#in a psychopathic sorta way

[phantasmicfish]

Just some more Dune Part 2 things that I thought were interesting with a specific focus on Feyd-Rautha:

- just… the way that he’s so very accurately portrayed as a psychopath adds a level of grit I didn’t get reading when the book

- the scenes with him and Lady Fenring got me good. The book mentions that he finds her attractive, definitely echoed in the movie. There weren’t explicitly written scenes in the book of how Lady Fenring slept with him (but this was confirmed through dialogue), so I liked the movie’s interpretation of her luring him using her Bene Gesserit abilities

- I would have liked to see Feyd-Rautha tested by the Gom Jabbar the same way Paul was. In the book (and I think part 1 of the movie?) it’s specified that Paul has endured the most amount of pain anyone can handle from the test, but given that movie Feyd-Rautha seems canonically a sadist + masochist, I wonder how long he would have lasted?

- overall the vibe and aesthetic of the Harkonnen’s was terrifying and great. The black and white visuals, dimly lit rooms, flashing lights… There are a lot of different villains in Dune, especially in Part 2 — The Emperor, Jessica, but the most clear-cut ones by far are the Harkonnens. I think the visuals definitely amplify that. I find it rather interesting that the Harkonnens are portrayed to be evil as an entire house. The fact that they all had bald heads gave them a mass identity, served to make them seem perhaps more alien and less human, all capable of committing heinous crimes. Even Feyd-Raytha’s servants or whoever eat human organs

- I think it was an interesting choice to have Feyd-Rautha actually stab Paul during their final fight, we see the blade actually hurt Paul, penetrate his skin, we see Paul gasping for breath, we see Paul struggling for survival. I believe the book made the fight seem more cut-and-dry, that Feyd was a formidable opponent but he didn’t actually stab Paul (though he does draw blood). So I sorta felt the fight was a good contrast between showing Paul as still human while he maintains this cult status. I could see how his ability to survive this fight, despite his injuries, also elevate his messiah status among the Fremen

[seijorhi]

Violent Delights

for my very dearest best friend (wife) @iwaasfairy i'm sorry it's super late, but august and april both start with 'a' which basically means they're the same month <33 iwaizumi hajime x female reader w.c 4.4k tw: yandere themes, non-con, drugged reader, blood/gore, murder, incest, sorta smut (nsfw)

M I N E

It’s funny in a way. Amidst the wreckage, the blood, what was left of your friends and the cooling puddle of cum splattered across your naked stomach, four letters carved into your bedroom wall seemed almost… harmless. Or at least the easiest to digest. Fixate on.

The detective asked about your ex partners, the dates you’d been on recently, whether or not you’d noticed anyone in your day-to-day paying you too much attention, if anyone made you feel uncomfortable, or said anything that seemed out of place.

But your exes don’t care enough to kill, and the two dates you’ve been on in the last six months never bothered to text you back. No one’s left weird, unsettling gifts, or stared too long in line at the coffee shop. There’s nothing. No precursor or warning, no giant red flag waving in front of you.

Mine. 

Hovering on the edge of numbness, blind hysteria just out of reach, you stare at the beige walls of the hotel room they’d put you up in, the angry gouges flickering in and out of existence with every blink. 

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

Kaori was the one obsessed with all the true crime stuff. She’d be the first to tell you psychopaths and nutjobs – they don’t jump straight into drugging and triple homicide. There’s a pattern of behaviour. Escalation. 

Something you missed. 

Then again, considering it’s her blood still caked under your fingernails, there’s a strong possibility she wouldn’t be all that enthusiastic about the whole thing to begin with. 

You need a shower, a proper one – not the glorified sponging off they’d given you at the hospital. Enough to get you out the door, not nearly enough to scrub away the grime and rid yourself of what he did to you–

The others had it worse. You survived. He barely touched you.

Mine. 

The thought of scalding water, of scrubbing yourself raw does hold a certain appeal, yet hunched over atop starched white sheets, those same bloody fingernails sink into the flesh of your arms instead, grounding you in the tiny bite of pain. 

Minutes tick past and you don’t so much as twitch. Not until a sharp knock sounds at the door and a gruff voice calls out your name. 

You wait half a beat, but when nothing more is forthcoming, you slowly edge yourself off the bed, making your way to the door. Through the peephole you spy a dark haired officer, different to the one who’d dropped you off, staring back at you. 

They did tell you there’d be an officer with you the whole time, at least for the next twenty four hours. 

“Miss?” he calls again, and you distantly realise that while your hand is poised over the deadlock, you haven’t moved to undo it. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, your forehead meeting the wooden door with a muted thud, you curse that stupid, tremulous fluttering in your chest. They’re here for you, protecting you. You’re safe.

Open the damn door. 

“Y-yeah?”

Coward.

“Brought some food for you. Dinner.” There’s a rustling on the other side, and you raise your head to peer back through the glass in time to see him lift up a paper carry bag to the peephole. The idea of eating anything right now has your stomach roiling in protest. “Nothing fancy, but it’s good, I swear,” he says. Then, gentler, like he’s talking down a spooked animal, adds, “You need to eat.”

Still, you hesitate. All you need to do is open the door, grab the food and then at least it’s there if you want it later. Easy. 

Too quick, too jerky to be natural, you twist at the handle and yank the door open a scant few inches, enough for you to reach out an arm expectantly for the food. “Thank you,” you pre-empt, because hungry or not, you’re not completely without manners.

The officer lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, no. I’m not taking heat from the Cap when the guys on the next shift find you passed out ‘cause you haven’t eaten anything,” he scoffs. “C’mon, we can talk while you eat.” Not a suggestion – you barely have time to stumble back before he’s pushing his way inside and kicking the door closed behind him. The second he takes to flick the lock somehow simultaneously eases the knots in your stomach and sends your heartrate ratcheting.

It’s halfway to a miracle that you’re still standing at all. 

“Eat,” he tells you, his deep voice brooking no disagreement as he shoves the bag of food your way and grabs the lone chair in the room, dragging it closer to the edge of the bed and settling himself down. Clearly he has no intention of going anywhere until he’s satisfied you’ve eaten your fill.

With little else for it, you do as you’re told, reaching into the bag to find steamed buns at your fingertips, still warm as you pry open the wrapper– and wince. The familiar scent of pork, ginger and chives wafts through the air, unwittingly digging at old wounds. 

Suddenly you’re a kid again, strolling down the hill with your family, one hand tucked safely within your brother’s, the other grasping a steaming hot bun. You’re happy and whole and so, so young–

“Something wrong? You don’t like meat buns?” 

Not the time. Ignoring the bitter ache the memory conjures, you’re quick to shake your head, “No. No, thank you. It’s great.” You doubt he buys it, but then again you also doubt he cares so long as you get something in your stomach. 

One bite, chew, swallow. Another, chew, swallow – mechanical until it isn’t. The first bun disappears and you reach for the second.

“How’s your head?” he asks.

You swallow down another mouthful. “Fuzzy. Sore. I still can’t remember anything,” you  admit, in case that’s where this line of questioning is going. Nothing beyond waking up in your bed covered in blood and a stranger’s cum at any rate.

The blood work they did at the hospital confirmed you were drugged along with the others, the detective mentioning the near-empty bottle of wine they’d found, which they were in the process of testing too. He’d also pointed out the lack of evidence indicating any kind of forced entry, which paired with the former is something you’ve been trying not to dwell on. 

The officer gives a considering nod, “That’s to be expected, don’t worry about it. I still think it’s worth asking a few more questions if you’re feeling up to it?” Again, it’s phrased like a question, but already he’s pulling out a voice recorder, setting down on the mattress between you. 

“Um, sure. Yeah,” you croak. 

A small smile, “Good.” He leans forward to switch on the recorder. “We’ll start with the other victims – your friends. Tell me about them.”

“Kaori, she’s– she was my best friend. We worked at the same grocer when I first moved out of my parents’ place, when I got a job here she made the decision to move with me. That was about six months ago.” 

“And the other two?” 

“Her brother Koji and another friend of ours Takashi. They came up to visit; Kaori’s been back once or twice since we left, but I hadn’t seen them–” tears blur at your vision and your voice just… gives out. 

They’re gone. 

You drag a shuddering breath in and it hurts. 

Blindly, your hand reaches across the bed, blood tipped fingers sprawling over pristine white, and when they meet warmth – an open palm outstretched – you seize it and cling on with everything you have. You’ll unravel if you don’t.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you chant, each syllable shakier than the last.

He dips his chin, just barely, and squeezes your hand, “You invited them?”

A wordless, wide eyed nod. 

“You were close.” Not a question. He sounds like he’s mulling over the thought, though his expression is inscrutable. “Were you involved with any of them?”

This time, there’s the slightest hesitation before you shake your head. The officer frowns, “I need the truth. Your friends were attacked for a reason. Lying to me won’t help bring their families peace.”

The blood drains from your face, your heart lurching on a sickening thud. 

Your fault. 

Instinctively, you yank back your hand, or try to at least, but his grip tightens – enough to keep you from drawing away, not enough to hurt. Though neither his tone nor his expression hold any condemnation, it doesn’t change the truth of the matter. 

You didn’t drug them or pick up the knife and swing. You didn’t invite this psycho into your life, but the fact remains that they’re dead because of you. 

“I– it wasn’t like that. We weren’t… I didn’t–” 

MINE.

Tears threaten to spill and your bottom lip trembles. 

For a long, drawn out moment, he simply stares. There’s a twitch at his jaw and he sighs – more of a grunt, really – leaning back and pulling his hand from yours to rake through his dark hair. 

(Stupid, you think, how some part of you mourns the loss.) 

“Okay, alright. Fine. We’ll come back to that,” he concedes. “What about other friends? Coworkers you were close with?”

“No, I– I already told the detective I wasn’t seeing anyone.”

An irritated flash darkens his gaze. “I didn’t ask if you were fucking them.” And you must make a truly pathetic picture then, flinching like a kicked puppy, because he lets out another huff, closing his eyes for a beat and visibly working to soften the harsh lines of his expression. “Shit, okay– I’m sorry. It’s been a long day for us both,” he makes an odd noise, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, the sound entirely devoid of humour. “The guy who did this, he either already knows about the people precious to you, or he’s gonna do his damn best to find out, and if he thinks they’re threats, he’ll hurt them, or worse – he’ll use them to hurt you. I need you to tell me everything.”

And so, feeling the exhaustion of the day creeping over you, you do.

You tell him about the small group from work you occasionally go out for Friday drinks with, your old friends from uni, right down to the neighbour two floors below, who’d seen you hauling boxes the day you’d moved in and immediately offered to help. When you’d christened the kitchen baking you’d made sure to bring him some, and just last week you’d had tea with him and his grandma.

“What about school? Anyone you still keep in contact with?”

You try for a laugh but it sounds all wrong. “I wasn’t exactly popular back then,” 

His eyes narrow. They flit across your face like he’s searching for… something. You feel like a bug, pinned in place, squirming and uncomfortable, your face too hot. 

“Bullied?” he probes. 

Another nod. 

“How ‘bout family?”

Your mouth dries.

“My parents… I haven’t spoken to them in months. We don’t really get along.” The last conversation you’d had with them, if you could call it as much, lasted all of five minutes. Dry pleasantries and thinly veiled criticisms, wrapped up in yet another pointed reminder that things didn’t have to be this way – you were the one adamant on shutting them out. 

You doubt it’d raise a single eyebrow between them if you went the same again without contact. 

“Siblings?”

Another tear slips from your lashes and you swallow against the tight lump in your throat. The weight of his gaze feels oppressive, you’re too bare, too vulnerable, you don’t want to talk about this, so you shift your line of sight to the paper delivery bag, half crumpled now, and let your fingernails sink into the skin of your palms. 

Still, the words don’t come straight away, and when they do, they’re strained. Choked. Painted so thick is grief that you wonder if he understands them at all.

“No. I uh, I had a brother– a twin brother. He died.” 

You don’t talk about your brother, ever.

Kaori knew the bare bones of it. Koji and Takashi too – you had a twin brother, he died, and it fucked you up. Without ever uttering a word, they’d known not to press, that the wounds left behind weren’t quite as healed as the scar tissue led to believe. 

“How old were you?”

Seven, when you lost him. Twelve, when the letters stopped coming. 

“Fourteen,” you whisper, curling in on yourself. “He was sick.”

Stop asking, stop talking, stop, stop, stop. 

When you risk a look in the officer’s direction, his features are hewn granite, eyes set in a hard, angry glare that steals the very breath from your lungs. “Yeah?” he grunts, rising to his feet. “You stopped writing long before that.”

There’s just enough time for understanding to crash over you, for your lips to part, a feather light gasp of “Hajime?” to slip out before you’re flat on your back, wrists pinned to the mattress above your head, the officer– a ghost– Hajime looming over you. 

“What did I fucking tell you?”  

—

‘Sweetie, make sure you hold your brother’s hand.’

