#but a man with a tragic backstory is a man with a tragic backstory

[pumpkinnsoda]

⚠️⚠️⚠️

MAJOR TGR SPOILERS BELOW

This hit me just as hard as Jean’s backstory, I’m not even kidding. It’s not the mafia or a cult or owning someone, it’s just a fucking tragic situation some poor fucking kids had to deal with.

The embarrassment, the shame, the trauma.

How many of them stayed in the closet permanently? How many were scared to even touch another man after this? How many couldn’t stand the feeling of sweat and skin and men in the same room as each other? Feared locker rooms? How many never trusted cops again? They didn’t even know it was happening until it was too late—and they were exposed is such a demeaning fucking way by the cops. Just thinking about it makes me overheat with sadness.

[honkys]

Oh yeah I love this shit. There's so much you can read into with his relationship with his body, both physically and mentally speaking. He never really talks about how he feels about being a skeleton. You kind of just assume he's chill with it? But there is a genuine kind of horrifying element if you choose to read it like that.

He's unable to sleep? He's not even able to blink. I want to emphasise how he's been thinking and conscious non-stop since the day he died. Sure he meditates, but like OP mentions he doesn't do that too often, and I think it's only described as being "like" sleeping. Honestly sometimes it's surprising he isn't more bonkers? Which is saying something.

Also with his interactions with the living (especially new people), he'd be constantly reminded of his tragic backstory simply because he's a skeleton and they're not? And I imagine he'd have different sensory experiences aswell. Like his way of interacting with people and the world around him would have been fundamentally altered by his death?

It's super interesting to me. Because on the one hand it's "Haha hes a funny skeleton man", which is mainly what's acknowledged in canon? But on the other hand it could be seen as a representation of how his trauma is an almost fundamental component of who he is now and how it deeply effects his identity. But again. Maybe its just the brain worms talking

Skulduggery Pleasant fans, I'm curious - would you consider Skulduggery being a living skeleton a disability, in a way?

I mean, it does make him prone to serious injuries, since, yknow, his bones are immediately affected, and unlike for example bruises, he can't heal his injuries with time, he always has to get them treated by a doctor, and he can't even use painkillers. Plus there's the factor that environments that take away his magic pose a much bigger threat for him than for others, for example the tentacle monster in the cave under Gordon's house, since magic is the thing keeping him alive, and even losing small amounts of that magic is enough to make him drowsy or knock him out completely, while others remain unaffected. There's also the addition that he has sensory difficulties, for example no sense of smell or taste, and I doubt his sense of touch is fully intact either. There's also some remarks about how his coordination used to be a lot worse, which is probably something that improved when he got used to the way his body changed.

And then there's the entire social aspect. People telling him he's so strong and special for just soldiering on despite dying, people saying he's somehow tainted or a freak for being undead as he is, people who want to study him and objectify him because he is an anomaly, just, people treating him differently because he is, on some level, detached from their idea of a human person. We've also got people admitting they don't know how to interpret his emotions or feel queasy around him because to them he's somehow scary or uncanny or mysterious.

I also think the façade and the fact that he doesn't want to decide on a singular face for it is pretty interesting in that regard, because while it is a tool to hide his "disability" in public, he refuses to fully conform to societal standards and become "normal". Sort of like having a prosthetic and instead of picking a cosmetic one you pick one that doesn't even try to imitate a real limb and fully leans into the cyborg aesthetic.

[jonahmagnus]

Og image (this image has truly nothing to do with the fic. I just wanted to post it.)

Family Bonding, aka "My Former Mentor is My Least Favorite Student's MOM!? (NOT CLICKBAIT)" is out NOW!! Read on ao3 or here!

Summary: Shrike tries to think while her animal brain fights her. Jean Garcia has a normal time, and does not panic at all.

Warnings: I'll be honest there was originally going to be a Cody body horror scene but I Forgot to write his pov. So its rated T for language and Jean Garcia's comedically tragic backstory and thats It.

It's hard to think when you are a wolf.

Everything is sounds-lights-colors -smells-sounds. It's all shape-shape-movement-prey-blur. Its run-dirt-impact- bite-clamp-kill. Rip-rip-tear-eat-eat-eat. The human part of your mind tries to think over this chaos, to sort the sounds-lights-colors-smells-sounds, but its voice is quiet, and blends with the cacophony. Eventually, it bleeds into a stream of merging thought, half-recognized bird calls and fleeting cries of terror all blending into the same unending din of sensation and noise.

You aren't violent, or at least, you try not to be. Everything is reaction- the spasm of muscle, the prickling of fur, leaving no room for rationale or consideration- you were never really good at that anyways, and for some reason that makes your wolfy eyes spill over with salty water, but a twig snaps and you've forgotten the name. You growl, and are in hot pursuit. You let your thoughts slip back into the symphony.

