#i dont wanna trigger anyone

[roverthegoober]

I JUSTBWATCH WHITEPINE 2 EEE

Spoilers and TW warning for mention/implied abuse, also a lot of rambling

I was lowkey busy while watching, anyway

Im already mad at the detectives BYE

Ross(i think) needing a shovel for cobwebs? Like i get not being able to reach, buttt...

Div in the woods humming?

The stairs are focused on, especially due to Misti dying

Pyro was outed by someone, and i dont think its Misti lol

Zam and Seraptor seem kind of chill w eachother, but I'm not completely sure

Ivory being scared to go in the shower and have someone follow her :( she was shaking too bro, i think someone abused her. And she also seemed really stressed during the entire ep, even in Wych Elm, you can hear shaky breathing, i think. Its also the music that plays while she cooks and gets ordered around

Oughh and seraptor mentioning his family and where he lives. I hope we meet them in a good way and not in a way where seraptor dies and we have to see them 😭 i heart seraptor pleade dont DIEE

Zombie has a lack of emotion and stuff

Misti is still warm?? Like WHAT???? WHYYT

Im just so hyped rn!!!

[fandomfoundmyart]

tw body horror

the clicker

[sunny6677]

The Seasons

A Roy(Spooky Month) x OC Fanfic

Summary: Rowan, a teenage/preteen(I don't exactly know Roy's age, but I just assume him to be around 15) boy who recently just lost his biological parents, is adopted by his adoptive mother and is taken to his new home. But even so, he's still grieving, and is having a troubling time dealing with it. But.. perhaps, in the midst of his pain, he meets a boy who changes his life forever.

(This is a bit short for the first chapter, so my apologies. And i will say this now—i dont actually like Roy in a romantic way, i just felt bad for him due to the situation with his uncle and parents, and thought he deserved some love. So i made an OC to be his love interest.)

Chapter 1/Part 1: A New Home.

TWS: GRIEF, GRIEF IMPLICATIONS, A TRAUMATIC PAST, A TRAUMATIC SITUATION, LOSING PARENTS, BEING TRAPPED MENTIONS, STORM MENTIONS, HURRICANE MENTIONS.

————

Rowan hadn't known how he had ended up here. He could distantly recall the memories of his blood-mother and his blood-father, he could distantly recall their still expressive faces in his mind, their voices. He could recall the slim bearded and slightly wrinkled face of his father, his black twinkling middle-aged eyes and his proud smile, his raspy yet comforting voice. He could recall the oval-shaped face of his mother, her charming and sweet smile—her gentle and soft voice that would call his name ever so softly. He could recall the memories of his old home.

The coastal atmosphere and warm temperature, the blazing sun that would often give him slight sunburns that he would usually have to always recover from, the sound of the seagulls chirping and flying around the area—constantly having to glance around when eating outside due to nearby seagulls. He could recall the time he was practically attacked by seagulls while eating a sandwich, and how he had to rely on his father to rescue him.

The burning sensation of the sand of which he would have to always wear sandals on when visiting the beach, the occasional visits to the beach were always a treat, especially the snacks his parents would bring. The usual sandwiches that he would buy at the nearby sandwich shop—he and his parents had even befriended some of the workers there, the sand bugs that he despised so but now craved to see again more than ever, the slight paranoia of crabs in the water due to memories of him being sort of attacked by one when he was a child.

Even the sand crabs of which he would see, had he been staying late at the beach. The warm, beach smell of which he now craved to smell again more than ever, the constant sensations of the sand collecting up into his sandals. He hadn't any friends at his old school, sure, but he had his parents. His parents.. they had been the only sort of friends he had, and the only friends he had needed. They were the only friends he wanted, he didn't care that he didn't have any actual friends, he just wanted to spend time with his family. He loved his family. But...

Now they were gone.

He could remember the day it happened. He was staying at the coastal house of which were surrounded by bright green palm tree's, he could even recall perhaps asking his parents if they could go and get some coconut juice later that day—or maybe just grabbing a bite to eat since he wanted to spend some time with them. But.. the winds were beginning to pick up, and they refused for the sake of his safety. Rowan had listened, and decided to stay home for the day, considering just eating something they'd make themselves. But then.. the waves were beginning to strongly pick up, and they were beginning to splash onto the land severely.

The thunder, so horrifyingly loud—had nearly deafened him, along with the horrified screeches of his parents. The lightning that had striked nearby, and had nearly striked him plenty of times. The horror hadn't stopped, it wouldn't ever stop. He could recall his mother trying to comfort him as the thunder kept deafening him nearly, the protective stance of his father.. he then would hear a loud sound, followed by the collapsing of everything around him. The last thing he heard before everything went dark was.. the sound of his mother screaming, along with the pained grunts and yelps of his father.

He was under there for 6 hours, he had been told. He was saved by a rescue team, they had uncovered the debris surrounding him, and had managed to pull him out. He was covered in red gashes and deep cuts, and piercing amounts of blood staining his skin, maybe even at least one broken limb. The first thing he had asked upon being saved was, "Where.. where's my parents?" To which they did not answer, only giving an unsure look, as if hiding something. They did not acknowledge the question, only deciding on taking him to the hospital.

At the hospital, he had spent hours laying in his bed, being accompanied by the food of which they had made him, the warm soup of which they had fed him so he wouldn't hurt himself trying to eat it. A woman had then come in later that day, baring a sad look.

...

She bared him the news of the death of his parents.

...

He had let out an anguished scream of grief after sputtering words of soft denial, grabbing onto his head and shrieking at the top of his lungs, grieving groans and wailing sounds of agony as he managed to finally process the news. The woman tried to comfort him, but to no avail. He kept on sobbing, shrieking.. it was only later that he would finally calm down, he looked to be in shock for 2 hours after the news he had been bared. For 6 weeks, they had kept him in the hospital, healing him the best they could. Once he had been fully healed, they had.. taken him to an orphanage somewhere far away, he didn't know why they had to fly him there.

Of course, he hadn't remembered any sort of orphanages being in his area, and assumed that to be the reason why. He didn't even get to say goodbye to any of the few people he had known at his old home. For 6 months, he had stayed inside the orphanage, keeping to himself and remaining silent when other kids tried to speak with him. It was only at the end of those 6 months that he had met an older woman who seemed to be interested in perhaps being his new mother.. of course, upon hearing his story, she immediately decided she wanted to adopt him. Once the papers had been signed, she took him in.

