#rottenbrainstuff

[southsidestory]

rottenbrainstuff replied to your post “I have a phobia of wasps, and y’all are about to learn why. Hold onto...”

Your description of waking up with wasps everywhere in the house reminds me of the Shining book and honestly that sounds horrifying enough to traumatized anyone.

@rottenbrainstuff I’ve never read The Shining and now I definitely won’t 😂

It truly was a nightmare. 0/10 do not recommend lmao

[roane72]

rottenbrainstuff replied to your post: January was a tough year but we made it Let’s see...

Ah no @roane72 are you serious???

I wish I was not. I found out Wednesday after several days in the hospital last week, which involved blood transfusions and a D&C (hooooooly shit those are TERRIBLE). 

But I just posted--things are as optimistic as possible! In all likelihood they’ll do a hysterectomy (yay! seriously, non sarcastic yay!), and that’ll be the end of it except for monitoring down the road. 

I’m gonna be okay! I think the fallout is gonna be more emotional than physical, because whooboy.

[cumbercougars]

THANK YOU!!! @noisymouse @rottenbrainstuff

Received this wonderful unexpected surprise in the mail. Ok surprises are usually unexpected but this one was really unexpected.

What stunning additions to my collection.

I'm officialky an art collector now 😎

[ignitesthestxrs]

rottenbrainstuff replied to your post: im so unsettled by men following me on twitter tbh...

I feel ya. I have a dude following me on Instagram and it’s the same thing. I’m creeped out by it and I can’t put my finger on why.

i think like...i just have faith that even if a lady is like, rude or a nightmare lmao we're operating from a similar place of understanding, or position? but the amount of men on twitter dot com who you see just blatantly Not Getting It Ever makes every one you see feel like a bomb about to explode.

and in general like, the things i like and the way i talk about them are heavily influenced by a lesbian and feminist and just Lady Perspective and as much as it'd be neat if men connected with that, i'm leery that they actually ever do

[luminoustico]

Thrive

For @rottenbrainstuff who wished to see an alternate scene where Rey decides to join Kylo Ren after he kills Snoke.

It isn't the cataclysmic event everyone will speak of. They don't crash together. They don't kiss. They don't touch, even though the want vibrates off him. She just takes his hand.

He swallows, his eyes shifting towards the viewscreen. Missiles are trained on the Resistance ships.

Ben's hand leaves her hand, curving around the low of her back. She leads, strangely, his hand at her back barely a control and more a guard to a senator, like those romance holovids she would find on Jakku.

I saw your future, she'd insisted. Just a shape, but solid and clear.

They form that shape standing in the lift together. 

They keep the formation as the lift doors open to his chambers. They're stark, only carrying the bare bones. Her eyes stray over his covered chest, the sweat on his neck. She wonders what he tastes like, and heat flutters in the pit of her stomach.

She tampers it down with a soft sigh.

It's so quiet, compared to his proposal, all fire and smoke and passion. This is awkward, fumbling. She feels young. 

She doesn't like it.

"Touch me," she says, while he stands there, his eyes flicking from scant wall to scant wall. He looks up, blinking again. She blinks back, fighting a blush. She is young and inexperienced; she doesn't know yet how to voice what she wants. On Jakku, couplings were barely mentioned. She saw instead hands covering groins and rubbing. Sometimes drunkards breached one another’s clothes, rummaging. 

She hated them the most. Her skin crawled to think someone might touch her in that way.

Ben flinches, and she realises he has seen those memories.

She sends another vision. One where it is her body with his, his body with hers and he is above her, his fingers drawing out of her what her clumsy fumbles never can.

She doesn't want Jakku. She simply wants him to touch her.

He starts forward, grace despite the hesitant excitement on his face. He looks as young as her, and dizzyingly, she feels like she is the one in control. But he's older. Bigger. She is a scrap, left in the sand. Nothing.

"You're never nothing," he mutters, contradicting himself but somehow she understands.

His gloved fingers brush the crescent of her shoulder, plucking the fabric of her outer tunic between his forefinger and thumb. 

Why are we so clothed? she thinks. I want him. He wants me.

She never expected this experience to be so hesitant. She expected brushing, tearing of clothes and growls, spit and snarls, and something vague that always caused her to crest when she thought of it with her fingers on that good spot.

He goes slow.

"How much time do we have?" she asks, hiding from him the thought of the Resistance ships.

"As much as we want," he says, voice growing thick. They both pause, his thumb and finger idly rubbing the fabric while their eyes lock. They share a breath.

She reaches up to where he leans forward. It's a soft capture, this kiss. A brush of lips, both mouths parted, both their brows furrowing at just how good it feels.

"You're a monster," she says, one last vestige of the old Rey peeking through.

"Yes, I am," he says, as his eyes flicker over her body.

