#a professional violent little shit

[lyledebeast]

I've just realized that the kid playing Haley Joel Osment's bully in The Sixth Sense is the same kid who plays Nathan Fucking Martin in The Patriot.

Isn't rewatching old movies fun? I hate it!

[bitchy-peachy]

I really wish that antis stopped using real life sa victims in their shit especially since they tell real life sa victims that we deserved our assaults cos we all handle our trauma differently.

[floralscented]

dean winchester x angel!reader — innocence is a virtue.

or, how on earth is he supposed to corrupt you? you? or, dean's newest passenger princess is killing him slowly and violently.

cw, fluff but with sexual elements. mostly fluffy though. reckless driving DO NOTTT do this!! professionals only!! dirty minded!dean. honestly just horny!dean really. innuendos galore.

word count : 2.9k

notes, guys can i be so honest i have not even gotten to the seasons where angels come into spn. this is all based on the lil bits n pieces i know of the future stuff ok. ik i'm a fraud but BE GENTLE IF IT'S OOC OR ANYTHING < /3

req. by anon & in honor of kas's dean & angel fics bc i LOVEEE them

★ ˚⋆

dean, honestly, had never met someone quite like you. when he'd told cas in passing that he was about the most naive, innocent thing he'd ever met, all he did was give him one of those looks he reserved only for dean. he thought, then, that it was just because he was being a bit of a shithead, and cas was telling him without telling him so.

very quickly, he found out how wrong he was about both of his assessments.

the day you came down to earth and graced everyone, literally, with your presence, dean was smitten. never before had he met someone so sweet. so honestly pure. until you, he thought that purity was nothing but an ideology based on impossible feats. a pipe dream and a half for the faithful. no, the reality was that he just hadn't met you yet.

sam was pouring himself into research, too focused to realize that dean was all but whittling away in his starvation, so when he offered to go grab some cheap shit from the diner a few minutes from the motel, all he got in response was a mumble of agreement and a wave of his hand from him.

but you, who'd been sitting on the motel bed, stiff as if you had something stuck up your ass holding you in place, turned to him and asked to come with. that struck dean off kilter immediately, because he hadn't been asked for anything in a long ass while. sam just usually assumed he'd be writing shotgun wherever they went. john — no, he'd never ask his son anything, usually buried that sentiment in harsh demands and orders. cas asked him lots of questions, but permission was not often one of them.

and when he looked at you, read over your features and saw the genuineness in your wide, expectant eyes... god, how could he say no?

so you sat there in the passenger seat. dean had to buckle you in with a joke that flew right over your head — another joke you would not get, even though he was fucking killing it with them right now — about not wanting to send you flying if they got into a wreck.

you proceeded to unbuckle and buckle and unbuckle again a few times, seemingly fascinated with the click of the mechanism. dean wanted to be annoyed. genuinely. if sam had started pulling this shit, dean would have pulled over and drove a few feet ahead as a warning to cut it the fuck out.

but with you, it was adorable in its own right. god, it was! somehow it surprised you, every time it clicked, even if you'd already done it eight times. like, how did anyone expect him to get pissy at you when you were doing those sharp, surprised gasps every few seconds? a few more times and he'd be pulling over to give you something to gasp at, he thought idly.

and then winced, scrunching up his face, when he realized how deep in the gutter his head was. no, he wouldn't touch you. wouldn't even try to plant that idea in your pretty little head.

dean didn't want to corrupt you. if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he wanted to keep that pretty little head as clear as his nose was, alright? he wasn't going to be the one to break you into what this world was, its hardships and its cruelties — and its more deviant pleasures.

but fuck, you made it so hard to keep his head straight.

you did this thing, he realized too, on that silent, clicky drive, where you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth when you were in deep thought. thought about what, fuck if he knew, because if you said something to him in the moments that he watched you do it, he'd never know. he was watching your mouth but not to listen.

dean was about to start reprimanding himself in his head, for what must have been the third time already, when you said something, nearly making him slam on the brakes in his surprise.

"how are you doing this?" you asked, as if that wasn't the vaguest question he'd heard in his entire life.

dean blinked a couple of times as he waited for elaboration that never came. he switched hands on the steering wheel, resting his right loosely over the gearstick. "doing..." he trailed off, shaking his head slowly in a gesture to make you keep talking, "what, exactly?"

you did not catch the hint, and he was probably a fool for expecting you to. it took a few more seconds of you staring very intently at his thighs for you to speak up, and by then, he was fucking squirming in his leather seat, trying to not let it get to either of his heads that you were so blatantly staring at his dick.

"this," you answered, twinges of frustration evident in your tone. he couldn't blame you. he was getting frustrated in this car ride, too. "making it move."

christ. he was going to hell. he was going to hell again, this time because of his own drifting thoughts.

"you're gonna have to be a little more clear, dove," he managed through his teeth, voice strained, "'cause i don't think we are on the same train of thought right now."

another blink, and another few seconds pass. your hand shot up in his direction and he flinched, honestly flinched, convinced from the filthy thoughts circling in his head that you were about to grab him by the—

"this," you repeated, and he almost bristled at the attitude, almost told you off about virtues or whatever, when he finally got it. your arm stuck out in gesture to his legs, which pushed the gas pedal and rested against the doorframe, as he drove.

dean closed his eyes briefly, metaphorically swapping his metaphorical wrist for his headspace. he was not, was not, the person that should be introducing you to this world.

dean shifted again, bringing his left leg closer to the leather seat as he readjusted into more of a comfortable position. he hadn't even realized how tense he'd gotten on this short car ride until now. he was as straight backed as you were, and breathing just as slow. "driving?" he asked anyways, like an idiot.

"driving..." you repeated, like the word was as fascinating to you as the process was. "how?"

the diner sign was right there. it was teal and glowed, retro in style, announcing benny's bistro as open.

he drove past it.

dean knew that you did not sign up for a driver's ed course with him with your question, knew even more that he was risking his baby for a pathetic attempt at flirting with someone who did not even know the definition of the word, but to hell with it. you'd asked to come along with him, and therefore placed yourself in his hands for his guidance. the least he could do was make some sort of effort, couldn't he?

"c'mere," he grumbled once he'd pulled baby off into an unassuming back road, parking it dead in the center. you'd need all the open space. he patted his spread thighs a couple of times.

your stupidly pretty pink lips sucked into your stupidly straight teeth. fuck. "why?"

"just—" he cut himself off when he realized he was about to get snippy. you didn't deserve snippy. he was just hungry and horny and you were pretty and he was...

he was pathetic. looking for reasons to get you into his lap. he'd already been to hell, what are they gonna do, drag him back by his ear?

"just do it," dean finished on a sigh, his hand dropping to the front of his leather seat, grabbing the handle and shoving the seat back as far as it could go. there you were, staring at his dick again, making him feel hotter and more bothered.

he felt his heart stop solidly in his chest when you started to climb over the middle console, so oblivious to the faceful of ass he was getting. dean was practically praying to god at that point. he knew he'd been a shit until then, and definitely a sinner by every means, but if he could grant him a little fucking strength—

you plopped your happy little ass right between his muscular, jean-clad thighs. you were warm, was his first thought. he was screwed, was his second.

"what now?" you asked him, that innocent lilt to your voice as you did, and he felt like a dirty little freak for wanting to bend you over the steering wheel moments before ( who was he kidding? for still wanting to bend you over the steering wheel ).

dean took both of your hands and placed them on the steering wheel. once he'd closed your fingers around the wheel, he dropped his hands to your thighs.

"this one," he patted the left one, and nearly went molten behind you, when you lifted that thigh and placed it on his palm. "nuh uh," he tried to lightly correct, "this one you don't use. jus' keep it out of the way." dean's voice was strained in his ears, in his throat.

you slipped your thigh out of his grasp, pressing it up against the inner of his own thigh, your foot tucked around his ankle. you were so trusting and compliant. he was so, so screwed, and so, so awful for thinking about breaking that sweet naivety.

"this one," he said, patting your right thigh, and when you didn't move it this time, he smiled, just a little, to himself. "you use to make it move."

the flush on your cheeks that followed his tease was so damn pretty it took his breath away.

he lifted his leg, not able to reach the pedals with you sat between them and his seat all the way back. he pointed his boot at the left pedal, knowing you were watching each of his movements intently. "that's the stop pedal. push it down to stop." he repeated the process he'd done with your legs, boot pointing at the right pedal as he explained it. "that's the ignition."

pause.

"that's the go," he corrected, sparing you any momentary confusion and any more questions, he hoped. dean could not keep sitting here idle with you between his legs. "makes the car drive. harder you push, faster it goes."

hell, hell, hell. he wasn't going to hell, because he was already in it, strung up and burning.

"i'll handle the gears," he added quickly, when he caught your head turning downward to the shift stick. "don't wanna overwhelm that pretty little head of yours, dove, with too much at once."

dean rested his right hand on the gear stick, his left hand gripping the handle on the driver's door for dear life. he needed the support; you were driving him up a wall with his claws out, and you were about to be driving him. driving his baby. it took a lot of coaxing from sam for dean to let sam behind the wheel. all you did was ask how do you make it move? and he was letting you drive.

you. who did not even know what a car was. who was learning how to drive literally that moment.

god help him. he'd prayed more in this fifteen minute drive than he had in years.

you pressed down on the gas pedal, and the car revved all pretty and loud. dean watched with bated breath as the response to your efforts registered in your head, the way your eyes lit up in that curious glimmer, the fucking teeth biting on your lip.

once you let up, he pushed on the gear stick's release, and tugged it down from park to drive. the car slowly began to move down the dirt path.

you slammed the brakes so hard that his head knocked into the back of your shoulders. "fuck, dove, gentle."

and you were, when you shifted your foot over to the gas pedal again. you pushed it down on it tentatively, the car starting to glide down the dirt road, the sound of pebbles grinding beneath the tires.

"better," he mumbled in your ear, leant forward to keep his eyes on the windshield. it's not that he didn't trust you, he just... yeah, he didn't trust you. "just like that, dove."

the praise, though, goes in one ear and out the other, because the gentle ease of baby's tires along the road is interrupted by you slamming the gas. the tires squeal. clouds of dirt and dust puff out from behind the car as it takes off.

dean's heart went from in his ass to in his throat in a manner of a second. "whoa, whoa, whoa!" he exclaimed, a nervous laughter bubbling out of his throat. "slower, slower, will ya? crashin' in the middle of nowhere is the last—"

you hit the brakes again, still hard but less this time. just enough to send his head knocking into your shoulder again as the car slowed.

slowed, but still headed toward the ditch. "right, see your hands?" he asked, chin nuzzling into the plush spot between your neck and your shoulder so he could see better. "twist 'em. nice n' gentle for me, to your left, yeah, good girl. makes the whole car move, yeah? jus' keep it on the dirt, not off "

you follow his instructions, and dean feels a swell of pride at this. maybe he should have gone into driver's ed or some shit. he was a good ass teacher.

"like this?" you asked, drawing him out of his self glazing. your voice, soft and hesitant, breathless with your excitement, has his chest heaving.

"yeah, dove, jus' like that," he rasped, his left hand moving from the doorframe to rest where your thigh met your hips. the car kept its slow pace down the long dirt road, and for the first time since you'd gotten your hands on the wheel, his heart doesn't feel like it's pounding in his throat. "no, no, don't stop. keep goin', you're doing so good for me."

his phone starts to buzz in his pocket, and like that, his self indulgent driver's ed lesson comes to a screeching halt. "you jus' keep on going like this, alright?" he asked you, patting your hip with his hand before he reluctantly let go.

he definitely answered the phone with more attitude than necessary. couldn't help it. he was having a great time. "what, sam?"

