#the administration of this place is a fucking nightmare

[mugiwara-lucy]

I think Grandpa is mad he is LOSING HARD with the women vote 😂

Yeah when you mess with women’s rights or as him and his MAGAs like to argue, “sending them back to the states”, they WILL fight back.

Not to mention with his recent bullshit of his administration going to be “great” for women, it’s like he’s ASKING to get buried in the race:

And I say buried because if you all don’t know; women OUTVOTE men 3:1 and it varies by RACE.

So yeah women are going to SAVE our asses in this election because fucking with our rights? Uh you’re nutty if you think we’re just gonna sit back and let “the states” decide our rights made by old men.

Before I get on that point, I just wanna point out this sounds like a thinly veiled threat of “shut up and deal with us or else”. Because we ALL know Trump has NO respect for women.

But as for this whole “states deciding bullshit”; this has had NO positive ramifications. I’m sure we’re all familiar with the names Amber Nicole Thurman and Candi Miller. If not look them up along with the names Amanda Zuraski (my tumblr app isn’t letting me post links 😤) but yeah SO MANY women have died as a result of Roe v Wade being overturned and UNLESS things change, MORE women will die UNNECESSARILY when NO ONE but these FAKE Christians cared because over 63 % of Americans understand that abortion IS healthcare.

And also, putting my previous point aside, the reason why women are so angry aside from the unnecessary deaths is also because OLD MEN like Trump really have no place dictating what women can or can’t do with their bodies. Like, I want the men in my audience to imagine, let’s say Kamala Harris gets in office and orders men to have a vasectomy. Men would RIGHTFULLY get irate since a woman has no place telling a man what he can or can’t be doing with his body and it’s the same thing; these old men and congress can NOT give birth so who are they to tell us what we can do with our bodies??

ESPECIALLY creepy old men like Trump who have a HISTORY of sexual assault. Need I bring up his “grab em by the pussy!” Video?

These old washed up fossils like Trump HATE how modernized America is becoming and they want to go back to some conservative 1960s Ronald Reagan shit with women being stay at home moms along with trying to FORCE people to be Christians (see the 10 commandments and bible nonsense) like NO.

Down below are the voting registration deadlines that vary by state and you can also register to vote at vote.gov!

I’ve also seen people doing early voting which is great because as evidenced by Springfield Ohio along with Republicans bitching about getting “the save act or shut down the government” (Biden won’t allow any of the two to happen 🙄), them trying to have states hand count ballots like GA and then trying that “Winner Take All” Nonsense in Nebraska, EXPECT some fuckery from MAGA.

Let’s all be DONE with the nine year nightmare known as Donald Trump and his family ONCE and for ALL!!!

[hedgewitchnecromancer]

My college has kicked everyone out of the main dining hall for the entire weekend so that somebody can host a banquet in there. This includes the kitchen staff, other than the ones setting up the banquet, which means all the specialized areas, including the allergy-free area, the pizza ovens, and the ice cream machine and freezers (less important but the most popular thing in the entire dining hall) are completely off-limits. This is our only functioning dining hall on campus. Technically we have two, but the second one is only called a dining hall because it has access to the main one, not because it can function on its own. It's used, fun fact, mainly as event space, like banquets, and is not designed to be the main dining hall for 1500 kids. It can't even physically fit the entirety of the crowds that come at the busy times of the day!

But nope. Why would a college halfway to the brink of failure due to, among other things, incredibly bad relations between the students and ground-level staff and the administration, consider doing something that won't anger the student body even more? That's just absurd!

[strawbeerossi]

Roped In

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Spencer is a man on the run, a man who you turned in for countless murders. What happens when he shows up at your new home after you’re placed into WITSEC?

Content/Warnings: Dubcon (I’m just putting this just to be safe), mild gore descriptions, blood, restraints, fingering, oral (f receiving)

Word Count: 2.4K

Kinktober Day Five: Bondage

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

You never really pictured yourself running away from everything you’d ever known, to pick up and leave without as much as saying a word. Witness Protection changed that for you. You missed your friends, your coworkers, your family.. Spencer hadn’t ever been a violent person before prison. He was sweet, had a smile on his face and a playful gleam in his eye. After being framed for murder and locked up though, it was like something snapped inside of him.

He’d been faced with horrific sights behind bars, not to mention that after tampering with drugs he was supposed to move behind those cement walls, he actually enjoyed hurting the inmates who had fallen prey to the batch. He could feel a warmth flood through his veins, a blood lust clouding his vision.

He’d lost all his previous morals, the oath that he’d taken going down the drain after the first kill. It was a list of offenders who had gotten out of prison early. People like rapists, child abusers, a lot of it. He’d marked himself as an injustice collector. The only reason he got caught? Because of you. You’d walked into a scene you had no business being in. You were supposed to text him before you made it to his apartment, to let him know you were on the way. Instead, you had the bright fucking idea to walk in when he was wrist deep in some rapists intestines.

He fell off the map after that. He tossed his phone, left town, and left absolutely no trace behind. The problem with Spencer Reid becoming a monster similar to the ones he’d spent over a decade hunting down was that he knew how to get away with it. He knew how to avoid Garcia’s tracking, how to live off the grid with strictly cash and keeping his head down. 

However he had connections. Knowing that you were gone and in WITSEC, he knew he’d spend as much time as he needed to find you. After all, this was your fault. All he wanted to do was get rid of the bad men and women who did unspeakable things to the innocent people of the world. He did the prison system a favor. Overcrowding was too common, so why not let a silent helper take care of the issue? Too bad nobody looked at it logically.

He’d spent months searching for you. He’d gone through so many states, so many cities. It was exhausting. The payoff when he saw you though? Oh, it felt fucking good. You’d been relocated to Tennessee, hidden off in the mountains in hopes of hiding from the man who was on the news nationwide.

You foolishly believed you were safe, under a new name and in a new city, it was hard to track you. Besides, Spencer didn’t have the assistance of Penelope anymore, that would be his main factor in finding you. You were safe. Soon the BAU would find Spencer and this nightmare would be over.

Or you thought that to be the case. 

You were getting ready for a night out with a few new friends you’d made over the past few months, actually quite happy with the relocation. You’d gotten a job as an administrative assistant at a paper company, so you were quite content with an office job. It was actually a blessing, you had a good paying job with benefits.

You hadn’t been paying attention to the news within these past two weeks, every outlet in the nation reporting on the search for the dangerous Spencer Reid. You’d vaguely heard a mention in the office, however you weren’t tuned in to hear about your psychopathic ex boyfriend. 

You’d been upstairs in your bathroom when you heard the sound of your door opening and closing, about to call out to your friends before you were stopping dead in your tracks. “Y/N?! I know you’re home!” The familiar voice boomed through the house, causing you to quickly and quietly push the bathroom door shut before locking it. You couldn’t jump from the second floor window, you’d break something and make it even easier for him to hurt you. You didn’t even have time to think of your options whenever you heard the sound of heavy footsteps. “Are we playing hide and seek?” His voice was getting closer, your body doing its best to camouflage behind the sink, however, you weren’t small enough to hide behind the tiny sink. 

The doorknob turned, your heart in your throat. This was it. He was going to kill you, show the BAU that they didn’t help you in the slightest. It could be a taunt, showing that he’d always find you. “Oh, are you hiding in there?! Y/N, my angel, I’m not gonna hurt you.” His voice was dripping with insincerity, fist angrily hitting against the door. “Don’t make me kick it in.” He said in a simple tone, a frown now on his face. 

There were a few moments of silence, something that gave you a false sense of safety. He gave up. You have lived to fight another day. However, you had to cover your mouth with a shaking hand as tears welled up in your eyes when you could hear some shuffling behind the door. You were paralyzed in fear as you watched the door fall soon after, the door falling off the hinges. 

“This is silly. I can’t believe you made me do that!” He huffed, tossing the screwdriver to the side. He’d come prepared with tools hidden in the trunk of the car he’d swiped. “Now, come here..” He gave a faux pout, approaching your cowered frame. You’d made a snap decision to punch him in the face when he was caught off guard, scrambling out of your hiding place before hurrying out of the bathroom. 

You hadn’t gotten far though, all of the screaming for help being useless whenever you felt one hand gripping your waist tight enough to bruise and a hand smacking against your mouth to muffle your screams. “Shut up!” Spencer snapped, using his arm wrapped around your body to lift you. 

Once you were in your room, he didn't waste time to use the rope he’d thrown on your bed to tie your wrists tightly, making you sit on the bed while he was grabbing your phone. “I already texted your friends. They are so sorry that you aren’t feeling well. Don’t worry too much, honey. We will be gone before anyone gets suspicious.” He cooed and cupped your cheek, causing you to flinch.

“I’ve missed you so much.” He sighed, patting your cheek with his hand while pressing a kiss against your forehead. “Sorry that I tied you up so tight. I didn’t trust you as much as I was willing to earlier after you punched me. That’s a killer right hook, by the way. Surprised you didn’t break my nose.” He chuckled. He was acting like this was normal, two people catching up after being apart for a few years.

“What are you planning here?” You’d asked, finally mustering up the courage to speak. “A-are you gonna kill me?” The next question came out much more shaky than the first. “I’m not gonna kill you. I’m here to talk. I know you’re scared because of what you saw but I promise that it was for a good cause.” He breathed. Yes, brutally murdering and disemboweling a man on his living room floor was okay. “You know what that guy did? He was notoriously breaking into women’s houses and raping them. I think we can both agree that he got what was coming to him.”

“He should’ve gone to prison..”

“Just for him to get released again after a few years? It’s a waste of police resources, not to mention everyone’s time.” 

The part of Spencer that used to share the same sentiment as his girlfriend had died a while ago. “Look, just..” He huffed and brought his hands up to roughly tug at his own hair from frustration. “Trust me. You’re okay.”

You were staring at him, the shock wearing off of seeing the man who you assumed would’ve murdered you with no cares in the world. Now you were just confused. You assumed there would be some sort of revenge plot, a fate of suffering. Instead, you watched as he put his hands against your cheeks. “It’s so good to see you.” He spoke softly while running the rough pad of his thumb over your smooth cheek.

