#with zero self control

[lost-in-horrorland]

Don't mind me, I'm just casually writing Senku x OC fics because I can.

"okay, Nid, what are you writing??”

Well, first is with the OC being the Class Rep of Senku's class and the Book Club President. She's fat. Why? Because I'm fat and I wanna love Senku. She's a book nerd. If it's a book, she reads it (including Manga and light novels). History, fiction, doesn't matter. She's a nerd and nearsighted. Oblivious AF to her own feelings for Senku, but compares Taiju and Yuzuriha to a romantic cliche while stating how obvious their feelings are. She's blunt, and won't hesitate to call Tsukasa an idiot. Enjoys going on hikes. Has climbed Mount Fuji. Likes tracing historical routes she's read about and note the changes. Her and Senku's club mates ship them. Has compared Senku to Sho Tucker from FMA. Kept herself awake by retelling and memorizing every single novel/manga she's ever read. Wants to bring literature back so badly cause she misses books so much.

———

Other OC is Kaseki's granddaughter. She's a fellow artisan. She's leggy AF. Gives serious dommy Mommy vibes. Leg power is over 9,000!!! Direct descendant of Lilian and Bakuya through her mother. Has a killer singing voice. Very touchy. Comments how scrawny Senku is after feeling up his chest and back before lifting him off his feet. She's a tease. Raging bisexual. She knows knots and is into rope play. Makes offhanded comments about tying Ruri up in decorative knots, only to get a rise out of Chrome. She makes the rope the younger generation of the village wears. 19 and single. Finds the men of her village to be lame cause none of them want to try new things with her. Makes beeswax to treat and waterproof the leather. Fuck with her projects and you're getting punted in the ocean. Yuzuriha and her end up being gal pals and start their own fashion brand together. Senku is unsure how they got together. It sorta just happened. It might be from her forcing him to sit between her legs so she can play with his hair cause she has zero care for personal space of the average.

[aziraphalalala]

Aziraphale is a feral beast once he gets a taste of something he likes. Ox rib. Sushi. Wine. Cake. Books.

Crowley.

[anoant-haikyuu-dump]

GIRLKYUUUU

[djeniryuu]

chan: "it's about trains"

the kids: "then why do you take off your shirt"

[sweetchildofrocknroll]

[revasserium]

could we get a protective zoro pretty please! maybe reader gets kidnapped again and zoro comes to find her but we get the actual fighting and zoro being protective? i’ll take anything you write <3

here are monsters

zoro; 1,737 words; fluff, opla!zoro, shockingly introspective zoro, straw hat!reader, fem!reader, vague gore (but not rly even), just zoro slicin' ppl, established relationship

summary: prequel to this fic right here

a/n: *makes vague uncertain hand gestures at opla!zoro*

he’s always known of the monster inside him — always. he’s always known of the hurricane that spins just beneath the cage of his ribs, the thunderstorm brewing beyond the horizon-line of his heartbeat.

when he sees you bloodied, bruises blooming at the edge of your mouth, something inside him snaps like a tideline, ripped apart by the rage of the ocean slamming against the back of his teeth. there’s a jagged bloodlust curdling in his throat as he narrows his eyes, pulls out his swords and swings.

the shing of metal through air shouldn’t sound like music, the dull thunk of bodies hitting the ground, no baseline beat — the bitten-off screams of men as their throats are cut should not sound like the familiar tune to a life-long melody but zoro can’t help the grin that spreads, savage, across his lips as he leans into the rhythm of the fight and lets his body sing.

it would not be remiss to call him monster, so he thinks as he digs the hilt of his swords into the side of an oncoming thug and hears the sharp crack of shattering ribs. he doesn’t wince at the warm splatter of blood as it paints his cheeks. a wide, manic smile pulls at his lips as he swings both swords around in a wide circle to slice through three oncoming bodies, before bringing them down in an arc to bisect another thug from torso to legs.

by the time he turns back around, most of the so-called pirates have already scattered, but one (the leader of the whole sorry lot) still stands, a blade pressed to the smooth expanse of your throat as he snarls, backing away from zoro, nose twitching like a frightened rabbit.