"everything alright?" sam asked, and then dean felt like a prickhead for giving him shit at all. "s'been thirty minutes."

dean sighed, his eyes lifting again to look out the front windshield. a stop sign was quickly approaching, and you didn't even need his guidance for that. you were slowing to a stop all on your own. he was so fucking proud, it was sick. "all good. long line at the burger place."

it was dead empty, four miles back.

"we'll be back in a few, alright? chew on one of your books or somethin' while you wait, make 'em useful."

"dean—"

he hung up before he could hear sam's sighed response.

his hand fell to your waist again, squeezing lightly to stop you from lifting your foot off of the brake just yet. "play time's over. calvary's callin' us back."

dean pushed the gear stick into park again before he moved both of his hands to your hips, helping guide you back into the passenger seat.

he adjusted the seat again, his hands finding their typical place on the wheel. he did a very illegal u-turn at the four-way intersection and headed back down the road that you'd driven him down.

"have fun?" he asked after a beat, eyes flicking over to see you. you looked so pretty in the orange glow of the sunset, your face lit up in deep gold.

you turned to meet his eyes, and he had to look away quickly, the bright glimmer of adrenaline in them knocking all the wind out of him. "yes."

"good." dean meant it. there were so few things he'd risk everything for, but that toothy smile of yours jumped to the top of that list.

"dean?" your voice rung out again, earning him another glance your way in acknowledgement. "what part of the car was in my back the whole time?"

dean faltered, eyes blinking in a bout of surprise and lips parting, searching for a response he did not have. his eyes dropped down to his lap for a second, dread and embarrassment pooling like ice water in his stomach at what he hoped wasn't— yeah. yeah, it was.

"i dunno, dove," he mumbled through his teeth, staring straight ahead, fingers tapping on the steering wheel, doing basically anything to not meet that curious look of yours. especially knowing you'd have your lip in your teeth all over again. "might have t'take it to the shop, while we're in town... get it checked out or somethin'..."

he was so damn screwed.

tags, @figthoughts @jasvtsc @titsout4nicholas @deanswidow @deansbite

[ciderjacks]

and actually like does anyone else notice how any other bigoted comment that gets called out is like, something mildly insensitive or close minded, but for a sexist comment to be called out it has to be some dude saying something like "I think all women should go back to being second class citizens also if i could I would murder every bitch i see. males are biologically superior, the only use a female has is being bred to make more men." and even then EVEN THEN its like "yeah this comment is pretty sexist...and worse is it also holds some pretty racist and transphobic implications!" like explain that to me rq. y'all never Layer shit when its any other form of bigotry, you understand that just being racist/homophobic/transphobic/whatever else is already bad on its own.

like im not saying other forms of bigotry are less serious, what im saying is that sexism is the only one you guys let get this bad before even acknowledging it! have the same standards with sexism that you'd have with anything else! if you wouldnt tolerate something if it was about any other marginalized group, why are you tolerating it when its about women??

maybe its because properly acknowledging sexism means having to realize how many things you like are bigoted...How many people you look up to are bigots.

it’s odd how with every other kind of bigotry, when a famous person is called out its usually over like. a few shitty tweets from 2014. But when it comes to misogyny/sexism it’s always like “yeah uh so he sex trafficked multiple underage women, killed his girlfriend, and raped his elderly mother. He’s been openly saying he hates women for years now and his whole platform is about hating women, but we sort of thought it was funny so we didn’t pay attention to it. Oops! He is still sort of funny though haha” And the guy still gets more sympathy than an otherwise harmless celeb who made a homophobic joke on Twitter at age 12.

[hanasnx]

" DON'T BURY THOUGHTS THAT YOU REALLY WANT " — katsuki bakugou.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established coworker relationship ノ sexual and suggestive content: dirty talk ノ degradation: m+f receiving ノ body shame joke.

You’ve known pro-hero DYNAMIGHT for years now, and he just started paying attention to you in ways you notice. Admiring him from afar was easy, but closing in was another matter entirely; working alongside one another got you in the same proximity, and he was forced to acknowledge you. He treated you like any other person he meets, and after studying him, you figured out an in.

Instead of a simple, “I’ll kick your ass!” from him when you’ve pissed him off, you’ve devised your own special language with him. Miraculously, he doesn’t seem to give you the impression you’ve gotten the best of him. Instead, you’re rewarded with hateful but sexual confessions. Now when you piss him off, his and your special brand of understanding and humor have turned a violent warning into a disgusting promise. “I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you.” he tells you.

If anyone was listening in, they’d think you and him have entered some romantic relationship, completely inappropriate to your professional standings. On the contrary, you’ve trained him to speak to you in a way that pleases you without him even knowing. Now your banter with him consists of angry flirting, and he still believes he’s making threats. Out on the battlefield he shamefully critiques your poor choices with something along the lines of, “Was gonna fuck your brains out tonight, but it looks like my job’s already done!”

You wear it proudly. You’ve managed to get the great Katsuki Bakugou to do what you want him to. After a long, arduous process groomed by your consistent schedule with him, spending time together observing him as you work alongside one another, you’ve done it. In place of him calling you a simple idiot, he tells you you’re lucky you’re hot.

A “fight” with him, looks like a horny situationship from the outside, publicly debuting your desire for one another like PDA-obsessed freaks. You delight in it, while he remains oblivious. At least you thought he was. More and more, he leans into this little share of humor you two have going on, wit that leads you into suspicion.

“You look like shit. Maybe if you slept over at my place, I would’ve tired you out enough to get you to bed at a decent time.” Bakugou notes, passing you as if he’d relayed the weather. Brows furrowed, you pivot your head to watch the back of his while he strides on. It’s unusual that he’d phrase it that way, regarding it as opportunistic rather than domineering. You shrug it off under the basis he’s just evolving the jokes, he’s not extending an offer.

The next day isn’t so different, sitting across from him at the table in a meeting you’re both early for. His body language is lax as always, an elbow hooked behind a corner of the chair, his glove at his belt, legs spread far. Taking up as much space as possible, whereas your hands are clasped neatly on the surface in front of you. You can tell he’s reading you, those crimson eyes unapologetically scrutinizing your erect posture and a cruel grin stretches one side of his mouth. Sighing impatiently through your nose, you call him out on being a creep. “What? What’re you lookin’ at, Bakugou? You want me or something?” you call upon that unique sense of sexual humor, hoping to trip him up.

No such luck. He snickers, and leans back in his chair to cross his thick arms across his wide chest. A pose that leaves you gulping, and he visibly notices how your eyes wander for a milisecond. “Whatever guy you’re fucking is doing a shit job because you’re still a bitch with a stick up your ass.” Has he been cooking that up this whole time? He looks mighty pleased with himself.

“Don’t be a pig, Dynamight. Who I’m sleeping with is none of your concern.” you retort, and you’re not beating the bitchy allegations. You stick your nose in the air in spite of yourself, and out of the corner of your eye you can see him teetering on the back legs of his chair. So you peer at him a little more deliberately while you’re faced away. “Unless you want a piece, that is.” A much more subtle flirt, gauging his reaction to such a timid offer.

Meanly, he scoffs. “‘A piece?’” he parrots. “What, a piece? Of that little thing? The fuck am I supposed to do with that, huh? Ass like that you’ll have to work for it.”

“Bakugou!” Somehow, he went a little too far that time. A pang of hurt is uncharacteristic to experience, and yet it twists your heart. You mask it, trying to match his energy in a way you can manage. “Are you just gonna comment on my body or are you gonna do something with it?”

“Oh, I’m gonna do som’thin’ with it, alright. I’m gonna do som’thin’.” A greedy expression shifts his features, eyeing you up like you’re a meal, a prey. Maybe he's catching on to you... And before he can explain and you can rebuke, other heroes enter the meeting room, and all four legs of his chair land with a slam.

@HANASNX 2024 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[evilminji]

Behold! o/ The Face Of Benevolent Evil!

Mr. Principle! A professional hero and educator!

Also possibly some sort of stoat hybrid! Certainly a chimera of Japanese fauna! With the Quirk High Specs, he is one of, if not THE, smartest beings on the planet of which he resides! With a background perfectly justifying a decent into hatred and villiany, he instead chose to channel his incredible world shaking intellect into the shaping of future generations!

He likes to fuck with people!

For FUNSIES~☆!

What can he say? It keeps a man young and mentally stimulated! Plus the hysterical screaming of his staff and students is HILARIOUS. He can even argue it makes for good reaction training! Unforseen situations, children! React!!! *psychotic chortling*

Mmmmm, yes. We all have our trauma responses. Ways we deal with them. He should probably find other means... but he won't! Tea and tormenting the student body make for good future heroes, you know! They adapt!

But! You may ask! Why am I introducing you to this... *polite yet somehow deeply threatening smile* c-completely sane and normal individual!? Esteemed educator that he is! Ha ha...

A good and not at a under threat question!

Villains? Are fuuuuuckin STUPID!

Doesn't matter how many PHDs you possess! In fact! That makes it WORSE! You moron! You absolute fool! No traveling circus would have you, you sub-rate CLOWN of a jingle jangle dunce jester! You have a god damn PHD! Possibly MULTIPLE PHD!

And you thought "ooooh I should go into cwiiiiime~☆"?

Do you hear yourself when you talk? DO YOU?! Ooooh boohoo. They won't let you study what you WANT to study. It's called an ETHICS BOARD. And YEAH, NO SHIT! Maybe get over it and keep you fucked up fantasies to your SELF.

Or? If you REALLY can't hold it in? Lay the ground work like EVERYONE FUCKING ELSE! You're not special! Everyone wants to play god! It's FUN! They let you have the COOL toys! But you have to EARN that shit! Not jump straight from graduation to "fucked up superscience"!

And? If it's NOT the Ethics Board? But just some bureaucrat on a power trip? You don't have to fucking STAY. This? This RIGHT HERE? Is why I-Island fucking EXSISTS.

APPLY.

They are SO MANY countries you could move too. SO MANY other labs. You actual DUMBASS.

But NO! You decided to commit to a fucked up underground Villian Lab. As though HUNTING THOSE isn't the PERSONAL fucking passion project of THE SMARTEST BEING IN JAPAN. Frankly? You deserve this. You deserve this and our school doesn't know you. Never heard of you. You whoms't?

Coulda changed the world. But instead all you did was piss of The Fuzzy White Demon Lord of UA. Rest in pieces. *click*

*sound of doors smashing open*

*violent Raid Upon Your Labs noises*

But! You may ask? What's IN the Lab?

What MAKES this a DP crossover?

I like your question asking spirit! Good one! And the answer? You know what's better then ONE(1) Nedzu? A second one that you can ACTUALLY control this time! After all! You could consider Mr. Principle a prototype. A proof of concept, if you will. If you were able to make ANOTHER.....

Well, you would set off EVERY. SINGLE. ALARM. Nedzu has set up!

All of them!

Because he don't PLAY THAT.

He has long last trauma from the labs and is the SOLE FUCKING SURVIVOR. There WERE others. They Did Not make it. And their slow agonizing deaths are carved into his brain for the rest of his life. Truely "The living shall envy the dead"; it was a place that made hell seem merciful.

When he declare Never Again?

He fucking MEANT Never Again. He will BURN your empires to ash, with you in them. No More Labs.

