#bullying implied

[foxlovsr]

C.C. ART RAAAAHHH

[TW BLOOD, GORE(?, SH SCARS, BRUISES‼️‼️]

Song: Kill the Rock

[ https://youtu.be/tDHnDaxATaA?si=LpLUAh0dSuUqoKtL ]

Idk what else to add lmao bye

[roastyoualive]

On a less funny note because I've been in a car for four hours and I'm making it your problem:

Warren is immortal, like his father. You can kill him, but it doesn't stick - he'll just wake up mad. I should note that it says Warren IS immortal like his father, not Warren THINKS he's immortal like his father. He knows. He got pushed out of a tree when he was eight, a year after he and his mom moved to Maxville's seedy north end. The fall broke his leg and his neck.

The neck healed instantly, since that was what had been lethal. The leg took time (time and money, the latter of which they didn't have a lot of). The other kids involved got away with some serious burns and a fear of God they didn't have before.

The Agency sent a man to question Penny about why her son had powered up in front of civilians; she responded with a thinly veiled death threat, a half hysterical tirade, and a slammed door. She cut off her involvement with the Agency as a whole and hasn't contacted nor been contacted by them since.

The good news is that none of the kids in that area talk to cops, let alone FEDS, so the Agent couldn't get any information out of them.

Warren describes dying as a lot like suffocating. He doesn't recommend it.

[crystal-lillies]

i think we all learned that the real villain of Dead Boy Detectives was the internalized homophobia

[dykedvonte]

I just realized some people are confused about events in the alluded to past in Mouthwashing, particularly about how long the crew has been working together.

The only person who is truly new is Daisuke and it’s why his dynamic with the crew and role in the story is very unique and somewhat distant. Curly didn’t just get Jimmy this job on the Tulpar, he got him the job with the Pony Express. He’s been his copilot for probably a couple of years but still not as long as they’ve been friends. None of them are new with the freight industry, Anya and Swansea especially have been doing this for years, together.

Jimmy is the newest on the regular crew, maybe just a few assignments, but it’s not his first time working with them. I think it’s just something important because this isn’t just one bad mistake that snowballed with giving Jimmy the job. None of them thought Jimmy would do anything, no matter how off-put by him they could’ve been, since he hadn’t done a thing since being there. Generally unpleasantness isn’t a crime and he’d be aware of that.

It was a festering thing and a sort of forced trust they had to give him that he knowingly took advantage of. He was the black sheep and still a wolf under the wool. He expected when he lashed out, that he had been there long enough for it to be looked over completely. Got too comfortable in the space he inserted into and did a lot of damage with his claws when he felt he was going to get shaken out.

[iaminpainfr]

Trigger warning with sewer slide and bullying

yandere! bullies are cool, I guess, but sometimes I just wanna see em fucking guilty, frowning. Getting what they deserve.

The bully with a Manipulative! Reader

"you're so mean... You don't care? I'll just kill myself then... since you hate me so much."

"what- no. that's not what I-"

"then start acting like you care."

Or....

Imagine that the victim has a partner, they step in to defend the victim from yandere! Bully.

It breaks the yandere! bully's heart secretly because you feel safer with your partner instead of them, you love your partner. You don't love them. Because all they do is just torture you. But still, at least love them a little... Please look at them with those eyes like you do with your partner.

But then they pull the "I'm doing this cause your mine, I own you" bullshit, aha, no.

I want a yandere bully broken. To see them full of guilt.

If they're doing this cause they love you, it's only fair you did it back, ŗ̵̡̺̤̅́̇͒͠i̴̮̓̚ģ̵̝͓̻̝̾͆͒̈͑͜͜͝ḧ̷̗̘̞̊̿͊͂ẗ̵̳̹͗̆̆̃̐?̵̟͍̤̱͎͑̌̈

[honeydewandcake]

TW — Bullying, implied suicide, abuse

Recently read Takopi no Genzai (Takopi’s Original Sin) and wanted to make something inspired by it

I’m not going to make something based on the entire manga, but I did want to take the story of characters and put them on Sprout and Cosmo. I don’t really want to get too into detail since most information is already in the pictures

Sorry Fruitcake shippers, your favorite mlm ship is getting destroyed today :p

Below is extra drawings for it ↓

Messy sketch drawings to visualize what life is like for the two of them

Cosmo gets picked on the students in his class, mainly by Sprout. He always comes home bruised and dirty. Most of the time when he comes home, his mom isn’t there to greet him. Even as a young grade student, he started to think about dying. It’s unfortunate that such a young kid could be driven to such a state. Really, the only thing he has left is a stray cat that he calls his pet. If that cat disappears, he might actually be gone for good.

Sprout is popular in the class and is Cosmo’s bully. He calls him names and physically pushes him around. The things he calls Cosmo is very vile and not so school appropriate. No one tries to stop him though since everyone thinks it’s funny. Whenever he comes home, his mom is there. Although, on rare occasions, his dad will be home and he will be greeted by loud arguing rather than a hug. He learns his insults from them. He learns how to hurt others from them.

In Takopi no Genzai, the memory of Takopi brings Shizuka and Marina together and they become friends. In here, Takopi doesn’t exist, but I wanted to draw what it would be life if they did together again. Although not canon, I really wish they could have been friends.

