming to mind.
“… Sarah?” you repeat, suspicious.
“Yeah,” he says quickly, too quickly, “It’s cute. Short. Normal. We could spell it different. C-E-R-A.”
You narrow your eyes, looking out the windshield and repeating it, “Cera Sloan.”
“It’s just— normal,” he shrugs, eyes fixed on the road, “Soft. Nice.”
Something clicks in your mind and slowly, horrifically, You turn toward him, “Cera… Wait. Like—”
He keeps driving, looking straight ahead, unmoving. Like you won’t notice the tension suddenly creeping into his shoulders.
“…like, triCERAtops?” you finish staring at him.
There’s a beat and then Rex winces, “…No.”
“Rex.”
He groans, shoulders slumping, “Okay, yes. But listen— it’s subtle! No one would ever know but us!”
“You absolutely thought you got away with that,” you say, incredulously.
“I did for a second!” he protests, “You said it was normal!”
“I said it was normal before I realized you were sneaking dinosaurs into our child’s legal identity!”
He pouts, full-on, jaw set and lips pushed out like he’s personally been wronged by the universe.
“That hurts,” he mutters. “Cera’s a strong female dinosaur in ‘The Land Before Time’”
“You cannot be serious right now.”
“I’m just saying,” he adds, wounded, “My name is Rex! It would make sense if my kid was named after a dinosaur.”
You stare at him for a few silent beats, “…You want to name our son Rex Junior?”
“No,” he says quickly. “Okay, maybe. But only because you keep telling me ‘no’ to Raptor!”
You lean your head back against the seat and close your eyes, “I’m begging you to stop.”
He laughs then, bright and nervous and full of joy he doesn’t know what to do with.
The car slows as he pulls into the parking lot and he reaches over, squeezing your hand.
“Okay,” he says, softer now, “No dinosaurs. Probably.”
You snort, “You’re lying.”
“Maybe a little.” He says with a grin
You sit there for a moment before getting out—hands linked, hearts racing— both of you knowing that in just a little while, this abstract, beloved maybe is going to sharpen into something more specific, and carve its space out in the new chapter of your lives that would soon be arriving.
📝🏅📚🏅📝
“They’re going to figure it out.” Rex complains on Monday morning, his fingers brushing over the hoodie he pulled on, just a solid color matching the color of the dress on your frame.
You huff out a soft laugh, your hand running over the round bump of your stomach showing under the fabric, “that’s the point isn’t it? Subtlety?”
“Yeah, sure babe,” Rex starts, coming up behind you to press a kiss to your temple, his large hand running over the path your hand had just traced, “but this is like, they’ll guess as soon as we walk in, kind of subtle.”
You lay your head back against his shoulder, your pretty gaze settling on his face, “well, again. They’re supposed to.”
Rex huffs, fingers drawing soft circles over your stomach, his green eyes sweeping over your features until they land on your lips. He leaned in, his eyes fluttering shut to give you a soft kiss on your lips.
📝🏅📚🏅📝
You’d spent twenty minutes arguing with Rex this morning about whether the matching colors were too obvious, and now first period has come and gone with absolutely nothing.
Not a single comment. No whispers, or dramatic gasps. Just teenagers asking for hall passes and complaining about quizzes.
By second period, Rex is getting offended.
“You’re telling me,” he says, appearing in your doorway during planning with his arms crossed, hoodie stretched across his broad chest, “that not one person has noticed?”
You glance up from your laptop, thoroughly unbothered, “Maybe they’re being polite.”
“They are not polite,” he says immediately,lOne kid barked at me last week.”
You snort, “That was because you told him his layup looked like ‘a newborn baby giraffe’”
“It was like watching a newborn baby giraffe trying to do a layup. I make no apologies.”He gestures vaguely at himself with a huff, “I wore—“
“Go teach your class, Coach Sloan.” You interrupt with a soft smile.
He points at you like this conversation is unfinished, “They’re gonna figure it out.”
“They’re supposed to.”
“Yeah, but I thought there’d be drama.”
“You wanted drama from our gender reveal?”
“I work in a high school,” he says flatly, motioning vaguely to the atmosphere of your classroom, “Drama is complimentary.”
By lunch, there was still nothing. A few lingering looks. One student quietly asked if it’s spirit week because you two were matching. Another does compliment your dress. Someone asks Rex if he lost a bet, and he genuinely looked insulted by that one.
The end of the school day rolls around and Rex is standing in the gym, whistle hanging around his neck while the varsity boys warm up.
He’s in a mood now. A dramatic one.
“You guys are observant as hell when someone changes deodorant,” he mutters, tossing a basketball toward the rack, “But today? Nothing?”
“What are you talking about?” one player asks.
Rex gestures at himself, “Anything look different?”
“…You got a haircut?” someone guesses.
“No.”
“New shoes?”
“No.”
“You shave weird?”
“What does that even mean?” The boys shrug. One kid squints at him for a second before his eyes drift down to the hoodie.
“…Didn’t take you for a pink guy, Coach Sloan.”
Rex freezes. Then very slowly turns, “You noticed the pink?”
The whole team goes quiet. Because that tone means something is happening that usually results in them running line drills.
The kid blinks, “Uh. Yeah?”
Rex lets out the biggest, most offended laugh.
“six periods,” he says, pointing accusingly at the ceiling like God himself failed a test. “SIX. PERIODS.”
“Coach, what are you talking about?”
He practically beams now, chest puffing up.
“It’s almost like,” he says, dragging the moment out with theatrical agony, “I’M A GIRL DAD.”
