#Lunatic Bomber

[sweetwolf05]

"LEAVE MY BROTHER ALONE!!"

Trigger Warning: Blood, gore, bruises

Based on Anemia's Goretober prompt with bruised/beaten as Day Eight

Who are they? Really...? Plasma Bomber and Goth Bomber are the reincarnation of Lunatic Bomber and Plasmic Bomber?

[dinosaurwithablog]

There's a guy dressed like i am except he's at the game, and I'm hanging out on my bedroom with my dog. Still, i feel a kinship with this guy!! LET'S GO YANKEES!!!!!

[that-fangirl]

I always try to pick out what designers Toshiya is wearing in photoshoots and his Instagram posts, but I’m not very good at it. If you have the time, could you please make a post with some of the designer pieces you’ve noticed? Thank you!

There are some pieces which I have noticed, but Toshiya's personal style has changed quite a bit over the years.

He is notorious for his love of Saint Laurent ahahah

Even Kyo has mentioned that he thinks Toshiya is a big fan of the brand.

Aside from suits which I have had a hard time trying to pinpoint any brands and the use of DIRT clothes more recently- understandable because there is no one better to promote his brand than himself, he also seems to like New Balance a lot.

The Rolex watch ahaha also Toshiya apparently got a Rolex that was made the year he was born.

I couldn't help but notice the McQueen scarf too, because I am a big fan of McQueen myself. And I have also seen Toshiya with the Savage Beauty book. Btw that book is too enchanting!

There is this piece from Boo Live

I noticed this Y-3 piece many years ago...

Toshiya had this piece by GUERILLAKID which he wore for Lunatic Fest

There is also this CÉLINE bomber

EDIT: I almost forgot the Chrome Hearts jewellery pieces!!! I think at one point all band members had Chrome Hearts pieces.

And recently Toshiya has been using a lot of items by STEAF, a Japanese designer, for his Utakata photoshoots.

These are the ones that have stood out the most to me so far. I'm sure there are others, if I did some further research.

[littencloud9]

jun'ichirou & steinbeck + you have one week to steal a tractor

kunikida & ranpo + PLEASE GOD I JUST WANT A BLACK COFFEE

nathaniel & kajii + alexa… initiate self-destruction…

poe & gin + it wasn't very nice... but i did it anyway

hope some of these spark some inspiration <333

corey your prompts are the funniest things ever ily

jun’ichirou & steinbeck + you have one week to steal a tractor

“And so,” Lucy sighs. “you have one week to steal a tractor. Any questions?”

Jun’ichirou glances at the people beside him. He’s had the unfortunate opportunity to sit right in between the two organisations, the Agency and the Guild. Technically, only the teenagers from both sides are here, so it’s slightly less intimidating, but still.

Except for the guy next to him who is taking bites out of a raw, unpeeled potato.

Steinbeck catches his eye and smiles, offering up the half-eaten potato. “Want a bite?”

“…No thanks.”

“Shame. You know, we don’t have to steal a tractor. I’ve got tons back home.”

Jun’ichirou blinks. “Isn’t your home, like, half the globe away?”

“Yeah. I could get Herman to fly us there really fast though.” Steinbeck decides he doesn’t want his potato anymore and sets it down on the table. “Want to come with?”

Jun’ichirou would actually much prefer to steal. But Steinbeck is beaming, punching him in the shoulder. “Awesome, man! I’d love some company. Louisa won’t come cause she’s scared of my sister.”

“Oh,” Jun’ichirou says, for he does not know what else he can say. “Um. Okay.”

“Yeah!”

—

kunikida & ranpo + PLEASE GOD I JUST WANT A BLACK COFFEE

“PLEASE GOD I JUST WANT A BLACK COFFEE.”

Kunikida slams his head on the table. He wonders if that gave him a concussion. He hopes it did.

“AND I WANT A MILKSHAKE!”

He flinches at the booming voice from behind him. Ranpo has their hands cupped around their mouth as they yell, and when Kunikida looks at them, they grin.

“LET’S GO GET OUR DRINKS!”

“WHY ARE YOU YELLING?!” Kunikida wails. He knows he yelled first. But still.

“I DON’T KNOW!”

Ranpo leaps off their chair, heading towards him. They grab Kunikida’s arm and drag him out the office, humming to themself.

“Wait,” Kunikida blurts, stumbling down the stairs. “I wasn’t that serious. I still have work to do—”

“I wonder how many espresso shots will kill you,” Ranpo says, ignoring him. “Let’s go find out.”

“…Yeah, okay.”

—

nathaniel & kajii + alexa… initiate self-destruction…

Nathaniel has no clue how he ended up here.

This is all Mark’s damn fault. If they didn’t insist on dragging him to a bar, specifically a gay bar (how horrendous), then he wouldn’t be stuck in this position, entertaining a drunk lunatic who also happens to be a mafia bomber.

Kajii fawns over his phone, speaking to Alexa through it and gasping whenever the AI replies. Nathaniel does not want to be here.

“You know, it’d be cool if I could attach something like this to my bombs!”

“Really,” Nathaniel deadpans.

“Yes! It would be a final, powerful command. Like… Alexa, initiate self-destruction! And bam!”

Maybe if Kajii bombs this entire place up, Nathaniel would finally know peace. He nods in agreement. “You should definitely try that.”

“Ay, really? Man, I don’t know who you are, but you’re awesome!”

“I told you my name three times already,” Nathaniel grumbles. “Though I’m not exactly sure why,” he adds under his breath.

Kajii either ignores him or doesn’t hear him, for he cackles, slapping his back.

—

poe & gin + it wasn’t very nice… but I did it anyway

“It wasn’t very nice… but I did it anyway,” Poe admits.

Gin laughs under their breath. It’s hard to picture Chuuya stuck in a book, losing his cool and coming out completely disheveled, but Poe doesn’t seem like he’s lying.

“That’s okay. You have a cool ability.”

Poe’s fingers, which were running through Karl’s fur, stop and twitch. “R-really?”

They nod. Though they’ve gotten used to being surrounded by powerful ability users, they still find themself awed over the more unique ones.

Gin doesn’t need an ability to protect themself, but there’s no denying that ability users like Ryuunosuke are on a different level. It’s nice to meet someone so, well—

Humble, maybe?

Gin wonders if they could get out of the book on their own. They voice this question out to Poe, whose eyes widen.

“I’m not sure I want to let you try that…”

They huff. Whatever. They definitely could.

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Shell 4.8 Live Reactions

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

I’d discovered facing down more than a dozen gunmen, thirty or so people with improvised weapons and a mad scientist with a fetish for bombs made me really, really appreciate what Bitch brought to the team.

:Cackle: Understandable, tho. She's really a 'I'd rather have her and not need her' sort of teammate, isn't she?

She rested her hand on the head of an ABB member standing in front of her jeep with a pistol in his hands.  He flinched at the touch.  “If the blonde opens her mouth again, open fire on their entire group.  I don’t care what the others have to say, but she stays quiet.”

Someone did their homework.

 “You’re the only one I don’t get.  Don’t know your powers.  But seeing how you and the skinny boy baited my ineffectual mercenaries, I think I’m going to play it safe and have you be quiet.  Maybe it’s a subsonic thing, altering moods as you talk, maybe it’s something else.  I dunno.  But you shut up, ‘Kay?”

Okay, not her homework, but she is improving the test not half-bad, I guess.

.  Enough fear, and they stop worrying about their own interests, stop wondering if they can usurp you, and they dedicate themselves entirely to making you happy.  Or at least, to keeping you from being unhappy.”

It also makes people happy to betray you the moment they think they can, and makes people not give you important news if it's bad news. Fear must be tempered.

What gesture would be effective enough that it would have their people running for the hills when they see me coming?”

Nothing? I mean, E88 has fought Lung before, I'm sure. The capes at least.