They’d meant when you were walking home from the bus stop, or crossing the road. When there was a buddy system so no one got separated or left behind. 

Hajime was always holding your hand. Not because your parents told him to, but because that’s how it was supposed to be. You were twins, he’d been born first (by all of six minutes) and you had followed. You were always following Hajime, and he was always going to look after you. 

Until he gets put into the Otter class with Mr Inagaki, and you go into Dugong with Miss Ino. 

Hajime’s nothing short of enraged. He throws chairs and yells and tries to kick the Principal, but it doesn’t change anything.

It would be good for you, they said, to have a chance to make other friends. ‘You can’t keep using your brother as a crutch, honey,’ your mother gently admonishes. 

Hajime scowls at that. Later, when it’s just the two of you hiding away in his room, he tells you she’s an idiot and a liar. ‘You don’t need anyone else. You have me.’

You knew that. You’d always have Hajime, but the other kids in your class weren’t as awful as he made them sound. Some of them were actually kind of cool, and they liked you, too.

For a while, you began to believe you could have both; Hajime and your new friends. 

Until one day you’re waiting for him at lunch when a boy from your class tugs on your braids and with a wide, toothy grin, loudly proclaims to the whole playground that even though you were a girl, and girls have cooties, it’d probably be okay if you wanted to be his girlfriend. 

You didn’t see Hajime coming up behind you. You’ve no idea where he found the scissors. The only warning either of you get is a sudden, splitting roar before he’s throwing himself at the smaller boy, tackling him to the ground. 

‘She’s MINE!’

Silver glints, flashing in the sunlight, and a high pitched shriek rips through the playground as he brings the scissors down on the poor, struggling boy. 

With a viciousness you’d never known of your brother, he swings again and again. It’s chaos. The other kids scatter and the teachers run to intervene. Hajime, spitting and snarling, red in the face and half-feral, doesn’t stop for them.

He stops for you. 

At the sound of a sharp little gasp, a line of red slashed along your forearm, Hajime stops dead, wide, horrified eyes fixed on yours.

—

‘Sweetie, what have I told you about snooping? I raised you better than that.’

‘But they’re addressed to me. Hajime wrote to me.’

‘Your brother’s not well, those letters– they’ll only upset you. I don’t want you reading them.’

‘… He says he misses me.’

‘I know, but he’s where he belongs, getting help. You want that for him, don’t you? To get the help he needs?’

‘I want to write back to him.’

—

There’s another letter waiting for you when you get home from school.

You hang your backpack near the door, still damp from being tossed in the pool, and eye the opened envelope sitting by your father. He doesn’t look up from his laptop when you reach for it, doesn’t lift a finger to stop you. Nevertheless, the displeasure radiates from him clear as day. 

“You shouldn’t encourage him. He’s not well.”

You’d scoff if it wouldn’t get you in trouble. Nothing you said could ever be taken as ‘encouragement’, and you’re under no illusions about who and what your brother is. 

The violence terrifies you. Sometimes he says things in the letters he writes that make your stomach all twisty and your palms sweat, but Hajime could be a monster, and you think you’d love him anyway. You wouldn’t have a choice. 

So you pluck at the envelope and tuck it close, making your way to your room without another glance at either of your parents. Sitting cross legged atop your bed, you eagerly scan the contents;

He hates the new therapist. They had a movie night planned, but some asshole started a fight and the whole thing got cancelled. The food’s still shit. He’s fed up and pissed off, whether he behaves or not, they won’t let him out and they won’t give him what he wants, so what’s the point in pretending?

The both of you turn twelve in ten days time – you owe it to him to come spend it together. 

—

‘Maybe it’s for the best, sweetheart.’

Dismissive. She’s always dismissive. Your hands curl in response, tightening before you force yourself to flex them out and bite your tongue. It’s not worth the fight. Neither one of them actually care, and nothing you say will ever change that. 

He’s angry at you. Or hurt. Both, probably. 

They wouldn’t let you visit. You’d begged – cried, even – and it hadn’t swayed them. The rules are that you aren’t allowed to go and see Hajime and you aren’t allowed to talk to him on the phone. The letters are the only communication you have, and when your twelfth birthday comes and goes, those stop too.

You’ve sent four letters since, no response. 

He’s shut you out entirely and while you can’t blame him for it, it’s painful.

You’ve always had Hajime, through everything. Him shutting you out feels like losing a limb– 

No, it’s more than that. It’s like slowly losing some vital function inside of you. Like your lungs are shutting down and you can’t breathe properly and your heart isn’t pumping the way it should. You feel guilty and horrible and at least twice, you debate trying to find a way to sneak out and make the two hour journey on your own, just so you can see him.

It’s a stupid idea, they wouldn’t even let you through the front door, but it’s the only idea you have and so you cling to it.

You keep writing to him– panicked. Desperate. Begging his forgiveness. 

He never writes back.

—

They sit you down at breakfast three months after your fourteenth birthday and tell you Hajime’s gone.

There was another fight, someone pushed him–

You don’t want to hear the details. They don’t matter and your ears are ringing too loud to make sense of them anyway.

Hajime is gone.

The cord between you was stretched and fraying already. He hadn’t written in over two years and probably hated you towards the end but he– he was–

Yours. A part of you. 

Gone.

And your mother’s asking about the English test you have second period. 

—

“What. Did. I. Say?” Each word is slowly enunciated, a quiet growl that drags an unwilling shiver down your spine. 

He smells of wood – of cedar, spice and musk, the notes melding, coiling with the dizzying body heat, the solid weight of him, bracing himself above you.

His lips are mere inches from yours. 

Not dead. 

Here.

There’s a thousand thoughts racing through your head, connections that light up, clicking into place like pieces of a puzzle, painting a deeply unsettling picture – all of which are drowned out by the revelation that Hajime is here.

You burst into tears–

and Hajime – your brother, very much alive and glaring at you from above – surges down to swallow them in a vicious kiss.

The moment your lips touch, all the tension in his body just… bleeds out. Hajime groans, low and heated, his hips rocking, grinding along your stomach, and if you weren’t too preoccupied short circuiting, dangling on the precipice of a panic attack, you’d feel the twitch of his mouth, curling into a small but no less satisfied smirk.

He relaxes, like he’s coming home rather than returning from the dead to land the killing blow.

“Mine,” he answers his own question, breath heavy and ragged as his teeth nip at your jaw. “I told you you’re fucking mine.”

The scratches on the wall. Kaori and Koji and Takashi, asleep in a sea of red. The viscous mess spilled over your belly. Your mother’s hushed voice, carrying down the hallway, ‘– only a phase. The books all say he’ll grow out of it before long.’

She hadn’t sounded convinced. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, desperate to block it all out as more tears spill into your hairline. Hajime won’t let you. He groans your name into the shell of your ear and licks at the tears as they fall. “Don’t,” he warns, fingers pressing tightly around your wrists ‘til they shoot back open with a gasp, “don’t you dare check out.”

When he rucks up your shirt to find you sans bra and a warm palm slides up to grope the soft, supple skin, a fresh burst of panic spurs you into action. Pinned under his weight as you are, you can’t move, and the idea of trying to physically fight him off is as laughable as it is terrifying – but when you were younger, you were the one – the only one – who could coax Hajime back from the edge, your hand in his.

Until he leapt from it entirely, and they took him away.

“H-Hajime?” A trembling, hiccuping whimper, thick with tears.  

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even pause – shuffling down your body to mouth at them instead – but hooded, simmering pools of green flick back up to your face, a hum of acknowledgement rumbling in his chest as he nips and sucks pretty, burgundy blooms across your breasts.

“I-if you ever loved me, even a little… Please, Haji– don’t hurt me like this–” you choke on another sob, pathetic mess that you are.

Hajime goes preternaturally still, eyes boring into you. 

You stare right back, fighting the urge to cower and flinch, to turn your cheek and stare at the discarded dumpling wrappers, letting him take what he wants. Praying that he won’t hurt you too badly if you give it to him without a fight.

Because it will hurt, you think. It’ll break you entirely. 

(Are you not already broken?)

When his head drops, you can’t help it – the sharp, terrified hitch in your breath – but his lips meet your forehead, then each cheek, before finally they brush over your lips with a tenderness he has no right to. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he vows, cradling the side of your jaw, “I won’t hurt you, ever.”

But that’s a lie, too.

“I love you more than anything.”

He kisses you again, soft and sweet and gentle, as if those promises weren’t sewn from violence and legitimised in blood. As if he isn’t breaking your heart with every sweep of his tongue, plundering your mouth.

There’s no fight in you left when he reaches for the waistband of your sweats and slowly starts easing them down. You don’t claw and shove when the hold on your wrists loosens and then disappears entirely, both hands needed to strip away his clothes. 

The sound of his belt buckle clinking, the soft hiss of a zipper, they wash over you, white noise lost to the pounding in your ears. 

But you don’t look away.

He strokes his cock – long and thick and flushed to the tip –  crawling up the mattress to kneel between your legs like a supplicant before an altar of the divine. 

Devotion demands sacrifice. 

“It killed me,” he starts, dragging the mushroom head along the slit of your pussy. He frowns a little, leans back and spits – a fat glob of saliva landing dead centre, adding to the mess his weeping cock’s already made. “When the letters stopped coming. I was angry, so fucking angry, all the time. I’d lash out and they’d put me in another cage, and I’d do it again, and again. They tried convincing me you’d moved on,” his eyes flash darkly, “which was bullshit. They’d have to carve me out of you with a knife.”

What shocks you isn’t the violent imagery, but the truth of it settling into your bones, inescapable and undeniable; you’ll always love your brother, even if that very love destroys you.

“I didn’t–”

The first thrust rips a strangled yelp from your throat. 

He’s too big, you’re not prepared to take him – and Hajime doesn’t care. His head tips back, shuddering out a breathy laugh. 

There’s no pause, no period of grace, seated deep inside of you, the walls of your pussy hugging him tight, Hajime won’t allow you a second to catch your breath and wait for the burning sting to abate. His hips draw back until only the throbbing head of his cock remains inside, and, upon grabbing a leg to hitch over his shoulder, uses it as leverage to punch forward, stuffing your tight little cunt to the brim.

The pace he sets is brutal from the outset. Bruising. He licks at your tears between kisses and moans when you clench and shudder around him. “Never again,” he pants into your ear. “I’ll kill them all if you leave. Every last fucking one. You’re mine. Mine.”

And you’d think it cruel, a punishment, if not for the way those green eyes burn. 

When his fingers twine with yours, pressing you down into the mattress, holding you there, you wonder if this was always an inevitability. 

Hajime led and you followed, hand in bloody hand. 

He’d never allow anything less.

[evilminji]

*evil grin of The Ponderings™*

You know who DEFINITELY would have Unfinished Business?

Heroes. Professional "If I could just MOVE, just fight a BIT LONGER, save ONE MORE PERSON" Heroes. It's the ultimate and unending Unfinished Business. To protect people. Not just their friends, their co-workers, but the innocent people around them.

That kid, stuck crying in the rubble.

That business man, screaming in pain, caught in the cross fire.

The People NEED them. They SWORE. Their very SOULS burn with the NEED to help. But... the flesh gave out. Injuries. Age. Quirk overuse. They knew... they KNEW, this was not a safe line of work... but... but! Please! Just one more person! Why can't they just make their breaking, dying, bodies MOVE!

Of course they refuse to move on.

They are needed HERE.

Yet? Their hands pass through. Their voices do not reach. A hell of their own, unknown, making. They can't let go, but they can't HELP either. There isn't enough Ectoplasm here. The walls of their reality overly patched up, since that unfortunate leak a few centuries back.

After all, the Zone had dumped near lethal quantities of unfiltered Ecto into the atmosphere. They're STILL dealing with the mutations and fall out, aren't they? At least, they are according to the Zone. (Wtf is a "Quirk"?) And, yeah, someone should PROBABLY do an assessment on the ecological recovery of the Reality. But like?

Do you have any idea how few people have an Obsession for stuff like that? Wait your turn! The list is long and you're not fuckin special, okay? The agents are BUSY.

Now, you might wonder? Wait. If they aren't moving on. Are DEFINITELY Ghosts. Starving as they are. Refusing to die as they may be. Wouldn't... Wouldn't that leave the whole ass area around their Reality an ecological dead zone? If it got over patched and no Ghosts LEFT, thus noticed, and started to try and work on it from the outside? Assuming the COULD?

Yeah. Yeah it would be!

It's called the "New Wastes"!

There used to be some cool Lairs around there. But there was a turf dispute. Someone DID something. Punched a HOLE. And everyone re-died. It was fixed but never quite re-healed. Portals... don't show up there? For some reason? Meh. Wanna brawl?

No. Danny's curious. He wants ANSWERS.

It's his fatal flaw.

Well... that and his inability to keep his mouth shut. But he likes to think he's funny. So... off he goes! And MAN! Does it feel funky out there! Weird textures. Mmmm, Don't Like THAT ™. It's probably a King thing? The Zone here... FEELS wrong.