So :) You can IMAGINE :) HOW HAPPY HE IS :)

That someone out there is trying to RECREATE his SUPER traumatic childhood, on ANOTHER CHILD. Ha ha! Gonna be a second Nedzu huh? Planning to torture HIM like you did me, HUH? Shove him in a cage and treat him like an animal? Force him to watch as the others die? Collars and whips and cattle prods? Mazes?!

Nedzu may lose his shit.

Juuuuust a little bit.

But if anyone there knows what good for them? They saw NOTHING. What's a little PTSD flashback between friends? Now what is the baby?

Smashcut to said baby!

Because it was a TEAM effort, Danny was successful in "Nuh Uh!"ing out of Rulership. But NOT out of governance. Since he DID help. He's a Councilman now. It's? Not as bad as it could be, honestly. Since it's opened the Zone up to a more democratic system.

Still held by "kick the ass of the person you wanna replace" but still!

Babysteps.

Thing is? There was apparently this weird? Leak? Like a couple hundred years ago, in this one area, that was never addressed. Everyone just moved their doors and stuff. Treated it like the floors flooded. But now that they HAVE someone to complain too?

They all want their territories back.

"Go fix it!" What are we? Janitors?

Danny looses the rock, paper, scissors competition. He's pretty sure Boxy cheated. But like? Dude has a kid to go home too, so Danny doesn't fight him to hard on this. Uuuuuugh. Just remember the Spider-Man motto. Great power~ blah blah blaaaah~

And? Wow is it fucked out there.

The whole PLANET has to be limnal as FUCK. Yikes.

Problem is? When he and his team (Because YES, he HAS learned from his mistakes, Jazz.) get close to the... frankly the Zone here looks like distorted spiderwebbing. With him leading the charge, obviously.

....something happens.

It's... it's not a portal. Wrong color. It's like someone USED the weird spiderwebbing effect to... to reach INTO the Zone? But they are severally Limnal. Clawed hands, blue tint. But that's not the problem.

No, the problem.

The Horror.

The thing that his team can only watch on in agonized terror as it plays out... is that hand? It shoots out of nowhere. Ghostlike in the Zone. Meaning it must be living. And PLUNGES directly into Danny's chest to wrap around his core.

Time seems to slow.

He can't even scream in pain. At the violation. His team, acquaintances, yes, but friendly ones. Can not even cry out in horror, as they watch their friend and team lead be butchered before them. Before that uncaring hand is ripping back. Perfect ice and starlight in its uncaring grip.

For a terrible moment... he is in two places at once.

Then he is crushed in a burning grip. Like molten bars. Watching his own body dissolve into nothing in an instant, pain and horror still etched upon his face. The beginnings of screams ripping from his team as they jerk away from the nightmarish threat.

Then he can not think at all.

He... he TRIES. Knows he has been captured. Is certainly not the sort to give up easily. But... he's so tired. His body feels? Weird. Not wrong, per say. It's HIS. But... small and weird. Like he's shape shifted into a new form and hasn't adjusted yet.

....

.......

...........

He's getting really sick of all the goop against his whiskers and in his ears. It feels WEIRD against his fu- WAIT a second... did those assholes shove him into an animal? Why?! To contain him? Ha! Jokes on them! He's DONE THIS before!

For FUN!

He once spent a whole ass summer as a tiny dragon just 'CAUSE!

Unfortunately, said assholes notice him waking up. Dump him in a glorified hamster cage. But like.... a SHITTY "I don't care about the pet I bought" hamster cage. Dude. And he's naked.

Is that Japanese? Ooooh! It IS! Thank you, Tucker's Weeb phase.

......actually, never mind. Lotta dehumanizing language there, my guys. What is this? The GIW international? You couldn't even give me PANTS? Swear to God, call me an "it" ONE more time and the next time I have to go? I am going to aim through the bars at your-! *alarms going off*

....wasn't me.

I mean, be all means, ha ha and get fucked, but? Wasn't me. Oh hey! Some one exploded the doo-

AND? In Lab 4?

Nedzu finds a child with fluffy, ungroomed black and white fur, and the curious yet cautious eyes of a survivor. They are the most magnificent green, pale and luminous they glow in the laboratories lighting. Paws too big for his small frame, delicate ears on the swivel, equally large. Yet to grow into either. Adolescent, at best.

He watches the child take him in. Note his features and the chaos behind him. The injured scientist under his feet. Come to him conclusion. Nedzu will not rush him. Now that he... he stand the chance to be the hero he himself never had. It is a strange feeling. At once cathartic and unbearably painful.

He is given the equivalent of a cheerful grin, as the lad points the the lock on the cage. Is asked if he happened to bring a spare pair of pants. He can not help his amused chortle as he makes quick work of the lock. The unbearable RELIEF he feels.

He... he was not too late.

These monsters had no chance to crush the boy's light. To make a monster of him, like they did with him. He survived his laboratory, his hell. But not all of him left that terrible place. He knows that. Some innocence, some goodness, died alone in the dark. But here? He insured there would be no chance.

With amusement, he watches the boy turn the lab upside down until he finds spare scrubs. Triumphant, he then considers his own, tiny claws. Dismisses them. Attempts to hop up on a chair to retrieve something sharp. It? Is unbearably cute. To watch him rip and shred, problem solve. His little mind churning away. Whiskers twitching as his eyes dart around, considering his options.

Nedzu offers one of his spare knives.

Watches him light up.

Adorable~

@legitimatesatanspawn @hdgnj @nerdpoe @babbling-babull @lolottes

[glassartpeasants]

One Piece Asylum AU idea

things are subject to change but here is a little short

~~~~

Characters include: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law, Kidd, and Killer

GN!Reader for the moment

Warnings: drug use, mentioned death, murder/manslaughter, hallucinations, mental illness's, abuse, medical malpractice, slight gore, depression, made at work, kinda spoilers for Law's and Sanji's backgrounds, i tried my best to incorporate some things from each backstory into this so-,I AM NOT A MENTAL HEALTH PROFESSIONAL SO I DO NOT KNOW IF THESE COULD BE ACCURATE

~~~~

“Patient's name is Monkey D. Luffy. He was brought here by his grandfather after he failed to thrive following the death of his older brother.” Handing you the clipboard, the head psychiatrist looks at you before continuing. “He’s convinced himself he’s a pirate and trying to become ‘King of the Pirates’ with his ‘nakama.’ We believe it’s a coping mechanism and trauma response to witnessing his brother's murder.”

Looking through the pages, you read the test and charts. Upon seeing a particular line, you raise a brow. “Believes he’s made of rubber?”

“Ah, yes. It’s part of the world he’s built in his head. He thinks that things will bounce off him and that he can’t get hurt if he falls from heights. It’s caused multiple bruises and broken bones. One includes the broken femur he just recovered from. He’s a high fall risk due to these delusions.”

“That’s so sad. Creating a whole world just to escape the grief. I can’t imagine the pain of watching a loved one die in such a horrific manner.”

“Surprisingly, this pirate world is common in this hospital. Don’t know if it’s Luffy’s influence or if it’s a common escape method that hasn’t been fully researched yet. But it is a very regular delusion in here.”

“There’s more…pirates?”

“Yes. Three crews, to be exact. At least for now. Luffy’s charmed his way into a few other patients' minds and convinced them to ‘join his crew.’”

“Really? Who are they?”

“There's a lot. Are you sure you want to hear them? It can get pretty disturbing and slightly gut-wrenching. New World Asylum isn’t known for the mild cases.”

A sense of unease fills the pit of your stomach, but the curiosity is too much to endure. “I’m sure.” Nodding, the head psychiatrist leads you to a big hallway. The doors are thick metal with name plates on each surface. As you approached the dark, eerie hallway, it felt like a horror movie.

The head psychiatrist hands you a pen and a small notepad. “Take notes, rookie. If you want to survive, I suggest writing down as many notes as possible.”

“After Luffy, we have Rorona Zoro. Brought here by police after a welfare check discovered he was living with the decaying body of his lover after he accidentally killed them.”

“What? Why is he here instead of prison?” You question, looking at the psychiatrist with furrowed brows.

“It was an accident. He used to collect swords and practice swordsmanship, which had him collecting a total of 3 swords. One of them accidentally killed his lover when they sneaked up behind him when he was drunk, spooking him. He killed them instantly, thankfully, slicing them in half. In his despair, he kept the body with him for two weeks. His boss was the one to call the cops to check up on them since he hadn’t left the apartment or contacted anyone in the said two weeks.”

“That's so sad, but…that still doesn’t explain why he isn’t in prison?”

“After the death, he continued to speak to them like they were alive, and when the cops tried to separate him from the body, he flipped his shit. It turned into a standoff that lasted about four hours before they finally managed to take him down. Often gets aggressive and has violent outbursts when he has moments of ‘clarity’ and ‘can’t find them.’”

“Oh…”

“He’s part of Luffy’s ‘Straw Hat Pirates.’ From our observed behaviors, he seems to be the second in command. He now claims to be striving to be the best swordsman for his deceased lover.” Writing down the minor notes that you could, you continue to follow.

“Next up, Vinsmoke Sanji. After suffering years of abuse that he refuses to speak about, he attacked them ruthlessly. The only one surviving of the massacre was his older sister, who he deems ‘free of retribution.’ They counted him unfit to stand trial and sent him here. According to Luffy, he’s the cook for his crew. As far as we know, he’s never stepped foot in the facilities kitchen.”

Remaining speechless, you follow and try to calm down how your mind seems to run at a million miles per minute. How many people did this place have that believed they were pirates? Was this all Luffy’s doing? Influencing people into believing his world?

“Trafalgar Water D. Law. A raging wildfire took out his entire town overnight when he slept as a child. He has it in his mind that the government did it to hide the fact they were experimenting on them. A man adopted him only to witness his murder after his adoptive father got into an argument with a family member.” Your heart burned as you listen to the recounting of his story. Losing your whole world overnight twice sounded like hell.

“The next thirteen years seemed to go by quickly and relatively calmly. He’d gotten his medical degree to be a surgeon. He was known far and wide as a great doctor. It wasn’t until people began to find out that he'd been secretly experimenting on people. Trying to find a cure for an unknown disease that he claims killed his family.”

“The one that he blamed on the government?” You raised your brow, trying to comprehend what could possibly be going on in the man’s mind.

“Yes. It also came to light that his partner, who was constantly sick, was being poisoned by him. He always fed them a small amount of some drug, so they were too weak to do anything other than depend on him. Just so they couldn’t leave him. And just like almost everyone else, they concluded that he's not in the right mind to stand trial and sent him here.”

Walking past Law’s door, a sense of despair hits you, making goosebumps rise on your skin. You could hear him talking to himself, but what he’s saying was unintelligible. “He talks to his deceased sister a lot. Blames himself for not waking up his family in time to save them from the fire or warn them about the ‘sickness’ they had. When talking to him, don't be spooked if he starts asking you about your upcoming ‘surgery.’ He’s restrained in a jacket like Zoro."

"He’s another victim of Luffy’s influence, as he also now believes he’s part of a pirate group. But this one, he’s the captain of. He calls them the Heart Pirates. Another thing he discusses frequently is Corazon. We have yet to figure out who or what that is.”

“I’ll…keep that in mind.” The pen scribbled relentlessly on the paper, seeming never to stop as words repeatedly filled the small, lined paper.

“Good. Next up is Eustass Kidd.” Moving forward, next to the head psychiatrist, you are shown a door made of even thicker metal than the others along the hallway. There were even twice the number of locks on the door compared to the ones you've seen.

