#brute plutonium

[acrobattack]

fake screencaps ft. a slight redesign of the first oc’s i uploaded to this blog

original caps I traced (taken from a random YouTube review because i couldn’t find a clip of this scene):

[when42-0fallasleep]

Another 5 random headcanons each

[ << previous post ]

Everytime she gets angry, just give her a book and leave her reading angrily in a corner

Play the violin. Is The LingLing

Bookshelves order: categories - size - alphabetical - color

The pink light academia fashion aesthetic on Pinterest

Only swear when she gets really mad

Secretly reads classic tragedy (and will never admit it)

Has a nerd side for cars, will rant for hours about cars if you push his buttons

Has a red cap collection

Has a hair care routine with 10 steps and follows it everywhere, always have a bottle of everything with him

Drink gasoline

Broke too many combs to be counted

Somehow can move her ribbon

Can cook but will burn the oven when baking

A total maximalist (in the sense of never give shits that she don't even use anymore away and stuffs just pile up in her room)

Also drink gasoline

Is a real life Disney Princess

Mumbling sound effects to her actions when she's happy

Never touch her plushie collection without her permission. Or else.

One time Butch misplaced her lipstick and she went full eldritch on him

Is miraculously bleeped when swearing by things around her

"Fuck you I'm dumb."

Is a vocaloid fan (only admit it if asked)

Can mimick Hatsune Miku's voice

Plays D&D, has several characters for fun but only use one (and it's a bard)

Has a guitar and bass collection. Do not touch them

Her advices usually start with "From one bitch to another, I'd say..."

(Only listen to them when they are related to beauty, otherwise just, don't.)

Never fully cover her body when going out, even in winter

Animal hates her

Learned French just to sing Bad Romance on karaoke nights and nailed it

She vibes with all kind of music, especially pop and rock

Only dress nicely when necessary. Otherwise her clothing choices only has a tee, a pant, and flip flop, no matter the season

Own a guitar (that she bought when she was in grade 6) and a bass (that she won from a bet with Boomer)

Also own a skateboard (that prof. U gifted to her), a pair of roller skating shoes (from when she was with the Derbytantes), and a pair of ice skating shoes (that she bought around grade 8)

Is, (not really) surprisingly, the healthiest eater in the Puff

Certified road rage and getaway driver, taught Buttercup how to getaway driving

Fight Buttercup to almost death once in a while to "blow off some steam" (with Brute sometimes joins the fight)

They usually got scolded at first (by prof. U and/or Blossom, sometimes Brick, Berserk just encourages them) but they just let them be since the 10th time

Has never won an arm wrestling match with Buttercup (and will never admit it)

Has a part time job as a make up artist and is good at it

Almost all of the accessories she owns has spikes

And her make up palettes only have black, green, red, and her skin tone color

Her closet is almost covered in black clothes saved for some white and green pieces

Has the whole choreography of Rasputin memorized

Her knife collection is sorted by types, blade sizes, handle sizes, blade color, and handle color.

[blurrymango]

Yeah so basically I rebranded my Powerpuff Girls OCs they're boys now. Rowdyrock Boys yeah :3.

[dude-ler]

The PowerPunk Girls in 2025, nice cool

Timelapse

[simplysedusa]

What are your hc about the the relationship between the siblings? Ppg rrb ppkg!

I just did the post about the Rowdyruffs that you can read here.

For the Powerpuff Girls, they're pretty easy considering they're the titular characters of their franchise. My takes on who they grow up to be aren't that much different from who we know them as but here a few more headcanons of their relationships as they grow older:

When the girls turn 18, Bubbles is the sister to pitch the idea of matching tattoos. Buttercup agreed "so long as it isn't lame" and Blossom is somewhat hesitant. The three argued for quite some time until they settled for one idea on Bunny's birthday. The three each get a purple bunny tattoo, Blossom's tattoo is on her shoulder, Bubbles's tattoo is on her left index finger (or on her cheek if you believe that the girls don't have fingers), while Buttercup's is on her thigh.

Blossom isn't against physical touch, she's just the least likely to initiate any sort of hug between her sisters.

IF Buttercup wants to wear a dress for some fancy schmancy gala or some other important black tie event, she allows Blossom and Bubbles to pick out the dress so long as they both approve of it.

(Honestly, Robin or Mitch could probably pick out a dress for her just fine, but she allows Blossom and Bubbles the luxury to pick her out a dress since the three don't go shopping together often.)