Not... the way it's SUPPOSED to be shaped, if that makes sense?

And? It feels... if you sorta squint? Like... a LOT of people AREN'T where they should be. But aren't gonna leave until they're READY. Ooof. Great. Someone messed up again. Why does he KEEP FINDING bits and pockets that need straightening out? Unruffling? It's like he has to keep smooth out this giant peice of fabric with all these stains on it. Clean the messes on it.

He feels more like a maid then a King.

Maybe he is?

Pretty sure he's more of a nanny, since the Zone is more of a whiny yet excitable toddler then anything else. Alright, let him in. And fix... whatever THAT is.

So he steps into the Reality and? Huh. Japan. Neat. He always meant to go, never got around to it. Why is that man an otter?

.......oooohohooo, this place was HELLA fucked up by Ectoplasm, wasn't it? This is multi generational exposure. It's in the air. The water, ground, buildings. But stale to the point of stagnation. That can't be healthy. At least a few people he sees have developed ecto-resistance, thank the Ancients.

Danny discovers there are? "Superheroes"? Or just... heroes, apparently. They sell shampoo lines and athletic gear. Villians are petty criminals and psychopaths. All lumped together. He gets fuckin CHASED by the COPS and half the cities spandex patrol, called a "villian" (you know, like the purse snatchers and the DUDE WHO TRIED TO OPEN FIRE ON A CROWD) for flying around trying to assess the situation. Not speaking Japanese fast enough.

Soooorry! He TRIED to answer your confusing barked demands! This isn't his native language! He's translating through Ghost Speech! He knows it sounds unsettling to the living! It's the best he's GOT, man! (Asshole)

He escapes, obviously, because he's not 14 anymore. And honestly? He could top 200mph or so AT 14. He's only gotten faster. Intangible flight means no wind drag, motherfuckers~! OR need to dodge buildings! HA. Try to follow him through THE GROUND!

A few Blob sucked (to remove the ectoplasm) bits of treasure later? And he leaves a pawn shop with local currency. Thank YOU shady pawn shop! Ask him no questions, he'll tell you not lies. Enjoy Pariah's gold.

He does tourist things. Buy foods he's never tried, wanders around. Sees what's needed. Noticed a lot of people struggle with some aspect of the ecto-mutations brought on by the extreme Limnality. Need accessibility aids.

.....well, he IS a Fenton. His parents would disown him on the SPOT if he left with out at least TRYING to help. So he tracks down one the local ghosts. He'll need a guide or two.

He? VASTLY underestimates how desperate a sea of Obsession Starved Hero and Vigilante Ghosts will act, the INSTANT, they realize not only someone can see them... but it's? Their "Boss"? They aren't sure HOW they know that. But they DO. It's THE Boss. Here to help them! Asking for HELP ™ from THEM!

Yes

YES THEY CAN DO THAT

He gets swarmed. Hundreds of ghosts fighting over each other. Shouting. Turning on each other like rabid animals. All worn down and ragged by their Obssesion starvation. He's forced to shout over them.

And? Holy shit, these are only the ones from THIS CITY, too.

Thank Zone, again, he's no longer 14. That he has friends who are Rulers ™ that taught him HOW to Rule. To delegate. Pretend he TOTALLY knows what he's doing. That every action is on purpose.

It takes less then two hours, with all the experienced Unground Heros help, to make himself a Real Boy and buy a building. Put himself into the correct databases. He officially has licenses for things he's never studied. Is a tax paying citizen. Even belongs to several local clubs.

Over the next few days? He sets up his new... oi! Quickdraw! What're they called again? Right. "Lifestyle Support Company" which? Is a dumb name. But, Fenton Works is Fenton Works. Somehow he always kinda knew he'd be inherenting. It's in a cruddy part of town and the prices are cheap as he can safely get um.

He already had two customers, even though half the building isn't even fully set up. Which? I mean... he gets it. Poor guy. Knives for hands. Sharp ones too. The other guy's Obsession made him emotionally react to colors and like three different ones were ruining his life. So, hand Prosthetics controllable by knives and color filtering wrap around glasses.

Took him a lunch break or two.

Changed THEIR lives.

Suddenly his shop is packed. Schedule screaming for relief. And the ghosts? Getting more tangible by the day. See, his work shop? Ecto proofed. Let's him relax. But it ALSO let's him radiate fresh, clean, Ecto out into the air. And as King? With a direct line to The Zone? He puts out a lot.

There start to become Sightings.

People who SWEAR they saw long dead Heros out of the corner of their eyes. Dead vigilantes. That was who through that bottle. Who tripped that thug at just the right moment. Who unlocked the door. The SWEAR. They aren't crazy!

And... at first? Brushed off. Stress does a lot of crazy thing to a person, ma'am. But? How do you brush off, making eye contact with your dead best friend? Your old mentor on the other roof? That vigilante, who you WATCHED bleed out? Can you brush them off... when a vigilante from the dawn of quirks, punches some two bit villian on live television? Calls the Heros on the scene gloryhounds? Goverment dogs?

Runs from the cops and vanishes into thin air?

When this shit KEEPS HAPPENING?

Is spreading?

Are... are you supposed to arrest them for illegal vigilantism? How? They're THE proto-Heros! You don't want your name tied to that! The HPSC is furious. The goverment is uneasy. There are like... 6 dudes and a lady, openly stalking some kid in UA. Trying to mentor him. He looks moments away from a nervous breakdown.

Us too, kid. Us too.

All? While Danny? Is just sitting in his lil shop. Tinkering. Not HIS problem. Gotta let the ghosts here get it out of their system. Get their Obsession's full. Then it's all aboard the Zone Train. He's just here to make sure no one does anything "Too Crazy".

What's HIS definition of "too crazy"?

Wouldn't YOU like to know, weather boy~☆

@hdgnj @lolottes @nerdpoe @babbling-babull @mutable-manifestation @spidori @the-witchhunter @legitimatesatanspawn

[msmk11]

Hey can I req tan x reader where reader sometimes works with the twins and is quite close w both of them. So she's besties with tan and reader is just female version of him and they like to tease each other and they always bicker like all the time and one day reader gets so fed up with tan that she throws a pillow at him and they just get into a huge play fight . And they are fighting for ages throwing stuff about just giggling and then eventually they uat end p on top of each other and the giggling just stops. And the tension omggg. U can end this with them actually getting together or I kind of imagine lemon walking back in a being like 'I got us dinner😀' just killing the vibe a ruining the moment. Hope it makes sense:)

Repercussions

Tangerine x reader (sorta implied fem but no pronouns)

CW: mentions of food!

Summary: you and tangerine are play fighting! Some sexual tension ensues.

A/N: Anon!! Thank you for requesting! I died making this, it’s such a cute prompt 😭

It's only when your stomach begins to rumble that you emerge from the hermit hole you've created in your hotel room. You dart across the hall and knock decidedly on Tangerine and Lemon's door, ready to beg them to order food with you so that you get a better deal.

Tangerine is the one to open the door, and the way he instantly looks you up and down with a shit-eating smirk makes you regret your decision instantly. In your hunger-ridden state, you'd totally forgotten that you were only in fuzzy socks, old pj shorts with hearts on them, and a matching ruffly tank top.

You hold up your hand in protest, "Save it."

"What, love? I wasn't gonna say anything... about your really fucking cute outfit."

You look him up and down and scoff, "Sorry I prefer to be comfortable, unlike certain psychopaths."

Though he has discarded his suit jacket, he's still in his white button up, sleeves pushed up to his elbows and a few buttons undone, and in his nicest gray slacks.

"Y'know I always like to look my best," the brunette answers proudly.

You brush past him into the room, "What, even for Lem?"

"Yes, of course, come right fucking in," Tangerine mumbles under his breath, though there's really no malice in his tone.

"Speaking of," you continue, plopping down onto one of the fluffy white beds, "where is Lemon?"

Tangerine sighs and joins you on the other side of the bed, "went to get dinner."

"What? You fuckers?! I'm starving and you didn't even bother to ask if I wanted anything."

"Oi shut it," he answers, pinching your bare thigh, "'course I fucking ordered something for you, love."

You pout at him, "But how'd you know what I want?"

His curls bounce as he shakes his head at you, "'cuz I know you better than you know yourself."

"Yeah right! There's no way you could've known that right now I wanted-"

"Fried rice?" He interrupts.

Then, he has the audacity to wink.

You're mad that he's right, so you do what you do best- attack him. You sneak a pillow from behind your back and smack him right in the face.

"Right, that's fucking it," he growls.

You let out a screech and jump off the bed, trying to find solace on the other side of the room.

"Mhmm don't think so, you little shit."

He stalks towards you, and you jump up on the other bed. You grab a pillow and hold it out threateningly, "Don't come closer, I'll hit you again."

Tangerine smirks at you, "it's a wonder you make it out of any missions alive if these are your bargaining tactics, love."

You ignore him and instead swing at his face again with the pillow. He takes this opportunity to lunge towards you, not only dodging your hit but also grabbing you by the waist. Tangerine manhandles you into his arms and throws you over his shoulder like its nothing.

"Tan! Let me down," you giggle, pounding your hands on his back.

You're not sure you really mean it though. Not, at least, with the nice view you have of his ass in your current position.

"If you insist," he declares, throwing you down onto his bed with a thump.

Before you have the chance to assume a fighting stance he's collapsed on top of you, using all his body weight to hold you down.

"Get off, you fucking prick," you groan.

Instead, he digs his hands into your sides with an evil grin, making you squeal again, “this is payback, love. Can’t attack me without repercussions.”

After his incessant attacks, you remember that you’re a trained fighter, and try to put some of your skills to use. Since most of his weight is on your upper half, you use your knees to push yourself up. You press on his chest and flip him over, so now that you’re the one on top.

He lets out a surprised chuckle and instinctively grabs your hips, trying to keep you from falling over from your momentum.

You’re both laughing breathlessly over the sudden turn of events and you bury your head in his toned chest. His chuckles vibrate against your skull and it’s nice- feeling so close to him.

Tangerine leans down to your ear to whisper something, and his hot breath on your neck makes you squirm and giggle.

He inhales sharply and squeezes your hips, a warning to stop moving, “You know, I should be more mad that you won, but I quite like having you on top straddling me.”

Slowly you look up at Tangerine, his bright blue eyes boring into yours, and stare at him, shocked.

“And I must say, if you don’t stop wiggling around on top of me, you’re gonna be in real trouble.”

A smirk creeps onto your face slowly, “well I do always have a penchant for trouble.”

The brunette’s eyes dart back and forth between your gaze and lips, and as he lays under you, dark curls all messed up from your tussle, you’re just aching to kiss him.

You start to lean in towards him.

“Love,” he warns breathily.

Your lips just faintly brush when you perceive the quiet beep of the hotel door unlocking. You throw yourself off of Tangerine onto the spot next to him and squeeze your eyes shut.

Jesus fucking Christ Lemon has the worst timing.

The door clicks open and Lemon walks in, completely oblivious to what’s just happened, “I’ve got dinner!”

[butlerspade]

Who’s a character you believe is so unnecessarily demonized in the TWST fandom?

( @dailytwsttweets )

By the fandom? There really isn't much of a competition to this since all the characters are demonized in their own ways, but if I did have to pick, I do think all of the Octavinelle trio are unnecessarily demonized.

A lot of people give the octavinelle trio insanely... iffy headcanons. Most "fans" characterize the three to be some insane psychopathic murderous maniacs, while I simply believe they are three mischievous high school boys who have a thing for business (i.e. running the Mostro Lounge), since that's sorta, Octavinelle's thing, you know.

The reason why I chose the octotrio out of others is because it's the content I've been seeing the most. Despite all three of them being just 17, each of them have a HIGH amount of "yandere AU" or "murderer AU" fanarts and fanfics. For Azul, for example, a lot of the times people see him as some kinda demonic mafioso kinda guy, but we have to realize he's still a school student. he may be mischievous but he went through a lot. For the Leech twins, I wanna say that LORD THEY ARE SO DEMONIZED. I always see Floyd's mood swings get demonized, and even FETISHIZED at the same time?? Floyd fans are unreal. As for Jade fans, you all need to stop making him act like some creep, because he really isn't. Overall, the octotrio is definitely at my top rank of "most demonized" and probably in my rank of most sexualized too if we're at it 😓

─ tagging: no one

[blindmagdalena]

Hey again! So following up on the s/o with close older brother question, let's say the older brother kinda sorta knows that Homelander is fucked up, and has the "talk" with him (the "if you hurt a thread of hair on my sibling I'll fuck you up" type talk. The older brother doesn't really care that Homelander is this famous powerful being or whatever). Maybe the older brother tries to keep Homelander's s/o away from him. How would that scenario go?

Clearly Homelander's persona as an upstanding hero and dream-perfect boyfriend has lulled this moron into a false sense of security. He thinks he can speak to him with some kind of authority the moment he gets a whiff of something being off.