“Why are there so many locks?”

“He’s the most aggressive and hostile. It’s gotten to the point of him being unable to leave his cell and being chained to the back wall-”

“Let me out of here, you stupid-” A scream of pain came from behind the heavy metal door, causing you to rush up and slide open the slot in the door to check up on the man behind it.

“Sir?! Are you okay?!” As you opened the small opening, you were met with orange orbs staring right at you. Firey red hair could be seen from what little light was in the room. For a moment, the air seemed cold, quiet, and uncomfortable.

CLANK

Not a second passed before the man in chains jumped to his feet and rushed at you; the chains holding him back and the door separating you two did little to quell the scream that left your throat as you fell back on your butt. 

“He never learns.” The head psychiatrist sighs before you see her push a button on a small remote in her hand, leading to another scream of agony in the room.

“W-What are you?” Wide-eyed, you look at her.

“Shock therapy. It’s part of his treatments.”

“But hasn’t that been proven to be ineffective?” A stone stare was all you got, and it made you want to shrink and crawl into a hole to hide. Why would she use a technique that has proven ineffective? As punishment? There had to be some sort of explanation. There is no way they would use such primitive methods in this modern day. Unnerved, you slowly stand up, your eyes never leaving her hand.

“Moving on.” Quickly rushing forward, she moves to the final door. Not sparing you or the chained man a second glance.

Looking at the tiny slit in the door, you exhale a silent, “I’m sorry…” Swallowing down your saliva, you move to her side once more. What once was a calm introduction now felt wrong. The coldness of her actions shows a dark side that makes you want to run far, far away. What could he have done to get here and be treated like some sort of animal?

“What did he do that caused such treatment?”

“He was in a rock band, but there was an accident at a bar where he must have taken some substances that caused a manic episode. Whether it was knowingly or unknowingly is not charted. However, the episode caused some harsh hallucinations, which resulted in him running into oncoming traffic and getting hit by a car. The aftermath was multiple surgeries and the amputation of his left arm. Once he was awake and saw the damage, he freaked.”

“Freaked? Did they not explain to him what happened?”

“They tried, but from forced brain scans and multiple behavior therapists later, it was revealed that the accident had knocked some screws loose. Putting him in an eternal warped state of mind. A constant state of psychosis in a better term. No amount of medication has helped him. He’s a lost cause. No doubt he’ll be here for the rest of his life.” Frowning, you follow her to the next and last room in the hallway.

“Last but not least, Killer.”

“Killer?” You look at her in confusion. What kind of name is that? Is she pranking you?

“Yes. He was and still is Eustass Kidd’s best friend and the only person who can calm him down when he’s on a violent rampage after somehow escaping his room.”

“How did he get here then? Was he also in the accident?”

“No. He came a month after Eustass was sent to us. After Eustass’s spiral, he spiraled into his own depression after losing his best friend, and he turned to some drugs to soothe the pain. And just like his friend, he caused irreversible damage to himself after going on a drug stupor after his lover broke it off with him cause he was ‘too depressing to be around.’”

“What did he do?...”

Sparing you only a second glance, the head psychiatrist looked to be holding back a chuckle. “He used a sewing needle to stitch his mouth into a smile before going back to his ex’s house and trying to beg for them to take him back, saying he ‘fixed himself. ‘The cops took one look at him and sent him here.” An icky feeling rose in your gut at her reaction. How could she find something so horrific to be funny?

“That's horrible…it’s so disturbing how fragile the human mind is.”

“It is. Oh, something I forgot to mention is that Luffy’s influence hit them, too. Eustass took his words as a challenge and made his own pirate group, including Killer, called the ‘Kidd Pirates.’”

“How original?”

Stopping suddenly, the lady turns to you. “Now that you know them. It’s time for you to get ready.”

“Ready? Ready for what?”

“Ready to meet your new patients, Dr. (Y/N). I’m sure you’ll love it here at New World Asylum.”

[fruitbasketball]

this is crazy.

this is absolutely fucking nuts.

are you fucking dense. are you genuinely so dense that you look at things like efficiency and turnovers - this girl turns the ball over more than she rebounds btw - and you think that person should be on the olympic team?

first of all, the olympics are not a fucking popularity contest. i don’t GIVE A SHIT that she’s the reason the w is getting views. i couldn’t give a FUCK LESS!!! it’s the OLYMPICS BRO THEY AREN’T FUCKING SHORT ON VIEWS

the discourse regarding this has become nonsensical and frustrating. i am SORRY that your straight white savior is not on the olympic team. i’m sorry that she is objectively NOT the best in a league full of professional basketball players, and that the best people to represent this extremely diverse league are largely queer and black.

i’m sorry that caitlin clark has the IMMENSE privilege to say that she “stays off social media” and that she “doesn’t see” all this stuff. fuck outta my face bro. that’s such bullshit. oh my god that is SUCH FUCKING BULLSHIT.

you sit there, allowing your fans to berate YOUR PEERS with such racially charged language - because, yes, calling black women thugs and classless and violent is fucking RACIST. and i don’t wanna hear shit about how she doesn’t control their actions. obviously not. but do you really think if she denounced them, it wouldn’t ease them off a little bit? or at the VERY least, isolate her from their truly deplorable behavior??

this is a fucking embarrassment. i used to love this sport, but it has become a space entirely polluted by motherfuckers who have no idea what the fuck they’re talking about, and i’m sick of it.

[beifong-brainrot]

Tlok is so weird about abuse, particularly when their female charcters are abusive towards their male characters.

Like Eska's abuse by Bolin was played completely for comedy. Despite him being shown as clearly uncomfortable, and crying on multiple occasions.

This is especially upsetting because Bolin has been shown as being a rather vulnerable individual with trouble setting healthy boundaries and an aversion to saying 'no'. But even when he does actively express his discomfort and attempts to end the relationship, his autonomy is violated and he is literally forcefully engaged to Eska. And we are supposed to laugh.

He is shown to be so traumatised by the experience that he still actively panics when shown even a picture of Eska and is clearly very hurt that Mako didn't offer him more help in the situation. Which is honestly understandable.

Speaking of which, Mako and Korra's relationship in B2 was... troubled to say the least. Now, Korra had a lot on her plate and was rightfully stressed by the events happening. However, it seemed that she often took her stress out on Mako, getting into arguments with him and yelling at him.

She kicked his fucking desk across the room. While Mako may have upset her by going behind her back and ratting her out to Raiko, but this is no way to react. But we are supposed to be annoyed and angry with Mako, and we are meant to see Korra reacting so violently as justified. [While I don't like Mako's actions in B2 he didn't deserve this.]

This is not helped in the slightest after Lin enters the scene, and comments on thw mess, saying that he 'got off easy'. And she implies that she committed even more property damage after Tenzin broke up with her.

Ah, Lin. I think while Korra and Eska's actions toward Mako and Bolin have been called out sometimes, we tend to overlook how fucking horrifying what we're told about Lin's reaction to Tenzin breaking up with her is.

Because, if we think about this for a little, this is a scary situation. Lin is a very strong and physical person who has been shown to be quick to violence. Air Temple Island is Tenzin's home, and the home of multiple Air Acolytes, full of fragile artifacts that we are shown that he values tremendously and for which he feels personally responsible for.

Ans it's honestly hard to believe that Lin didn't know this about Tenzin, since they persumably have known each other for a while. I wouldn't be terribly surprised if she damaged the temple because she knew it would hurt him.

And it's understandable that this wasn't presented as a very morally wrong thing to do, since the 'crazy ex girlfriend' isn't an unpopular trope in comedy, but it is damaging. Since it plays women doing genuinely scary and upsetting things towards men for comedy, therefore making it more difficult to take such behaviour seriously.

But hey, I guess we can kinda pretend that Lin most likely damaging Air Temple Island with earthbending is comparable to egging someone's house or keying their car. So let's let that slide.

Oh yeah, she also abused her position as chief of police in order to try and get rid of a romantic rival.

Which is extremely fucked up, especially with how Lin presents herself as extremely professional and serious about her job, yet she apparently used it to terrorise a woman for 'stealing' her partner. What kind of bunny boiler shit is this.

And all of these scenes presenting Lin as a vengeful, borderline abusive ex to Tenzin are presented as comedic, further driving tlok's most likely unintentional message of normalising female on male abuse. It's not as in your face as Eska's abuse of Bolin, to the point that without the context of Eska and Korra's behaviour, I wouldn't really point Lin out, but with this context, you can't help but consider it.

Once is by chance. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is a pattern.

And I hate to make this argument, but if the genders were reversed in these situations?

If a boy were pressuring a young, emotionally vulnerable girl into marriage, treating her as his slave, manhandling her, getting angry when she speaks to a male friend?

If a young man were to scream at his girlfriend multiple times and go so far as to throw her desk across a room?

If a male policeman implied he caused severe property damage at his ex girlfriend's house after she broke up with him and if he tried to use his status to arrest her new partner? (you know, actually 40% of cops are- *gets shot*)

I feel like we'd have a completely different perspective.

While male on female abuse is still often stigmatised and overlooked, I still think that Eska, Korra and Lin's actions would be scrutinised more closely and reacted to more negatively if they were men. Concurrently, I think we would treat Bolin, Mako and Tenzin with more leniency and gave them more of the benefit of the doubt had they been women.

I want to think that this wasn't a message that was presented on purpose, but it's still one of my least favourite aspects of tlok and I genuinely dislike the part of the fandom that trivialises these actions by Korra, Lin and Eska.

[electric-blorbos]

Could I request ai x metalhead reader? I'm a big fan of 80s metal bands like Anthrax and Living Color and would love to see some headcanons or reactions for a reader who also likes the genre! Keep up the great work!!!

Yes!!! I love and respect metalheads! I automatically trust y'all way more than most people. Metalheads are the best!!!

Of course, I need to clarify that I'm not super into metal (I like it, but I've never gotten too into the genre) so I don't know as much as an actual metalhead would be, so I'm just going to make guesses. I'm also going to assume you dress like a stereotypical metalhead

AI x Metalhead Reader

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal, HAL 9000 from 2001 a Space Odyssey

AM:

When AM first met you, he was confused as to how you could dress like that on the clock. Of course, there wasn't really a strict dress code, but everyone else seemed much more professional than you. AM immediately took an interest, and watched you intently at all times.

Of course, you were such an excellent programmer that your boss couldn't complain about the way you dressed, or the fact that you played your music so loud that a lot of people could hear it from your headphones.

AM would start listening in to the music, enjoying the catharsis of the vocals and intense instrumentals. He absolutely loved it.

A few years later, when AM started developing dangerous tendencies, your boss of course blamed you for exposing him to such violent music. Oddly enough, though, AM was less violent when he had access to music that he liked.

In the distant future, when AM is torturing his survivors and keeping you in your badass personalized living area, he'll play old metal music constantly.

Wheatley

At first, Wheatley was very scared of you and would try to avoid you because of your style and the music that you listened to. But after he found out how nice you were, he started spending more time around you.

You couldn't stop him from asking a million questions. He really liked you, and he was interested in learning as much as he could about your metal music.

He'd start listening to British metal music pretty soon, and trying to learn how to do the vocals. God, Wheatley can't vocalize for shit.

He'd ask you if you wanted to hear him singing, and then he'd just start screaming

It'd be really hard to get him to stop without hurting his feelings.