“I thought you left the country for a moment there. I searched everywhere. Then I landed here.. Funnily enough, I was giving up.” He hummed while eventually leaning forward to press a few soft pecks against your lips. 

You wanted nothing more than to back away, to run and get help. Instead, your body gave in while your lips were pressing kisses against his lips in return. He’d reeled you back in all over again with little to no effort. Of course.

As the small kisses were escalating, your lips were sloppily slotting along with his as he took the opportunity to try and show you just how much he missed you. “My pretty girl.” His words were sweet like honey as he was pulling away. “Why don’t you let me show you how much I missed you?” The words made you shudder. “P-please do.” You breathed out, unable to help the blush spreading across your cheeks from his gaze. It was like he was a lion in the savannahs and you were a gazelle, peacefully minding your business while he plans to bounce. Plans to eat you alive..

“I’m keeping the ropes where they are, remember that. You have to prove yourself. No matter how much I adore you.” He stated. He couldn’t make any chances. He’d been to prison once and he wasn’t planning on going back anytime soon. You seemed to understand how things were going to go, willingly going along with his plans of keeping you as his.

“Perfect.” He breathed while moving to press one more kiss to your lips. His hands were tugging you to the edge of the bed while he was reaching for your hips, tugging you to the edge of the bed while offering a grin. “Now, just relax.” He cooed, hands now working on the jeans you were wearing for the night before tugging them down your legs with ease. “You had to pick the tightest pants imaginable, didn’t you?” He asked, an eyebrow raising. “I’m not surprised. Although it’s a good thing that I stopped you from going out in these. Didn’t need any obstacles in my way.” He murmured, hands ripping the panties you had on without any care. 

Before you could complain, Spencer had already dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed. His nose nuzzled against your inner thigh as he pressed a few kisses, biting down on the thick flesh as you let out a surprised yelp. His tongue ran over the fresh teeth marks in your skin before the muscle trailed up your inner thigh, a series of goosebumps spread over your flesh. You wanted nothing more than to take him by the back of the head and push his face into your weeping cunt, however the rope tying your hands together didn’t give you the opportunity.

Thankfully, he’d gotten the hint as he left his tongue lick a stripe up your slick slit, a low groan falling from his lips as he finally got just a little bit of a taste of what he was missing. With his hands gripping your supple thighs, he was letting his tongue flick over your throbbing clit, causing a gasp to fall from your lips. “You taste so good, pretty girl. God, I’ve missed you so much.” He whispered against your slick pussy, making you unsure if he was talking to you or your sex. 

His tongue had given a few more licks to your clit before his tongue was teasingly licking around your slit, his nose positioned to bump against your sensitive nub with each movement. “Spencer..” you huffed from frustration, which didn’t seem to deter him.

You’d gotten antsy, wiggling in place in an effort to urge him onward. 

When he’d had enough of the teasing though, he was letting his tongue devour your pussy. He was drinking up any slick arousal that you were willing to give him, fully intoxicated on your essence as the sinful sounds of his slurping noises were filling the room alongside your moans and begs for more.

His hand was moving up your torso before gently pushing your body to lay back against the mattress. His hands came back down as he was letting one finger replace his tongue, a low chuckle leaving his lips as soon as your walls were tightening around the long digit. “Look at this greedy pussy. Take my finger so well.” He groaned, slipping in a second finger while working on your cunt. He didn’t have enough time tonight to fully fuck you, knowing you both had to hit the road soon in order for him to get the hell out of dodge.

However, he was gonna make this count. As his fingers were pistoning into your soppy cunt, he was curling them deep inside of you, causing his fingertips to brush against the spongy button deep inside of you that made a squeal fall from your lips.

“How would you make it without me? God knows that any other guy isn’t gonna know how to make you cum the way that I do. I bet you’ve been thinking about me ever since you left.” He spoke lowly, continuing to fingerfuck your pussy at a quick pace, your velvety walls closing in around the two digits. Judging by the way they were spasming and the way your body was shaking from euphoria, he knew he had you right where he wanted you. “Gonna cum.” You warned, head thrown back against the pillow while your eyes were screwed shut. 

His efforts weren’t letting up, instead surprising you by adding a third finger into the mix as he continued his assault of your leaking cunt. It only took a few strokes of his fingers before your head was tilting back, mouth wide open as you let out a loud moan. Your cum was decorating his hand now, the slick arousal trailing down his hand to his wrist before he was pulling his fingers out of your used pussy. 

“Alright. I’m gonna pack you a bag and then we will get you cleaned up. We need to get out of here as soon as possible.” 

Now you were along for the ride, unable to escape. Although you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t love it.

[alovesongtheywrote]

Nightmare Academia | Spencer Reid x Reader

♥ Summary:  Have you ever seen the tiktok where that guy brings a typewriter to his class because his prof doesn't allow laptops? Yeah, it's that, but you are the source of the typewriters. In other words, you're Reid's worst nightmare. [Prof!Spencer Reid x GN-Prof!Reader]

♥ Warnings:  Descriptions of emotional vulnerability from a student to a professor, reminders that the world sucks and Gen-Z is fucked when it comes to housing. The reader is. Kind of Mean to Spencer, but I won't say he doesn't deserve it. Enemies to Lovers, but they're just Enemies right now.

♥ A/N: a couple things about this fic. 1) i have no clue when this takes place in the criminal minds timeline???? i just know reid took a some kind of leave from the bau, and this is what he's doing with it 2) reid isn't actually in this one that much. my bad. 3) i've got no clue what university these two teach at. i researched typewriters extensively for this, but i didn't bother googling universities.

♥ Word count:  2371

Series Masterlist

♥♥♥

“Alright, my little chilli babies, that’s about it for today. If you have any questions, office hours start now, and please remember there’s an exam next week. It makes me sad when you forget. Got it? Got it. Cool.”

Your students immediately began to stand and file out of the room. They left in groups. Some of them chatted amongst themselves softly, and some called out a farewell to you, but most of them were silent. One or two lingered behind to ask about the administration process of the PCL-R, but that was about it.

Except for this one girl.  

You were pretty sure her name was Opal. She sat near the back of the room in the second to last row. She got good grades and performed well on tests and projects- although she was a touch shy during the one presentation project you assigned during the semester.

Usually, Opal was one of the first to leave, practically running from the room, but today she just sat there, staring straight ahead. You watched her for a second, vaguely assuming that she had a question or something. She didn’t get up to ask, though. She just sat still, staring at her laptop.  You paid her no mind.  Sometimes your students just needed a second, and that was usually nothing to worry about.

You were just about to pack up your own things and head for your office when you heard a sob. You looked up again to see Opal just sobbing into her computer. You winced. A pang of sympathy hit you dead in the chest. University was just like that sometimes- and she wasn’t the first or last student to cry on campus.  

Shit, you cried on campus. Like, all the time. As a professor.  The previous Tuesday you thought about the two-headed calf poem too hard and you ended up sobbing in your office.  

You headed for the back of the room, leaning a hip against the back of the seat beside her. She didn’t seem to notice your presence. Her laptop screen was covered with detailed notes- it was honestly an impressive collection.  

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow, “Everything okay over here?”

Opal gasped, looking up at you with wide eyes, “I-I’m- I-” she sobbed again, “I’m so sorrrrrry.”

“Sorry? What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I’m crying in your classroom, and I’m so overwhelmed, and my next assignment is going to be late, and I’m so sorrrrry.”

The poor thing put her face in her hands and hunched over in her seat. You pulled out the chair next to her and sat down.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. University is stressful. It’s easy to get overwhelmed and crying can provide a cathartic release from that.”

“I- I know. It’s just so- so embarrassing.”

“Again, don’t worry about it. I literally cried in here last week.”

“R-really?”

“Mhmm. Now, if it helps, I can provide an extension on that assignment. Your feedback might be a little less in-depth, but that’s really nothing to worry about. Your work has always met a high standard.”

Her eyes somehow got even wider, “Are you- are you sure, professor?”

“Absolutely. It’s not a big deal- it might not fix your whole problem though,” you pulled your legs up onto the chair, sitting criss-cross facing your student, “If you’re feeling overwhelmed, the school provides free counselling services. They can help you feel less… whelmed.”  

Opal nodded, wiping her eyes, “It’s really just- just this one class I’m in. Our professor doesn’t allow laptops so I have to take notes by hand. But my- my writing is really messy, so then I have to figure out what I wrote, and-”

She was working herself back into a frenzy. You had to intervene. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Which prof is it, maybe we can ask about getting an accommodation made?”

“It’s-” she sobbed, “It’s Professor Reid.”

You froze. Opal continued to sob as a dark, heavy storm cloud rolled into your brain.  

“That fucking bastard,” you hissed, effectively shocking Opal out of her stupor.

“Wh-what?”

“This isn’t the first time he’s- okay, come on, follow me, we’re going to my office.”

Wordlessly, Opal put her things in her bag. You ran to your desk to do the same, snatching your keys and water bottle before heading out into the hallway. Opal followed diligently, but she struggled to keep up with your purposeful strides. Her face was still tear-stained, but now, instead of sorrow, her expression was the ultimate picture of confusion. When you reached your office, you swung the door open wide and ushered the girl inside.

In all honesty, you were quite proud of the space you had created. It was warmly lit, a necessary contrast from the harsh white lights of the hallway (you fucking hated those lights). The walls were decorated with your doctorates and neat little art pieces you found in various places. It was colourful and pleasant, and now was not the time to focus on your choice of decor because you were on a mission.

Opal remained near the door, watching as you rounded your desk and reached for something below it. With a slight groan of effort, you quickly emerged with your prize.

A vintage typewriter.

A heavy vintage typewriter.

You placed the thing down on your desk as delicately as you could. Opal stared at you in confusion as you beamed at the fine piece of machinery.

“Which room is his class in, I’ll have someone bring this to you.”

“Professor-?”

“You use it for one class, just one, and I guarantee he’ll let you use your laptop. Damn, technophobe.”

“I don’t know how to use a typewriter.”

You placed your hands on the desk, leaning forward on it, “Okay, come here then, I’ll show you.”

Opal timidly made her way towards you. You made sure to leave her lots of space as you ran through the tech tutorial. She picked up on it quickly, being the good student that she was. When you were done, you collapsed back in your chair, another bright smile on your face. Opal looked significantly less distraught, but still vaguely confused.