He's in for a harsh wakeup call.

“It you hurt her I’ll—“

“You’ll what?” Homelander interjects sharply, smiling in the same way a beast bares its teeth. The threat of it echoes in his eyes, wide and unkindly set. “No, really. You’ll what?”

Your brother only hesitates a second, but that’s all Homelander needs to pounce.

“That’s right. Not a fucking thing. I could shove your fist all the way down your throat and high-five you out your ass, and no one in this world would do a goddamn thing about it. You wanna know why?”

He leans in, that predator grin stretching wider. “I’m me, and you’re nobody.”

He relishes the look that puts on the poor saps face. He can’t help but continue to push, to establish that he’s the only one calling the shots here.

“Here’s the deal, bro,” he says, slinging an arm around the man’s shoulder. “Your sister? She fucking worships me. I don’t care how close you were or how much you thought she loved you, she’s mine now. And I will tell you one goddamn thing for certain, buckaroo,” he says, possessiveness making his tone vicious. His gloved hand tightens like a claw on the man's shoulder. “No one tells me what to do with what’s mine," he says through his teeth, leaning uncomfortably close. "Threaten me again and you’ll be eating from a tube and shitting into a bag for the rest of your miserable life.”

He soaks up the look of horror on the man’s face, knowing that by saying something so extreme, something so entirely out of character for the man you know, you’ll never believe it. If your brother tries to tattle, he'll look like the psychopath. Homelander will naturally deny every word of it while being as supportive as any good boyfriend should be.

“Okie-dokie. Good talk, bro!” He says, abruptly chipper, his smile now broad and eerily friendly. He gives him a harsh pat on the back and leaves him to stew on his friendly advice. “Let’s not do it again, okay?” He stops in the doorway, turning to point his index finger at him, thumb raised. “And remember, you’re the real hero.”

He savors the fading sound of the man’s heart pounding in his chest and the lingering bitter stink of his fear as he walks away. The taste of you will be the sweetest chaser to it.

[mmani-e]

Part 3 of the lineart teasers for Danganronpa Demix: THH, featuring:

Moral Compass Junko

Fashionista Kiyotaka

Biker Mukuro

Soldier Mondo

Sparkling Justice

Disguised Mondo (as Taka)

As always change will surely come for these designs and have some design insights below. Thank you for peeping, the final piece with all of them should be in the next few weeks.

Junko - Junko's a moral committee member known for being really really weird and off-putting but stupidly effective. She crocks up silly plans to basically cause everyone around her to sweat and be terrified of her despite her not really doing anything wrong. Essentially she's a fucking psychopath still but her focus is more on constantly entertaining herself rather than just dipping into despair, and mass-social engineering is the most fun thing for her. The easiest way to access that sorta thing is become part of the school morals committee.

Kiyotaka - Kiyotaka's family ruination goes a little worse in this AU, as Kiyotaka's family's grief really gets to him, he reminesces over the perfect world he had in his life, and seeks to create a world without pain or poverty or hatred... through eliminating free will, and establishing permanent control through despair! Can't have corruption when nobody's motivated to do anything right?

Mukuro - The events of Mukuro and Junko's early years still occur in this timeline, and Mukuro is convinced to run away to Europe, for what particular reason matters little, and Mukuro gets found by a gang of bikers in eastern europe, the violent variety, one she climbs up in and becomes leader of in record pace. Also she's still weird about her sister, but in a less screwed up way, she's just really clingy and the way she and Junko become better friends again is when Junko messes with her so much Mukuro gets fed up with her and bad mouths her to oblivion, something Junko highly appreciates.

Mondo - I'm still cooking this one up, but essentially Daiya's death sparks a way, way bigger catalyst than Mondo could ever hope to believe and his gang are impressed and indebted into becoming a private paramilitary group used by one of the people they'd wronged in the past. But this ends up being something Mondo would prove to be way too good at, something that'd blow up stupendously in the face of the person that initially forced them into working for them.

Sparkling Justice - He has a gun, a revolver and shoots bad people, bc in danganronpa 1 Makoro uses guns and truth bullets, I thought it'd be neat to give that to our serial killer. Also I gave him an ahoge styled after Takumi Hajirahara because it's heavily implied he is sparkling justice, also gave him a bit of a simpler mask. Probably will tweak it more.

Disguised Mondo - Yeah thtere's not really any kind of rhyme or reason for this I just think it'd be really funny if "Taka" didn't even remotely look like Taka but for some inexplicable reason Mondo can just do a perfect Taka impression and everyone's like "yep works for me."

[p4n1cl0v3r]

hello.. im back from reading them.. uh and HUGE spoiler warning, like spoilers for everything cuz i cant keep my mouth shut.. this is also really long so im so sorry if you actually read this 😭😭 i just wanted to yap

OHMYGOD!?

ok. so. chase is burnt out, thats rlly sad 😭 hope he isnt too burnt out that its effecting him way more than he can handle,

his beach boys outfit is adorable. deacon not being on the island and chase being stuck with buddy i knew was gonna be terrible from the start. when i saw chase hand buddy a water bottle to light the fire i thought it was sweet that they were getting along, same with buddy telling chase he can have the second fish.

at first, i thought buddy was hearing the whispers so i didnt really think much of it.

the “buddy being a vampire and chase freaking out” was really funny, i found that hilarious and just chase thinking buddy was cute (even if he said it was in “a jerk way”, it was still nice and i wonder how that will go down (after the most recent chapter)

buddys face when chase pulled the chocolate out looked like a dog seeing a ball, it was adorable ngl

my heart sank when chase made a comment about buddy not being treated well and then buddy shivered.. like hm i seriously wonder how he actually is being treated, yk? like all we see of him is him being a jerk and just genuinely not giving a shit about anyone or anything (until the most recent chapter in which ill get into that in a second..)

deacon was not having a fun time with the seagulls 😭😭😭 rip deacon 😔

the way chase bribed buddy with the last bar of chocolate was so funny

chase hit buddy in the face with a ball 😃👍🏼

buddy then threw chase in the ocean and called him tiny (damn bro making fun of his height, its okay chase is just fun sized ☠️)

buddy with curly wet hair felt weird but it looked nice on him

i found it sweet that chase wanted to help buddy, even if all buddy has been towards him was rude. shows what type of person chase is and it makes me love his character so much, everyone needs their own chase lol

i know buddys main goal is to get the keys, and so it would be very unlikely that he would throw that away to become friends with chase, but man. when chase called him out on it and the shattered heart image in the background… awh man.

the small fight they had was sad, but once buddy left chase was sitting on the ground crying, i may be wrong but i dont think we have seen him crying until now, right? brb lemme go check

ok i like reread the entire thing and few times we saw him cry was when we saw him visit myra for the first time in the story (that we see ofc) and it was just for a split second, and also in the same episode visiting his fathers grave, he seemed to cry a smige more but thats all.

+ while doing the research for that, i realized that in the very first episode chase got a black eye and when he went out of the book, he didnt have it anymore. so (again ill get into this when i get into the most recent chapter and what happened then) but at the same time, the second episode was more of a “hey! this is how this mess started!” sorta thing, so we dont know the timing of it.

in the morning when chase wakes up and sees buddy, from the way buddy is speaking im pretty sure he was upset about the conversation the night before too, as he’s never been that violent with anything towards chase before. im not saying buddy is a violent person, but at the same time, its concerning a bit how he took “the two characters have an argument “ and his anger took over him and make it a hostile argument instead of verbal.

“and if they do make you miserable, you deserve it” hm i get that chase is upset, i mean buddy is quite literally being a psychopath at this point in the story, but man.. when i read that i was just in amazement that that came to mind, i dont blame the guy ofc but still. didnt go over well, buddy seemed to be pretty affected by it, which brings up again, i do genuinely wonder how the ex libris is treating him to make him so easily shaken / angry when its brought up.

buddy hurt chase. now to be fair, chase sorta (i think) kicked him and made buddy land face first in the sand etc. but he didnt draw blood. buddy drew blood, now what i noticed when this happened is buddys first instinct was to drop the spear and instantly basically panic. its clear he didnt genuinely mean to hurt chase, but he still did.

now as said above, we dont know if these injuries can travel from book to real life, as we dont have solid proof that they do. but its obvious, even if its fake, that the characters still feel it, so that must have hurt a lot (ofc it did lynx you dumbass bro is literally bleeding on his face 😒) but if they do travel to the real world, how is chase going to hide it? its a slash under his eye on his cheek, decent size too. doesnt seem that easy to cover. i mean, he does have like 47 skin care products so maybe he can cover it with that somehow but im not sure

back onto the point above, buddy’s first instinct was to (first pause and stare) and then drop the spear, making it clear he didnt mean nor, even want to hurt chase maybe. buddy is usually good with his words and with what he says, it all comes out perfectly as if he is reading a script when he speaks. he was choking on his words, “trying” to explain why that happened.

“n-no, i-“ “i didnt mean that, i just-“ “i wasnt…”

he was obviously not prepared, nor did he want to. again, he was after the keys, he wasn’t after hurting anyone.

(which this is all quite obvious, however i love to yap and i have no friends in person that also like cinderella boy so shush let me nerd out for a sec)

it kinda felt uncomfortable seeing buddy so.. what’s the word? unsettled? upset? surprised? one of those, maybe all three. this entire episode for the most part felt off putting, buddy not being his “ha i dont care, just go away” persona and instead getting pissy (more that usual) and even upset at the end. it just didnt feel right and its so obvious that after this the next story that chase goes into (if he continues) will be so different compared to these when it comes to interactions with buddy.

“youre just a scum, you know that?” YIKES BRO 😭💀💀 chase is uh yeah i just wanted to mention that line

seeing chase with tears in his eyes, obviously looking genuinely scared and saying “all i wanted to do was help” HURT MY SOUL. again, mentioned above, we rarely see him cry, and the only times we did was when visiting his sick mom and his fathers grave. thats it. the fact that hes cried now twice because of something buddy has done is huge, dont ya think?

chase ran away crying, which ykw i dont blame him, buddy’s body language was also a huge giveaway that he genuinely felt bad because again, hes usually so confident in the way he poses, and from the moment he hurt chase to the end of the episode, he was holding himself, just standing there.

also the fact that the last panel is one of the chocolate bar wrappers blowing towards buddy’s feet was also interesting. like putting salt water into a cut yk? (haha get it cuz theyre on a beach island and chase has a cut.. haha.. okay sorry)

SUMMARY/THEORIES

okay so these were a LOT to take in, and chase being already burnt out might be a reason he cried so easily, but you never know. i think buddy gaining chase’s trust without trying and KNOWING (or probably knowing) he had chases trust and just not caring and broke it without a thought kinda sucks, but as said TWICE. we dont know his situation. for example, what if he will get hurt or someone around him will if he doesnt get these keys? we dont know why he does what he does so we cant really excuse nor can we blame him.

i saw them getting along and from that second i knew it was going to end terribly.

my theory is, that when deacon comes back he will see chase hurt and upset, and buddy either will be no where in sight (very likely) or he will be very quiet and not making a single noise in the background. deacon will see chase, probably be really confused and then realize who chase was around. now, im not that great at reading characters.. unless like i study them HARD so all this next stuff just might be bs, but ima say it anyways because its tumblr.

now, i think once they get out of the book, deacon will beg chase to tell him what happened, if he didnt already in the book, even if deacon already knows without saying. deacon, being deacon, will probably panic, and either 1) try to convince chase its a bad idea to continue. 2) try to convince chase to take a break and make deacon do them for a small period of time (very unlikely). or 3) deacon will be hesitant to continue, but if they do then he will be a lot more protective of chase, and possibly look more into books completely without any sort of villain.

its obvious there could ALSO be other scenarios, but these are the ones i came up with. another is that chase could stop completely, and just give up. but thats HIGHLY unlikely as its literally part of the story and silver and bronze will probably try to support him.

now, with the chase and buddy dynamic… oh wowie. this is a slow burn enemies to lovers story, which means this wont be miserable for a long time, however it still asks the question “well how are they going to react towards one another” and my GOOD friends, who the fuck knows. (punko thats who)

however! its impossible for them to go along and pretend it never happened, because its clear they were both hurt by it. even if it wasnt completely just physically. maybe buddy will stop appearing in the books for a second? what if he’s replaced by another member? ikik unlikely. okok, well what if in the stories buddy just stays quiet and entirely follows along with his character? i feel like that wouldnt last long and i dont think buddys that much of a jerk to try and dodge it. chase? i feel like chase would try to dodge it, i mean after this he has to fear buddy a little right? they could also be a lot meaner to one another, but i also see that as very unlikely. i can see chase being more cold, but for some reason i cant imagine buddy being as rude as he was in the beginning, or even rude to being with.

all in all, i really dont know what theory to go with, MAN I WANNA NERD OUT MORE ABT THIS. 😭😭😭 (yk w someone who will actually listen cuz my friends irl dont give a shit)

holy shnizer that was a lot of words... okay well if you read all of that then we might as well be friends cuz man i talk a lot about subjects i like.. BUT YEA. WILD RIDE. WOWIE.

me when it comes to cinderella boy:

[misrepresentedmorallygrey]

PROPAGANDA

Goro Akechi

have you seen this man. the fandom doesn't seem to grasp that he can have a "good" goal but still go about it absolutely the wrong way. he's not baby but he's not evil incarnate either, he's just 18. being 18 is just like that

People who are like "he's an irredeemable psychopath who became a serial killer just because he has daddy issues" piss me off. People who are like "he's the only person who ACTUALLY cares about the Protagonist and all of the Protagonist's other friends are fakes and users" piss me off even more. He's a foil for the entire main cast. He has faced all of their traumas with none of the support. He believes that he's responsible for his mother's suicide, and that he's unlovable. He was abandoned by everyone. He made some bad decisions when he was like 14, and his abusive father manipulated him into being a hitman. He lies all the damn time, so you can't really tell when he's being genuine or not. He's a double agent who befriends you and then tries to kill you, believes that he's succeeded, and shows absolutely no remorse. He dies to save your life (and then gets sorta resurrected and then dies again to literally save the world). It's complicated! He's complicated!