This was just an experimental idea, don’t hate me for this q-q

I also don’t really want to continue this too much since it’s just a one off thing, but I might draw more inspired things. I’ll probably bring back these designs and lore, who knows.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

What if all the yeerks suddenly died? AU

Part 3.5; Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 are here. All you need to know from earlier parts is that all the yeerks disappeared at once after the events of #19, and that the Animorphs and ex-controllers have been trying to resume a normal life ever since.

• Hedrick Chapman wanted to be an ecologist when he grew up.  Or a veterinarian.  Barring that, he’d have settled for being rich.  At no point did he ever want to be a vice principal of a criminally underfunded public high school.  That had been a yeerk decision, not his.  Certainly not his.  And yet, here he is.

• Then again, Chapman reflects as he watches Andy Mitchell vomit into the potted plant on his desk, this job has recently involved far more working with wild animals than he initially anticipated.

“It was horrible,” Andy sobs.  “Her f-face, it… it split open.  I could see bones under the—”  He cuts off, retching more.

Probably in shock, Chapman thinks.  A perfectly understandable reaction to having seen someone morph for the first time.  “What did she turn into?”

“What?”  Andy lifts his head.  Milk-pale, except for those red-rimmed eyes.  Definitely in shock.  “What do you mean?”

“Rachel.”  Chapman didn’t get a name, but that description could only apply to so many students.  “What did she morph?”

“I don’t know,” Andy wails.  “Her face got all baggy and horrible, like the skin was coming off, and it…”  He makes a pulling motion, away from his own mouth.

“So she turned into an elephant.”  Chapman notes that down.  “Then what?”

“You don’t understand,” Andy says.  “She… she… her body was melting!”

Chapman sets down the pen, looking him in the eye.  “I believe you.  You saw her turn into an elephant.  Did she try to attack you, once she was done?”

“I don’t know!  I ran for it.”

“Smart choice.”  Chapman massages his left temple, which is where his Rachel-shaped headache seems to have taken up full-time residence in Iniss 226’s absence. “I figured as much, since we’re not having this conversation in the hospital.”

“It was horrible,” Andy says again.

“And what did you say to Tobias Fangor that precipitated this incident?”

Andy blinks.  His color looks a little better, anyway.  “How did you know that?”

Chapman does not roll his eyes.  Because he’s an adult, and in control of his own body.  “I just so happen to be fluent in English, Mr. Mitchell.  Which is, by enormous coincidence, the language used to write your disciplinary file.  I’m also capable of basic pattern recognition.”

“What are you going to do to her?” Andy asks.  “Rachel.  What happens to her?”

An excellent question.  Bringing a deadly weapon to school results in a ten-day suspension.  But if Chapman applies that statute in this case, then he’d be forced to suspend all five Animorphs for the rest of eternity.  Threatening a classmate can result in expulsion, though it sounds like no actual threats were issued.  There isn’t a rule on the books for showing a classmate something so disturbing his brain tries to turn itself inside-out from sheer horror, although in light of recent developments there really should be.

“Not your concern,” Chapman says.  “Thank you for telling me.  Back to class.”

Andy takes several more minutes to collect himself before he goes.  Chapman uses that time to catch up on paperwork, though he does offer the young man a tissue.  And a breath mint.

• Andy is barely out Chapman’s door when it swings open again and Tom Berenson strides in.  “You have to tell my parents it’s not Jake’s fault,” he announces.

I am not your therapist, Chapman would dearly like to say.  I am not your best friend.  I am not, regardless of Iniss 226’s relationship with Temrash 114, your fucking subordinate.  I do not ‘have to’ do anything.

Not being snippy with vulnerable teenagers is probably one of those things they’d cover M.Ed. programs, if Chapman had ever actually been to school for this job.  “Why don’t you take a deep breath and explain from the beginning.”  There.  That sounds like something a vice principal would say.

“Jake.”  Tom sits down.  “My parents keep forcing him to go to school.  They think he’s, like, being a moody teenager.  Or faking it.”

Chapman may not be a therapist, or even a college graduate, but he does recognize that Jake’s entitled to as many sick days as he feels like taking, for the rest of eternity.  However, “That’s between your parents and your brother.”

“You can’t do anything?” Tom asks.  “You have the ability to give kids permanent excuses for made-up medical conditions— Iniss did it all the time—”

“I am not,” Chapman says severely, “Iniss 226.”

Tom stiffens.  “I just meant…”

“I recognize it is not your fault you have entirely too much information about the administration of this school.”  Chapman tries to soften his tone.  “But if you can do without using the Krav Maga or ability to home-assemble a working handgun that you also didn’t choose to receive, you can do without that.”

“But— Jake.  They don’t get it.”

“I will speak with your parents.  I’ll express these concerns to them,” Chapman says.  “In the meantime, might I suggest you focus on your own grades?  Thanks to Iniss, you’ve missed far too much school already.  If you want to have any hope of graduating on time, you need to catch up.”

“Why?”

He says it so simply.  It’s a question Chapman’s been asked before: Why bother?  Of all the kids who’ve asked him, only Marco Santiago has been more entitled to ask.  Why, indeed, bother with school?  Why care about Civics and Algebra when the world itself has already ended around you? 

A real vice principal would make a speech about learning being its own reward, or the importance of insuring one’s future.  “Because,” Chapman says, “when I speak to Coach Lu about letting you back on the basketball team, he’ll point out that student athletes need a minimum two-point-oh GPA.”

Tom’s whole face lights up.  Suddenly looking years younger.  Looking like a kid, for the first time in months.  “You’d do that for me?”