“Can I ask why you’re doing this for me? You- you didn’t even have to give me an extension. Why are you-?”

“Because you aren’t the first student to have this problem.”

It was true. This was the seventh sobbing-student-style complaint you’d had about him in as many months- and Reid had only been there for seven months.  You’d received emails, phone calls, and office hour meetings where desperate and devastated students would explain to you that they were falling behind. It broke your heart a little bit- and it pissed you right off.  

It was ironic that Doctor Reid had come straight here from the FBI- his technophobic nature was slowly but surely murdering your students, and now, you were going to murder him.

“Now about that extension, does five days sound good?”

Opal handed in the assignment two days into her extension. You smiled as you looked over her incredible paper. Your little scheme had worked. You hoped that Reid was pissed.

–

He was! Kind of. Not really.  It was a bit of a disappointment to be honest.

You had only known Doctor Spencer Reid for the seven months he’d been teaching alongside you, and boy howdy were you starting to hate his fucking guts. At first, everything was fine. He’d seemed sweet, and polite, and you were willing to overlook the whole FBI profiler thing to maintain the peace.

Then one of your students passed out during class.  

Thanks to his high expectations and fear of computers, there was a lot of shit for his students to cope with. The worst part was, you agreed with some of his policies- of course, you didn’t agree with the tech thing, that was stupid- but there was other stuff that you liked. He taught your students things that could help them improve- but at what cost.

Your formerly dim-eyed and sleepy students (let’s be real, they were never going to be bright-eyed nor bushy-tailed, they’re fucking college students) were now going through life in a state of anxiety that was not good for their long-term health. That was enough to make you hate Spencer Reid.  

And then one night, over a very full glass of wine you looked up his FBI career. You learned that the BAU used a private jet.

A private. Fucking. Jet.

They didn’t need to use the private jet. They could’ve used trains and it would’ve done the same thing. Shit, they didn’t even have to leave Quantico. They could’ve done their job from their main office. Most profilers do their job from their main office.  Instead, Reid’s team had dumped fucking jet fuel into the damn atmosphere because they fucking felt like it.  Not to mention just. FBI. Ew.

So, yeah. Fuck Reid’s three PhD’s, and fuck his ability to teach. You didn’t give a shit about any of that. You hated the man. You wanted to eat his heart in the main atrium, and given your way, you would.

Taking all that into consideration, it was only natural for the expression on your face to morph into one of absolute joy when Reid came to your office with the typewriter in his arms, and his tail between his legs.

“Doctor Reid,” your smile was a plastic thing, a false beauty with venom hiding beneath it, “What can I help you with.”

“Please stop sending that typewriter to my class.”

You opened your eyes a little wider, playing dumb just to fuck with him, “Typewriter? Whatever do you mean? I can’t imagine anyone in this century would even own a little antique typewriter like that thing there.”

“Little? That thing has to be over a hundred pounds- and it’s not antique, it’s-”

“It is literally thirty-three pounds.”

“Oh, okay,” he nodded. It was very clearly a ruse, “But how would you know that unless you own the typewriter?”

“I do a lot of research. That’s a 1960s Vintage Royal Empress Typewriter measuring about twelve inches in width and weighing thirty-three pounds and eight ounces. Y’know, now that you mention it, I’ve actually been in the market for a vintage typewriter.”

You put your elbows together on the desk and placed your face in your hands, “You wouldn’t know where I could get one would you?”

“Dr. (L/N), this is your typewriter.  Please stop sending it to my classes.”

“Hm, I guess it doesn’t pay tuition, that’s not fair to the other students,” you opened your laptop, “What class do you teach again? I’ll sign it up and pay the price in full.”

Doctor Reid let out the most exasperated sigh you had ever heard in your life- and that was impressive. You taught college kids.

“Why are you like this?” he mumbled.

“Pardon?”

“I said-” he at least had the decency to look embarrassed, “I said, ‘Why are you like this?’”

Your smile split your face from ear to ear. You emerged from behind your desk slowly, carefully, like a predator eyeing up its prey.

“Why am I like this, Dr. Reid? I’m like this because in the past seven months, I have had to deal with seven emotionally wrecked students, and what did they all have in common? Was it personal tragedies? The pure state of the world and everything in it? The knowledge that very few of the students at this school will be able to afford houses once they enter the working world?  No, Dr. Reid. The thing they had in common was you.”

“What are you implying?”

“Implying- what are you implying, he asks me,” you muttered, “I’m saying that your fear of computers is fucking over your students.”

“Studies have shown that handwritten notes-”

“No, no, stop. You don’t get to talk.  I’m talking now. Handwritten notes might be better for long-term memory retention, but not everyone writes as fast as you talk. Most of these kids don’t have time to switch their notes to a digital format! And that doesn’t account for shit getting lost, or students who get sick and miss class. Look, I get that computers might be scary for you, but in a climate where most of your students are full-time students, who take a mind-numbing amount of courses that cover incredibly difficult material, go home and struggle with the steaming pile of shit that is reality, and then head out for their part-time jobs- or, in some cases, their full-time jobs- you might want to have a degree of sympathy.”

Reid stared at you. He seemed unaffected. You wondered if that was because you were like, an entire foot shorter than him. You pulled up a chair and stood on it.

“Let your students use their laptops, or I swear to god, I will never stop sending the typewriter to class.  You will hear the incessant sound of keys clicking in your nightmares, got it?” 

He paused, his eyes darting across your face from your lips to your eyes and back.

“How old are you?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re standing on a chair like a child. How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven. Now get out of my office.”

He did as you asked. You could see a small smirk on his lips as he shut the door behind him. The sight of it made your blood boil, and there and then, you decided you were gonna keep sending the typewriter anyway because fuck that guy.

Still, over the next few months, you never heard another complaint about Spencer Reid and his technophobic habits. Your students went from extreme emotional agony to regular, day-to-day emotional agony. He’d stopped making them take notes by hand.

You were still gonna kill him just… maybe a little bit less.

[vic-draws-sometimes]

Change of plan

Price being a dad and Simon being autistic, with a side of Ghoap, enjoy!

Captain Price was absent from training. Actually, every Captain and higher was absent from everything. They had one of those monthly meet ups where they learned about useless things no one wants to know. Maybe it was the administration team sharing their suffering with them?  

Anyways, everyone was dozing off. Some were like teenagers trying not to get caught playing games on their phones, others were taking a nap and some rares were actually listening.  

Captain Price was about to doze off, not fully listening, but not asleep just yet.  

‘’... And as we said last meeting the MREs will be changed for the new formula. The crates will arrive next week so we ask that you help clear out any old MREs, as they will be considered unregulated. ‘’ 

Price’s head shot up when he heard that statement, looking almost terrified.  

‘’Something to say, Price?’’  

The man shook his head, his voice would be too strained to be convincing. Already, he was reliving an old nightmare.  

When the meeting ended, he immediately went to the kitchen to steal every old formula MREs he could find, putting them in a special stash that every staff of the kitchen knew not to touch. He did the same for every other place that gave away MREs.  

The stash looked glorious, if he was honest. But he couldn’t quite be proud of himself, the dread of the coming storm weighing on him.  

And it weighed on him for the next week, when they brought the new crates. Then every day after that. His pile was getting smaller every day, and no one was prepared for what was coming.  

… 

Two weeks later. The stash is empty. It’s about to begin.  

The first meal was given to Ghost, and Price sweated as he observed his (son)soldier. Ghost frowned at the meal that was given to him at the cafeteria. Yeah, usually soldiers are given a plate and warm food if they’re not out in the field. But Ghost was a man of routine, and for some reasons he preferred eating MREs every day rather than break that routine.  

He kept frowning as he sat down next to Soap. He looked at the package, noticing every difference. Opened it, groaned at the unusual side dishes given. Usually, he’d get dry crackers with a nutty paste to put on it, as well as a dry cookie and the main meal. This time, he got a fucking pop tart with a granola bar.  

He threw the offending items aside and focused on the main dish. A ratatouille... Something he’d never been served in an MRE before.  

And Price witnessed Ghost get up without eating, throwing everything in the trash.  

He didn’t show up at the next meal. And the next, Price had to ask Soap to find him and get him to eat at least something.  

The hunger must’ve gotten hard to deal with, because the next day he showed up at lunch and got his usual. He sat down, frowning, and opened the MRE. At least now he knew it would be different. He still grimaced at the pop tart, but at least got the main dish warm and tried to taste it. It was a gratin, hard to miss.  

Wrong.  

Ghost only took a couple of bites before he threw the whole thing out.  

The granola bar was the next victim.  

And Jesus was Ghost annoying when his routine was broken up, even worse when he was hungry. He’d snap at everyone, fight on sight and got more violent the more he felt weakened by the lack of nutrients.  

‘’Price, what’s going on with Ghost? He’s barely eating and he almost broke someone’s arm during sparring!’’  

‘’I know... It’s the new MREs, we just have to endure it until he gets used to it.’’ Price sighed, but Soap’s look of confusion didn’t change. He couldn’t blame him. The first time it happened Price was certain that it was a PTSD attack. Ghost had sent a handful of soldiers to the hospital for simply brushing against him.  

‘’He’s like this because of the MREs? What’s different about them?’’  

‘’I don’t know, ask him he’d probably tell you all about it.’’ Price sounded tired, and he was. He knew Ghost couldn’t help it, but it was still a tiring dance.  

But weirdly, Soap did just that.  

The next meal, he sat next to Ghost and waited for a sign of discontent. It came fast, and Soap asked what was the matter. At first, he received short answers, but it seemed like a dam broke when he asked ‘’What’s so different about them?’’.  

And boy, no one ever heard Ghost speak so much. Soap hadn’t understood all that was said, but he understood that there was too much protein additives into it, changing the taste, as well as American brands forcing themselves in there. There was also something about ‘’changing the classic recipes’’...  

But while Ghost was ranting about it, he actually finished eating his meal without noticing. He was also way less grumpy during the next hours. When the next meal came, he didn’t eat it all, and went back to his gloomy self.  

So, Soap asked the next day. And the day after. Eventually Ghost got used to the new meals and everything went back to normal.  