Loki

hes just like that

He is not the Norse equivalent of the Devil! People keep trying to fit Norse mythology into a Christian mindset and that's NOT RIGHT!! Loki is complex. They're mischievous and some things are bad and some things are good and sometimes they are just a chaotic being that has sex with a horse.

I just think it’s funny that someone submitted this already, and I kind of want to see where that goes

[y2niki]

# Gwen Stacy <3

→ spiderverse 니키. if i die, i must die with you sorta theme. maybe like yandere

warnings? psychology themes, character death, ooc riki, riki is a psycho

authors note: i have returned from break, honestly this was better in my head and i apologise if this is badly written but i hope you like my little song references!!. fem reader. around 700 words. inspired by nayeollyn on tt. story under cut

As the self-proclaimed Spiderman of Tokyo, you were no stranger to danger and chaos. You had dedicated your life to protecting the city from super villains and creatures, using your enhanced abilities and quick wit to save innocent lives. But there was one person who always seemed to be your biggest obstacle - Nishimura Riki, your so-called partner. Someone you had viewed as your “Gwen Stacy” You and Riki were two sides of the same coin, constantly at odds with each other. Whenever you were near each other, the air was thick with tension. You fought like cats and dogs, always trying to one-up each other. 

But one day, Your arch-nemesis, the one known as the 'Mastermind', unleashes a wave of monsters on Tokyo. As always, you and Riki team up to take them down. You swing through the city, taking out the creatures with your spider webs, while Riki uses his strength to defeat the larger ones. As you both stand victorious on a rooftop, Riki turns to you with a look of admiration in his eyes.

'You know, you're not so bad for a spider,' he chuckles. Rolling your eyes, you reply, 'And I know you love hanging out. Dare you to say you hate it now, huh’ Perhaps that's why you never suspected a thing. Every time a new monster or villain appeared in Tokyo unleashed by ‘Mastermind’, you and Riki were there to save the day, fighting side by side. You never saw the darkness behind his charming smile, the madness behind his piercing eyes. But that all changed when he finally confessed his love for you.

You start to notice that the villains and creatures always attack on days when Riki is the only one available to help you. But you brush it off, thinking it's just a coincidence. After all, Riki has always been there to help you when you needed him. That day, when you are both taking down a group of monsters, Riki suddenly stops and turns to you with a tender look in his eyes. 'Listen, I need to tell you something,' he says, his voice filled with nervousness.

You were taken aback, to say the least. You had always seen Riki as a nuisance, someone who constantly got in your way and made your job harder. The thought of him being in love with you was almost laughable. But as he poured out his heart, you saw a different side of him. He was vulnerable and honest, his usually confident demeanor crumbling before you. And for a moment, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for him. But then, he revealed the truth. That he was the mastermind behind every creature and villain that you had fought. That he had created them all just to spend time with you, to see you in action and maybe even earn your affection. Your sympathy quickly turned to anger and betrayal. How could he do this to you? To the innocent people of Tokyo? You were the protector of the city, and he had used you for his twisted desires. Without a second thought, you attacked him. Your once playful banter turned into a deadly fight, each of you using your powers to their full potential. The streets of Tokyo became your battlefield, the innocent bystanders fleeing in terror. But in your anger and confusion, you didn't see the madness in Riki’s eyes. You didn't realize that he was no longer the charming, sarcastic partner you knew. He was a psychopath, driven by his obsession for you, who had no ounce of self love, he had never loved himself, all the while trying to love you. In the heat of the battle, you had almost killed him. But as he lay on the ground, bloodied and broken, he did the one thing you never expected. He jumped off the building, grabbing onto you in the process. Your mind was racing as you fell through the air, your once enemy now holding onto you for dear life. And in that moment, you heard him whisper “My spider man, you have saved me”As the ground rushed closer and closer, you realized that the man you thought you knew was a dangerous stranger. And as you crashed onto the pavement below, you both lost your lives. The people of Tokyo mourned the loss of their beloved Spiderman and her Gwen Stacy like partner. They had no idea of the truth behind your deaths, of the twisted love and betrayal that had led to this horrific end.

But one thing was for sure. 

In every universe, Gwen Stacy had always fallen for spider-man.

And in every universe, it never ended well.

[maltmealo]

Chapter 2: Who are you, really?

A conversation floated around, it was muffled like I was in a different room. Maybe you were in a different room, you didn't know anymore. You were either dead and in robot purgatory or giant robots are real and some psychopath demon teleported you to Nevada, hooray.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Tiredly you lift up your head, expecting to see the crappy popcorn ceiling of your college dorm, but instead seeing a… stone ceiling, you got kidnapped, great.

Sitting up was a mistake, memories flooded your head, leftover bile from earlier resurfaced as your body finally gave in to your disgust and fear. After you were done throwing up, you slapped your hands over your body, checking for any damage. Nothing. you got hit by a fucking semi-truck and you weren’t even hurt anymore.

Standing up on two shaky legs as you observed your surroundings. A stone corridor, the ceiling was being held up by statues of… you don't even know what those are, robots? A part of the corridor was sunk and drowning in water, slowly you made your way to the water peering over the edge, you couldn’t see the bottom, which may be because of the barely light environment you were in. Down the other way was… a guy, a guy who was watching you. you froze in place holding your breath hoping that he couldn’t see you.

Suddenly, he spoke, “Run.” he spoke like he was scared, “Run and don't look back!” he shouted your name as someone, no, something appeared behind him. He pointed behind you and kept repeating the phrase. Out of instinct, you took a step back, right into the mysterious dark water. Panic swelled in your chest as you sunk below the surface, it felt like a current was pulling you toward the bottom.

Voices, muffled voices were coming from the bottom, and a bright light appeared, seemingly the source of the voices. The current was dragging you toward the light, in a desperate attempt to stop the current you kicked and flailed like that would do something. A bright flash of light obscured your vision, the voices became clearer.

“-m sure that they fell from some sorta portal!” a male voice said, seemingly agitated.

“And then you brought her here? Bulkhead, what if they were a Decepticon spy!” a gruffer, older voice yelled at ‘Bulkhead’.

“Ratchet is right, bulkhead,” a new voice answered, “But then again, they appeared to be in distress, and as Autobots, it is our duty to help those in distress.”

Slowly, you managed to open your eyes to see a giant hovering over you. You let out a horrified scream and sat up. Another round of vomit rose from your stomach and you covered your mouth and scampered back from the giant… robot, it was a giant robot.

“Great, they’re awake.” the iron giant said then mumbled something along the lines of, ‘We can't protect a human.’

“Hello, I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, you are safe.” You whip around to the source of the voice, a red and blue giant, even bigger than the orange and white one. Your body refused to move, your hand still glued to your mouth and your eyes wide as saucers. There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, “We do not wish to harm you, we found you after you fell from a portal, can you tell us who you are?”

“I,” you took your hand off your mouth and slowly started to inch away from the giant metal robots, you tried to answer his question but no other words came out of your mouth. Suddenly you were blocked from going any further, you turned to see a large hand blocking you from falling from the ledge. Slowly your eyes follow towards a green robot this time, he gave a nervous smile.

“Don’t want you falling again, I’m Bulkhead, team prime’s wrecker!” he said introducing himself, he held out a finger from his other hand for you to shake, his other still keeping you from moving any further back. you shook his hand, still not talking.

Finally gainly back your voice, you stuttered, “You… your giant robots.”

The orange and white one finally spoke up, “We are cybertronians, and you are?” he grumbled and watched you like he was trying to figure out what you were.

you tell them your name, and hug your knees close to your chest, “How’d you get here?” They shared a look between themselves the red and blue one, Optimus, got down to your eye level.

“We were scanning the area when our devices felt a disturbance in the Electromagnetic fields, it was great enough to be of concern. Myself and bulkhead,” he said gesturing to the green one behind me, “went to the site of the disturbance, only to see you falling through a rift of light or as bulkhead says, a portal.”

Bulkhead let out a hefty laugh, “Yeah! And if Optimus didn't catch you on time you probably would have went splat!” your face must have gotten paler.

“Bulkhead!” the orange and white one shouted angrily, making you flinch at the volume, “I’m sure they could’ve gone their whole life without ever needing to know they almost died!”

you almost died. you didn’t almost die, you did die! Black spots danced in your vision as you cradled your head and tried to slow your breathing, nagging claws of panic digging into your back, peering over your shoulder like some long-lost friend. Ringing entered your ears next, forcing the arguing of the two cybertronians out of your head. you could feel tears welling up, the choking anxiety forcing a painful lump to the back of your throat.

“Are you okay?” Optimus said, you hadn’t realized but the other two had stopped arguing and the only sound was your muffled, choked sobs.

“As okay as someone who was just hit by a truck can be.” you chuckle a bit, before whipping away the remaining tears and trying to stop more from coming up, “and as okay for someone who was just about murdered by an insane psychopath.”

The silence was deafening, the orange and white one spoke up first, “You were hit by a truck? We did an examination on you and you have no signs of any damage anywhere!.” He too got lower to see you eye to eye.

“I don’t… I don’t know…” somehow you managed to curl up even further into yourself, “I remember being chased by a serial killer and then getting hit by a truck, and then I woke up here.” a thought came running through your head, “Oh my god, am I dead? Is this some sort of afterlife?” you began babbling on the possibilities as more began to flood into your head.

“You are not dead, this place is quite real, you can assure you, you are safe and will remain unharmed, we have contacted your government and have informed them of your presence,” Optimus said gently, “unfortunately, you will have to be under our watch for the time being.”

A loud scoff came from the orange and white one, “Optimus if you haven’t noticed we already are watching three human children! We do not need to take care of another!”

“I’m not a child,” you said snappily, “And I can take care of myself, I just want to go home, and then I’ll be out of your hair.” They all shared a look of confusion.

“We do not have hair, nor would you be in it if we did.” Optimus said, “But I'm afraid you don't have a choice on whether or not you stay here, you still have very strong traces of the EMF disturbance, and Decepticons will no doubt try and track you.”

“Decepticons? What are those?” you croaked out, your panic attack could wait until later, now you were curious.

“Decepticons are the faction we are at war with, they seek to take over the earth and terraform it to better suit cybertronian life, destroying all organic life in the process,” Optimus spoke, almost as if this was rehearsed.

“Not to mention that the leader is a tyrant with a vendetta against Optimus.” the orange and white one said. “But… Optimus is right, now that you know of our existence you will need protection.”

“Why the change of mind?” you say turning to him, the bright fluorescent lights flickered, your stomach dropped and you covered your mouth again. He was going to come and get me, Meryl was dead, and he was going to come and get me. A sudden pain shot through your forehead and you gasped and held your head.

“You’re bleeding!” Bulkhead said, seemingly panicked “Ratchet do something!”

you brought your hand away from your forehead, blood. you were bleeding, your breath sped up. This was a dream and real life was seeping through the cracks. A hand, a giant hand was reaching for me, temporarily forgetting where you were, you screamed.

“Don’t touch me!” your voice was high-pitched and manic, scampering further away from both Bulkhead and Ratchet. your forehead was bleeding still, blood now getting into your eyes, “This isn’t real! I’m still laying on the side of the fucking road bleeding out!” dizziness streamed into your mind, your vision getting foggy.

“Hey, listen now, don’t do anything stupid, okay? This is real, you’re not on the side of the road, you're in Jasper, Nevada.” Bulkhead said, slowly inching his way toward me.

“No!” you gasp, “I can’t be in Nevada! I was just in South Carolina working on an essay for college!” you were now walking backward at a steady face. Warm metal suddenly stopped you, wrapping around your body and stopping you from walking any further.

