#literally a smoking arsenal here

[tomorrowusa]

Obstructing justice includes tampering with or destroying evidence. Guess what Donald Trump has been up to. It's almost comical how Trump keeps digging a bigger legal hole for himself.

In the middle of the linked vid, Anderson Cooper talks with George Conway. In addition to being a columnist, Conway is an attorney who understands the deep legal shit Trump continues to envelop himself in. Conway seems genuinely astonished and comes up with some great lines. (emphasis added).

I mean, everything stands out to me. They have him dead to rights -- they had him dead to rights back when they executed the search warrant and they came up with those documents. I mean, there is literally a smoking arsenal here. I mean, people are making a big deal about what we saw in the superseding indictment yesterday, but the fact of the matter is, it's just icing on a very, very large cake of mind bogglingly inculpatory evidence against Donald Trump. I mean, he's like a never ending bottomless pit of illegality. Here, he is basically, by asking his workers to destroy the videotape, I mean, he was obstructing justice, but maybe he wasn't just obstructing justice, he was obstructing justice about his prior efforts to obstruct justice, because those videotapes showed how he and Walt Nauta were moving these boxes around and it was just like in the Mueller report. The Mueller report explains how Trump tried to get his White House counsel to get the special counsel, then Bob Mueller, to resign. And then when it hits the newspapers that he did that, then Trump asked the White House counsel to write a false memo saying that it didn't happen. And again, he's obstructing justice about obstructing justice. He's like, a Matryushka -- a Matryoshka doll of criminality, this man. And it's just -- he's not making it -- he's not making it any easier for himself. If anything, it's sort of being unfair to himself because he's making it so easy for prosecutors. One-tenth of the evidence that they have could put him away for the rest of his life.

Trump's growing legal problems aren't stopping him from telling Republicans what they want to hear.

Trump tells crowd he is the only Republican who can win 2024 election

Trump also said "I alone can fix it" in 2016 at the GOP convention.

Fool me once...

[royposting]

queen tell me about roy harper's hudson sweater <3

oh my god you do NOT understand how many thoughts i have about the hudson U sweater. i have. so many. you do not know what you are asking of me.

see, in order to understand why i go so insane about it, you have to first understand how it ties in together with where roy logically would be as a person during this time in the timeline - i literally have an entire google doc for a logical timeline for him that i made because DC does not keep track of him during his teenage years, and also do not know how heroin and heroin addiction actually works.

logically speaking, for him to be at the state he was during snowbirds dont cry (GL/GA #85-86) he would not have been on gear for only a month or whatever they claim in it. i dont have personal experience with heroin but i have been in that world and have 1. struggled myself in my youth with drug abuse and 2. been friends with plenty of sober addicts.

homeboy would have had to be on the stuff for at least a few months at that point in time. probably started with pills, like oxycodone or similar, then moved on to snorting or smoking H. people rarely go from nothing to shooting up in such a short amount of time, and we see him having withdrawals and shooting in snowbirds.

i typically place snowbirds, and roys addiction, later on in the TL than the bronze age canon. this for several reasons, mainly:

he would, again, have been on gear for some time prior to it. meaning: his friends would have noticed if he was still with the teen titans at this time.

i also typically put him as the youngest member of the OG TT - same birth year as dick, but born in november to dicks march. i typically put ollie leaving for his eat, pray, love roadtrip with hal at the year roy (&dick) would turn 18. dick goes to college, sometime during that fall the TT break up, donna dumps his sorry ass for the last time, and he is left alone with no real support system since ollie (whose relationship with roy is famously strained in bronze age comics) left him alone.

this is when he starts using, in my HC TL.

SO in detective comics #402, roy visits dick in college. by my TL, he would already be using opiates to some degree, here. theyre wearing coats - its probably cold out.

did dick give him the sweater because he felt cold? he would have lost weight if he was using. making him freeze.

more importantly:

snowbirds would be placed around spring the year after. after snowbirds, roy sets off on his own, to tour with his band, great frog (we see an example of this in action comics #436). from the rise of arsenal mini run, we know that roy continued using during this time, spiralling and spiralling until finally deciding enough is enough.

throughout this ENTIRE TIME, even when travelling and touring and using heroin, MY MAN KEPT THE SWEATER. he kept it. he keeps wearing it, casually, it being completely his. he KEPT IT. ???!!??????!!!!!!!

when did dick give him the sweater? was it when roy visited him at hudson U? was it when he came to sit by roys bedside during his detox (which we learn about in i believe NTT)? was it later? i dont know. i cannot be sure. but it makes sense to me that it would be when he visited him at hudson U.

meaning mr roy ”everything i have ever hold onto has claw marks in it” harper held onto that sweater SO HARD through EVERYTHING. and he wears it casually. this fucking beacon of his affection for dickie straight on his chest.

my man has packed up his life so many times and that sweater has stayed with him. it genuinely drives me insane.

[fraugwinska]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! 🎃 Jesus, today is a day of Uploads! xD I have to upload a buttload of more stuff, so bear with me! I didn#t think I'd finish on time - butt here it is! My take on Hazbin meets DBD! The Wheel of Misfortune gave me Angel to work with, and despite all odds, I wrote a story without SMUT! Can you believe it? :D The Masterlist can be found here - check out the works of all the other, talented writers and artists! It will be updated frequently, as Kinktober and other shenanigans came inbetween some of us and the deadline. But that only means we'll have fantastic fics and delicious drawings to look forward to! Thank you to everyone participating - for making this Event such a special one! You all are AMAZING! @redvexillum @ritualofcirice @chefskjssart @dewdropdinosaur @lumikello24

@macabr3-barbi3 @xalygatorx @melodyonthewireless @kewpikayo @jurijyuu

Warnings&Tags: Major Character Death, Pain & Torture, Physical & Psychological Abuse, Kidnapping/Abduction

Night. It was always fucking night.

Danny hadn't minded when the entity, whatever it was, had called on him. When the fog arrived, shortly after he left Roseville, he had embraced it, yeah, even felt giddy - he hated boredom, loved the thrill of the chase. And the realm the soundless voice promised him seemed to be a remedy for both. His old routine renewed by almost wickedly enhanced powers, his slaughters improved with every new, fresh meat hooked that he didn't care enough about to learn their names.

The first weeks the entity sent him alone into the woods in between trials. An unspoken pledge that once Danny has proven his worth, he'd join the others. Killers, like him, an arsenal of evil, depravity and death. He was intrigued by the prospect - acclimating in this environment was fun, but the real thing would be asserting himself next to legends like Myers or Krueger. So he did what he did best - Stalk and chase and kill, each new trial bumping up his adrenaline and fuck it was fun. Barely a trial went by where he didn't get the full set of kills, his reward plenty by the looming black thing above, sending him new powers and an overpowering sense of accomplishment. And if he missed one or two, the entity would soothe his flaring anger, the fog cold and calm on his skin when the world around him would collapse in fire and smoke - Don't worry about the pests that got away - There's next time, Danny Boy. And he always got them next time.

Finally he felt it - as the ground split in glowing reds and the heat took over the Autohaven, he felt the hot, dripping claws of the entity christen him. He had succeeded the trial by literal fire, and as he was pulled away, not north towards the lone patch of woods he had come to know, but south, the presence of evil growing bigger by the second, Danny left his old, useless name behind. The entity had given him a new one, one that he embraced with a laugh of euphoria: Ghostface.

***

While the survivors, as they called them so ironically, gathered around a campfire between trials, the hunters - killers, for a better term - were granted a real home. A shack in the same woods somewhere, filled with an Arsenal of weapons and tools for them to use as they pleased, and blood-stained, torn seats around a burning fireplace. Most of them lived in their own heads, some of them too animalistic to socialize. The ones that wanted to spend their times waiting together for ‘The Call’ on those seats, sometimes indulging in the strong, burning drinks the entity manifested along new blades or rods when she was pleased with them. And as all groups, the hunters, too, had a leader, as far as leaders can exist in a group of hungry wolves. Evan MacMillan was that one, although he, as most of the others, shed himself of that name when he became the Trapper. He was respected amongst both the vocal and silent, strong, calm and cold-blooded enough to keep brawls in between them to a minimum, one of the oldest and longest standing killers of the entity. But even he, after so many trials he had withstood, so many survivors he had killed through either the entity's hooks or his own hands, has never experienced anything like this before.

"Shit, come on, Bubba, get yourself together man." One of the Legions, Frank, clumsily patted the wailing monstrums back. The Hillbilly had never been able to speak more than just grunts and howls, making communicating with him often hard and frustrating, but the sounds he made now weren't hard to interpret - he, too, had just ended a trial with the new survivor. And as with a lot of them before, it wasn't the prey that had been scared and traumatized, but the predator.

The Nightmare took a swig of the last bottle of whiskey they had, hissing at the burn. "Can't blame the poor fuck - I've seen the dreams of that freak.... swear to god even I got nightmares after that."

"Frederick, pace yourself and leave some for the poor man." The Doctor chimed in, taking the bottle out of the sharp clawed hands and handing it to the Hillbilly with a mournful expression. "Only one chug, lad. Going at this rate, we might as well start to get accustomed to bread and water... She is not happy with us."

"Кто может винить ее? Мы все подвели ее с этим существом." (Who can blame her? We all have failed her with that creature.)

The Huntress threw another hatchet into a nearby wall, hitting the middle of the target she had painted with blood next to her previous four. Although her eyes were hidden behind the rabbit mask, Evan and the others could hear the sourness in her voice.

"Uhuh, sure, babe, whatever you say." Legion mumbled and rolled his eyes, handing the still sniffing Bubba a dirty rag to wipe his deformed nose with.

"Huntress is saying what we all think, Legion. We are failing. All of us." Evan sighed and brought one of his massive, rough hands up to wipe sweat from his temples. He knew the ropes of the entity's game, knew that some survivors had advantages, were more courageous or daring, even defiant. Evan was good, but not perfect, and he wasn't so far gone like some of the others to expect their victims to stay quivering, fearful messes like when they are freshly called upon. But the new one...

He... or it? Was so much more different than any survivor before him. Tall and lean, which would've normally make it so much harder to hide from them, flashy instead of discreet, loud and boastful instead of silent and secretive... human-like and yet so not-human at all.

"Ahhhh, another four for four, bitches!" The newcomer, Ghostface, as he had introduced himself, kicked open the door to the shack, his flowy robes drenched in blood and slimy mud that told Evan he'd been at Backwater Swamp. "Oh god, don't tell me Billy-Boy was too pussy to get over that new Survivor, too?"

The whole room growled at that remark, and Evan sighed in annoyance. The Ghostface had made more foes than allies in those few days he'd been sent to them as an addition to the entity's team of murderers. It wasn't that he was cocky, crude or obnoxious - they all were like that when they first came to the realm. What irked them all was the sense of superiority he wore so obviously on his sleeve, convinced that he was the entity's favorite, blessed by her dark energy and favored by her will.

"Fuck you, Ghostface, leave Bubba alone!" Legion spat, his facemask cracking with anger, while the Nightmare threw him a look of disgust and Michael, usually stoic and silent, turned his emotionless mask to its screaming counterpart, the blackened, hollow eyes almost flowing out with angered darkness. Evan wanted to shake the boy under the costume when he just laughed, the mockery blatant and offensive. "Are you guys telling me you, the creme de la creme of carnage, can't get a newbie under control?!"

The Trickster, who had been playing with his throwing blades with more than just an exasperated expression (which Evan could understand, given that his humiliating loss against the new survivor left too fresh of a wound in his ego), stood up with a hiss in the language none of them had been able to learn yet, but the Legion was faster, leaving Bubba in the care of the Wraith, stomping towards the cackling figure. "Listen, Fuckface - he asked the Spirit if she could give him tips about SHIBARI and yelled 'Harder Daddy' when the goddamn Executor tried to slam him into the ground... THAT'S NOT NORMAL!"

The Shape huffed in agreement, and the Nightmare added his own opinion in a raspy voice, scratching his distinctive scars around the face and neck: "I agree, he's fucking weird - insane, not scared of any of us. He doesn't even look like a normal survivor, and that's comin' from someone with that kinda face."

"That's a whole lot of words to say that you suck at your jobs, fellas." Ghostface retorted with a sneer in his voice, running his gloved fingers along his shining knife, the hilt still covered in blood spots but the blade pristine and almost glowing.

"Enough." Evan said, his voice booming across the room, effectively shutting the others up.

"You talk big, Ghostface. But you haven't had a trial with the one they call 'Angel' yet." Evan and the others felt the familiar cool wisps of air, harbingers of the arrival of the black fog for another trial. The Entity whispered the names of the prey into the winds - Evan had learned to listen for them long ago, and under his never-changing mask, he felt his lips pull into a rare smile. It was a gamble, risking to topple the weak chain of authority they had established among each other. But Evan felt that he wouldn't deserve the title nor the respect that came with being the leader if he would let this petty behavior and destructive jealousy continue. The favored one needed a well-deserved damper on his ego, and maybe the newest survivor - who- or whatever he was - could teach him that lesson. He stopped the Skull Merchant that had stood up to offer herself to take the trial with a wave of his bear-like hands and turned to the young killer, pointing his makeshift ax in his direction. "Maybe you are right. Maybe me and the others just don't have what it takes anymore to honor the Entity."

The silence that fell over the shack was heavy as the Entity's presence grew stronger, and Evan was sure the others could feel it, too, her excitement building up and electrifying the atmosphere surrounding the killer's shack. He ignored the burning fury in Legion's eyes, the angry scratch of Freddy's claws over moldy wood. The young man tilted his head in curious interest, letting his finger press into the edge of his blade until the leather broke and blood started to drip out of it in crimson pearls.

"Here's your opportunity. Show us, Ghostface, how you will fare against this new kind of prey."

***

"Oh my god, toots, move over, I can't watch this a second longer."

Angel rolled his eyes at the meek girl, brushing her dirty blonde hair out of her face as she let him take over. The other two were useless too - that Ace guy couldn't do shit even if his life depended on it - huh, which it literally did, now that Angel thought about it. And Renato was a sweet dude, a little too nerdy for Angel's taste, but he was still too rattled after his last trial with that hunk of a killer with the butt-stupid metal triangle head to be of any help except for maybe cleansing totems in between hiding in lockers. Angel couldn't blame him - he had seen how Sexy Back had Mori'd the poor dude, and it had not been the kind of gutted that Angel would've liked either. But Kate was a cool gal, a pretty face and too nice for her own good but normally very capable. She reminded him a little of Charlie, and the thought always stung faintly in his chest. Normally she would've rocked the generators, but for some reason, she was nervous and erratic this trial, her eyes always wandering around, looking over her shoulder every few seconds and fucking up the gen more than she repaired it. He let his second pair of arms grow out of his sides, cutting the time it took to finish the rest in half, and with a click the machine roared to life, steadily pumping electricity into the mainline for the exit gates. One down - four more to go.

"Jesus with a strap-on, Kate, I thought with what you look like you'd know how to get an engine going." He teased, but the girl didn't seem to even hear him, her eyes still scanning the dark woods behind them. "Sorry, Angel, sorry... it's just... don't you feel it?" "If you mean Big Mama's presence, then yeah. Pretty much hard to ignore with all the black claws and shit, but I've gotten used to it. Kinda feels like a well-worn, cheap training bra now." "No, not that... I think someone is watching us. Like... stalking."

Angel grabbed her arm and pulled her into some nearby bushes, the neon signs of the worn-down cinema blinking in the near distance. "Babes, 'ya know I can handle Mute Mikey. What I can't handle is you loosin' 'ya head now. Fuckin' Ace is hard enough to carry." They both crept along the sides of the forest nearer to the building. "It's not Michael... I can't explain... it feels different, like when Claudette told me..."

Whatever Claudette had told Kate - Angel wasn't about to hear it as Ace's screams of terror echoed through the forest from the other side of the entity's caged playground.

"Motherf... okay, 'ya go get that dumbass and heal up, imma find a gen and fuck it up so whoever it is will get distracted. Stay low, kay, sugartits?" Kate nodded with wide eyes, and ran into the darkness. Angel cursed that dumb fucker, finding a gen around a corner and let it misfire before he made a quick turn and went through the broken wall into the cinema show room of the Greenville Theatre. Fuck, a movie would be nice - watching one of making one, anything would be better than this. He silently went up the stairs into the storage room and began to work on the generator there.

Eyes on the goal.

