#Hi homicidal rage

[nasa-real]

I (badly) turned your logo into a strawberry

what do you mean badly, it's beautiful

And if I wasn't already trying to figure out the right shades to make my logo pink I would use it

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

i wanna know more about svsss menopause

They synced their periods together too well. Now they are synced through their perimenopause years.

[confoodles]

he's a literal monster TO YOU

he's baby girl to me

[traumatizedjaguar]

Until there’s nothing left.

[lilapplesheadcannons]

Did you know?

Nie MingJue is the pretentious fucker that wakes up at 4:30, works out for 2 hours, takes a cold shower, drinks green kale smoothie for breakfast and walks into work 15 minutes early in immaculately pressed slacks whistling Will Ferrell's "Happy".

He goes fishing at weekends, keeps his indoor citrus tree alive, and can drink his body weight without getting a hangover

[m1d-45]

thinking abt red. he is the EPITOME of “ken only has a good day if barbie looks at him.” if you’re too busy with diplomatic god shit to be able to hang out with him he is MISERABLE. diluc breathes in his general direction and he has to be held back from committing murder because his patience is being tested and he will not have it - teddy anon

SO REAL

i’ve been thinking about red recently too, coincidentally. him and shade are such guys…

i imagine diluc is trying to be friendly, both because he’s one of your closest guards, and also because… well, he’s him. it’s weird to see a version of yourself that you’ve long since buried, weirder to know that your god prefers that version of yourself… but he does his best to make peace with him.

it doesn’t work, mostly because red couldn’t care less about anything that wasn’t you or your comfort. he doesn’t want to talk with diluc- doesn’t want to even be in the same room if he can help it. on their own, red and diluc would never get along, even if it’s solely red’s fault.

however, were you to be there.. then maybe he could hold off for an hour or two. sit next to him and make sure to check in on him, and he’ll mostly behave himself for the night.

(of course, by ‘behave’ he means keeping the snarling to a minimum.)

due to his... tendencies, red has quickly garnered his own reputation. when you're called to a formal meeting—one that discusses something important, such as with the qixing or akademiya—the letter will sometimes include a clause requesting that you please come alone. red always fusses and frets, asking for a time you'll be back. make sure to give him a time at least half an hour after you truly expect to return, or he'll come find you himself.

(speaking of. he should not be let out without supervision. please keep all reds on a 6ft leash at all times)

also. i will insert shade in here for no particular reason. red hates being left behind because he can't stand the idea of you being without protection and does't trust anybody else to do as good a job as him, but shade hates being left behind in the same way that a cat does. he whines and clutches your hand in his, pleading to be allowed to go. he's considerably less intrusive than red, but that's a rather low bar considering red glares at anybody who isn't you.

[master-sass-blast]

harvest - what fictional character do you most identify with? Why?

cider - a food that you disliked as a child but now enjoy?

Harvest: Oh, Lord. I don't know if I so much as identify with characters as I step inside them, figure out what makes them tick, then puppet them around for fun.

I mean, I did have a phase where I felt some sort of sympathetic connection with the Punisher (specifically Jon Bernthal's Punisher, but only from the second season of Daredevil and the first season of The Punisher) because I've also gone through extensive loss, and I understand the kind of pain and trauma that just eats you away from the inside, but that was also when I was going through trying to find the right anti-depressants (which took six TERRIBLE months), so I don't know how objective that all was.

Hm. It might just be that I don't really identify *with* characters. I focus on trying to understand them and their motivations for the sake of my writing.

Cider: I'm more tolerant of spicy food now. Not, like, in any amazing capacity, but it's there.

[opheliaoversteers]

i'm losing my god damn mind

[badolmen]

Ngl I wasn’t a fan of Flint season 1 but now that we’re getting some whys behind his absolutely batshit insane behavior and choices he’s growing on me like algae

[nasa-real]

I made your logo pink

yay! Time for the barbie movie

[luveline]

hi! your stories are so captivating😍 Thank you so much for doing them!

If you feel inspired I would love to see a story of Spencer x badass reader where she physically defends him from an unsub and/or verbally from someone they are working with like a cop or something

tysm! ♡ 1k

Sweat drips into your eye. 