That M.Ed. program no doubt would have advised against bribes.  “No skin off my butt,” Chapman says.  “Now go do your homework.  And let the adults worry about your brother.”

“Yes sir!”  And he’s off like a shot.  Possibly even, miracle of miracles, off to work on that backlog of English essays.

• The first time Jake called a meeting in Cassie’s barn, even though they don’t really have a reason to meet anymore, it was to discuss what they can do to help the hork-bajir—taxxon alliance.  The second time, it was to make a plan to help Tobias get caught up in school.  The third time, he doesn’t even make an excuse.

Rachel complains about the press hounding them for a statement.  Marco complains about his parents making out on the couch while he’s in the house.  Tobias complains about Ms. Paloma’s workload, and about the hork-bajir constitution negotiations.  Jake complains about his dad’s horrifying questions about how morphing affects puberty.  Ax complains about Alloran’s frequent, extremely snobby, emails.  Cassie complains about her parents constantly asking her to morph their patients to figure out what’s wrong with them.

It’s silly.  It’s fun.  It’s playing at being teenagers with teenage problems.

“This time next week,” Jake announces, at the end.  “And if there are any major developments in the meantime, keep the rest of us posted.”

• “Tobias Fangor’s aunt called again,” Principal Walsh says, when Chapman gets to the office on a Tuesday morning.  “Don’t you think we should at least speak to her, see what she wants?”

“No,” Chapman says.  “I don’t.”

“His uncle.  This…”  She glances at the paperwork.  “Axel Mili-Esgarrouth.  Didn’t show up for last parent-teacher conference.”

Small mercies.  Chapman doesn’t explain Tobias’s living situation.  Doesn’t reveal that he owes the kid’s parents the kind of debt that cannot be repaid in an entire lifetime of favors.  Doesn’t deign to find out if Maggie Walsh knows what an andalite is.

“Tobias Fangor,” he says, “is part of the one-tenth of one percent of students who are, somehow, attending this high school because they want to be here.  If you give him reason to transfer out, I will resign.”

• There are reasons that Chapman stays in this job, despite being stashed here against his will.  Not the pay.  Not the sullen ingratitude from the teens he helps.  Certainly not the parents.  It’s because he’s needed here, now more than ever.

• He stays for the times Loren’s kid comes skittering into his office, wild-eyed and muttering, “Sorry, I just, sorry, I’ll be out of your hair soon, I promise…”  Chapman knows to open the window, when that happens, knows to shove a chair already well-deformed with talon marks out from behind his desk.

•  He stays for the kids who on paper had straight As, perfect attendance, promising gigs at The Sharing — and overnight became failing wrecks with insomnia and dozens of unexplained absences.  He can explain to their teachers, to their parents, in a way that someone who hasn’t been there will never be able to understand.

•  He stays for the way Eva Santiago clasps his hand and says, “You will look out for him.”  Half-supplication, half-command.

•  He even, despite himself, stays for Tom.  Who showed up at school the day after Aegas 1909 died, trying to pretend like nothing had happened.  Who is a truly godawful actor — he took one look at Chapman, went dead-white, and ran for it.  Who was backing away even as Chapman cornered him in the parking lot.  “Wait!” Chapman had said.  “Wait! Iniss is dead too.”  And Tom had burst into tears.

•  No one else would understand them.  No one else would know why nearly every one of the seventy-three ex-hosts in this school has been sent to his office for not paying attention, for sleeping in class, for allegedly being stoned during school hours.  No one else would overlook the absolute illegal mess of Tobias’s paperwork, or give Rachel a fortieth second chance after she has yet another hair-trigger reaction to being bumped in the hall.

•  But there’s one reason above all others that he stays in this job.

“You don’t mind?” Melissa says, every single time he offers her a ride to school.  As if he’s doing her a favor, letting her take up space in the car he’s already driving that way.  As if it’s a chore to get to spend time with his daughter and hear about her day.

“You sure you don’t mind?” he always answers, smiling, and she always runs to get her bag.

It takes so little — a smile, a nod, an offer to feed the damn cat, sometimes even just a glance her way — to get her to light up with gratitude.  It breaks his fucking heart to know the reason why.

He drives her every day.  He helps her with homework every night, and cooks her dinner afterward.  He drops more than he can afford on leg-warmers and Lisa Frank and Limited Too.  He’s every parenting cliché: on a trial separation from Alison, spoiling their kid rotten because of the guilt.

Anyway, time with Melissa is worth a hell of a lot more than mere money.  And it’s almost enough to make up for dealing with parents.  Almost.

•  “But Cassie’s a good kid,” Michelle Logan says.  “She’s always been responsible, and she’s always taken care of herself.  There has to be some kind of mistake.”

Chapman looks at the good kid sitting between her parents.  Thinks of watching her rip a hork-bajir’s throat out, taking an innocent life along with the guilty one.  Trusts that she had no choice in the matter, because if it was him she’d killed instead then he would have understood.

“I recognize that Cassie has had an overall clean record thus far,” Chapman says.  “However, the Rain Forest Café is filing charges against the school for the impersonation and theft of several live animals, and I don’t have other suspects.”

“Cassie would never,” Michelle said.  “She’s a good kid.  She just fell in with the wrong crowd, that’s all.”

“Of that,” Chapman says dryly, “I have no doubt.”

Cassie lifts her head then to look straight at him.  “I’m sorry,” she says, not sounding it.  “I was trying to help the parrots.”