It's been a while since you've seen a child, something that makes you howl and scratch at your face when you remember it, though of course the thought doesn't stay long enough that you can remember why. You see her, back turned to you, held in the arms of a young man you know you know but cannot remember the color of his eyes. You reach towards them, grasping at words that slip through your fangs like oil, and then your world is pain-pain-bright- lights-pain and you are a beast again. You flee into the woods with a mournful howl.

Years later, you smell him, your strange wolf pup, who followed you around with shining eyes hidden behind emo-phase hair. Cousinhood's finest, they had called you, and he believed it. His scent is different now, like smoke and salty water, but you would know it anywhere. You approach, taking care not to be seen or heard. And then you catch it- the smell of a monster.

But- that's not a monster, is it? It's far too small.

It's far too small, and underneath the scent that puts your teeth on edge and your flesh to prickle, it smells wrong. It smells sweet, and soft, like puppy fur and tiny clawed hands and a hiccuped laugh, baby fangs all grown in already. It smells like when he took his first halting steps across the side of the couch, when he said his first word, when he had grabbed onto a bat as a toddler and the gore and viscera went absolutely everywhere, and he had squeal-giggled that innocent baby laugh, the one where they make a mess and don't know they've done anything wrong.

Your memory may be a blur of sight-sound-smells, but you'd never forget your pups.

You make your presence known and approach, slowly, making yourself visible and low to the ground. Seeing them makes the orchestra easier to sort- you keep your eyes locked on them, and they meet your gaze. First, warm brown eyes like damp dirt, brow furrowed in confusion, then panic. Second, blue eyes that mirror your own, eyes wide in surprise, then in something akin to sadness.

Your name is Jean Garcia and this is one of the top ten worst days in your life, hands down. And you watched your biological mother die in a fatal ski-lift accident, so that's saying a lot.

First, there was the surprise announcement of the semi-mandatory middle school camping trip into the middle of werewolf infested wolves. Great. Wonderful. You couldn't have proposed a safer, or better thought out camping location than this. Truly, the wisdom of Principal Pleezebo and her evil situationship DuNacht cannot be measured.

Second, there was the matter of Baxter scooping the Mathleets under her supervision before you could claim them. You liked the Mathleets. They where small, and quiet, and unsuited to physical labor, which meant they would behave and be quiet while you got any sleep you could during the day. Her interference left you with the nerd (tolerable), the stubborn one (who you respected), the blindingly white one (with eyes almost as blue as drain cleaner), and Lisa, whos name you knew because she was sort-of-maybe-kind-of holding the fact that she knew you and Spender where dating over your head. Allegedly dating. Maybe just friends with benefits. God, you need a cigarette.

And third, when you “volunteered” to go “looking for firewood” (patrol for your lupine mentor), Cody (whose name you were forced to memorize by his saccharine and chipper reintroduction, eugh,) had insisted on going with you, smile as wide and sincere as they come. You didn’t like kids like Cody. Not through any fault of their own, but their innocence and cheerful disposition reminded you of what you had lost, cold on that ski slope in western Massachusetts, where the abominable snowman had brutally taken both your parent's lives. But you gritted your teeth, and took him along.

Finally, fourth. You had walked with the kid, half-tuning out his airheaded chatter, desperately wishing for the cigarette in your pocket. As soon as you had reached the clearing where the firewood was kept, you opened your mouth to tell Cody to grab some logs and head back to camp, and that you would be right behind him. But a twig had snapped, and both of you looked. And fuck, fuck, fuck-fuck-fuck, there she was, twelve feet of pure muscle laid low to the ground and piercing blue eyes locked with his. You reach your arm protectively in front of Cody. He was an airhead, sure, and painfully oblivious, but surely even he could see the danger. If you were lucky, you could probably convince him that he was seeing things later.

“Listen kid-” you start, but before you can finish, he cuts you off, eyes still locked onto your mentor. And what he says makes your blood run cold.

“...Mom?” He says, genuine and a little breathless. You break her gaze for a second to look at his face, and for the first time you've ever seen, his eyes are sharp.

…His bright, blue, drain cleaner, toothpaste commercial, bottle-of-windex blue eyes. Oh, lord in fucking heaven.

“Mom?” You hear, and you can't help it, you bound forwards and roll over on your back before him, tongue lolling out of your mouth. Your taller pup flinches, and tries to back them both away, but your smaller pup pushes effortlessly past his arm and drops to his knees in the dirt beside you.

“Momma?” You hear again, and his voice is breaking, and oh no he's crying fuck (tears! That's the word. You need to make them stop) so you roll onto your side and lick his face with your long doggy tongue, and he laughs, still crying, and buries his face in your fur. You wrap a not-paw-not-hand around him, and look towards your other pup.

He approaches slowly, disbelievingly, and reaches out towards you. He's crying now, too, and you tuck him into your other arm, and for a minute, it's just you and your two kids, and the starry sky. Soon, a camp counselor will call animal control, and you'll run away back into the woods. But you'll see them again. You wont forget their names this time.