“d-don’t come any closer! or — or else i’ll slit her throat!”

zoro’s lip twitches, his eyes hardening as he stares at the shaking heap of leathers and furs, too much talk and not enough backbone. it’s people like this, zoro thinks, that give pirates a bad rep.

“i’d like to see you try,” zoro’s voice is iron-hard and steel-sharp, a dull throbbing cresting through his temples at the thought of any more harm coming to you even as he catches your eyes. they’re wide and dark and pleading.

don’t do anything stupid.

he almost scoffs. too late.

and then, almost by second nature, the thought comes to him — well, you started it.

the corner of his eye twitches as he sighs, making a show of relaxing his stance, of standing up straight to slip his swords back into their sheathes. he watches as the last thug visibly relaxes — licking his lips as his own grip on your neck loosens.

“t-there see? that wasn’t so hard, was it? n-now — now hand over all the gold you have and i might —”

thwack.

you feel the man’s grip on you slacken completely as you glance up to find the wadou ichimonji impaled through the thug’s head, right in between his eyes, the blade and hilt still vibrating from the force of the hit, nailing the man to the basement wall. you let out a sigh as you jerk yourself out from underneath the dead man’s arms, making a face as zoro reaches down to pull his sword out with a wet schluck.

���tch. just cleaned it yesterday.”

it makes a soft whoomph as he shakes off the worst of the blood dripping from it’s blade.

“sorry… i’ll — i’ll clean it after we get back —” you push yourself to your feet, dusting of your skirt, but a sharp pain in your side makes you stumble, and a second later, zoro’s arm hooks around your middle to keep you from falling.

the metallic tang of blood and the cold scent of steel arrests your senses. the world spins, the floor beneath you swaying like the deck of a ship even as darkness starts to eat at the edges of your vision. you hear zoro calling your name as if through a long, echoing tunnel and you frown, uncertain why he sounds so frantic all of a sudden.

“don’t… don’t forget… the apples…”

zoro stares, aghast as you go limp in his arms. there’s a wild thundering inside his chest as he looks around, his mind racing to catch up to what you’d just said — apples? what the —

he spots them, discarded in a corner by the entrance of the basement hideout — a rough burlap satchel sagging against the wall, filled with waxy red apples, round as the autumn moon and nearly just as big. he stares at them for a full minute before his eyes slowly slide back to you, still lying inert in his arms, though your breathing has evened out and your cheeks are flushed just the slightest shade of pink.

you’re in no immediate danger, he knows, but there’s an unpleasant darkness seeping into the material of your shirt along your ribs and the thing in his chest stutters, the strange pressure threatening to calcify into something very much like panic.

so he takes a deep breath, because master swordsmen don’t panic. those of a calm mind… or what the fuck ever.

he takes another breath and hoists you onto his shoulder, wrapping his arm around the backs of your thighs as he stands up and makes for the exit, reaching down to snag the bag of apples, grimacing as he hooks them onto his free shoulder. they’re heavier than he’d expected.

he’s halfway to the docks before you start to stir and he slows his pace ever so slightly, careful not to dig his shoulder into your still-open wound.

“have a good nap?”

you groan, and he almost grins as he feels you trying to wiggle out of his grasp. he doesn’t break his stride even as he adjusts you on his shoulder and keeps on walking.

“l-let me down — i can walk —”

“nope. don’t feel like it.”

“i’m sorry, okay?”

you sigh, the tension once again leaving your body and for a second zoro worries that you’d passed out again, but the next second, he feels your fists thumping lightly against his waist.

“hm. don’t remember asking you to apologize.”

but he does slow his step. he steps onto the bustling boardwalk, ignoring the strange, lingering looks of passersby as he hauls you bodily towards where the going merry is docked.