I.  Yes, she’s a good kid.  “It’s admirable,” Chapman tells her, “that you’re covering for your friends.”  Probably also on the list of things a real vice principal wouldn’t say.  “But there is no way that you could have acted alone.”

“Can you prove that?” Cassie asks.

“Can you even prove it was her?” Michelle says.  “What about Marco, or Rachel?  They morph.  Isn’t Tobias a bird quite often?  Who says it wasn’t him?”

Cassie and Chapman make eye contact.  Marco is one incident away from being expelled.  Rachel is about negative eight incidents away, and Chapman can only do so much to protect her.  Tobias isn’t supposed to be at this school at all, which the board will surely notice if he comes to their attention.  Cassie confessed, because Cassie can take the heat.  And Chapman’s letting her take that fall.

“It’s okay,” Cassie tells the adults.  “It’s only a week of detention.”

Because that was the lowest sentence he could propose, while still avoiding a legal proceeding.  She really is a good kid.

•  “Where you going?” Jake asks, not looking up from his Spanish homework, when Tom unlocks the front door at 8:00 PM on a Sunday.

“Sharing meeting,” Tom says casually.  “Wanna come?”

Jake sets down his pen.  He looks at his brother.

Tom stares back, smirking.

“Where are you actually going?” Jake says.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”  And with that, Tom walks out the door.

Despite himself, Jake follows.

 • It’s an under-21 nightclub that Jake vaguely recognizes as being a front for The Sharing, but the crowd spilling onto the lawn around it is truly all ages.  There’s a giggling pair of 10-year-olds standing too close to the beer keg for his comfort, a middle-aged guy handing out glow sticks, and a woman with gray hair and a hand-knit sweater smoking a joint on the curb.

“Tommy-boy!” That’s the guy standing next to the door, an ex-controller Jake thinks is named Bill.  He throws out his arms and, before Jake can react, has grabbed Tom, spun him around, dipped him, and kissed him on the mouth.

“Hands off, asshole,” Tom says, laughing as he pulls loose.  “You are so fucking drunk.”

“Sssshhhhhh,” Bill says, not disconfirming the accusation.  He points to the Employees Only printed on the door.  “Just meat-puppets tonight.  Ditch the tagalong.”

“Oh, come on.”  Tom gestures at Jake.  “The kid was a controller for a hot second last November.”

Bill squints at Jake.  “Wait, really?”

Jake shrugs.  He doesn’t want to talk about it.  “Yeah.”

“Well all right, then.”  Bill ruffles Jake’s hair, Tom slaps Bill on the ass, and they shoulder their way inside.

• The club is jammed full of bodies, most of them sweaty and partway naked.  Jake retreats until his back is against the nearest wall, looking over the mess of dancing humans.  Tom has split off, chest-bumping with some other guy Jake doesn’t know and stealing a drag off his cigarette.  None of them are acting remotely like controllers, which is reassuring, and now he’s wondering if it’d be rude to leave without Tom about 10 seconds after having arrived.

 No one would notice if he turned into a bug, he decides after about an hour of this.  Seriously.  This crowd would not notice, and it’s not like they’d care if they did.  Tom can find his own way home.

A small form sidles up next to him.  “Hi, Jake.”

“Melissa!” he says too loudly, glad to see a familiar face.  “Hi.”

“You want some drink?”  She holds up a clear plastic cup, three-quarters full of liquid.  “There’s plenty more over…”  She points to the punchbowl behind her.

“Drink?” Jake asks.

Melissa shrugs.  “From the empty bottles, it’s mostly beer and tequila, with a little bit of Bloody Mary mix.  Which is probably why it…”  She grimaces down at her cup.  “Looks, smells, and tastes like urine.”

“Um.”  Jake peers at her cup; her assessment isn’t wrong.  “I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Cool.  There’s also a guy around here with E, if that’s more your speed.”

“Gee.”  Jake looks back over the crowd, which includes several couples openly pawing at each other, a group of four with hands inside each other’s clothes, and Tom apparently attempting to eat some woman’s tongue before she can eat his.  “There’s ecstasy here?  I never would’ve guessed.”

“People are just glad the war’s over,” Melissa says.  “And your brother’s a really good kisser.”

It’s official: this is worse than the gathering of alien slugs plotting Earth’s destruction that Jake expected to find.  It’s not even a proper orgy, just a whole crapton of giddy ex-hosts hugging each other and then getting too enthusiastic about the hugs.

“Look,” Jake says.  “This has been nice, but I have school tomorrow, so…”

•  Which is when the commotion breaks out near the door.

“Gatecrasher!”  That’s Bill, brandishing a mason jar as he continues to yell.  “We have a gatecrasher!”

Several people crowd around him to get a better look, someone holding up a glow stick to reveal that, sure enough, the jar in his hands contains a single wolf spider.  Among this crowd, animals that act strange or aren’t native to California don’t go without notice.

«I’m innocent!  And even if I’m not you can’t prove anything,» the spider says.  «Maybe I just wandered by accidentally, and this is all a big misunderstanding.»

“This thing’s for full members only,” Tom says, straight-faced.  “There’s a sign on the door, can’t miss it.”

«Maybe I want to join the Sharing?» the spider suggests.

This gets him several unamused looks.�� “Toss him out,” Li says.  “And let’s get back to the keg stands.”

“Nah, let him stay!”  That’s Koko, piping up from the back.  “God knows every person in this bar owes the Animorphs a drink.”