And now, here he had been in the car, sitting in the back with a book to accompany him. His adoptive mother, Jane, had purchased the book for him as a token of her motherly attitude towards him. He had told her he had been interested in the works of Vincent Van Gogh during their first meeting, and so, she had bought him a book that held a collection of all of his paintings, accompanied by facts about him and the paintings themselves. He appreciated this gesture, but pain and agony still filled his mind ever so. Jane would be taking him to his new home now, his forever home perhaps, her home. This area that he would now be living in was extremely different compared to the coastal area he once resided in.

Due to it being autumn, it was extremely cold, Jane even had to put on a jacket on Rowan so he wouldn't freeze as soon as they left the orphanage building. What made up for it though was the glowing red and orange shades of the leaves of the trees of which Jane would drive by.

Jane's hair had been a dark red, and her hair had been tied into a slick and silky ponytail. She was plus-sized compared to Rowans rather skinny body type, and was wearing a deep red t-shirt along with a jacket to save herself some warmth in the midst of the autumn breeze. She had a comforting, yet almost energetic smile—her lips were a deep red due to the lipstick she put on. And she happened to be wearing jeans as well. The car that she had been driving had been.. odd. It was a 1965 Red Corvette of some kind, a classic car. Had this been a replica, or had it been real, and if so, why was it still working? That was what Rowan didn't understand.

Rowan had barely said anything the whole trip, only responding when Jane spoke up or tried making conversation with him. He felt slightly bad, since he was quiet and soft-spoken compared to the rough growling of the road of which Jane would drive in, and would usually have to slightly raise his voice so she could hear him. He tried reading the book while she drove after a while, but kept thinking about the agonizing loss of his parents. The people at the orphanage lacked empathy, and had not helped with his grief or trauma at all. In fact, they only made it worse. It was a relief Jane had adopted him, really. He finally didn't have to put up with the orphanage anymore, even if this wasn't his old home.

By the time Rowan put the book down, he immediately took notice of the different environment. "We're here~" Jane said in a low but sweet tone. Rowan observed the environment around him through his window. It was late, and the sky was beginning to darken, but he could still see just fine. The orange, red, yellow trees of which had been changed by autumn, most of them had leaves that had already fallen off, but they were still pretty to look at regardless.

The road and streets seemed to be packed with people, even a few mischievous looking teenagers who happened to be hanging out in the corner, though Rowan didnt lay them any mind. It was beginning to near Halloween, he had known. The buildings were decorated with rather spooky looking decorations, and lines of Halloween decorations were practically everywhere. They passed a rather large and bright movie theater, which had looked weirdly interesting, Rowan considered checking it out later.

They passed by a candy store, it seemed—pastel pink and blue seemed to be its color scheme, which gave it an adorable and charming look. Rowan even got a quick peek of the few people in there, the clerk seemed weirdly exhausted, but Rowan was too fascinated with his new surroundings to notice. He noticed a weird and worn down looking white van parked on the street, though he hadn't payed it any mind either. It looked to be an.. ice-cream van of some kind? That was the only thing he thought it could have been.

The place.. it looked so cozy and.. and beautiful, it was wonderful. But..

It hadn't been his home.

He was beginning to long for the warm temperatures, the beach and the sand, the crabs even if he feared them so, the seagulls.

His face saddened, and he stopped observing the area outside of the car.

Jane noticed, and said in a soft voice, "Hey, it's okay if this feels a little weird.. how about you take a look around the house for today? You can stay home, and.. maybe tomorrow I can take you to have a little tour of the town!"

...

Rowan softly nodded, forcing a smile. Though he did appreciate the gesture.

————

Rowan awkwardly stepped out of the car once they had arrived at his new home, his new residence. From what it seemed, no other houses were in the area(some were nearby, but were hidden by the trees), this had been a lone house. It.. seemed cozy, almost. The exterior was a deep brown, and bright fairy Iights had surrounded its roof. The area was decorated with pumpkins that had been carved into faces, they glowed, the candle illuminating their insides in a bright neon yellow color.

Rowan slightly smiled at this, finding this to be a little endearing. The windows had revealed the inside of the house, though it was dark, and wasn't easy to see inside. Jane had said something to Rowan, though he didn't exactly hear what she had said, since he had been observing the house so intensely.

Jane shut the car door shut, and carried what looked to be house keys around her finger. She gave a little grin, to which Rowan would only softly smile back as they both approached the house. Though he followed behind her slowly as they stepped onto the porch. She twisted the key—the cold air was beginning to sort of numb Rowans skin, and he was longing to be inside already, he knew that if this hadn't been a more foresty area, his skin would have been warm. The warm coastal temperature of his old home.. he missed it so, he wanted it back so.

By the time Jane opened the door, Rowan immediately rushed inside, slightly sighing out of relief. He muttered a quick apology, though Jane assured him it had been fine. As he glanced around, he took notice of the area almost immediately. Fairly lights surrounded the interior of the house as well, along with a bowl of candy of which had been sitting on a table nearby in the entrance corridor.

Rowan slowly wondered forth, glancing at an entrance to another room, which looked to be the living room. There was a large couch of which had been accompanied by multiple pillows, and there looked to be a fireplace as well, even halloween decorations had surrounded this area so. A TV seemed to be in there as well. Rowan slowly walked inside, and noticed the entrance to presumably the kitchen.

The area looked to be mostly white, having a door that led to the backyard as well. There was a table nearby, surrounded by white wooden chairs. There seemed to be multiple fairy lights in there as well though, accompanied by random pumpkins that had been decorated into the area. There seemed to be a fridge, and multiple cabinets as well—even a few empty cups seemed to be near the sink. Rowan did not step into this area, and decided to go look elsewhere to see what else was observable.

"I.. guess you can just explore the area while your at it." Jane said with a jolly smile. "...yes, I suppose so." Rowan said awkwardly, in his normally soft spoken tone. "Uh.. okay, well.. have fun! Your room is upstairs!" Jane said cheerfully. "O—Oh, well.. okay." Rowan said back as he walked off, giving a nervous but appreciative smile.

Rowan began to tread up the stairs, being careful as not to fall as he held onto it slightly. As he managed to successfully support himself up, he finally noticed that practically everywhere had fairy lights. Had she loved fairy lights this much? Had this been for aesthetic purposes?