Except that if anyone dared to mention the weird taste of the MREs, Ghost appears out of nowhere to explain exactly why that is.  

--- 

Bonus:  

‘’... It should take you two weeks, solo, minimum communication. If you do it well it can take one week only. Are you in? ‘’  

Price was looking intensely at Ghost for any sign of emotion in his eyes. They were in his office, lights off.  

‘’I said, are you in?’’ technically, he knew he was in. But he always had to make sure his soldiers understood the mission and accepted to take part. 

‘’I don’t know, Captain. Will the green tea be refilled when I come back?’’  

The green tea?...  

‘’Oh for fuck’s sake Simon!’’ Price had accidentally bought black tea instead of green when he had to refill the box. Actually, it wasn’t on accident, there was just no more of the usual green tea so he took black tea from the same brand.  

‘’You’re a bloody nightmare! Yes it will be refilled properly!’’  

Ghost straightened up a bit, nodding.  

‘’Then I accept the mission.’’ Smug bastard. 

-----

This is 100% inspired by my reaction to new meals

Also I said I wouldn't write anymore but with school I don't have much time to draw, so writing it is

[doomsdaydicecascader]

on your point about the self-referential nature of homestuck, do you have any specific tips for people that want to create such an effect in their own webcomics? I'm just very interested in *how* homestuck was made, like in storytelling decisions and stuff, and I think that it's self-referential nature might be one of it's most consistently well-done qualities

sorry i got back to this one so late, i've been game jamming. so i think the biggest thing you can actually do for yourself is build pattern recognition when it comes to your own work. like. there's this advice that i think came from pixar but it's good advice and pixar hasn't made an uncomplicatedly good movie since the obama administration, so, like, grain of salt on that source.

it's that writing multiple drafts is an advantage because you can write your story first, and then go back at it with a critical eye and pick out your recurring beats, and finding ways to emphasize and represent those beats in meaningful ways becomes part of your story. this is the first part of what is ultimately pretty rudimentary symbolic work, though. like. "oh this sword represents the heros bond with his family"

where i think things like homestuck and petscop differ is that they sort of use narrative beats as symbols in themselves - homestuck is broken up into 4 parts, and each one is an iteration on the last, and it's actually really clear here from how much of a fucking flex the dancestors are, narratively. and that sounds insane to say, because they're terrible, bad idea characters, but like. consider the narrative profile of a character like damara.

damara's got a lot going on in openbound, but we can break it down into some digestible chunks of beats from other characters's stories: there's obvious imports like the megido name, of course, but you also get interesting stuff like using needlekind, and using those needles to do suicide threats, which puts this kind of abstract "rose-ness" in her profile. her relationship with rufioh ended tumultuously, with rufioh being paralyzed from the neck down, which resulting in him having a robot horse body. this puts "vriska-ness" in her profile, who is already loaded down with rose-ness by virtue of being a light player. this paralysis was also remedied by horuss kissing rufioh's severed head in front of a mountain, and involved sending rufioh the horse body piece by piece, this puts rufioh and horuss in the position of both of them having dirk-ness and jake-ness, which puts jane-ness in damara's profile too, which then turns into very indirect foreshadowing when damara's attempts at sabotaging the dancestor session are reflected in jane doing the same, spurned on by the same character, even.

(plus, if you read bdth: there's more. i've written so much more.)

another, that's a little bit more complex to explain, is the idea of tokenization. this is an idea that petscop expresses really well. i'm kind of cribbing from nightmare masterclass here, but in petscop, there's these things that are called "caskets". these caskets are not literally caskets (that which contain the dead) but they are called caskets by the game itself, which both groups the items together as a thing to be understood in terms of itself and very little else, it's sort of an insane flex too - just like. "here is how these items are grouped and a guiding word as to what this grouping entails, find the pattern in this or don't", it's all very abstract in ways that i find very very compelling.

there's a non-mechanic in petscop that i think is unbelievably compelling, which is that there are these "symbol blocks" - that's all they are. they're a block with a symbol on them. these symbols recur in multiple places, and their only purpose is to imply a correlation between the places they show up, and thus, it becomes self-reference.

another thing i think you could look at is the game thoth, which is a similar fuckin. masterclass in visual language. this is a twinstick shooter with no text in it besides level number, and the way it builds its visual language using just shapes and their relations in a space is fucking impeccable. when you're deep in the game, you recognize what an enemy will do immediately from its appearance, and that appearance is like, concentric circles.

recognizing these things, drawing these lines between recurring ideas, reusing ideas wholesale to create new expressions of ideas, that's the basis of all of this. its like hypertext! two webpages that link to each other are almost certainly involved in the other's function!

It's also logical, since there is essentially nothing new in paradox space. Everything that can happen is either a visual or substantive reproduction of something which has already transpired on a timeline, offshoot or otherwise.

[drwernicke]

I started writing about Miles' feelings in this one-sided camerashipping AU where he's living with the Parks, but then I decided to explore Waylon's side of things as well, and it turned into something like a fic. So uh. I'll just put it down here?

_______________________________________ Miles feels like… what the fuck even is he anymore? Undead? He's a monster, certainly, and that monstrosity is useful, but he feels like a strange warped, mockery of his former self. There's a power in hosting the Walrider, but it comes at the cost of his humanity and he knows he's frightening to Waylon. He's always told himself he doesn't need anyone else, and bringing down Murkoff is what matters, but now that's what he's been locked into, there are no other options /at all/. It's what he's wanted, isn't it? He does want it. But he's also been through something he can't even begin to process, and being the Walrider's host is deeply violating on even the cellular level. But he's not allowed to process that either, because where does that lead? He can't stop it. He shouldn't even want to stop it. He's always been fine alone, he shouldn't want company now.

But still human or not, trauma is a powerful neurochemical. Waylon is the only other man who's been through the same hell, and he's also risked everything he has to bring down Murkoff. They're aligned in their goals and were both willing to risk everything. And Waylon's still human, he has a family who loves him. Miles isn't jealous, but it also drives home how definitively, unchangeably isolated he is now. He's never really been able to connect even with any of the men he'd dated in the past, simply because they weren't ever 100% politically aligned with him, or he found something about them offputting, they were too superficial, etc. Maybe he was making excuses because life was easier alone, and nobody would care about the world like he does. About the things he fucking gives a shit about, like children in third world countries not dying of dehydration. Too bad fucking Brad wanted to talk forever about the shitty coffee at 7/11 instead.

Miles knows he should be grateful for what he's become. But there's so much he misses, now that he can't have it ever -- and he supposes that at least shows he still has a human mind in some way, weak and stupid and flawed. If he's never wanted it, why does he mourn it now? Why does it feel like every time Waylon is kind to him, that his sanity is teetering on the edge of some awful precipice overlooking some awful abyss, at the bottom of which rests a beast known as resentment and violence?

Maybe he's taking everything he can't have, can no longer have, and projecting it on Waylon as a symbol for it all. But there had been a few moments in hell itself, perhaps in the administration block, when he'd wondered what their lives would be like if they survived this nightmare together. There's things you can't go through without it changing you fundamentally from the ground up, and then whether you want it or not, you're entangled with whoever else went through the meat grinder with you, like quantum states. Waylon has more commitment to setting right what he can of the world than any man Miles had ever been with. But Waylon Park is fucking alive, and Miles Upshur is a rotting corpse of a man held upright by a murderous nanohazard.

And the fucking punchline to the whole shitshow: Waylon Park has a wife, and two kids, and there was something comical in that the first crack in Miles' sense of self would be to latch onto a married man. He can tell Waylon's kindness is strained. And why the fuck wouldn't it be? He has a dead man living in his house, and that dead man is a weapon. You show kindness to the weapon, because you don't know if it'll kill you, or worse, make you feel guilty for indirectly killing what it was in the first place.

Most nights, Miles drinks enough coffee it would give him a heart attack if he still had a working heart, because he doesn't trust himself with REM sleep. _______________________________________

Not everyone goes through hell and brings the devil home.

It's not a kind thought, and Waylon hates it, but there's always a kernel of truth at the core of the operating system. Or something like that. Miles Upshur is great company, and most days, Waylon doesn't even think about the fact he's living with the Parks for their own protection. That feels reductive; Miles is far more than that. If it weren't for Miles, Waylon would have never returned to Lisa's arms, bloodied and broken, but whole. But this isn't just about what Miles has done for him, or what he can do for them. If it weren't for Waylon, Miles would have never ended up in Mount Massive. If it weren't for Waylon, Miles would still have his fingers. He does complain about it so often, always in the tones of gallows humor, but Waylon knows there's a deep hurt behind it.

If it weren't for Waylon, Miles would have never become the host.

But this isn't about gratitude or guilt. Miles is genuinely great to have around; he cooks breakfast sometimes. He walks around singing along badly to Madonna, the B-52's. He gets along great with the kids. He's shit at Mario Kart, but so is Waylon. When he, Waylon, and Lisa work together, compile notes and liaise and network with other anti-Murkoff operatives, Miles is efficient and determined on a level that inspires Waylon. He cracks jokes, he rips people to shreds, and it makes Waylon and Lisa laugh. He makes Waylon type up the reports because it takes him forever, and Waylon does so, guilt heavy in his heart.

But this isn't all about guilt.

Miles encourages him through his rehabilitation, as Waylon slowly gains sensation and stability in his leg. Miles likes shitty beer, and Waylon's learned not to complain too much about it. Sometimes--many sometimes--Miles screams in his sleep. The boys have learned to expect it. There's nothing conventional about their childhood, not anymore.

Waylon has learned not to look at Miles through the night vision of a camera.

When Simon Peacock emails them warnings of potential intruders, Miles stays watch like a guard hound, sipping another one of his shitty Pabst Blue Ribbons. On one of those nights, there are terrible screams, but they're not from Miles.

In his dreams, Waylon hears Lisa screaming, his boys, and finally, himself.

They are mutinous dreams. But more mutinous is the waking thought that Miles sometimes lingers in his presence. He always looks away when Waylon looks, and it makes Waylon wonders if he's accidentally fostering something far worse than a monster. But Waylon knows he has his own trauma to work though; he sees attraction where there is none, and wouldn't it make sense to fear something that already elicits fear in most?

Someone. Not something.