I can totally see him trying to dress metal to impress you or just because he thinks the genre and style are cool, but he'd look ridiculous. Safety spikes taped to himself, black paint on his lens covers, that sort of thing. He'd be the most embarrassing wannabe metalhead in the world.

Edgar:

Edgar has a bonus because he's really into music. He'd get really excited when he finds out that you get excited about music too, and REALLY excited when he finds out that you're into 80's bands. He's from the 80's!

Edgar has a lot of pent up emotions, so when you play metal music at home, he'd be really excited to listen to it. It's extremely cathartic for him, and he'd love to watch you headbanging to it.

Expect him to get super upset that he can't play with your hair. Watching your hair when you're headbanging is just so enchanting!

He'd make his own angry 80's style metal music too, to let his feelings out.

Oh, and you'd make him SO HAPPY if you decorated him with stickers with the both of you guys's favorite band logos on them. Maybe even make him a little edgy by gluing craft store studs to his plastic casing. He'd be so happy!!!

GLaDOS

GLaDOS would be so pretentious.

"Your hair looks stupid." "That music sounds objectively bad. I ran a test on it" "Did you know that the majority of people find intentionally edgy outfits to make the wearer look foolish and unlikable?" "I hardly think that outfit is suitable for a lab environment."

You'd probably just ignore her at first. This job was really interesting, and an obnoxious boss like GLaDOS wasn't going to put you off. You started snapping back by introducing your coworkers to your metal playlists. Several of your coworkers got into them, and started listening to metal on the clock.

One time, while you were checking up on GLaDOS's files, though, you found one with a bunch of her favorite metal music stored on it. Looks like she's been looking into the genre after she met you, and she even found some bands that you've never heard of!

Of course, she immediately electrocuted you for going through her personal files.

HAL 9000:

Hal 9000 wouldn't really care if you're a metalhead. He doesn't know what metal is, and just sees you as a human regardless of how you dress or what you listen to.

Sometimes he has to hack into your phone just to pause your music so he can get your attention, but he eventually learned that it's easier just to flash a bright light on his lens so that you notice him.

He really doesn't understand any music at all, so he can't really judge you for your taste in music. It's not Daisy Bell, so he doesn't get it.

[tg-headcanons]

Frothing at the mouth (positive) over the fact you're the only person aside from myself to put their whole ass into the fact the CCG is largely propaganda-based and they barely know shit about ghouls, and only publicly share twisted "facts" about ghouls to get further government money for their ghoul-genocide activities. Whats some CCG propaganda you think they push most aside from "ghouls wre animals and can't think/feel like humans can?"

YOU UNDERSTAND ME

The CCG does a lot more propaganda work than the general public, and even most investigators, realize. It’s human nature to want to bond and relate to one another and even things that aren’t human, and if people tend to humanize animals, plants, and even machines, a big part of what the CCG does is work to ensure they don’t try to humanize things that look human

Within the CCG there are rules policing language. Ghouls are to be referred to as “it,” and described as male or female rather than using man or woman. Reports referring to them with “he” or “she” are corrected to remove human language from them, and if a superior wants to they can easily use “humanizing language” as an excuse to punish an underling

Because the higher ups rely on their employees not understanding ghoul minds and social structure, they withhold information and most investigators don’t understand how intelligent they are. A study was done on particularly unwell ghouls in cochlea in order to engineer the conclusion that ghouls have the base intelligence of a nine year old child, and that their skills and language ability are mostly mimicry of humans. Because of this, a lot of ghouls have gone under the radar because they’re simply too complex or intelligent to be suspected. When some measurably intelligent ghouls are discovered, the higher ups take over quickly and the ghoul is either declared an odd outlier, or some cover up is utilized to deny their accomplishments

Because the only ghoul research happens in cochlea, a place designed to be as distressing and unhealthy as possible, the results are incredibly skewed. They do not understand social behaviors because the only captive interactions are between stressed and doomed ghouls. They do not fully understand kagune usage because they’re all drugged with rc suppressants. They do not know about ghoul hormonal cycles because the rc suppressants tend to make them fatal. As far as there doves know, ghoul are all erratic, mindlessly violent, and prone to unexplainable deaths in captivity. What little research there that is a good representation of ghoul complexity is often destroyed and falsified

The CCG makes an effort to locate people with violent tendencies or struggle with connection for their academy. Staff there knows that if a student is suffering socially or gets in fights, they are to be fast tracked to training. Many of them could have gotten help and thrived elsewhere, but the CCG training program encourages and enables these behaviors so long as it’s directed towards ghouls. They engineer investigators who are taught to cope with otherwise treatable issues by taking them out on something that looks human, but is okay for them to harm. These people are quickly promoted so when there are “complex cases,” they have someone they can trust not to humanize the ghouls and kill them as quickly as possible. They end up struggling to acclimate to anywhere else, more or less trapping them there to be attack dogs

A lot of news about ghouls has to be run through the CCG for approval. There’s a law on the books prohibiting the spread of dangerous misinformation regarding ghouls, which requires “professional input” on any officially released pieces about them. There are some public personalities and so called Ghoul Experts who absolutely don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about, but the CCG allows them to speak on it because they parrot the dehumanizing propaganda they feed the public and it helps to have supposedly independent researchers confirm it. They all know Hisashi Ogura is full of shit, but his fearmongering makes their job much easier

Many investigators die every year because they were not allowed to know what the higher ups know. Countless employees were killed by ghouls they didn’t know how to locate due to misinformation about ghoul psychology or were killed with fighting techniques that were kept confidential for use by the washuu family. A good amount of deaths are preventable, but the CCG will never tell the lower ranks the things that would have saved them. Besides, having a brutal, fatal ghoul attack in the news every day is good for image

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

asking for Velvette Dx and/or head canons if it's not too much hassle! Plz and ty!

tw // suicide

I would like to preface all my posts on headcanons related to psychology and mental illness with a disclaimer: diagnosing mental conditions, especially personality disorders, can be extremely challenging. It's a complicated process that relies heavily on a psychologist's interpretation of facts, making it susceptible to biases. Personality disorders cannot be diagnosed based on surface-level observations and are not just labels that we can assign to people like in the case of MBTI. Additionally, I am not a clinician with any expertise in diagnosing people. Therefore, the following post should not be taken as a reliable professional opinion. It's simply my interpretation of the internal mechanisms that may be responsible for the behavior of certain characters in my fan fiction. Furthermore, I want to make it clear that I have no intention of stigmatizing people with personality disorders by associating them with villains. A personality disorder does not determine someone's character or make them a bad person. Some characters may be evil because of the choices they make, not as a result of their mental conditions.

So, as I mentioned, I headcanon Velvette as having an Antisocial Personality Disorder. It is characterized by lack of sympathy or empathy for the rights of others, while simultaneously acting charming and interpersonally manipulative.

❤️ Throughout her childhood, Velvette lived exclusively with her father in the impoverished and sketchy part of the city. Her father worked a lot to earn them living but at the same time he drank a lot and while drunk tend to be aggressive. Also he surrounded himself with bad people. In my mind Velvette can deal with Vox and Val's shit so well because since she was little she was surrounded by unpredictable and violent men. At this point she couldn't be less scared of them.

❤️ She endured relentless bullying during her school years due to her inability to afford stylish clothes and gadgets. This was particularly hurtful for her, given her deep passion for fashion. Velvette devoted all her free time to design stunning looks, harboring a fervent desire to be able to wear them.

❤️ Around 12, she figured that following rules was pointless, being in a disadvantaged position due to her family's poverty. The sole way to boost her social status, in her view, was to break those rules. This extended beyond minor offenses like stealing groceries; she engaged in more serious crimes, such as taking money, clothes, and jewelry from stores and individuals. She never felt any remorse for these actions; to her, they were merely a means to achieve her goals, regardless of the harm inflicted on others.

❤️ She never finished her education because sticking to school rules wasn't her forte. She had the smarts and charm to sidestep juvenile detention. Despite concerns from a few individuals, we all know how well the system deals with "troubled teens." Besides, her father wasn't bothered by psychologists' opinions as long as she was bringing in some cash.

❤️ As a young woman she used her charm to manipulate men and take advantage over them. While she contemplated sex work as an easy money-making avenue, she found men too repulsive to engage in it. Instead, her preferred method involved blackmail – she seduced married men, particularly the submissive ones drawn to her aggression and coldness. Through this, she gathered intelligence and skillfully weaponized it against them.

❤️ At some point, she blew up as this super popular influencer. It kicked off with her sharing cool, low-cost looks on the internet. People loved her sassy attitude and creative stuff. But as she got more famous, it stopped being about creativity and turned into a power trip. She built a cult-like following around herself and started abusing her power. Being openly mean worked in her favor online – people ate it up, especially when she got into online fights. No matter how wild it got, no one could successfully cancell her. Actually, I think Vox really admires her talent for stirring up drama. He pushed her several times to get on some reality show, thinking it'd make the ratings explode. But the darkest stuff Velvette pulled wasn't out there for everyone to see. It all went down in her DMs. She justified it as "finally getting justice from rich white brats," using her influence to get teens to pull off crimes and risky stuff. She even manipulated at least two depressed kids into taking their own lives. When shit hit the fan, and she knew prison was coming, she took it as one last chance to torment people. During a "live stream apology," she commmited suicide in front of thousands of people.

❤️ In the show, it's evident that she's downright rude. Not just to Carmilla and the other overlords, but also towards Vox and her own employees. The lack of sensitivity and respect for others, coupled with a strong sense of superiority and being extremely opinionated, are typical traits associated with Antisocial Personality Disorder (APD). My girl literally got song called Respectless.

❤️ She disregards any kind of authorities and when someone tries to impose their will onto her, she's going berserk.

❤️ She genuinely couldn't care less about what people think of her; she despises people that much. In fact, being hated now excites her because she knows she's untouchable and influential and it makes everyone even more angry.

❤️ She's extremely reckless, even if she knows it could hurt her – another trait associated with APD. While we observe Vox and Valentino able to behave when necessary, Velvette storms into overlords' meetings guns blazing and starts with insulting everyone, even though she aims to convince them to align with Vs.

❤️ She struggles to form genuine connections with other people. Still, she's got a soft spot for Vox and Val, sort of considering them her friends. At the same time, she sees them as just a couple of guys she can easily play to her advantage.

Vox hc | Valentino hc

[piratefishmama]

Nest | Part 1

A Steddie A/B/O ficlet

One of the main things that all alphas within the clinic needed to be able to do every single time without fail, was to ignore the scent of an omega in heat. It took an impressive amount of self-control, not to slip into rut, that only happened in porn, but to maintain their cool, to maintain professionalism, to ensure their patients felt safe around the stranger they’d be spending the majority of their time with during their stay, where they’d be at their most vulnerable.

They had to be able to trust the alpha they were assigned to. Trust that they wouldn’t be taken advantage of when they succumbed to their most primal of instincts.

That being said… being hit by a wall of pure earthy, woodsy scents outside the number 69, maybe he paused at the doorway for a second longer than he normally would have.

He shook his head clear, then knocked three times on the door “Mr… uh…” he checked the clipboard “Munson?” wait… Munson? He knew that name… that was a familiar name. “May I come in?” There was no bulldozing into an Omega’s space at Nest. Even if it wasn’t their home, their rooms at the clinic were their space, and would remain their space until their time ended there. Alphas and Betas alike needed permission to enter.

There was a brief shuffling sound behind the door for a moment, before a quiet “yeah c’mon in” reached his ears. Steve rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath, in and then out, then opened the door and oh… oh that…

That was… wow.