As they've grown older, most of the screaming matches arguments between the girls happen between Blossom and Buttercup. Blossom's passive aggressive while Buttercup's just verbally aggressive, leaving Bubbles to have to step in and play mediator (which she's gotten pretty good at).

However, if it's between Bubbles and Buttercup, their arguments get physical very quickly and Blossom has to break it up soon or it's gonna get ugly. Give them the rest of the day to cool off and they'll be fine.

Arguments between Blossom and Bubbles are rare but tend to be very passive aggressive, snarky, and petty, leaving Buttercup to snicker at some of the verbal comebacks.

Blossom's the sister who "borrows" clothes from her sisters if she's in a rush.

Bubbles is the sister to "borrow" other personal belongings such as hairbrushes, makeup, cellphones, etc.

I've never gotten the chance to talk about my version of the Powerpunk Girls (who were accidentally created by Dick Hardly) but these three girls are vicious, self-centered, and devious to all who know them. This includes each other.

Berserk would likely watch her sisters BURN if that meant that a drop of gasoline would never touch her, and they're both aware of that.

They only bother sticking around one another for safety in numbers.

While the Powerpuffs and Rowdyruffs may have some minor disagreements amongst themselves, the blues and greens have respect for their respective leaders at the very least. The same cannot be said for Brat and Brute. Berserk's only the leader so the other two can pacify her, she'd be completely inconsolable.

Brat would honestly make for a better leader, but the other two ignore her, which causes her to come off as whiny.

Brat's very possessive of her belongings and will fight Berserk and Brute at a moment's notice if they've touched her things.

Berserk instigates fights between Brat and Brute whenever she's bored.

While Brute usually keeps to herself, she'll disappear for days whenever she's had enough of her sisters' shit.

While the Powerpunks Girls are three dangerous forces to be reckoned with, they aren't as cohesive as either of their counterparts. They don't even have any team attacks/formations/routines (but since the Powerpunk Girls fight more independently, they're great at tackling groups head on then destroying each part of the group as if it were a limb to a body they were mutilating).

While the general atmosphere between the girls is hostile and borderline toxic, they will jump you if they're disrespected.

[the-backwards-eel]

Sum punky girls in gachalife2

[ppg-artss]

Back w/ the punksss 🏴‍☠️☠️💙❤️💚☠️🏴‍☠️

[madamecaos]

Crush (ing)

Summary: Where Ghost goes a little too rough on you in training then makes up for it.

5k+ ish words │ Ghost (Simon Riley) x Y/N

A/N: Angst with a smutty happy ending. Times are weird now, so I'm back to writing again. You know the drill, no proofread found here

-----

Part 1

It was merely a crush, you realized. It must be. Otherwise, you would have to not have sex again with Simon.

Because there was no way in hell a man like that would let himself be roped in into a relationship, and a relationship with you at that. You were sure he hated you, going by his nonchalant treatment when he wasn’t in your bed. 

There, another example. You haven’t even been to his room, which going by his arrogant attitude must be annoyingly spotless.

You hated him, or at least you wished that saying it would make it better for your sanity. Because this was Simon.

The first time you slept together happened in France, and it was not gentle. Well, you didn’t really expect any special treatment as a lover, but it wasn’t exactly a tender moment, more of a “blowing some steam” sort of thing. A ‘high-school make out session’ sort of a thing, or so you repeated in your head whenever his name came up in conversation.   

It’s not to say that it wasn’t enjoyable, but only a representation of the tone of your weird situationship. And you were fully sure that this was Johnny’s fault somehow.

“But he likes you, lass. That’s why he’s a pain.” He said, as if there was no doubt about it.

You scoffed at that. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Your aching shoulder, after sparring got out hand, made you believe otherwise.

Now, Johnny said something about hanging out for drinks with some locals. The mission in Serbia took a pause on the wait for new intel, so as consequence your unit had a free week out of uniform. This meant more time with your team outside of work, and that meant that you and Ghost were at each other’s throats. Mostly you since his sunken eyes behind the sockets of his skullmask barely moved when you made jabs at him.

Then he stared and stared, a blank look threatening you into a near sycosis. Why couldn’t he just be normal and answer without underestimating you?