Looking between them, Bill turns back to the jar.  Finally he lifts it up to eye level, starting at the spider’s middle two eyes.  “Repeat after me,” Bill intones.

«Uh-huh.»

“What your mom doesn’t know…”

«What my mom doesn’t know…»

“Will not hurt her.”

«Dude, I wouldn’t narc on you!  What do you take me for?»

“A chip off the old block,” Tom mutters.

“Repeat it,” Bill says severely.

«What my mom doesn’t know, won’t hurt her.»

“Great!”  Bill unscrews the lid of the jar, dumping it out on the ground.  “Welcome to the Sharing.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Melissa says to a slowly-demorphing Marco, “I got the same speech.”

“It really does.”  He presses a hand over his heart.  “Now, someone mentioned buying me a drink?”

•  A small nightclub on the outskirts of the city burns to the ground, shortly after having every piece of its furniture and glassware smashed in a pile in the middle of the floor.  The local police force, over 30% of whom were controllers three months ago, elects to ignore this development.

•  Chapman loathes paperwork to the absolute depths of his soul.  Nothing, absolutely nothing, is worse than filing paperwork to get permission to file paperwork, and yet here he is.  The state of California cannot possibly need this many copies of Ashley Shawn’s transcript.  This has to be a torment invented by an evil god to punish him for everything he did aboard the Jahar.  There is no other explanation.

So when Ms. Hanna comes skidding into his office and announces “Science wing! There’s a brawl!” his first thought is, oh thank god.

His second thought is to wonder why she came to get him, skipping the security officer and Principal Walsh, but they’re already running by the time that occurs to him.

When they get there the press of screaming-chanting bodies fills the hall from end to end, but kids still find room to crowd out of the way when they see Chapman coming.  The circle of spectators breaks long enough to reveal the melee at the center, and—

Oh hell.  Chapman can tell exactly why Ms. Hanna got him first.

Fiona Aherne has one hand fisted in the collar of Tom Berenson’s shirt, and is punching him repeatedly in the face.  Joe Lassen catches her around the middle and rips her off Tom, tossing her to the floor, only to be caught in a side-tackle by Li Saren.  Beyond them, Hailey Ng and Bill Renaldi are hanging onto Asher Reed, until Asher suddenly rolls forward and body-slams Bill to the floor.

Chapman winces — so much for not using that Krav Maga. He's knocked aside as Jake shoves past him and dives in to the fray.

Principal Walsh is across the battlefield, staring in bafflement.  Shouting ineffectually for everyone to stop.  She doesn’t know, of course, what Tom and Joe and Asher all have in common.  What Bill and Li and Fiona and Hailey do.

Li has Tom by the throat from behind, which is why Jake throws himself onto Li with the gracelessness typical of a high-schooler.  Li head-butts Jake, only to have Jake, snarling, bite him in the face.

“Stop!” Chapman bellows.  “ALL OF YOU!  STOP!”

Jake drops off Li.  Hailey drops Asher.  Slowly the others lower their fists, glaring.

Good to know everyone’s fear of Iniss 226 is still good for something.

“Everyone in the Biology classroom,” Chapman barks, pointing at the door.  “Bill’s lot near the windows, Tom and the others by the door.  Move it!”

Principal Walsh stares at Chapman in confusion, which deepens when everyone obeys him without question.  He beckons first to Ms. Hanna, then to Mr. Tidwell, pointing them into the room as well.  They also take their places without question, Mr. Tidwell supervising the voluntary half of the room as Ms. Hanna covers the involuntaries.

Pausing in the doorway, Chapman turns at last to face Maggie Walsh.  His boss.  Who has the ability to fire him, if she misunderstands the situation.  “It’s about yeerks,” he settles for telling her.

Her look of bafflement doesn’t fade.  “How?”

Chapman opens his mouth. Hunts for words.

“Jake had nothing to do with this.”

Chapman doesn’t have to turn his head to know who spoke from the involuntary side of the room.  What a surprise, a Berenson kid running his mouth.

“Thank you for your input, Thomas.”  He spins around.  “That isn’t your call.”

Tom crosses his arms.  Between the fingernail marks down his cheek and the broken knuckles of his right hand, he looks the very picture of delinquency.

“He’s right,” Joe says, from the voluntary side of the room.  “It’s nothing to do with Jake.”  In Chapman’s peripheral vision, Maggie Walsh blinks several times.  He’ll explain later.  Or try to.

“Fine,” Chapman says.  “Jake, get back to class.”

Jake lifts his chin, blood striping the lower half of his face.  “I chose to get involved,” he says.  “I’ll take my punishment.”

“Oh yeah?” Tom says.  “Then what was the fight about?”

Jake looks from one side of the room to the other.  Both sides have ninth graders, twelfth graders, jocks and nerds, white and Black and brown kids.  Jake’s probably smart enough to identify several ex-controllers, and to guess at the rest, but unable to tell how or why they sorted themselves like they did.  Nonetheless, after a second he opens his mouth.

“That’s what I thought,” Chapman cuts him off.  “Anyway, if I suspend you then Marco and Rachel will have burned down the school within a week.  Fix your nose, then back to class.”

Knowing when he’s beat, Jake leaves.  Chapman makes a note he’ll also have to explain to Maggie how morphing works, and that he didn’t just order a 14-year-old to hand-set a broken nose.

“The involuntaries started it,” Bill announces, the moment Jake is gone.

“Yeah,” Tom snaps, “and the voluntaries are the ones who—”

“Who were lied to, instead of being coerced?” Mr. Tidwell suggests.