It follows a line down your cheek like a teardrop and hits your swat vest with a thud. Quiet has settled with the heat, a blanket encompassing everything, your one drop of sweat enough to give you away. The unsub stills at his computer screen, white light bouncing against his jaw. He looks up like he's looking for rain. 

He turns right first. He sees Spencer. 

"FBI," Spencer announces steadily. 

You point your weapon at his chest. "Put your hands up and stand against the wall." 

Cory doesn't look like he's going to surrender so easily. "You have three children upstairs," you say, though it's not true. The children sit outside in foil blankets, and with any luck they'll be taken somewhere safer before the arrest. "Three young children who love you. What do you want them to think of you now? Come peacefully." 

Cory's face rippled with rage quickly masked. He sits back from his computer and pauses. Then, slowly, he puts his hands against the wall. 

"Reid," Morgan instructs, at your left, his gun similarly trained. 

Spencer moves forward to handcuff him. It's not your normal routine but it isn't out of your jurisdiction, quieter arrests often mean you act as cops rather than full-fledged agents. "Cory Harrison, you are under arrest for the homicide of Tara Harrison. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say–" 

The handcuffs clink as they're whipped from Spencer's grasp, one cuff open, the other closed around Cory's wrist, the links brought unapologetic to the pale curve of Spencer's throat. 

Spencer grabs for his gun. Cory pulls the cuffs tight, forcing Spencer closer to his chest and choking the air from his throat. 

You reposition your aim. Another drop of sweat curves past your eyebrow. The basement humidity and your panic threaten to blind you. 

"Let him go," Morgan says sharply. 

"I'll shoot you if I have to." 

Cory scoffs at you. "And shoot through string bean?" 

You tense your finger against the trigger of your glock. "I have good aim," you say simply. 

You have no intention of firing. Cory has a standard issue pair of handcuffs to his discretion. He isn't big or muscled enough to kill Spencer bare-handed, not quickly, and he's on unsure footing. 

You step closer. Cory snarls. "Stay back. I'll kill him, you stupid bitch–" 

Men. Cory killed his defenceless wife with rohypnol and a rope and now he thinks he can win a fight against two agents trained extensively (admittedly one more than the other) in defence. He's lucky Spencer's in the way —you would've attempted to push his nose into his brain. As it stands, you hook your leg between his and Spencer's, your teammate more than aware of the manoeuvre you're about to pull. With one hand you pull the cuff links cruelly up against Spencer's neck but away, most importantly, allowing him the room to dive from Cory's grasp, and with the other you tuck your gun out of Cory's reach. His arms up, his stomach open, you pull your leg behind his knee and grate your foot down his calf.

He collapses to the floor. You stomp your foot into his groin. 

Morgan saves you the chore of cuffing him a second time. He reads the Miranda Rights by heart as you catch your breath, stepping back into Spencer's open hands. 

You relax at his touch. He's alright, he–

"Did I hurt you?" you ask, spinning on your heel. 

Spencer pouts at you, irked at being worried after. "Of course you didn't." 

"Your neck, I almost choked you like he was," you say, mindful of the agents and specialists flooding the room to secure the crime scene and any evidential material. 

Spencer lifts his chin. "Doesn't hurt." 

There's a rubbed red line up the column of his throat, but it could be worse. You finally wipe the sweat from your face, exhausted and ecstatic that you got the bad guy. 

"Come on," Spencer says.

You follow him outside. In the grass yard waits medical, parked along the entirety of the street stands law enforcement. Hotch nods at you as you return and you take it as a job well done, slouching against the side of a cop car to take a breather. 

"You okay?" Spencer asks. 

You grab for his hand without looking at him. His fingers are warm, neat as they slot through yours. "Why do they always pick on you?" you ask. 

Hotch's voice startles you, but you don't take back your hand. "They underestimate him," he says. "And you. Do you need anything? You're looking…"

"I'm fine." You're tired, too hot, and the short-lived adrenaline of a confrontation is crashing. "Thanks, Hotch." 

He trudges away. Spencer draws closer as you bend forward, his hand on your back. "Are you sure you're okay?" 