And one night there was a local event, promising alcohol and a good time. It was dark already, but the people there were lively, enjoying food and from far away, you could hear music and dancing. You couldn’t wait to try and merge with the crowd, maybe flirt a little with a cute local. And you thought you looked lovely, really good going by the way some of the soldiers ogled you. It must be due to you being one of the only females in the base, but it wasn’t harming your ego.

Johnny whistled when you met at the entrance, drawing attention to you in civilian clothes. You think they hadn’t seen you off your gear yet, and it must be shocking to see you in a normal long maxi skirt mapping the curves of your hips, a dark top and a fashionable coat, just as dark of course. You looked like a killer with your dark makeup and hair down for the first time in a while, sparkling earrings catching in moonlight.

“Little lady, are ya lost?” He whistled again, making you hurry your pace to shut him up. There was a diminutive pause with hesitation at seeing Ghost in the driver seat after Johnny moved away from the window.

He looked at you, eyes trailing leisurely from your toes to your eyes. You wiggled your white-painted toes in your wedges at the pinning stare. It was a pain smuggling nail polish in missions, but his ongoing stare made it worth it. They might not be up to code, but you didn’t really care. He blinked slowly as his fingers lightly rapped against the steering wheel in what you thought to be annoyance.

“Are ya coming?” The brute asked, still bitter by your word ping-pong match in Price’s office. You certainly had won because you believed yourself capable of acting as a secret spy inside a mob dead set on selling plutonium as a business. Yeah, they were a little out of their heads, but really talented at hiding, so here you were, stuck in Serbia. Ghost clearly thought you weren’t good enough of a liar to gather intelligence, or so he implied, but you knew it was because he didn’t believe you weren’t good enough overall.

Your past scuffles where Ghost was the opponent, pinning you down on the mat, were proof enough. This was the military, you weren’t allowed to make it personal, but when he bested you and made sure to show you your faults with overtraining you… His strict treatment with you hadn’t gone unnoticed by others and, well, let’s say that you weren’t feeling rational about it. 

To your annoyance he got out of the car, and for a second you expected him to fight you again, maybe prevent you from getting into the backseat with brute force. Would he say that you weren’t allowed to drink or have fun? Would your mistakes make him order you back to the gym instead of a night of fun?

None of the scenarios circulating in your head happened. Instead, he leaned sideways and opened the door. You stood still as he waited at your gaping. Then, obviating your embarrassment, you closed your mouth and got in at the rise of an eyebrow behind his mask. None of you mentioned anything at his action, one that you found odd. Maybe he did it as a power move? Or maybe he did it only for the shock factor to keep you on your toes?

Sitting at the back, immersing yourself in your distrust, you kept making eye contact with Ghost through the rearview mirror. Not on purpose, but he did nothing to turn his eyes away, only to drive, and sometimes you swore he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

But you kept fighting with facts versus what you wanted. Did you want him to seek you, look at you and only you? Your last argument kept circulating in your thoughts. Whenever he looked at you, pain followed.

So, he steered the rented car in silence, Johnny making conversation with himself. Ghost found parking nearby inside the city, near the pubs, and yet the car was left hidden in another block. Yeah right… it was the car that would draw attention, not the hulk-of-a-man wearing a balaclava in public.

And it was sort of inevitable the way your gaze would keep drawing back to the blonde near-white lashes free of dark paint or the sharpness of his jawline as he rumbled out another one of his jokes to Johnny. The lack of skull mask allowed you to obsess, no, notice the details. Yes, notice.

And he still had a balaclava. You felt like you were going insane in your ruminating and in your shame for sleeping with someone that didn’t find you worthy enough to show their face.

The guys flocked around you as you headed into the first club with music you could understand.

After a while, you realized you shouldn’t have dared to defy a Scotsman in a drinking game. Johnny was fully sober and you were giggly at your third drink. You were drawn to the dance floor and the bar behind it, or at least a moment for yourself.  A fourth drink didn’t sound so bad, you mused as you planned how to get out of the booth. You were fidgeting in the middle, Johnny on one side, Ghost on the other. Gaz was supposedly on his way, something about needing more time to get dressed. As if. He probably knew this night would be boring and would never arrive.

“Excuse me, scoot” you said, nodding at Johnny to move so you could get out. He huffed and practically ignored you with a teasing grin as he kept ‘scoping the perimeter’ or whatever that meant. “Johnny, let me out. I have to pee.”

“So? If you leave, who’ll be my wingwoman?” 

“Certainly not me. Ghost?”