Rowan stepped onto the light brown but fuzzy floor of the upstairs corridor, taking notice of the portraits on the wall and a few of the already open doors. The portraits seemed to be of Jane, and a man Rowan didnt recognize. He didn't recall having an adoptive father as well. Maybe he could ask Jane who that man was later? Even so, Rowan was still exploring.

Rowan looked inside of the bathroom, and saw that it hadn't been any different from a regular bathroom, though candles were placed by the bath tub, he walked in and took a look at himself in the mirror by the sink. He had dark circles around his eyes, and looked a lot more pale than he used to.. he really was incredibly skinny now. Christ, he really had changed while at the orphanage, hadn't he?

Rowan only sighed, the widened look in his eye fading as his stare became saddened again. Jane seemed like a nice woman, but he missed his blood-mother. Somewhere deep inside, he hoped this all to be one big dream that he'd wake from. Of course, it had not been. No matter how hard he pinched, he would not wake up from this very much real experience.

Holding back tears as he walked back out, he would head into what looked to be Jane's bedroom, from the way it appeared anyway, he guessed it to be hers most likely. The room seemed big, large. The bed appeared to be large and was sitting by a window, a deep blue blanket slightly slumped over the corner of the bed. Minor stairs inside of the room led to what looked to be a desk of some kind, it seemed to have a lot of papers on it, and an unfinished mug of coffee seemed to be sat upon it. A fireplace seemed to be near, and a cozy looking rug seemed to be on the floor in the middle of the room. Candles were in random corners, of course, giving the room a cozy and dimmed vibe.

He only sighed, and walked out, going to check the last area that he had not been in yet. His bedroom, presumably. He walked up to the door, slowly. Hesitantly, he twisted the handle, and sighed after a moment of reluctant silence. Opening the door, he took in the new environment of his new bedroom.

Fairly lights had yet again been lined across the upper walls of the room, and a window had been in the room as well, having deep red curtains. The walls were white, but seemed to be a pale yellow due to the darkened area of the room. Rowan turned the light on, to get a better view of the room in its entirety, and felt nearly blinded by the bright light, though he could see better now.

His bed that was sat far across from the window looked to be very cozy and comfy, white and fluffy like a hotel bed. A warm gray, dotted blanket seemed to be neatly placed upon the bed, along with a white fluffy pillow that had been sat at the front of the bed. A TV seemed to be placed inside of the room, upon what looked to be a desk—a bean bag chair was nealty placed in front of it. Candles still gave the room a slightly brighter and more cozy look. There was a shelf near the window, that looked to be lined up with books, though nothing else had been put there yet.

Rowan walked near the bed, glancing around. He hadn't any idea of what to do now. Perhaps he could examine the room more thoroughly? Maybe he could go see where Jane went?

...

He decided on staying in his room, for he hadn't any energy to speak any further.

With a tired and saddened look in his eyes, he sat upon the bed with a rough sigh, and stared up at the ceiling, his eyes slightly twinkling with the urge to cry about the circumstances regarding his past. He wanted his old life back, his parents. He felt the thoughts of the hurricane collecting up inside of his mind, the memories of their pained shrieks, the sharp debris cutting into him.

...

He felt a tear slowly coming out of his eye, and rolling down his cheek.

///////////////////////

E

[lucifers-paramour]

tfw a coworker triggers your paranoia that you JUST started to get control of again because she spam texted you cause she just found out about something that happened to you and part of the many multiple messages were about shady people she thinks might have been stalking the store just a week or two before the thing happened c:

[sunrotdropbrain]

Fizzy faz does not count as food

[raineandsky]

The Villain's Housekeeper

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9) (part 10) (part 11)

tw death mention

The courtesy the villain has decided to show the hero has been incredibly weird. A relief, of course, but weird.

They avoid the hero most days now. The time they used to spend watching the hero break their back for them is now spent as far away from the hero as humanly possible. The hero kind of understands, though—since their damning little slip up in the bedroom last week, the villain’s demanded they stop doing the chores until their arm is better. There isn’t much to watch anymore.

And when the villain disappears out the front door for the night, it’s always with the same instruction now: “get a decent night’s sleep, don’t lie on your arm, and for the love of god don’t make it worse.”

No chores to be done in their absence. No rules. Just… rest. Get better. It’s a breath of fresh air.

Anyway, the lack of random work to do gives them more time to snoop. Okay, so it’s not no rules, but one very easily breakable rule. A rule they couldn’t care less about breaking—snapping clean in half, if they can. The agency taught them how to pry and leave no trace. This is the easiest, most rewarding part of their stay here. It's more of a routine than anything now, trekking through their notes.

The villain’s office is a mess, to put it lightly. It makes it just that little bit harder to restore when they’re done, but it doesn’t matter too much—they get information. A list of missing villains, heroes on hit lists, plans. Plans to infiltrate and extort and seduce and kill. God, everything the agency’s ever wanted is in here. The hero commits it all to memory, and by the time the villain gets home they’re already asleep on the sofa downstairs.

The villain always comes back in the early hours of the morning, and today is no different. The only difference is that the front door batters against the opposite wall and the villain staggers rather loudly into the kitchen.

The hero is up in an instant, sleep torn from them abruptly. They trail after the villain, glancing instinctively to the floor for blood, but the tile is clean. The villain sinks into a kitchen chair like it’s the last thing they’re ever going to do.

“[Villain]...?” the hero says into the silence. The villain barely responds, their gaze burning into the table as they lean their face against their palms, their elbows propped up on the table.

“We’re dying,” the villain says flatly. “We’re dropping like flies, and [Supervillain] is still trying to send us all to our deaths to save herself.”

It’s not hard to feign surprise; this wasn’t mentioned in any of the paperwork the hero’s seen. They pull a chair out and settle opposite them. “What do you mean?”

“What do I—” The villain’s tone is scathing for a moment, but they bite back the end of their sentence with a sigh. “Heroes are killing us. I’ve found more than one person face-down in some back alley. People I know—allies. Friends.”

The hero’s throat closes up for a long, long moment. “I– I’m sorry,” they say testily, but they come out as more of a choke. The villain doesn’t seem to hear them anyway.

“Every so often [Supervillain] sends a new batch of villains into the thick of it, to try and take down some of the heroes wiping us out. Those who do survive are few and far between, usually screwed up beyond repair. And [Supervillain]— she’s—”

The villain sucks in a shuddery breath. The hero waits patiently.