Surviving wasn't what Angel saw as the goal. Even if he'd die in mommy's sick game, he knew from seeing the others revive at the campfire, only to be sent to another trial again a few moments later. Living or dying, Angel couldn't find himself to care, although he always chose to live, even if the others kicked the bucket and he was the last one standing. No, the goal was to get the fuck out of that shitty nightmare Val had sent him into. 

Whatever he had fucked up with 'The Entity', it must've been huge because the last time he saw him he was barely alive even by hell's standart. His wings were ripped from his back, his insides hanging out of a fat gash on his side and the studio a chaotic mass of fire, smoke and debris. And in all of it stood she. 

Roo. 

That's what Val had called her anyway, that bitch in edgy clothes and with those manic eyes, smiling in such a terrifying, blinding way with teeth sharp as an excorcist's blade that Angel thought just that smile could smite an army of sinners if she wanted to.

"Roo... I can expl...ain." Val had stuttered, blood running freely out of his mouth drenching his words.

"No need, Valentino. You and the other Vee's went all in with chips out of my own pocket, and you lost. And I don't like losing my stake."

She had summoned black, claw-like spikes, writhing like insects towards a panicking Val. He stumbled two steps back, noticing Angel creeping away, towards the crumbled wall, the running masses and the open streets of the Pentagram. Angel had seen Charlie and Vaggie forcing their way towards the burning ruins. And Husk. His Husk, wings outstreched and he was fucking flying over them all towards Angel. He had never seen him fly before.

"You can... Take! T...TTake him!!!" Val had screamed, falling to his knees as he pointed to Angel, coughing red and black onto the formerly pink, tacky tiles. His words sent a wave of hate and fear through Angel, and his eyes went from Charlie's tear-stained face to Husk screaming his name as he flapped his wings to pick up speed and fell onto her. Smiling at him, one slender, white finger with a black, pointy nail pressed into her cheek. She watched the cat demon dodge a falling beam and looked... amused as her eyes found his. She winked.

"Fine, you'll do."

Before Angel could even breathe to say something, or run, black fog encapsulated him, and only her glowing white smile and Husk's distressed scream of his name followed him as he fell through the darkness.

No. Surviving was just a crutch, a means to an end. His goal was to get that bitch Roo. To find his way out of this fucking mess. Back home, back to the hotel, back to Charlie and Vaggie and Niffty and even Alastor.  And most importantly: Back to fucking Husk.

Almost done with the gen his head turned as he heard two sounds at the exact same time: The sound of another generator coming alive and Renato's pained cry. That stupid man... Instead of running, Renato most likely had stayed on the gen to finish it, sacrificing himself to be thrown onto a hook. Angel shook his head, trying hard to focus on connecting cables and switch out gears. The others could get him off. They had learned that he was best at two things: Getting gen’s to work and screw with the killers.

But apparently, no one came close to Renato in time - when Angel stood up from the now running machine, he felt the dreading boom of a successful sacrifice - Renato had been swallowed by the entity, and from the muffled screams and misfiring generators him he knew that Ace had been already hung up too, and Kate was at least injured, if not on her way to be hooked by this rounds killer. Another boom told him Ace had given up - that asshole had most likely struggled too much to get himself off instead of waiting for him or Kate, and lost the fight against Roo's hungry claws. Which left him and Kate, and two generators to open the exit gates - not the best odds, with how fast this Killer acted and how idiotically nervous the usually so assured girl fumbled with the generators. He could wait for Kate to die and go for the hatch, but Angel knew he wouldn't. Not for Kate. Not after seeing so much of Charlie in her.

He made a dash down the stairs and through the arcade room, peeking his head out and spotting Kate's limp body on a nearby meat hook, swaying gently in the breeze. next to her stood an unfamiliar, cloaked silhouette, twirling a knife skillfully in gloved hands. This fucker was new, someone Angel had never encountered before. But he had heard things about him. The guys around the campfire had been wary of him, but as usual, Angel quickly had most of the girls at least interested in and friendly to him, and from the latest conversations, he remembered Feng-Min and Claudette talking about a new killer, a stalker like Magic Mike but more real, more humanlike which made them even more terrified of him. Someone that, unlike the others Angel encountered, seemed to be almost casual and gleeful to have been wisped away and thrown into trials by Roo, treating the trials like a personal, fun game... and from what he heard, he always won them.

He looked around and found an old can. Quickly and noiseless, he snuck along the Arcade walls to the opposite doorway, and hurled it with as much force as he could into the woods, trying to hit a hook to make as much noise as possible. He heard the guy's quiet steps outside, quickly but silently rushing towards his distraction, and Angel grinned as he exited the arcade room and ran towards a groaning Kate.

"Shh, babe, we ain't got much time, that fucker's fast." Angel whispered, quickly working on patching Kate up so she wouldn't leave a bloody trail behind her. "Angel, he's too good, I can't..." "'Ya can. I'll handle tall, dark and gruesome, make sure he won't get near 'ya. But 'ya gotta do two gens, okay? Open the exit the furthest away from us and go. Don't wait up for me - I can handle myself." His sentence ended as he finished closing her wound, and he shoved her into some bushes after she hesitantly looked around. "Don't argue, just move your ass, toots, and hide till the creep's found me."

Kate nodded, giving him a weak smile and a hushed 'Thanks, Angel.' before she turned and vanished between the trees. Angel looked up, the dark clouds swirling above him as the entity's - Roo's - displeasure vibrated through the air. She always hated when he did things like these - helping the others (maybe it was the general idea of doing good deeds) and her getting pissed off make Angel smug and satisfied.

"Yeah, yeah, bitch, rage all 'ya want - Bite me."

Angel didn't even try to be decent, no, he not much less than swaggered in the direction of where he threw the can. It was quiet, except for the humming of the generator Renato must've finished, but no sign of the cloaked figure. 

“Gee, look at little old me! All alone in the woods, totally helpless. Such a shame.”

Angel discreetly traced for blood or maybe footprints as he rounded a nearby hook, trailing the cold metal with one finger. He had a feeling of being watched, and yet couldn't see anything but trees and grass and dirt. The fog was thicker here, and a shiver ran through him as he could feel a pair of eyes on him, watching, waiting.

“Where are ‘ya, daddy-o? Baby lost his pacifier and needs something else to suck on…”

A quiet whir behind him made him turn and grab a lean and muscular arm, stopping the blade just mere inches away from his side. He stared not into a face, but a mask - a white, cheap looking rubber one, a white face with two black holes that looked like they were melting and a long, equally black mouth open as if in a blood-curdling scream. Angel cackled and tugged the arm, the killer surprised by his unexpected strength, stumbling forward until his head hit the hard, rusty metal of the meat hook.

"Uuuuh, what a nice long blade 'ya have, hot stuff." he cooed, putting his hands on his hips with a smirk as the cloaked figure whipped around with a grunt. "But if 'ya want to rearrange my guts, I know other things than a knife that are way more fun."

"You're a mouthy one, huh?" His voice was rough and saturated with aggravation. Young, not as young as the Legion fuckers, but younger than most of the killers Angel had met.

"Oh, daddy, 'ya don't know half of what my mouth can do. Care to find out?"

Angel dodged and tripped him as the killer pounced forward, quick but not inhumanly quick - interesting. His height was human, his voice too, his mannerisms, his motions, his speed and his abilities... not supernatural. Not like the other killers at all. He used the second of his weak momentum to lock the already twisting figure between his legs, pinning him on the waist into the dirty ground. Angel laughed as his upper pair of hands had the gloved wrists in a tight grasp, while he let his second pair of arms grow out of his sides to ram the fallen knife blade-first into the ground. In the distance, he hears a generator pop into life - Kate was doing her part, one more to go. Good girl.

"Fuck, you... survivors are not supposed to fight back." the stranger growled, squirming under him.

"Dang it, I forgot - we oughta run from 'ya! And 'yer supposed to kill me, right? And yet, here we are, handsome."

Through the layers of ragged, black clothes and cloak, Angel could feel a tight, muscular but lean body - hot, but definetly normal. Not bulky like the trapper dude, not slimy like the running Melty-face or cold and eerie feeling like the Ding-Dong-Douche. As the figure under him bucked again, he could also feel something else that was entirely human and he had to surpress a laugh.

"Ohooooo, daddy, is that a dagger in 'ya pants or are 'yay just happy to finally meet me?"

With a hot fury the killer ripped his hands free, planting a fist directly into his fluffy chest with surprising force. With a breathy sound that was half cough and half wheeze, Angel's grip around the young man's waist weakened, enough for the cloaked man to throw him off. Angel could hear a rib break at the sudden punch to his side - motherfucker, that would be a bitch to heal after the trial. As he propped himself back on his arms, the cool, dirty steel of his own knife's blade touched his throat and forced his gaze upwards to meet the mask's holes.

"Enough with the goddamn nicknames. I'm fucking Ghostface, and you better remember that name as you'll scream it when I'm done with you."

Jesus, that new guy made it too easy for him.

"Mmmmh... Kinky."

Decades of whipping around poles and fucking every porn actor pride had to offer - twice - had one or two good things going for Angel. Bendy as he was, and with strong, long legs he had no problem to just pull one of them forward and ram the pointy heel of one of his overknee boots straight into Ghostface's balls, leaving his captor sputtering and writhing while Angel pushed backwards to stand upright. He sauntered towards the disoriented man, kicking the knife further out of reach and looked at him with both pity and amusement as the last generator went off, and the blaring sirens of an exit gate about to be opened echoed through the forest. Kate was near - too near for Angel's taste, but it had to do.

"A'ight, Ghost Daddy, that's my cue. Me and Katie are gonna fuck off, was fun though, 'ya might get the hang of the whole killer thing if 'ya keep practicing."

"We'll see about that, Angel-Cakes."

Angel-Cakes.

The name echoed in his head like a bad spell, a curse. Fucking Roo must've fed him that fucking pet name, these dreaded words that Valentino had always used, along with his intoxicating pheromone smoke that had left him dizzy and weak-willed too many times to count. Using the moment of his stunned stupor, Ghostface flipped around, getting up with a speed Angel didn't deem possible or had accounted for, and rammed his elbow into his face before he started running - not to go for his blade that laid aside about four feet away or the trembling Angel, but straight for the woods. Straight for the opening exit gate. Straight for Kate.

Angel's eyes widened as a dark, content thunder roared from above - that bitch. That stupid bitch and her fucking new toy.

With a dizzy head he ran after him, wheezing from the pain in his face and stomach. There was Kate, screaming as she saw Ghostface coming, charging at her, her knuckles white from the tight grip on the lever to the saving exit. He could see her legs tense and start to bend to take off and make a dash to flee, to maybe hide, and before he could think any further, Angel lunged forward, using a tree as leverage to throw himself forward and tackle the approaching killer to the ground. There were gloved hands and black fabric everywhere, furiously trying to get him off, entangling in his limbs and his fluff and his hair, but Angel didn't care. He knew now what Roo wanted - had wanted all along. He had played her game exactly how she had wanted him to play it without realizing - Surviving the trials and saving his own ass. Good deeds upset her.

"Don'tcha let go of that fucking lever, Kate!" Angel shouted, feeling his head pulled by his hair back into his neck. Ghostface punched, pulled and clawed at anything he could find of him, but Angel held onto the fighting frame - today would be the first day he'd die in a trial. And that was exactly what Angel wanted. The signature bell sound of the dooms clock went off as Angel heard the heavy gates slide open. In the mess of his wrestling with the cursing killer he caught a glimpse of Kate, her eyes fixated on him as she started to run towards him. Her expression, her eyes... they had almost the same look in them like Husk's when Roo had pulled him away. Determined to get to him. Desperate to help him.

"NO KATE, GO!" he screamed, and was awarded another painful punch into his face and his hair pulled even further, but he didn't let go, even when tears started to wet his face, and Ghostface's laugh mingled with Kate's distressed shouts and cries as he felt cold, hard steel piercing his side. "FUCKING GO! NOW, DAMN IT!"

The earth shook with Roo's anger as the girl, sobbing his name, ran back and bolted through the gates into the nothingness. Finally, Angel let go of the heavy breathing killer. A twist of the knife and his arms gave out, his head falling next to Ghostface's masked face, only a small pool of blood escaping his lips.

"God fucking damn it - Fucking idiot, you ruined it. FUCK! What a pathetic excuse for someone called 'Angel'." The killer ranted with panicked rage, pulling on the slipped and oddly twisted mask that only clung to half of his face to pull it off and throw it on the ground with a frustrated growl as he got off him. Deep brown hair clung on his forehead from sweat, framing dead eyes with dark circles under them. His face was handsome, maybe even pretty, with sharp angles and a strong, set jaw that was locked in anger.

"Anthony."

The clock rang again, and the ground was breaking apart into deep red’s and black's.

"What the fuck did you say?"

The man stared at him, knife still in his hand as Angel smiled a bloodstained grin.

"My name, asshole. S'Anthony... Angel's the name my fucking pimp got me. Just like your stupid-ass one." He managed to throw the offended looking man before him a grin. "Can't tell me 'ya gave yourself such a lame-as-fuck name."

"You're pathetic. She honored me with that name - it's nothing like with you and your... pimp."

Angel laughed as he reached down to him with his black gloves to throw him over his shoulder. He didn't resist, no use in that anyway with the wound in his side, even if he wantted to. But Roo's anger was electrifying the air around him, she was upset in more than just one way. Not only had Angel found a way to get under her skin and sour her game - but it seemed that she was especially angry about the way her newest toy had handled this trial, and him.

"'Ya just wait, Ghost Boy. With folks like her and Val, they always show their real face, sooner or later. And I have a feeling 'ya gonna see for 'yaself real soon." ***

Ghostface's face was stoic and emotionless as he threw the skinny man on the hook. The world she had created was already crumbling - he was just in time. Three out of four wasn't bad, he knew that. But it wasn't just that he missed the perfect four. If she hadn’t helped him, he would've failed even more than he had. He felt her anger, her fury bubbling beneath the realm she created. Gone was the soothing aura and the gentle caress of her invisible fingers on his cheeks. All he felt was hot gushes of wind and unseen sharp nails scratching on his arms and neck. And for the first time, he feared the punishment.

"Danny." He said quietly, watching as the survivor's grin widened before the lights behind his unusual, unsettling eyes slowly disappeared. "I was Danny once."

The last words of Angel - no, Anthony - echoed in his head as the entity's claws ripped into the white and pink flesh of his victtim, pulling him up and ttowards the swirling clouds and the black fog, hot and scorching instead of cool and calming, wrapped around him and Ghostface fell - Not into the familiar darkness, but into a sea of fire, smoke and unbearable pain.

[lacontroller1991]

Fluff/WhumpTOBER Day 6: RJ MacCready x GN!Alien Reader

Day 6: Mistaken Identity/Not Realizing They're Injured Masterlist Warnings: Teens and up, language, mentions of blood, mentions of drinking, mentions of being high/drug use, gun mention

I really like this one and I hope you guys do too!! Word Count: 1.1k

The bar is stuffy and humid compared to the cold outside in Goodneighbor. Trying not to choke on the chain smoke you venture further into the building, eyeing everything with slight trepidation. You’re supposed to be meeting with the mayor and in the communications between him and your underground friends, he had instructed you to meet up with him at Third Rail, but didn’t specify where. 

Spotting a guard by the stairs, you hesitantly walk over to the ghoul dressed in a suit. “Excuse me, sir. I have a meeting with Hancock? He instructed me to meet him here.”

The ghoul doesn’t give you much attention as he gestures down the stairs. “He’s in the VIP section.” Nodding your head in thanks, you walk down the stairs, hand hovering over your weapon. From what you can tell, no one will give you a hard time unless you give them a hard time, but still, you never know in establishments like this. 

On the last step you pause, looking around the room. Various people from all walks of life lounge around, either chatting with their friends or having a solemn drink by themselves as a singer on the stage serenades them. Jazz must be universal, you huff in amusement before your eyes train on the hallway with a large ‘VIP’ sign hanging above, highlighted in red. “That must be it.” Shrugging your shoulders, the walk to the lounge is comparatively short. As you enter the stand-alone room, your eyes fall on a guy sitting on the couch, drink in hand. That must be the mayor. “Mayor Hancock?”

The man’s attention snaps from his drink to you, his head slightly tilting as his eyes squint in confusion while you look him up and down. You had expected someone… older. You had also expected to see a ghoul, but maybe the caravan guard was wrong. What you didn’t expect was a really handsome guy with piercing blue eyes staring back at you. “Uh, no. I’m not Hancock.”