She didn’t do anything, didn’t say anything, didn’t offer any tell or signal.  There was a sound, like a vibrating cell phone on a table, and Park Jihoo liquefied into a soupy mess in the span of a second.

*shudder* Gyagghagah. That kind of shit is always a horrifying mental image.

“The six-eighteen!  I forgot I even made that one!  Perfect!  Better than I thought!”

But for me it was Tuesday?

If her job was to terrify, she’d succeeded.  With me, at least.  I wanted to throw up, but I’d have to take off my mask to do it, and I was afraid that if I moved, I’d get shot.  The fear of the guns was enough to override my welling nausea, but the end result was that I was shaking.  Not just trembling, but full body shakes that had me struggling to keep upright.

Yeah, I really can't blame Taylor for this one.

“I’d be too lazy to do that, even if I had your powers,” Regent said, “Can I approach the body?  Get a better look?”

Oh Regent, I'm sure this is you playing her, but also like... it's believable he'd just be that into it. Just a little. But I love that she was so sure she needed to shut Tattletale up and now she's letting the Master (even if his mastery doesn't involve his voice) who got raised by Heartbreaker chat it up.

I can think twelve moves ahead before you’ve even decided on your first. 

Anyone who unironically says that is about to get their ass handed to them, right? That is how it works, right?

Give the lunatic bomber a little respect.  I quietly voiced what Tattletale couldn’t. “Tone it down a notch, Regent,” I whispered.

I dunno. I think Regent has the right idea, actually. Sociopath to Sociopath and all that.

The camera-guy answered in an accented voice, “Good plan, Bakuda.”

I mean, is anyone ever gonna tell her that she has a bad plan?

I feel like she wouldn't react well to that. And we know how she handles not reacting well.

I saw a glimpse of chaos, of screaming people running from the place the explosion had happened in the midst of Bakuda’s own group.  The fleeing people were obstructing the view of the people with guns.

So she just blew one of her own people up just to be unpredictable?

Finally, there was Bakuda, still sitting on the side of the jeep.  She was either shouting something or laughing.  She was letting us slip from her grasp, her people were on the verge of killing one another in mindless panic, and she’d just killed at least one of her own people on a whim.  From what we’d just seen of her, I was willing to bet she was laughing as it all happened.

Honestly feels just a little bit contrived, tbh. Though maybe it will feel less so once I've read the next chapter

[paisholotus]

Ch.1

Narrative

"JJ's keeping tabs on that. What do we know about the bombs?" Gideon asked, Hotch. "They're sending pictures of bomb fragments as they find them." Hotch told him.

"Pipe bombs." Gideon said.

"Packed in cardboard boxes. Package bombs." Derek said, showing them pictures of the victims.

"Sent through the mail?" Gideon asked.

"No. The other picture in your hand is of the switch that ATF found. The same mechanism for both bombs.Mercury-activated." Derek told them.

"What does that mean? Elle asked.

"There are contacts to a detonator on either end of a bent tube full of mercury." Spencer explained.

"What it means is all you have to do is tilt the package to detonate it. So they couldn't have been sent through the mail." Hotch said, placing down the pictures.

"The bomber had to deliver them himself." Emily said, looking at the pictures of the bomb fragments.

"Exactly." Morgan said, looking back at the screen.

"Strange way to commit an act of terrorism." Elle said frowning.

"Why go to all this trouble to kill just a few people?" Spencer asked, looking confused.

"Let's recommend not raising the terror alert level for now." Hotch told them.

"No reason to spread panic." Gideon said.

"CNN, Fox, MSNBC. Al Jazeera, you name it. This is everywhere." JJ said.

"So much for not spreading panic." Elle said, looking at the tv

"According to doctors, he's badly injured but in stable condition in the ICU. Now, neighbors say that they heard a blast at about 10:30 this morning, and police arrived shortly..." the news reporter said.

"If DHS doesn't raise the terror alert now, they'll look weak. The BJS is going to be involved." Morgan said.

"Make sure Homeland Security knows that this is everywhere." Hotch told them.

"Now police are investigating..." the reporter said, ducking down as a loud bomb went off.

"Whoa." She says, watching a car be engulfed in flames.

"I just felt that... Are you... Are you all right? Is everyone all right?" the reporter said, looking around cautiously.

"Looks like we're going to Palm Beach." Morgan said, gathering his stuff.

"Let's meet at the airstrip in 20." Hotch said, packing paper work.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is live. I repeat, this is live. There's been another..." the reporter said, having the camera zoom in on the explosion.

"Hotch, listen.They're gonna be sending us bomb fragments by this afternoon. I'm the only one with an ATF background. So, if you'd like me to stay behind to supervise the bomb profile, I'm on that." Morgan said.

"Morgan, you wouldn't be afraid." Hotch questioned. "To be out in the field with a bomber now, would you?"

"You know, maybe it's not the bomber that I'm worried about." Morgan said, staring at Hotch and Rossi.

"I thought we were past all that?" Rossi said, frowning at Derek.

"Ross, Boston sent Gideon into a post-traumatic tailspin.How do we know that won't happen again?" Morgan asked, with his brows raised.

"Morgan, I'll tell you what. Why don't we concentrate on profiling the bomber and not Gideon?" Hotch said sternly.

Derek sighed and held his coffee up, dropping the discussion. "Copy that."

-Time Skip-

Sariya's pov

I sat at my desk during my lunch break reading over the headline on the news. There's some lunatic setting off bombs. I eat my lunch and think about the past week, I saw Spencer again.

Oh my goodness I felt giddy thinking about it. After he got out the hospital we hung out for a while, talked all night and just catched up.

Missed him so much I hate we went so long without speaking to each other.

"Sariya they found another bomb, we have to go. Special Agent Hotchner has requested our assistance." I quickly nodded and wrapped my lunch.

I given files about what was going on as I got into the car. This was gonna be a long day.

[monstersinthecosmos]

September 7, 1973

A week ago he picked up Darla at the trendy bar two blocks away. And she was cool. It was a good story and they had a nice night after. And it’s felt like such a long fucking week.

But tonight he’ll try a little harder. Get his shit together. He always finds more interesting people at the gay bars on Friday nights, and he keeps a list to rotate through them. 

He doesn’t want drama or anything, and he thinks he’s always been fair to people. He doesn’t try to trick them in their interviews, and the versions that air don’t villainize anybody. And he wouldn’t sleep with any of them if it seemed like it would compromise the story, or make it harder to navigate the club scene. His excuse is that if he rotates through more bars, more neighborhoods, that he’ll be widening his sample group, but a small part of him also hopes to avoid the awkwardness of confronting a one night stand.

Anyway, it’s Pink Baby night.

It’s been a couple months since he went out to that one. And there’s something nagging him as he’s getting ready. Every time he’s gone to the Pink Baby he’s felt underdressed, out of place. Stuff like that doesn’t usually matter to him, but it’s been such a long week and his mind is spiraling little bit. He can picture himself lugging around his bag (be real, Molloy, it’s a briefcase and you look like an asshole) like a fucking square and he can picture himself discovering the most fascinating person there. And what if he looks too foolish, too childish, what if he misses out?

So he combs his hair. Thinks about his outfit for more than five seconds. High waisted corduroys and a thick belt. Jeff told him they make his ass look good. And a nice shirt that he tucks in. And his bomber jacket, the shiny blue one with a sun on the back. The sun rays curve over the shoulders, end over his sternum. He checks himself out in the bathroom mirror and thinks it should be okay.

He preps a flask to keep in his pocket for later, and chews on a cold piece of pizza. He digs through his bag on his desk, checking that all his equipment is ready, he has enough batteries, enough tapes. 

Charlie’s tape is still in the side pocket. 

He holds it in his hand, turns it over, taps his nails against the hard case.

This one will never be published, he thinks. It’s too raw. There’s no narrative to spin except to make him sound like a lunatic, and even if Daniel doesn’t believe him, he aches with anxiety as he remembers the way Charlie cried.