“[Supervillain]’s chosen her next round of sacrifices,” the villain says with a breath of a humourless laugh, and a knot twists in the hero’s stomach. The villain fixes them with an empty stare, and the hero shoves down the urge to glance away. “I’m one of them. I’m— I’m being sent to die.”

Perfect, some part of the hero’s mind murmurs. A safe haven, all to yourself.

But despite everything, the villain’s been kind to them. Even though they humiliated them and forced their hand, the hero’s not in the claws of the superhero yet because of them. And they’re going to die. The villain’s going to leave one day, and they won’t come back. The hero’s brain almost can’t wrap around it.

“She— I’ll be setting off… for good next Thursday.” The villain’s face morphs into hopelessness.

It’s Tuesday now. Nine days.

The villain clears their throat, though it doesn’t seem to dislodge the anxious rasp residing there. “I, uh— I’m sorry,” they say unexpectedly. “For being a villain, for making you dance for my entertainment to stay alive, for— god, for everything. I’m sorry, [Hero].”

The hero can only blink at them for a moment. Sorry? “That’s, uh… it’s okay,” the hero says dumbly after a moment.

“No, it’s not. The least I can do is fix what I can before I… y’know.” The villain’s eyes lock onto the hero’s so intensely that they can’t find it in themself to look away this time. “I’m so sorry.”

You saved my life. You let me stay here. You let me hide from your enemy. You let me hide from mine. You ignored the benefits of turning me out for what? Companionship? Necessity? Something else entirely?

The hero can’t say that to their nemesis. The villain already sounds insane saying all this. They don’t need to feed into the absurdity of the evening. So they simply force a smile, of sorts, onto their face, and say, “I forgive you.”

(next part)

[pyjamaart]

I never needed such help / This is my SOS

(Content warning: self harm) (If you don't have a problem with that, huge Drillman essay under the read more lol)

When I said that I wanted to draw Drillman some more, this really wasn't what I had in mind.

This week, I've been shopping for music on various second hand sites, which made me realize I don't physically own one of my all time favorite albums: "Squaring The Circle" by Sneaker Pimps. I had to change that immediately. (As well as buying like 15 other CDs and vinyls, lol.) As I was listening to it once again, I realized just how much the song "SOS" reminded me of Drillman and his struggles.

If you don't want to look it up, here are some of the lyrics:

"I look much smaller seen from inside out/Far too small to see myself/Down on reflection, cast in hate and in doubt/Flawed and flaws I add myself"

"Oh mirror mirror hanging on the wall/Please just show me someone else/My hopes were low and I got so much so less/Nothing left to save myself"

Listen, this dude got some major problems with his self esteem. He feels like an embarrassment because he was forced into a life he never wanted by his father. Now he seeks revenge on the company that bought his families business, along with him and apparently his bodily autonomy. Think about that for a minute. How fucked would it be if your parents wanted you to be a doctor, but a requirement for that would be to have your hand surgically removed and replaced with a scalpel. That's the exact situation Drillman found himself in.

Now a lot of people probably think "Well why doesn't he just ask Dr. Light to give him a new pair of hands then, if he's this miserable?" This is where we get to one of Drillmans biggest problems: the refusal to ask for help in any way. And even after the finale of the season, why would he go to the Lights for help in the first place? Wasn't it Aki who thought the best way to help him through his problems was hypnotism? And in the process embarrassing him in front of the whole city, ruining the last bit of reputation he may have had? (For real though, that episode is so hard for me to watch. I just feel so so bad for him, since I really struggle with social anxiety myself.)

As the guys from the Youtube channel "The D-Pad" (who reviewed all of the MMFC episodes) fittingly commented: "This would be like fucking Vietnam for him." And they were right. Obviously, Drillman is horrified that Aki would humiliate him like this and lashes out, solidifying his opinion that asking for help is a bad idea.

In that episode, there's this one moment that really stuck with me. At around the 8 minute mark, while Drillman is having a breakdown over the terrible "music" Aki made him perform, there's this one shot where he takes a moment to look at the drills that replaced his hands in frustration. The camera perspective makes it seem as if we are experiencing this brief scene through his eyes. It's actually quite upsetting. (A link to the moment I'm talking about: youtu.be/OC_jdhoeTrE?si=ZPzAXu…)

This is also a perfect moment for me to gush over the voice acting for this scene. Andrew McNee did such a fantastic job of conveying Drillmans distress and anger through his voice. That reminds me, giving him a British accent was honestly such a good decision.

The reason he doesn't talk at all throughout most of his first appearance is probably because the writers wanted to surprise their audience a little. As in, you see this big, imposing construction robot and think "Oh man, what a brute. He probably has a pretty deep voice." And then he actually starts to speak and it's this sophisticated, well-articulated British voice instead. Quite the whiplash.

To get back to the original topic, I'm honestly still upset that they didn't give Drillman a redemption arc at the end of the show. This probably would have happened in season 2, as Mega Man even says at some point "I know deep down your inner bits are good", proving to me that the writers definitely had something in mind regarding Drillmans character arc.

And now that all of that is out of the way, we can finally get into headcanon territory.

You might have seen this image while browsing the tags and asked yourself, "Why is this Mega Man Fully Charged artwork littered with content warnings?" And well, now that you're here and reading this, you probably know why. I can't say I've ever made myself sick with a drawing before. That's a first for me.

My headcanon is, that after the finale of the show, Drillman is just utterly lost. Lord Obsidian, who sought him out specifically because he knew of Drillmans problems and offered him a place to stay and a way to get revenge on the people he thought responsible for his predicament, turned out to be a horribly racist human who was just using him to achieve his own devious goals. After getting his ass kicked by the Lights, the same people who had not only humiliated him in front of the whole city, but who had also left him stuck to his abusive father for an entire day (I bet that ride to the police station was horrible for all the people involved, most of all the police bots who had to hear the Drillmen yell at each other the whole time), Sgt. Night is detained by the police. We don't actually see what happens after that, because that's where the show ends.

I'd like to think that the Lights actually try to talk to the robot masters once everything is over, telling them all the horrible things their so-called "leader" has said and done. And most importantly, what he thinks of robots: That they're nothing but tools to him. That once they had gotten him his Mega key, he would have wiped their minds and turned them into mindless machines.  