There’s silence that follows. Collective confusion from the group of teenaged boys.
📝🏅📚🏅📝
The house is warm in the way only home can be after a long day. Shoes are kicked off near the door. Dinner dishes abandoned in the sink with promises to deal with them “later.” The television hums quietly in the background, an NBA game on that you couldn’t care less about and that Rex isn’t even watching.
You’re curled into the corner of the couch, one hand absentmindedly resting over the curve of your stomach while the other scrolls lazily through your phone.
Rex is pacing like a man recounting a personal injustice before a jury.
“I just don’t understand,” he says for what is definitely the seventh time tonight, dragging a hand through his hair, “Teenagers are supposed to pick up on stuff.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, dangerously close to smiling, “Mhm.”
“No seriously,” he continues, pointing dramatically at absolutely nothing, “These are the same kids who figured out Mr. Jenkins was getting divorced because he stopped wearing plaid.”
You hum again in acknowledgment, your eyes flitting up to watch your pacing boyfriend.
“They noticed Coach Ramirez switched shampoo.”
“That was a weird week.” You say admittedly, shutting your phone off and laying it on your chest.
“Exactly!” Rex says, vindicated in your agreement, “But suddenly nobody can crack the mystery of pink hoodie plus pink dress on teachers expecting baby?”
Your shoulders start shaking as you try to hold back a laugh at how intense he is about this. Rex narrows his eyes, suddenly suspicious of you, “…Why are you making that face?”
“What face?”
“That face.” He gestures vaguely, “The one where you look like you know something and are trying not to laugh at me.”
You fail spectacularly at suppressing a grin, “I’m not laughing at you.”
His eyes narrow further, “You are absolutely laughing at me.”
He plants himself in front of the couch now, arms crossed over his chest as he looks at you seriously, “What?”
You look away. Nothing destroys composure faster than eye contact with a man already suspicious.
“Baby.”
Silence.
“Baaaaabe.”That sing-song tone means he’s one step away from becoming unbearable.
You sigh dramatically, “Okay.”
His brows lift, “…Okay what?”
You set your phone down, no longer fighting your smile as you shrug one shoulder, “Everyone on staff knew.”
Rex blinks, his expression somewhere between confused and betrayed, “What.”
“They figured it out immediately.”
“What?!”
“Like…” you wince slightly, “first period immediately.”
He stares at you, silent for a few beats before blurting, “WHAT?”
You finally start laughing, “They all understood the matching colors!”
His jaw drops, “Then why didn’t anyone say anything?!”
You press your lips together, trying and failing to look innocent, “Well… I told them not to.”
Silence comes from him now. Deep, terrible, offended silence. Rex looks like a man who has just discovered betrayal in its purest form, “You what?”
“I said,” you repeat, voice wobbling with laughter, “don’t tell Rex yet.”
His mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water, “Why would you do that to me?”
You shrug, entirely unrepentant, “I think it’s cute when you crash out.”
The look he gives you. It’s something of pure devastation, “… Cute?”
“Mhm.”
“I have spent twelve hours emotionally suffering.”
“You dramatically interrogated teenagers, actually.” You counter, still in a fit of giggles.
“They failed me!”
“They’re sixteen, babe.”
“You weaponized my coworkers against me!”
Now you’re laughing hard enough your stomach hurts. Which, unfortunately, makes the baby kick. Your laughter trails off, your hand dropping instinctively to your stomach where you felt the movement.
Rex notices immediately, concern etched on his expression as he drops to his knees in front of you, “What?”
You grab his wrist and pull his hand over, up until now he hadn’t been able to feel the kicks and flutters you felt inside your stomach, the baby still too small to make the movement strong enough to be felt on the outside of your belly. It didn’t stop you from trying every time though, laying his hand against where you had felt the little one, “There.”
His expression softens instantly, hand still as he focuses intently. The kick comes again. Only this time his entire face changes. Like someone reached inside him and turned on the brightest light.
“…Hey, peanut,” he murmurs automatically, his warm hand running back and forth a bit in the area, “You teaming up with your mom already?”
You snort, “She absolutely is.”
He squints at your stomach:
“Listen,” he says seriously, “Daddy supports women’s rights, but not women’s wrongs.”
You burst into laughter again and another kick lands directly against his palm and he gasps, “She likes me better.”
You glance up at him. Still pink-cheeked from laughing, a little offended by his statement, “she does not.”
He chuckles softly before leaning down to kiss your forehead, “… Do you think it’s too late to convince people her middle name should be Cera?”
You stare at him, unamused because of course he brought it back around to that, “Rex.”
“She doesn’t even know what a triceratops is yet!”
The cops very clearly planted evidence on him because they had to make an arrest because all eyes were on them and whoever actually did the deed was making them look stupid.
Why would the real killer hero have kept the weapon on his person and traveled two states over while carrying it and a manifesto in his bag, conveniently turning the crime into a federal matter? The same guy whose bag they found in a park, filled with monopoly money? Why did the police turn off their bodycams, take Luigi's stuff, drive a block away, turn their bodycams back on, go back into the restaurant, and then arrest him?
From the moment of his arrest, even left-of-center media has been presuming his guilt without examining anything (e.g. calling him "the killer" instead of "alleged" or "accused") and then when I say he didn't do it, the nearest person chimes in with some quip that tells me they think he did do it but should go free anyway. Don't get me wrong, I would have the same attitude if he had done it. But he didn't. It makes me feel like the only sane person in the world, even among my staunchly leftist friends.