He hadn’t gotten around to labeling it. Hasn’t taken notes. Just stuck it in the side pocket to keep it safe.

Well. 

He cracks the case open. Sticks the tape into the recorder.

No one needs to hear this one. He’ll tape over it if he meets somebody tonight. And he hopes he meets someone tonight, because it’s been a shitty week and he wants to unwind. And if that someone wants to fuck him after, that would be fine, too.

So he’s got a beer in hand forty minutes later and he’s circling the perimeter of the room, studying the options, looking for the right person. There are a few familiar faces as he weaves through but nothing awkward. He drinks too fast, maybe, fidgeting, feeling like he’s off his game for some reason.

The bottle is empty by the time he does a loop all the way around. He rolls it between his palms as he makes his way back to the bar, and thunks it down, and he’s fishing money out of his pocket for a replacement when he feels something. 

Unmoving, unnatural. Blur of shapes in his periphery as the bartender slides the new beer to him.  Cracked Actor by David Bowie comes on, so loud that the floor vibrates beneath his feet, and he turns to see the person hovering nearby.

This is the one, he thinks.

It’s not always easy to know, not just from looking at someone. In fact, Daniel would discourage hunting that way. Being so superficial, so judgmental, is the opposite of empathy. But every so often there’s just, something about someone.

Intuition, maybe. The jolt of energy that zippers up the insides of his thighs.

He sips his beer and barely tastes it, his brain three steps behind him trying to make sense of what he’s looking at. Too overwhelming to process the striking, uncanny beauty in the same moment he notices the severely black suit, the emerald ring, the fucking cape.

Daniel’s heart races. He almost chokes on his beer as the man turns to stare right into him.

“Hello,” he says, serene, no attempt to be heard over the music but it hits Daniel straight in the chest. He puts the beer down and wipes his hand on his pant leg before reaching out to shake.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m Daniel.”

The man’s gaze drifts downward to Daniel’s hand, thick black lashes and bright green eyes. Studying for a moment as if Daniel is the weirdo here. And then he smiles, quietly amused, and accepts.

Cold, Daniel thinks, immediately, before it even registers. The man’s hand is so fucking cold. And so soft, and so…

Their eyes meet again. 

Daniel thinks he’s safe about interviews, about picking up strangers. He usually feels people out before inviting them somewhere private. Sometimes if he’s not positive, maybe not-so-private. Somewhere with a second exit, or thin walls if he has to scream. But there have been times, in this situation, with all these alarms sounding through his insides, that he never even pitches. 

But he can’t look away.

Too green, and his skin is too pale. The neons over the bar catch the sharp angle of his cheekbone, the strong jaw, and he doesn’t seem…

He thinks of Charlie, for some reason. Fuck, he even thinks of the midnight sun guy. Can’t remember his name, but his voice echoes inside Daniel’s skull. Cosmic horror. And he wonders, for a moment, if these two weren’t full of shit. If things are out there.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Daniel asks. 

The stranger nods, and his eyes don’t leave Daniel in the time it takes to flag the bartender down, to pay him, to slide the beer over. And the stranger stares at it like he’s never seen one in his life, like all of this is an oddity, and he curls his hand around the bottle but doesn’t drink it.

And Daniel thinks he’s safe. About interviews. About going to new places, with new people. With strangers. And he thinks he’s good at reading people. Someone might be fucking crazy, wearing a cape to a bar, but this guy is so… 

Safe. And Daniel doesn’t pick people for how they look. Sometimes they fuck him after but it’s not…

All the air empties out of his lungs. His face feels numb. He sits on the bar stool and reaches for his cigarettes, fumbling because he can’t look away.

Too clear to be a crazy person, Daniel thinks. A fucking character, though. A goldmine. 

The stranger reaches forward, gently taking the matchbook from Daniel’s hands as he struggles with it. Snaps one alight, stares into Daniel’s eyes as he cups his hands around the flame and lifts it for him.

And the firelight, dancing in his eyes. 

No one believes me, Charlie had cried.

Daniel inhales. Shudders in pleasure. Fresh first hit, and his mind perks back up. The stranger blows the match out, almost delicately, and places it into one of the ash trays on the bar.

All the blood vessels in his brain open up. His shoulders relax. The head rush hits him the way his arousal does, and for a moment it’s all he can think about. Aching between his legs and he feels like he’s floating.

The Bowie chords throb through his core and they sound so fucking raunchy.

He should be safe. 

The stranger hasn’t blinked once, this whole time, Daniel thinks. 

But he should be safe. Even though something feels off. Something in his gut telling him that this is dangerous. It pinches his sides, kicks his heart into overdrive, but each drag of his cigarette smoothes it out into something so warm. And as he watches the stranger’s face he feels like, like…

Like he can’t tell it apart anymore.

[previous day] | [next day]

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

Between Narcissism and Altruism

Stephen Jay Morris

3/28/2024

©Scientific Morality

            The voices in my head clutter up the canyons of my mind. “Don’t be a victim!” “Man up!” “Do it yourself!” “Get off my lawn!” “What are you looking at?” “Be a man!” “Ring, ring on the telephone!” “Monday is the deadline!” “Don’t be so selfish!” “You’ve got to think about yourself sometimes!” “Oh! My Bob!” Shut the fuck up! SHUT UP!

            I do care. I really do. When women and children are starving to death, being maimed, and killed by weapons of war, and you express that emotion, most conservatives say, “Why don’t you adopt them and have them sleep in your garage!” Most conservatives are narcissists. Certain political ideologies attract those with personality disorders. Sociopaths make personal liberty into malignant selfishness. That sentiment ranges from libertarians to Paleo-conservatives: Me first, my family second, and my country on third base.

            Oh, those on the left, on the other hand, are neurotic, clinically depressed, anal retentive, and emotionally wrecked. At one point, some smart-ass yells out, “The whole world is fucked up!” To which I reply, “No. Just you.”

            You know what is acceptable? To hate people and despise the world. But if you declare, “I hate the Irish!”—Watch out! You’re a bigot! If you hate the world, you are seen as a prophet from God. Is it acceptable to hate all except for one group of people? If you hate all countries, then you are an Anarchist terrorist. However, if you love America, but hate all other countries, you are a Patriot!

So, let’s review: Collective hatred is just fine. Specific hatred for a particular race is unacceptable. Why is that? I’ll tell you, boobie: On the left, there is the belief of international solidarity. On the right, it’s tribalism. Stick to your own kind.

            Now the main problem with the right is this gigantic contradiction: Individualism versus National pride. You remember that lunatic, Ayn Rand? Not only was she an atheist, but she believed that the rights of the individual triumphed over loyalty to their country. AKA: dying for your country is a sucker’s game. So, do you put your personal liberty over loyalty to your country? According to Ayn Rand, you put yourself over the state.

            Where do I stand politically? Does it matter? I realized, over the years, that I am not special. I try my best to be a good person. Now, in America, selfish people outnumber the good. You need a magnifying glass to find them. Morality does not come from a compass; it comes from the conjunction of your left brain and your right brain. Once you fine tune it, then you are in business.

            When I was young, my priority was to save the Vietnamese people from the American bombers destroying their homeland. Every night, the news gave up the death tolls while we ate our T.V. dinners. So, we protested and got arrested. It was better than going to the high school football game! I think and feel that we did the right thing.

            Now, Israel’s Likud Party is running a near six-month campaign of committing genocide on innocent Palestinian men, women, and children in Gaza. What can I do? Protest? Write a letter to my congressman? Bomb a building? I don’t care if you think this is a major copout, but I am tired, I suffer from comorbidity ailments, and I have chronic pain in various parts of my body. As such, I do nothing. The young people are managing just fine without me.

If I knew I was going to live this long, I’d have taken better care of myself. I am 70.