“I hear someone’s looking for me?” A second, raspier, voice joins in, causing you to whip your head. So the caravan guard was right. “You must be the package.”

Heat blooms under your cheeks when being referred to as a package. If you were a package, you would have an arsenal at your side. Instead, you’re just misplaced in this world with only a small clue on how to survive. Shaking your head, your lips twist up in a small smile. “I’m not a package. Sorry for intruding, I wasn’t aware you had any company.” Hancock doesn’t respond as he sits next to the guy clad in army greens with a shredded duster, taking a hit of what you assume is jet.

“You’re not intruding. MacCready here just likes to loiter.”

“You literal-”

“Yeah yeah, give me a sec RJ,” Hancock’s attention turns back to you, his black eyes looking over your frame as you shiver with anticipation. “You have the stuff?”

Rolling your eyes, your weight shifts from one leg to the next. Ever since Carrington found out about your unique healing abilities, you’re a fountain of gold. “I have about 5 liters of the stuff.”

Hancock’s eyes widen, clearly not clued in on the fact that your blood is the package. “What is going on here?” The man, MacCready, asks in annoyance, drink empty and wanting to leave, but Hancock places a tentative arm on his bicep, keeping him in place.

“Consider them your Christmas present. I need you to take them down to the Capital Wasteland.”

MacCready stands despite Hancock’s protests, anger boiling underneath his neck. “You can not expect me to just leave everything here to take some random person to the Capital. You’re insane!” He begins to walk away, his body bumping into yours as if to prove a point and you try not to take it to heart. Would you even want him protecting you anyways?

“RJ. Their blood is valuable. They have a component that heals… everything.” That causes MacCready to freeze in place.

“What do you mean, everything?”

Sighing in response, you fiddle with your fingers. He clearly has someone that needs your blood, someone that needs your help. “I’m not… from this planet.” His blue eyes widen in fear.

“OH HELL NO.”

“Mac, just listen to them.”

“YOU EXPECT ME TO WATCH A FU-FREAKING ALIEN?”

“I’m paying you a thousand caps to make sure they get down to the Capital. Their blood will cure Duncan.” MacCready eyes you up and down with disgust, but behind the disgust, there is also hope. “Look, I know you’re doubtful, but their blood has been tested on everything. It completely cured a ghoul.”

“Man, you’re high as hell.” MacCready begins to leave again and your hand instantly reaches out, gripping onto his wrist. MacCready tries to break free of your grip, but your grip surpasses a typical human’s strength. He contemplates for a few minutes before his arm goes limp in your grasp, a sigh escaping his lips. “If you try anything, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your skull. I do NOT want to have my ass probed.”

His words cause you to laugh, a light chime sound ringing around his and Hancock’s head. You want to play on that fear, tell him ‘if I did you wouldn’t know it’ or tell him ‘I’m incapable of being killed’, but given his hesitance already, you decide against it. “Look, I don’t know why you’re afraid of aliens, but I assure you, I mean no harm. I just need to get down to the Capital Wasteland so they can make copies of my blood and so it can be used to cure people.”

MacCready huffs in disagreement, folding his arms over his chest. “Fat chance they’ll actually help out anyone but themselves. But fine, my son comes first,” he turns to look at Hancock, pointing an accusatory finger, “and I expect those thousand caps to be in my hand tomorrow morning.” Hancock holds up his hands in surrender as you tug at your lip. This could either go really good or really bad.

“Do we have a deal?” Your hand extends on its own volition, urging him to shake on it. Begrudgingly, MacCready takes your hand in his, shaking with vigor.

“We have a deal.” He pulls his hand away, acutely aware of how it slightly tingles. “What do I even call you?”

“Well, people from my planet call me The Healing One, but you can call me (Y/N).”

He scoffs at the use of a human name while Hancock watches on from the side. “MacCready, Robert MacCready.

-fin-

@unrepentantweirdo

[aylen-san]

An Introduction to Elven Cuisine: The Kitchen of Eonwë's House in Amana

Eonwë, Manwë's messenger, was trying his best to be a good guardian for little Maglor, whom he found lying on the bank of a stream, examining a frog. Makalaure Kanafinwe had recently been reborn, for some reason in the form of a child, and Eonwë had long wanted to have an elf like Olorin. Maya decided that this was the perfect case, especially since he had failed to help this lost soul the last time.

Little Maglor turned out to be extremely curious and fidgety. He was constantly asking questions about the world around him, often using his musical abilities to explore his surroundings. For example, he sang songs about the frogs he examined at the stream, or created melodies by imitating the sounds of nature. Eonwë watched him with a smile, realizing that Maglor retained his musical talent even in his new body.

One day he decided to cook an elven meal to show his respect for Maglor's culture, instead of getting prepared meals from the elven settlements. Eonwë found an ancient recipe book full of elven culinary secrets and chose a recipe that seemed simple enough - lembas. To be honest, when he looked at the instructions, it seemed more like some kind of magic potion.

The ingredients included not only the usual flour and honey, but also essences of the flowers of Lorien and a drop of dew from a morning leaf. Eonwë, accustomed to his usual arsenal of celestial duties, somehow couldn't immediately figure out what to add and where to add it. Little Maglor, watching the preparations with curiosity, tried to help, occasionally adding his own ideas and comments, leading to more confusion.

Eonwë decided it would be best to follow the recipe step by step and accompanied the Elfling out of the kitchen. However, being inexperienced in cooking, he made mistakes at every step. He added too much water, mixed up the spices, and even managed to burn the flour. Little Maglor, hearing noises from the kitchen and smelling strange odors, tried to return, but Eonwë, confident that he could do it himself, told him firmly to wait outside.

Eonwë tried diligently to knead the dough, but it was either too sticky in his hands or too loose on the table. He tried adding more flour, but it was too much and the dough became too hard. In desperation, he added more water, which led to another disaster.

When it came time to add the Lorien flower essences, he accidentally mixed them with another potion on the shelf, and the lembas took on an unexpected color and smell. The spices were also mixed in the wrong proportions, and the dough began to bubble and make suspicious noises.

When it was time to bake the lembas, Eonwë placed the tray in the oven and felt confident. He thought he had finally found the right approach, and now everything would go smoothly. After a while, Maglor came running into the kitchen, hearing strange noises and smelling unusual odors.

- What's going on here? - the little elf asked, looking worriedly at the stove.

Eonwë hurried to the oven, opened it, and saw that the lembas had not only burned, but literally exploded inside. Pieces of dough stuck to the oven walls, and a cloud of black smoke rose to the ceiling. Maglor covered his nose and mouth to keep from choking on the acrid smell.

- Oops, - Eonwë said embarrassed, 'I think I did something wrong.

Despite his surprise, the Maglor began to laugh. His infectious laughter made Eonwë smile as well. Together they ventilated the kitchen and cleaned up the aftermath of the cooking experiment.

- Maybe we can try cooking together next time? - Maglor suggested, still smiling.

They decided to try something simpler next time to avoid such surprises. Eonwë promised himself to study elven recipes better, and maybe even take some lessons from elven cooks. After all, he had to feed his ward somehow.

[secretcessy]

respondinf to ur post that replied to my ask from earlier !!!! HAIAIAI CESSYYY >< i missed u sososo much u don’t even know !!! gosh ilove u sm🤗🤗

anyway i fear ur so real. ive been quickly posting out fics nd drafts so my followers can be fed sumn substantial enough !!! school has me sooooo cramped it’s INSANE 💔💔

atm im trying to apply for part time jobs rn as well as do tutoring for my volunteer hours 🫡🫡hopefully i can balance all that alongside hw and exams !!! who told me to take ap classes mannnn😞im genuinely gonna pull my hair outtttt sos !!! gonna miss sm things once school becomes heavier sighhhh but don't worry im never forgetting u cessy !!! love u so much 🗣️🗣️

u r so right ohmygod. november has js started nd it’s getting a lil chilly !! ion likeee it😭😭 i am SO bad w colder temperatures it’s so insane but at least no more frequent mosquitos !!! those little fat insects bite me sm it’s insane🥹and UGH i love hotpot esp when it’s at home likeee it’s js so comforting nd cozy 🫂🫂

please !!! tell me ab ur dreams bc so far i barelyyy get dreams now 😞 mine used to be sooo insane it was like i was smoking something while asleep 😣😣

ohmygod i totally forgot ab roblox !!! likeee idk, i js barely go on it now, i rmb durinf quarantine id js grind and grind on arsenal and adopt me 🤞🤞it was a def an odd combo but yk i was on that grind i fear nothing would’ve stopped me 💪💪 ill def have to look into froggie pond tycoon when ihave the time to ><

omgg i need to tell u this !! i recently went to queens cs i felt like it nd ive never been to any other borough but my own and manhattan and i got these little phone hippers from this store and they’re SO cute. like they’re called smiski phone hippers nd they’re so adorable💔💔 ugh i love cute little trinkets like the smiskis js look like they have no thoughts in their heads nd honestly that’s SO real !!!!

on a side note, i wanna give u a lil heads up, perchance a katseye sophia fic may be released this week for u !! 🤫🤫 perchance… 🤗🤗🤗

anywayyy i yapped sm ohmygod idk if ts is even gonna be able to send🥹🥹 goodluck reading this and hope u the best cessyyyy !!!!

HAI NING MY BABEH NINGGG iI MISSED MY NING TOO AWWHHIE HI BEBIII <333

I haven't finished binge reading ur fics bae 😭😭 I have sooo much to catch on but lowk can't wait to read them all GGRRAAHH everyone say thank you ninguitar for feeding ur children what a very responsible good parent u are not like me whos been traumatizing my children w hunger lmfao IM SRY KIDS BUT!! don't push urself too much w posting you need lots of rest and you totes deserve it bb 😚💖💖

WE TWINNING bc im also abt to apply for one more job bc I need me some more cash and money I hope I don't get passed out or something yall pray for me my workplace rn be stressing me out sm especially when my boss just changed and a lot of things changed liikkkeee gimme my old boss back ( I liked her very much she was like a 2nd mom to me liikkkeee waaahhhhhh ✋😭😭) I WILL NEVER FORGET YOU NING TRUST love you tew sm to ever forget an iconic sweet soul like you 💋💋💋

no bc literally where'd fall go????? it was HOT a while ago and now it's suddenly cold like where'd my fav season autumn go😭😭😭 girl the mosquitos here are soldiers they be still hanging around when its alr freezing season for them they be built different I fear 😟😟 like tf why you buzzin by my ear LEAVE ME ALONE 💔

im SO gonna tell you abt my weird ass dreams ning like they be diff level weirdness and I cant seem to stop seeing those types of dreams lately I've been waking up w fast pulses its crazy like tell me what I I did to watch those kinds of dreams man 😞😞

im currently locked in w restaurant tycoon again twas a total bitch at first bc yknow how I have to do EVERYTHING and it was a menace but now that I've got my workers I'm free from being a slave to my own restaurant <333 I might or might not be overworking my workers but oh well :P

I USED TO HAVE A SONNY ANGEL PHONE HIPPER jhgfdsasdfghjk like its an animal series and I got the lion one and its so so super duper cute you can see the cute litol wings and cute litol butt from the back and I LOVED it smmmm AND YOU BOUGHT A SMISKI ONE?????? OOOOUUUU I WISH 😭😭 I love love loovvee smiskis too they're so cute they have lots of variety and series to collect and oh god I dunno what I want my hands to get onto like I WANT THEM ALL <33333

IN SOPHIA LAFORTEZA WE TRUST god that womans got me on chokehold cant take my eyes off her when shes on screen like bae what did you do to me 😞💖💖 DONT PUSH URSELF buuuttt I cant wait for your banger fics bebi ur works are what makes this shitty world a better place never forget that ning 😚💗

[milkytheholy1]

Trapped

A/N: Helloooo, this is my first time writing for Sonic so go easy on me. This is also set in the Boom universe just because I love that show way more than I should. Part 2 will be coming out in a few days so stay tuned for that. Enjoy!

Boom!Sonic x GNReader

Ultimate masterlist

_______________________________________________

The scene in front of you was serene, the palm trees swayed as you strolled along the beach. Your shoes sank into the sand almost effortlessly, while the sun beamed down on you and filled you with warmth. It was hard to believe you had already been here for a year, living in the village with your friends by your side.

And speaking of, today you were up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed before the clock struck 10. Today was a cause for celebration, today was the one-year anniversary of your friendship with Sonic T.Hedgehog. Although not exciting to some, it was an important milestone for you both, considering he was the first friendly face you came across. 

You still remember it like it was yesterday...

You had just arrived in Hedgehog village, suitcases piling at your feet; who knew packing your life would be so heavy? You had managed to shuffle into town, watching as the patrons of said village huffed and mumbled while going about their daily routine.

It had just struck 12 when you arrived, and boy were you hungry. Instead of trying to navigate your way to the house you were renting, your stomach insisted on getting a bite to eat.

You had strolled up to an open-aired burger joint called Meh-Burger, the friendly cartoon bun is what drew you in. Your large suitcases dragged along the wooden boards of the floor, causing a shrieking sound that disturbed the restaurant's atmosphere. With a sheepish grin, you placed an order to the cashier, who was less than cheerful and waited for your burger.

Your eyes were watching all types of motion, from the walrus mother and her baby in the pushchair to a turtle handing out mail. It felt so mundane but that's what caught your eye, how could a village like this be possibly exciting? It was the perfect place to rela-

"Hoohoohoooo! Try getting around that, you overgrown pineapple!" A small explosion erupted in the town square, shaking the small table and wobbling your burger. Looking back in fear you could make out a moustachioed man in the smoke, floating in some sort of device. His glare was aimed at a blue hedgehog, the smoke surrounded him; he appeared unharmed.

"Nice shot, Egghead! I think you might have scuffed my shoes a little bit with that one." he was cocky, that's for sure. The proclaimed 'Egghead' growled under his breath, sending an arsenal of robots after the hedgehog.

During this time you sort shelter, so you barricaded yourself behind your two suitcases and the table, taking the burger from above and eating it while you watched on. Hey? You paid a lot for that burger, ok? You weren't about to waste it, not in this economy. 

The fight only lasted for a few moments, the blue hedgehog had come out on top. Quite literally too, he was standing on a small pile of robot parts with a proud smile, "Are we done here? You're ruining my relaxation day." 

"Yeah, well...you're ruining my existence! I'll be back, and next time I'll have even more robots! That are better, a-and faster and will definitely beat you!" Egghead flew away, roaring to the sky about his defeat.

The villagers then re-emerged from wherever they were originally hiding. You too peeked your head from your fort, seeing the blue hedgehog making his way to you.

Well not to you specifically, more so to the cashier "Yeah, can I get a cheeseburger to go." he flicked his finger against his nose as he leaned across the counter, look at Mr Cool over there. 

"Ugh, whatever." the teen huffed, blowing some hair from his eyes before turning towards the kitchen. You were starting to see why this place was called Meh-Burger. Standing up you situated yourself before finishing off the last few bites of your burger.

In your haste to be done as soon as possible, you pushed your cases further out from the table, not thinking of the potential hazard.

You were delicate in your movements by the bin, gently taking the paper and napkin from your tray and separating it accordingly. That was until you heard a wail, "WoOah!" You turned around fast, seeing the Mr Cool on the floor by your cases, the remnants of his cheeseburger squished against the ground.

You dashed over to him, pulling the cases away and helping him up, "Oh my god, I am so sorry, I didn't think anyone would trip over them. Oh, and your burger, here allow me to get you another one." you apologised profusely. The hedgehog stood up as though nothing was wrong, he took one look at you then smiled, "Hey, chill out, no harm done, right?" he then took notice of your cases.

"You visiting or somethin'? A holiday, perhaps?" you followed his gaze and shrugged, "Yeah, something like that." the air went quiet between you both, his small cough bringing you back into focus. 

"Oh! I, erm, saw what you did just a minute ago with 'Egghead'?"

"Oh, that? Nah, no sweat. Eggman attacks pretty much every day, it's more like an office job at this point." Sonic waved away your thanks, though he did take note of how much he enjoyed you appreciating him. You gawked at him, "You do that every day?"

"Yeah, well, not just me. I have a team, we pretty much handle good ol'Egghead."

"Ooh, is that why it's called Hedgehog village? Because a superhero team of hedgehogs save the day?"