They kiss again, deeper this time until she is sighing and her hands are reaching around his broad shoulders to hang at his neck, her feet on tiptoes. His hands touch the high of her back, slowly descending.

He nuzzles her throat, drawing her closer as he scatters slow open-mouthed kisses down the line of her clavicle. Her tunic slips and slides against his leather gloves.

She holds his wrist and moves it so his fingers ghost against her groin.

"There," she says, bluntly. The tip of his finger is blunt too, but it brings sensations that spark behind her eyes. A key moves, unlocking, and the bond is open. The galaxy dazzles her, and it isn't simply him touching her---she feels everything. Her own pleasure, his elation buried so deep, like he thinks himself unworthy of her.

It was real, his thoughts sigh into her head. Rey, Rey... Rey...

I'm here, she replies, voicing the thought in a whisper.

She is here.

---

Her first act as Empress is to call off the attack on the Resistance. She whispers promises to her Emperor that the battle will come again; they simply have to trust one another.

General Armitage Hux, down an ally in the mysterious Phasma, slaps her across the face with the back of his hand in the ship's hangar.

"Desert rat," he spits. "If I'd known all it took to have Ren on a leash was to have a girl open her legs, I'd have sent him to a house long ago."

Her second act as Empress is to order the execution of General Armitage Hux. It's not to soothe her offended ego. She doesn't have an ego. She has a mind, and she knows that Hux is unstable. Phasma, his one ally, is dead in the flames of the Supremacy. She sees in his eyes how scared he is of Ben and Rey together. 

He's the junkers of Jakku, so scared that all they think about is surviving one more day.

While Hux is dragged away, she curls her body around her Emperor, whose eyes are hidden behind his eyelashes as he holds her close in their bed and sinks his head against her breast. She is getting better at saying what she wants, and that night, she presses a kiss to his temple and pushes him down her body.

"That... please," she says, for want of a better phrase.

He bites on her inner thigh in the heat of it, and she hums under the feel of his teeth.

"I like that," she breathes.

The Resistance builds anew on Crait. Soldiers loyal to the First Order become loyal to their new order, fixed to the grey morality of true war. Luke Skywalker dies in a common grave on Ahch-To, as he wanted.

Ben feels the death as she does, and they lie in bed together for a day. He holds her close and reads her stories from a datapad. They don't say a word about the old Jedi.

The Emperor and the Empress embrace the galaxy that abandoned them. She looks to the horizon of stars, with Ben beside her. One day, he'll turn.

She'll help him. She'll help the galaxy.

They'll thrive.

[mousedetective]

I would absolutely love and adore and be beyond-all-words cheered up by Sherlock attempting to confess his feelings only to be misunderstood by Molly who assumes that she doesn't and will never count, with a happy fluffy ending. If you are able to!

Eight months later I have finally answered this, so my apologies because I am just...ugh. I suck. But I hope that if you need to be cheered up today, it helps? Also, this is one of the Sherlolly Spring Fling prompts that the Anon requester requested, so at least I got one more of those done!

Does Count After All -When Sherlock requests Molly’s help as a medical professional during his task taking down Moriarty’s network, Molly wonders why. She finds out the answer to that...and so much more.

Read @ AO3 | Buy Me A Coffee? | Send Me A Prompt

She was rather surprised that she was sent to him. She had asked Mycroft, when he had her kidnapped on her way to the tube after a long shift at Barts, when all she wanted to do was go home and have a long soak and a glass or two or three of wine and maybe a good cry as well, if he was hurt badly, and she had been assured he wasn’t, but why her? Surely even in this cat and mouse game, even in this great hour of secrecy, there were other people he could rely on? She supposed even spies needed doctors, discrete people who could operate on bullet wounds and knife cuts without a word to local hospitals?

Why didn’t Sherlock see one of them?

Why her?

He had said she counted at Barts, the day he fell. But he hadn’t meant it, she was sure. She counted in the ways she knew that mattered to him: she was an above average specialist registrar, a competent pathologist, she gave him anything and everything he wanted from her stores and she gave him space when he worked in the path lab. And maybe there was a bit more than that. Never once did she judge him, did she utter anything like the words that came from Sally’s mouth or even the exasperated utterings from Greg or John. She accepted him as he was, admired him…

Loved him.

But she didn’t count.

She loved him, but to him, she was a tool. And in his hour of need, it had counted that the best tools in his arsenal were there. That was all it was.

That was all this was, too.

She had expected something dingy and dirty, but she was surprised at the rather lush surroundings inside the building housing Sherlock. What she had seen had shown this was not a prosperous region, but she was starting to think, perhaps, looks were deceiving in this village’s case. Mostly because she suspected this village might be full of former British spies, but that might also be her imagination running away with her. Whatever it was, it projected a dirty, impoverished place on the outside, but there had not been a single villager who she had encountered who looked underfed or unhealthy or unhappy. She suspected those who lived here had a very good life if the comforts of this room were anything to go by.