“Not moving.”

You looked at the two, noticing that Johnny was leaning forward on the table, and Ghost wasn’t. Hoping that the shock factor would stave away the complaints, you swung your leg over Ghost’s hips, landing on your knee at his side. The skirt rode up to your knees as you stared him down, stumbling at your sloshed state. You expected to climb away quickly, but before you could escape into the booming music, solid hands tightened themselves over your hips. You swayed as you lost your momentum, hitting your lower back on the edge of the table, empty glasses clinking.

You hissed at the pain, the bruises on your back tender from yesterday’s training stung as your hands grasped his shoulders for stability. One of his palms quickly spread on your lower back, preventing more accidents. Your lips clamped at the pain. His head was almost at your height, despite you being over him, a few inches up on your knees, spread over his thighs.

Dark eyes stared at you through his mask, but you could clearly make out a risen eyebrow in amusement. That little shit always found a way to get a rise out of you.

“Easy, doll. You should’ve just asked,” he rumbled lowly, barely heard through the music.

“Woah,” Soap added to your embarrassment.

“None of you would move, now let me off,” you didn’t wait for his permission and swung your other leg away, paving your way to freedom away from those steady hands. There was no way you could feel his warmth through all your layers beneath the skirt, but the shape of his fingertips still ghosted over your hips. Fighting the urge to look back, you walked away with flaming cheeks, and hurriedly headed directly to the bar. Well, more like swayed to the bar as embarrassment sunk in slowly in your drunken state.

It was almost as if he was completely unbothered by your presence whilst the mere thought of that skull mask made your logic haywire, aggression being an immediate outlet. You certainly needed that drink, or anything as a distraction, but the bar was unreachable. The hoard of people flaying their limbs to the deep base reverberating through your form didn’t allow you a direct way, so you tried to push yourself through the sides of the crowd. Even being half-way there, you saw that getting that drink would be a pain, the barstools fully occupied, a line of people trying to get the overworked bartender’s attention.

You sighed, knowing that you would have to wait for that reprieve for more than an hour, going by how slow the line was moving. After someone bumped into your sore shoulder, an answer to your question came in the form of the red sign of Exit behind you. Maybe you wouldn’t get a drink, but fresh air might help stave away the recurring memory of the shape of Ghost’s palms on you. The fact that you kept thinking about it made you want to punch something… Fresh air it is. Without looking back, you went outside into a back alley, the cold air helping you sober up enough to not stumble through the horde of smokers blocking the entrance.

What was this bar selling that was so full? You cursed lowly, knowing that your much needed moment of peace would have to wait some more. The thought of calling for a Taxi back to base crossed your mind, your annoyance slowly rising. Unfortunately, you left your purse behind with the other two, your bra carrying the only cash you had in the currency, enough for that one drink you kept dreaming about.

With arms crossed around you, you set your pride aside and found a dark corner to sit in, the lights and the music far away. A little misplaced wooden crate allowed you to take the weight off your feet, far enough to hide you from the locals chatting away over cigarettes. You weren’t as vigilant as your usual self, knowing that with your combat training, you were the most dangerous person amongst them.

With that in mind and at the relief of momentary silence, you closed your eyes, fingertips massaging your temples. Maybe it had been a blessing in disguise that you couldn’t get that drink. You had been bunking with another soldier in the common barracks, the cafeteria was always busy, your itinerary was filled with missions, training, discussing intel, fighting with Ghost and being subjected to horrible jokes and prompts from your peers. This had been the only moment you’ve been alone, you realized.

Peace was broken as you opened your eyes, military boots standing inches away from you. You scolded yourself for recognizing them immediately, not an ounce of you distinguishing him as enemy. Was it normal to even find annoying how silent he was when walking? You should’ve seen him coming.

“Didn’t take you for a smoker,” Ghost said, already knowing that you weren’t. You knew that to your core. He was too observant and too vigilant for his own good, or for your sanity.

“I’m not. Where’s Johnny?” You looked up, craning your neck upwards. The mass of him blended with the darkness of the sky behind him. You could only make out his eyes out of the balaclava.

“Inside,” He looked down on you and you debated if your pride was enough to make you stand up. Even if it was impossible, you wanted to be enough to stand at his height, for him to recognize you at something as your equal. He better walk away before you start spewing truths that would only confess your drunken self.

“And what are you doing here?”

“Checking up on you.”

