#deranged human being

[lairn]

I just went and read all the posts on my private blog recording my ex-boss’s horribleness and wow, he really sucked shit.

[always-a-joyful-note]

Enstars sure is an experience. Did I miss anything?

[callsthefaithful]

b4 death B) - angel w a little hat below cut <3

tried to stick to their death dates a bit but. idk i only googled for like 5 mins. also i wanted those old news print colours 😌

[oneluckydragon]

Thinking about how these two met. Get adopted, idiot.

More human!Echo.

[artofrolsch]

She's fine, she's just fine, you're fine, we're ALL FINE

Kind of a redraw of this frame from the book! Just wanted to play with some glitch effects yk

[ilynpilled]

i strongly agree that “shipping” should not be automatically conflated with annoying tendencies that are very common in fan spaces, and you are not a more earnest and intellectual fan or whatever if you are opposed to it and neglect it lol. it is a sentiment that i have noticed growing as a reaction to how ship centric and virulent discussion of art can become, but romantic relationships and sex obviously can and will typically be an extremely integral part of characters and stories, and it is pretty hilarious to act like and imply that “it is not worthwhile, it is unserious and just self indulgent, and it diminishes what stories and dynamics are really about.” if you are vigorously opposed to engaging with these aspects of characters and their stories and are condescending towards others for doing so you might be missing huge chunks of the very writing you herald, which does not make you all that different from the people you are fuming about lmao

[vasito-de-leche]

;R1999 PAVIA - "sleeping dogs"

Pavia x Reader. 2k words. fluff Pavia's eye bags keep getting bigger and bigger, so you take matters into your own hands and force him to take a nap with you.

starting the sleepytime saga about blorbos getting some good fucking rest and writing a oneshot about it everytime i get sleepy because the world could do with better naps and more zzz's

this was all self-indulgent fluffy mess to make up for the constant FMN bullying in other posts

"You'll get sleepy in no time, trust me on this."

"Like hell I will," despite his protests, Pavia dutifully follows after you. Once you two reach the edge of the bed, he makes a show out of kicking off his shoes while pouting the whole time, if only to continue rebelling against you and your ideas. "What am I? A kid?"

"You're a grown ass man, Pavia - so act like it."

That gets a snicker out of him, and he instantly seethes about it - he's meant to be mad at you for suggesting something stupid. What follows is a long groan and a roll of the eyes, but he knows you're pretending not to hear him as you climb into the mess of pillows and blankets that he calls a bed. As usual, his room is a damn mess.

"It's just a nap, it won't kill you. Promise!"

It only takes a moment for you to get comfortable, rambling about the "golden hour" for naps - according to you, it was good to leave the curtains partially drawn to allow a small amount of sunlight into the room.

You're so convinced of this that Pavia can't bring himself to remind you: he doesn't need any type of light to see, his eyes having long adjusted to being shrouded in darkness. Instead, he lets you ramble as he makes his way to close the door.

Before he can do so, however, a few dark figures stumble and slide inside, all of them a little more eager and curious at the prospect of napping than their master.

Andrea sniffs around you while Tonika and Leon claim their spots under the bed, their snouts and goofy smiles partially visible. Peter makes an attempt to hop onto the mattress, but slips off and settles for laying down at his master's feet.

Pavia, of course, glares at them as if betrayed. The only one who stands by his side is Maleficent, imitating his expression to the best of her ability.

"Are you seeing this shit, Maleficent? Traitors, all of 'em."

The wolf in question huffs in agreement, and Pavia reluctantly sits down next to you, waiting for your permission.

It's only once you pat the empty space next to you - his spot, for him and the pack only - that Pavia plops down. Unlike you, he rests over the blankets and casually clasps his hands over his stomach, idly looking at the ceiling. With his schedule being all over the place and his unusual reservations, sleep is something Pavia does out of immediate necessity. Only allowing himself to sleep for a handful of hours when his body is at the brink of collapse, and so he finds himself wondering what to do now that you're forcing him to sleep recreationally.

Even so, his body language is relaxed and comfortable, that casual and lazy air he only has whenever he's around you. This is his home, after all.