"We're not all hedgehogs only me and my friend Amy. Yeaaah the name came from the people, not me, though you gotta admit they picked a pretty snazzy name, huh?"

"A pretty snazzy name, indeed." you both smiled warmly at each other, just soaking in a newly formed friendship. Sonic blinked back into existence, "Oh hey, do ya want some help with those bags?"

"I-I wouldn't want to bother you-"

"It wouldn't bother me, there's no point in being the fastest thing alive if I can't help someone other than myself. So, what do ya say?"

[it-seemo]

More Mega Man/TF2 headcanons - Proto Man edition

Because fuck it, we ball.

Continuing from this spur-of-the-moment thing, let’s take a look at Mega Man’s estranged older brother, Proto Man.

The first contrast between the two comes with how much they participate in the initial RED vs. BLU conflict. Mega does not participate at all, under any circumstances. There’s the obvious inability to harm humans, of course, but it wasn’t until after posting that first headcanon that I was reminded of the Emerald-Spears, an anti-robot extremist group in the Archie comics. There’s a scene where one of their members opens fire on Mega Man, and he’s suddenly within his rights to fight back in order to protect himself.

That’s just another reason why Mega Man wouldn’t get involved in the RED vs. BLU conflict - if that survival instinct goes off, and if it goes wrong, who knows what could happen?

Proto Man, meanwhile, not only has no such reservations, but also the iconic, great big fuck-off nigh-unbreakable shield. If he’s attacked, he can cover his ass without needing to return fire. As such, he’s able to be a slightly more active participant in the conflict. It’s still the small things, though - the non-combative stuff. Helping an Engineer move that gear up and upgrading the teleporters at spawn, mostly.

“But wait! Proto Man’s the loner guy! Why is he so much more helpful here than his brother?” Well, first of all, Proto Man almost never goes out of his way to seek out interactions. More often than not, it’s either someone else already being wherever he’s going, or someone coming to where he already is. He only actively goes looking for people when it’s something urgent.

Now, let’s dive into his interactions with the different classes, starting with the Engineer.

Much like with Mega Man, Engineer sees Proto Man more as a human than as a machine, and his whole “gentle genius” thing also reminds Proto of Dr. Light. And actually, the resemblance between Engie and Light is even stronger to Proto, because both create engines of war despite coming off as men of peace. But there’s one very crucial thing that ironically gives Proto Man more respect towards Engie than even his own father - Engie doesn’t insist on repairing Proto’s flawed energy core.

When Engie finds out that Proto Man has a potentially fatal flaw in the device that literally keeps him alive, he obviously offers to take a look at it and, if possible, to repair it. When Proto Man refuses (whether or not he explains why is kinda 50/50), Engie lets the issue drop and doesn’t bring it up ever again. This is a level of respect that Proto has literally never been given before, so helping Engie with his buildings is his way of thanking him. Plus the idea of Proto Man using a Wrench is just very appealing to me. Oh my god, could Mega and Proto be upgraded via Wrench?

Let’s go in the same order as last time, because why not. Next up is Spy. His attitude towards Proto Man is largely the same as his attitude towards Mega Man, in that he’s much more interested in energy consumption and the extremely compact yet diverse arsenal. He also takes interest in Proto Man’s shield, and after bringing Sniper into the room, they test to see how well it holds up against a backstab compared to the Razorback. Big surprise, the nigh-indestructible ceramic titanium riot shield is stronger than a chunk of wood. Spy also finds Proto Man to be a much more enjoyable presence than Mega Man on account of Proto just being fairly quiet, and I can very easily picture the two of them talking for hours on end about god knows what in Spy’s smoking lounge.

Spy’s methods of disappearing are also of massive interest to Proto Man, who even manages to replicate the Invis Watch’s cloaking tech. Spy guides Proto Man through using it, and it vastly helps with Proto’s already-regular shenanigans of just... showing up out of nowhere and then disappearing.

Soldier and Demo have pretty much the same attitude here, too, with both of them teaching Proto Man how to blast jump, but Demo takes things a step further. He also takes interest in Proto Man’s shield and, after much trials and tribulations, teaches Proto Man not only the ways of the shield charge, but also the ways of the physics-defying trimp. Not only does he have that, but an entire new world of movement possibilities are opened up when Demo introduces the Loose Cannon, and starts teaching Proto how to augment shield-charges and trimping with explosive jumps. They still have their three-way blast jump races (four-way if Mega Man is also present), but some days, Demo and Proto have their own races with trimps and Loose Cannon jumps.

Medic. Oh man, poor Medic. He’s usually one of the most excited when it comes to new recruits, too, since it usually means fresh, blank-canvas bodies to perform invasive, exploratory surgeries on. But this is two in a row where the new recruits are robots, and can’t get those kinds of surgeries. That being said, he does appreciate the presence of a more mature individual - especially one who doesn’t go off-the-walls ballistic over how revolutionary the Medi Gun and UberCharge technology is. And hey, even if he can’t surgically implant baboon uteruses into the newcomers, he is glad that a lot of the pressure from being the only designated healer is lifted off his shoulders, especially when Mann vs. Machine kicks off.

Proto Man’s first meeting with Heavy goes something like this; they just stare at each other for a while, sizing each other up, both trying to intimidate the other. And then Heavy just chuckles, claps Proto Man on the shoulder, and says something like “Is good to have more muscle on team.” Proto just sees Heavy as not much more than the big, strong, silent type on account of his broken English... until he learns that Heavy has a PhD in Russian literature. Now, he’s more fascinated by just how much intelligence Heavy seems to be hiding behind the “big guy” act.

In regards to Scout, he’s probably the most turned off by Proto Man’s presence - even more than Medic. Something about the “silent, humorless loner” thing, there’s too many of these guys around here. Proto Man is also not the biggest fan of how childish and immature Scout acts. He would also be impressed by Scout’s double-jumping ability, if Bass couldn’t do that already. I’m not doing one of these for Bass, entirely because I’m just not the fondest of him. Call me petty.

Sniper is a bit more interested in Proto Man than he is with Mega Man, but not by much. His own loner act combined with Proto’s leads to the least amount of interaction with a teammate that Sniper has ever had. When they do have rare interactions, though, they do get along pretty well - certainly much more than Sniper does with Mega Man.

Pyro is a bit of an enigma, and it can honestly go either way. There’s a level of intrigue with just what Pyro really is behind the mask, as of course there is with literally everyone else, but there’s also the much more present irritation with Pyro’s more childish acts - probably because it’s just very jarring for someone so destructive, to the point where even after seeing every aspect of Pyro, Proto is still completely unsure of what to actually make of them.

I’m gonna do one more of these Mega Man/TF2 crossovers, specifically with two old, balding men with robot armies. Then I’m probably done unless I can think of any more crackhead crossovers to write essays about.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 308: VIBE: CHECKED

Previously on BnHA: Lots and lots of Shindou idk what else to tell you.

Today on BnHA: Tired Nomad Deku rescues Shindou from Muscular, and us from Shindou. Muscular is all “OH BOY I SURE CAN’T WAIT TO FIGHT DEKU AGAIN AFTER HE TOTALLY KICKED MY ASS THE LAST TIME!! I’M SURE THIS TIME WILL GO DIFFERENTLY SEEING AS HE’S HAD ALMOST AN ENTIRE YEAR’S WORTH OF ADDITIONAL TRAINING, AND ALSO HAS SIX FOURQUIRKS NOW, IN ADDITION TO THE CONFIDENCE THAT COMES WITH HAVING EIGHT OTHER PEOPLE’S SOULS CHILLING OUT INSIDE HIM OFFERING MORAL SUPPORT AND ENCOURAGEMENT.” Deku is all, “[kicks Muscular’s ass effortlessly].” Muscular is all, “[gets his ass totally kicked].” I for one am very satisfied with this, and with respect to all, I would like to hereby declare this post a discourse-free zone. I’m just happy to see my son out here making good use of his FOURQUIRKS, and more importantly beating Muscular in less than seventeen pages so we can all go on with our lives lol.

damn Deku since when were you allowed to look this cool

from this perspective and with the smoke, cape, backpack, and mask more or less obscuring his actual profile, he looks less like a sixteen-year-old boy and more like a grownass man

OH SNAP

we got a glimpse of this in the cleaned-up scan of 307, but seeing both of his eyes looking so distinctively All Might-esque here is... whoa. I mean we know that his face still looks pretty normal underneath the mask and he doesn’t actually have the black sclera, but still, this is an awesome look. mini-Might

lol Muscular

you and me both. I mean no offense, but yeah

so Deku is just standing there silently

typical Deku. tight-lipped and expressionless. mum’s the word. quiet as a mouse. silent as a grave

okay no but seriously this is so weird and creepy though you guys. Deku please say something or else I’m just gonna mindlessly say whatever stupid things come into my head in an effort to make things less awkward

so Muscular is all “I should probably make a cool speech about revenge but Horikoshi couldn’t think of anything good so I’m just going to stand here clenching my fist real slowly”

“I’m not here to go on a monologue” he says, as he monologues about not monologuing

okay you guys I confess I have only read through/watched the Deku VS Muscular fight once because the arm-breaking is just way too uncomfortable for me to revisit. and so as a result, I have completely forgotten Whatever The Deal Is with Muscular’s eye lmao so let me go look it up real quick

okay so it’s a prosthetic, obviously, and he changes it out according to his mood. that part does sound familiar. I just can’t remember which eye is supposed to indicate which mood. don’t tell me I actually have to go back and reread this shit

lol I’m skimming through chapter 75 now and remembering/realizing that I hardly paid any attention to this the first time around because as soon as I found out the villains were after Kacchan my brain was like “TIME TO FOCUS ON THIS AND ONLY THIS NOW AND FOREVER” and yeah. ah memories

anyway so he started out with the flower-looking eye, and then later on he was all

which begs the question, how on earth could I have ever forgotten the most ridiculous panel I’ve ever read lmao

anyway, but so after all of that, I'm only just now realizing that this isn't one of his previous eye prosthetics in the current chapter; this is an ACTUAL FUCKING ROCK that he's just randomly shoved into his eye socket fkdsjlk

so basically (1) I did all of that painstaking research for nothing, five whole minutes of my life wasted THANKS A LOT, and (2) what, and I have never meant this more emphatically, THE FUCK

anyway so now he's leaping at the building that Deku is standing on top of. but he’s not aiming anywhere near Deku though, wtf

(ETA: HAHA YOU BROKE ALL YOUR MUSCLES YOU LOSER.)

...huh

lmao okay then. I hope those annoying citizens in the building next door are watching this go down and rethinking their life choices

dlkdkljk

just keep standing there pressed right up against the window, why don’t you. “WHAT’S GOING ON THIS SUPER CLOSE COLLAPSING BUILDING IS BLOCKING OUR VIEW.” well, folks, we’ve long since known there’s a critical shortage of hero and villain brain cells, but what we’re learning now is that civilian brain cells are also in short supply

OH THANK GOD DEKU IS FINALLY TALKING THAT WAS ACTUALLY UNSETTLING AS FUCK

SO HE’S STILL OUR GOOD, POLITE, WORRIED, CONSIDERATE DEKU UNDERNEATH THAT COOL AND MYSTERIOUS VENEER. for real, thank fuck, because I swear to god if he suddenly started acting like the Dekus in all of the vigilante AUs my interest in this series would have dropped something like 50% lol. just because he dropped out of school and ran away from home and is currently dressed like the physical manifestation of a Linkin Park playlist doesn’t mean he’s not still the WORLD’S BIGGEST DORK okay

I MEAN, THIS RIGHT HERE. THIS IS WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT. HE’S APOLOGIZING FOR THE DELAY

PLEASE FIND THE ATTACHED SHINDOU YOU REQUESTED. BEST REGARDS!!!

OH MY GOD WHY IS HE SUCH A BADASS

something about making bold, confident statements while obscured in smoke?? idk but damn it fucking works

ffjkkl

more importantly, should you tell him you actually need your copy of Shindou in excel format and not pdf?? on the one hand you don’t want to sound ungrateful, but on the other hand what are you even supposed to do with this

this chapter so far consists of like 50% smoke, but on the other hand Deku VS Kacchan 2 had a lot of cinematic smoke too so who am I to complain

OMG IS IT HIS ARMS

IDK DID YOU?! TELL ME YOUR SECRETS. PLEASE, AT SOME POINT THIS FIGHT HAS GOT TO ACTUALLY ADVANCE THE PLOT

OHHHHHHH

IT’S EN’S QUIRK!! OH MY GOD OKAY THAT’S ACTUALLY AWESOME

I CAN HEAR THE SOUND OF DISCOURSE RUMBLING IN THE BACKGROUND BUT I DON’T CARE LOL. WON’T CATCH ME EVER SAYING NO TO ANOTHER SIXQUIRK. GO AHEAD, BRING THEM ON, I WANT TO SEE THEM ALL but take it easy though Deku. don’t want to give yourself lung cancer or anything

also it’s good to see that in a very real sense he’s not fighting alone. the Vestiges really did mean it when they said they could appear more easily now. this is on a whole other level

so is this whole next page still En talking, or someone else? because whoever it is sure is chatty

okay, several things

pretty sure it is En, because he keeps saying “I suppose.” for someone who never said two words until one page ago, this guy sure never shuts up. we can’t all follow Muscular’s lead I suppose. oh my god now I’m doing it too

really like the suggestion of Deku using the SIXQUIRKS like tools in an arsenal, because that’s what he’s good at! it’s almost like he’s been training for this his entire life. “you value quirks too much” LOOK HE JUST THINKS THEY’RE COOL OKAY IS THAT A CRIME

where the fuck did all this rope come from

not gonna ask what the fuck that thing is sticking out from the back of his utility belt. Horikoshi will surely explain this

is that a fucking jetpack. I’m sorry Deku were six fucking quirks not enough for you. you can fucking float??? but JUST TO BE SAFE, LET’S STRAP A PAIR OF ROCKETS TO OUR SHOULDERS IDK

-- or wait, is this all supposed to be like a visual representation of En’s metaphor?? OH MY GOD AM I JUST STUPID LOL, DON’T ANSWER THAT. NEVER MIND. NEW LIST!!

rope = blackwhip

jetpack = float

radio = danger sense

and so I’m guessing that this ridiculously phallic thing is supposed to be a flare or something?? and that = the new quirk, smokescreen. well that was a fucking ride lmao we now return you to our regularly scheduled chapter

so now Deku is floating to his heart’s content and thinking that he’ll just sneak up on Muscular and vibe check his ass or whatever

WOOOOOOOO DANGER SENSE YESSSS I LOVE THIS FOR HIM

okay guys, I'm gonna press pause here for a sec to make a serious note, because I am loving the shit out of this, but tbh I'm having trouble enjoying it as much as I want to because I keep getting anxious thinking about the discourse. I know that a lot of the fandom has very strong opinions on Deku's character development one way or the other, and I want to respect that. but I also really have no spoons to debate this topic at all beyond what I’ve already weighed in on. so if it’s all the same to everyone, I plan on staying out of this discussion, at least this week

anyway! that said, YEAH BOI GET HIS ASS

VIBE: CHECKED. CURB: STOMPED. HOTEL: TRIVAGO

-- OF COURSE HE’S STILL FUCKING FINE LOL HE CRASHES INTO BUILDINGS FOR FUN IDK WHAT I WAS EXPECTING

dammit Muscular. how many fucking quirks does it take to beat you?! the annoying thing is that even with all of his cool new powers, Deku is still something of a mismatch against him. anyway r.i.p. to all these poor buildings

OOOOOHHHHH

you guys have no idea how intrigued I am at the prospect of watching Deku try to play both good cop and bad cop here lmao

anyway so Muscular says he doesn’t know, go figure

“I’m not here to make small talk or anything” he says as he small talks about not small talking

OH MY GOD DEKU

are you really gonna talk no jutsu all of these villains from now on?? that last battle really did have a profound impact on you, huh! interesting

you guys he’s really doing it omg

Deku this guy tried to murder a five-year-old literally just for fun. I mean more power to you, but holy shit you’re really gonna try to defeat Muscular with anger management therapy huh

I MEAN

WHO COULD HAVE SEEN THAT RESPONSE COMING dlkjslkjk

FUCK’S SAKE DEKU, I KNOW YOU MEAN WELL BUT THEY CAN’T ALL HAVE TRAGIC PASTS KIDDO

but. I have to admit, I do still like that he tried. probably knew just as well as we did what the end result was going to be, but still. he made the effort in good faith and I respect that

uh oh

why do I get the feeling Muscular just got a whole lot deader

oh my god oh my god he’s doing the “powering up” stance ffff don’t fucking tell me you can still use your fucking arms here, Deku

BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY WHAT’S THIS??

okay so basically he’s saying that whatever it was he sensed in Tomura, he doesn’t sense from Muscular. which, yeah, that sounds exactly right. good judge of character here lol

AHHHHAHAHA YESS

WHOOPS, GET FUCKED I GUESS

WOOOOHOOOOOOOO

lmao so apparently this is the belated result of Shindou’s attack from chapter 307?? I’ll be damned. good for you Shindou!! I always liked you buddy. please just take my word on that and don’t fact check that statement

okay lol the one tiny bit of discourse I will allow is that it’s bullshit that he just did that with his right arm. like, I’ll fully acknowledge that. that makes no fucking sense, and I demand an explanation from the Great Plot Hole Filler himself. he’s never let us down before when it comes to continuity so I’m trusting him not to suddenly start now

that said, we love to see a rematch against a boring guy settled quickly and decisively within the span of a single chapter. THANK YOU

I like that Deku implies that his power is being a smart nerd who battles villains using the power of ANALYTICS. he basically didn’t do anything except restrain Muscular and wait for Shindou’s attack to take effect while halfheartedly checking to see if he regretted any of that murder and stuff

(ETA: and almost forgot to mention, he made excellent use of all four of his active SIXQUIRKS. it’s like the chapter title said; this is basically him fighting all-out, and it’s a sight to see.)

also, as cool as the mask was, this just feels right. like, we had our fun, now let us see his face, yes good

anyway, I think this was a good start towards establishing What’s Up With Deku Right Now! so if it’s all the same to Horikoshi, I would next like to take some time to explore Why’s Up With Deku. that, and What’s Up With Everyone Else, Especially Kacchan. por favor

[unsincerityig]

The Birds and the Bandits - I

bruh i just remembered i can fucking post my writing here holy shit-

Chapter 1 - Establishing Status Quo

AO3 link | 2726 words | based on the HermitCAT AU by Sarah and Stardustz

In most heist movies, the beginning sequence has the dashing phantom thief protagonist leaping across rooftops, his figure casting a dashing shadow along the city skylines as he is illuminated by countless police spotlights. Just maybe, the scene will then cut to an equally dashing detective chasing him down, barking orders with a determined gleam in his eyes. Then, just when the detective has the thief cornered, he smirks and unveils his last trick of the night, vanishing right before the detective's very eyes! The detective coughs out smoke from around him and bellows out-

“GET BACK HERE YOU PATHETIC EXCUSE OF AN ARSENE LUPIN COSPLAYER-!”

Alas, Scar‘s life isn’t like most heist movies. As the notorious phantom thief known as the Red Raider, (“Seriously? That’s what they’re calling you?” “I know! It’s so cool! Right, Joel?” “One heist in and they’re already bullying you. Should’ve known.”) instead of gallivanting through the rooftops as he’d like, he’s likely causing mass disturbance running across the back alleys of the Hermitville Industrial District.

As he barely clips yet another innocent pedestrian, (“Hey! I’m walkin here!” “Sorry, sir! Kinda running for my life here!”) Detective Wynncraft finally catches up, catching him by the cape and pulling, causing him to crash onto a table in front of a closed cafe.

“Owwwie-” Scar moaned, “How are you so fast with those tiny legs of yours?”

“Nowhere to run now, thie- wait what?!” Detective Wynncraft halted indignantly, holding both of Scar’s arms behind him and pinning him to the cafe table, “My legs are perfectly proportional to the rest of me, thank you very much!” Like the petty little bitch he is, Wynncraft presses him down harder onto the table, making Scar wheeze, “Maybe if you didn't insist on this ridiculous get up, you’d be much faster.”

“Wha- Hey!” Scar cried indignantly, although it was hard to hear with the exposed side of his face pressed down onto the table, “I’ll have you know I worked very hard on this outfit! And everyone says it looks very cool!”

He could feel the detective’s deadpan stare, “... Dude. You look like £30 Persona 5 cosplay that got mixed in the washer with the reds-” Scar had to hold back the most pathetic sounding whimper of his life at that, “-If the 1800s called and you picked up, they’d say ‘wrong number’”

“Please stop.”

“You look like-“ Wynncraft started, cutting himself off with a harsh laugh,“-you look like steampunk tried making a comeback- keyword being tried.”

“This is a low table- I am literally on my knees begging-”

“Alright alright, enough with the both of ya!” a new voice spoke.

Loosening his hold on Scar, Wynncraft looked up and greeted the newcomer, who had a whole host of police vehicles behind him.

“X! What took you so long” he asked impatiently

“With the crowd around for the festival, we had to take the long way round the superblocks,” Commissioner Xavier Void replied, “Since your little announcement about stealing the Gilded Cornucopia, the crowds are much bigger than usual,” he said, addressing Scar directly

Ah, yes. Why was he being held against his will in front of a tiny cafe on a chilly fall night you may ask? Well today was the peak of the Hermitville Autumnal Festival, where the famous Gilded Cornucopia would be unveiled and filled with the best crops of the season, a celebration to honor the contributions of the Agriculture District. It was held in a park just on its outskirts, bordering the Industrial District where Scar had ran to.

‘The plan was going so smoothly,’ he laments. He had sent of his calling card as per usual, common courtesy for a gentlemanly thief just like himself, and as promised had appeared in a brilliant shower of copper-tinted smoke just in front the Cornucopia after the customary handshake between District leader Ms. Stress and Mayor Solidarity.

“Good evening, Hermitville!” he boomed pleasantly.

As always, the crowd went ablaze. A cacophony of mixed voices; half calling for his head and a much larger half cheering for his arrival.

Stress had a beaming grin above her clasped hands, and beside her Mayor Solidarity exclaimed, “It’s the Red Raider!”

He let out a laugh, flaring his hands (and cape) widely, “the one and only!”

The crowd went wild once more as he looked towards the Mayor, deliberately turning his more masked side towards him, “Didn’t I promise I was gonna be here tonight?”

The mayor shrugged helplessly, “I mean, what would you steal a cornucopia for?" he gestured to the 1,4 feet wide, 4 feet long gold-encrusted monstrosity behind Scar, "Like how would you even lift that heavy thing off the stage?”

He let out another laugh and very dramatically shwished his cape to one side, showing the now cornucopia-less banquet table behind him.

Ignoring the mayor sputtering beside him and Stress clapping her hands, he turned back to the crowd, “well! It's been nice, ladies and gents, but I’ve gotta go-”

“To jail!”

Scar’s grin widened. Like the Red Sea, the crowd parted and revealed none other than Detective Grian Wynncraft.

Despite his relatively humble career choice, Grian Wynncraft is a household name in Hermitville. The famed paragliding athlete-turned-detective would have been known as the modern day Sherlock Holmes if not for one thing:

His rather… explosive way of catching criminals.

And no, ‘explosive’ is not an exaggeration. Grian was the sole reason why so many of Scar’s heists turned from a fun smoke-and-mirrors magic show to a full-on demolition derby. It was well established that the young detective would stop at nothing to catch his target, and because of it he had been very, very loudly kicked out of the police force and handed over to the Falsewell Detective Agency, Commissioner Void having thought that False could knock some sense into the man. He did not think correctly.

Unlike before, a hush fell over the crowd. An outsider may think this is because of the detective’s bold claim or his spotty reputation but in truth-

“Well well if it isn’t my favorite little detective~!” Scar crooned

Grian sighed, “Red, stop harassing me and get down from there before anyone gets hurt.”

The thief nearly fell off the stage.

“Puh- bwuh- It wasn’t harrasme- It was a cute nickname, man, c’mon! Work with me here!”

“Red I am literally trying to put you in chains.”

“W-w- well now who’s making weird jokes!”

“Haha, funny innuendo. Now get down here!”

In truth it was because no one wanted to miss the banter between the two lunatics.

“Make me!” Scar yelled, he was about to deploy his elytra when he noticed the helicopters circling the airspace above him, having snuck in whilst he was distracted. From one of the helicopters, Officer Etho gave him a friendly wave.

‘How on earth did I miss that.” Scar thought to himself.

The crowd ooh and aah’d, clearly also having been too distracted to notice the giant, 100dB flying machines hovering above them. Grian crossed his arms and smirked. He’d played along with the thief’s poor attempt at banter, knowing his desire for theatrics would outweigh his common sense and stall him long enough for the men to surround him.

The crowd murmured, some with giddy smiles and some with reluctant respect. In the middle, illuminated by several helicopter spotlights (because even the cops were into this shit) was Grian with a shit-eating grin.

“Nowhere to run, Raider.” he boasted.

Scar merely smirked back, the gleam of white being the only thing visible beneath the shadow of his brimmed hat, “I think you mean nowhere to fly!”

Throwing a smokebomb, the trapdoor below him opened and Scar disappeared down below, only the surprised shouting of the crowd following him in.

“Exit stage right!” Bdubs yelled in his earpiece.

Scar darted out of the door below the stage itself which was somehow unattended for. Most of the cops guarding the perimeter were busy trying to move the crowd along, and he spotted an unguarded exit from the park grounds that led to the inner city.

Deploying his Mumbo-specialty Hovering Board (patent pending), he quickly made a beeline straight for it, faster than anyone could catch him.

“What the-” Grian sputtered, “AFTER HIM!” he yelled.

Equally fast, the detective ran for the mayor’s tiny Volkswaggon parked right near the stage which, conveniently, was unlocked.

(When relaying this to Joel back at their base, the man only scoffed.

“Trust Jimmy to forget to lock his bloody car.”)

Reaching into the sun visor, Grian quickly found the key and went barrelling towards the park exit, nearly hitting several pedestrians in the process.

The chase lasted well into the night, and would have gone for longer had it not been for Mumbo forgetting to refuel the hoverboard, making it jerk to a clumsy stop mid-air and causing Scar to crash butt-first into the sidewalk.

Scar groaned. Standing shakily, he barely got himself together before realizing that a car was about to barrel straight into him and, yelling for his life, he ducked into a tiny alleyway.

Grian tsk’d, seemingly displeased about failing to turn his least favorite celebrity thief into roadkill. Seeing that even the mayor’s tiny car wouldn't fit through the alleyway, he quickly jumped out, hot in pursuit.

Which leads them to now, and Scar about to be thrown in the slammer for what was probably going to be a solid six to fifty years.

“Uh, could you let me up, Detective?” he smiled sheepishly, “My back is cramping up a little.”

Grian rolled his eyes, “Oh poor Raider. Would you like a hot chocolate and a backrub as well?” he mocked.

“That would be nice, ye- oof!”

X sighed. “Grian, now what did we say about using violence on the criminals”

“Shoot first, questions later,” he said, voice deader than night.

“NO!” X cried, “What kind of police force would train their cops like that?!”

(All three of them stared directly into the camera)

Grian blinked, “... I’m pretty sure thievery is punishable by death in the Dream SMP,” he offered.

X put his head in his hands. Ignoring Etho snickering behind him, he barrelled on, “Just. Let the man up so we can cuff him.”

Feeling Grian’s hold loosen around him, Scar quickly slipped out of his suit jacket and slid below the table. Before anyone could react, he activated his Mumbo Jump Boots (patent pending) and Mumbo Sticky Gloves (patent also pending) and yeeted himself up the cafe wall and onto the roof.

“SEE YA SUCKERS!”

He cackled madly into the night, relishing in Grian’s angry screeches.

—-

“Aaaand that’s how he got away.” Grian moped, still face down on the table.

“Well that sounds terrible, G,” Scar replied, faking sympathy. He knew Grian was lying face down for dramatic effect, because that table couldn’t be particularly comfortable.

He’d know, he was held down on that very same table just last night.

Only Grian would find comedy in coming back to a place where he had failed to arrest his greatest rival. Scar would like to think that he’d find even more comedy in learning that said greatest rival was sitting a mere 3 feet across from him, but he knows that would likely lead to more pain than laughter.

For him.

Yes, that’s right! Scar was on what was ostensibly a platonic date with the man who’s near-sole life mission was to put him behind bars. (His other life mission, of course, is being a good dad for his cats).

What can he say? In case the whole ‘literally moonlighting as a gentleman thief’ thing didn’t clue you in, Scar very much enjoys living life on the dangerous side.

Also Grian likes buying him pastries when he’s mad.

Grian sighed, “The worst part is those stupid cops all followed the chase, so he got away with the Cornucopia as well.”

Scar raised an eyebrow, eyes wide, “what do you mean? Of course he got the Cornucopia, he ran away?”

Grian put his face in one hand, the other playing with his flan, “of course not, the Cornucopia was too big -not to mention too heavy -for him to carry away. He must’ve moved it down to the stage and had someone take it away while he ran.”

Once again, Scar thanked the heavens for Mumbo’s gadgets and Grian’s character-defining flaw of tunnel visioning. He actually did have Joel prepare a mechanism below the stage to partially open the trap door and lower the Cornucopia down while he monologued, using his cape and incredibly witty banter to distract onlookers. Having one of your assistants be close friends with the Mayor helps tremendously in conducting heists.

“If you knew he would do that, why didn’t you have anyone guard the stage?” Scar asked, sweating profusely.

Grian sighed angrily, “Bloody Joel made a ruckus about him getting away and riled up Jimmy as well. So he sent everyone there after him.” He stabbed his flan.

If he hadn’t owed Joel his life before, he definitely did now.

Scar coughed wetly, catching Grian’s attention. He looked at him worriedly, “you’ve been doing that a lot, did you catch a cold?”

Scar sniffled, “Yeah. Probably because of the weather changing or something,” he lied.

In truth, running through the rooftops in 8 degree Celcius temperatures drenched in sweat with nothing but a blouse and suit pants on was really bad for the health.

Grian waved a waitress over, “hot chamomile tea to go, please”

“Wha- Grian!” Scar protested.

“Shush, consider it a treat for going out with me while you're sick.” he grinned, mischievous but friendly, not at all like the predatory grin he gave at the heist.

Scar smiled fondly at him, but a pit of guilt stirred in his gut. While they had only become friends recently, he quickly grew fond of the little (he was actually built like a wall but we don’t talk about that) detective. Despite his harsh crime-fighting methods, he knew Grian was a big ‘ole softie deep, deep, deep, deeeeeeep down. Even now he knew that the real reason they were eating at this cafe was because Grian felt bad about the ruckus they caused last night.

He sighed internally. At first, he thought it would be funny to befriend the man so vehement on putting him behind bars (and occasionally, on turning him into sidewalk meat). And it was! Oh, the look on Joel’s face when he told him would forever be a core memory of his, even despite the brutal tongue-lashing and weeks of radio silence afterwards.

But despite all odds, he quickly became fond of the guy’s snarky humor and they way he had a kind action behind every mercilessly teasing jab. They shared a mutual passion for many things, including children’s entertainment and modern architecture, and Scar was quick to seek him out whenever Bdubs was busy hanging out with Etho, or whenever Joel had date night with Lizzie.

Scar knew he was walking a delicate line, one that even he was unsure he could cross safely, and he knew that the longer he kept this secret, the more it would hurt the both of them when (if, Scar, if not when-) -if Grian were to ever find out.

But hey! That just means that he’ll have to work his hardest to find what he was looking for and quit before Grian ever finds out, right?

Right?

“By the way,” Scar asked, desperately trying to ignore the building guilt in his stomach, “why are you so obsessed with catching this guy?”

It was a genuine question. One that hadn't come up in conversation before. Judging by his extremely accurate recreation of a no-kill GTA V run last night, Grian was no obedient servant of the law. So why was he so hell-bent on capturing him?

Grian looked at him, and Scar felt the hairs on his neck rise. And was the store playing boss music??

“It’s about principle, Scar.” He said, eyes manic, “If I can catch bloody Herobrine, then I sure as hell can catch an idiot thief who thinks red and maroon are the same color.”

.

.

.

Nevermind, he’ll have to talk to Joel about setting up the most annoying detective-trap in human history for his next heist.

[the-liminal-place]

JUST PASSIN' THROUGH

.

You hold your own.

Can quick-draw

your baby brother's screams 

in what some might call waking dreams stuffed

like choux pastry with those nasty little pigtails

you tie too tight with rubber bands  (the ones the postman didn't care enough about),

pulling

that fine, fine hair

covered in snot

into stupid gathered fluffy tufts and you laugh

and you laugh

at the way it sprouts it's silly way out from that massive swede

they all call his head.