[luminique]

kissing harumasa means keeping your hands on his face and never letting them go down to his neck. he’d even hold them there with his own hands, a silent plea to not touch the mark left by the serum.

he didn’t lash out at you the first (and only) time you unintentionally touched it. instead, he pulled away immediately, the fear in his eyes mixed with his shaky breaths as he’s trying to control himself. he could see his own reflection in your worried eyes, seeing hallucinations of him turning into an ethereal. your hands went to hold his, you could feel him quivering as he shook his head at you. he didn’t mean to ruin the mood, he didn’t want to become a monster. he isn’t a monster but this irrational fear was eating him up whole that it even put your relationship on the line.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t realize what i had done,” your voice was clear as always, guiding him back to the current moment. the reflection of him in your eyes returned to normal but you had a regretful look in your gaze. your thumb rubbed over the back of his hand, reminding him that you were still there. “i love you,” you mumbled out to him, so soft, so quiet. that was all he needed to hear. he knew it was an honest mistake and not intentional on your end, maybe he overreacted. he brought your hands up to his mouth, placing soft kisses on your knuckles. the hands that unknowingly triggered his fight or flight mode, were the same hands that caressed him so gently every time. in between his kisses, he’d say his own ‘i love you’ and ‘i’m sorry’s to try and reassure you of his sudden reaction. he wasn’t deserving of your love, you shouldn’t be the victim of his past, but you stay with him regardless. overcoming it all while holding hands, one kiss at a time.

[slightlyartist]

Alex Hirsch did this to every character but McGucket was his personal punching bag for real

[licollisa]

In which they have a conversation.

(Bonus below)

Chara calling Frisk 'partner' will always hold a special place in my heart.

[paintedcrows]

Love this guy. The Gucket...

Also I was messing around with the colours and I kind of love these.

[moghedien]

This really was the moment when we knew Kassandra was the best girl around tho

[beelxebub]

i totally get why people make the captain a military man or ex-military in modern AUs because it makes sense but i personally believe he would simply be one of those middle aged autistic men whose special interest is wwii military vehicles

[sovamurka]

YEAH, THANK YOU, FORTICHE, I NEEDED MORE OF THIS

SEXY CROP TOP MUSCLES OUT EKKO LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOO

[pownicmania5000]

Her name is Tech and her last name is Nikki

[imogenkol]

— FRACTURES

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tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @socially-awkward-skeleton @neonshrike @inafieldofdaisies @voidika @florbelles @adelaidedrubman @simonxriley @tommyarashikage @buggknife @aceghosts @carlosoliveiraa @risingsh0t @thedeadthree @cassietrn @jackiesarch @d-esmond @loriane-elmuerto @shellibisshe @katsigian @captastra @simplegenius042 @theelderhazelnut @g0dspeeed @strangefable @statichvm @cptcassian @leviiackrman @hexmaturgy @euryalex @auricfog @confidentandgood @raresvtm @minaharkers

[nono-uwu]

Lighterrrrrrrrrr

I need him carnally

[sparemintss]

When is someone going to make a ghosts edit to the song “We Both Reached For the Gun” SPECIFICALLY FOR THOMAS .

OR LIKE FOR ALL THE GHOSTS AND THEIR DEATHS .

[merakiui]

MORE YANDERE ROLLO CRUMBS I AM SO UNBELIEVABLY DOWN BAD

I WILL PROVIDE, OR MY NAME IS NOT MERAKIUI (LOVER AND ADMIRER OF MR. ROLLO FLAMME)!!!!!!!!! OTL I've loved him since the first day and now that I can experience him again but in English... I love him too much. ( ´ ˘ `)/♡

Last year I wrote briefly about the twins railing you in church and Rollo kicking them out. This is how I imagine Floyd to be if he was in GloMas:

[divine0rdainment]

I know we often talk about Lucifer being touch starved but we never really talk about the potential of Adam being even WORSE when it comes to being touch starved. Alot of people are like "oh I'm sure he cuddles with Lute and the other girls" and I argue, no, he doesn't, infact, if he's as much of an misogynistic and anti-feminine person as he claims to be, I'd see him thinking cuddling and hugging as too gay to do. And then people are like "well he has sex" and I'm like "sure but after the sex you think he's laying down and cuddling these women? Unlikely, this is Adam we are talking about.

So imagine instead that it's his first time having smex with Lucifer in hell, and afterwords he's about to get up to go shower only for Lucifer to drag him back and cling to him like a koala, and he's just 0.0

And then after a moment he starts crying and lucifers like "oh shit what I do?!" And Adams like "I Haven't BEEN HUGGED IN HUNDREDS OF YEARS!!!! And I fucking missed it!!!!"

And sure maybe he got like a quick hug from Emily, or an arm hug from Lute but REAL tight loving nuzzling hugs? Never. And he didn't realize how much he just needed a fucking hug after Eve went away and he had no one else to really feel that close to.