Pavia doesn't think about the basement in Piedmont, but he sure holds his breath on instinct for a second. It's an old, nasty habit - the aftermath of all of his constant screaming and begging, as there was nothing else to do but sit and wait for someone to let him out. In the stillness of the room, he can hear everything: your breathing and his own, faint voices outside in the wilderness, someone passing by in the hallway - it's that kid with the balloons, judging by sound of her skipping around. The darkness cannot hurt him, not when he's reclaimed power over it, not when he's with you and the pack.

Something shifts in his peripheral. It's you, propped on your elbows and leaning over him.

"Don't tell me you're going to sleep with your glasses on." You don't wait for an answer and reach out to gently take them off, placing them neatly on the nightstand. For some reason, Pavia feels a little naked without them. "There, much better! Is that how you wanna sleep, then?"

Your question gives him pause, and he immediately defaults to his usual antics. "Now you're gonna tell me how to lay down? What's this, some dumb pop quiz I didn't prepare for? Next thing, you'll be telling me how to snore properly."

"Alright, fine, damn! But it's sooo cozy and toasty under the blankets." To prove your point, you slide down and sink deeper into the mattress, humming with that content expression. The blankets cover half of your face, and your big, dumb, bright eyes look up at him with mischief and amusement. "You're missing out."

"And you're going to start hogging the blankets the second you fall asleep, so what's the point?"

This isn't the first and it won't be the last time you two sleep together in the same bed, he knows your sleeping habits like the back of his hand by now. Pavia makes sure to pay attention to each and every little detail when it comes to you, after all.

"Oh my god, Pavia - just get in. It's easier this way." Pavia does as told, only because you're the one asking so nicely, and he lays on his side to face you. "Perfect, now come here."

"You're awfully bossy today, did you notice?"

He leans in once your hands reach out to cradle his face, rubbing soothing circles with your thumbs and coaxing him, ever so slowly, into resting his head on the space between your shoulder and your neck. There is no resistance from Pavia's part, the way his body melts with yours is automatic - like old pieces of a well-loved puzzle that simply click together time and time again.

Pavia's arms wrap around your torso and he brings you even closer, impossibly so, as if wanting to merge with you. The content sigh gives him away, and he wishes he could see your expression once he smiles into your skin. You were right, it is much better this way. There's no way Pavia could ever get tired of touching you like this.

"Getting sleepy?"

"Not yet," he murmurs into the crook of your neck, wondering whether to leave kisses or start biting you. He settles for the latter, a way to get back at you - it's a gentle nip that catches you off-guard, if that small gasp of protest is anything to go by. "If you want me to fall asleep, you're doing a really shitty job."

For a moment, he thinks you're mad at him when no answer comes, usually you'd pinch his back or bite him back. Instead, he feels your fingers softly carding through his hair, your nails on his scalp, moving in slow sweeping motions. Okay, maybe he spoke a little too soon. Being surrounded by you felt like heaven.

Pavia shifts, now burying his face in your chest. Like this, he can hear your heartbeat loud and clear, and he closes his eyes to take in the sound, committing it to memory.

While he's far from falling asleep any time soon, the weight and stress of the daily routine has certainly left his shoulders. Everything about you is soft and welcoming, and he has to restrain himself from biting you again once he feels you lean in, just to kiss the top of his head.

Fuck it, he bites the nearest spot, unable to contain his affection for you. The way he shows love might be unorthodox, but what matters to Pavia is that you understand the thought behind each action and word - he loves with an open mouth, greedy and full of love. A big bad wolf, one hair away from eating you up. And even then, he never bites hard enough to leave any marks nor to hurt you, not unless you ask him to.

Your laugh resonates in your throat and he keeps you from squirming away just to feel it vibrate in your neck.

Between this and your heartbeat, he doesn't know which one to pick as his favorite sound. The way you say his name behind closed doors, so softly and so gently just for him to hear, is definitely up there with the others in his personal ranking.

"Stop biting and start sleeping, idiot." There's a happy tone in your voice, one that urges him to continue bothering you.

"Easier said than done, stupid."