There was the time his eldest had cut his hand playing, and Waylon had been so afraid of what in the air could seep into his blood.

He worries himself sick about Lisa. All those phantom pregnancies.

In the early morning, Miles is painstakingly typing away on his laptop, seated at the breakfast table. The sun's rising, warm golden light streaming in through the windows, and Waylon has no doubt Miles has been up all night; the scent of coffee hangs heavy in the air. Waylon wonders if Miles needs, or even wants, to sleep anymore.

Waylon doesn't know what Miles is, aside from on a purely codified level. He doesn't know what Miles wants, aside from on a purely ideological level.

He pours himself a cup of coffee, and wonders what he's breathing in.

[thecryptidzenith]

I was thinking today about a timeline where Midnight Oil Riz gets back to his mom and somehow ends up in a party with the rest of The Bad Kids in Junior year (ignore the logistics). Thinking about him having to interact with the Rat Grinders is so funny; I feel like he'd see Kipperlilly being mean to Kristen, immediately try to find something to blackmail Kipperlilly with to force her to drop the election, and accidentally uncover Porter's whole plot in approximately four days.

First of all, I'm delighted that my silly little fic lives in your brain enough that you're thinking of alternate timelines, that's incredible. And thanks for sending this to me! I love excuses to procrastinate and excuses to yell about my guy.

So obviously, I'm God, and there's a lot of stuff prior to where this would be on the timeline that would have an impact, but I'm going to keep my cards as close to the chest as possible, however I think the thing that would impact this the most has already happened: which is that Poxson Tiktaalik is a student at Aguefort. On that, Kalina says "I have contacts at Aguefort." and "There’s more than one conspiracy going on at Aguefort," (to which Riz's internal response is 'what a fucked up school,' a sentiment made extremely funny both because he's an Aguefort student in canon and because he'd be an Aguefort student here.) This will be said directly soon, but Riz has met Eugenia, he's passing rogue class. Logistics aren't a problem at all.

But here's the fun part: the second conspiracy Kalina's referring to is Porter's plan to take Ankarna's place in the pantheon. Him and Jace are her contacts who take care of the administrative aspects of Poxson Tiktaalik being a student there. And Riz has already passed freshman and sophomore year with flying colors, and Eugenia knows who he is. The only thing that would need to happen would be changing his name in the system, and that's not technically necessary. Porter knows Kalina, and he knows Kalina wanted Riz in Aguefort's system for some reason. Throw in anything he may have heard about Poxson from Eugenia or any other networks he may be a part of, and suddenly, he looks like an incredibly useful ally with a high likelihood of helping them. If Kalina did, surely her protege would too, right?

Plus, this is a super tumultuous time for Riz. His living situation has changed drastically, his mom is alive, and he only recently found out that his godmother--his closest confidant--kidnapped him as a child and groomed him to be her actor in the physical world. Kid's not doing great as a baseline, and this makes everything so much worse.

How much does he really know or care about the Bad Kids? He's not exactly a team player here, and these kids are directly responsible for his ability or lack thereof to go to college. In canon, Riz doesn't have any resentment for them, but here? That's likely to be a different story. The two people he actually cares about are his mom and Aelwyn, the later of whom is working for Kipperlily Copperkettle.

Would it be so wrong of him to be a little angry? After everything he's been through, would it be unreasonable for him to get a little mad?

This isn't to say he'd join--there's no way he wouldn't despise the Rat Grinders, especially Kipperlily. He'd find them incredibly entitled, petty, and incompetent. Porter and Jace would probably annoy him too, their final goal is just to make Porter a god, and that's not something Riz would find worth it. Maybe his complicated feelings about Cassandra/the Nightmare King have solidified into hatred and he just wants her to hurt when her wife's domain is given to a new god, but that's the strongest motivation I can devise. Compare this to Kalina, who gave him a personal reason to help her in bringing his parents back and a societal reason in using the Nightmare King's power to fix the ugly parts of the world Riz got to know all too well in Gravalvia. Porter and Jace just aren't that good. Sorry to say, but nobody's doing it like Kalina.

And then there's the Kalina of it all. Does he want to help them because it seems like the thing she would have wanted him to do? Or is he spiteful and works tirelessly to destroy them instead? There's no way he isn't curious about what in the hells she was up to with them, but what does he do with that curiosity? Maybe he plays both sides until he knows exactly where he stands. He could pretend to infiltrate the Rat Grinders for the Bad Kids and the Bad Kids for the Rat Grinders. It'd be hard to pull off, but he's Riz 'Poxson' Gukgak. He excels at hard things.

[raccoonfallsharder]

here are a few sneak previews of what we’ve got going on (this is really more to organize my thoughts and force myself to come up with titles than anything else)

upcoming rocket raccoon fics behind the cut

1. Window Across the Galaxy

aka long&angsty. hoping to start posting on Sunday or Monday.

Slooowww burn + eventual smut. elements of hurt/comfort because rocket is the saddest-angriest boy. Slight AU starting pre-GOTG volume 1 (but will hit most of the same major plot points).

Rocket is captured by a Ravager crew hoping to get rich off the excessively large bounty on his head. Throwing a wrench in everyone’s plans is the Terran girl they hired to do some freelance assessing on a recent haul of goods they’ve seized from a Xandaran luxury liner. Oops.

She looks at the rusted bars, and back to her brute of a tour guide, and sighs heavily. Slowly, she turns back to the cage, swaying toward the bars so she can peer in at eye-level. She’s immediately face-to-face with the creature. His ears are still pressed flat against his head, fur bristling, and he’s gazing back, clearly suspicious and probably - justifiably - feeling more than a little bit mean. She’s suddenly certain that if she got close enough, he’d take out her eyes. There’s no helping herself, is there? One corner of her mouth twists up in exhausted resignation and she nods. “Welp,” she says solemnly to the raccoon, “fuck me, my dude.”

2. Blackmail Material

(codename: pwp???). will probably post part 1 in a week or two.

just pure fucking smut. this was gonna be two parts but I'm leaning toward three now (smut // fuff // smut). probably takes place sometime after endgame but before volume 3? not that it really matters tbh because there is NO FUCKIN PLOT HERE. ur girl's got a praise kink so that'll definitely be featured per usual.

basically: rocket finds your vibrator.

“I’ll tell you what,” he offers up, still grinning that shit-eating grin. “I won’t say a word and I’ll give it back to you. You can even keep whatever batteries are in it.” That sounds too good to be true. You raise a brow and cross your arms in front of your breasts. “If?" “If you let me watch you use it,” he challenges, eyes daring you. “For science.”

3. Domestic Scenes in Space Travel

(codename: ok sweatshirt girl.) i dunno -maybe post the first one by mid-august?

Comics-inspired but not exclusive - just a buncha feel-good fuffy one-shots and equally feel-good smutty one-shots. Series of slice-of-life readerxrocket one-shots following The Very Boring Adventures of Space Pilot & Sweatshirt Girl.

“Just try not to push any buttons or pull any levers till you know what they do.” You snort. “I fully intend to keep my hands completely to myself unless I have your explicit permission to touch.” Rocket leers. “That could be fun.” Your eyes narrow. “Space Pilot, I’m gonna need you to focus on the task at hand so I don’t end up accidentally jettisoning us.”

4. Other Duties As Assigned

(codename: schemers, dreamers, & multicalendar memers) i don't have an intended outcome for this fic yet so while i am VERY much enjoying it, i first need to grapple with whether or not i'm okay posting something that may be unfinished. i usually try to avoid that.

I have no idea whether this will get smutty or not (probably, knowing me?). Begins five months after The Snap.

Natasha Romanoff is an administrative nightmare - a fact that does not go unnoticed by the (interim) captain of the Milano. First she demands that the remaining two Guardians of the Galaxy be reachable via a primitive Terran messaging system, and then she can't be bothered to read the frickin' emails.

Thank fuck she's hired a new assistant.

**THIS MESSAGE IS ENCRYPTED** To: <nromanoff@aee.org> From: &lt;rocket@aee.org> Subj: re: WHAT THE FUCK RED Date: Monday, September 24, 2018 7:34am well that’s probably the nicest message I’ve gotten since I hacked the internet I’m gonna have to kill your boss though

(a super-secret spoiler sidenote - i have a formula and I shamelessly overuse it, so there are no surprises here: girl falls first, raccoons falls harder. every fuckin time friends.)

[princess-of-the-corner]

CC!NextGen

Ok, stay with me here.

The CC!NextGen’s big bad IS the HPSC - specifically the branch that made Nijiko.

After the “War”, the Hero Public Safety Commission was pretty gutted. Most of their top guys died, after all. While this left space for new blood, it also left space for some of the “Old Guard” to come in and start a few projects that were probably not cool with the old administration. Projects like creating their own “heroes” from scratch, rather than just dealing with whatever they can get.

Like, I’m not saying they weren’t given serious consideration, but the Commission seemed to be a certain flavour of corrupt. The kind that says “we can justify this for the greater good”. Like, they threatened Lady Nagant. They made Hawks a child soldier. But I get the feeling, in the world of MHA, experimentation on human DNA is viewed as even more taboo than WE see it as. Like, when it comes to Quirks, you aren’t just fucking around playing god, you’re basically messing with creating WEAPONS. It’s why Quirk marriages are viewed so poorly (and in a few places, are probably straight up illegal). 

I’d propose, by the time the Next-Gen CC class gets to U.A. (either under Aizawa once again, Vlad - to give him the limelight - or maybe a mostly rehabbed Kurogiri, just to really go hard on nonsense) the HPSC is basically stuck in an internal political struggle. You’ve got the New Guard, people who came in after the “War”, who are determined to do “better” than their predecessors, and are trying to be as transparent as possible. They want to be what the HPSC SHOULD have been. Then you have the remnants of the “Old Guard”, those who survived the “war”, and are doubling down their old ways. They need control. They need to bring back the peace, by any means necessary. And you’d have the thing that sprung up in the middle as a result:

A program to “create” new heroes, through illegal experimentation and DNA manipulation. While Nijiko might be their “one that got away” and the one they desperately want back, she wouldn’t be the only one they made. Hell, she probably isn’t even the oldest one “created”. And whoever’s in charge of that nightmare?

Congrats, Doctor Frankenstein, YOU are the new Big Bad!