Tom shuts his mouth.

“Asher called me a traitor.”  Li points a finger across the room.

“Six months ago Li told me,” Asher says quietly, “that I should really join the Sharing.”

“And so,” Chapman drawls, “you had no choice but to punch each other in the face.  Is that correct?”

Tom mutters something under his breath that Chapman chooses not to catch.  He can’t threaten them, not this crowd.  Most of them have survived worse hells than the Geneva Convention ever dreamed of.  Detention means nothing.

Fine.  Persuasion it’ll have to be.  Fuck his life.  Chapman raises his voice to address the involuntaries.  “They—” He points to the voluntary side of the room.  “Are not the enemy.  The yeerks are the enemy, and the yeerks are dead.  Don’t start doing their work for them, you hear me?”

There’s a long silence.  Asher scuffs the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“Yeah,” Tom says at last.  “We hear you.”

“Everyone get checked at the nurse’s office,” Chapman tells the room at large.  “You’re all suspended for the rest of the week.”

Maggie Walsh takes a seat next to Chapman, even as the kids all file out.  Yeah.  He owes her an explanation.  Taking a deep breath, he tries to sum up what just happened.  Hopefully in a thousand words or less.

Don Tidwell, coward, takes that opportunity to slip out the door.

•  “Does anyone have anything to report?”  Jake looks around Cassie’s barn.  It’s still odd to see Ax and Tobias sitting out of morph and in the open.  There was a brief collective panic when Cassie’s mom poked her head in earlier to ask if they want any lemonade or feeder mice.

“I have,” Marco says grandly, “a date… with Destiny!”

«Oh, you mean Destiny Trembull in tenth grade?»  Tobias immediately undercuts this, because of course.  «She seems nice.»

“And we don’t even have to spend the next three days following her around,” Rachel comments, which gets Marco to lob a horse comb at her head.

«I have accessed one-hundred twenty-three additional channels on my television,» Ax adds.

Cassie and Jake exchange a glance.  “How’s it going, getting a ride home?” Cassie asks.  “Any word on that?”

Ax shrugs — he isn’t even going to fit in on the andalite homeworld anymore when he does finally get there — and looks away.  «I’ve been told that there are more important priorities concerning the Navy.»

«Their gratitude,» Tobias drawls, «is overwhelming.»

•  Chapman explains to Jake’s parents that Jake needs a therapist, and also permission to miss school if he needs to.  Chapman explains the Yeerk Empire and how exactly they recruit humans to Li Saren’s parents for the third, then the fourth, then the fifth time, until they are in tears and begging their son’s forgiveness for doubting him.  Chapman explains to the district that he has no idea how the school ended up with a staircase leading from a supply closet to the alien sinkhole, but that he wants it sealed up posthaste.  Chapman explains himself to Naomi Berenson, and then he does his best to explain Rachel as well.

• "No," Chapman tells the officious-looking little man sitting across his desk. "I don't know of anyone like that. I'm sorry, I wish I could be more help."

The man — he's probably a real detective, he has a badge — leans across the desk to push the photo array a little closer to Chapman. "You're sure? None of these individuals is a..." He glances at his notes. "Voluntary controller."

Chapman looks at the array, which includes images of nearly 100 students. Some of whom weren't controllers at all — that's Tobias Fangor in the upper left corner. Some of whom were lied to by the Sharing, and then lied to by the Yeerk Empire. Some of whom, like Bill Renaldi and his absolutely debilitating major depression, felt they had no choice but to give up their bodies. "Sorry," Chapman says. "None of these individuals appear to be voluntary controllers to the best of my knowledge."

The detective stares at Chapman, waiting for more information. Chapman stares back, waiting for the detective to get bored. He can do this all day, literal hours of silence if that's what it takes. He doubts any mere civilian can say the same.

Sure enough, the detective breaks first. "You see," he says, "we know for a fact that some of these individuals did, in fact, collude with the Yeerk Empire. And we have CCTV footage indicating that you might have been one of those colluders yourself. So anything you can do to help us out..."

Chapman lets the silence go for another minute, long enough for the detective to shift in place. "You're mistaken," he says at last. "About what it means to be a voluntary controller. Or an involuntary one, for that matter. The distinction you're seeking does not exist."

"I'm sorry." The guy has his notepad out now, pen moving. "You're saying... there's functionally no difference between the voluntary hosts and the involuntary ones?"

"Yes," Chapman says, unaware of the hell he's about to unleash. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

•  “Ms. Paloma’s being a butt,” Melissa says, spinning her chair with a toe on the floor.  “I told her that I have a French test the same day as the Bio one, but she just said that means I have to learn to manage my time.”

She just walked into his office.  Without knocking.  Without asking if he’s busy, if he minds, if he’s sure.  Without apologizing for her existence.  She walked in, she sat down uninvited, and now here she is complaining to him like any normal teenager.

“That sounds stressful.”  Chapman is choosing his words with infinite care.  He’s six years old again, holding a butterfly cupped in his palms and knowing that even a millimeter’s clumsiness will crush this precious living jewel.  Thinking this.  This is what I want.  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says.

She came in unprompted.  She just walked right in.

“I hate French.”  Melissa spins the chair again.  “It’s all those lists of vocab words, and I can’t even say half of them correctly…”

“Do you want me to help you study?” Chapman asks.

Her head pops up with the force of her surprised, pleased smile.  “You’d do that?”