[darkmaga-returns]

From this 28-minute video here:

Harvest Time🔥 ATACMS & Storm Shadow Strike💥 West Braces For Retribution🌏 Military Summary 2024.11.20

I will let you play the video – the opening segment details upcoming Russian retaliation for missile attacks by the Americans and British deep inside Russia – and looks ominous for the Ukrainian people as much as it does for the Ukrainian military.

No doubt Resident Biden and Obersturmführer Starmer factored in acceptable Ukrainian and Russian civilian casualties of around 250,000 in the decision to bomb the Russian mainland.

Brits and Americas may so be looking anxiously skyward for incoming hypersonic missile with a range of many thousands of miles – courtesy of the dead duck POTUS Biden and the clueless left-wing lunatic, UK Prime Minister Starmer.

No news on German, French and other EU countries missiles. Maybe the F-16’s supplied by the Netherlands will soon be put to use over Ukraine airspace against a few dozen Russian high attitude bombers.

The US embassy in Kiew has been shut, along with many other embassies.

Just wat for the US and UK to cry out in pain as they strike Russia with their remaining missiles!

[orgablorga]

Hey! Mama of a very creative 11 year old girl! She wanted me to put her characters online in hopes of inspiring an artist or two! I told her to not hold her breath, but we both agree it's worth asking! Even if no one bites, she'd love some questions!

Welcome to New Hades, a chaotic, crime-ridden city of crime families and fire. Godhood is impossible, but becoming a New Hades Legend is a close second. Here are a few.

Freddy No Nose: A sadist through and through, this skeletal robot is a veritable terminator with weapon augmentations all over his body, hidden...and glaringly obvious. Tactics be damned! This guy wants to scare and hurt people. A rare breed of sadist, this skull-faced bot with eyes burning red will even sacrifice money if it means he can shed blood or oil. His bomber jacket is fire tho B)

Viole/n/t: The youngest Legend of New Hades at 17, Violet Mendes is a small, frail girl with white hair caused by a rare genetic disease that does give her electric powers, but makes them slowly consume her. She is currently housed in a high security prison for numerous computer crimes. Some call her Robin Hood, given her habits of hacking rich folks dry and giving poor people a very pleasant surprise.

Scales: Some people are just born unlucky. Hans Bank is one of them. What do you get when you combine gigantism, super strength, a bioweapon that causes the skin to become scaly, hard, and sharp teeth to grow? You get one of the top paid fighters in the Erebus Crime Family. It's said that they haven't even bothered to come up with a plan for "when" he's beaten.

Whisper: Age: Unknown. Race: Unknown. Gender: Unknown. What is known about this hooded figure that introduces themself with a metal wire to your throat? Seeing them and dying are about identical. 151,300 people die every day, a surprising amount to the same shadow of a person. (Note: The word "person" is our best guess, their species is also debatable.)

Ronnie Sharp: Money can't buy happiness. You know what it can buy? Everything else. There's a price tag on all creation, it's all pocket change to this man-shark beast of a mafia don. A skinny, short, diseased runt of his brothers, Ronnie is a spiteful, wretched, fervid demon of a shark. But it hardly matters when anyone who calls him out on this is quickly shown how cheap their life is.

Pearly White: Years ago, Mayor Zeus Chandler fiddled with a little underground super soldier experiment. He had his scientists put together a serum that makes psychotic, devoid of empathy, astonishingly clever super soldiers with strength and a healing factor to boot. But as it turns out, kidnapping homeless people and torturing them into psychopathy, then giving them superpowers is a bit of a lousy idea. The pale skin and red lips caused by the serum is what gave The Clowns their name, and if you've met one, you've met them all. Pearly is just their leader.

Harold Finley: Ah, a classic if ever I've seen one. You know those RoboCop street punks? The unrealistically mean ones? Yea, them. Those guys would run screaming if they met Johnny. What does he look like? Good question! Ask the people who've seen him. I'll take you to the cemetery. Hope you're a necromancer.

Nyx: Reading file...pros: passion, literally magic charisma, encyclopedic knowledge of explosives. cons: passion, literally magic charisma, encyclopedic knowledge of explosives. Is this leather-clad, half-shaved, blindfolded lunatic your friend? That's a coinflip if ever I've seen one. Yes, even for her. Heads? Best buds, she'll never let you down. Tails? The Devil shivers.

Simon Shady: The Ministry of Shadows seldom sends out one of their own killers, but when they do, Simon is another word for death. This man is literally made of magical shadows, complete with a noir detective getup. He always kills his target within 7 days of them hearing his name. Each, day, the target loses something they love. More than once, he hasn't even had to finish the job himself.

Gabe Golden. A bear. A literal bipedal bear. In a suit, with golden hands. Actual solid gold hands. Number 1 boxer, huge crime boss. An actual bear with golden hands in a suit. :P

[hindulivesmatter]

Babies dying is bad thing.

Only when the babies are Hindus

Well, genuine question to you. Looks like your dream of children being beheaded and starved is being fulfilled, oops sorry Muslim children is being fulfilled after all that is happening in Rafah. You should be very happy, go and celebrate with your family burst fire crackers in happiness. After all you and Netanyahu don’t care about hostages or you would have called for a ceasefire but you won’t why ?? Because Muslim children and women are being killed. Be happy!! This is what you wanted.

Then saying gazans should leave Gaza and go to a refugee camp but IDF has raided a refugee camp as well. Congratulations to you.

Oh sorry, you love Hindu terrorists who bomber Ajmer Shariff, Mecca Masjid, and Malegoan. Lover of those who burn Quran. Lover of VHP who loves converting Muslim Women to Hinduism and those helpless women’s cases are not even reported by Police under LJ law.

Brother, shut up. You sound like a lunatic.

[skatingbi]

Fighter Pilot AU - All the character's roles in the storyline so far (Pt. 1/3)

Hello everyone! I decided to organize my notes app more by adding everyone's roles to this post. So far, this AU includes Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Sanji, Usopp, Chopper, Robin, Franky, Shanks, Garp, and Mihawk. I hope I can add in Koby somehow bc Luffy/Koby has my heart but as a newbie to the OP canon storyline I'll have to read more of the manga first since I just barely got to the Water 7 arc...

Anyways, heres the masterlist of major traits, roles, flying habits, etc. that I can think of for Luffy, Zoro, and Nami! Enjoy!

Luffy: Luffy is a fucking lunatic while flying...you know the scene at the end of maverick where the enemy 5th gen pull that free flying shit and use gravity/steering alone to evade fucking missles??? yeah, luffy does that shit. bro takes "dont think just do" too literally and is somehow the top of his class bc of it. Shanks definitely taught him that.

Luffy is Zoro's best friend and also close to Sanji, but in this AU, Luffy and Zoro are either childhood friends or just happened to be in the same company together for basic training and have stuck together since then. Maybe in the past, Zoro was Luffy's nav until Nami joined the group, and then Zoro flew solo afterward like he wanted.

He's the youngest of the group for this series as well, at least under 21 but above 18. In modern standards, enlisted soldiers will be 18 or older for this AU, but I also dont think Luffy is old enough to drink. That being said, Luffy doesn't care for smoking or alcohol anyway since he prefers to eat all the snacks he wants lmao

I also believe in adoptive dad Shanks supremacy in this AU. Yes, I know who Luffy's canon dad is. No, I will not be following canon. Canon is simply a suggestion at this point, and this entire AU is self indulgent as hell anyway. Shanks being luffy's father figure means that having to spectate Luffy in the marines is both reassuring and also two seconds away from giving him a panic attack but we'll talk more about that in his own entry later.

Zoro: Zoro joined the marines with Kuina the moment they both grew out of foster care. Even though they were both in separate locations for basic training (Zoro in the east blue and Kuina was probably in the north blue) they constantly kept in contact. Kuina is essentially Zoro's big sister, and he looked up to her a LOT and is the main reason why he even became a pilot.