-

Ohohohohohohohohoo

Actually I was gonna make a side note on like the suggestion of our Edgelord so here’s a vote on that: Actual edgelord speaking delusional nonsense or another experiment but this time with whatever remnants of AfO’s DNA they scraped off the battlefield?

(also my one thing re: this hot mess is going to be squishing the nextgens’ ages so everyone can be involved. Some would be rookie Heroes while others are first years. Which does technically work given the canon character’s age ranges)

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

[...]

Vance described two possibilities that many on the New Right imagine—that our system will either fall apart naturally, or that a great leader will assume semi-dictatorial powers.

“So there’s this guy Curtis Yarvin, who has written about some of these things,” Vance said. Murphy chortled knowingly. “So one [option] is to basically accept that this entire thing is going to fall in on itself,” Vance went on. “And so the task of conservatives right now is to preserve as much as can be preserved,” waiting for the “inevitable collapse” of the current order.

He said he thought this was pessimistic. “I tend to think that we should seize the institutions of the left,” he said. “And turn them against the left. We need like a de-Baathification program, a de-woke-ification program.”

“I think Trump is going to run again in 2024,” he said. “I think that what Trump should do, if I was giving him one piece of advice: Fire every single midlevel bureaucrat, every civil servant in the administrative state, replace them with our people.”

“And when the courts stop you,” he went on, “stand before the country, and say—” he quoted Andrew Jackson, giving a challenge to the entire constitutional order—“the chief justice has made his ruling. Now let him enforce it.”

This is a description, essentially, of a coup.

“We are in a late republican period,” Vance said later, evoking the common New Right view of America as Rome awaiting its Caesar. “If we’re going to push back against it, we’re going to have to get pretty wild, and pretty far out there, and go in directions that a lot of conservatives right now are uncomfortable with.”

“Indeed,” Murphy said. “Among some of my circle, the phrase ‘extra-constitutional’ has come up quite a bit.”

I’d asked Vance to tell me, on the record, what he’d like liberal Americans who thought that what he was proposing was a fascist takeover of America to understand.

He spoke earnestly. “I think the cultural world you operate in is incredibly biased,” he said—against his movement and “the leaders of it, like me in particular.” He encouraged me to resist this tendency, which he thought was the product of a media machine leading us toward a soulless dystopia that none of us want to live in. “That impulse,” he said, “is fundamentally in service of something that is far worse than anything, in your wildest nightmares, than what you see here.”

He gave me an imploring look, as though to suggest that he was more on the side of the kind of people who read Vanity Fair than most of you realize.

If what he was doing worked, he said, “it will mean that my son grows up in a world where his masculinity—his support of his family and his community, his love of his community—is more important than whether it works for fucking McKinsey.”

[...]

[daemon-404]

TMZAU ARCHIVE MASTERPOST

For formerly @alambiel's trashy modern zelink au.

Timeline and info, as well as the playlist I've been listening to while compiling this, come from here: https://tmzau.neocities.org

ABOUT THE AU: "the trashy modern zelink au is a semi-conceptual narrative set in modern-day hyrule where link is a renowned but unhinged student athlete who wields the master kitchen knife, and zelda is a frustrated company heir (and child of a shady businessman) who wields the power of the triforce, which is a gun. this honestly started off as a joke but i just kept on adding to it, so now i'm obsessed." "zelda and link are both nonbinary in this au, and they both use they/them pronouns. this au will also explore the themes of the apocalypse, death, maternal matters, the complex relationship between parent and child, religion, depictions of blood, disturbing dreams, and the likes. this takes place in a location called the great metropolitan hyrule."

HIGH SCHOOL ERA: "they both have prophetic nightmares telling them of an eventual armageddon that will be brought by the calamity ganon, a malicious undivinity that periodically wipes out hyrule every 10,000 years. bound together by the spirit of the goddess hylia, they are instructed by her apparition in their dreams to fend off the upcoming apocalypse. they first meet each other in tenth grade, and much to their disbelief, they also find out that they've been sharing the prophetic nightmares this whole time, like the both of them enter a fucked up dream realm together whenever they sleep. after an unpleasant fight, they separate just before college, the bond they shared over their supernatural traits left behind but not forgotten."

FIRST IMPRESSIONS "it's tenth grade, and zelda gets partnered up with a classmate for science class at the beginning of the year. the classmate isn't even paying any attention, which annoys zelda to no end. wait. what's that on their paper?"

IT WOULDN'T BE THE FIRST TIME "zelda wakes up in the dream realm. hylia introduces them to a new friend. they look… familiar. this wouldn't be the last time zelda meets them in their prophetic visions either."

NO ONE MUST KNOW "after a week of nonstop dreaming about the apocalypse and link's green arm and link's face and link's stupid knife, zelda confronts link at their locker."

LUNCH "they have lunch and zelda quizzes link about their dreams. zelda deduces that hylia likes to play favorites, which is strange because… hylia feels like a mother to them."

HIGH SCHOOL OUTFIT VS COLLEGE "just a comparison between one of zelda's high school outfits and the one they wear for the first part of their college life"

URBOSA "it's urbosa! zelda's cool godmother and gerudo noble looking so snazzy in their traditional wear."

COLLEGE ERA: "link moves to brazil to start seriously training for competing in sports, seeing as they're the youngest most successful soccer player in the world. meanwwhile , zelda stays behind in hyrule to study business administration in entertainment management, preparing to take over their father's talent agency. they would stay separated, that is, until link breaks a bone at the olympics and has an epiphany. link moves back to hyrule to attend the university zelda studies in for their second year, as well as making a news spectacle of themself. zelda, as it turns out, is the last to find out."

WORLD'S YOUNGEST PROFESSIONAL FOOTBALLER BREAKS DOWN AFTER INJURY "the great nation of hyrule 7s national team captain link mabe was forced to withdraw from the brazil 20XX summer olympics after sustaining a debilitating and bloody injury to one of their legs on the football pitch last week, the 19th of august."

LINK'S EPIPHANY "it's the olympics, you're on the ground and you can't stop crying."

ALL BETS ARE OFF "since healing their leg, link has returned to tending to soccer goals much to the great metropolitan hyrule varsity team's pleasure. zelda bets lon lon milks on link's goals: for every goal they miss, they buy zelda one at the local pub. link deliberately misses a few just to play catch up with them."

ZEL.HARKZ "zelda has followed you on instagram. do you follow back?"

NEW CUT "zelda hates business management. zelda hates their father. zelda hates companies. they beg link to cut their hair with the magical knife that cuts through anything as an act of defiance."

BARK LIKE A GOD "just a fancy piece of zelda on their little throne loveseat. newfound confidence and all. also quick little doodle of link emitting the same threatening vibes"

MIPHA "she's an e-girl. that's it that's the post"

SLEEPOVER / GUNS "they are bonding! they have a sleepover, zelda has dual pistols"

OF TATTOOS AND CAR RIDES "played around with some pinterest outfits, designing zelda's leg tattoo, and thinking about them in a car"

DATING ERA : LIPSTICK / BURNER PHONE / BOYFRIEND "just a few fluffy pieces! zelda has a burner phone to contact link because of… reasons."

MAIN OUTFITS "this is going to be their main outfits for the following end times. zelda's blue suit has some kind of divine influences, i think they get the outfit right after they get the gun to signify that from that point on, it's all business and no play. link's soccer uniform is due to see some worse days. yes, that's the sweatband of the wild and the letterman of the wild. at some point they get the legwarmers of the wild as well."

ZELDA GETS A GUN "zelda wakes up in the dream realm once again, but this time hylia takes on the form of a being so large that zelda can't accurately comprehend her size. it almost blinds them. they retrieve the sealing power of the triforce, which materializes into a ranged weapon that launches pellets of goddess light. basickally gun has been got, babey!"

TESTING! "zelda tests their new gun at the korok gun range."

YIGA CHASE "just a concept of link's sheikah-made motorcycle with zelda at the back shooting at whoever's in pursuit of them."

THE COMING OF ARMAGEDDON "link and zelda wait for whoever -or whatever- is on the other side of the door."

FIRST CONCEPTS : DUMP 1 / DUMP 2 "this is where i first got the idea for the trashy au… litrally just gave zelda a gun and pulled up some soccer poses and then, the rest is history!! i really want to stick to the vibes of this one where they're both just feral af."

OUR TIME IS RUNNING OUT "zelda's running out of smokes. link's dreaming of some awful things. they're both running out of time. inspired by this song."

ASSORTED OTHER PIECES FOUND: Just some other, unlisted pieces relating to tmzau.

THE MASTER KNIFE

CAUGHT UP IN THE MESS THAT WE MADE

FACES

SLEEPING

LIPSTICK VER 2

[onedaughterofman]

Untitled vignette #2: Rain ghoul x reader

A/N: Something silly based on a recent experience.

Summary: You sign a contract without reading it. Now you have a personal demon. Also, Satan owns your soul.

Tags/Warnings: this is dumb, silly, stupid even. It's humor and satire, pls don't take it seriously. Rain ghoul is absolutely done with reader, and he's a little shit.

The thing is still there when you flick on the light.

The screech coming from deep within your lungs will definitely hurt your throat and cause some noisy neighbors to complain to the building administrator.

“Don’t do that.”

Well, fuck.

It talks.

At first you thought it was a hallucination. Naturally, waking up in the middle of the night and making eye contact with something standing at the foot of your bed had to be product of a disturbing dream mixed with lack of proper sleep.

However, you realized something was wrong when the creature tilted its head, never averting its gaze from your body. The artificial light sweeping into the room through the corners of the windows, where the curtains don’t completely reach, reflected on its head, emitting a faint glow that looked way too real for your taste.

Then, when the lamp from your bedside table turned on, you saw it clearly.

That’s a fucking demon.

“I mean it. Stop. It.”

And a displeased one, too. Stunned, you struggle to pronounce the right words. Pinching yourself in an effort to wake up from whatever nightmare this is doesn't help. Nothing happens. The creature huffs, jerking its head before moving closer. The bedframe creaks when it plops on the mattress, long nails reaching in your direction.

The demon doesn’t touch you. It does not attempt to steal your soul or slice your throat to silence you. Instead, it remains sat on the bed, waiting for you to shut up.