I'm guessing none of the robot masters would take these news well, but most of all Drillman. I think that after he ran away from Skyraisers Inc. and fought Mega Man for the first time, he was really relieved to have some place to stay and a new goal, maybe even a robot to look up to. That being Lord Obsidian of course. Who knows what lies he told Drillman and the others? Kinda sad that we never really got to see what the robot masters who stayed with Lord Obsidian did the entire day. When they weren't causing havoc in the city, that is.

None of them seemed really friendly with each other in the finale, now that I think about it. I guess "Obsidians robot sanctuary" wasn't really a great place to stay at after all. But still better than being homeless, like that one maniac living in the forest all by himself. Speaking of Woodman, in my AU, he and Drillman already knew each other at this point. This also reminds me of something I forgot to mention in my last post. While I'd love to see them interact in any way, because they're both my favorite characters, I don't ship them in any way whatsoever. I'd also like to think that Woodman and Drillmans father were schoolmates back in the day, maybe even friends? (I'm still holding onto those 30 years).

Anyway, after all the former robot comrades part ways, now without a leader, what was Drillman supposed to do? Once again betrayed by a trusted figure, feeling useless and without purpose, still with these stupid drills mounted to his body... Still too ashamed to ask for help. After all that has happened in the past few hours he begins spiraling, which ultimately leads him to make a very unfortunate decision. Trying to get at least some of the freedom in his life back, he attempts to get rid of the drills making up his body on his own, using the same tools that have haunted him all this time to finally rid himself of this burden.

He regrets this just seconds after, when he's left with an unresponsive limb, metal and wires exposed and oil splattered all over his orange plating. All he can do is stare at the stained drill in front of him in horror.

"I never needed such help/This is my SOS"

Jesus Christ that got dark. Sorry. I mentioned in my last post that Drillman possibly has really bad body dysmorphia, which I'm also trying to convey here. Don't worry, he really gets his hands back after this. Maybe the Lights find him after that and the good Doctor offers to fix him up. By which I mean not only his arm. Because apparently, Dr. Light also doubles as robot psychologist. I just really need Drillman to get his happy ending. He really really deserves it after everything he had to go trough over the course of the show. 

I also need him to have a DJing redemption, besides the normal redemption. I've seen people headcanon that he exclusively likes classical music, but I personally don't believe that. He'd be the kind of music nerd who would say stuff like "I listen to everything" and then you look at his playlists and he actually listens to everything. Maybe not experimental noise rock, though. I can just imagine Aki and Suna helping him put on an actual show, this time without any hypnotizing bullshit, as a way for Aki to apologize for the dread he's caused Drillman during that incident. Drillman would be highly suspicious at first, but actually goes along with it in the end. Maybe they'd also take Fireman along, who Dr. Light also blessed with a brand new pair of hands. The punchline at the end would be that Drillman would have so much anxiety about embarrassing himself again, that he forgets to make an actual set list for the gig. In the end, he exclusively plays Lady Gaga songs, which no one complains about.

Alright then, enough yapping from me. I've really been writing this essay since 8pm. And now it's 2am. My god. I just have a lot of feelings about Drillman.

But now I really gotta go to bed. Stay safe peeps. I hope you actually read the content warnings. Jenny out.

[mokeonn]

Hey so recently my relationship with food has changed in a very concerning (yet familiar) direction, where I feel either very grossed out by or I'm very disinterested in the concept of eating solid foods. These last few days I've been primarily just drinking various drinks and a couple of, not very nutritious, small meals. I'm considering getting meal replacement drinks or something to that effect to help me through this, but I worry that I might dislike the taste or texture and I won't use it.

Do any other autistic people have advice on this? I had this problem in the past when I was 14-15 and it had gotten incredibly bad back then. There's a non-zero chance it's ARFID but I am unable to afford going to a doctor right now, so I can't really say that it is that for sure.

Unfortunately the main issue besides general disinterest in food and disgust towards eating, is that the only solid foods I can eat are processed and don't meet my nutritional needs. I would really like to not eat only pizza pockets and cereal because I am 24 years old now and I can feel the effects of no vegetable.

But yeah any other autistic people who might have this issue and know how to overcome it (again) pleasepleaseplease help

[rainandsugarcane2000]

fuck i gave myself a tattoo last night guys i was fucking CRASHED OUT i wasnt intoxicated or anything but i felt high asf that was all a blur oopsies

[benbraeden]

also sorry that i haven't been here in several days,

i have been recovering from a friend of mine accidentally showing me a picture of the guy who assaulted me, and my other friend who wanted to dissect my previous, abusive relationship and telling her some things that i haven't admitted out loud before. but i finally let out all of the pent up emotions last night and cried it out and i feel MUCH better today <3 thank you all for your patience for me as i navigate all of this!

[waterlogged-detective]

Tea Lady number three, she's very normal (lying)

[xeeljii]

(⸝⸝ᴗ﹏ᴗ⸝⸝) ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

the somno fic is becoming more real every day .... im like i cannot write this but the paragraphs keep appearing right before my eyes :O WHO WROTE THIS!?

[elftwink]

have a new mental disorder im naming transit blues where im perfectly well adjusted [citation needed] right up until i miss a bus by one minute which triggers a depressive spiral so bad that the only reason i do not kill myself is because i know in 3 hours ill be literally fine again and actually mildly embarrassed about the suicide ideation at that point

[bricky-brikson]

I’ve decided to do a Bad Things Happen Bingo!

My goal is to get at least one (1) bingo, but honestly I just want to write some suffering

How this is going to work:

Send me an ask with one (1) prompt + the character(s)/media.

I’ll mark that prompt as “claimed” on this post by editing (so check the original post before you ask).

When the writing is done (and published), I’ll shade the prompt in completely.

Prompts that are shaded in or claimed cannot be asked for! So if there’s something here you like, grab it quick!

Things I’m willing to write:

My original characters. See my #dear cassedy tag, but I also have some OCs who have yet to be formally introduced on this account (a vampire nurse with a werewolf bf and plural chemist who makes LSD - they're not from the same universe).

Drabbles of characters created solely for the situation/prompt. In this case, the asker has to propose the characters themselves. Please don't use this as a roundabout way to get writings of your OCs.