“Molly,” she heard Sherlock say softly. She looked and saw that he was sitting at a small table, his face bruised and swollen, cradling his arm. She stared at him, aghast. In a place like this, how had no one given him proper medical care? What absolute imbeciles had let him stay like this for the time it had taken her to reach him.

“Sherlock,” she said, abandoning the pose of medical professionalism she had promised herself she would take and going to him, gently cradling his face. “What happened?”

“I was on the wrong end of a cricket bat,” he said, trying to give her a half-hearted smile, she thought, but failing. She shook her head and immediately began to work. It had been a long time since she had set a broken arm, especially without the guidance of an x-ray machine, but she did her best, putting it in a splint and wrapping it as best she could. She was glad she had been aware of what his potential injuries could have been and had brought the appropriate supplies. She knew that it was suspected he had broken ribs, and that would require taping them, which would mean he would need to remove his undershirt. She focused on the purpling bruise on his shoulder and bit her lip, knowing it would be immensely painful for him to lift his arm. “Cut it off.”

“Pardon?”

“Cut the shirt off,” he said.

She nodded, then went into her bag for her scissors. “Why weren’t you looked at sooner, Sherlock?” she asked.

“I don’t trust anyone here aside from the owner of this house,” he replied. “I had done her a great favor in the past and I am collecting upon it. She said there are many here whose loyalties could be easily bought and swayed to Moriarty’s minions.”

Molly nodded, grasping the scissors and moving to him, beginning to cut off his shirt when she got close enough. “But you trust her?”

“I do.” He bit his lip and looked at her. “I trust her, but there are none I trust more than you, Molly. I trust you to keep me alive.”

Molly stopped cutting and looked at him, their eyes nearly level. “But I don’t count.”

She could see confusion enter his gaze. “You do, though. I told you you do.”

Molly licked her lips slightly. “I had tea with the owner of the house before I came up here. You told me she was dead.”

Sherlock groaned. “I should kill her,” he muttered. “Irene is someone I care for, in one way, yes. But not the way I care for you. She is a friend. You are...more than that.”

“But you knew what she looked like naked.”

“Because she decided to introduce herself to me without a stitch of clothing on,” he said. “She’s the type of woman who will use anything to her advantage. She had blackmail, I wanted it. She decided to use her sexual prowess to her advantage, I made her put on my coat. If there is anyone with those measurements whose naked image I would rather have emblazoned in my mind palace it would be you, not her.”

Molly’s eyes widened and she dropped the scissors onto Sherlock’s lap, though thankfully they did not land point downward. “What?”

“I am trying to say, without much success apparently, that I fancy you. I trust you. You do count t me, in more ways than I can name and I would be quite happy if you would wait for me to finish this task and then we can see about attempting a relationship. I don’t guarantee I will be good at it, but I will try. I will try my hardest because that, Molly Hooper, is what you deserve.” She felt tears come to her eyes at that, tears of joy and happiness, and Sherlock frowned. “Molly?”

Molly leaned forward and carefully cradled his face in her hands again, leaning in just a bit more after that to close the distance and pressed her lips to his, kissing him softly. He kissed her back, reaching for her to pull against him but then suddenly pulling away from the kiss, hissing in pain. “You’re injured, Sherlock,” she admonished, stroking the uninjured side of his face. “Let me check your ribs to see if taping them would help, and then we’ll get you to bed to rest.”

“And you’ll stay with me for a while?” he asked, sounding hopeful.

She nodded, a soft smile on her face. “I’ll stay as long as I can, and then I’ll wait for you to get back to London,” she said before giving him a quick kiss. “However long it takes.” The serene smile on Sherlock’s face was honestly the most dazzling sight she’d ever seen, and to know this man, this man, wanted her and that her returning his feelings had put that smile on his face...she would never doubt she counted again, she was sure of it.

[mizjoely]

I'm glad to see you back on my dash. I hope your feeling all better soon.

Thank you, I’m so much better now it’s like night and day.

[greatfay]

rottenbrainstuff replied to your post “Matter of fact, it should be illegal to do anything to your child that...”

Hm. What examples are you thinking of? Circumcision comes to my mind.

Lmao why is that the first thing I thought of? But yeah, that and finances, like if a kid gets a job, their parents shouldn’t be able to just take their money. How is someone supposed to do anything when they turn 18 (move out, go to college) if they have no way to accumulate wealth before then? And other stuff, idk. Now I can’t think of anything, but I usually have strong opinions about this. What about when parents take control over their child’s school options or sabotages their future in some way? It just doesn’t seem right.