That’s it, then.  He’s never leaving this job.  Paperwork and all.

[drdtfuitgumies]

class is NOT going well. and happy birthday min!! (inspired by this meme!)

[spenglerstwinkie]

30 days to train aka 30 days for kars to cyber bully joseph

[western-river]

I'm really pissed of because of a tiktok that included DBDA so here's the rant:

I just saw a tiktok where it showed a bunch of shows where if one decision was made the whole show wouldn't have happend

For example: with heartstopper that charlie gets put next to tao instead of nick, so nick & charlie don't end up talking.

The last slide was for dead boy detectives.. yay DBDA mention!

EXCEPT it was edwin saying hi to simon.

EDWIN DIDN'T OWE SIMON SHIT. THAT WOULD NOT HAVE SAVED HIS LIFE. YOU ASSHOLE. EVEN IF, BIG IF, SIMON WAS BRAVE ENOUGH TO DO ANYTHING WITH IT AND THEY WOULD GET TOGETHER. IT WAS STILL THE 1900s. IT WASN'T JUST SIMON. YOU CAN'T JUST IMPLY THAT EDWIN DIED BECAUSE HE DIDN'T SPEAK TO SIMON. THAT'S VICTIM BLAMING, AGAIN, YOU ASSHOLE.

Mannnnn that pissed me off. Edwin's (after)life could've been a little different, maybe, but simon wasn't the only one who chanted. There were multiple guys that grabbed him. If Simon and Edwin SOMEHOW gotten together, they would probably end up lying on that things side by side while being offered up.

Edwin had no control over his death. It was a hate crime. He is in no way to blame.

You asshole.

[sinn-bee]

Open for a surprise!

Lqg getting his hair pulled >:3 (By Binghe?!) (Not clickbait?!)

You’re welcome <3

[fyepertine]

Something to Cry About, Part 2

=============

Part 1

[lilidawnonthemoon]

[autisticzenitsu]

More highlights from Kaigaku's page on the villains wiki.

[rottika]

GIRL DINNER 🔥🔥🔥

[propertyofkylar]

prompt event: date night (m!whitney x f!pc)

word count: 1815

tags: 12. romantic, 15. date night, cunnilingus, penetrative sex, canon-compliant name-calling

You were walking out of the school grounds when you were interrupted by a cigarette butt smacking the back of your head. Whirling around in surprise, you came face-to-face with your boyfriend.

“Oi,” Whitney said, with an unpleasant look on his face. You tensed up slightly as he walked closer to you. “Slut. You’re not doing anything tonight.”

It wasn’t really a question, but you nodded anyway. “Um, yeah. I’m free.”

That satisfied Whitney. “Good.”

“Can…I ask why?” You asked hesitantly, but Whitney replied with one of his signature smirks.

“Because I’m taking you out on a date. Be ready. And make sure you look nice, yeah?” He shoved past you, delivering a sharp smack to your ass as he did so. “Don’t be sloppy. I’m picking you up.”

Just like that, he was gone.

You stood uncomfortably in front of the orphanage, shifting in your high heels. It wasn’t like you were unaccustomed to dates. You went on plenty. But with Whitney? Never. The two of you made out in public, you fucked in school, every once in a while you visited Whitney’s place but that mostly was just to fuck in his bed. He had never taken you - or anyone, as far as you knew - on an actual date. It was honestly mildly terrifying.

Your thoughts were broken by the sound of footsteps and you looked up to see Whitney approaching. He looked pretty nice himself - he had on a pair of khakis and an unbuttoned shirt over a t-shirt. 

When he got close to you, he looked you up and down appraisingly. Then, he gave a short nod. “Nice,” Whitney said simply.

“Thanks. You look good, too,” you replied. You couldn’t hold back the burning question on your mind, though. “What are we doing?”

Whitney tossed an arm around your shoulder and gestured for you to start walking. “I told you. I’m taking you out on a date.”

“Why?”

He shook his head, a look of mock offense on his face. “Because you’ve been a good slut, and I wanted to reward you. Isn’t that enough?”

You still felt a little uneasy, but he was being surprisingly genuine. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go along with it. 

“I’m taking you out to dinner,” Whitney elaborated. “My treat. Whatever my slut wants, she gets.”

That surprised you. “Really?”

“Well, just don’t be a dumbass about it, yeah?” He pinched your side. “If you go and order the most expensive thing on the menu, I’m walking out and leaving you to pay.”

The two of you continued walking until you reached the outside of a nice café. It wasn’t the fanciest place in town by far, but it was still nicer than you would have expected from Whitney. 

You went to reach for the door, but Whitney grabbed your wrist. “Hold on.”

He pulled you toward him, then set his hands on your waist and kissed you deeply. You instinctively leaned in, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him back. 

After a few moments, Whitney pulled back, his eyes closed and a smile on his face. “Mm. Thanks for that, slut. Let’s go.”

Once the two of you were inside and seated, you couldn’t help but stare at him. Eventually he noticed, and looked back at you with an irritated look. “What?”

“Dunno,” you shrugged. “Just nice. Didn’t expect this.”

He frowned, a hint of blush creeping across his face. “I can be nice too, y’know.”

That made you laugh. “I don’t know if I really believe that.”

Whitney was fully blushing now, and he looked away from you. “Whatever. See if I ever do anything nice for you again, slut.” But his tone was teasing and he accented the sentence by flicking his crumpled up straw wrapper at you. 