Psychonauts

Sky: Children Of The Light (Elders and Spirits, I’m not big on writing skykids)

(Maybe) Hazbin Hotel

Hollow Knight

[I can't think of much else right now, but if it comes to me I'll add it.]

Things might get a little homoerotic (especially with the cannibalism prompt), but I won't do straight-up NSFW. Gore though? That's fine.

As always, I retain the right to refuse a prompt if it squicks me or it's just not something I'm interested in writing, in which case I'll respond to the ask privately stating as much.

Prompts are listed in the alt text for those with screen-readers. Below divider by @/cafekitsune. I don't remember where I got the snake dividers, sorry :(

[raineandsky]

The Villain's Housekeeper

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9) (part 10) (part 11)

tw: death mention, implied torture

The villain leaves, as promised. The hero sees them off at the door for the first time with a smile they stop pretending is genuine after a few seconds.

The villain wraps them in a slightly desperate hug, to their surprise. Their body’s warm, their arms shaking slightly. Nerves? Dread? Fear? The hero doesn’t know.

“I hope things get better for you,” they mumble into the hero’s shoulder. “I really mean that.”

They lean back to hold the hero at arm’s length. Their eyes glisten with tears the hero can’t put an emotion to. Doesn’t want to. “Stay safe, [Hero].”

And with that they’re on their way, their coat wrapped tight around them and their step quick. The hero watches them until they disappear around the corner. They shut the door slowly, slowly, and when it clicks into place they vaguely realise that they don’t know what to do with themself anymore.

So they do what they always do—they clean shelves, sweep the floor, clean counters. By the time they’re done the house is spotless and they’re out of work to swallow down that gnawing anxiety in their chest.

They flop down on the sofa—they’re not going to use the villain’s bed whilst it’s still warm, they’re not an animal—and let the exhaustion of the work overtake their worry and force them into a light sleep.

Light enough that they wake to the sound of the front door quietly clicking open. They sit up, ready to vocalise their surprise at the villain’s return, until they hear that the footsteps in the hall are decidedly not the villain’s. Too heavy, too slow. Too familiar.

The hero’s on their feet immediately. They want to hide, to run away, to do something, but their body feels like it’s weighed down by stone as the superhero turns the corner into the living room.

“Ah, [Hero].” Surprise is lacking in the superhero’s voice. A small smile stretches at his mouth. “I heard rumours. It’ll be nice to have you back with us.”

With us. For a moment all the hero can think about is those long days in the jail, treated like nothing more than a stain in the agency’s gleaming record. “How—” The hero’s voice chokes in their throat, and they curse themself inwardly. “How did you know—”

“Good people do not hide things from the agency, [Hero],” the superhero says smoothly. “Common civilians are ranking higher than you in that aspect.”

“I wasn’t hiding anything,” the hero spits desperately. “I– I was never one of them.”

The last word comes out a little harsher than they intended. They were never one of the corrupt demons that kindly lets their nemesis hide in their home. No, no, of course not. No, no one would want to be like the villain.

The hero, though, didn’t become a hero without an innate eagerness to please. To prove themself. To show the superhero how good they can be.

“I was never one of them,” the hero repeats, and the superhero cocks his head. Interest. “I– I can prove it.”

The superhero hums a cold laugh, and for a moment the hero feels like they’re back in that awful little basement, chains on their wrists, swearing their innocence, assaulted by the sound of dragging leather behind them—

The hero quickly turns on their heel to avoid looking at the superhero any longer.

They lead the way to the villain’s office, desperate to keep themself a few paces ahead. A belt sits at the superhero’s waist, and they don’t want to get close enough to see him unsheathe it again.

The door swings inward. The superhero looks inside momentarily. His gaze turns to the hero. Disappointed.

Please, no. “This is– it’s [Villain]’s office,” they add quickly. “This is their house.”

The superhero’s eyes linger on them for a moment. His face gives nothing away. Then he turns away to step into the office, and it feels like the hero can breathe again.

The hero stays in the doorway whilst the superhero peruses like this is nothing more than his weekly trip to the shops. He flits through papers, looks through drawers. He taps his chin in thought. His eyes scan across the room curiously. Eventually, after an eternity of the hero trying to figure out whether this is how they repent, he glances back up to meet the hero’s gaze.

“This is a good find.” The superhero offers something of a kind smile, and the hero has to hold back an entirely too genuine grin of their own. “Good. Very good.”

He collects a stack of papers. “Thank you for this, [Hero],” he says as he lugs them into his arms. “Let’s head back to the agency, hm?”

The hero’s evaded the superhero’s fury. There’s no way this is real. They can’t believe their luck. “Y–Yes, sir.”

The hero follows the superhero to his car. Another one waits behind it, a sleek black thing straight from the agency garage. The hero swallows and averts their gaze—of course he knew they were here. Of course he didn’t come alone.

The superhero doesn’t say much on the journey back to the agency. His gaze speaks volumes without the words, continuously slipping to the piles of paper the entire way, a satisfied smirk pulling at his lips. The hero decides to point their interest to the world passing outside in the hopes that they can ignore what they’ve done to the villain to put themself in the superhero’s favour.

It doesn’t matter, their mind promises in sickening whispers. They’ll be dead soon. Step on their corpse to survive if you have to.

The superhero sighs shortly as he pulls the car into the agency’s underground garage. Waves the hero along as he lets himself into the building. Invites them into his office. Lets the door click shut behind him.

“It is nice to see you back where you belong, [Hero],” the superhero says as he settles at his desk. It looks comically small in comparison to the giant room it's set in. “And with documents! You’ve gone above and beyond.”

The hero allows themself the smallest of smiles. “Thank you, sir.”

“To prove innocence I don’t believe you have.”

The smile falters. Their heart leaps into their throat. “... What?”

The superhero smiles lightly. “We don’t do coincidences in this agency, [Hero]. Everything has a meaning. Even if it is a mistake, it is set in stone, and we will treat it as such. You relayed information to a spy. That is all I need to know.”

The hero turns on their heel. Security is already in the doorway, a pair of metal cuffs in his hand. The superhero laughs humorlessly.

“Don’t you worry, [Hero].” The hero whips back to him, their face surely a myriad of pain and horror and betrayal. “Innocence means nothing to us. You’ll make up for what you’ve done.”

The cuffs click around the hero’s wrists. They can’t even find it in themself to struggle against them. They just stare at the superhero, aghast. “You… you tricked me.”

