#also the urges are getting stronger

[luminousjellyfishy]

[ * Severance fun fact that you didn’t ask for but would probably enjoy: since xe was made animate from a doll, xir bones are both very plush and very bendable! It’d be a feat to actually break xir’s bones at all ]

You were right: I do very much enjoy this

Severance is now squishy confirmed!

Wait, since xir bones are bendable, does that mean someone could grab xir cheeks, pull, and they would stretch? Like those cartoons?

But also?? I didn't know that xe was animated from a doll??? Did I miss something? Although in light of this: new headcanon that xe likes cuddling up to people xir close to because many dolls/plushes are made with the intent to cuddle.

[fireyartccoon]

Prismatic Parallel shenanigans

this is probably going to become its own little thing

this was for no particular reason, just felt like posting

[nightfal1n]

Good thing about onsen collab is Mina got assigned black color while Kafka is red because by sentai genre code black is mean to be the last to join but make the most impact while also have a strong bond with red asfasfg

[da-riya]

Do love how I can hold myself off from commenting "well I don't feel that way!" on random people's posts cause I know the post is not about me.

I deserve a cookie for that!

[labyrinthhofmymind]

impatiently bouncing my leg and fiddling with my hands waiting for hide your fires by bizarrestars to be finished so i can read it in its entirety and not have to wait for chapter updates cause i’m an impatient little shit-

[nebulousbren]

Steven Universe is so good actually

[chosenass]

.

[astralysis]

maybe. this master's program isn't worth it

[kicksnscribs]

I should go back to being unabashedly horny for giant transforming robots...

[theobromine42]

This is about Arthur Lester and John Doe Malevolent in my mind

don't really care if the otp is romantic or platonic or erotic or whatnot. i care simply about the essentials (they are toxically codependent)

[oneroomjestershow]

trying out characterᓚᘏᗢhub and im having a blast but it's kind of overwhelming there is so much stuff what's going on

[spikeyjo]

also my therapist wanted me to mime what i wanted to do to my arm so i did. and she said "that was not what i was expecting. that was like an animal" WHY DID I GET THE "Pretend you're brushing your teeth" TEST BUT WITH SELF HARM????!!!!

[bodymachine]

i was on accutane this past year which did wonders for me and my skin has been p clear ever since but does anyone know what will happen if i go on T ? like i prob would get acne again right? but would it be Bad and as uncontrollable as it was before?

[alexcabotgf]

don't you think if they really committed the murders they would've reoffended by now? i'm not disagreeing because i don't know much about this case, but it's hard to believe that someone capable of a gruesome crime can go on living without getting in trouble with the law again

i get what you're saying, i've thought about it before and my answer is no. let me just preface this by saying i don't think baldwin or misskelley jr would've ever gotten into anything of this magnitude on their own, the general consensus is that echols was the ring leader (which i agree with), so i mostly want to focus on him here (btw misskelley did actually get arrested for traffic violations a few years ago, but that's a petty crime, i wouldn't think anything of it)

the reason i say no is because a lot is at stake for him now. he comes from a tiny town in the middle of nowhere bible belt america. according to this 1990 census, out of the 28k population a little over 5k were high school graduates, and only 1.2k had bachelor's degrees (10.8% of the population had higher education), the median household income was around $22k with over 6.4k of the population living below poverty line (and 98% having a determined poverty status). what i'm getting at here is the future didn't look very bright for him or any of them for that matter. none of them were rich or even financially comfortable by any stretch of imagination and had the murders not happened, they would've most likely not gone to college, never gotten out of that town and continued living the same way everyone around them was living. however, the documentaries garnered a lot of media attention, love and support, especially for echols (and a lot of money which is a whole nother issue), from the regular people (as well as celebrities) who still vehemently believe in his innocence. so while he didn't have much to lose in '93, he has absolutely everything to lose now. imo most innocenters and guilters alike know that they can't with 100% certainty say who committed the murders and at this point we'll probably never know, but if anything ever comes out about him or the other two post-release that will make the innocenters doubt his innocence, they will turn on him in an instant and he knows it

[choccy-milky]

HJAJHEJHJDHNJEHDJ THANK U SO MUCH AAAAAAAA I LOVE YOUR ART AND ITS SO AWESOME SEEING CLORA IN YOUR STYLE!! OMG this is so elegant and pretty i love that she looks straight out of pride and prejudice or something😩❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥and i love the colours so much omg idk what medium you used to paint but the textures and colours are amazing i wanna EAT THIS🍽️

Ok I only have two reasons for this🧍‍♀️

1) it’s raining all day

2) I’m bingeing Bridgerton & I wanted to draw big fluffy dresses😭

I hope it’s ok that I borrowed Clora and Lyla for this😇🙏😙 tbh I drew the sketches underneath super fast & I wish I had spent more time on them but I was too excited to do the dresses jajajajajaja