“You are injured and confused, we will not hurt you, you promise you,” Optimus said as you started to struggle, he wasn’t squeezing you in any way, he was just keeping you from walking off the edge. “You have nothing to fear from us.” The dizziness had started to form black dots in your vision, if Optimus wasn’t holding you you probably would have collapsed.

“No, no, no! This can’t be real, if it is that means my friend is dead and the fucking psychopath is still out there!” Sobs forced their way out of your throat, “This can’t be real…” as your Harsh sobs died down, exhaustion began to weigh down on your mind, either that or blood loss. you didn’t talk anymore, you couldn’t, you could barely keep your eyes open. you were too comfortable to stay awake anyway.

A conversation floated around, it was muffled like you were in a different room. Maybe you were in a different room, you didn't know anymore. you were either dead and in robot purgatory or giant robots are real and some psychopath demon teleported you to Nevada, hooray.

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Agitation 3.10 Live Reactions

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

It's July 4th, work is dead, I've got nothing else to do, let's try to plow through a bunch of these, shall we? At the rate I've been going I'll be at this all year.

The rest of the battlefield was chaos.  Patches of darkness covered everything, and the landscape was distorted.  In some of the areas Vista had warped, the rain wasn’t falling in a straight line.  One spot in particular had the rain moving horizontally before it dropped to help fill a massive puddle thirty feet across, where her power had made an indent in the ground.

I do like Wildow's attention to detail here, and the way these powers just... absolutely fuck everything up like this, and stay like that.

Bitch screamed, and it was a long and primal noise, filled with rage.  I was still inside the bank, watching things unfold through the window, barely able to hear it, and it still made my skin crawl.  So he’d shot the dangerous psychopath with a blast that made her angry.  Someone would have to explain that one to me at a later date.

I'd guess Gallant didn't shoot her with rage, it's just that Rachel's kind of messed up. But I could be wrong.

Seems an odd choice though, if he did.

Apparently that was order enough, because Judas charged at the teenager that was dressed like a science fiction Lancelot.

I love descriptions like this because they both tell us absolutely nothing about how it looks... and also tell us everything. I once read a fic that described the armor of a guy from a culture that went from medieval tech to space travel in like, 100 years (sorta, long story) as being 'Lord of the Rings, with Sci-Fi bolted on' (the POV character was from Earth), and it both told us nothing, and yet, told us everything.

Descriptions are hard, ya'll. Worst part of writing. Props to Wildbow.

Was someone’s power at work, giving me a headache?  There wasn’t anyone in the Wards, I was pretty sure, who could mess with your head like that.  Gallant could mess with your emotions, but he had to hit you with a light blast to do it.  The person on the roof, then?  I was fairly confident there wasn’t anyone in the Protectorate or New Wave who could affect me like this.

No one suspects the healer!

(also no one knows the healer can do this, but)

.  A gun, no less than fifteen feet long, with a barrel three or four feet across, all turret mounted on a circular platform not unlike the board he was riding.

I know technically there is no overkill, just "Open fire" and "I need to reload" but also...

Overkill.

I jumped for cover the moment I realized what he was doing.  There was a muffled sound, more a very large person someone hitting a punching bag than what I’d expect a laser cannon to sound like, and the window exploded. What was he doing?  We had hostages inside.  I turned to check, and saw there weren’t any hostages near me.  Did he know that?  Heat sensors in his visor?  Was someone watching me through the cameras and passing him info?  Damn it!  There was too much I didn’t know, and Tattletale wasn’t around to fill me in.

You know, if Kid Win and Victoria were dating, he could be the Collateral Damage Ken to her Collateral Damage Barbie.

But JESUS Kid, what the fuck?

(Yes, CDB is an incomplete representation of Vicky, but she does earn the nickname fairly at the early stages. I'm also going to assume it's an unfair representation of Kid Win, but still, *Man* wtf?)

The bugs were slow to react, slow to move and some were slipping from my grasp, returning to their instinctive behavior.  Making matters worse, I wasn’t blind to the fact that every time I gave a command, my headache got exponentially worse.

Given that Amy's little messing with the Black Widows only affected them, I'm surprised? Or is this just some sort of Master headache? Is she doing more with the swarm than usual?

 Aegis didn’t try to run this time.  He stood his ground and reached for his utility belt.  He retrieved something that looked like a miniature fire extinguisher. Then he pulled the pin. For the second time in a matter of minutes, I dove away from the window.  It wouldn’t be a grenade, but the option that made the most sense-  I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my ears just in time.  The explosion the flashbang grenade

Flashbang. Much more responsible, Aegis usually is in fic, so presumably in canon too. Tracks.

and Regent was striding out of the darkness, in Kid Win’s direction.

With his outfit and mask that actually probably looks kinda badass.

I whirled to face the voice, and saw the freckled, brown haired hostage that had been glaring at me when we’d first taken control of the bank lobby.  After that, I saw only stars as she slammed something large and blunt into the side of my head.

AMY! :rofl: Finally!

Okay, so like, I get that Amy's not the MC of Worm, but like, I've been waiting for the Fire Extinguisher smash the entire time I've been reading this Arc, so bear with me.

Amy's blorbo, okay?

[mayimkjs]

A List of Es Theories

Taken from the FOOL's MATE research doc

Es Dies at the End

Realistically, I can’t see this happening. This theory comes from a line in Molech were Shidou says that MILGRAM “Reeks of death” and how in the 3rd chorus in Undercover, the prisoners are killing Es. Personally, I see the 3rd chorus of Undercover as showing how/what action each prisoner did to kill their victim using Es as a stand-in.

The only way for one of the prisoners to kill Es, is to not be a prisoner. So out of all 13 characters, that would leave Jackalope, John or Es. Let's face it, Jackalope can’t do shit to Es because he is 2 foot 5. I doubt Es would do anything to themself. The most likely person to kill Es would be John, although, Mikoto or another alter might interfere. If Es where to die, I feel it would be due to some sort of accident or a prisoner indirectly killing them. 

Es is the 11th Prisoner

The most common theory about who they are, is that they are actually the 11th prisoner. There's 11 cells and on the map of the prison, the 11th cell is marked as “000” on the map, a number that Es is commonly associated with. There’s also a few frames in Undercover that shows an unknown prisoner that sorta looks like Fuuta or Es. 

At the very end of the series, Es will be judged. 

Es is the Name for Guards

“Es” is just the name for the guard, not their actual name. So there have been multiple Es’s. It’s already been confirmed that there have been past MILGRAM trials. 

An extension of this, is that Es is just an expendable test subject to MILGRAM and is seen as disposable. 

Something that's a mix of the last 2, is that all of the guards used to be prisoners that were forgiven. 

Es is an amalgamation of all of the victims.

It’s already possible for the guard to be dead. Jackalopes seem to reflect their Es and our Jackalope is very fixated on solving the crimes or the prisoners. Maybe this is because Es has a personal reason to see justice brought upon these prisoners. They have also referred to themself with the plural pronoun 私たち (Watashitachi). This could be seen as Es referring to the audience, but it could also be something else. 

What is their true identity?

Before Es woke up, their memories were wiped and they were knocked out, only to be awoken by Jackalope. 

“Es” could be a shortened version of their name. There’s what sounds like morse code at the beginning of Undercover that translated to Sora. Sora is a gender neutral name. 

Es is also wearing the more feminine of the 2 uniforms we’ve seen. Their uniform is more similar to Sumi’s then Touchi’s. So our Es might have identified as a girl or was feminine presenting before they wound up in MILGRAM.

Es could also be from Jackalopes era, whenever that is. 

Since Jackie escaped and jackalopes can turn into humans, maybe Es is Jackie. 

What will happen to Es in the third trial?

Es’ mental state will likely deteriorate. We’ve already started to see this happen. At the end of the T2 review, Jackalope essentially was trying to brainwash them than says "oh yes, just as i predicted, you have all turned out to be....”. However, it’s not cut off in Japanese. The original Japanese version translates into “You have all turned out to be psychopaths who enjoy other people's misery”. In the original milgram experiment, there are three possible results.

Those who followed the rules but blamed themselves

Those who followed the rules and felt great

Those who rebelled and halted the experiment

According to Jackalope, Es falls under the second result. 

On the back of the back of the sleeve for the Undercover CD, there are 3 Es'. One distraught, one laughing and one that looks enraged. These line up with the 3 results. 

Short Theories

They have been the guard for some time now but has their memory wiped between each round of prisoners. 

They are some sort of AI or at least not human.

[damnedrainbows]

RULES:

These are five years old and are going to change with things to be added in the next few days, but they’re mostly the same! A i was informed they weren’t showing up on my blog so I made a pin for now

Muses:

Generally the entire show, but my mains are Alastor, Lucifer, and Charlie

Following and Unfollowing

I am selective.

I will only follow back blogs I actively wish to RP with. Or people I’ve made friends with. I’ll be ever grateful for every follower I get, but it doesn’t mean I’ll follow you back.

You don’t have to be an rp blog for me to rp with you. One of my partners is just a normal fandom blog. Writing is writing C:

I don’t do exclusives. For me I find it takes a lot of the opportunities away to get to know more cool people. If you want to make me an exclusive for something…go right ahead, but I won’t do the same. You’ll simply stay my partner. I want to be able to interact with everyone. That being said, I do mains! That doesn’t really mean anything other than your blog would be the first I tag if I see something that reminds me of our muses, that sorta thing.

If I hear wind that you’re harassing any of my friends you’re done. And if you’re harassing me in any way. I do not put up with bad treatment of my friends or me. You don’t want a block from me. Jordan doesn’t block ANYBODY.

Threads and Communication

Sometimes I’ll have long posts, sometimes short ones. It depends purely on my inspiration at the time, but I’ll always put my best effort in. I want you to do so too!

Before writing any verse you want to do, please talk to me first C:

I LIVE FOR RANDOM STARTERS TBH. It’s like…waking up to Christmas morning and seeing your present. Mutuals please drop me a random starter any time.

I play my characters the way I want to play them, the way I interpret them. So if you don’t like how they’re played, that’s fine, but I’m not likely to change it.

If you send IC memes please specify the muse, since…well, I have the whole show.

I’m of age so I do smut but nothing too-too graphic. It will be tagged of course.

My threads are for my PARTNER only. Or partners if it’s a threeway. Please do not reblog them. You can like em, you can use the little reply button to say something–if you really want to talk about something that’s happening in them shoot me a message-but do not reblog unless you are said partner. C:

For the love of God, don’t hound me. I’m aware I can take a while to reply, but I have a lot of threads usually at the same time and some I have more muse for than others. Please don’t link me to our thread, please don’t say “it’s your turn” or some sort of variation of passive aggressive harassment. You aren’t going to make me respond faster. You are just going to spark my anxiety and make me resent our rp. If it’s been four days feel free to message me–not four hours.

Unless you’re a canon character my muse needs to get to know you a bit. C: So it’s unlikely you can just pop up to one of my muses, never having met, like ‘hi, how you been?’ and not have them be like “who da fuck are you"

Shipping

Shipping will mainly be thread-dependent. If you feel like our muses may mesh, go for it!

I will not tolerate hate for what I ship. I don’t need to be told I’m shipping something unhealthy because chances are I’ll state it’s unhealthy and I by no means condone dating a psychopath in real life. Hate will be deleted and blocked.

When it comes to OC ships and any ship really, ship needs chemistry. Do not force a ship onto my muses. They need to get to know each other, and this mainly applies to OC ships–not so much the pr-established characters in the show. If I already ship it, I’m down to jumping straight into a shipping thread.

Crossovers

I am mildly less selective with crossovers since this show is literally…all about crossing over into other media. I’m still selective but not as much. For my own comfort I won’t be rping with characters from the Sonic franchise.

Triggers and Tagging

I know very little about triggers myself and what people consider a trigger. IF you want something tagged you’ll have to ask. I’ll be clueless otherwise, but I will tag all ships. And the basic gore and blood and such. Be aware of the fact I have bad memory problems. If I forget to tag something you asked me to tag I’m sorry, it wasn’t on purpose.

This is an insanely dark show and there will be a lot of blood and gore and horror. There will be torture and killing talk, but it will still be tagged.

Mun Notes

I have serious memory problems. Like, really bad due to a combo of illnesses. Cut me some slack, I’m going to forget rules and probably certain triggers if I’m not used to tagging them. You have no ida how many friggin rule pages I’ve read on this blog. I’ll do my best but I’m going to forget, and probably more than once. It’s not my fault, I’m trying my hardest.

I do not do passcodes. For some reason they make me…severely anxious and I don’t know why. If we rp, I’ve read your rules, rest assured. If you really really depend on a passcode…well, we probably won’t be rping then. ;-; sorry.

I’m a physically disabled person who’s online rather…all the time because I can’t work really. So rp is like all I got going on right now as I work on my animation portfolio at home.

I’m a very sweet twenty two four old that loves to talk to people. Talk to me any time about my muse, about anything! Feel free to approach me just to talk in general. I really love people! We don’t have to rp to be friends.