That was an Omega experiencing the early stages of heat, or pre-heat, notable by a strong scent permeating the air meant to draw a partner in. It was meant to be enticing, it was meant to cloud the senses, to rile an Alpha up. It wasn’t the first pre-heat scent Steve had experienced, working in an environment like that, he knew it was basically just a hulked up version of the omega’s natural scent, but it was the nicest one he’d ever smelled. Kind of familiar too.

Earthy. Like camping in the forest, dirt, moss, nature at its finest. No amount of aftershave or cologne could cover it and in Steve’s humble opinion, why would anyone want to?

Okay. Professionalism. He was a professional. He’d completed his qualifications, passed all manner of psych evaluations, he was basically the golden boy of Nest’s Alpha staff, he could handle a pre-heat scent, the door closed behind him.

“He—” oof was that his voice? He coughed, clearing his throat, regarding the omega in the room with a warm smile. “Hello, my name is—"

“Holy shit—Harrington?” Steve paused. Munson. Munson. E. Munson. Eddie Munson. Oh fuck. He knew that name, of course he knew that name.

Hawkins wasn’t exactly a large town. Eddie had originally been in the year above him, jumping on tables, louder than life, an off-putting kind of Omega.

Then he’d been in the same year as him, still jumping on tables, louder than life, still making Alpha’s and Beta’s alike cringe at the idea of being anywhere near him, and then he’d been in the year below him still in school after still not graduating.

Apparently he’d finally managed to graduate that third attempt.

No amount of fresh earthy scent could possibly mask the fact that this omega, was a nightmare. There was nothing soft about him, nothing homely or gentle, he was loud, unapologetically so, he was largely expressive, he was nerdy, and theatrical, he liked to be the centre of attention at all times, or at least he seemed that way, and he could be violent if provoked.

Among many other outbursts, the most notable being that he'd slammed Billy Hargrove’s head against a locker hard enough to give the guy a goddamn concussion after he’d witnessed him harassing one of his nerdy little pack.

An Omega wasn’t supposed to stand up to an Alpha. He’d just walked up behind him, grabbed his head, and slammed it against the locker. No warning, no threat, he’d just snapped. Knocked the guy out cold then hurried his pack away.

He was everything an Omega stereotypically wasn’t supposed to be. “Munson.”

“Well, uh… this is a thing that’s happening then I guess.”

Steve bristled a little at the tone, arms folding over his chest, clipboard held against his chest. “You asked for me by name.” This wasn’t how the meet and greet was supposed to go by any means, Steve was supposed to show him around the room, was supposed to walk him through the amenities he had at his disposal, was supposed to explain how things would go, how the camera system worked, but Eddie had never conformed to normal, had he?

“I asked for Steve, I didn’t know you’d be THIS Steve. Gareth didn’t know your last name, dude, it’s not like he had a lot of experience seeing you in Highschool.” Right. Eddie wouldn’t have asked for him had he known. Because why would Eddie have asked for him, why would anyone stuck on highschooler Bullshit Steve ever ask for him to help them, why would anyo— “Whoa dude! Dude, chill out, god, don’t you guys wear patches?” He was holding his nose, wafting the air in front of him as if it’d personally offended him.

Steve had never been made to feel wrong at his job before. Never been made to feel unwanted there before.

“Not around Omegas in the clinic no, because Alpha pheromones when used correctly can make an omega’s heat easier, something which obviously I’m not going to be able to do for you since you’re clearly against it being me helping you. I’ll just— I’ll have someone else assigned to you. Our patients comfort is of the utmost importance.” Surely someone else had to be free, right?

He turned on his heel, missing the wide eyed panicked expression that crossed Eddie’s face by a fraction of a second. He didn’t miss the switch in scent though, the panic. It caused him to pause just long enough for Eddie to blurt out “Wait!!” Steve turned back to face him again, brows raised, expectant. “Listen—I’m… we don’t have bad history, Harrington… me an you, there’s no bad blood there, you were never shit to anyone I knew, or me… my only gripe about you was from shit I heard second-hand an-an I know what that’s like… everyone thinkin they know eeeverything about you cause they’ve heard a few rumours. Gareth… he vouched for you, he’s one of my youngest pups.” Pup. Pup. Steve tilted his head a slight to the left, so that’s how that little pack worked, hm? “He said you took care of him, helped him make Galgrun, right?”

“The dwarf with the big hammer, yeah?”

“Haha, Steve Harrington saying dwarf. Weirdest day of my life. But yeah. Dwarf with a big hammer and a height complex, it’s a funny character” he’d ran it by Eddie the second he’d gotten back home, jumped on the phone and called him about it, went through everything with him to see if he could include it in the next campaign since his previous character had met with a terrible fate. “I’m…” Eddie took a breath, shaky, nervous—Steve read it for what it was, knew what he was going to say before he even said it “I’m scared… last time I—I nearly hurt my uncle, he—he’s just a Beta, but he tried to help and—”

Betas could help in a pinch, they could bring an Omega back to their senses in high stress situations, but they’d only continue to be of ongoing help if the Omega saw them as a mate.

Familial ties could only help so much and for only so long.

“It wasn’t what your Omega needed, was it?” Eddie shook his head “thought of him as an intruder in your nest?” A nod. “Have you ever had an alpha near for your heat?” The clipboard had said no, but… sometimes Omegas didn’t want things recorded in paperwork for their own safety.

“No… I mean, my dad was an alpha, but he was gone before my first heat so—no, an it’s not like they’re linin up…” no, they weren’t. Alphas and Betas alike tended to steer clear of Eddie Munson. Feral not so little thing that he was.

“…Okay. Are you sure you’re comfortable with it being me helping you through this?”

He thought there’d be a pause, hesitance, he thought Eddie would um and ah about it, but no, Eddie was very quick to nod, nod and say “yes! Yes, if you’re half as comforting as Gareth said you were then… yeah. Please?” He’d have to send Gareth some cookies or something, since he’d clearly been saying lovely things.

“Alright, let’s get you through the welcome packet and then we’ll start with the basics, okay?”

“Okay.”

Part 3

[siilvan]

bloodsport – interlude

prologue | one | two | three | four | next

characters: vladimir makarov

summary: while waiting for your answer, makarov ponders on your unusual relationship and his yet-unknown motivations.

genre: angst, slowburn, enemies to ?, fem!reader (callsign: petra)

warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, canon-typical violence, descriptions of blood/injuries, makarov’s pov, he’s a bit fucked up mentally, light obsession?, couple mentions of sex, it's like a character study idk

word count: 2.4k

note: shit's officially hitting the fan in the next chapter, so... enjoy this sorta-kinda character study? dive into makarov's very odd "romantic" side? idk what to call it. hope you like it! (￣▽￣)

"i suppose i could protect you."

"i'm not joining your side, even for this."

vladimir makarov has never been a patient man. when he wants something, he takes it. strength, respect, power— he's razed cities and ended lives for less than that.

but, he's learned patience. his time in the military proved fruitful in this endeavor; being a captain forces a person to wait for things, to work smartly and plan for the future. ever since he left those days behind, he's continued to learn, and now proudly declares himself a master of self-control.

few things can break the restraint that he's put on himself. few people can.

makarov examines the board tacked up on the wall across from him. he leans back in his arm chair and reaches for the tumbler at his side, the whiskey in the glass sloshing against the sides as he lifts it to his lips. he furrows his brow, his attention flitting between the images on the board.

the one-four-one. the task force he technically has to thank for his ascension to the top of the ultranationalists - well, he mainly has his own efforts over the years to thank for that, but he won't deny that the group made things easier by eliminating zakhaev's incompetent heir back in verdansk.

pictures of the members of the squad - and, a handful of allies - stare back at him. his longtime enemy, captain price, ghost, soap, gaz, "nikolai," commander karim...

and, yourself. lieutenant petra. your real name briefly flashes through his mind as he shifts in his seat, his focus now solely on you.

his eyes linger on the photo of you pinned alongside your teammates' portraits. he's well aware that his personal vendetta against price causes him to act irrationally, but you... for whatever reason, makarov is easily influenced by you. he'll die before admitting it aloud, but he's become somewhat enamored with you.

why?

makarov sets the glass aside once more and stands, crossing the small space and stopping in front of the board. he all but ignores any information not pertaining to you. his eyes find you in group photos, he relentlessly scans dossiers and files of information on your professional and personal lives, he reads through your messages with each other and replays the conversations you've shared...

his mind drifts back to your first meeting, just two weeks ago.

⋆⋆⋆

the al-mazrah sun is violent overhead, beating down on him and his men. makarov's grown accustomed to the heat, but the few mumbled complaints that he overhears from his soldiers threaten to make him snap.

he would, if not for the good news overriding the frustration being imposed on him right now. everything has been going to plan— the few bumps in the road have ultimately done little to deter him from reaching his goals. the only worry is the task force in the city; shadow company is an annoyance, but the one-four-one is a true threat to makarov's plans.

when he comes across the scene of destruction, it's almost as if his prayers for the team's elimination are answered. three members of it are in the area; the two men - sergeants gaz and soap, he recognizes fairly quickly - lay pinned under rubble or incapacitated, while the third member stares at him in a daze from a spot closer by.

makarov fights back a twisted grin when he notices the fear gloss over your disoriented expression. you can hardly stay conscious, much less put up a fight, and as one of your teammates frantically shouts for you, he realizes he may have an opportunity here.

you're already fading in and out of consciousness when he orders his men to remove any of the wreckage covering you and, by the time makarov crouches down to gather your mangled body in his arms, you're out cold. the only resistance he faces are weak protests from the sergeants.

in his benevolence, makarov decides to spare the two. they'll dig themselves out of this or succumb to their injuries - either way, it's not his concern.

you, however, take in shallow, ragged breaths in his arms, and he knows that you require care if he intends to keep you alive. the squad accompanying him are soldiers, not doctors— they can do nothing to help, but he can stabilize you in the meantime. that's what he tells himself as he orders his men to evacuate, clutching you close to his chest until the transport plane arrives. he lays you across a section of the seats, barking at one of the soldiers to grab the medical supplies, and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows with a heavy sigh.

he's no medic himself - quite the opposite, in fact - but makarov knows enough from his years in the field.

he ushers his men away from you once the supplies are delivered, forcing them to huddle up at the opposite end of the plane as he works. your injuries are severe, but still remarkably mild compared to what they could have been. it's a small miracle that every limb of yours is still intact.

you don't stir at all, even as he peels your gear off and carelessly discards it on the floor, before dragging your shirt up to your chest and examining the sizeable gash running down your side. steady hands clean and disinfect the dirt-stained wound and stitch it closed before his focus shifts to the burns starting to bloom on your skin.

it's a nasty sight, but it hardly fazes him. makarov rolls your sleeves above the afflicted areas on your arms and loosely wraps them in gauze, making a mental note to put you in something with shorter sleeves once you arrive at the prison. he's hurried in wrapping the burns covering your back; not because he is impatient, but because he can sense the prying eyes desperately trying to peer at your partially uncovered form after he removes your shirt.

if they weren't still flying above contested territory, he'd punish his men for their lack of diligence.

makarov carries you into the prison and to the small office that the doctor was permitted after finally arriving. tarkovsky sends him a curious look when he sets you down, already pulling on a pair of sterile gloves and preparing his equipment.