@choccy-milky @keri-mcberry

[acid-ixx]

brutus: out for blood (villain au concept)

ft. neglectful yandere! bruce wayne x gn villain! reader

— masterlist !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: did anybody ask for this? no! did i decide to write this anyways? abso -fucking-lutely. is this a rantfic? mayybee. anyways, this is not my best piece nor will anything i write be my best piece but i just love destroying my happiness with angst and altho writing a very anxiety ridden mc is fun, i also love to dabble in sadomasochistic traits for a main character. like i said, i am not proud of this but i figured i should post something. erm... leave comments bec i love reading whatever stuff u guys have in store hehe.

you've tasted blood on your tongue far longer than you've felt the loving touch of a family.

it's metallic. it's salty. it twists every vein in your gut.

it tastes of broken metal pipes in playgrounds, destructive tantrums and broken dreams, of skipped classes and detention rooms, of ripped test papers and missed diplomas. it reminds you of your bitter past every single time; one you swore you've buried six feet deep into the ground. a burning memory with nothing more than heartaches and heartbreaks.

you taste blood whenever they reject your advances for even a single moment of bonding time. you feel it pumping slowly, steadily, painfully whenever you stumble upon a room, only to see them, smiles and all, huddled together in a group with junk food in their hands and a movie playing in that stupid flat screen tv. you know it's the only thing accompanying you whenever he misses another event in your school. it becomes the only friend you have whenever you're alone, inside your too-small room, with shatters glass scattered around and bruised knuckles.

blood, for most, is vile, utterly repulsive. it reeks in every corner of a room, its scent is overpowering, it stains, it's hard to clean. it imprints. and it will always remind you it's there, in the depths of your body, curdling and boiling and ready to burst out of the seems every time you rip at your skin with a razor sharp blade. blood has always been your only friend, like a scar that will never fade away.

yet you embrace crimson like it was the color of your soul, and accept how it's the only color you allow in your grim life. black has never provided you solace, but red allowed for a mantra of emotions to trail into your very being.

blood. it's more homely than you let it out to be.

and you're far more familiar with it than anything else. you cradle it like an unwanted child, you kiss its wounds, allow it to fester and grow into an abhorrent disease that crawls like a lump in your throat that you could never get rid of.

in moments of solace, of quaint prayers and hours of kneeling into the floor— it is the thing that slides on cold, hard tiles. it is the warmth, the numbness, the thing that seeps out of your bruised knees, your scratched neck and your thighs with fingernails buried deep into flesh.

you've come to love blood, cherish it even.

especially if it's your own.

especially if it came from the punch of none other than your father.

left, right, left, right.

his punches were cruel and his kicks can easily crush bones into powder. he demands answers with every strike he delivers, he exudes an energy far more adrenaline based than yours. batman is methodical in the way he moves, the way he acts, and you're not; you're impulsive, you had no plans to counter the towering man— no counter for the brutal hits he lay upon you. you let him, you open every doorway world to beat your body black and blue, with red painting the canvas as a finishing touch.

he's stronger than you, and every time he bashes your head into the wall, the urge to spit into his face, to piss him off, to laugh at him and his Idiocracy; it all becomes stronger.

yet all you do was allow him multiple openings, denying yourself the pleasure of attempting to even take your abandoned gun at the corner and shoot at his cranium— you want him to suffer, even if it costs you your mobility by the near future, fuck it.

up, down, to the side, then an uppercut to your jaw and you're nearly depleted of anymore moves to counter. you want to seem like you've given up; but you want him pissed off, enough to punch you 'til blood seeps into the fibers of your mask. until your face starts bruising, until your nose breaks, until he finally rips your mask off and sees your face.

and he'll come to regret.

you shift to the side, and ignore the sting of your throat, the lull of your head and the soreness of your entire body.

because if you hadn't dodged, then your head would've left an imprint on the walls. you would've preferred that now, rather than the disgusting feeling of sentimentality that creeps into your heart at the implication that his blows were slowly, but surely, weakening.

he's holding back, you hold back a sneer.

as if he actually cares about you.

maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. you know he cares far more deeply for his enemies than he does you, and you hate how glad you are at the pride that finally, just finally are you being acknowledged. at the opposite end of his side, as enemies. but for once you can feel the care he offers others, most of which were nonexistent back when you were just some... nobody.

batman never kills; but he can hurt, he can injure, and he can destroy. and right now, you feel all the air leaving your body as the cloaked vigilante delivers the last punch to your ribcage.

you fall, on your hands and knees, a loud thump resounding through the empty abandoned building. all you hear are your crackling joints, and heavy breathing. heavy, like your eyelids, about to fall, about to shut until black encompasses your vision. if not for the remaining adrenaline coursing through your veins, you would've fainted— but you won't, you wouldn't, not until you see him, see his face.

the thumping in your heart beats louder, and your hands. god, they feel like jelly, it's burning, it's one step closer on collapsing under gravelly concrete and piercing skin into rocks. yet you're forbidden any time for grace, not when he lightly shoves you out of your position, and not when you fall to your sides, hands paralyzed, tears prickling against your cheeks at the pain that burns throughout your body.