And finally, what I write, my characters’ views do not reflect my own. I do not condone the destruction of entire civilization or eating babies. Unless they are tasty babies.

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

I've been thinking about Toga for a little bit, and how I just pity her, sure she's a psychotic murderer, but she didn't have to be, if her parents were more open to her quirk things could have been different, if she went to a reputable pro hero things could have been different, did she have some less than ideal tendencies before she went off the deep end? Yes, but with therapy they could have been lessened, and who knows she could have been a good underground hero or whatever she wanted to be, I understand what a lot of what the community says about her being able to change, but with everything she did it wasn't going to be overnight, while I'm a little sad about her fate at the end in a way it sorta fits, she finally found someone who truly sees her for what she wants to be, someone cute and deserving of love.

I’m about to break your heart: I don’t like Toga. At all. Yeah I can sympathize for her, abusive parents suck, but like… she is still a killer. She is aware what she does is wrong and does it anyway. No amount of ‘I want love’ can change that for me. Plus I think people forget that it’s not canon she needs blood to survive. Her fascination with blood is due to her Quirk yes- but it was also what led to her killing a bird. That highly suggests psychopathic/sociopathic tendencies. These people tend to ONLY focus on themselves and what they want rather then anyone else.

Yes therapy helps but its not just ‘a few months of sessions��� its years on end therapy. Its never ending. Its in and out of hospitals sometimes to see what helps depending on the person. Its possibly being on medication, its being a young adult changing therapists ten times.

Yeah she could have been saved. But she also had a body count within like a year. I find it really hard to understand how people downplay it or try to ignore her actions- much like how they do it with Bakugou. Because she's cute and fun they want her to be part of the hero course as ‘rehab’ and ‘look how awful these kids are shunning her aren't they despite the fact they just got attacked a week ago by her’.

I'm much more interested in unrepentative Toga because I find that more interesting then a ‘good’ Toga. More so since the various ways people redeem her just fail.

A few months of therapy and it’s all good! No? Toga needs YEARS of therapy. And to be honest? With her history- she would need at least two years incarceration in a psychiatric hospital.

She gets into a rehab program at UA and then makes best friends. Okay no, she is obsessed with Izuku and Ochako. You remove people like Toga from their obsessions for their safety.

She gets caught after her first kill, gets help and then joins the hero course! It would take so much longer for her therapy to be done.

Do I think if she was found before she started killing things would be different? Yes I do! I fully think she could have been a hero if she had early intervention. If a teacher got worried, if she had proper Quirk Counseling- list goes on. She would still have her tendencies but early childhood intervention helps with that stuff. She would still be in therapy and all but she would have excelled at heroics. Psychopaths and sociopaths do wonderful in the military and similar jobs for a reason. An underground hero like Toga working as a spy? She'd rock it.

But I also think she isn't safe for society after she starts killing. Maybe in like a decade after therapy and stuff she would be, but it takes a long time for that to happen. Een then, she may not be allowed out because she isn't insane in the way she doesn't know what she's doing. She does, she does it. She might be in prison for the rest of her life because of that.

And lets say she does get out- its probably in her best interests not to have contact with Ochako. The risk of her relapsing is to much.

Of course this is me taking a more realistic approach. You can handwave everything with Quirks, but for me its just… I can’t.

I’ve read really good LOV redemption fics. One of my fav authors here (who I bug all the time) likes Toga. I don’t mind reading them because they work/are fairly crackish so its not a big deal. (Others less so). I can see why people like her, even if I don’t understand the habit of downplaying her actions. I just don’t like her. To me, she's more interesting as a selfish and unrepentive villain.

That being said: I didn't hate her ending either. I think it does fit her, and if it had to happen I like how it unfolded. Ochako did see someone worthy of love, worthy of care. And I think it says a lot about Ochako. I love it. I truly do. I love also how Ochako champions helping others like Toga to prevent the same thing happening again.

It’s one of the things I like the most about the ending.

[darkwing-katy]

The Spider and the Fly Part III

Pairing: Eventual Leland x Reader (sorta? You’ll see what I mean)

Word Count: 4,737

Summary: All you want to do is get through your online courses and keep your best friend from making bad choices in men. But there’s this creepy therapist who is absolutely insisting on you making an appointment with him. Who the hell is this Leland Townsend, and why won’t he leave you alone?!

Part three of seven. Takes place sometime around seasons one and two.

The series is inspired heavily by my favorite poem, “The Spider and the Fly” (1829) by Mary Howitt. This poem is in the public domain.

Tagging: @primosflowergarden; @vi-er

Part One

Part Two

——————————————————————————————————

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, “Dear friend, what can I do

To prove the warm affection I’ve always felt for you?

I have within my pantry good store of all that’s nice;

I’m sure you’re very welcome—will you please to take a slice?”

You stare up at the brick building in front of you, a scowl etched onto your face. This is ridiculous. Why the hell are you here? Just because of a measly threat?

You flash back to that day in the kitchen, the cheeriness of Leland’s voice as he talked about how easy it’d be to flat-out murder Betty and hide the body. The memory of it makes you shudder. As upbeat as Leland had been, he had left little doubt that he was capable of doing such a thing. You couldn’t risk it…at least, not yet.

But Betty’s leaving this weekend to go to her parents. So all you have to do is fake it through this single appointment, make Leland believe you’ll be back, figure out why he’s so obsessed with you in the first place, and then you can be out of here. Easy enough, right? 

You’d done so much research on him but turned up nothing. He set up his practice a few years ago, but there’s nothing else on Leland Townsend. No court records, no social media, no newspaper articles. It’s like he didn’t exist until a few years ago, and that bothers you in a way that you’re not quite sure how to articulate. Who the fuck is this guy?

The mental image of him licking his blood off of his finger pops into your brain, and you feel yourself flush before you can banish it. We are not attracted to that, you tell yourself. He’s a psychopath and we’re gonna get the hell outta here the second our stupid appointment is over.

You suck in a deep breath, glance down at your green shirt and blue jeans, and head towards the door. Your breath quickens with each step closer the door, and you despise the trepidation that fills your veins with adrenaline. You have your phone ready to record in your pocket, and you’ve got a bottle of pepper spray easily reachable in your other pocket. You’ve timed yourself to see how quickly you can get to it and spritz it right in the bastard’s face if he lunges for you again.

It occurs to you that you’re willingly putting yourself into what could be a very, very dangerous situation, but what else can you do?

Besides, you can’t deny that you’re intrigued to know why he’s so fixated on you, so desperate to have you as a client. 

The interior of the building is white. Very white, almost blindingly so. It makes you feel exposed, naked. Would a painting on the walls really be so bad?

Then again, you suspect that it’s intentional, meant to evoke that feeling that you’re being watched. You wonder if you should’ve worn something more neutral to lessen that feeling. Maybe next time, you think, then shudder. No, there won’t be a next time. Where had that come from?

You’re led down a hallway with glass windows, all of which have blinds hiding their interiors. You stop when you see the brass plaque on the door that says LELAND TOWNSEND. You glower at the name before stepping into the room, your heart racing. Leland isn’t in there; you’re left alone. You glance around. It’s just as white as the rest of the building, save for the grey couch, the grey chairs, and the black desk. Even the carpet is grey and bland. There’s a painting on the wall behind Leland’s desk, an abstract of blue, black, and white with splashes of red that adds to your internal disquiet, though you’d be hard pressed to explain why. In one of the corners of the painting is a strange symbol that you study for a moment before turning back to the rest of the room.

The couch is probably where Leland expects you to sit. Like hell. Then there’s the two chairs that face each other, but which one? They both look the same, so you can’t make a guess as to which one he prefers. 

There’s another option: his desk. It’d be a hell of a power move, wouldn’t it?

You sit in the swivel chair behind his desk and, after a few seconds of consideration, prop up your feet on his desk as well. There’s a closed laptop that you’re tempted to open, but you have no clue when he’s going to appear, and it’s best if you don’t do anything too suspicious. Your palms are sweaty, and you hate how your body is betraying your nerves. You wipe the clammy digits onto your jeans and take in a fortifying breath, counting the beats as you breathe in and out. You will not allow this man to scare you. You are the one who scares, not the other way around. You will not be afraid of Leland; it is Leland who should be afraid of you.

The seconds tick by, then minutes. You don’t allow yourself to think of how long you’ve been waiting—you’ve employed this strategy before. Making people wait to catch them off guard is an old trick, one that has often given you excellent reactions when done to the right people. Instead, you study the space, memorize every detail of it, no matter how pointless it might seem. You make plans for what you’ll do if Leland tries to physically attack you, how you’ll use the sparse furniture to take cover, how you’ll use the lamp to knock him unconscious if you need to. He will not get the best of you.

You also go over the possible ways you can scare him. You have little information, but you’ve made that work before. How many times have you gotten back at Betty’s exes, or Taylor’s, or Marina’s? In college, you were a pro at this, and you’ve only gotten better with practice.

You still jump when the door opens at last, and you mentally chastise yourself for it. Leland walks in, an apologetic look on his face. It falters momentarily when he sees where you’re sitting, and you wonder how he’ll react, but all he does is blinks before striding forward. “(Y/N)!” he greets with a smile. “I’m glad you made it this time!”

You return his smile with one of your own. “Yeah. It’s amazing how well threats work at motivating people to be on time. More people should try that,” you deadpan as you raise your eyebrows at him. 

Leland steps further into the room, the door closing loudly behind him. He eyeballs you in the chair. “That’s my desk,” he comments. 

You flash him a smirk. “I don’t see your name on it,” you reply as you shift so that your legs are pointed at him. It’s not the most comfortable position, but it says what it needs to. You see a flicker of annoyance cross Leland’s face as you fold your hands over your stomach and fix your eyes on him. “Aren’t you gonna sit, Doctor?”

He angles his head at you, considering his options, then he rotates the chair nearest the desk so that he can face you and sits in it. “Whatever works for you,” he mutters, and you feel your smirk widen. He’s not on edge or anything, but you’ve managed to mildly inconvenience him, and you’ll take that as a small win for now. “So…(Y/N)…let’s talk.”

“About what?”

Leland shrugs as he leans back into the couch. “Whatever you want,” he replies.

“Why am I here?”

“Except that.”

You purse your lips at him. “Are you stalking me or something?”

“I just said we’re not talking about that.”

You sit up in the chair in annoyance, moving your feet back to the floor. The chair squeaks with the movement. “Yes, we are,” you insist. “You went through all the trouble of getting me here, so you’re gonna tell me why the hell you care so much.”

Leland scoffs as he looks away from you in derision. “I don’t care about you,” he replies snidely. “I care about what you’ve done, what you’re capable of, but not you.”

“I seem to recall you saying we could do great things together.” You don’t look away from his face. “You were pretty damn adamant on that particular detail.”

His lips come together in a pinched smile as he looks back at you, but he’s not really looking at you as much as he is sneering. “And I maintain that position. But make no mistake, it doesn’t mean I care about you. If you wanna jump off a building or shoot yourself in the head just to spite me, I won’t lose any sleep over it.”

Well, that’s a bit extreme. You hate the guy but that just seems like giving in too easily. You value yourself far too much for that. “Alright. Guess we’re not talking, then, and this is a waste of time.” You don’t rise from the chair, though. If he wants to waste your time, then you’ll waste his by sitting here and saying nothing. This appointment should end at 6, and you’ll get up then. You put your feet back up on the desk, though you’re careful not to knock any of his things over.

Leland allows you to sit in petulant silence for a grand total of one minute and fifteen seconds before he starts again. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Nope,” you reply, popping the ‘p’.

“Why not?”

You don’t deign to answer. He’s goading you, and you’re not gonna fall for it. You look away from him but keep him in your peripheral just in case, your hand lingering near the pocket with the pepper spray.

“Oh, come on, (Y/N). Talk to me. Tell me about yourself, who you are, what you want in life.” He gives you a toothy grin. “Tell me your desires.”

You hate the way he drags out that word, mainly because it once again reminds you of him licking the blood off of his finger. “I desire to get the fuck away from you,” you snap before your traitorous body can blush at the memory. “I desire to leave this place knowing you’re gonna leave me and my friend alone.”

“Come on, there must be something you want to talk about. Something that’s weighing you down, something that’s pissing you off, something that’s making you feel…something.” Leland makes a little motion with his hands.

“I believe I just told you something that I wanted, something that makes me feel something,” you reply, irritated. “I want you far away from me and Betty.”

“Why?”

“You know why!” Dammit, he’s managing to pull the words out of you. You gotta shut up now before he gets anything else. “

“We could talk about Jordan.”

“Uhm, how about fuck no?”

“Ryan? Matthew?” He leans forward. “Brittany?” He raises an eyebrow at your ex-girlfriend’s name, but you have decided that no matter what names he drops, you’re gonna remain impassive. You’re the one with the power here, not Leland. It may be his space, but you can control how you react to him, and if that’s the only thing you can control, then by God, you’re gonna act nonchalant.