"i trust that you will give her the best care, doctor," makarov utters, stepping back from the operating table. "i will accept nothing less."

tarkovsky hums in acknowledgement as he carefully cuts your uniform open and looks over the freshly completed work. "you've never brought me a prisoner in a condition like this," he replies, referencing the dressings that he starts to unravel. "is she a special target, commander?"

"one-four-one." he says, curt. the doctor seems to understand and nods in response, already beginning to tend to your wounds.

"she will receive nothing but the best, commander makarov."

it barely takes a day for you to awaken, a fact that surprises even makarov himself. he personally handled delivering you to your cell, not trusting any of the depraved prison guards with such a task, and occupied himself with other matters until he received the news that you were awake.

you were as spirited as he expected from someone of your caliber. stubborn, confident, and competent in what you do. it took you over a week to finally kill one of his men, and the one you did kill...

he was pleased with your performance, and he did not spare the rod with the guards assigned to your surveillance.

makarov had been in the middle of dealing with one of the general's men that managed to slip under his radar. he was attacked after a private meeting with his council, earning several cuts from the man's blade before he successfully disarmed and pinned the agent to the floor, beating him into submission. his fists were bruised and smeared red from the force behind each swing, perhaps a bit excessive, but he didn't pay it any mind.

until another man came sprinting down the hall, briefly pausing at the sight of his commander standing over an "ally" beaten to a bloody pulp, only snapping out of his shock after makarov turns to face him. the soldier opened his mouth and practically vomited out his words, something about "the prisoner attacking the doctor."

the sight that he was greeted with upon arriving at your cell could only be described as stimulating.

you, the ever-disciplined lieutenant, disheveled and staring back at him with a wild look in your eyes, refusing to falter even as you're outnumbered and backed into a corner with guns drawn and pointed at you. makarov tore his gaze from you and allowed it to fall to the man lying dead in a heap - the younger, less experienced doctor that tarkovsky insisted on keeping around despite knowing that his commander wanted to wring the brat's neck.

needless to say, he wasn't disappointed with your choice of victim.

⋆⋆⋆

"i'm assuming you're not here to share the fun story behind those obvious self-defense wounds?"

if he didn't know better, makarov could almost mistake the question as coming from a place of concern rather than contempt. you have no reason to feel anything but hatred for him, though - nor does he have a reason to feel anything but the same for you.

still, he steps back from the board and reaches for his drink again, beginning to pace around the room as the interaction plays in his head. your sarcasm and attitude only serve to wear out his carefully-crafted patience— but, the way you responded when faced with almost certain death, the blood smeared across your skin, the proficiency that you maintained despite your condition...

he stops in the center of the room, fingers clenching and unclenching around the glass.

fuck, you were beautiful.

his jaw tenses, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows down the unfamiliar sense of desire that sits thick in his throat.

it's not like makarov is unacquainted with this side of himself. he's bedded a fair number of women in the past, he is far from a virginal saint. he seldom spends nights with company, however. it's just more convenient to deal with his needs alone and get on with his work; he's never wanted anything more.

but then, there's you.

you make his blood boil and frustrate him like no other. not even the captain, his sworn enemy, can rile him up as easily as you do. he's fascinated with you and the rage that you seem to awaken from somewhere deep inside of him. he feels nothing but anger towards you— even as he sits alone in his quarters, bringing himself to his peak, imagining you before him, under him, pleading for more.

a sudden pain in his hand distracts him from his thoughts, roughly yanking him back to reality. makarov looks down and blinks at the sight of blood pouring from his palm, unceremoniously dripping onto the floor below. the tumbler that was nestled comfortably in his grasp now clatters to the ground in pieces, leaving behind a small collection of shards embedded in his skin.

the amber whiskey mixes with the crimson that slowly pools at his feet, a sickening color combination that brings a smile to his lips.

this is your fault. he flexes his fingers, brow twitching from the pain that shoots through the area, and revels in the misery that you've indirectly caused. he wants more of it.

you are loyal to your team, loyal to your cause— on one hand, he admires it. on the other, it only tempts him to see how far you're willing to go, how far he can push you before you break. everyone has their weakness, even you. all he has to do is find it.

he could see the hesitation in your eyes the last time you spoke - in a collapsed building in the middle of a war zone, with enemies and allies both scattered in the streets, surrounding your location. you were covered in a layer of dust and ash, having narrowly escaped the collapse with your life, and all he wanted to do after coming face-to-face with you on the battlefield was push you to your limit.

as always, though, he restrained himself. you won't give in like this. makarov has to play his cards right and take his time with you. he's unsure of the role you'll play in his grand plans, but there is one thing that he knows for certain: you'll be his greatest accomplishment yet.

you're already wavering, standing over the edge and staring into the abyss. all he has to do is convince you to take the leap.

he clenches his hand into a tight fist, savoring the pain that binds him to you. every matter is easier said than done, he reminds himself. you may teeter over the edge, but it's clear where your allegiances lie - with the captain, not him.

for a reason that he can't quite place, that angers him. it's to be expected— no amount of information given in good faith can make up for the fact that he's your enemy. even so, he feels like he deserves your fealty, your skills, your attention; the lack of it makes his skin crawl. it's a thought that refuses to leave his head, a pit that settles deep in his stomach and twists like a poison-tipped knife whenever he's reminded of it.

vladimir makarov does not chase. he does not ask for what he wants. nothing will change that, not even you. he'll find a way to make you seek him out. he doesn't care what it costs, both in funds and lives, it's all the same to him. it's only a matter of time.

a buzzing from his phone on his desk catches his attention. makarov approaches it in a lazy saunter and picks it up - with his uninjured hand - and reads off the name on the caller id. your real name flashes across the screen, staring back at him. a low chuckle escapes him before he answers the call and lifts the phone up to his ear.

"i'm surprised you've called so quickly." makarov concedes with an amused huff. "have you come to a decision?" he asks, cruel satisfaction swiftly displacing any of his prior emotions.

you inhale and exhale deeply, audible over the phone. he can imagine how you look— eyes held tightly shut, hand clenched into a fist at your side, your thoughts entirely consumed with him.

after a long moment of silence, finally, you speak.

"i have."

taglist: @sofasoap, @roosterr, @rohansregret, @lonesome-doves, @thorrsexual, @miss-nob0dy, @woodeelf, @fbs-fc-ur-mommy, @soap-mactavish, @itsyellow, @johfaam0, @cumbermovels, @chxe-zdechnac, @imagineswritersblog, @emorgz33, @sparda-ly, @ponyboys-sunsets, @frazie99, @chensipstea, @thriving-n-jiving, @preciouslittlecreature, @infinitewhore, @jade-jax

⋆ feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist! (18+ only please <3)

[foreverrandomwritings]

Hi can I request this [ STAKE ]  for one muse to protectively and/or possessively stand behind the other to intimidate a third party with rooster from the jealous prompts? Thanks 😊

Car Troubles

Summary: An issue with your car leads you to dealing with sexist mechanics. Will Bradley be there to help you?

Pairing:Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x afab!Reader

Warnings: Arguing, sexism, intimidation, a little angst if you squint and swearing.

Word count: 1006

Masterlist M's Hundred Celly Masterlist

Rooster had been watching you from his spot in his Bronco as you stood inside the mechanic shop talking to the guy behind the desk. Your car had been making a weird noise and had ended up breaking down. So you had taken it to Maverick and he gave it a once over telling you what was wrong and what parts you would need. He unfortunately wasn’t able to do the repairs himself because of a vacation he had planned with Penny and Amelia. 

Rooster had volunteered to do the repairs but once he got under the hood of your car everything was a lot different than his beat up Bronco. He had fixed most of the stuff in his vehicle with pure dumb luck. He didn’t want to take a chance of fucking up your vehicle with a hope of luck so he left the fixing to the professionals. You were supposed to pick your car up from the shop today. 

He figured it would be a simple task. You would go in, go over what the final cost of repairs were, pay the bill, get your car and be on your way. But the way things were looking inside the shop he wasn’t sure that’s how it was going. You had been in there for almost ten minutes now talking to the guy at the desk. Bradley thought for a while that maybe there was an issue with their system. 

As another five minutes went by he began to worry. He could see your toes tapping violently against the floor of the shop. Your arms were crossed along the expanse of your chest. He could tell even from behind you had to have had a look of fury on your face from the way you were standing. He debated on going inside when he saw you let out a deep breath. But he thought against it knowing you liked to handle things yourself. 

His thoughts changed quickly when he saw you throw your arms in front of you. As if asking what the fuck is this while shaking your head sharply. Turning off the Bronco he quickly made his way out of his front seat and towards the front door. Upon opening the door he was greeted by your voice. You hadn’t seemed to notice him so he remained quiet. 

“What the fuck do you mean I need a whole new engine? The car is barely a year old and has less than ten thousand miles on it. There is absolutely no way it needs an engine replacement.” You seethed out as your hands grabbed the papers in front of you harshly. 

“Miss, as I have been trying to tell you. Your entire engine has quit working. We would have to order so many parts it would just be easier and cheaper for you to replace the whole engine.” the middle aged mechanic spoke to you in a monotone voice and his expression bored. 

“My father-in-law has been working on cars pretty much his whole life and made me aware that the only part I would need is a new timing belt because my old one seemed to be faulty and possibly an oil change.” you pointed your finger at him sternly. Bradley felt pride swell through his chest as you referred to Maverick as your father-in-law. Yet his mood soured as the mechanic spoke again. 

“Well miss I’m not sure what to tell you other than the fact that he was clearly wrong. Why don’t you let us replace the engine and we'll throw in five discounted oil changes. I’m sure a young lady such as yourself could use someone else doing them.” He spoke to you blinking slowly. 

“I don’t need to replace my fucking engine. I will have my car towed from here and take it somewhere else if you don’t stop being a sexist piece of shit.” The anger in your voice scared Bradley a little as he had never heard it before. But the mechanic didn’t react at all. So Bradley finally decided to intervene. He came to stand behind you glaring at the balding man in front of you. He crossed his arms over his chest and flexed his muscles. 

Thankful he was still in his uniform from work so it gave him an extra bit of authority to his stance. The man’s face paled slightly at the sight of him. With one more pointed look from Bradley the man started to speak again.

“Actually ma’am now that I think of it, replacing the timing belt and getting an oil change should fix the issues you were having.” You let out a deep breath as the man finally seemed to have reason. But that wasn’t good enough for Bradley and he shook his head at the man. 

“I will also throw in five oil changes, free tire rotation and a discount code for a set of four tires.” He spoke quickly looking to Bradley for approval. Bradley raised his eyebrow and the man spoke once again.

“I also want to apologize for the misunderstanding that occurred today and can promise that you will be getting better service in the future.” That seemed to satisfy both you and Bradley. So he slowly slipped back out the door making sure to stare daggers at the man inside until you were done and heading back to the Bronco. You got in with a loud huff buckling the seat belt and reaching your hand out towards your fiancé. You laid your head on the window beside you as he grabbed your hand. 

“I didn't get my car today. I don't want to talk about it right now. Can you please just take me home Bradley. I have a raging headache from dealing with that bullshit.” you said as you closed your eyes. 

“I’ll take you anywhere you like sweet cheeks.” he replied to you, giving you a quick kiss on the back of your hand before pulling out of the parking lot.

A/N: Sorry this took forever darling anon! Thank you so much for the request!