"No, I feel awful. I feel sick," you confess. 

He's the only person you'd ever admit it to. You crave his comfort. Spencer must read your mind (or more likely, the twitch of your sore back), his hand landing in the space between your shoulders as he crowds you. "That makes sense. High stress situations make us nauseous because of the fight or flight response. Our body's aren't good at keeping neurotransmitters where they're meant to be. Adrenaline mostly, but cortisol too. It's probably the norepinephrine that's making you feel sick." 

"How do I make it calm down?" 

"Just take a deep breath," he says, rubbing your back. 

You breathe in and out until the sick feeling subsides. Spencer prompts you into standing tall. 

"You know everything," you say fondly, touching his elbow. "Thank you." 

He nudges you. "Thank you for defending me." 

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

The adventures of Eddie Munson, jerk

Written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge January 2024 edition

Prompt: hole, 404 words

Rated: T

Tags: modern AU; meet cute; HOH Steve Harrington; Eddie "foot in mouth" Munson; Eddie being a horny shit

Notes: based on this idea I posted a while ago. I'd link it, but alas, the tumblr search function sucks. I'll add it when I find it I guess. (Edit: found it!)

Ping.

Eddie's about to commit homicide in an airport terminal. Walk over to that asshole with the laptop and throttle him with the cord. Bury him in a shallow hole, chuck his beeping hell machine right-

Okay, breathe. 

He's overreacting. The guy's an inconsiderate jerk, but he doesn’t deserve to be murdered. Eddie's just a bit on edge ‘cause he got up at ass o'clock and now his flight is delayed and his neck is hurting from the plastic chairs and his phone is dying and- 

Ping.

Okay, that's it. 

Eddie stomps over, propelled by rage and too many energy drinks.

“Hey, asshole!”

Laptop jerk just continues typing. So he thinks he can ignore him, huh? Eddie reaches him just as the laptop dings again, grabs him by the shoulder. 

“Hey, dickhead, I'm talking to you.” 

Laptop jerk flinches so hard he nearly sends his device flying, head whipping up and- 

-shit, he's cute. Big, hazel eyes full of shocked confusion under a swoop of chestnut hair. Perfect, pouty lips parted in surprise. Eddie has a sudden impulse to wrap a hand around the curve of that throat, drop his voice, tell him to say sorry like a good boy. 

Which would be … wildly inappropriate. 

“Listen,” he says instead. “Your beeping is annoying the living hell outta me, so-” 

Something is pressed into his hand. Something rectangular and plasticy, like a business card.

“What the fuck?” Eddie mutters, lifts it so that he can read what it says. 

Hi, I'm Steve. I'm hard of hearing. 

Wait, what?

Eddie's eyes flit back to laptop jerk's face. He's smiling, but there's a distinct undercurrent of confusion and concern. Like he doesn’t know why Eddie's so angry, which is true of course, because he can't fucking hear, has no idea what he did wrong and fuuuuck, who's the jerk now? 

That shallow hole still sounds tempting, just for entirely different reasons. 

“Erm, it's just …” he starts, more slowly now, those pretty eyes following the movement of his lips. “I've been wondering if maybe …” 

Steve tilts his head. 

"... you'd wanna have coffee? My flight's delayed and-” 

If the curl of Steve's mouth is anything to go by, he knows exactly that this isn't what he wanted to say. 

He nods anyway. 

By the time Eddie’s flight lifts off, his phone is dead, but there's a sticky note with a number tucked into his pocket.

[ckret2]

I've been thinking about Ford's shockingly poorly-timed "Grammar, Stanley" comment, and I've got a take on it I haven't seen go by:

Most folks I've seen think Ford's decision to pick on Stan's grammar comes from being coldly aloof and oblivious to Stan's mood. I think it's the opposite. I think he was keenly aware of the situation and too angry to think straight.

From the moment Ford was unfrozen, here's every single thing Stan said:

[coldly/sarcastically] Hey, good to see you too, bro. Now let's get outta here, huh?

Drawing a circle on the floor. Well, he's lost his mind.