It's short-lived mirth then drowning in the wet, wet earth of muddy puddles mixed with verses of yet more piss-yellow whines

–Jesus fucking Christ, you're bored–

and, a happy accident, 

it happens again.

Mum comes in, steamroller cola fizz-pop bang!

Trouble.

A piglet in muck, right in it, you are.

How it breeds around you, they say.

They're the fucking pigs.

It’s more like bleeding out, you reckon, 

gushing out from taps that are your twice-scuffed knees and broken knuckles and too-round stupid, stupid face.

You can even feel it's warmth oozing out your eyes sometimes, your bruised-mauve and claret dripping peepers, 

when you know that they're only really watering,

leaking in the east wind, 

the freezing cold gusts your big bastard brother makes whenever he passes 

you by and literally spits

in your one good eye—oh, no, they're both 20/20. But shit, that's your better side.

Cunt.

.

So you're off

blazing the trail to Mexico (into the centre of a faux fur shanty town in which you're supposed to grow in, 

like a plant, 

only the only

water 'round here is the ocean, The Great Dirty Grey, and you're not as prickly as a cactus, not yet, even though you've been practicing. A lot.

And anyway the sun's all wrong).

Fleeing now, you "borrow" your mother's mother's

tiny creamy pearls and string them 'round your stringy neck, a hangman's noose and

not quite right, no, never.

But they’re in lieu of. Something. An honour? A badge. Like, what? Like the one Pat Garrett got? Yeah. Not really real.

Just for show.

The Greatest Show on Earth.

And you've already stolen your father's outdoor smile and that hateful roll of his hazel eyes. Your own eyes, they're blue. Like absolutely nobody else in your family. 

You plaster on a sneer, a roughcast pebble-dash you got while reading adult library books way past somebody's bedtime,

when the freight trains pass by slowly. 

What a joke. 

You don't have words but you guess you'll just impress upon them the hard, hard life you lead, with all of… this. You can pretend you're an apostle, who's to know otherwise?

None of them.

None of them.

Slamming the door with all these old and new-to-you weapons, nestled low in their makeshift holsters—

and okay, it's not exactly an arsenal but shit, you're only fourteen.

It's not like the war is ending anytime soon. 

No fuckin way.

.

Once clear (road parallel to the main street, you're not an idiot), 

you use giant Cook's kitchen matches 

to sulpher light the smokes; duty-free ciggies with bright orange filters that the neighbour gave to you just because you took the time to talk to the old dear.

No one else can seem to stand her, honestly. Her own husband only comes by on Wednesdays and Sundays. Never even sees her own kids. We'll, that's what she says.

Whether anybody likes you or not you're on your own sweet way. Kicking

up metal horse dust on your lonesome path to Don Pepe's Saloon

(It's a tacky shot bar. You won't go in, you'll hang around outside and smoke these stinkers as if you're waiting for someone. Flash these new tits you absolutely fucking hate. But so fucking what).

Shiny sneaker spurs 

now drag

through the wet sand salt-dirt that settles

on everything, crystalline on

your shrink-wrap skin

your nana's charms

your daddy's grin

your wild, wild desperation

your. Something.

(You're wrong.)

And you lose, again, with your home stuck to your soul like your least favourite flavour of bubble gum.

Fuck.

Off. 

. 

There's yet another stray barking in one of forty-three-thousand labyrinthine alleyways and when you stop to stroke it and it gnashes at your hand, you actually find yourself jealous of it.

Ha. That's sad.

And. It's not as if if you're not trying. 

You do try. 

You really fucking try, 

it's just. 

All so fucking WANK.

Tripe.

Tripe butties dipped in dog shit gravy. 

Man , you don't even know what it is that's so fucking awful. 

What the fuck is that about?

You sometimes find yourself wishing God were real. 

Wowee.

That’s how fucking bad it is.

.

Sighing now, a song, long and loud with a drawn-out chorus, just like the real people never do, you start to take only half-lungfuls of the Good Sea-Air.

You're saving up

for your real life.

For what's to come. 

You walk on.

Right past the harrowing saloon.

Fuck it. Fuck that.

Because it's not as if you're here to stay

anyway.

No real friends to make like hay bails used to climb to the top shelf in the big barn to hide away from your pious Pa and his rusty pitchfork. 

Your name's not Backwater Sal. Or Tommy "Tuck" Tucker.

You, you're just passin' through.

A drifter.

Cowboy in a town with no damn prairies. Hell (well, almost). 

And, again, you find yourself back

at the Big Drink you always say you hate.

What a fucking joke.

You twirl your one key on twelve keyrings, 

shit slinger. 

“It's almost High-noon” 

you chant like crazy under your partial breath on your way out

to your way out,

the coming tide, 

to the arse-end of Nofuckingwhere.

You fuckin wish.

.

[thelittlepoetprincess]

ᴘᴏɪꜱᴏɴᴏᴜꜱ ʟᴏᴠᴇ [Dabi x Reader]

Author's Note: I personally am not a fan of Lizard king here but go off. This took a long ass time to write not to mention proofread and edit. No idea if I'm making another part to this. Also, a lot of this is therapy wagon material. If you want to be tagged in these just say so.

Warnings: Fluff for a bit, Implied depression, mild spoilers, light mental manipulation, degrading, power play, oral sex(F receiving), hate sex, death mentions, arson, and physical abuse.

Summary: You chose your job over Dabi, and then severely regret it once he survives.

The numbness of grief was overwhelming, even more so when the one you were grieving was your lover. You settled onto the sofa, watching the news drone on about the recent death of Villian Dabi, confirmed now to be Touya Todoroki. You'd turn off the TV and lie on your back, not needing the extraneous details of his death. After all, you killed him.

The memory of it haunted you like ghosts dancing in your memories: the heated warmth of his palms that threatened to burn you but never did, the way he always wore worn down leather or rough worn down jackets, everything about him attracted you and only made his death hit you harder.

You were a lesser-known hero with a restoration quirk, able to numb large areas and heal minor wounds while still using it in large quantities. You'd met Dabi while out on a mission to recover a kidnapped hero, and you couldn't keep your hands off his wounds. Not like he'd let you after he felt your gentle touch ease his pain for once.

Six months, it only took six months for the bad boy to entangle himself into your life. He snuck into your old apartment all the time, made you comfortable, and he'd break down in front of you. He was a surprisingly affectionate lover, despite his many flaws. You'd feel something in your throw blanket, shaking it loose to find the leather jacket he always wore.

The navy blue leather faded slightly and burnt in specific areas where he couldn't control his flames.

You felt the fresh hot tears welling up behind your eyes as you clutched the jacket to your chest. It was much larger than you since Dabi was slightly taller, so your face nuzzled into where his neck would be. It still smelled of cigarettes and burnt flesh, the scent you grew to love so much.

You took a deep inhale, the tears starting to flow as you replayed your shared memories, unable to help the grief overwhelming you. Suddenly, you had no energy nor will to do anything except sleep, even moving was deemed too much to handle. The scent of your boyfriend lulled you to sleep, though it'd be one of the last times it'd do so.

Dabi wrapped his hands around your waist before hoisting you high in the air while the wind blew at your hair in the flowy white lace dress you wore. The undetailed field of wildflowers went on far beyond your sight as he twirled you around before falling on his back with you. You'd both be laughing in the hazy daze of love before sharing a loving kiss as the gentle grass blades tickled your skin.

You felt a leathery hand touch the skin of your cheek, the thick smell of cigarette smoke tickling your nose and making you sneeze before you gently smacked away the hand. You hear a deep, raspy chuckle before the person mysteriously pulls the coat on you like a blanket.

"Little hero, do you love me?" You'd mumble a yes subconsciously, something saddeningly familiar about whoever it was looming over your sleeping form. "Ha, cute. . ." You heard something about leaving and the door shut with a click, leaving you to sleep once again.

Your peaceful sleep is dreadfully short as your friends came in, yanking you from the grasp of sleep with their tumultuous noise.

You quickly hid the jacket, sleepily rubbing at your eyes as they opened your curtains and turned on the TV. It droned on about the agency you worked at and fire. However, you didn't have the energy nor will to care since you planned on quitting anyway.

They droned on about how you'd slept for two days straight and needed to get out, and you agreed. Maybe it would take your mind off of Dabi and the arsenic incident, also the five missed calls from your agency from two days ago. You'd shower and change, pulling your hair back out of your face for the first time for days.

The curls were dry against your fingers so you oiled your hands and massaged them into the brown mass you called hair, plucking it out to its full shape. You pulled on the black and blue dress, noticing how the dress hugged your hips a bit then flowed out to your mid-thigh. Perhaps you've gained a bit of weight these past 2 months.

Tired bags were under your eyes from sleeping for so long. After some light makeup, you left with them to the carnival. 

Lights illuminated the dark navy blue sky as you got dragged about, the fun temporarily blinding you from the sadness overwhelming you. They led you into the Maze of Mirrors, their bodies contorting and bending around you confusedly while you searched for them until they disappeared. Their goofy laughter faded into an eerie silence with only your echoing footsteps left to fill the silence. You froze as you smelled a familiar scent: burnt flesh and cigarette smoke.

His chuckles were all around you as you saw the flashes of black and navy blue in the mirrors before he was suddenly standing in front of you.

He was pissed, you knew that snarky glare anywhere. It made you nervous as he closed the distance between the two of you without speaking a word until he backed you against the cold glass. He gently pressed himself against you, giving you no real way to escape him with his arms on both sides of your head. "Dabi-" "Shh, I don't wanna hear it. At least not here, too many people. They're already looking for me since I disappeared. We aren't safe, come on." He didn't ask as he hoisted you over his shoulders to carry you out the back exit.

He seemed gentle while he carried you, he wasn't rough at all. The heat you felt radiating from his palms as he held said otherwise as you worriedly fretted about him burning a hole in your clothes. Though you felt some relief knowing he wasn't dead: he was your love after all. You knew what was coming to you for feeding him arsenic wasn't going to be a gentle, loving reunion of star-crossed lovers. Dabi wasn't that kind of guy.

He made it back to your new apartment after knocking out the security guard at the gate and threw you onto the bed. He'd seemed to get angrier as he got closer to your apartment. Your hair messily fell around your face to make a curly halo around it. He was on top of you before you could attempt to sit up, his warm breath huffing down the side of your neck.

"Now what the fuck were you thinking, huh? An arsenic cupcake? You really wanna get rid of me that badly you snake." He seethed, and you felt the familiar feeling of your wrists being burnt by his flames. You cry out in pain, squirming under his grip with tears in your eyes.

"Oh you're crying, now you're crying. How do you think I felt getting sick and finding out my girlfriend poisoned me?" He'd growl out, as you stopped squirming and sucked it up. He was right, you deserved this. You tried to kill him, and all he'd done was be beside you and attempt to be somewhat of a lover to you. You looked up to him, his blue eyes lacking any gentleness or affection. It was hate, resentment, and importantly: lust.

That's when it hit you that you were a stress reliever for him. Everything that he kept pent up he always let it out on you, and for about a month now he hasn't had it. You'd reach out, gently tracing your fingers along his scars using your quirk to calm him and watch his eyes soften as he quite literally melted under your touch. He'd land on top of you, caging you underneath him with his arms, he exhaled a strained snarl before snatching your hands from his skin.

You couldn't help wincing once you felt the familiar burning sensation of Dabi's quirk in action yet again as the blue flames licked against your skin, at least it wasn't a third-degree this time.

"It was you, wasn't it? My agency, they called then it went up in flames." He didn't answer but you knew the answer by the way he buried into the side of your neck. He always did that when you accused him and he was guilty. You'd chuckle to yourself but yelp when you felt his teeth against the soft skin of your neck, suckling your skin.

You'd squirm as a familiar heat settled itself in the pit of your stomach. He huffed as he finally moved away from the purple bruise he left on your skin. His lips trailed down until he reached your exposed collarbone, chuckling before tracing his hands against your caramel skin sending chills down your spine. He'd kiss, lovingly at that, along the caramel curve of your breasts.

He'd yank you to the edge of the bed, moving between your legs with a focused look in his glimmering eyes. "Dabi, are you mad at me?" He'd chuckle before you'd feel a burn against your thighs while sinking his teeth into the soft plushness of your inner thigh. "Oh darling, I'm fucking furious." The sweet name rolled off his tongue, making you quiver when paired with his teasing licks over your soaked panties.

He paid no attention to your face, his main focus being on the slickness accumulating from your dripping hole. His hands traced up over the stretch marks gently decorating your skin so beautifully before burning off the panties, his tongue grazing the soaked slit before sliding his tongue up to your neglected clit. His mouth was warm and wet against your sensitive bud, making it grow under his expert tongue his suckling sent waves of pleasure coursing through your entire body, and core. The entire room felt hot, and it wasn't helping wherever his hands traced left heated burn trails. You'd run your fingers into hair, yanking it to where his tongue pressed against your hole. "Dabi, please I want it. . ."

"Shut it, I'm still pissed at you." He'd yank your arms away again, pressing his tongue into your hole. Your flavor flooded his tongue, making him lick and devour you hungrily. Your eyes rolled back, your hips subconsciously bucking against his tongue as it buried into your wet hole. Ecstasy, that's all you could describe the feeling at this moment. The waves of heat that swallowed you and threatened to keep you at this moment while your climax built up in that tight ball. You panted like a bitch in heat, your legs trembling as your fingers intertwined in his black hair. "Dabi, I'm. . . .I'm-!"

"Shut up, loud-ass slut. Come if you wanna come so bad!" 

He'd say before continuing to devour you, his tongue digging into your spot just enough to send you tottering over the edge in waves of heat. You'd throw your head back, sending your curls flying wildly behind you as you rode out your orgasm and Dabi's face. Your legs closed around his head like a vice, keeping his tongue in your hole while he drank you greedily. He moaned into your nether lips, finally able to pull away with an exasperated breath.

His lips and chin were a mess of your nectar and saliva, but a smirk was on his face now. He'd notice his jacket hidden poorly, but laugh as he moved to take it and pull it on. He'd once again hoist you over his shoulder, humming as he slid his fingers along the walls setting them ablaze. "Dabi-?! What are you doing?! My apartment!" "I let you have too much freedom last time, but don't worry. I'll make it so that I'm the only one you can lean on. Then you'll never leave again." 

He'd laugh as he carried you away, ignoring your cries and pleas while the building went up in flames along with everything you'd known up until now. His sick, twisted laughter filled your ears before you felt a hard force against your head, the inky blackness flooding your senses and knocking you out.

[luminous-shifting-vibes]

actual fucking quotes from the shiftblr coffeehouse discord server

out of context of course, what do you take me for? a sane person?

"they made lightning mcqueen hot"

"inch resting"

"Nix: Cars (2006) several people are typing..."

"im evaporating"

"enjoy precipitation"

"tow mater is more attractive than lightning mcqueen/hj"

"lightning mcqueen looks like he would call me a slur"

"why did I come back to a discussion regarding the attractiveness of vehicles"

"lark is the braincell of shiftblr tbh"

"you all need some grass in your life"

"me over here simping for block men and now literal cars"

"didn't nick wilde commit fraud canonically"

"i have no strong opinions on whether or not nick wilde is attractive"

"I AM AROMANTIC AND I AM NOT IMMUNE TO NICK WILDE"

"I am bisexual and I. Am not into Nick Wilde based on a simple fact he looks like he will drink all my pepsi and call me names"

"What is shiftbkr but not a bunch of simps"

"cries in Bianca Monroe"

"listen i have a folder called gayass

it is mostly pictures of kyoka jiro and virgil sanders"

"Nick Wilde x Reader where he steals your car 📷 carjacker to lovers AU 📷"

"he says "mama i like to step on keyboard""

"MY MOM JUST WALKED IN AND I HAD TO TELL HER I WAS LOOKING AT LIGHTING MC QUEEN HUMAN FANART"

"crab walks away"

""Y/N..." Nick whispered into your ear. "Your car...is a Honda Civic, right?" You looked up at Nick with a baffled expression. "Nick, my beloved? Whatever are you talking about?" "Just asking..." He said as he let you out of his embrace. "Hey, wanna see a magic trick, babe?" Your eyes sparkled. "Really, Nick? Of course!" Nick smiled. "Ok, close your eyes!" You giggled and closed your eyes, waiting for Nick to tell you to open up. Instead, you heard the loud rumble of a car starting up, and you open your eyes. Nick has stolen your car, and he has driven off into the sunset..."