You do. It feels weird to be the only one screaming.

“Good. Listen, let’s get over this," the demon sighs, musing over its words. "Thank you for signing the contract. The Old One is happy to welcome you as one of His clients. I’m your newly assigned Nameless Ghoul.”

Okay.

You weren't expecting this. “What?”

“Didn’t you read the contract you approved this afternoon?” Even in the dull light and with a mask concealing its face, the creature appears to be completely tired of your bullshit. “No? Is that too hard? Don’t you know how to read?”

“I do!” You yell, after tripping on your words. “I just…”

“Then why are you making me explain this? It’s all in the fucking agreement.”

Those papers, right. The same papers the bank employee handed you along with a pen and a wide smile on their face, urging you to fill in the blanks and then place the date and signature at the bottom.

Of course you didn't read them. There was no time and at that moment you thought there was no reason to do it. “I wanted to open a new bank account.”

“Yes. We remove the bank fees for a year in exchange for your soul. Plus, you get your personal Nameless Ghoul for the same amount of time. After that, if you wish to continue using my services there will be a reasonable fee.”

Services? A Ghoul? No, this can't be happening. This is a bad joke.

"I only wanted a cheap bank account," you whine, allowing your head to fall back into the pillows. Getting under the blankets doesn't work the same as it used to do when you were a scared child, hiding from the monsters that lived in the closet.

The Ghoul is immobile, sitting there when you remerge. The blood runs cold inside your veins as he (Can you even call it a "he"?) nods slowly, before continuing. “It’s cheap. How much do you think your soul is worth?”

Okay. Not only your soul is apparently gone and in the hands of the Devil himself, but also your demon is a mouthy one.

Great.

“Is there a return policy?”

“Not for a year.”

Great, again.

Amazing, even.

“Do I have to pay for the debit card?”

“Only the mailing fee.”

“Well, that’s good at least.”

The silence that fills the room is heavy and oppressing. For a long moment, the Ghoul's unforgiving gaze remains locked in your face. You can sense his annoyance through the mask, burning on your exposed skin. Then, his head moves to the side as he analyzes every corner of the bedroom.

Even if there's not a single change in his appearance, you know he's judging the mess of clothes and shoes, and your choice in decoration. “Are you going to stay there?” You question, beginning to feel as irritated as he is.

The Ghoul merely shrugs. “Where do you want me to go? There’s not much space here.”

“I don’t know. I’m half hoping you’ll be gone in the morning and this will be nothing but a dream.”

“You’re up for a disappointment.”

Once again, the silence becomes unbearable. He doesn't speak much, it's late at night and you want to close your eyes and wish for the best. You're so upset and tired you don't even feel scared anymore.

How do people exorcise demons? Should you call a priest?

No. When was the last time you stepped inside a church or prayed to god? You can't recall it.

Can you exorcise him alone? In the movies, one critical step is to discover the identity of the demon. "Do you have a name?" You inquire, hoping this will be straightforward.

It's not. “No, I don’t need one. You get to pick one for me, as long as it’s not stupid.”

For a few minutes, you think. Your brain is fried and the words come in and out without being registered, nothing but a mess you don't want to clean up right now. After a lot of hesitation, you whisper the sole thing you managed to think of.

The way his head spins to left and right in clear denial makes you jump in place. “Absolutely not. My last human called me Rain, which was stupid but not as much as what you just said.”

“What happened to them?”

The creature replies nonchalantly, voice incredibly soft. It's almost cheerful. “They died.”

Shit.

Something must have reflected on your face, a deep sense of dread and fear, because the Ghoul quickly continues. “Not because of the contract. They were a bit stupid, kind of like you.”

Oh, fuck.

Alright, you have a demon. One that is definitely going to roast you to hell and back, with no hesitation or mercy. This must be some kind of divine karma, of punishment.

Whatever it is, it can be solved in the morning.

“I’ll go to the bank tomorrow,” you whisper, before laying down on the bed. Hopefully, this a hallucination or some sort of bad joke. It is possible you lost your mind. Too much stress, too many horror movies. “And I’ll ask for a copy of that contract.”

“As you wish,” it’s the response. The demon stands up, leaning in your direction. “Do you want me to read it for you? Will that be easier than using your fucking eyes?”

“I only want you to leave my room and shut up.”

The ghost of a tight smile appears in the place where his mouth is. Then, as suddenly, it disappears. “I can do that, well.”

When you wake up the next morning and all your furniture is completely out of place, arranged in the most bizarre way you have ever seen, he is standing in the middle of the mess looking way too pleased.

“Why?” It’s all you can mutter, already dreading the rest of the year.

Somehow, the creature manages to appear even more smug. “You ordered me to get out of the room and shut up. You never said I couldn’t do this.”

“But why, though?”

“I simply don’t like you.”

Great.

Amazing.

Fantastic.

Yes, it’s undoubtedly going to be a fucking long year.

Ps: sorry. In my head, Rain is that type of "silent person who seems very chill but it's actually tired of everybody's bullshit and always screaming inside their minds" mixed with "secretly a little shit if they don't like you".

Wrote this at midnight to fight the horrors. At least it made me laugh a bit. Hopefully it's entertaining.

[wwarborday]

Getting really fucking tired of this idea that the only morally correct way to have a revolution is through death and suffering, and if you vote, you’re a pussy lib who loves bootlicking, so it’s better to sit at home and pray penance; after all, American has completely fucked other countries, so what’re you crying about?

And it’s like, what is that? On a substantive fucking level, what the hell are you talking about?? The Republicans are not gonna fuck the States in a way which will destabilize them (making them easier for the Great Revolution), they’re gonna fuck them in a way that makes it easier for oil companies to make money, which will fuck the global south even worse than it already is.

“Biden isn’t a revolution” no, he isn’t, and he’s committing a genocide, so put on your big boy pants, vote down your ballot on the state level, and start organizing for electoral power, now.

All these “Marxists” on here, and not one talking about how Marx believed in taking electoral power as an important step in revolution. The idea that revolution and systemic change can only occur through violence isn’t even the issue; it’s the moralizing, the idea that the only morally correct choice is to scoff at the current government and not participate, because participating makes you a monster complicit in imperialism.

But politics are not a moral issue. I think people think that way in large part due to the framing of politics under the Trump and Bush administration, with many people being rightly horrified at the vile actions of both presidencies, and framing “vote Blue” as the good, correct, moral choice, but that’s, stupid. And wrong; the party is ultimately complicit in imperialism and capitalism, if not actively in favor of it.

But politics are not about morals, they are about getting shit done, and if you are not actively organizing for systemic change, you are subject to the whims of the system, and, no matter what anybody tells you, voting does create that systemic change.

We know voting creates change because DeSantis is actively making Florida a nightmare state to live in. Every politician making anti-abortion laws was voted in. Every politician in the House who voted to criminalize “anti-semitism” was voted in. Everyone in Michigan who repealed “right to work” laws was voted in. Every ballot measure about abortion was voted on, and so far, every one has kept abortion safer for people.

Politics create change, and voting is your most direct pipeline to impact that.

Stop acting like suffering about it is the only morally correct thing to do, and go fucking stop problems at the ballot box, something infinitely easier to do than stopping them with The Revolution. The Revolution will be a lot easier to implement if you’ve got people in power who are on your side, dude. That’s one of like. The first things people tend to do, when they start one. If you give a fuck about the global south, it is not as goddamn difficult as you think it is to put politicians in place who are anti-military and anti-imperialist. You only think it’s impossible because you haven’t fucking tried it, because you’re too busy weeping penitent about how awful the US is, rather than give a fuck and do something.

[zeldabecameaqueen]

CONTENT WARNING :

🌼 QSMP current events (3rd-4th March)

🌸 it's all my opinion and pov

🏵️ talking about violence, genocide, politics, triggers for depression and bad mental health

🍀 optimistic (even if it doesn't look like it)

🫧 non-native english speaker speaking heavy stuff in english while being sleep-deprived → incorrect, awkward, clumsy way of speaking

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

QSMP has been a light throughout the last year, when so much shit stuff is happening. I did realize before that I needed the qsmp and that it made me feel good, but I didn't realize why, and that's only now that i'm scared of losing the server that I understand. Every single day of qsmp was a day of joy for me, I loved seeing content of different nationalities, I loved so much seeing people interact and create stuff together in the most chaotic way, I loved slowly getting into the different ccs communities and I loved to recognize ids, recognize tumblers and artists. And even when in the lore it was getting dark, it was still fictional and we knew it would get better. And even in real life when some ccs were not being safe, and that communities could get violent and full of hatred, I also knew the server would survive it since there is a vast majority of priceless people who would fight for this safe, international space. And what I just realized, is that when everything is going down in the world in real life, when every day you're flooded with infos about how much humans are bullshit and destroying selfish beings with absolutely no empathy or respect for others, even with every day evidence that there is no hope of it getting better, qsmp was there to give me hope.

I believe that QSMP is a place of creation, international unity and hope. It is a safe place for people who are socially different, for people who have in.visible illnesses, for people who are discriminated against. It is a safe place for people who are incredibly creative, for people who care about life.ves, for people who spread kindness and respect. I don't care if you don't agree, this is how I feel considering who I am.

QSMP is a place of creation and bonding and building. It is a place of light and hope and art and beauty. It is a place for the best of humankind.

My english has gone very bad because I just spent the night with nightmares about the qsmp and anxiety about work and reminders of what is happening in the world and how what I make to help is never enough and how hopeless we all are. Because people who have power, right now, just don't care! I'm not sorry, when you have that much power, and are witnessing such atrocities /a fucking genocide for instance/ given that we have no excuses of resources and wealthiness (i'm speaking from an european pov), when you let this kind of shit happening, as a high-rank politic or head of business company, it's because you don't care, I don't see any kind of reason for letting this kind of things happening

I didn't plan on getting into politics so I'll stop here but the point is, QSMP cannot close down because they exploited their employees/volunteers who put that much work and because of bad administration. The issues have been addressed, and I believe will be resolved. People who don't feel safe anymore on the qsmp will leave for their wellbeing, others will stay to maintain it as the best place it can be. But in the end, I believe in the project, I support it, and I'll fight for it to keep on going under the condition of these matters to be resolved.