The superhero arranges the villain’s papers on his desk idly. “It is nothing on me if you were foolish enough to trust me.”

The man behind the hero tugs them towards the door. Jail. Right back where they started. The superhero throws them one last smirk. Satisfied, cruel, mocking. Disgusting.

“Thanks for coming back, [Hero]. Really,” he says as his door swings open in a creaking goodbye. “It’s nice to have you back where you belong.”

(next part)

Taglist:

@runarelle @thiefofthecrowns

[painsandconfusion]

Back To Your Roots

With You - Part Fourteen

(tw: chemical burns, noncon haircut, yandere, domestic abuse, kidnapping) [Previous | Masterpost | Next]

Robin’s hair was red.

At least, it was right now. Ida assumed, anyway. She changed it a lot. Never quiet. Never simple. Never the same for more than a week at least in style, or a month in color. And she’d only had Red for two weeks now.

It was only a couple weeks ago that Robin finally convinced Ida to dye their hair. 

“A little something special - to showcase who you are and how you want the world to see you. Not just how you were born,” she’d explained to them.

Ida had been wanting to for a long time. They’d stared at the midnight blue dyes on endless hours of scrolling in bed, and brushed off when Robin asked if they wanted to dye it. 

“Nah,” they’d hummed, tucking their phone onto the nightstand. “It would stain my hair.”

“So?” Robin just curled up closer. “Then you can bleach it or dye it again. It’s your hair. You can do whatever you want with it.”

“..it’s too much upkeep. I’ll stick with what I have.” They’d pressed a kiss to Robin’s hand, and that was the end of that conversation.

On the other hand, Oren always loved their hair. Loved it long and straight and white as fallen snow. “That’s what makes you special,” he’d said. “It’s something unique about you - so few people look like you, why would you ever want to change that?” He’d kissed their lips, and that was the end of that conversation. 

His words must have still haunted them, even years after they’d left his house, running off into the night and leaving him with a knife in his gut within crawling distance of his cellphone.

It had taken almost five whole years until Robin eased Ida into the idea of making their hair their own again. Not a trophy or a reminder of how they were so different from everyone else. Just…theirs. Nothing special. Theirs. 

The hairdresser was so gentle and sweet. She’d massaged shampoo into their hair and chattered endlessly with Robin as she worked. She’d tried to pull Ida into conversation, but Ida shrugged off most of it, more than content to listen to Robin chatter about their cat and her books and the newest cardigan she’d found at the thrift store. Neon green, this time. A ‘perfect match’ for her navy skirt and royal purple scarf.

Ida so often wished they could be like her. Wished they would dare to wear bright, crazy colors and outfits made up of seven different styles. Bold enough to change their color weekly and chatter with hairdressers. 

But..Ida was changing. They’d put a little color into their life now. 

They’d let someone else touch their hair now. 

They were outside and talking to other humans, and even getting a small strip over their left ear shaved away so they could pull the midnight blue and silver streaked mass off to one side. 

It was so recent that it barely felt like a memory. It felt as it were still happening. That Oren’s fingers in their hair were the hairdresser’s. That his humming chatter was local gossip. That the aches that puckered across their flesh was just their imagination. 

Oren’s voice made quick work of that breach to reality. 

“You know, I’m not sure why you did this. I just really don’t understand,” he muttered, fingers tracing over their part where silvery white had started to grow underneath the midnight blue, pushing it up and out of the way. 

“It’s not you at all. Were you trying to look like someone else??” 

Ida stared at the kitchen wall, numb and hollow and silent. 

His hands slid down their jaw and gripped it gently, tilting their head back until their eyes met his. “..that wasn’t a rhetorical question, dove.”

Ida’s stomach twisted as their eyes searched his. Trying to gauge how much danger was behind those words. 

“..I wasn’t trying to look like anyone else.”

Oren frowned, thumbs brushing down their cheeks. Resting at the top, then sliding down again. Again and again and again. Petting them like a cat.

“Then why did you do it?”

Ida’s face pinched slightly. Of course he wasn’t going to go long without mentioning their hair. Why did they think they’d be able to get away with that? As if he just wouldn’t notice that their hair was blue now. 

“..I…I don’t know.”

Oren sighed, leaning down over the back of the chair to press a lingering kiss to their forehead. “Precious thing,” he murmured. Nuzzling a little. “You don’t know anything when I’m not around, do you?”

Ida’s stomach was starting to churn now. Eyes squeezing gratefully shut. They’d take his lips over his eyes. Gladly.

Fingers curled in, almost bruising at the underside of their jaw as Oren’s breath warmed against their forehead. Ida strained, back aching at the angle as they squirmed away from bruising fingertips.

They hadn’t answered. Right-

“..no-”

Evidently that was good enough. His fingers unwrapped slightly, smoothing up and through their hair again. “We’re going to fix this.” With one more kiss to their forehead, he pulled back, taking their hand to guide them to standing.

Ida chewed on their lip, but followed as he wanted. Anywhere he wanted. 

Evidently that was out of the room. The floorboards seemed to creak a little louder than usually as they crossed the foyer and moved up the steps. Into the bathroom.

..that wasn’t figurative, was it. He was going to get rid of the blue. Get rid of what tiny piece of Robin they had here. 

Ida’s eyes burned as he dragged a chair to the sink, turning it around. He guided them to it. 

Ida didn’t fight it. 

How could they? 

There wasn’t any stopping this, so why bother. 

They just sat, hands curled around each other in their lap. Stomach in knots.

Oren turned on the tap, fingers pressed to their forehead to tilt their head back over the sink. Ida was good. They followed the push and slumped down in the seat so their head rested on the edge of the porcelain, hair ready to shift into the stream. 

Oren pressed a quick kiss to their lips as he tugged their hair out into the bowl and started thoroughly wetting it. “This will be good. You’ll start feeling so much more like yourself again. Maybe you’ll start singing, hm?” He took a moment to dip and nuzzle their nose with his. 

So, he wanted them singing more.

Ida took a note of that, letting their eyes close against the water and the proximity and the light in their eyes. “..maybe,” they breathed. Staying quiet. 

They tried to think back to that little barber shop. 

Tried to feel Robin’s hand holding theirs. 