"did y'all know his name used to be canonically Montgomery--he changed it to lightning mcqueen to get rid of his past"

"That is my exit number"

"cars trauma arc"

"wait do y'all know about car jesus" "as if jesus wasn't a ford focus in the bible"

"oh yall do not want to know about the trauma in my cars dr lmao"

"Dewit tau style babey make Lightning McQueen outlive everyone and stalk their reincarnations"

"Do they baptize other cars in like gasoline then"

"there is a pope car in the cars universe which means car jesus died for cars sins"

"NOT THE BOOMER MEMES"

"-lays facedown on the floor while caramelldansen plays-"

"like im serious how many of you guys endorse me falling face down on my floor" (NOT THE SAME PERSON AS PREVIOUS QUOTE)

"I will be Tall and no one can stop me"

"is a soft floor?"

"stop I thought faceplant meant like a succulent in the shape of a face instead of falling onto your noggin for a solid 10 seconds"

"Touch some grass??? What about eating grass"

"what if for every employee of the month i just printed out really horrible boomer memes"

"what ab smoking grass /j"

"Can the grassdirt smoothie be a special in the cafe"

"PLEASE IM ROLLING ON THE FLOOR REWRITINH THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE WHIKE SPEEDRUNINT MINECRAFT"

"you have to get good dirt from like the middle of a pennsylvanian forest for it to taste good though"

"I ate a four leaf clover as a kid cause i thought it would make me lucky"

"guys how do i see the mee6 leaderboard"

"I used to think i was half dragon and I ate plants out of sidewalk cracks"

"i think i punched someone"

"my parents told me to stop doing that so I looked at them and ate a flower"

"I ate grass when I was 9 bc I read warrior cats and thought I was a medicine cat ....................."

"bees are just spicy flies"

"I had a mental breakdown when I was three cause I didn’t know how to turn off a phone"

"My mom drank a bee once"

"when I was a baby I kinned ink sans."

"bro who here find the yellow hat man from curious george fine as heck 📷📷📷"

"mY LUNGSSSSSS"

"no one topping Him"

"I like em big"

"I think Moto Moto has no game like move over hunky boy I could beat you 1v1 Roblox Arsenal 📷📷📷"

"If you didnt have a crush on springtrap, jeff the killer, or Underfell/Gaster/Error sans don't talk to me /j"

"LOOK THEY'RE BOTH DILFS WITH ABS THAT WOULD FIGHT GOD"

"ZORO IS BANNED"

"Guys please help I found my old fnaf fanart from when I was 8 I'm in literal tears"

"OH NO BOT MY FIFTH GRADE HAMILTON PHASE"

"The worst attraction ive ever had has to be Sombra Overwatch"

"My family is like "save all ur art so I can sell it when you're famous" I literally could not sell this if I tried"

"screaming puppet"

"I just remembered Ive drawn overwatch/hamilton crossover fanart"

"my hermit crabs ate each other again"

"we're cannibals ????"

"having me here is a curse you have inflicted on yourselves and I for one am glad for it <3" "scitters around like a crab in anticipation"

"CARB DAY"

"WE NEED TO HAVE A WATCH OARTY"

"hey y'all ill be right back i have to throw away a crab carcass"

"if I watch cars I'm going to start laughing in the middle of it nonstop just because the word cars is funny and also cars are funny like how do you move silly little metal box with rubber circles"

"Lark asleep post catboy pitbul"

"Mwista Wowldwide! Nya!" "hermit crab 2: electric boogaloo"

"Is that why your name is chaos"

"manifest the crab power!!"

"cool dex fact: i can't read 📷"

"sighs adds to worship these entities list"

"with a knife <3"

"yeah and if he betrays me I could probably throw him across the atlantic ocean"

"give me his eyes"

"my good citizen i am a- wait no im nonbinary nvm"

"it worked on a fish idk what to tell you"

"what is gender??? Is that a board game?? If so can I be apples to apples that one's my favorite"

"CHUTES AND LADDERS"

"anyways actually my gender is Candyland"

"Oh god romes the destroyer of friendships/j"

"i am a simple gay i see math i run in the opposite direction survival instincts 101"

"math my beloathed"

"algebra makes me want to rip open a bag of swedish fish and swallow them whole"

"cackles in they're au characters and this will be very fun"

"pog !!!! me too ksajgks one of my drs is a sanders sides au"

"Is that bipper"

"tumblr sexyman"

"Good because he’ll fuck u up if u hurt a child"

"I want a wing-suit"

"looks like a bean would poison someone"

"my hermit crabs are cannibals what can i say"

"sonic the hedgehog kinnie"

"get yourself a man who is capable of the most ungodly actions but won't do them because of their morality owo"

"tell him he can steal my wallet"

"eyes"

"idk about y'all but I need blueberry sweet tea to live"

"y'know the red souls from soul eater i really want to eat those"

"but like only respectable crimes like stealing from elon musk"

"You can go cultbashing with he!"

"He acts like a flamboyant gay man, but if a flamboyant gay man was straight."

"Simp Satan 📷"

"definitely arson"

"They look like they enjoy lemon squares and other lemon desserts"

"Satan is all-powerful but he spends most of his time building honeymoon locations because he is convinced that the protag loves him"

"bc shes the reincarnation of his dead wife or something i guess"

annd here's a quote from our very own dream (@shiftingwastaken) that sums this post up:

"shiftblr but context makes it worse"

[squidpro-quo]

AN: Happy holidays @lohaku! I was your secret santa for the @dcmkkaishinevents exchange, I really liked your prompt for the two of them getting stuck together and confessions ensue, so I hope you enjoy!

“New meaning for ‘getting close to someone’, right?” KID jokes, shifting on his back and the crick in his neck is alleviated. For now.

“You would be the one to find this funny. Didn’t think you’d stoop this low, though.” Shinichi’s voice comes from the dark above him, voice muted in the enclosed space but Kaito can feel the puff of his breath ghosting across his face. They’re closer than he’d first thought, the space smaller than he’d first thought too, and he’s still working on figuring out just how they’re positioned. But first, to set a wrong right. 

“It was meant to be funny! Some officers fall in here, have an embarrassing, but very humorous time...learn some things about each other. It was for the bonding experience, I swear. I was thinking of police morale the whole time,” Kaito hedges, hands spread to show his innocence but it falls short in the pitch black and he gets the impression his goodwill has gone unnoticed. At least his hands are free, he couldn’t imagine being confined like this without being able to move his arms. 

Above him, Shinichi shifts and Kaito feels a hand on each side of his head, wrists taut where skin meets skin. Reaching out tentatively, Kaito feels the buttons of a shirt and jacket before the warmth seeps through even his gloves and he realizes that the detective stuck in here with him is braced over him, precariously positioned parallel to where he lies on the floor of the constrictive box. When he was designing the entire setup of the trap in question, he’d never once considered he’d be the one stuck inside it during the heist. Even if he had, he’d never have guessed his partner in the debacle would be the one he’d wanted to avoid at any cost. There was only so much composure he could keep, and it had an inverse relationship with the distance kept between them. 

After a few more moments of silence, Shinichi huffs out a question. “What exactly would they learn about each other?” 

“You know, the usual juicy secrets that only come out when you’re in a small, dark, space with someone else. Who’s claustrophobic, who smells like grass and weirdly, like arsenic,” he realizes he’s getting a little too literal and he plows on in an attempt to save himself. “True feelings, who’s had their eyes on whom.” 

He curses every instinct he’s ever had, that was three truths where he’d meant to be telling three lies. What kind of magician is he if this is what makes his poker face slip? A magician should be equally at home on a tightrope as in a locked box of swords, a closed safe, in his own trap. 

The silence sounds louder in such a close space and Kaito can hear his own heartbeat drumming away at his chest, he’s sure Shinichi might too and he knows that the heaviness is his own doing, letting those kinds of thoughts slip into the space between them, not that there is much of it. 

“You smell like smoke and, weirdly, fresh laundry,” is Shinichi’s reply, softer than before. Fabric rustles near Kaito’s ears and he suspects Shinichi sank lower to spare his wrists if the exhale of relief is anything to go by. 

“Why is that weird? Do you know how much maintenance keeping everything this white takes?” Knowing he’s spewing nonsense at this point, Kaito doesn’t want to face that his face is burning at the idea that Shinichi is so close. 

“They’re just…” This time, Kaito wonders when the hesitation crept into Shinichi’s tone. “They seem like things that you don’t expect together. Even if they fit together.” 

Kaito knows he likes veiled meanings and hidden secrets as much as anyone in his particular line of occupation, but that one line is enough to make him question everything. The detective currently leaning over him, by necessity he must admit, isn’t suggesting what he thinks he is, it’s the decreasing oxygen capacity and while he knows his own opinions on just how well some things that seem disparate can really go hand-in-hand, his mind can’t compute it. 

“The whole point of one is to get rid of any trace of the other,” he says weakly, the best he can offer when he thinks he’s single-handedly making the small space overheat. 

“However, you’ve just proven they can co-exist.” The sigh that floats down from Shinichi only makes Kaito more aware of how—somehow, despite the already limited maneuverability—there’s even less space between them now. He’s certain that he didn’t design the trap to become smaller as time goes on, but what else could explain the way he can almost see the vaguest shadows of Shinichi’s face taking over his vision. They’re far too close and he can’t find a suitable reply when Shinichi’s elbows hit the bottom of the box with a dull thud. 

“You can’t be sure.” 

“Didn’t you say that the whole point of this contraption was to learn something new?” Shinichi murmured. The next second Kaito feels a nose bump into his own, lips finding his chin first, then his cheek, before finally he uses his hands for the first useful thing since they got trapped. Fingers sinking into Shinichi’s hair, the gap closes and the weight settles on him, making him forget everything else outside their small sphere. The inky black is the darkness behind his closed eyes, the sides closing him in Shinichi’s arms and the heaviness is the pure disbelief that he’d somehow managed to fall into something that he’d only wished for. 

Pulling away enough to push KID’s hat off Kaito’s head, Shinichi tugs at the monocle’s chain. “A new meaning, huh?” 

“It worked, didn’t it?” 

“And what about when we’re free?” 

“Think outside the box?” 

Listening to Shinichi’s quiet laugh, Kaito finds himself wondering what else he can steal tonight besides his original target.

[folklord]

3. winless fight

part 3 of HOAX series | din djarin x f!reader (au)

ao3 | my masterlist

summary: when you promised the Empire that you would destroy Mandalore, you did not expect that approximating your old friend would become yet another obstacle in your hoax. Suddenly, to know Din Djarin was to watch the death of your past plans and, at the same time, the creation of a faithless love.

warnings: this part is about war, literally. mentions of blood, death and injuries. emotional vulnerable din. season 2 spoilers. but don't worry, next one is all about romance | word count: 2k

thanks @mrpascals for the review <3

About ten Mandalorians stared intently at the Mand'alor instructions in the meeting room. All war strategies were taught by him in a didactic way and all questions were calmly answered. You were there for about ten minutes, waiting for your permission to speak. Bo Katan and Vizla often questioned Din about his tactics, but the two seemed to have opposite ideas. Din acted as a mediator between the polarities in the room.

"Can the Empire's presence be confirmed?" The Mand’alor asked, bringing you back to the present moment.

“I did a meticulous analysis. It was, in fact, a kind of BT-1, the ancient droid of Darth Vader.” All the Mandalorians began to whisper upon hearing the famous name, while Din continued to stare at you. “But that doesn't mean anything. The circumscribed initials are from a disabled imperial cruiser. And believe me, the Empire would not send messages or threats in the form of carcasses.”

Silence filled the room for a few seconds until Din’s voice echoed between the walls:

“You may leave. Kaya, please stay.”

It was surprising how everything was going according to your plan. Every person who left the room stared at you, especially Bo Katan - you already knew her from past situations, but her crystal eyes seemed to burn you when they analyzed you from head to toes.

Approaching Din after the last soldier left, you noticed that the visor was facing a specific place: Keldabe, the old capital. He seemed to have lost himself in his thoughts, so you decided to start a conversation.

"Din, if I may ask…" he turned to you, "Why are you so sure an imperial invasion will happen?"

"Because I screwed up Moff Gideon's plans." The tone of his voice as he spoke that very specific name sent goosebumps through your body. You kept staring at the helmet, waiting for him to explain even though you already knew what happened. “The child… Grogu was special. He is special… He was important to the Empire”

“Grogu…” you repeated the name, as an affirmation.

“Moff gave me the darksaber so easily, and laughed at Bo Katan's frustration when she saw me with the weapon that she wanted so badly… But he didn't care, as long as he had the kid.” His voice cracked. You could swear his eyes were teary. “But he didn't expect… No one expected a Jedi to save Grogu. Gideon shivered in fear as Luke Skywalker destroyed all of his droids, and he did it all alone.” The last word was said almost in a whisper. “The Empire does not dare to challenge him to get Grogu back, not without the saber that is now in my hands…”

“And you are sure that they will come because they know that Mandalore is already too weak to fight...”

Your words were chosen carefully. Din turned to face the board, and his left hand held a miniature of a Mandalorian soldier so tightly that you could only see half the helmet escaping between his thumb and forefinger. In that instant, you knew it was the perfect time for your next move because it was clear that Din took everyone out of the room to be alone with you, so he could be vulnerable. He trusted you enough to let you watch even the human being behind the tiniest beskar slowly slip between his fingers.

“Din, you saved my life… and it was so easy for you…” stepping closer, you took his hand between yours. The black glove was rough on your skin, but you didn't hesitate to draw small invisible circles over it with your thumb until Din was slowly undoing his fist. “I noticed, two different groups are respecting you and they are all fine… The child, Grogu, is fine” the miniature Mandalorian soldier was already a little crumpled, but you kept it on his palm. "There is no other Mandalorian with more honor than you."

When you finished the sentence, Din tried to remove his hand, but you pulled him by the fingers. The miniature fell to the ground, but the loud sound its fall produced was unimportant when you decided to hold his right hand as well. His hands were so big that they covered yours, but you found a way to fit them between your palms.

"I did what I had to do." His voice cracked.

“You did so much more…” you looked directly into the visor, trying to meet his eyes. “He wasn't your son and you crossed the galaxy to rescue him, you fought ruthlessly against villains to have him back… That's all Mandalore needs, a protector, a lover…”

“It was this love for him that made me less Mandalorian.”

The words came out with tremendous anger and pain. His hands dropped yours into the air, making you realize again how cold Mandalore's air was today and how he had warmed you. You rubbed your palms together to recover from the heat shock, while his last sentence still echoed in your ears. What made him less Mandalorian and yet worthy of the Crown? What had Moff Gideon not told you?

"Din, I-"

"Sir!" A child in mandalorian armor ran across the room to Din, leaving your words stuck in your throat. "Mand’alor, the Empire is here!"

His exit from the room was so fast that you almost didn't see it, and in the seconds you tried to process what had just happened, the first imperial attack came upon the skies: you saw through the window that the place you admired, where the children were playing yesterday, was already on fire.

"Kaya!" The same child who alerted Din called you, pulling you by your cloak. "The Mand'alor told me to give this to you." He handed a key into your hands. "He told you to take your weapons and go to the Great Room: Burc'ya vaal burk'yc, burc'ya veman."

The key was to the Kyr'bes Room, you deduced. Din had given you the key to the entire Mandalorian arsenal, unaware that you were the greatest imperial weapon - and you were pointed directly at him.

(...)

The next few moments went out so fast that you didn't have time to think. With the key in your hand, you opened the room and searched for your weapons. The rest of the arsenal was made of the kind of weapons that not even the soldiers could carry with their bodies and that would, therefore, also be useless to you. Din's voice echoed down the hall, mixed with the screams and doors being rashly shut.

With your weapons, you ran to the Great Room, the same one you were greeted in. Din was standing next to his throne, in front of hundreds of Mandalorians, all facing their Mand'alor.

“…and you know they only want me. So protect your ade, Mandalore's future must remain safe"

All the children were taken to a corridor on the right, and you noticed that none of them hesitated or cried. This was the most beautiful example of how Mandalore culture raised their warriors.