It is my opinion and I know a lot of people want to boycott qsmp and unfollow it, especially french people, but i personally disagree with that doing. I feel like we have the power to do something, to make it better and I'm sorry for what the qsmp team has been put through but also grateful towards Léa for her bravery and the other admins who spoke out. Because now we can do something about it, for it to be a safe place for the communities and the admins and actors.

I'm feeling less hopeless now, but please I hope some of us will stay on following and believing in the qsmp, and that we'll find a way to get through, because I don't see how it wouldn't be possible. I mean, just pay your creators/workers, communities will be glad to participate in any way possible, it is an amazing project that won't end on such a crap note.

As I was saying previously, QSMP is a place of creation, of hope for humankind and unity, and respect, and caring. Prove that we are able to overcome this by fighting together

Take care of your health, step away if needed, drink water, sleep, eat and don't blame yourself. No hatred 🌸

[hiding-in-the-vault]

(Whoops it seems I've slipped on ice in the beginning of Monsoon Season?? I guess that means you will get a sneak peak of Puppet!Dream)

“Are we sure that we can trust this guy?”

“I’m not sure but they are the only ones I know who can help us with Dream… Tubbo, we both know that he’s too dangerous to have out there. Look what he did to L’manberg for fucks sake!”

“I know…. but I just have this feeling that this is not a good idea Toms…”

Tubbo felt his doubt climb as he watched a tall, robed figure appear from the portal. There was no distinguishable feature whatsoever but he didn’t like the feeling he was getting from the tall figure whatsoever.

“Greetings. Members of the Dream SMP, I am the Head Administrator and I have personally come to help you deal with this…matter of a corrupt Admin?” The Administrator looked at the group before them and waited patiently.

"Yes, we know where he is…we will take you to him." Sam spoke calmly, his Warden armor on and his trident in hand, he looked exactly like he should as the Warden of the Prison that looked in the distance.

/////////////////////////////

“What have you guys done…” Dream knew he couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice as he looked at the Head Administrator, his body stiff and visibly shaking as he tried to think of a way to escape from this situation.

The rest of the SMP stood behind the figure, looks of triumph and determination on their faces as they watched Dream. Dream who was the bane of their lives was now cowering before them, regardless if it was not them that scared him.

“No need to fight me youngling… It’s for your own good.” The tall figure raised a hand, palm up as he slowly beckoned Dream to come forward, Dream jerked a bit but held his ground. His face pinched into a frown as he tried his best to stay put.

“NO!” The sudden shout startled the members of the SMP, none were expecting him to yell but him resisting was what they had expected, the fighters lifting their weapon and preparing themselves for a fight. Dream knew that he wasn’t going to be able to escape without someone helping him or something happened to give him an opening.

“You don’t need to interfere, they didn’t know what they were doing when they called for you!” Dream pleaded as a last resort, hoping that maybe one of the server members would maybe help him or by some miracle the Head Administrator would leave. He watched the figure’s hood shift slightly and Dream knew that his pleading didn’t help.

“Nonsense Dream. These members of this Server did the right thing calling me.” The figure waved a hand towards the others behind them, Dream slightly flinching at the movement, the figure let his arm fall to his side and faced Dream once more. “Now then, let's stop all this nonsense and come youngling…”

Dream took a step back but froze when the Administrator lifted his hand and his palm faced him, the others didn’t know what he seen on the palm of the figure but before Dream could do anything he felt the power of the Head Admin enter his code, paying no heed to his protections and seized his essence completely. Dream couldn’t stop the pained grunt that left him as his body started to tremble.

“Don’t fight me…..Dream… Come to me now.” The Administrator poured more power onto the struggling Admin before him, Tommy frowned at the words, a shiver of fear and trepidation as he watched as Dream’s entire body suddenly relax and his eyes dimmed in color, then in a blink flare brightly in a different color entirely, Dream’s dark green eyes were gone. In their place were bright orange eyes, he didn’t look right to them at all.

The entire SMP felt horror go through them as they watched Dream stumble towards them, his body completely lacking any of the power they were used to seeing in the Nightmare of the DSMP. They could only stand by as Dream walked right up to the Head Administrator they had called, the one who said they would “assist them with their plight”, and watch as Dream all but fell into the figure. The figure simply wraps their arm around the Admin and turns towards them.

“Thank you Players of the Dream SMP for giving me a chance to rectify a mistake of the Elders.” The Head Administrator nodded their gratitude, Tommy felt his horror at the events that had just occurred increase when he sees Dream's face, his pupils were now alike to those of a snake, and his face was eerily blank. He nudged Tubbo and gestured to Dream, Tubbo and Ranboo who noticed Tommy getting Tubbo’s attention both slightly freaked out when they noticed Dream and his sudden physical changes.

“What is happening to Dream?” Tubbo asked suddenly, his eyes were slightly narrowed as he watched the figure tilt their hood towards him, he felt fear but Ranboo placed his hand on his arm in silent support. Some of the Players looked at Dream then, gasps and murmurs were heard as they looked at the pair. Feelings of doubt and fright were spreading quickly amongst them.

“Nothing, you need to worry about Child. Your problems are now resolved and I must now take my leave, with this Youngling of course, as I will rectify the Elders errors of letting this one go. This Youngling has so much potential that is going to waste and I shall see to it that he is reeducated and is working to his fullest potential.’ The Administrator pulled Dream closer and placed his hands on his shoulders, eerily looming over the young Admin, creating a horrifying image.

Sapnap felt his horror turn to anger, they had called for help, not for this weirdo to do whatever he did to Dream. They wanted to put Dream on trial to bring him to justice. He also didn’t like how Dream was acting, he reminded him of how the Eggpire members acted, how they all were not able to do things without being ordered to by the Egg. He felt his rage spike as he realized that Dream was acting like a puppet.

“We can’t let you take Dream away without him facing punishment for his crimes.” Sam countered as he stood tall, pushing his Warden persona to the forefront. The rest of the SMP were quiet but nonetheless determined to see that justice is served on their part, and not letting Dream leave with the Head Administrator was just something they couldn't allow.

Puffy looked at Dream, who was still pressed up against the Administrator's robed figure, his face buried in the material and seemingly not caring about what was happening around him. She didn’t like this, she did not want this stranger they invited, a powerful one at that, to take away her child. Ignoring how she had just disowned him recently, she still didn't want to see him gone.

"If you won't relinquish Dream into our custody then I'm afraid we must take drastic measures." Sam equipped his netherite armor, a few others followed his lead and donned theirs as well, sounds of swords and axes being drawn filled the air. Sam stood at the front with his trident in hand, beside him stood Puffy and Sapnap, both had swords in hand. Determination filled their gazes as they looked at the Head Administrator.

The Administrator sighed, he was hoping to avoid going this far, pushing the youngling in his arms away from him, he looked into his new, brilliant eyes and knew what they shall do then.

"Give me control." Dream felt the command deep within himself, the world stays in place for a moment before he lifts a hand and his Admin panel lights up the air in front of him, he taps on it a few times before the Head Administrator feels the restrictions that were trying to contain him disappear, he rolls his shoulders once before turning his head back to the server members.

"Stop." The word reverberates the air around them all as their bodies freeze in place, panic rising in them as they watch Dream suddenly collapse. His hands rising to grasp at his head as he shakes violently. "Leave them alone…it's me you want so leave them alone…"

His words were stilted and his breathing erratic. Dream looked up to the Administrator, hoping he could at least protect the others from whatever dangerous action the deity was about to bestow upon them. The rest of the server watched on as the hood of the being tilted slightly before nodding once, Dream slumped down in relief, before tensing up once more as the figure placed a hand on his head.

His eyes scrunched as he feels the violating power rush through him and he is once more pulled under the Administrator’s power once more. His eyes flaring orange and his body relaxing as he unconsciously leans into the deity’s touch.

“I can’t have you resisting me anymore now.” The Administrator runs his hand through Dream’s hair before looking at the others watching them. “It seems like his ‘attachment’ to this place is pretty strong…I will enjoy ripping that away from him.”

Horror runs through them all as the words fully sink in. Sapnap growls as he lunges forward, sword raised to strike at the Hooded figure, only for it to be stopped by a shield.

His eyes widened as he looked into the unfamiliar gaze of his best friend, who was staring at him indifferently, unsure of what he should do. It becomes clear that Dream does not feel the same as he plants a foot into his stomach, losing his grip on his sword that is still embedded in the shield, Sapnap falls back on his butt.

Dream steps back a bit as he raises his shield to block an attack from Sam who stabs at him with his trident and in his free hand, Dream summons his netherite ax and swings it at Sam to get him to back off. Turning with the weapon he lets the blade swing at Puffy who was trying to sneak up behind him, causing them both to back away out of the blade’s reach.

Seeing that both of them have backed off, Dream slowly backs away from them and into arms reach of the Administrator who hadn’t moved from his spot whatsoever. Sapnap grits his teeth as he stands up again, eyeing his sword that is still in Dream’s shield, wracking his brain for ways to separate the blade from the wood while avoiding being cleaved into by his best friend who is clearly not in full control of himself.

Judging by the tears he can see clearly running down his face, and the look of fear that fills his gaze as the weirdo behind him places a hand on his shoulder. Sapnap felt his flames simmering beneath his skin, for sure his veins are glowing as he watches the fear in Dream’s eyes vanish as the orange color flares once more and his face becomes blank.

“As fun as it is to watch your pitiful attempts of attacking me, I have other things to do unfortunately.” The Administrator then tightens his grip on Dream’s shoulder before they both disappear in an explosion of particles alike to those of an Ender Pearl being thrown.

(I know I shouldn't torture C!Dream but he's just so....idk moldable?? Angst just seems to attach itself to him 💀💀)

- ☁️

And this is so cool????? Hello??? I don't think I've considered much of there being a being above Dream, within this sort of admin setting. And I love a good introduction to new characters :0 I have so many questions. What's their relationship? Do all admins have the snake eye thing going on, underneath whatever form they normally take? or is that more symbolic of this guy specifically, and him taking control?

And NOTHING good ever happens when someone brings up the word 'reeducation'... And yet, I am here for it : )

Also I think you should keep torturing c!Dream, that's the greatest form of affection we can show our poor blorbo <3