Taking your free hand, the one that tried so rudely to push him away in protest, Pavia presses his lips against your knuckles, one by one. You seem to like that, as hinted by the way your legs tangle up with his, locking him in place.

"I swear I'm doing my best here to get you to stop moving. Try counting sheep? Or wolves, I guess. Speaking of..."

You make an attempt to look for the pack, only for Pavia to pull you back down. He doesn't need to count the wolves, he knows exactly where they are - nestled together under the bed, laying down in the middle of the room with their soft, fluffy bellies on display, so drowsy and happy to exist in the same time and space as you. It's no mystery that each and every wolf is an extension of himself, a shameless display of his own thoughts and feelings, and even though this is something you're fully aware of, Pavia would rather save himself the embarrassment of admitting any of this.

"Now you're the one moving around, interrupting my precious sleep. What do you have to say for yourself?" He teases, hoping you'll indulge him and keep bantering back and forth - but you press a gentle kiss to his forehead instead.

"My bad..." Pavia knows you're not gonna last any longer the moment a yawn interrupts your words, and he's right - you don't speak anymore after this.

Your grip on him loosens gradually. First, it's the hand that kept playing with his hair, now gently petting him until it slowly comes to rest on the back of his neck. It's warm, so very warm. Next is your breathing, slow and steady, along with the rise and fall of your chest. Pavia nuzzles into it, feeling himself breathe in perfect harmony with you. And finally, your legs - he feels you kicking around, curling up and clumsily drawing the blankets towards you until his legs are exposed to the cold.

There it is, he thinks to himself, smitten and endeared by your sleepy crimes. It doesn't matter though, soon enough the whole pack comes climbing into the bed, forming a soft, black mass at the edge and near your feet. All of them unable to stay away from you, just like him.

Silence settles in and the world grows loud once again.

The soft panting from the pack, the voices outside, the constant stream of steps and life all over the house. Someone is in the kitchen, there's the telltale sound of glass against wood. Somewhere else, a door closes and another creaks open.

Pavia knows that you would never dare to ask the reason behind his awful sleep habits, and there's no way he could ever explain the totality of it- yet here you are, trying to help him nonetheless. It's annoying to have you constantly point out the bags under his eyes, but he respects you for it, for having the nerve to call him out and set him straight when needed. Part of him revels in the undivided attention and scrutiny, to have you all to himself whenever you scold him, examining his tired eyes.

He wonders if you know the power you hold over him, how impossible it is for him to tear his eyes from you. Even now as you sleep, Pavia feels himself slowly forget about the outside world in favour of your soft murmurs, those dumb little sounds you make that he can't get enough of.

You're doing so much for him, perhaps it's about time for him to meet you halfway. From his spot, he looks up at you one last time - he wants this view to be the last thing he sees before he drifts into a dreamless sleep.

"Night, vita mia. Don't let the bed wolves bite."

[willowser]

"oh! hey, c'mere, i gotta show you something funny!"

whatever nonsense satoru had been planning on spouting is tucked away the instant he sees your coy little grin, and one of his own grows on his face, made brighter and wider by the ease of your invitation.

yes, he's just spent the last seven minutes in your doorway, silent and scheming, thinking on what to say to attract your attention — but it doesn't matter if that's now been disrupted, because he'd take your attention any way it can be served, cold or hot. it's warm today; that much he can tell by the way you beam at him, as he comes to stand beside you.

you dig through the top drawer of your desk for a minute or two, and satoru is bubbling with things to say, now, about the little mess you keep there, but he gets distracted by the hurried, chalky handprints staining the material covering your ass. the sight makes him grin so hard that his cheeks swell, nudging his blindfold up the littlest bit; satoru finds it invigorating, this innate ability you have to fluster him. the heat in his face is surely visible, even to someone like you.

"aha!" you dance back and forth on your feet for a second, stopping only when he starts to join you, excited, and then you hold up two dangly, jingling little things right in front of his face. "a student's sister is selling these for school, and they made me think of you! so i bought us some to match!"

keychains, he realizes, suddenly sober. cute and colorful miniature ice bars.