You held in the scoff, rolling your eyes with closed lids. You waved him away, going back to massaging your temples. “You can tell Johnny I’m fine. Just getting some fresh air.”

He looked sideways momentarily, eyeing the smokers nearby, then returned to pin you down with the heaviness of his gaze.

“You’re hiding,” he said with no question in his statement, head tilting sideways with curiosity.

“No-“

“Away from me,” he rumbled deeply, almost to himself. “It seems we are at an impasse.”

“I’m not doing this right now. Whatever you want to talk about, will be at base with a superior present,” you glared upwards as he eyed the hands now in tight fists on your lap. He knew you were clearly referring to Price, who abided to the bureaucratic process despite his favoritism for his favorite killer. That killer wasn’t you obviously.

You were considered too sentimental, as if that was another flaw.

After a beat, he opened his mouth solely to aggravate you, you were sure. “Said superior suggested we resolve our issues outside of work.”

The comment felt like a mockery. “And this is out of work, right? Get a few drinks in the girl, lower her defenses… and just talk.”

He hummed, a sound you felt in the hollow of your chest. It was almost as if you couldn’t help but react to his every word as an insult. The resentment you held for him always made you wonder that maybe, if you hadn’t felt like proving something to him, you would’ve stayed as a mediocre soldier. That his tough lessons and obvious disdain were meant due to something greater. You wanted to be grateful, to see the good outcome of the estranged liaison you have with one of your superiors, but it was draining enough to know that all effort would go to waste.

“I’ll let them know you were not reciprocating, up to resolve our issues,” he answered with finality, knowing that his flat tone would make you take the bait. He didn’t even blink at your scoff, your eyebrows furrowing at your irritation, him knowing too easily how to get a reaction out of you.

“Issues?” You stood up shakily, leaning your weight on the wall behind you. “Why don’t you tell me what our issues are, Lieutenant?”

In a moment of bravery, you stood on the crate. Even with the added height, the top of your head didn’t even reach his clavicle.

“You’re angry.” He crossed his arms uncharacteristically, biceps bulging at the tension. His eyes roved up and down, as if searching for a clue as to what had you so mad. And in something similar to a question, he added, “At me.”

Furious, but you didn’t correct him. You crossed your arms to imitate his pose, incredulous at the obvious statement. This time you used his tactic and stayed silent as an answer, opting for him to fill in the conversation.

“Tell me why,” he demanded gruffly.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” He couldn’t just interrupt your me-time and start demanding answers out of you, you convinced yourself. You knew you were being difficult, but at this moment, this was merely deflecting. There was no way you would confess your insecurities upon his demands, as if the outcome were to be an improvement.

It was his turn to tilt his eyes up to the sky, seeking answers as he sighed in exasperation. In a second after contemplating, he let his guard down so plainly, you stood shocked and deadly still at his stance. What was this? His shoulders relaxed, arms resting down by his side, eyes beseeching to answer. A clear posture open to you. “I can’t fix something if I don’t know what’s wrong, sweetheart.”

The endearment and the sincerity in his eyes caught you off guard. You blinked, eyes wide open, ignoring the surprise of the coiling heat stirring near your thighs.

Then he went on to call your call sign, spurring you to blurt out the first thing that came to mind.

“You’re mean to me,” You lowered your arms to your sides like him.

You felt like a child, whining, and impossibly allocating a responsibility that didn’t belong to him.

He lowered his chin in disbelief. “You’re… mad at me because I’m mean.”

His complete disregard made you do the exact thing you wanted to avoid. Spill.

“Just mean? No,” Your fury got the best of you, “You know exactly what I’m talking about!”

His eyes widened for the first time, your outburst uncharacteristic, even for your short temper.

“If this is about that night-“

 “You don’t treat me like the others. Even before that night.” You interrupted him, emphasizing what he implied, but felt hysterical at his clear misunderstanding. “You punish me for things that are not my fault. After we spar, I hide bruises because my superior can’t get over himself, but because its my job, I have to pretend its normal, like its professional. And then I’m the weak one? When others don’t have to take your beatings because…because… I don’t know why!”

“Sparring can be violent,” he justified, but to you, he didn’t sound so sure of himself.

“Violent?” You said, nearly shouting. “Violent?!” Ignoring the stiffness of your shoulders and the cold of the Serbian night, you shook of your coat. It was the first time he’d seen more of your skin, your uniform tended to provide full coverage. Even that night was fast and rough, but not unclothed.