He blinks and purses his lips, clearly annoyed that you’re refusing to respond. Good, you think. Maybe he’ll call it quits early.

This time, the silence lasts a little bit longer. Maybe as long as four minutes—Leland seems like he’s content to let you sit, and you’re content to let him marinate in his annoyance. The next time he speaks, he says, “Maybe we should start on something simpler. Find some common ground. Liiiiiike…what’s your favorite scary movie?”

What is this, Scream? you think with some amusement. You’re tempted to respond, but you know that if you do, he’ll just ask you another question. And another, and another, and then the next thing you’d know, you’d be talking up a storm. 

“I’m personally prone to movies with the occult. They can be a little unrealistic at times, but sometimes, they get their stuff right! I mean, just look at Event Horizon! I hate when they try to make horror movies some sort of commentary on morality, though. Look at Saw, for example. Great moments. And what kinda movies do we have nowadays? A Quiet Place. That new M. Night Shyamalan movie.” He sighs. “We’ve forgotten what it means to really scare people, what it means to keep them up all night.”

Okay, this is weird, because you kind of agree with him. Some of the latest scary movies haven’t been meaningfully scary—they’ve been gory, but gore is pointless when it’s used for shock value. But there have been others in recent years that you enjoyed, and you open your mouth to point those films out, but then you catch him watching you, the light reflecting off of his glasses, and you slam your mouth shut.

Dammit, he almost got me there.

Leland looks like he’s waiting for your response, but you bite your tongue to hold back from everything you want to say, and you’re rewarded with a look of disappointment. You wait just long enough for him to look away from you in exasperation before you finally talk.

“What do you want from me?” you try again. “Why are you trying so hard to get to me? I’m not special.”

“No, you’re right. You’re not special at all,” he agrees lackadaisically, and his words are like a stab in the gut. For a therapist, he has no bedside manner at all. Then again, can you really be surprised by that? “I’m…investigating, I guess. Evaluating.” His face twists into a sneer. “Though I have no clue why they’d choose you when there’s much better candidates out there.”

“Who are ‘they’?” you ask before you can stop yourself, and you grimace because you know Leland wanted you to ask that.

He gives you a strange smile. “You’ve been noticed by some very important people, (Y/N). They’re intrigued by you and no matter how much I’ve tried to tell them otherwise, that you’re just a regular ole human, they insisted on this…” he waves his hand at the office. “And I’m not gonna defy them and risk the consequences just ‘cause some stupid little bitch wants to try and make me miserable.”

“You suck as a therapist, dude,” you reply as you cross your arms. “Pretty sure you’re not supposed to refer to clients as bitches.”

“I call it as I see it,” he says with another shrug. His glasses slide down his nose just a hair and you can see the remnants of the cut from your headbutt. The sight makes you smirk without meaning to, and he notices it. “What?”

You shake your head, but the smirk remains steady. “Nothing,” you say. 

Leland gives you a thoughtful look, then reaches up to his nose, his finger lightly tracing the cut. “You know, I think we got off on the wrong foot. This isn’t working.” He stands, and you tense as he takes a step towards you, towards his desk. “Get out of my chair.”

“No.”

He glares down at you. “Get. Out. Of. My. Chair.”

You don’t take your eyes away from him. Your fingers dance over the pepper spray, ready to whip it out and spray him right in those beautiful eyes of his. “Make me.”

He’s closer now, right at the edge of his desk, his knuckles grazing the smooth wooden edge. “Is this really the silly hill you want to die on right now?”

You raise your eyebrows innocently. “Someone’s dying on this hill, and it isn’t gonna be me.”

There’s a flash of amusement on his face before he places his palms flat on the desk and leans down, possibly hoping to convince you to move by invading your personal space. He hasn’t done anything aggressive, but he’s almost close enough that you’re willing to spray him anyways. You just need to egg him on a liiiiiittle bit more. “Do you really think you can take me on?” he asks. The words come out slow, dramatic, a challenge.

You bat your lashes. “Hell yeah,” you reply, and when he inches his face closer, you’re ready. You practiced for a reason, after all, and he needs to learn a lesson about messing with you. You flick the cap off with your hand, suck in a deep breath, and raise the other arm to block your own eyes from any spray-back, and then you hold the trigger down, blasting him with a solid jet of the stuff.

Leland jerks back, but it’s too late—your aim had been pretty true due to his proximity, and his eyes squeeze shut immediately as he lets out a strangled yelp of pain. He gropes at his eyes with one hand while reaching for you with the other, but it’s easy enough to avoid his flailing hand and duck under the desk as he thunks into it. You dive around his legs, giving him a kick in the back of the knee for good measure, which sends him into the table again. The table flips, everything on it sliding off and crashing to the ground, including Leland.

You should make for the door, but you linger, wanting to relish the angry pants coming from him, the rapid floundering as he tries to grab you again. He can’t see you, which only makes it more fun as you tilt or skip away from him. He’s pulled himself back to his feet now, but he can’t still see you at this point. It’s kinda hilarious, in all honesty.

Your throat burns with the taste of the pepper spray, but the Internet had warned you about that, so you’d been wise enough to hold your breath for as long as possible while you got away from Leland. Your reaction is minor compared to his, even if your eyes are stinging and watering as well. At least you can still see. You’re backed against the wall opposite the couch now, the door in easy reach when you’re ready to ditch the scene.

“God! What the hell was that for?!” he yells at you as he spins around in search of you. His face is red and puffy, his eyes are swollen shut and streaming, and his glasses are propped up as he angrily swipes at his face. 

You’d feel a little bad for the guy if he hadn’t, you know, threatened to murder your best friend a week ago. 

Your throat is irritated, even though you’re away from him, and you can’t conceal the cough that’s scratching at your throat. It escapes, and Leland’s head whips towards you. “You little bitch!” he growls, and you actually feel a pinprick of fear at the fury in his voice. “That was extremely fucking uncalled for!”

You shrug, even as you cough again. “Then maybe you should leave me the fuck alone!”

“I can’t!”

You roll your eyes, causing a tear to trickle down your face, but you ignore it. “Can’t or won’t?!”

His mouth is wrenched into a grimace, but he’s facing you, even if he’s not able to look at you. “Alright, so it’s a little bit of both,” he admits, and his honesty is so startling that you snort.

You’re about 90% sure he’s not a threat to you currently, which is the only reason you’re still here. It’s also strange how much the pepper spray doesn’t seem to really bother him. If anything, he seems humored by it. “Well, I don’t give a shit about what your bosses say or whatever. Leave me alone.”

Leland takes a stumbling step towards you. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” you warn, retrieving the pepper spray again. “You can’t see it, but I’ve got more spray and I’m not afraid to use it.”

He freezes. Cocks his head at you. And then he laughs, of all things. “Oh, (Y/N), you’re feisty. That’s fun. I am definitely gonna enjoy breaking you down.” He forces his eyes to open. They’re red and squinty, and there’s still fresh tears dripping down his face. His glasses are off, and he’s cleaning them as best as he can with a microfiber cloth that he produced out of what seems like nowhere. It’s a bit scary to see him still up and moving and so calm. “Starting with your little friend Betty.”

You glare at him. “You stay away from her.”

“Oh, I’m gonna have such a good time with her, too. You know, I think she was kinda into me when we met last week.” Leland’s voice has a mocking tone to it, dangerous and almost…seductive. “She was batting her eyelashes and shoving her breasts in my face every chance she got. No wonder she’s got all those guys coming after her—she’s a hottie ripe for the picking, if you know what I mean.” 

The hairs on the back of your neck rise, but you’re not focused on that right now. It’s hard to be scared when you’re angry. “Don’t fucking touch her,” you hiss.

“I’m gonna seduce her just to piss you off, and then after we’ve had wild sex—‘cause you just know she’s into that kinda stuff—I’m gonna strangle her in her sleep and leave her naked body in the bed for you to discover in the morning.”

You’re seeing red now. How dare he talk about her like that—about sleeping with her and murdering her—how darehe! You lunge at him, forgetting the spray is still in your hands, but he’s ready—he grabs you by the shoulders and slams you up against the wall before you can remember the spray even exists. You cry out as your back and head hit the wall with enough force to make you dizzy. Your hand struggles to get to the nozzle again, and he uses one arm to pin you in place while the other grabs your wrist and twists it until you drop the canister. Then he twists it a little more until you cry out again. “I’m only gonna say this once, (Y/N),” he says, his voice low and menacing. “You’re not in charge here—I am, and you’d better realize it if you want your friend to stay alive.”

“Fuck you,” you spit back at him. You try to shove yourself at him in a poor attempt to knock him off-balance, but he just chuckles.

Your ears are still ringing from the way your head slammed into the wall. You fight the pain, but he’s won and he fucking knows it. “You know, usually this kinda thing is a turn on for me, but right now, it’s just plain irritating.”

That bastard, you manage to think through the haze of agony. Your face is hot with embarrassment. You want nothing more than to punch him, slap him, bite him, but you’re stuck. “What the fuck do you want?” you snarl.

“Cooperation,” Leland purrs. “I want your cooperation.”

You want him off of you, but he’s bigger and he’s still pinning you in place. “Let me go.”

“Are you gonna try to hit me?”

“No,” you lie.

Leland scoffs. “Make me believe it.”

You gather everything you have, using pain and rage as fuel. “I won’t try to hit you,” you say through gritted teeth.

Leland squints at you, then takes his weight off of you. You don’t give him a moment to react before you’re swinging at him, your fingers curved to scratch his cheeks. All of that agony, all of that fury propels your hand forward, but he must’ve sensed that you were lying because he side-steps your hand and you stumble forward. He spins, one hand on your shoulder and the other on the small of your back. In a frustratingly fluid movement, he shoves you and sticks out a foot at the same time, sending you crashing to the floor. “Fuck!” you exclaim as your forehead smashes into the edge of the couch, winding a fresh wave of pain across your head.

You roll yourself over to fix your eyes on Leland, who’s now towering above you and chortling. “That’s more like it!” he says with a wide grin.

You sit there in a heap on the floor, staring up at him, flabbergasted and scared. Good God, why the hell is he laughing?

Unexpectedly, he extends his hand to you. You’re not sure if it’s because you’ve got a concussion or you’re afraid of what he might do if you reject it, so you reach up and let Leland pull you up. Your forehead is gonna have a bruise later, your ears are still ringing, but he looks just as bad—if not worse, after tumbling into his own desk. His face is still red, though it’s fading fast, and while his eyes are still puffy, they’re focused on you with enough intensity to make you squirm.

“How come you never fought off any of the exes like that, huh?”

“What?” you ask dumbly.

Leland shrugs like you didn’t just try to attack him. “You never attacked any of the guys like this. You used other methods instead. How come?”

“Uhm.” You don’t know what to say. You two just had a scuffle and now he’s chatting amicably, like the fight put him in a better mood? “Because it’s not as fun?” It’s the only answer that comes to mind right now.

“You’re gonna tell me that none of that was fun?” He waggles an eyebrow and you’re even more confused now than you were five seconds ago. “You wanna tell me that you didn’t enjoy any of that? You didn’t like lying to me and then lunging at me? You didn’t like letting that anger, that temper of yours take over?”

You feel your forehead scrunch. It hurts, provoking a grimace from you. “I mean…no?” But that’s not entirely true, is it? You did enjoy it. You liked striking out at him, liked the feeling of submitting to your rage and letting it take hold of your body. It was almost freeing. Usually, you channeled your anger into the psychological attacks, but this physicality was…satisfying in a completely different way.

“Oh, come on, don’t lie to me.” His face is more pink than red, and he doesn’t seem bothered by the residual pepper spray at all anymore. “This is a safe space, after all. You can tell me how it really made you feel.”

“I—,” but you’re hit by a wave of embarrassment and shame. This was not how you worked at all. Everything that had just happened was a direct result of him goading you, nothing more than that. You weren’t a physically violent person. “It’s not my style,” you say instead.

God, your head hurts. 

“Stop worrying about how you’re supposed to feel and start acknowledging how you really feel,” Leland says, and there’s just something about the way he says it that chips at your resolve.

You want to tell him the truth, tell him how much you liked it. How much you wanted to watch him bleed again. How much you wanted to bite his hand until you broke the skin and then lick the blood off of him and—wait, what? Where the fuck did that come from? you wonder. Can concussions alter personalities?

“Tell me, (Y/N). How do you feel right now?”

“I feel like…” the words are slow to come out. You don’t want to admit it even though you do. “I feel like hitting you again,” you say at last. It’s not the whole truth, but it’s the closest you’re willing to say for now.

Leland’s face cracks into an eerie grin. “Good.” He looks behind him, his eyes no longer streaming, then sits down in the chair next to him and motions for you to sit on the couch. Stunned, you do so, unsure of what else you can do. “Let’s talk about that some more.”

“Oh, no, no,” said the little Fly, “kind sir, that cannot be!

I’ve heard what’s in your pantry and I do not wish to see.”

Part Four