"adorable, huh?" you pull them back to assess in your palm, touching gently at the plastic as if they were real, as if they could melt in the warmth of your hand. "which one do you want? the watermelon is the cutest, so i was gonna give you that one."

everything satoru had thought to say dissolves, leaks between his fingers, sugary and sweet. he's left with nothing, cold, then, smile frozen, as you fiddle with something so meaningless—

you look up, waiting for his response, and he watches you clock the change in his demeanor, instantly; you can't see cursed energy, but you can see — something, within him. always have been able to, though he's yet to figure out how.

"unless you want strawberry," you shrug, a little awkward now, but sunny as usual. "do you even have keys, actually, or do you—"

"no take-backs!" he snatches the dainty thing from your hand, sticking his tongue out at the flat look you send him. "i get watermelon!"

"fine," you pout for just a second before sticking your tongue out at him, too, and then you laugh quietly to yourself. amused, like a child.

once you start to dig around in your messy drawer for your car keys, satoru turns his attention to the tiny treat, focusing on it. trying to ignore the blood rushing in his ears.

it's so simple. so silly. you are, selfless and honest to a fault, all the traits that make you a liability in this world. if anything were to happen to your students, then you wouldn't make it. and if anything were to happen to you, satoru thinks—

right there in your presence, so close that he can hear your heartbeat peacefully thundering over his own — he can feel the cracks in his composure. how close he is to splintering off, how quickly everything would collapse if he dared to blink wrong.

if anything were to happen to you, satoru thinks, he'd go insane. he already has.

a small laugh leaves him, at the thought, but he closes his fist around the small keychain when you look up at him again. still grinning, leaning in so close that you're about to be stopped.

"do you like it?" you ask, open and hopeful and silly.

it makes him laugh again, because you really have no idea.

[nerosdayinanime]

sabito = dirtbike redneck. you cant convince me otherwise

[weregonnabecoolbeans]

Ten years of Captain America: The Winter Soldier!!

This movie is everything to me

[thornedsidekick]

btw ummm here's some other oc's of mine. Darla Sterling (she/her) + Simon (he/him) ... Darla is a counselor that specializes in villain therapy and her best lil emotional support monkey is Simon. Simon is psychic btw, he usually communicates via body language Or his lil collar translator he built (he has a very high intellect from all the experiments that were done on him years ago)(Darla saved him by stealing him from a lab lmao)

[monards]

fucked over for life with the knowledge rhine is techinically the youngest of the group. because it is both insanely funny and the reason icry at night

[callsthefaithful]

wip. i think he deserves a little kubrick stare. as a treat.

[always-a-joyful-note]

I love it when idol media gets into philosophical concepts like change - both in the audience's shifting interests and the idol groups' own shifts as they grow and fluctuate and change. I love how the word "idol" already connotes a manmade thing meant to be worshiped, meant to be something we look to for eternity, meant to be something we project our desires and support so we'll receive some temporary happiness. And boy, do I love how they impose that religious image of an idol (by accident) upon humans who DO indeed change, which makes it all the more crushing when change DOES happen.

[4lph4kidz]

[04tenno]

Listen to me.

Funny little yuppie

Considered very handsome and "moderate"; capacity for violence is underestimated, as such

Psychological issues, erratic behavior, at least semi-unprompted extreme emotional reactions

Has a secretary who is implied to have feelings for him

Has no interest in his female partners

Hates nearly all of his colleagues

Kills one of said colleagues

Specific murder method of beheading

Shares many of the same interests (baseball, American whiskey, working out, dining at expensive restaurants, acts of torture, etc.)

Sound familiar?

Either way, I'll let you in on a little secret: making comparisons between Patrick Bateman and Yoshitaka Mine shouldn't be about making either of them out to be Cool or Scary or Intriguing. It should be about the bit.

It should be about being able to say Mine WOULD have a routine that can only be explained by him having an excess of executive function. It should be about being able to say Mine WOULD seethe over minor (some would say imperceptible) differences in color and font choices between everyone's business cards. And it should be about being able to say Mine WOULD pop a boner at a U2 concert.