He said nothing, his eyes wide at the purple imprints of his fists beneath the thin straps. You knew he could see, even in the dimmed light, how the bruises trailed down your shoulders. He must’ve known they would paint your arms as well, but you hadn’t shed your coat completely. You dared to believe he looked at you in horror, but your feelings bled over the dark alleyway against your better judgment.

“You set impossible expectations in our missions, in drills, and then you act like I’m some sort of failure when I can’t… I’m good at what I do. I do what I’m supposed to do, which is follow orders, swallow my pride, be a good soldier. And then you looked for me to get in my bed, and then nothing from you. So, I did what was expected, I stayed quiet. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He stared and stared, reclamations going over his head as his eyes trailed the rest of your body with furrowed eyebrows. Alarmed. It was the most expressive you’ve seen him. No balaclava could hide the tension that held him upright.

“And then you ask Price to keep me off the next mission, after I keep proving that I’m capable. What else do you want from me?”

For the first time in a long time, he had no sass, no jokes, no answer for what he’d done.

“Y/N… I-“ He choked.

“I’m asking Price to change units. This will be my las mission with 141,” This time, he looked like he wanted to say something, but you were done with his excuses. “I’m done with your disrespect and your justified violence.”

You threw the word back at his face, Ghost tense and quiet.

“Y/N?” Someone asked from the exit. As your head snapped towards the voice, you hastily put your coat on, covering your shoulders immediately.

Johnny clutched your purse, eyes roving over your face and red rimmed eyes. The hesitance to look at your body let you know he had seen enough. Blue eyes kept jumping from Ghost to you, back and forth connecting the dots. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just tired. Heading back to base,” You stepped down the crate, Ghost taking a sudden step back, as if you’d burned him. He officially wanted nothing to do with you.

“I will take you,” Johnny offered, gently and uncharacteristic, raising an arm to put over your shoulders in comfort, but let it fall as if he thought it over.  In a second, he turned with an expectant palm towards Ghost. “Keys.”

He didn’t ask, he demanded. And Ghost, the good soldier he was, followed orders.

“The Lieutenant will take a cab.”

The Lieutenant didn’t argue.

--

The ride was tense, Johnny flickering glances at your silent state. As you stared blankly at the windshield, he hid his anger under his worry.

“Do you… should you talk to someone?” Johnny asked tentatively, indicating that maybe someone of a higher ranking should get involved.

“No,” you answered, finality in your tone.

You opened the door hastily when you arrived, avoiding any opportunity for him to ask more questions.

You had done enough talking for the night.

--

Thankfully, the common barracks were empty. But as you sat on the lower bunk bed, you felt a note crumble beneath your weight.

You stared at nothing in the dark, exhausted, taking deep breaths for a few minutes before you had to read, dreading another mission or another memo at your impertinence.

After gaining courage, the light post by the window allowed you to read that the note was a relocation to another bed.

--

The private room was yours, just like the private bathroom and the queen-sized bed. It was a slight gratification after everything that transpired a few hours ago.

And it was in another hall from your unit, further away from Ghost’s own private bedroom.

You didn’t want to think about him anymore this night, you thought as the nearly boiling water cascaded down your back.

As you scrubbed yourself clean, you reminded yourself that you needed to thank Johnny, he must’ve had to pull some impossible strings to find you a private bedroom amongst the fully occupied base.

In secret, inside of your new bedroom, you finally allowed yourself to cry.

Part 2

[teacupballerina]

The Powerpunk Girls were created specifically, intentionally, with an ingredient passed down through a centuries-old bloodline.

"Come along, you three. We've got work to do."

The Oppressor did not bother to name the girls at first, seeing them only as tools.

But they eventually earned their titles...

Brute came first, just after their birth. Brat soon followed, defying Plutonium in her typical manner. Berserk was named last, after proving her worth to her sisters and father.

[whenlavapoursoutnearthesea]

Some sketches based my own interpretations on the Powerpunk Girls, they’re a little older but I still like them.

now here’s the infodump:

Berserk: Blossom without the leadership. Her personality can charitably be described as an unholy fusion between Brick and Momoko Akatsuki from PPGZ. She talks big shit and can put up a reasonable fight, but she’s doesn’t really think before she acts.