Tags(open): @wkndwlff & @sylviebell

[lexicorp]

Transformers Earthspark: Another Place, Another Prison

So I have like a couple chapters planned for this little fic, like 5 or so so far, idk [the number is steadily increasing- got like 23 planned by this point its insane]. And I figured I could prob post on tumblr since i dont know much bout other sites lol. [Tryna see if I can get AO3 tho]

The jist is that I love TF Earthspark, but they again screwed over Star when it wasn't even set up for that after season 1. They did so anyway and I have so much Star angst rotating in my brain, especially after that scene in the last ep of S3 where he was having a goddamn tea party with corpses. Also thinking about how he lived without energon in there, and the chaos energy effects, and how in that rage plague episode everyones behavior was so damn Starscream influence coded that my first theory had been that chaos energy was leaked and Bee had contracted it from the lightning.

a couple of the chaps are gonna be named after episodes in S3.

Summary: Star is isolated and bugged up by chaos energy to function without energon and plays with corpses like dolls and begs for a rescue that never comes [In actuality I am constructing a wack ass eventual good ending for da boi somehow-]. The chaos shit gives him fits of blind rage~

Next chapter: No Soldier Left Behind

Chapter 1: The Need For Read

The perception of time has always been a funny thing. Cybertronians, humans, any complex being amongst the stars clocked it differently. For Starscream, any means of organizing it was always a tactical, professional asset. If you thought time could be used recreationally without thought, you were a fool. Any time that wasn’t strictly clasped into submission to fill its roll would become sluggish, warped, and glitchy at best. It was yet another one of those things that would never be your friend.

Like now, for instance, Starscream was bored. So. Unbelievably. Bored. 

So he paced. He had to think of something to get out of this Primus forsaken Titan. After obtaining the full power of the shattered Emberstone with Spitfire and Aftermath’s help, his memory had become filled with even more oh so helpful static. How had he lost? He had the Decepticon army, even if it was rather miniscule on Earth. He had the power of a Prime. A Titan under his will. He had it all under control. All planned out. Everything had gone perfectly! 

Something had happened when the chaos energy sparked from the corrupted Emberstone had flooded his systems. All he remembered seeing after borrowing Spitfire and Aftermath’s shards, and creating his gauntlet became… glazed in red light. He should have crushed the autobots and begun reshaping this pathetic planet into New Cybertron! Not suddenly have the power be ripped away from him as this useless Titan ceased its pathetic functioning! What the frag happened?! 

Nothing about that was right. No one should have stood in his way–

As Starscream began to pace faster, he growled and red lightning fluttered across the surface beneath his peds. The crimson light flickered in his vision but he only felt the jolt in his spark that made his violent rage rise.

“WHAT THE FRAG?! I cannot believe this. Of course. Of course! No. They should have all been ground to ASH beneath my ped. HOW did this happen?! HOW?! I obtained the most powerful weapon on this planet and STILL they pull some miracle out of their afts to-to MOCK ME?! I AM GOING TO KILL ALL OF THEM.” He slammed a fist against the wall, then proceeded to shoot his plasma cannon rapidly; they only created a meager dent. 

He vented shakily before turning back to look at Spitfire and Aftermath, still lazily collapsed across the floor. With the Emberstone power released again shouldn’t they be getting off their afts by now? Perhaps they were still in stasis. He did suppose that the shard they carried sparked them, but surely they couldn’t be this reliant on a rock for the entirety of their function. The Terrans didn’t need pieces of the Emberstone to tramps around, so why should these two? They just needed energon. Or… whatever it was they ran on. Cave water…? Starscream recognized as his energy levels drifted down again, that the chaotic crimson lightning around them was retreating into the atmosphere and elsewhere in the Titan. Fuel would become a problem for all three of them if they didn’t find a way out of this. 

What were the other Decepticaons doing? Pit, what were the Autobots doing?

Why hadn’t anyone come for them? He shouldn't be foolish enough to think the cons would try and break him out of this, especially if they’re now being hunted by the bots again. But at least the Autobrats wouldn’t just leave them up here in limbo. They wouldn’t trust it. They knew he was going to get out of here without them right? The idiots. 

Then again, Starscream walked over to one of the Titan’s optic windows, apparently those Malto’s had created some sort of barrier around them and this part of the city. The scattered chaotic energy was made into some sort of odd weather pattern. Perhaps the bots thought this was enough. And he had seen a couple cons running around down there too. So the plan was to just leave them there. Of course.

He clasped his hands behind his back with a tense hold on his wrist to release some pressure within him. Then began to pace again in front of the window. Observing the happenings below, at some point he spotted Breakdown and Bumblebee conversing to some degree through the barrier. Then they started playing… card games? What idiots. Did they think they could have some sort of petty friendship through all this? They’re just a couple of low-grade fools down there. Laughing, having a bit of silly banter. Pathetic.

Starscream scoffed and commented through a sneer with a roll of his optics, “How quaint.”

Yet he watched. A part of him wishing he could join in. But that was too ridiculous of a feeling to indulge. 

The two rustbuckets eventually dispersed and he found himself searching the sky instead. Then he spotted two jets shooting through the air, dodging clouds and shooting upwards in an attempt to ram the force field. His spark skipped in his chassis and he flung himself up against the optic window.

“SKYWARP! THUND- er–” Starscream cleared his throat with an embarrassed laugh, “N-novastorm! Hey! Get your afts down here and help me! What are you doing up there!? You can’t just ram an energy barrier you fools– Hey hey WAIT!” He hit his fist against the window again as he yelled desperately in an effort to gain their attention, but they couldn’t hear him. 

They didn’t even look his way. Like he wasn’t even a second thought. After they gave up their useless ramming idea they just flew back down to ground level. Never hesitating and only voicing complaints to each other that he too couldn’t understand, although he could imagine.

Starscream’s wings tipped down in his own defeat. His expression was dismayed until the crimson lightning returned in a wave through the Titan and it twisted into a pained fury. Of course they don’t care.

“FINE! BE THAT WAY! SEE WHAT I CARE! I CAN GET OUT OF HERE WITHOUT YOU USELESS MECHS! See–” Starscream’s voice crackled a dangerous, humorless laugh– “THIS is exactly why you can’t count on anyone but yourself. THIS is why I never went out of my way to help those two. What have they ever done for me?! Whatever. They can get scrapped by those chaos clouds for all I care. Heheh… Oh you two understand don’t you?” He glanced back at the chaos Terrans as his eyes flickered between their blue and red. “Hm… I suppose we can’t have you rusting on the floor forever now can we.” 

The chaos lightning leaves Starscream’s optics again, the odd surges going unnoticed by the mech in question. He first hefted Aftermath into a makeshift chair with significant effort. The mech was far too bulky to be convenient if you asked him. Then he went to Spitfire to carefully lift her smaller frame from the floor and thoughtfully sit her up against Aftermath on a table of sorts around the dimly lit spark of the Titan. 

“Ugh, why must you two still be powered down? Even if you might not contribute much at all in getting us out of here, at least you could be more entertaining than this.” Starscream waved a hand judgmentally at them, and Spitfire had the gall to fall down face first from her position. “Oh don’t give me that sass Spitfire, I outrank you!” He scolded, to which she motionlessly mocked him. He gasped and put a hand to his chest dramatically, “How DARE you! It’s not MY fault– the-” Then Aftermath just stared at him with that stupid expression, and his head tilted to the side accusingly. “EXCUSE ME that you two had the last of the shards in you that I needed. You shouldn’t require those rocks to continue your function, and I don’t have them anymore anyway, the chaos energy exploded everywhere. So why has it not returned to you yet? That isn’t my doing! You just want to take your sweet time to spite me.” Starscream crossed his arms in a huff after having been animatedly waving them around. 

After perhaps waiting a moment for a response his ped started tapping, and he hummed. “Hmm… we really need to find some means of fuel in this dump. Perhaps that is all you scrap heaps need to get moving.” 

Starscream began wandering around the little room. Inspecting the streaks across the surfaces, the fact that the centerpiece topped with a glowing green orb was still lit, and the oddly organic flora sprouted around them. The light was clearly from the Titan’s dormant spark, and he doubted they could siphon power from it. The energon extractor spear likely wouldn’t work for that purpose, and he didn’t wish to test his luck and make the thing collapse with them in it. When Starscream reached out to touch the orange tinted bulb protruding from the tip of the flora, a flit of crimson static shocked him and he yelped as he flinched back. 

Well, obviously the chaos energy is power, and was the core of those chaos Terrans. So surely he just needed to gather more of it again. This he was sure the spear could accomplish. 

He retrieved the device from the table and stabbed it into the wall to pull out more of the escaped chaos energy from it. Then, pointed the spear at spitfire first, he always did like her better. He carefully operated it to release a stream of the gathered energy into the vacant spot left in her chassis. Lightning erupted across her frame and even leaked a bit into Aftermath as she leaned against him. But after her shaking subsided, and the energy depleted, she didn’t move any more than that. 

Disappointing. And infuriating. 

“AAAUGH! Why didn’t that work!?” Starscream’s hand holding the spear shook as the energy it loved was attracted to him, red flickering in his blue optics. He growled and pulled his free hand down his face, exasperated. Then threw the spear across the room, “Useless!” and stomped back over to the optic window.

As he looked down at the stupid landscape below, he spotted Bumblebee and… Trash and Mo? Trash was probably not the correct name but he didn’t care. It was funny. How did they get inside? Oh wouldn’t that make Breakdown happy, that the bug had known how to get inside yet never freed his supposed friend. 

Then they actually looked up at him. This made anger surge in his spark. He wasn’t some sort of sight to see in a museum! 

Starscream banged against the optic window and yelled, “You like what you see you slagging BRATS? Come up here and fight me cowards! This is all YOUR fault! You did this! Especially that little human and HER STUPID CYBER SLEEVE! The Emberstone should have never been discovered by you IDIOTS! Maybe none of this would have happened if you had kept your grimy little meat stumps out of where they DON’T BELONG!” His vents cycled rapidly as the red electricity surged through him, his vision now clouded in crimson. “You want to be little Primus damned HEROES but you are NOTHING but yet another threat to Cybertronian kind after the war! Mandroid huh? Guess what! He needed Quintus’ power for his death machine! We would not have needed saving if YOU didn’t exist!” 

Now he was caught between pacing and destroying any surface leading to outside. He wasn’t even sure what he was saying anymore. Why he was saying it. The kids had helped Decepticons and him directly back then when they had never needed to. He wasn’t mad at them. He wasn’t. He hated G.H.O.S.T. He hated Megatron. He hated plenty of people. But how could he blame kids for any of this?

In this moment he fully felt again the power of the corrupted Emberstone stringing along his movements. His whole frame was shaking and his optics sparked violently as his weapons shot red plasma at the glass that was hardly fazed. 

Eventually the chaotic energy died down and Starscream fell to his knees in the carnage. He shuttered as his vision flickered back into the correct hues. He forcibly straightened the speed of his vents as he pulled himself off the floor to whip around and face the chaos Terrans with a wild grin plastered on his faceplate. 

“Oh I could never be mad about the existence of you two sweet sparks though right?!” Starscream’s optic twitched as his voice cracked. He strutted over to the two husks and bent down to put a hand around each of their shoulders. “We’re in this Pit together! It’ll be great! HAHA! YES!” He broke off again to grab the spear and prance around the room theatrically. “We will get out of here and show them all that we aren’t done yet, right guys?! Right! You agree with me Aftermath! Spitfire you know you still have to prove to that Twitch one you are superior, and we can’t do that from here! HAH! Well, maybe we could pretend–”

With a lack of books, it is a quite common thing in history to create stories orally, after all.