“doesn’t mean i shouldn’t.”

he pauses then, bending down slightly to let you slip from his shoulders, keeping his arm wrapped around you even as you slide down the length of his torso to land on your feet. your palms are pressed to his chest as you look up at him, and for a moment, as zoro searches the depths of your eyes, he isn’t sure if he wants to kiss you for being alright or scream at you for putting yourself in danger in the first place.

like this, he can feel all of you pressing against all of him, and the thing inside his chest still feels like something of a monster but at least it’s no longer tearing him apart from the inside out. it beats, uncoordinated, against his sternum, thumping up till he can feel it at the base of his throat.

he lets himself look at you, lets his eyes roam the planes of your face, lingering on the bruise kissing the corner of your mouth. he licks his lips and looks away.

“what the hell were you doing buying so many apples anyway?”

at this, you purse your lips, your lashes fluttering hummingbird quick as you look away.

“uhm… i — i can’t tell you.”

zoro rolls his eyes as he bends down, and in one swift motion, tosses you back over his shoulder. you yelp in surprise as he starts to make his way towards the ship again, seemingly deaf to your protests as you kick our your legs and thump your fists against his back.

“really, warn me, the next time you plan on getting kidnapped for ransom, would’ya?”

but he can’t help the slight smile that twitches at the edge of his lips even as he carries you onto the merry’s deck, kicking open the kitchen door to set you on the long wooden prep table.

because you’re still here, warm and breathing beside him, a bit banged up and bloodied, sure, but alive nonetheless. he’d gotten to you in time.

the creature inside his chest purrs in contentment even as he schools his expression back into a suitable scowl as you pout at him from the kitchen table, saying something about not planning on getting kidnapped, and he quips back something about all this being a bad idea from get.

he allows himself a secret, relieved sigh as he starts to rummage around for the first aid kit he knows is there somewhere, glancing over his shoulder at the sound of your summer sun laughter, watching as you wince and clutch at your wounded side.

how’s he to tell you that with you, the monster inside him starts to feel like much less monster and much more man? and that the day he met you, he stopped thinking of himself as a natural disaster -- only that he might be naturally a disaster sometimes, but something else in all the moments in between.

so he settles for dressing your wounds instead, pressing his palm to the soft expanse of your skin, holding still the shivers that threaten to shake him to his very bones when his fingertips graze against the ridges of your ribs, his other hand resting on the soft plush of your hip.

he settles for kissing you quiet when you start to ramble, because he can’t let himself think of the other things he might want to do to you if you’d let him. he settles, as the monster in him settles as well.

because with you, he knows he is both monster and man, and he knows — judging by the way you smile at him as he pulls back from your kiss — that you wouldn’t have him any other way.

opla!zoro reqs open!

[bitterrobin]

I see a lot of confusion on why calling Damian Wayne "feral" is racist/problematic, so here's a rundown.

There's a difference between calling your child or your younger sibling "feral" and calling a character like Damian "feral." You know your child/sibling/niece/nephew etc. They're real people, and unless they have a problem with it personally, then there's nothing wrong with calling them feral as a joke. It doesn't (shouldn't) affect their perceptions by other people. It doesn't become a label that follows them.

Damian al Ghul-Wayne is a fictional character. A canonically mixed Arab/Chinese/Jewish White character with a history connected to some of the most prominent Arab comic book characters, who themselves also get insanely mischaracterized.

He's constantly whitewashed. He's been written with racist undertones (the suicide bomber vest). He's had his character development and progress backtracked time and time again by DC. DC treats him weirdly most days and completely shitty in the worst stories.

A good majority of fanon hasn't done any better than DC. You cannot pat yourselves on the back for being more inclusive or mental health aware than DC when you call a mixed Arab/Chinese boy "feral". It's constant. You can come up with various titles and nuances for every Bat-character, for every Robin.

Tim can be smart, a skater, a genius, the one holding everyone together, the little brother, the one who needs love. Jason can be cool, morally "right" or "wrong", unstable, PTSD-stricken, the one who was betrayed, the one with Shakespearean tragedies. Dick can be fun, happy, the first one, the prodigal son, the one with complicated history and the big brother.

You give them room for exploration. Love and care and attention and research. Many headcanons. You either comply with canon or you don't, but there's substance to their character.