In the beginning, Zoro joined to be in infantry (or infantry equivilant) and Kuina joined to be a pilot (I can see her being a fighter pilot for sure, but she would also probably do well as a bomber or even a test pilot in the beginning). Kuina would always talk about her achievements and adventures when she was legally allowed to, and Zoro would do the same. After a year, when they were setting up a meeting date to visit each other since Zoro would be stationed in the North Blue with her, he gets the news that she passed away.

During his assignment in the North Blue, which was originally supposed to be 2 years long, he was pulled out a year early. This is when he meets Mihawk. This meeting will most likely be when Zoro decides to change career paths and after months of arguing with admin and the world government he can finally change jobs to be a pilot and finish what Kuina started: Becoming the world's greatest fighter pilot.

Zoro flies like he fights in the manga/anime. Defensive and only offensive when his squad is threatened. This is how he gets a confirmed kill after resuming his assignment in the North Blue under his new job title. Although he's the newest to piloting in the top gun program in this AU, he's extremely gifted, and I also believe zoro is smarter than people make him out to be as well.

Nami: Nami originally became a pilot for the pay (irl in the U.S. pilots make decent pay as far as I know, so im basing it off that knowledge. Piloting can have diverse pay, though). She wanted to send money to her family to help keep them afloat, especially since their home relies on agriculture for income. Although she prefers nav over being a fighter pilot, her skills caught the eyes of a few top gun instructors, and so she used that to be able to get accepted into the program. Her, Usopp, and Robin bond over this, despite Usopp being a talented fighter pilot as well.

Nami is also extremely smart, not only academically but also practically. Her street smarts, as I like to call them, are extremely useful to the friend group, especially when training and doing mock combat exercises. Zoro actually respects this about her and grows to become a close friend of hers as well. In this AU, when Zoro doesnt know how to talk to the men about something, he'll usually go to Nami since not only is she great at reading people but also doesnt sugar coat her thoughts or feelings.

I like to think that Luffy also latches onto her as well, and when she attempts to leave the program, Luffy immediately refuses to let her and gets the rest of the group to encourage her to stay. She's always had a rough time trusting people, but the friends she's made out of her squad members have helped her open up a lot more.

[number-onekidqueen]

𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗯𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗲 𝘀𝗸𝘆 - 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗿𝘆

Primrose Everdeen x Rory Hawthorne

angst

Warnings: MAJOR Mockingjay spoilers, death, mentions of depression, bombs, survivors guilt, just AnGsT

I sat huddled in the corner of the hovercraft airport. This was the place where we'd last met.

Where I'd said my goodbyes to Primrose Everdeen.

Prim.

Sweet Prim.

For as long as my memory stretched, we'd always been friends. It'd always been the little pair of us taking on the cruel world we lived in. And then the bigger pair of us. And then the big one. The kind-hearted, golden-haired younger sister of the feisty and brilliant Katniss Everdeen and the hard-working, yet lowly younger brother of the brave and mighty Gale Hawthorne.

Well, that mightn't have been everyone's perception of it; but that's always how Prim and I thought of ourselves.

We were always friends, each other's best buds.

And then we became more than friends.

It was incredibly sudden for me. 

Despite the terrible society we live in, when Posy asked Mum to tell her tales of true love and affection to help her get to sleep, Mum always had plenty.

Although I wasn't really listening that hard, true love seemed to have a recurring theme. The gorgeous princess would watch her valiant prince fight in battle, and suddenly she wouldn't see him as a simple boy or as a protector, but as her lover.

I never believed this would happen. It would be so simple. Wouldn't you know from the start that you loved a person, or know you don't feel anything except friendship for that person?

But love really is complicated.

I still remember the night, clear as a summer sky when I realised it.

Peeta Mellark had just warned us that Capitol bombers were coming for us, and so we had evacuated to the underground bunkers in semi-organised chaos. 

I'd shuffled to my crowded bunker with Mum, Posy, and Vick, and we were just sitting around, waiting for Gale. As the minutes crept by, we all became more and more unnerved by his absence. So much so, that I left my bunker and was about to go up and search for him.

And then I saw Katniss racing up the stairs like a lunatic, apologising at people she shoved, and pleading and yelling at guards.

"I need to go get my sister! Prim's still up there!" She was screaming.

All I remember was knowing in that moment I needed to find Prim too, I just had to, and before I knew it, I was pushing through the crowds as well.

And then Gale burst through the doors, with Prim beside him and a dishevelled Buttercup cradled in her arms.

And as heavy relief flooded through me, and I went to hug Prim, after Katniss had, an epiphany struck me in the face like a slap.

I never wanted to lose Prim. And the fierceness that had surged through my chest as I readied to try and find her was unlike any friendly protection I had ever felt for her before.

I stayed up half the night thinking about it. 

I loved Prim.

I loved her two blonde braids, her fondness for Buttercup, her shy smile, everything. 

It was so obvious that she was more than just a close friend, or someone nice I knew, I felt like such an idiot for not knowing my feelings before. For not acting on them.

And as I accepted and began to acknowledge my feelings, the rebellion truly began heating up.

Although Prim and I knew little about the rebellion with only the parts that Coin shared to the general public, the propos we watched, and the bits that Katniss or Gale told us, we could tell that a turn of the tide, for better, or for worse, was on its way soon.

After her shifts as a nurse, with nothing else to do, we mainly hung around and talked about it. What might happen. What could happen. What we would be able to do after the war.

Prim was always so optimistic. She had big hopes and dreams for the future.

"Just think about it, Rory! A Panem where there are no games, no Capitol. We can make our own future! One where we don't have to work to the bone, or sign up for tesserae to feed our families. One where things could be better, where we could all be happy, and united." She would say.

And it made me dream too. Maybe there could be a Panem, someday, where everything was as sweet and golden as Prim herself.

Then there was the storm of the Capitol. Prim and I talked a lot about that. We were scared. Katniss and Gale were the strongest people we knew, and knew only too well how to survive, but the Capitol had Peacekeepers and mutts. And an evil dictator whose number one mission was to hunt them down.

We were listening for news of their squad eagerly. When Coin announced that the squad had been terminated, life felt like it had ended. Gale and Katniss were dead. Our older brother and sister. They were gone. Forever. 

For that whole day, we only talked to each other. Even with the kind sympathy we received from everyone else, we were the only ones who really understood each other's pain. I can still remember our sobs echoing around the walls of some random storage cupboard.

When the Capitol announced that Katniss and Gale were alive, hope came again. Prim went back to the hospital and treated patients with ease. I went back home and talked to my mother and siblings of what we might do after the rebellion.

The rebels were in the inner Capitol. They were going to storm Snow's mansion and kill him. The man who had ruined and ended so many people's lives was going to die.

But we noticed there was one problem, watching the live reports taken from all over the Capitol. When Snow offered to take in all Capitol children to his mansion, to protect and feed them, he'd been lying.

Prim and I watched in horror as we saw a sea of children with varying ages of three to seventeen, barricading the mansion with Peacekeepers at their sides.

If a group of rebels tried to shove in, the kids would probably let them through, but the Peacekeepers would make them keep their formations.

Which meant the only way we could achieve entry, the only way we could ever win, was if we destroyed the barricade. Destroyed the children. Killed more innocent people. There was no other way.

Everything was on high alert, and so no sneak ins could possibly end well, and we couldn't afford to have casualties wasted on a naive plan. It was terrible. Killing. This was what we were trying to stop! Why we went to war in the first place!

Either way you looked at it, it was going to end in blood for either side. Which was why Prim and a bunch of other medics were called to the hovercraft port a few hours later, to wait until the right moment to leave.

And that was where I last met Prim.

I jogged to keep up with the sea of grey-uniformed medics walking away towards the port. My eyes scanned the crowd, looking for any signs of her. . . and there she was. Walking quietly at the side of the crowd, her distinctive golden hair in a braid resting on her shoulder.

"Prim!" I called as I came closer.

She turned, spotted me and smiled, pausing in her place.

"Hey, Rory," She said in greeting.