They let the world slip away, and let themself believe, if only for this moment, that the hands in their hair were that hairdressers - Ida couldn’t stop kicking themself for forgetting her name-

They imagined the radio playing crackling, distant music - a song they’d heard a million times but never remembered the words to. Country. Warm and upbeat and nostalgic. 

Robin’s voice. Janet Finch plots debated, and local gossip. Not Oren’s soft humming. Not his hands. Not the smell of bleach too strong for this to be the hairdresser’s. 

Tin foil. That was familiar. 

Oren tore it with his teeth, wrapping lumps of hair up in the stuff before tilting them up in the chair. A washcloth dabbed at the drips that moved down their neck.

This was it. There wasn’t any stopping it now. Even if they ran and screamed and rinsed it away, the bleach had plenty of time already to damage the midnight blue that Robin had to painstakingly supported / pestered them into getting. 

Ida could see her face in the darkness when their eyes were closed. Her little hands poking and prodding and fretting with how the fresh lockes laid. 

Gentle. 

Simple and kinda, yet bubbling with excitement and compliment.

But that was then. And this was now.

Ida’s face pinched, eyes finally opening again to look up at Oren. As the world pressed back to the scent of pine and bleach and citrus, Ida’s scalp started to tinge. Started to scratch and burn as if hair was being ripped out at the root. 

Their hands lifted, distress on their face as they reached for the foil - only to be caught in Oren’s.

“Don’t touch it, it needs to sit.”

Ida felt a whine press from their throat, hands pulling against Oren’s. “..O-..Oren, it…it burns-”

He shushed them, leaning in to press a kiss to their nose. “It won’t take long. I don’t want you half green now just because it’s uncomfortable.”

Tears brimmed at Ida’s eyes as they started pulling against him in ernest. “N-no it- it’s -ssomethign’s wrong this isn’t right-”

Oren’s jaw set. Fingers tightened around their wrists until bones shifted under his grip. A pressure that promised blooming bruises by tomorrow. “Don’t. Don’t lie to me. It’s already going to be ruined with how much I’ve done with it now. It’s not like you can save it.”

The tears slid hot down their face as they shriveled under his grip. “Ore, please-I-Im nnot lying - it- it hurts Oren please-”

Oren’s lips just pinched into a thin line. “It’s only going to take a few more minutes. Just relax.”

Ida’s head shook, pulling against him again. “O-ren please-”

Oren groaned, letting go of one of their hands to reach up to the foil. “Just chill, it’s n-” He stopped, frowning. Touching the foil. Again. “..why’s it so hot-?”

Ida just dissolved into sobs, free hand now clutching at his shirt. Some unknown ghost was ripping their hair off by scalpy bits, shoving flame at the tears to cauterize it. It flickered and tingled and screamed at them in a cacophony of sensation and warnings. “Ore- pl-lease-”

Oren finally let go of their other hand, shoving the foil off. 

It splat into the sink easily. What should have freed them left nothing dangling down to touch their neck - even at this angle. 

“..fuck,” he muttered, faucet turning on again. “Head back again, love - I’m gonna rinse this out.”

That command, they had no problem following. They shoved themself toward the water, begging it to put out the fire - even if Oren’s fingers on their scalp burned, the water soothed it and helped shove away the worst of the pain. 

“..didn’t even take out half the fuckin’ color,” he grumbled, scrubbing at their scalp until Ida was crying fresh again. 

They caught a glimpse of the foil as it dropped into the trash can, long strands of blue and white flickering through the air before falling out of view. 

..how much was gone???

Their hands pressed over their face, shielding their eyes and stifling their sobs into muffled shadows of what they could be. 

They held still. 

They were good.

They didn’t move besides shifting as per his instruction as he shoved out the last of the chemical, dried their hair, and fretted with it, trying to coax what was left to frame their face. 

Ida couldn’t look at him - they certainly couldn’t look in the mirror. 

There was a long silence as he stared at them. 

“..I’m just gonna shave it. You didn’t need it, anyway. It’ll grow back fresh and white and perfect.”

..what were they supposed to say to that. 

Nothing.

They were supposed to say nothing. 

They just trembled a nod, face still tucked safely into their hands. A kiss pressed to their knuckles, and he started moving. 

They held still. Listening to him opening the drawer. To the chord unwinding. To the plug clicking into place. To the soft electric hum. 

They whimpered, but didn’t move as the teeth of the razor scraped across furious scalp, rippling burning pain down their spine. They pulled their legs up, arms wrapping around them. 

They held still. 

They were quiet.

They were good.

They didn’t move or breathe more than necessary as piece after piece fell down around them and to the ground. 

They’d probably be the one to clean them up later. 

It barely took a minute. Then it was gone. 

Everything was gone.

“Go on, dove. You can look now.” A hand slid over their hair, roaming over the half inch strands and ghosting over burns they didn’t have to see to know they were there. 

Ida looked. They looked if only to appease him.

A stranger stared back at them through the glass. Eyes red and white from crying. Hair hacked down to a patchy remnant of what remained. The white strands were so thin, they barely seemed there at all. 

Oren’s shirt. 

Oren’s home. 

Oren’s dove.

They turned, pressing their face into him. Escaping their own reflection. 

Oren cooed soft laments as he scooped them up, keeping their face tucked into him as he carried them out of the bathroom. “It’s all done now. It’s all done and you did so good for me, dove.”

They clung to him even after he set them down on the bed, muffled sobs curling into his shirt even further than their fingers - their entire self buried in him. Wishing he could make the rest of the world go away. At least for a moment. 

Oren was good. He obeyed them as they did him. He moved easily and smoothly, pulling them both onto the bed and moving blankets up and over Ida so they wouldn’t have to let go of him or even look up. He cradled them close, rocking back and forth a little as he pressed kisses to the edges of the burns. “It’s all done. All done now.”

This time, Ida couldn’t bring themself to pretend it was Robin’s arms holding them.

He’d never be her.

[Previous | Masterpost | Next]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @kesskirata @wormwriting @batfacedliar-yetagain @paranoiaxagent @siren-of-agony @lwkshrav @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions  @pinkieglitterheart  @whumpasaurus101  @shameless-dumbass @darlingwhump @whumpy-catfish)

As always, just lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

If anyone knows where heathen-whump wibbly-wobbly-whump hold-back-on-the-comfort and mable-donut went please tell :(

.

This is the color Ida has(d), by the way-

It's shorter and thinner, but that exact same color and fade.