"you don't deserve peace after shooting that family in front of that child, you know it."

his voice, domineering, absolutely fucking vibrating with a tremor of sheer anger. he directs his words at you, without empathy, without mercy. he wants you to learn to never mess with him in the streets of gotham. but you'll never... not until he notices you. fuck, you just want him to notice you. and now, he is, with utter vexation that causes a lump in your throat to form.

shit, you've never felt so happy.

it's when his tussled form — heavy, pitch-black boots slathered with crimson liquid — enters your sight that you cough, violently, out of breath, and you can feel it one second, then taste it in your tongue the next.

blood.

you grin, and slowly, ever-so eminently, did you spiral into a cackle. your throat gurgles crimson liquid, and yet it only builds into a cacophony of a broken record. you move your head, look through your nearly shredded domino mask, with so little strength to accompany you, to look at the man above you, eyes glinting with a glow never so alive until now.

you're genuinely so fucking happy.

batman, he who strikes fear into the hearts of gotham villains and civilians alike. he who protects the city at night. he whose name is said with wavering uncertainty— he's looking at you, only you.

'bruce wayne: my dad— is finally looking at me.'

and you! you're laughing, the sounds that emanate from your throat are so scratchy, so utterly decimated that it sounds like vultures feeding through a dead corpse; but you don't let your chuckles die down, because you're so, so happy.

he looks at you, with contempt, with disgust, you don't know; but you're still so overjoyed.

"y-yeah... it's me, i did it. are you proud of me...?" you ask as you look up, through the tears that flow out your eyes, through the grin that couldn't die down. he looks at you like you're insane, and you know he's confused, shifting uncomfortably as he gives someone a status update through the comms, his eyes never leaving your pathetic form—

you look at him like he means the world all throughout.

"call for red robin, i have one of the culprits," he orders through the intangible device, eyes squinting as he takes you in— you whose chuckles slowly calmed down, as your breathing finally becomes heavier, as blood, yours, seem to seep into clumsily made apparel. you, who bruce realized seem too oddly familiar, too small, too childish, whose moment of spiraling insanity is too damn innocent to ignore.

you're not like the typical rogue he encounters, no. and right before you finally allow sleep to overcome you, you muster the last of your energy, to stare back at him with shining eyes, expectant, and like a child's, you ask with the meekest voice.

"hey... dad, i have a surprise." scratchy, absolutely broken, yet spilling with joy, with... your last word right before you continue, bruce's heart thumps ever the slightest faster.

"take my mask off, please?"

crimson began to overtake your entire body, and bruce should've never complied with your... request, but as he kneels and finally gets a grasp of what you truly look like, he notices the frailness, the vulnerability, as if you were never built for... combat. with just how quickly you succumb to the depths of rest, with how oblivious you are to the fact that if it were anyone else, they would've killed you.

you're not properly trained, you fight out of impulse, and he knows it with just how swift you gave up midfight.

when he pulls the domino mask (which seems oddly inspired by the shape of... his vigilante partners, the robins...) off your face, did his heart finally hastened its pace, loud thumping crawling its way to his ears, his eyes registering your face: its form, its shape, your eyes, your nose—

all similar to his, all an amalgamation of your mother's, too.

no... wait, no.

it's not...

it's not his... child?

you?

your eyes, flickering one last time stared at him, softly, like that of a child who looks at their father with pride like nothing else. your hand, it shakes, it shivers, as your fingers find its way creeping to his hand, holding your mask. fingers so dainty, now pulverized bones lay atop his shivering hand, tenderly, as if trying to comfort the very same man who has nearly killed you.

batman— no, bruce looks at you. at what he's done, and only now did he realize his greatest mistake. a child, his child, one whose innocence retained through heinous acts, now a villain, whose actions were all a testimony to merely wanting their father's attention.

he failed you, his child. he failed to protect you, who he has never held up close until now— as your body is hastily taken into his arms. so small, so easily wrapped around his body, so unbefitting of committing criminal activity. now bloodied and laid into barren ground by their very own father.

bruce wayne never felt this much terror, for nearly killing his child.

this, this day marks his sin.

and you? dearest you feel like today is your greatest day.

crimson, nearly every part of you is stained with that putrid color.

yet blood has always been your best friend, no? and right now as you bleed into the arms of your father, you find yourself grateful that it is the last thing you see before a black cloak wraps around you, before black fills your entire line of sight.

short rant ahead: another author's note??? wow. yeah this was such a hard drabble to write. plsplspls leave a comment or some sort of input. anything will do. ive been so demotivated to write lately and i feel like anything i write is just, so bad 😭 like is my pacing good? are the emotions out of place? am i even doing this right ?? i don't know, and i feel like every time i post something i always put up expectations on myself that I should've done better so yeahh. is this attention seeking behavior? probably. but i don't get how people have come to like the stuff i write when i hate whatever i write hence why im in a constant cycle of hiatuses and short breaks. and really, it's just so hard to come into terms with things and i need input lest i accidentally get into a year or two of hiatus, lmaoo.