"There haven't been any casualties yet. Are you all going as a precaution?" I asked.

Prim nodded.

"Hopefully there won't be many, but. . . President Coin thinks it's going to end pretty messily."

"It probably will," I responded.

Prim seemed to pause, eyeing me intensely, emotions colliding through her blue eyes.

Then she launched herself at me, wrapping her arms around me in a tight embrace. After the surprise, I hugged her back.

"Be careful out there," I muttered to her.

"Don't worry, Rory. Medics are helpers and healers of everyone, and so no one should be targeting us specifically. 

"And-and even if something bad does happens, and, I do. . go, I'd want it to be that way. To die helping people, or trying to at least, and making the world a better place for everyone. Just remember that if-if it does happen, okay?" She whispered.

A lump in my throat stopped me from talking, so I just gripped her tighter. Prim dead. I couldn't imagine a world without Prim.

"Oh well. I better go. Goodbye Rory. Don't worry too much about me." She said with a laugh. I didn't want to let go, but she pulled away and smiled at me.

I smiled back and voiced my goodbyes too, just like it was a normal day. But it was while she was walking away, in dreamlike slow motion almost, that a sudden anguish took control of me. Prim was risking her life in this operation. She could die easily. And she'd never know that I felt more for her than friendship. She needed to know. I needed to tell her.

"PRIM!" I yelled, desperate to get her attention.

She turned once more, her expression startled.

"Yeah? Are you okay, Rory?"

I raced over and grabbed her by the shoulders. Although she looked disturbed, I payed no heed. Logic had left my mind hours ago and all subtle and smart ways of expressing my feelings had left me. All that was left was my raw intentions and my desire to say what I had to.

"Prim, listen. 

"The other day, when the Capitol bombed District 13, you were back getting Buttercup. Katniss went after you, and I was just behind her. And as you came through those doors with Gale, I realised that I couldn't live to see you die, and that you were so much more to me than a friend, or even a best friend. Prim, you might not feel the same, but I love you. And I need to tell you that, because I need you to know, because you could be hurt or. . . or. ." I trailed off, my strength lost.

As Prim's expression still stayed surprised, my heart sank. I suppose that it was more important that at least she knew, but a tiny part of me had been hoping that she would respond the same way, and that she would love me back.

My expression must've been crestfallen, because Prim spoke immediately, her voice filled with softness.

"Rory, please don't be upset. I'm sorry, I'm just very surprised that. . well-"

"That I feel that way. And you don't." I said, my voice saddened as I pulled away.

"No, no, not that at all," She said, a smile spreading across her features, as she gripped my arms. "I'm surprised that you feel the same way. I love you too, Rory. For a while, I've thought I was the only one."

Then it was my turn to be surprised. Prim felt the same way. She loved me. We loved each other.

Our joy was immediate. I was the one that leant down, but Prim was the one that kissed me. It was full of joy, and softness and sweetness. We pulled apart and looked at each other, beams on our faces.

"Well, Rory, if you'll excuse me, now I really need to go!" Prim laughed.

I laughed too, and said goodbye and that I loved her, giving her a last, long and lingering kiss.

I should've stayed longer. I should've waved. I should've come with her, protected her, just done something.

In my happiness, I'd forgotten the silent threats lying overhead, quietly promising death.

And then it was too late. I saw her blow up on live television. I saw my Prim die, lost forever.

I let Prim go. She'll never come back to me.

She'll never cheerily say good morning to me.

Never walk by my side.

Tease me for being sensitive.

Smile brightly at me as we part.

Laugh at Posy's little jokes.

Her light and warmth is gone.

Forever.

And it was all my fault.

[twignotstick]

TMNT: SECOND SHOT - Arc 1, Chapter 6: Pursuit of Progress 🌇

<- Chapter 5: Old Wounds 🩸

Warnings (if there's anything I should add here, tell me please!): mention & threats of violence

Words: 3,396

Summary: April finally befriends Cassie. Old friends reunite. Things are going perfectly.

----------------------

April had been standing still for much too long. She probably looked like a lunatic, rocking on her heels and glancing over at a bench 30 feet away.

But she was there, and April couldn't build the courage to get any closer.

Cassie was wearing a red bomber jacket, with white fluff lining the inside and collar. Her chemical bleached black jeans had a couple scuffs on them, along with some ridiculously impractical straps and pockets. Her Doc Martens were tapping on the floor. The clunkiest red and gray headphones were mounted on her head and plugged into the phone in her hand.

Irma and CJ had spent 2 actual hours hyping April up for this. Irma kept promising that Cassie really wanted to spend time with her, jabbing CJ's shoulder with her elbow for some reason. All that hyping, and yet, April still wanted to turn around and run. It was really happening.

She was going on a (albeit, impromptu) date with Cassie Casey Jones.

Not a romantic date, by any means. Cassie would probably vomit at that idea, April thought.

Imagining the worst case scenario (one in which Cassie doesn't, in fact, recognize her, and she has to walk away with shame), April takes the biggest breath she can hold in her lungs and walks forward. Following the winding park sidewalk, she gets closer and closer to the girl who she's been swooning over for over 2 years. The girl who she's wanted to gush over every living second of the day. The girl that made her feel like she was fighting gravity.

She stopped at the corner of the bench. Cassie was engrossed in whatever she was looking at on her phone for an uncomfortable minute, then realized the feet standing just a few feet away and yanked her headphones down around her neck.

Their eyes finally met.

April felt like she might die, maybe just because all the blood in her body was gushing to her brain.

Maybe because this was it.

Her eyes were a million times prettier up close. They looked dark from a distance, but they were magnetic now. Flecks of grey and brown in the iris. The perfect ratio of sclera/iris/pupil. She had red eyeliner on her lower eyelid and subtle black eyeshadow on the upper, tying her outfit together perfectly.

They stared at each other for just a bit too long, waiting to see who would act first.

April caved.

“...hi-” she rasped, coughing to get rid of the phlegm in her throat.

Cassie snorted. “Hi? Are you okay?” Her voice sounded like a perfect choir of angels and songbirds, yet had a harsh scratchiness to it.

April laughed a bit, trying to ignore the moisture on her sides. “Yeah, I-I'm fine,” she assured, voice still shaky.

“Good, I guess?” Cassie said, smiling widely. There was a perfect pink shade on her cheeks.

Wait, pink? The only time her cheeks were pink was when she was working out. Her skin was almost always perfectly fair. Why now?

“What are you doing out here?” Cassie questioned.

“Oh,” April squeaked, swallowing thickly. “So, Irma got her phone, like, totally smashed, and like-” her fingers were pointing and flailing wildly- “she had to drive out really far to get somewhere that could fix it-” should she really be taking this many breaths in a single sentence?- “so she couldn't get out here to meet you, and she's stuck in traffic, and so she asked me to come out and meet you and tell you that.”

After a second of stillness, Cassie laughed again. Wow, that is a good laugh. “Well, that explains why she's been ignoring my barrage of texts. I was startin’ to think she'd died or somethin’.”

April rubbed the back of her neck, quickly aborting that action when she remembered her sweatiness. “Yep, not- not dead. Just a dead phone. But she, uh, told me about what you guys wanted to do today? And I got the animal feed you guys talked about- if you just want to take it, that's totally chill.”

Cassie blinked in response, then her face got even pinker. “Do… Do you want to go feed the birds with me?”

“ONLY IF YOU WANT ME TO-” April yelped, holding her hands out, one holding the bag of aforementioned feed. “I can, like, totally leave, I know this was supposed to be you guys' like, ‘girls day'-”

“I'd love that, April!”

Her name, said by that incredible voice.

And so excitedly, too?

Maybe Irma wasn't lying.

Cassie stood up from the bench with energy, shoving her phone in her jacket pocket. She shot her hand out, fingers spread. April looked, stunned.