You realize this is a bunch of hogwash, right? You really think some caveman graffiti is gonna stop that monster?

Whoa. Hey. I'm not the enemy here, people. Don't forget who literally created the end of the world.

Fine. Just do one thing. Say "thank you." [From Ford's perspective, Stan's holding the safety of the universe hostage to make him apologize, and in front of a bunch of other people who have just been dragged into their family mess]

I spent thirty years trying to bring you back into this dimension and you still haven't thanked me! You want me to shake your hand? Say "thank you."

Now, see. Between me and him, I'm not always the bad twin.

Every single thing out of Stan's mouth is either subtly snide, or a blatant insult. Ford's just been through literal torture, is trying to save the universe, already feels like this is all his fault, is trying to get his grumpy brother to cooperate—and he's just getting jab after jab after jab. He's called insane, stupid, the bad twin, the enemy, and he's forced to thank the man who just said all this.

By that point, Ford was probably as angry as Stan. He didn't care about his grammar; he wanted to knock his dentures out. A passive-aggressive swing at his grammar was Ford trying to restrain his seething rage while letting just a little of the pressure whistle out like a tea kettle. Sure, it was petty and very counter productive; but it wasn't out of nowhere. He couldn't get into it with Stan over the "bad twin" comment, so he aimed his snark at another part of the sentence.

This is a furious brother suppressing his urge to commit homicide by channeling it through his grade school know-it-all instincts. … and, in the process, accidentally inspiring the other furious brother to commit homicide.

(Plus picking on your brother's grammar during the apocalypse is such a deliberately annoying sibling thing to do.)

[artiststarme]

Dead or Alive

After Spring Break, no one could find Eddie Munson dead or alive. His Uncle Wayne, the angry mob, even the police couldn’t locate him so everyone assumed he was dead. Some grieved his loss but most celebrated his apparent demise believing it to be what he deserved after killing Chrissy, Fred, Patrick, and Jason and hurting poor Max Mayfield.

Once the town recovered enough, Wayne bought a headstone for an empty grave and dutifully washed off the new graffiti that appeared each day. The kids of the Party mourned the loss of their idealistic Dungeon Master and disbanded Hellfire Club out of respect to him. And Robin and Steve disappeared to Steve’s empty house to grieve the loss of a friend (or so it seemed).

Because while everyone thought they were grieving and finding support in each other, they were actually caring for Eddie’s wounds and watching gay movies on Steve’s couch. They are junk food, cuddled in front of the TV, and appreciated being alive.

Steve couldn’t be around the party because he was supposed to be broken-hearted but it was the opposite. While he left the Upside Down the most recent time with more scars, both mental and physical, it also gave him everything he’d ever wanted. It took him away from the job he hated, gave him more time to spend with Robin, and it gave him a prospective boyfriend.

He felt bad keeping Eddie a secret away from the kids and his uncle but he had no other choice. Until he and Robin could brainstorm a logical explanation for his innocence and return from the dead, it’d be the three of them in hiding. Which to him, wasn’t a bad thing. Between the love of Robin and Eddie, his house felt less like a crypt and more like a home.

After a few weeks, they’d all gotten used to their solitary. Imagine their surprise when someone walks in on the three of them watching the Rocky Horror Picture Show right on the scene of Rocky showing off his fishnet clad calves. Imagine Officer Phil Callahan’s horror when his eyes landed on an injured homicidal maniac sitting half on his brother’s lap while drooling over Tim Curry. And imagine Steve’s mortification when his brother stood unmoving in the doorway of the living room with one hand on his hip and the other held over his open mouth in shock.

“WHAT IN THE FUCK IS EDWARD MUNSON DOING IN OUR PARENT’S LIVING ROOM?!” Phil shrieked, his face going red in barely concealed rage.

Steve, Eddie, and Robin all spoke at once.

“Is he? Oh my goodness, I didn’t notice. Steve, Eddie is in your house!”

“It’s just Eddie, you piece of shit.”

“Ok technically, I can explain.”

Phil just looked at them like all three of them were insane. “HE’S A KILLER!”

“No he’s not. He’s just a metalhead, Phil.”