What does Damian get? He's feral. He's rabid. He's a gremlin. He can't be reasoned with. He has no self-control, he's impulsive. He's hurt others, and you can't forgive it. Sometimes he's homophobic. Or classist. Or plain mean and rude to your favorite boy. He's always carrying a sword. A psychopath with no regard for another's well-being (usually Tim in a lot of fics). He can't be taught what's right.

I've seen people cry that Damian needs to punished or kicked out or treated the same way he's treated others. He needs to be brutalized or talked down to. He can never grow as a person, because he's mean to Tim or Jason, and you need him to exist as the abuser. His first move is always violent.

Fanon compares him to an animal often; he bites, claws, hisses, growls. Bruce or Dick or Jason or Tim have to wrangle him, tame him, civilize him the white man's way in lieu of his brown mother and grandfather who "clearly" raised him wrong. You don't see the issue with that? The issue with always labeling one of the few major brown characters in Batman comics as the unreasonable animal? That the child of color is always the abuser, the instigator, to older characters?

And even if you don't see him this way, you don't write him this way - then are you giving him the care and attention you give for other Bat characters?

Do you know anything else about him other than his "anger"? Because he isn't always angry. In fact, he's typically well-mannered. Quiet even, when he's not being provoked. DC's writing will always vary but whenever Damian lashes out, he's usually written with a reason to act the way he does.

Are you making him intelligent like he should be? A hard believer in redemption? A neglected and abused child who isn't meek or crying or closes himself within? Are you willing to explore that he's always exhibited the "wrong" kind of trauma responses - lashing out, being snippy, ruining relationships, refusing to admit weakness?

Do you write anything about him without making his mother and grandfather comically abusive and violent? Will you give him the supporting cast/friends he actually has? Can you write his dad/siblings interacting with him without making them white saviors or therapy pets? Can you write him without a ship or his love for animals or being vegetarian overshadowing everything?

Is he a character to you at all other than a glorified plot device with a sharp tongue and the convenience of being violent?

[neon-tigre95]

some more emotionally unavailable sniper-dad coming right up

[densewentz]

i taught myself to crochet this past week and lads i gotta admit it has become absolute hell on my bank account

[cartooname]

It's been a while since I've made some colored ship art of these two.

Tried using Ibis paint again after 2-3 years on PC.

She has tears in her eyes cause she's just so obsessed with him. Nothing new really-

[startixx]

i’m sobbing

[ap-kinda-lit]

Pretty face

Small waist

with a big ol a—

[odessastone]

My favorite part of writing Lifeweaver is playing up his usual silly goofy funney guy act, then throwing in a “his family hasn’t talked to him in 10 years” or “every day he grapples with the knowledge that he could be killed at any moment and his creation used to usher in an ecological dystopia the likes of which we’ve never seen before”

[angelsdean]

seeing a post abt how sam's early seasons anger is justified given the circumstances of his life + childhood trauma, and the post itself was fine, but then there's tags / reactions where people (samgirls / deancrits) will apply such a double standard when it comes to dean expressing any form of anger. sam's anger is good and righteous and makes sense given the circumstance, but then they'll look at dean who has also experienced a traumatic childhood + the trauma of parentification + all the trauma from being trapped in a literal horror show + hell trauma / michael possession trauma and think, "oh dean angry? dean yelling and not reacting properly to his compounding trauma? abuser! villain! controlling! bad guy!" like, everything they say to justify sam's anger and reactions to trauma also applies to dean. and why is it always a competition with samgirls / deancrits? sam does not have the monopoly on trauma / autonomy issues!! and if you think so you're really missing the point of this show. it's the trauma and autonomy issues show! it's the fighting for free will show! it's the, people trying to do their best in a world where it is far too easy to do your worst show! they all (dean, cas, sam, jack, etc) grapple with these issues and experience similar traumas. this isn't the trauma olympics show.

[sweetchildofrocknroll]

[zeroducks-2]

We need Andy Lanning’s slowburn Black Adam/Barry Allen fanfic stat.

This is literally a romance novel trope.

How did Lanning slide this past the editors is beyond me lmao.

Anyway Flashzam new ship name or?