“I, uh,” Cassie fumbled, messing with her headphones’ cord, “I don't think we've properly met, actually. I'm Cassie Casey Jones, not Cassandra, it's either Cassie, Casey, or Cassie Casey Jones. No other options.” She sucked in a breath after the monologue.

April looked at the hand presented to her. Touching her hand. I didn't think I'd get that far. Frantically, she rubbed the sweat off of her own hand on her pants and grabbed Cassie's. “W-well, I'm April. But you already knew that. Or April O'Neil. Either works. Or Apes, CJ calls me that sometimes. Irma calls me Roja too. I'm open to nicknames, I guess,” she laughed awkwardly.

“‘Roja’?” Cassie questioned, letting go of her hand. (One question answered.) “Like ‘Red’? That's so cute, I'm stealing that.”

Cute. She just called you cute, SAY SOMETHING!

“Yeah, guess it's that Hispanic razzle-dazzle, y'know?”

…why did you say anything.

Cassie laughed again. So genuinely. “Yeah, I guess,” she agreed, smiling. “You know, she calls me ‘Enojada’ sometimes.”

“Isn't that just… ‘annoyed’?”

“THAT'S WHAT I SAID!” Cassie shouted, holding her arms out. “I have so many other intriguing aspects to my personality, and she just calls me ‘the angry one’?? What kinda friend DOES that?!”

“The same kind that calls their roommate a color, I guess.”

“I GUESS!” Cassie snickered, beginning their walk forward. April followed at her side, making sure to keep up pace, laughing along.

The girls cruised along the sidewalk, throwing various anecdotes and comments at each other. They never actually talked about one another; that would be preposterous. No one just talks about the fact that they've been obsessing over someone else to that someone.

Oh, but how she wished she could.

----------------------

Barton Axum stood in front of the door, knocking evenly, regardless of the fact that he had already rung the doorbell. He knew that Baxter was inside. He wanted to be sure that Baxter would open the door. Just to see the shock on his face.

It was even better than he was hoping.

“What are you doing here?” Baxter interrogated. His eyes were empty and tired. Something had been haunting this man.

Axum knew just what.

“You know why I'm here, Doctor,” Axum said, holding a tall and dominating posture, but slipping into a smile. “Our project is coming off hiatus! I cannot just continue our work without consulting my collaborator and confidant, Dr. Stockman.”

Stockman's eyes held shock for a moment, almost unnoticeable, then fell into frustration and faux confusion. “What are you talking about, Barry? I told you that I never want to-”

“Oh Doctor, please!” Axum barked, shoving his way inside. “We must maintain a level of professionalism in this working environment! And goodness, do we have work to do.”

Stockman shut the door with a huff and followed as the estranged man sauntered through his own home like he owned it. Axum's white lab coat floated loosely behind him, and his coarse hair was pulled back in a tight half up-half down style.

“Fortunately for us,” Axum continued, “I have been hard at work refining my mutagen for over a decade, so perfecting them should be simple. After we get rid of that prototype, of course…”

“What are you talking about?” Baxter begged, still holding up his charade. “Why couldn't you just keep one promise? You shouldn't be-”

“Stockman, your Mouser network has been under my eyes for years,” Axum hissed, stopping abruptly in the doorframe of Baxter's office. “It's quite impressive work. I never thought you'd stoop so low as to send them after an innocent child, but perhaps you've changed…”

The tired man almost lost his balance.

Taking the man's faltering confidence as an opportunity, Axum stepped further into the office and approached the computer. “They're incredible as drones. Easy to maneuver, even easier to put an A.I. into, you really outdid yourself, Doctor!” Axum sat in the office chair, rolling around to face the awestruck man behind him. “But, perhaps we could revive their initial intended purpose?”

Axum knew what the Mousers were supposed to be. Exterminators. To get rid of New York's disgusting rat problem. Stockman only whispered wistfully about the plans and schematics back when they still knew each other.

The reason for the project's change in direction was somewhat obvious, and hilariously ironic.

“What do you want with them?” Stockman asked, shakily. He looked on the verge of supporting himself on the doorframe. His eyes were shattered.

“I want to complete them, Doctor.” Axum crossed his legs and puffed out his chest. “It's obvious from what your little bots have surveyed that their mutation wasn't fully effective, just as I initially assumed it wouldn't be. The refined mutagen I have tirelessly crafted for years will make them perfect.”

“They don't deserve any of this!” Baxter cried. “They're living, and they're completely fine as they are!”

“Don't deserve what?” Axum asked coldly, raising a brow. “A purpose? A reason for their broken existence?”

“We don't know what your ‘refined mutagen’ will even do to them! You could kill them, or make them monsters!”

“THEY WERE MONSTERS TO BEGIN WITH!” The chair flew backwards into the desk as Axum stood up. He breathed heavily, calming himself down from his outburst. As he took one more heavy inhale, he sat down once more. “It is our decision what they will be, and I have decided that they must be perfect.”

“That's all you ever wanted, isn't it?”

Axum laughed. “What could be better?”

He had worked so hard. For years. His master kept forcing him onto new projects. New distractions, he thought. But now, they were here. Alive. Incomplete, of course, but Axum took pride in fixing his mistakes.

This opportunity would not be squandered.

He turned to face the computer, sticking a USB into a port quickly. Stockman bolted over, but Axum stopped him before he could interrupt the process. 

“What are you doing?!”

“Making it easier for us to retrieve them, of course!”

Multiple windows opened and closed on the screen, eventually ending on the Mouser interface. The scene displayed almost brought tears to Axum's eyes.

The largest turtle was laying down, likely exhausted after endless hours of pacing. The second largest was sitting close to the smallest, both leaning against the largest's side. They always seemed to be close. The second smallest was beside the rat, having a conversation, with a purple soft cooler in its hands.

All of them. Gathered in one place. It was almost funny.

The windows closed, and the computer shut down.

“...what was that?”

Axum giggled. “To put it simply, I took control of your Mousers.” Axum walked toward the office door, brushing past Stockman's shoulder and aghast expression. “To put it properly… the bots will have them in a matter of minutes. Regardless of how much blood needs to be spilt.”

Axum waited for any sound behind him. Rage. Fear. Disappointment. None of it came.

He heard Stockman's shuffling feet and started running.

The chase down the hall should have been expected, but Stockman's sudden speed was off-putting. Axum couldn't look back, for fear of losing any ground he had over the delirious man.

“You can't kill progress, Baxter!” Axum screamed as he shoved open the front door and rushed into the street. “You planted a seed that day, and I will nurse it to grow! I will finish what you started! I WILL MAKE THEM PERFECT!”

As he stood on the street, arms outstretched, his loyal drones came down to him. Two robots, both moderately sized, designed to be his personal advisors.

They doubled as escape tools, but that was another topic.

As the drones shifted their forms, they became wicked wings that lifted Axum into the sky. Stockman watched from the ground in awe and horror.

“Come to the lab!” Axum offered, grinning madly as he ascended. “I'll even let you do the honors of squashing that pesky failure!”

After the sound of Axum's machines faded away like the fading sunlight, Baxter finally caught his breath. His lightheadedness threatened to overtake him, but he stumbled back to his porch instead of falling to the ground. He analyzed every possible option.

Those monsters were going to either die, or become the most terrifying weapons known to man. All because he couldn't let go of his own stupid paranoia.

Justified stupid paranoia, as it turned out.

His best friend, his worst enemy, abusing his masterpiece.

And Axum reveled in his fear.

The rodent couldn't hide anymore.

----------------------

“So, you've been playing since you were 5?”

“Yep! I grew up out on the ice!” Cassie said, leaning further back on the bench where she sat next to April.

“Wow.” April leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I've never played any sports outside of P.E. Well, other than softball in middle school, but that's-” April mumbled a bit.

“It's fun! You should totally come out to the rink with me! I could teach you how to play,” Cassie offered.