“What is that supposed to do with anything, Steve?! I don’t care that he’s a metalhead, I care that he murdered at least three people in a week!”

Steve shot up from his seat so he was nearly eye-level with Phil. “Woah, he did not! I was with him the entire week and neither of us killed anyone.”

Phil just shook his head in confused exhaustion. “Is he dangerous?”

Steve looked him directly in the eye, “no! He didn’t do anything and he’s one of my best friends now.”

“Fine. I’m not dealing with this shit tonight. You,” he pointed at Eddie, “don’t kill anyone. And Steve, do not wake me up before ten AM unless someone is getting killed. Jesus Christ.”

He stomped up the stairs, grumbling under his breath the entire way. Meanwhile, Steve sat back down next to Eddie and gave him a small smile. “Well, that went better than expected.”

Eddie looked at him in disbelief, “did it Steve? Did it?”

(It, in fact, did not. The next morning, Steve had to tackle Phil away from the phone when he tried to call the chief and then had to hold him down while Robin rambled the entire story in an impressive four minutes. He only gave up once Steve threatened to disappear himself and Eddie (and Robin) forever without ever contacting Phil again.)

Should I make this into a longer fic? Let me know in the comments please!

[sephifrog]

Sephiroth Alphabet Headcanons

A -Affirmations (what he calls you)

Treasure, pet sweetheart

B -Blush (does he blush when you're close by?/How do you make him blush)

He would will it away in public not wanting to have people catch him lacking however when alone he will allow himself the pleasure of letting his guard down and feeling the flush on his cheeks while you fuss over him

C -Comfort (how does he comfort you or what do you do that comforts him)

Another one who loves his hair played with, face hidden in your chest and letting the warmth from your body ground him, if in public link pinkies and he can breathe again all in all you as a whole are calming

He’s very awkward when comforting you he only knows how you comfort him so in the beginning he mimics what you do for him, playing with your hair. holding you close but as your relationship progresses he starts to branch out, distracting you by talking about his swords because you told him his voice calms you, letting you rant about anything and everything 

D -Dates ( what do you do on your dates)

Dinner at his flat! He likes being open with you but it’s hard to do in public so he cooks for you/you cook together or you watch him train he shows off but he would refuse to admit it

Your first date was pretty much perfect he almost burnt the steak because he was nervous but it was the best you ever had and he feels his chest fill with pride when you tell him as such

E -End (what would end your relationship?)

 Like Genesis Being in Silver Elite but for different reasons -if you lied, feel he seldom trusts people, and if you break it it's over, and if you side with Hojo in any way

F -Fear (what he’s afraid of)

You being afraid of him, you’re the only person that’s treated him as a human and not a weapon so seeing fear in your eyes would break him- also if Hojo was to take you from him

G -Gossip

He’ll listen to you no matter what you’re talking about but rarely takes part in it unless it’s about any of his friends because man would use that against them

H -Hold (how he holds you)

He’s afraid he would hurt you at the beginning so it’s always a light hold when you’ve been together for a while he holds you more firmly as long as you're against him he doesn’t care how he holds you

I -Injured (what would he do if you were hurt?)

Death to whoever hurt you he would destroy the world for you -if he isn’t allowed to kill them he would make them suffer in training

J -Jealous (is he Jealous?)

Not really it’s more of a homicidal rage if someone is trying to take you from him :)

K -Kiss (favourite place to kiss)

He loves kissing you full stop but if he had to choose your collarbone and pulse points (wrist, neck, etc)

He feels loved and safe when you kiss his scars and head 

L -Laugh (something that makes him laugh)

When you try and square up with him or when you steal his clothes

M -Memory (his favourite memory with you)

When you took care of him after his treatments 

N -Needy

Surprisingly yeah- I feel like he is he never shows it through 

O -Over (what is something you had to get over as partners)

His fears of hurting you 

P -PDA

Only if hidden, pinky linking under the table, brushing hands as you walk past

Q -Quip (can he joke around with you? Do you have inside jokes)

His humor is dry and fleeting but if you laugh he feels his chest warm

R -Romantic (is he romantic?)