You hadn’t opened your straw yet, so you seized the opportunity to tear the top of the wrapper off and blow it at Whitney. It smacked him right in the forehead and he turned to you with genuine surprise. That quickly morphed into a smirk that sent a chill through your body. 

“Oh, you’re in for it now, slut,” he said, searching the space for anything else he could fling at you. But he was unsuccessful and took a moment to sulk, which made you laugh out loud. Whitney gave your shoulder a playful shove, then leaned to whisper in your ear. “Guess I’ll make you pay later.”

You suddenly became very interested in the menu. 

As you were finishing your last bite of dessert, Whitney was absentmindedly twirling a lock of your hair around his fingers. You gave him a smile and he suddenly blushed again, looking away. 

“What?” You were genuinely curious. 

But he just sighed. 

“It’s nothing,” Whitney mumbled, laying his head on his arm. “Just shut the fuck up. Okay?”

And so you did, and soon enough, Whitney had finished paying and the two of you were leaving the restaurant. 

As soon as you walked out, he caught your wrist with his hand. You barely had opened your mouth to protest before he was on you, pressing you against an alley wall as his hands slid up your thighs. 

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he mumbled against your skin while his lips assaulted your neck. “You were just begging for me to bend you over the table and fuck you in front of everyone.”

You felt your body growing hot under Whitney’s skilled touch. His hands groped your ass and you felt him smirk. 

“And no panties. I’ve trained you well,” Whitney said. But just as suddenly as he began, he stopped. He pulled you out of the alley and started walking again. 

You, again, tried to protest, but the brief endeavor had left you light-headed, so all that came out was a few odd sounds and squeaks. 

“What?” Whitney replied, as if you had actually spoken any sort of human language. “I promised my slut a date night. What kind of romantic boyfriend would I be if I fucked you in that alley like some common whore. I’m taking you home.” He flashed you a wink and you felt weak in the knees. 

The two of you walked the familiar route to Whitney’s place, neither speaking. The air was so thick with sexual tension you were afraid that if you opened your mouth, you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. So you opted to stay silent and presumably, Whitney was feeling the same way. He didn’t say anything, but the feeling of his hand gripping yours said enough. 

You barely made it into Whitney’s room before he was slamming the door behind him, kicking off his shoes, and shoving you down on his bed. 

“You have been begging for this all night, slut,” he practically growled as he kissed you aggressively, grinding his crotch into yours. “Feel that? That’s all your fault.” 

“Whitney…” you whimpered as he tugged a fistful of your hair. He pushed you so you were laying flat and then crawled over you. His eyes were dark and he was panting. 

Leaning back on his heels, Whitney sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You just look so…fuck!”

You tilted your head in confusion, but Whitney dove back in, pushing your skirt up to your hips and slipping a hand between your thighs. “Of course you’re already fucking dripping. Not that I would expect anything less.”

He crawled back and positioned his head between your legs. “You drive me fucking crazy. Just know that.”

Then he flicked his tongue against your clit and you moaned. 

Whitney began eating you out, truly, like a man starved. He rarely went down on you, which made this even more special. He expertly alternated between licking and light sucking, eagerly lapping you up. 

You tried to speak again, to tell him to slow down, but all you could manage was to weakly moan his name. This had the opposite effect of what you wanted, further encouraging him. His nails were digging into your thighs and when you looked down and made eye contact with him, things were too much. 

You cried out and your back arched off the bed as you came, Whitney still drinking up your juices. As you came down from the high he finally pulled back, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, the lower half of his face shiny and slick. 

“Tastes good,” he said with a smirk, tugging off his pants. His cock looked almost painfully hard and flushed, precum dripping from the tip. You reached out to touch it but Whitney quickly was positioned between your legs. He teased your clit with the head of his dick, eliciting a squeak from you. 

Then, he slid into you, letting out a sharp gasp in the process. He mumbled something that sounded like “I love you” but your head had gone fuzzy from the feeling of him stretching you out, so you weren’t entirely sure. 

“So fucking good,” Whitney groaned as he slowly started thrusting. “How’s a slut like you feel so fucking tight?”

Whitney yanked down the top of your dress and began to grope your tits and pinch your nipples. His hand on your body, the feeling of his cock inside you - it was all too good. 

“F-fuck,” you managed to squeak out. “Feels so good, Whit…”

His face was flushed as he pounded even harder into you, lifting up your leg to get even deeper. “Oh my god,” you gasped, wrapping your arms around his back and digging your nails into the bare skin under his shirt. 

“I-I,” you started but that was all you got out before your second orgasm hit you. You squeezed your eyes shut as you rode the wave of pleasure, your mouth falling open and only short, breathy sounds coming out. 

Whitney was fucking you hard, the bed frame squeaking with every thrust. He was panting when suddenly he pulled out of you and stroked his cock as he came. Ropes of cum shot out and sprayed across your tits and the front of your dress. 

“Fuck, slut,” his shoulders were heaving. “You fucking…” he left the rest of that thought unfinished. 

“Mm,” was the only response you could give as you were still recovering. The two of you sat in silence briefly before you sat up. “Hey. You got cum on my nice dress.” 

Whitney shrugged and flopped down next to you, propping himself up on one arm. “You shouldn’t have looked so hot in it. It’s your own fault.” 

You turned to face him, a small smile on your face. “Well. Thanks for the date night.”

He blushed again. “Don’t mention it. I mean it.” 

You nuzzled into him, resting your head on his chest. His heart was still beating fast. “You got it.”