April was amazed. Somehow, this date- no, just a friendly meet-up, that's what this was- had gone a million times better than she could have ever imagined. They actually hit it off! Talking about classes, living in New York, about what they liked to do, it was incredible! And Cassie was even more amazing after getting to know her.

Of course, the good couldn't last.

“O'NEIL!!”

April sat up quickly to face the man running toward their bench, wearing a sweater vest and brown slacks.

“Dr. Stockman?”

Stockman firmly grabbed April's shoulder when he finally reached her, causing her to flinch. “O'Neil, I need to speak with you, now.”

“Hey,” Cassie said, standing up to face the man, “I don't know what you think you're doing, but you need to back off.”

Stockman's eyes stayed locked on April's. “Please, April. I need your help.”

“Wh…what do you-”

“They need your help,” Stockman whispered.

April's eyes widened, taking mental note of the fear and desperation in Stockman's eyes and voice. The man was begging, pleading.

They?

“Did you not hear me?!” Cassie shouted. “I said, BACK. OFF-”

“I'm so sorry, Cassie, I have to go,” April blurted, standing up abruptly. “I'll see you around?”

Cassie recoiled slightly. “Uh… s-sure?”

April turned back to Stockman and nodded, jogging off at his side. Leaving Cassie alone.

“Wait, I never got your-!”

Cassie slumped in defeat, watching the girl she had just fallen deeper in love with run away again.

“...number.”

----------------------

“You MADE THEM?!”

“I TOLD YOU ITS COMPLICATED! YES, I MADE THEM!” Stockman clutched tighter on his steering wheel, hunching his shoulders. “Well, not JUST me,” he admitted, “me and my partner, Barton Axum.”

“Barton- what?” April was struggling to divide her focus, texting CJ frantically while also absorbing the absolutely insane story coming from Stockman's mouth.

He made them.

“We designed them as super soldiers. They were bioengineered to have human sentience when they hatched- at least, that was the goal. We experimented on Splinter beforehand, though he was already almost fully grown, so the mutation didn't develop how we wanted.”

“Splinter?”

Stockman's lip formed a tight line. “Th-the rat. He was a prototype. I was supposed to dispose of him, but he- he fought back. The lab was destroyed, we thought they were-”

“Waitwaitwait, ‘dispose of him’?” April interjected. “This is a lot of crazy talk, Doc. If you tried to kill him, why do you want to protect them now? From what?”

“Axum,” Stockman pressed sternly. “Barry wants to resume the project. To complete their mutation.” Stockman took a second to breathe deeply and shake his head. “If Axum is able to do what he wishes, he will create monstrous supermutant soldiers capable of taking down entire armies single-handedly.”

April stared into the side of Stockman's face, mouth agape. The turtles, the ones who had only shown themselves to be a happy family scraping by together, had the ability to become war machines. Cute and vulnerable Tiny. Clever and cunning Wit. Rough yet sensitive Spiky. Caring and protective Old Navy.

It sounded impossible.

“And how do I know you aren't working with him?” April questioned. “That I'm not just leading you to them so you can ‘resume’ your ‘project’?”

Stockman stayed silent for a minute or so, waiting until they reached a red light. Then, he breathed deeply, turned to face April with a broken expression, and spoke. “I have already played God, O'Neil. That is a terrible game that you cannot win. I had hoped that they had died without my involvement, so I could live without knowing I destroyed the humanity I created.”

As Stockman took another shaky breath, April only stared discerningly. “My only wish,” he resumed, “is to save what little humanity Barry has left.”

April, still grappling with distrust in her gut, settled with that answer. If something went wrong, CJ would be there to witness it. She resumed giving the instructions necessary to reach the nearest sewer entrance to the mutants’ home.

Arriving at the alleyway where CJ stood, April and Stockman jogged up. He had a small bag slung over his shoulder, and held a baseball bat in one hand and a hockey stick in the other. “Finally,” he sighed, “I was starting to freak out… wait, is that Professor Stockman? From RateMyProfessor?”

“Well, I see my reputation precedes me-”

“Oh boy, let's keep chit-chatting about our careers, MUTANTS IN DANGER!!” April screamed, gesturing wildly and wrenching the bat out of CJ's hand before running over to rip up the manhole cover.

The trio hopped down quickly, catching CJ up on the little details as they went. The entrance wasn't on top of the mutants’ hideout by any means; they still had a way to run.

They didn't know if there would be enough time.

There wouldn't.

April rounded the final corner, only to feel a sudden weight hit her chest and send her flying backwards to the floor. All of her effort went into keeping her head from smashing against the floor, so she could barely register the metal thing stomping on her ribs and snapping its metal jaws in her face.

The robot was small, maybe only the size of a cat. It had two heavy feet, and a comically large head with jagged metal “teeth”. A single red light served as its eye.

The bot trilled aggressively in April's face. Before it could close its maw on her skull, a THWACK from CJ's hockey stick sent it flying into the far sewer wall in a shower of sparks.

April heaved a sigh of relief. “Thanks, CJ.”

“Anytime, don't sweat it.”

“...oh no…”

Stockman's shaking voice ripped April and CJ from their small moment of solace. As CJ lifted the redhead from the ground, they both turned to see the sight that Stockman beheld.

More motionless, sparking robot bodies littered the tunnel. At least two dozen, maybe more. It was hard to tell with some of the bodies. Each of them were in varying states of destruction, from simply ripped apart to completely smashed. Only a few of their red eyes still flickered. But the robots, however strange and new they may have been, were not what concerned the humans.

Clear signs of a struggle were plastered everywhere. Scratches on the floor and walls, reminiscent of those slashes that Wit used to leave by Murakami's fence. Divots and dents in the bricks, in the concrete.

Blood splattered on the floor and walls.

In the fangs of the robots.

And no sign of a single living soul.

A purple soft cooler, sitting unzipped and purposeless against the wall.

“...we're too late.”

○●○●○●○

:)

me when i make a major villain's name a joke: heheehe 🤓

Chapter 7: An Act of Creation 🎭 ->

[veetyuh]

More unhinged Sealand rambling because it won't get outta my brain shut up shut uppppp

Thinking again about how the Bates originally weren't serious about Sealand being considered a sovereign entity, Roy just wanted to gift Joan her own island as a romantic gesture. They never asked to be taken seriously, but ironically, one (1) party took it very seriously and that was England.

Yandere shit aside, it's almost comical? A family of four and their cat want to rename Roughs as Sealand and give it a flag, to make Joan a princess. 🥰 and the immediate response of the English government was starving them, suing them, death threats, a bombing attempt, so on.

Imagine me declaring my room VityaLand and immediately getting swatted by the United States government, but like, actually, though.

Of course, after being treated like a hostile foreign nation by the mainland, they started carrying themselves as a nation, but that was largely because England forced them into that role.

I know there are tons of ways to interpret history, but making Sealand's canon character rely so heavily on begging for others to recognize him bothers me... because they don't actually ask that, and irl the only one who has ever considered it a real nation has been England (even if only as a means to an end of getting Roughs back).

Arthur, at his wit's fucking end. Just lost Rhodesia, the empire has been crumbling all around him, he's losing control of everything he once had and now he can't even keep his own kid brother because some lunatic war veteran is keeping him for an illegal radio station. Suuuuuuurrree Arthur abandoned him to begin with but that was a mistake! And seeing them rename Roughs? His brother, HIS TERRITORY, IN HIS OWN BACK YARD? Unhinged. James Nortington moment.

". . . We are to fire on our own ship, sir?"

"I'd rather see her at the bottom of the ocean than in the hands of a pirate."

Except: Okay lads, scramble the bomber jets.

[radicalrobot]

Uzi would be an absolute lunatic with redstone. She'd build one of those TNT bomber planes and send it STRAIGHT to V's base

the main trio playing Minecraft would be like

V: Why is the server lagging so much?? I'm TRYING to enslave these villagers

Uzi: Ugh I don't know, my dad must be streaming or something

N: *breeding hundreds of wolves* Yeah probably!