Brat: Bubbles without the kindness. While the weakest member due to shirking her training, she’s incredibly intelligent and cunning to make up for it. She’s the closest thing the girls have to a leader, though she makes sure that Oppressor Plutonium thinks it’s Berserk. Probably gonna become the next Oppressor.

Brute: Buttercup without the restraint. She’s stone-faced and speaks in a monotone voice, unless she’s in battle. Unlike Buttercup, Brute likes to use weapons on occasion. She also is completely merciless when it comes to fighting, and she’s very destructive to the buildings and structures around her.

[when42-0fallasleep]

Five random headcanons each

Self-proclaimed leader

An ass

Clever. Clever af.

Smt level-headed (at the wrong place), mostly seems like someone lit him on fire actl (*insert that elmo on fire meme)

Can cook, but his eating habit is straight up from hell (his food combination is weird af)

"Listen bitch, i have millions ways to sunday to gut you, and i will let you have three seconds to have the delusion that you can escape this."

An ass, but she holds herself back most time (read: w Blossom on the scene)

The powerpuff that has swearing in every breath

Smart (mostly battle smart, but she is actl good at math)

Best cook in the gang but too lazy to actl do it

Has a lingerie collection

The blonde bitch w an onlyfan acc that might have dated (and fucked) every man available (?) in town (she def did, w no regret)

She is the living combination of Panty Anarchy, Regina George and Gretchen Wieners of the place

"Honey i born bad, and i love it"

Do not, let her touch even the fucking kettle.

Appointed leader (the other two lowkey let her do so)

Book smart

Old lady's mind in a little girl's form

She can bake but cant cook (by some miracle, and no cook book she read could help her)

Extreme OCD

Punch first, think later

Dirty, in many ways

Foulest mouth of them all

Eat like he has a black hole in his stormach

Manwhore

Good and kind (but not naive)

Can speak like 10 languages (and some tiny bits of more)

Its not easy to get her mad, but dont

Biggest sweet tooth, can eat spicy stuff tho but didnt rlly like it

Likes handmade stuff

Leader in the sense of winning the first group brawl

Walking chimney

Surprisingly very classy

Refined (read: extremely picky) eater

A literal party animal

It seems like hes always high (no he has never touch weed in his life)

Actl can be talked into a good person

Self-proclaimed world best indie guitarist (he is good)

Would eat everything that can be put inside his mouth

Dumb prank is a daily need

Doesnt give one shit abt everything

Either emo, goth or punk, depending on her mood

Has a huge body count (in both meanings)

Has a knife collection

If your name is on her list, she would kill you, then your parents, then your child.

[ next post >> ]

[imaslutforcuddles]

Vampire

(Moodboard made by me.)

August Walker x Reader

Vampire, By Olivia Rodrigo.

Summary: You two had been like peas in a pod, close and comfortable. You both knew each other or so you thought. It was only a matter of time before the truth came out. August knew this, and he pushed it as far away as he could. But you're smarter than that.

Words: 942

Warnings: Swearing, spoilers, mentions of sex, yelling, manipulation, angst, violence, minor character death, not a happy ending, August Walker is a walking red flag.

A/N: This goes along with mission impossible six, except reader works alongside August. Like most of my other fics, this one corresponds with a song. Banner below by cafekitsune.

"If you don't hear from us," Ethan looked over to August as he cocked his gun.

"I'll do it my way."

August had always been a brute and someone who wouldn't hesitate to get a job done.

After years of working alone, he was a complete change of direction; and you loved it.

The thrill alone of working with him was great, but the thrill he gave you almost every night in bed kept you warm inside.

He nodded to Ethan.

"Don't take your eyes off him."

August grunted as the others left, he had wanted you to stay safe and far away from him. Yet, he couldn't help but yearn for you.

He shook his head returning to the reason he had gone on this mission in the first place.

After unplugging the camera watching Lane, he filled a syringe with adrenaline, before walking back to where Lane was held captive.

The door was opened and he almost shoved the syringe into Lane grunting as he gasped awake.

"Enough games, I'm taking you out of here."

It was like a mouse and cat. Ethan was chasing a piece of cheese that couldn't be found, unknowing of the cat running after him.

August huffed, un-doing his cuffs.

"Where's Hunt?"

Lane had almost looked scared when he spoke.

"He's gone to the meeting, with a copy of you."

August was huffing with rage at this point and Lane could feel it. He raised a hand and sucked in a breath.

"Calm down. Call the apostles. Warn them."