“We know all the strategies and we know that there are no better creatures than the Mandalorians when it comes to wars. But we also know that our weakness is in our differences. Don't you dare fall into the imperial tactic of playing us against each other… this is the oldest trick in the galaxy, and it always works.”

Din took his darksaber and walked across the room until he was face-to-face with Bo Katan.

“Someone once told me: Mandalorians are stronger together. This is the way.”

The huge doors began to open as some Mandalorians put on their helmets and took up position. The Mand'alor, in front of them all, held his saber in his right hand and the beskar spear in his left. You saw at the opening, the glare of the imperial bombs hitting the planet's ground.

“Aruetii! Aru'ela!” someone in the crowd shouted. You knew what it meant: foreigner, enemy.

Suddenly, the doors closed again. The rattling of armor echoed off the palace walls and all the Mandalorians turned against you. All the blood in your body was frozen.

One of them, in blue armor, came out of the crowd with a spear similar to Din's and pointed it at you, positioning it right in your chest. You almost acted on impulse and wrenched the spear from your body to start a fight, but Din's visor — highlighted over the crowd by the reflection of the darksaber's light — made you hesitate.

"What are you implying?" You tried to speak as calmly as possible.

"You entered the room confirming that this was an imperial droid. In the next moment, they are already on our planet. Aru'ela!”

Shit. Moff was a real son of a bitch. You weren't even allowed to take control of the situation… you were, really, just an imperial doll who needed to find a quick way out.

“Can't you smell smoke under your helmet? Your planet is coming-”

“Aru'ela!” this time, everyone screamed. Dozens of soldiers raised their weapons in your direction.

"KE'MOT!" Din's scream followed by the sound of the spear hitting one of the doors made everyone fall silent. In the next instant, everyone turned to him, except the man holding the spear, at which point was almost ripping off your clothing.

The doors opened again, probably on Din's orders, but you were too nervous to be sure. Then everyone shifted their bodies and turned their weapons down. The blue soldier with the spear ran the point down your neck, but without hurting you, just as a warning which you understood very well. When the entire doors were open, the crowd went out towards the battlefield that had become the Palace garden. It wasn't hard to tell Din apart from the rest of the crowd: his darksaber cut through every droid and every stormtrooper in just one try.

[...]

You were fighting for Mandalore. Everything you've done so far resulted at that moment when you decided to hurt the first stormtrooper - but this one seemed insignificant when you lost count of how many you'd already killed. You were an intruder, an aruetii, fighting for the wrong side as hard as your body and heart could - and you were already feeling the effects of that effort. Your now weak arms acted like an instrument of annihilation and your legs tried to find a balance between the bodies of imperial soldiers on the ground. Your entire physique felt like a death machine on autopilot. Nothing stopped you until you realized there were no more stormtroopers around, at the same moment when your eyes caught the glimmer of Din's darksaber against Moff Gideon's neck, and an imperial weapon bigger than an X-WING directed to the Mandalorian Palace.

From the distance you were, and the weakness your body was at, you couldn't see much beyond blurs. All the Mandalorians around had guns pointed at the Empire - which at that moment, as far as you could see, was just Moff Gideon and a dozen private soldiers. The instant you've managed to open your eyes again, the glow of Din's saber seems to have faded and you saw Gideon walk toward his ship. The imperial weapon was dragged into the cruiser, and everything disappeared into the sky.

When there was nothing else to distract you, your exhaustion took over. Your legs could no longer support the weight of your body, making your knees ache as you hit the sand floor. As you tried to draw in more oxygen, the right side of your body throbbed as if it had been burned. Sitting on your feet, you brought your hands up to your ribs, and shit, you were bleeding.

If there was anything in the galaxy that was divine, you'd be sure to beg now so you could at least get away near some body of water. You haven't seen or felt clean, natural water since you were a child when everything was still fine. In your dreams, you imagined your death with the sound of a lake in the background, but all you could make out at that moment was the sound of someone approaching you and beskar material crashing against some surface.

“Cyare… what did you do?”

-----

Part 4

@la-lunaluna @meetmwhallway

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[rigmarolling]

Top 5 Things That Will Kill You In the Victorian Era

If you’ve ever spent more than two seconds with me, you know that I live and breathe the fog-choked air of Victorian London. All day. Every day of my life. 

See, in many ways, the Victorians were the first version of us--overwhelmed by rapidly-changing technology (and its awful effect on the climate); dealing with incredible wealth gaps; grappling with rising crime and faster travel and out-of-control media and the whole, “God is dead, oh no” thing. 

Also, everything was trying to kill you.

Like, literally almost everything.

From your clothes to your doctor to your canned food, here are the top five things that will kill you in the Victorian era.

5. Other Victorians

If the rise of penny dreadfuls (cheap magazines stuffed with horror stories for us morbidly-inclined goth types) was any indication, Victorians loved them some true crime. 

And there was no shortage of subject matter to choose from: depending on where you ventured in London, at least, you could be subject to anything from pickpocketing to mugging to violent assault and, of course, murder. 

There were a few reasons for this:

For one thing, the population in London alone increased by millions in the 19th century, and approximately no one was prepared for that. So, to accommodate the rapidly-booming population, the wealthy folks in charge reached out and lovingly ensured the masses of the disenfranchised poor were taken care of by redistributing resources and education and access to opportunities that improved lives on a both a personal and social level.

Lol, no, I’m totally kidding; they shoved them into slums and tenement buildings and pretended they didn’t exist.

So of course, there was a rise in crime, because if you have five kids and you can’t find gainful employment and your family will starve if you don’t steal that basket of food over there, or that purse that lady left sitting over THERE, what are you going to do? You’re going to steal the food and the purse to survive, Jean Valjean, I understand, I do.

Except the powers that be did NOT understand, and instead routinely espoused the idea that if people were poor, it was because they were morally bankrupt, or inherently bad, somehow, and the “criminal classes,” as they came to be known by the growing Victorian middle and upper-middle classes, were simply considered genetically bad to the bone and therefore undeserving of assistance.

Basically:

So ANYWAY.

Crime was on the rise and there were multiple efforts to stop it with varying degrees of success, but big city usually = big crime, especially when there’s a massive gap between the one percent-ers and THE REST OF US, WASHINGTON.

Ahem.

All that crime? The booming news industry loved it. The press ate it up and then spit it back out in salacious headlines that never even bothered with journalistic objectivity, like this gem:

I mean. Full disclosure: I, too, agree that cutting off a woman’s head, arms, and legs and then burning them is “awful, inhuman, & barbarous” but just...maybe...maybe tone it down? Just a bit?

No? Okay.

See, here’s the thing: crime sells. It always has. And papers went nuts with full illustrated spreads about the latest brutal murders so you could sit in your parlor and get anxiety poops thinking about how the butcher down the street looked at you funny the other day and oh, God, you’re probably next, oh God.

The most famous murderer of the era, was, of course, Jack the Ripper, which was just the orchestral climax of a hideously corrupted society that had bubbled into naught but a festering carbuncle, an ulcer upon the very soul of man, trussed up as a city of industry, but which is merely Salome, dancing with the Lamb’s head upon a platter and sending us all tumbling into a fiery pit.

....Ahem, again.

Some popular ways your fellow Victorians could kill you included: dueling (with swords but usually with revolvers), stabbing, garroting, and, probably the most popular method of the era, poisoning.

Speaking of which...

4. Anything dyed that hip shade of green

In 1775, a guy named Carl Wilhelm Scheele invented a new shade of green, cleverly called Scheele’s green, and it instantly became a hit. Pretty soon, manufacturers and tailors were dyeing everything this color. 

Look at it. Bright, airy. Calls to mind a fresh, spring meadow. (What’s that, you ask? Well, before the Industrial Revolution belched out black smoke onto absolutely everything, there were these things called plants and grass and they were all over the place and you could frolic through them and it was very nice for your serotonin levels.)

I mean, listen, this isn’t really my color because anything vaguely yellow-ish makes my already yellow-ish skin look especially jaundiced, but it’s a lovely shade:

Besides using it to create beautiful dresses and tasteful waistcoats, they used it inside book covers:

And it was a super popular wallpaper color:

They had green candles and green cups and green kitchenwares and green paint.

But while Carl Wilhelm Scheele didn’t exactly murder anyone (even though he has three names like every serial killer ever), he sort of, accidentally, indirectly, kinda...did.

Because that springy dye contained every Victorian black widow’s favorite method to dispose of a troublesome husband: arsenic.

Scheele, of course, had no idea--no one did--so I’m fully exonerating him here, but the poison nonetheless started to take its toll.

Reports began to surface of kids getting sicker and sicker and then dying in their green wallpapered rooms; of fashionable ladies rocking those green dresses at balls and then ALSO getting sicker and sicker and breaking out in horrible sores before dying. 

They even used this stuff to dye food green, so of course, anybody who tucked into Victorian green eggs and ham also, you know. Died.

And if they DIDN’T die, they got cancer, because if arsenic doesn’t kill you, it will give you cancer. And then kill you.

Eventually, as science advanced and went, “HEYO, there’s literal poison in this stuff,” consumers were like, “Well, shoot, this summer’s hottest beach shade just killed an entire boarding school,” and Scheele’s green finally fell out of favor.

It was, however, used as a pesticide up through the 1930s, so...way to use the...leftovers? I guess?

3. Your canned food

Hey, now that we’re on the topic of deadly chemicals being where they absolutely should not be, let’s talk about canned food. 

In the Victorian era, it was the new Hot Thing (next to arsenic green). You mean I can can my food now? Like? Forever? Oh, only for a few months. Okay, cool. Still cool. 

Above: Road trip snax.

Food preservation methods had existed long before canned meats and veggies and soups, but canned everything really started to gain traction around the middle of the 19th century, and people were stoked. Remember, the population exploded; people needed new methods of obtaining cheap food that didn’t spoil immediately. So: cans to the rescue! 

Recycling hadn’t really been invented, though, so today, archaeologists constantly find giant Victorian trash pits filled with empty cans.

You know what also hadn’t been invented? Consumer health and safety boards.

So guess what was in the tin cans themselves? 

No, no, don’t worry, it wasn’t arsenic.

It was lead.

Which, in case you weren’t aware, is also very, very bad for you.

So bad, in fact, that today, scientists are pretty sure lead-lined tins of canned food were partially responsible for the deaths on the disastrous Franklin Expedition, an ultimately futile trip to discover the Northwest Passage lead by Sir John Franklin in 1845. Every single man on board the two ships stranded in the Arctic died, and in the 1980s, when scientists discovered perfectly mummified bodies (GRAPHIC, if you don’t like that sort of thing, but awesome if you do) of some of the sailors, one of the mummies contained insane amounts of lead. They later tested the cans found scattered across the wreck site and whoops, they also contained insane amounts of lead.

Above: Some of the tin cans from the Franklin Expedition, which contained items like salted beef, vegetables, tea, lethal amounts of lead, and Chicken of the Sea.

Granted, other factors contributed to the Franklin deaths, like, you know, being stranded in the Arctic and starving to death, and also tuberculosis, but lead-lined canned food certainly didn’t help things along.

2. Your doctor

Here’s my advice if you’re in the Victorian era and you’re starting to feel sick: do not get sick. Just don’t. Because then that means you’ll have to go to the doctor. Which probably means you will die.

Hospitals in the 19th century were deadly. Often even more deadly than just staying at home, according to Dr. Lindsey Fitzharris, author of The Butchering Art. Nobody knew how to treat anything, really, because medical understanding of biology was in its infancy and antibiotics didn’t exist yet, so you were absolutely, definitely going to get some kind of infection the second you stepped foot in a Victorian hospital.

Above: The surgery, where nobody has any idea what they are doing, ever.

Doctors weren’t trying to kill you on purpose--they just didn’t know any better. And it super duper didn’t help that common treatments for everything from the common cold to tuberculosis included taking mercury (which kills you) and blood-letting, (which can also kill you) the tools for which are shown below:

Those might look like fun doodads for your astronomy class at Hogwarts, but they’re actually vials and a really, really sharp needle that pricks you until you bleed out a critically dangerous amount of blood into those vials. 

The (ancient) school of thought behind blood-letting was that draining patients of “bad” blood would rebalance their “humours” and get rid of the icky thing that was making them sick. We might laugh at it now, but if you don’t know any better, logically, it makes sense.

Medically, oh my God, it’s the worst.

So if Doc didn’t bleed you to death, he might try surgery--done without anesthesia or antibiotics (until good old Dr. Lister came along--read The Butchering Art!), and then ship you and your amputated stump leg off to the hospital ward where, instead of healing, you’d get wheeled through hallways stained with every bodily fluid imaginable into rooms filled with people coughing up every bodily fluid imaginable, some of which would get into your leg stump, infect it, and then kill you dead.

“But what about medicine?” you ask. “Can’t I just take medicine?”

Sure! Just be aware that it definitely contains morphine and probably contains cocaine, or mercury, or arsenic, or sulfur, or pulverized bits of ancient Egyptian mummies (I am not kidding. True, the latter had started to fall out of favor in the 19th century, but, like. Stop).

Above: Hard drugs, but just for you.

You think I’m joking?

Above: PARTY TIME.

Sometimes, a doctor would just advise that you move to a “more temperate climate” like Rome or Spain if you were feeling chronically ill, which might help you get a tan and COULD help if you had sucky lungs, but eventually, you’d just die anyway, because what you really needed was a strong antibiotic or antiviral medication and the closest you were gonna get was Mrs. Hopplebopple’s Temperance Tonic, which was probably filled with ground up baby bones and just so much heroin.

And don’t even get me started on Victorian surgical tools:

Open wide.

1. Water

There are three rules in this life: don’t watch any Adam Sandler movies except for maybe Anger Management, don’t eat the yellow snow, and do not, ever, for any reason, ever drink water in Victorian England.

That’s because it was about as clean as a Victorian hospital. 

Meaning it wasn’t. At all.

Victorian water--of the Thames variety--contained:

Cholera, one of the deadliest killers of the era and bad water’s favorite roommate.

Poop, human and otherwise, because a functioning sewer system? I don’t know her. (At least, not until the 1860s.)

Pee, human and otherwise, because nothing says, “Jolly Old England” like an open trench of piss rolling through the city.

Dead things, like animals, fish (which are animals, so why am I listing them as a separate thing?), and, occasionally, humans.

Chemicals, which spewed forth from the great factories in billowing, bubbling, belching rivers of sludge. (Ha! Omg, yes, I was an English major!)

The Thames was so filthy that Londoners called it “Monster Soup.”

Above: Same.

In 1855, scientist Michael Faraday (who was also kind of hot; tell me I’m wrong), wrote a letter to the Times about the disgusting state of the river:

"Near the bridges the feculence rolled up in clouds so dense that they were visible at the surface, even in water of this kind. ... The smell was very bad, and common to the whole of the water; it was the same as that which now comes up from the gully-holes in the streets; the whole river was for the time a real sewer."

Tl;dr: “It smelled like ass.”

In fact, it got so bad, so putrid, so horrifically clogged with every disgusting thing your mind and your butthole can possibly conjure up, that it lead to one of my favorite things to read about in the world: The Great Stink of 1858.

Yes, that’s the real name. I did not make that up. History is incredible.

Above: Summer vacation, 1858.

The summer of 1858 was miserably hot in London. And the Thames was miserably clogged with poop, and pee, and chemicals, and dead things, and, uh oh, cholera. During July and August that year, the smell wafting from the river was so offensive that Parliament was actually adjourned because everybody kept throwing up. Cholera devastated the city. The water was killing London.

Faced with either the prospect of living with a city-wide vomit-and-diarrhea smell for the rest of forever OR finally cleaning things up, the government actually did something right and chose the latter. They contracted civil engineer Joseph Bazalgette to overhaul the city’s sewer, to which Bazalgette, pinching his nose, responded, “FINALLY.” 

Above: Joesph Bazalgette, savior of the London sewers and purveyor of a truly beautiful mustache.

Bazalgette proceeded to build the London sewer system still in use today. His efforts greatly reduced the number of cholera deaths, cleared the Thames of its Cronenberg-esque muck, and ensured that poop goes where it’s supposed to: way the hell out of HERE and way the hell under THERE.

Water sanitation still had a long way to go, though, which meant you either had to boil your water to kill the bacteria in it, or you could just drink alcohol instead, which was the safer option but which would also leave you very dehydrated and also, if imbibed excessively, would leave you very dead.

So really, you were doomed in some way no matter what you did, and if that isn’t the moral of the entire Victorian story, then I don’t know what is.