Not really in a traditional sense but he looks after you and watches over you That is the only way he really knows how to express his affection but he’s learning

S -Sephiroth

He is hard to win over but when you have he’s hard to lose he would make sure you’re taken care of but can disappear on missions for days. He would never stray and only has eyes for you, you are one of the most protected people in the world

When he snaps he either kills you first in a rage or takes you somewhere secluded and tries to live out his days with just you (and your children because he would want a family)

T -Treasure (what is something he had that reminds him of you and what did he give you to remind you of him?)

He gave you one of his first weapons something he wouldn’t even let others look at but he wanted you protected and only trusted weapons he used and modded

You gave him love something he never really experienced and even after all the gifts you made and brought for him your love is the thing he treasures most 

U -Unlikely (what is something that he would probably never do)

He would never Hurt you purposely 

V -vulnerable

Only with you when in the safety of his flat/your house

W -Wedding (would he want to get married?)

Honestly, whatever you want he would be happy with but if he had to choose, a small intimate wedding with those he trusts 

X -(e)X (would he be friends with an ex)

He’s never had one and if he did No there’s a reason they split and it would have to be something serious for him to let go of them 

Y -Year (how would he act on New Year's?)

Doesn’t really care for celebrations and if he’s not forced to a Shinra party he would want to spend the night with you

Z -Zoo (would you get any pets?)

Feel like Angeal would talk him into getting a dog-

[syneilesis]

I started something with Gabriel from What in Hell is Bad? and in a game about devils and demons, I just had to latch onto the homicidal angel 😂 I don't know if I could finish this, so I'm posting what I already have. Warnings for religious sacrilege and dubcon. This is supposed to lead to revenge/hatesex, but I ran out of steam before it even happened lol. For reference, this is how Gabriel looks like. An incentive for me is that he's voiced by Tamamo Azul Tsumugi Amano Haru. Divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

There's something to be said about the pure and divine, tainted and in chains. It's the control, perhaps. The power over one that is seen as untouchable, grander. Superior. That blinding radiance—smudged into ambiguity. Doubt. Beauty in the sullied.

Gabriel looks at you with incandescent hostility in his crystal-glass eyes, and a frisson of thrill runs down your spine. You bite your lip to keep the grin threatening to escape at bay.

“Child of Solomon,” he proclaims, still proud despite his tattered armor, despite his enchained limbs. His bruise is a stark cloud on his cheek, and the blood on the corner of his mouth still drips. “The last thing you'll see before I kill you is the joy I'll feel striking you down. Remember that.”

You hum. “Just empty words from someone who can't even move his legs.”

Propped against the wall, arms raised and shackled, Gabriel remains beautifully defiant. He jerks against his restraints as if to lunge at you, but the only freedom he's afforded is the manic hatred fracturing his stubborn resistance. Almost mocking, you kneel, his hips between your legs, and trace the blood that lines his chin. When he moves to retaliate, you grab his jaw and hold him firmly, admonishing.

When he first appeared to you, long ago, Gabriel had said, in that melancholy voice of his, that your death is nothing personal. But now, his savage transformation lights the blood in your veins, the bright, acrid taste of his loathing, his current helplessness.

So you kiss him.

It's all teeth: unforgiving and merciless in the face of his rage. He attempts to bite you but your hand grips his face in warning.

He ignores it, and you growl, an iron-tang sting on your lower lip, which you lick off above his darkly crescent stare.

“The fact that you're here, captive, means that your God has abandoned you.”

He bares his bloody teeth like a beast.

That doesn't deter you; in fact, it elates you, that hot rush of satisfaction shooting through your veins. It makes you lean towards him, your lips a hair's breadth away from his own. And then you ghost along, upward, until you can whisper directly in his ear: “I am your God now.”

His fury almost destroys his chains, but you're assured of their strength, so you only move slightly backward to avoid his attempt at an attack.

You don't miss his full-body shudder before that.

He trembles under your palms, harsh twitches when your skin comes into contact with his, and you draw a line at his sternum, remembering how his weapon drew his own blood and marked you, his forever prey.

You tear at the remaining fabric of his clothing. The cacophony echoes his rasping breaths.

Between your legs, his arousal strains against his trousers.