August's face contorted, almost in disgust; but mainly annoyance.

"I have no way of contacting them. For their safety and mine."

He glared at him.

"What I do have is an extraction team with satellite overwatch and prearranged rendezvous. They'll know as soon as we leave the building."

He turned to leave before Lane continued, "No, I'm staying here."

He shifted in his seat as August stopped.

"I haven't finished with Hunt yet."

August whipped his body around, full of annoyance and anger, before stomping back to him.

"Why'd you have to make this so fucking complicated?"

Lane's head turned, "I don't understand what you mean."

August looked absolutely done, he felt done too.

"The deal was simple. I help you frame Hunt, you give me the plutonium. You're wasting time."

"There cannot be peace without first a great suffering."

He moved his face away, trying not to beat the shit out of him.

"The greater the suffering, the greater the peace."

August was losing his patience.

"When I wrote those words I wasn't referring to your peace or Hunt's suffering. The old world order needs dismantling, and we have the tools to dismantle it. All you seem to care about is that Hunt lives to take the blame. That's not anarchy."

Lane's face becomes widened and amused, and he nods slightly.

"That's revenge."

Lane leaned forward.

"Yes it is. And when I have what I want, the apostles with give you the plutonium."

Walker sighs and starts walking away, only before turning back around to spit out more words like their his last.

"Hunts the only friend you've got. You're only alive today because he didn't have the guts to kill you. Sloan was right, the IMF is like halloween. Nothing but grown men wearing,"

He pauses, something hadn't felt right earlier and things were starting to add up. He looks over to the computer they had made a copy of lanes face with.

Lane looks behind him and smiles, shifting in his seat.

"What?" He clears his throat uncomfortably.

August starts walking over to lane before aggressively ripping off his mask, revealing:

"Was it just the job?" You growl.

He was taken aback, expected anyone but you. He prayed it would be anyone but you.

You hadn't specified but he knew what you were asking.

The restraints holding you to the chair had been fake the whole time, just like his affection for you.

"You know, i had almost left this whole job when Hunt was sure you were John Larke. I couldn't believe you had faked our,"

You pause trying to find the words for the relationship you had made with him.

"He begged me to just sit here and act, that you may be exactly what he thought you were." You scoff before turning your head.

"And he was right."

August just stands there, annoyed and unresponsive. It makes you want to scream and kick him, but you stay patient.

"Was i just some stupid fuck you thought would help you when things turned out in the end?"

He finally opens his mouth, but the only thing that comes out is acid.

"I could never love you."

it strikes something in you. Maybe a fire, maybe something hotter than that, but it burns.

And you snap.

You reach behind him and grab his gun, it had happened all too fast. He couldn't contemplate what to say to you.

"Your fucking pathetic you know that? Going after your own teammate because you couldn't find a man to fuck you." He snorts trying to push you.

"That's rich coming from you asshole."

Your hands shake and he doesn't miss it. He counts on your failure, he thinks your weak.

"Oh you think i wouldn't kill you?" You laugh and his smirk turns bitter.

"Goodbye August, or whatever your name is."

Your words pierce his heart before the bullet does, but they don't reach his brain fast enough to make a move.

His words had rung in your head long after his body fell motionless.

But you had no choice, and he wasn't worth it.

[hunty627]

Salt, vinegar and everything nasty. These were the ingredients chosen to create the perfect little girl with a negative attitude. Then Oppressor Plutonium deliberately added an extra ingredient to the concoction. Chemical X! Thus, the Powerpunk girls were born! Using their ultra superpowers, Berserk, Brat and Brute have dedicated their lives to to destroy everything, gross people out, and dominate their surroundings.

Powerpunk Girls

thinking of them (2021)

[shi-yin-drawings]

I was gonna clean up the lineart and render them in much more detail but I haven’t brought myself to do so in these past months so here you go instead!  

In any case, imagining these girls in my style was a blast!!  I hope you enjoy them too.  You can check out my PPG x RRB version here

Do not edit or repost without permission. Message me beforehand, thanks!

My Instagram

[simplysedusa]

On one hand, I want to throw away the whole multiverse concept and just give the Powerpunk Girls a creator from the canon universe (*coughDickHardlycough*) so I don't have to complicate things for my fic(s).

But, on the other hand, a multiverse as a concept/trope is very popular at the moment and it's still cool if I implement it right.

[the-backwards-eel]

Adult! punk girlss