#i just sprayed her enclosure

[mangothegecko]

she has tried to attack every single person who has walked by her in the span of 30 minutes, she hit the glass so hard it sounded like she would have broken her nose, she must be mad because i ran out of waxworms so shes back on her fruit mix for a few weeks

[foldingfittedsheets]

The location of the sex shop I worked was a haven for spiders. We had tall ceilings and skylights and unused storage rooms. It was a spider paradise. We quickly sussed out which coworkers to call on in case of emergency. The Dorito lady was a solid ally for spiders but absolutely petrified of moths.

But there’s actually a hierarchy of fear. Most people don’t realize. The person least afraid is the one forced to deal with the bug in question. If coworker B was scared, but coworker A was petrified, well coworker B was gonna have to screw their courage to the sticking place because by the law of fear they were the most competent person on scene.

Thus enters Rick. Rick first appeared in the back storage room. This room doubled as a second bathroom so we went in on a semi frequent basis. The girl who’d gone in to pee shot out again gibbering with fear about the biggest spider she’d ever seen had just run across her boot.

We sicced Dorito lady on it. She returned, shaking her head. “He was squatting on a power cord where it plugs in. I couldn’t get a clean shot at Rick.”

“Rick?”

She shrugged. “Spiders that big need a name. Seemed like a Rick.”

Rick, freshly named, became a store menace. I’d normally say this was probably a case of multiple spiders being mistaken for one but everyone who encountered him swore up and down there could be no mistake. This spider was massive, fast, and distinct. A gladiator among arachnids.

I never encountered Rick. His exploits grew in the telling but the theme was consistent: no one could kill him. He’d hunker in places that no one could reach and dart away when a strike missed. He also chased off the more faint hearted, charging them in bold dashes. There could be no benign cup transplant to remove Rick from the premise. He was not leaving.

The saga of Rick continued for two months. Not seeing him was almost worse, a fearful wariness when going to the bathroom or stepping into quieter areas. I waited with dread, hoping my eventual run in would have me on shift with Dorito lady to protect me.

It was not to be. There was a girl the same who hated my one moment of singing that was absolute piss-herself scared of spiders. She’d slam straight into a panic attack and couldn’t think or speak. And so it was that one night on shift, I heard her scream.

It was unmistakable. I was in the front window turning off the open sign. Through an obstacle course of mannequins and lingerie I performed an acrobatic sprint out of the window, darting up to find her quivering at the front counter, fully crying. I radiated calm at her and said, “Just point.”

I knew it was Rick. Our destinies were intertwined and we had always been pulled toward the inexorable battle that was drawing nigh.

Her hand raised to point to our sandwich board sign at the front of the store. So Rick had the metaphorical high ground. There was no quick easy strike on the slanted signs surface.

I armed myself and marched into battle, my knuckles white on my chosen weapon. I would do this, because I must. Because there was no one else. And because I wanted to close and go home.

I saw Rick immediately and I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen a bigger spider since. Outside of a tarantula, he was truly the most massive spider I’ve ever beheld outside a zoo enclosure or terrarium.

We regarded each other. Rick launched off the sign toward me and I stomped my foot reflexively, making him pause in his charge. Then I raised my weapon. Anything else, I believe Rick could have evaded. He’d bested most of the store thus far. But I had chosen chemical warfare.

I doused the shit out of that spider with cleaning spray, stunning him with a barrage of chemicals. While he froze, choking on the unexpected deluge, I dropped a paper towel over him. My foot came down.

I felt his exoskeleton crunch and I can feel it still to this day. The shattering was as of bones and I truly mourned that we had been forced into senseless war. If only he has cleaved tighter to the shadows. If only he’d crawled willing into a cup for relocation. I released a full body shudder of horror, fear, and adrenaline as I stepped back.

I took several quivering breaths. I donned a veneer of calm and tidied the battlefield of it’s corpse then went to reassure my coworker that all was well, while internally I still shook.

You fought well, Rick. I hope you sired many more monstrous children to haunt retail workers in the years to come. Rest in valor, you monster.

[hannahssimblr]

Days slink by, a haze of heat, blank, blue skies, the lazy buzz of insects, the trickle of a fountain. We enjoy the sights, eat the food, take a trip to Pompeii to wander on ancient, cracked stone. Crumbling pillars, sun worn brick, frescoes of decadence, excess, figures draped in togas, languishing about. Through glass enclosures we view plaster casts of Vesuvius victims with solemnity, feeling perhaps self righteous in our thoughtful sobriety while other tourists laugh and take photographs of themselves. 

The sunburn that follows feels almost poetic. At least that’s what Astrid says. Like the pain we feel is only a whisper, a ghost of what those poor people went through. Sometimes she says things like this to me, just, like, on the bus, or something, with such a serious face, and I’m forced to think of Jen. Jenny Smythe, laughing at the sad poetry kids in their thick, ugly shoes, waxing lyrical, interpretations of Plath’s work to the point of extreme awkwardness. What would she think of all this? Of the things I listen to, and in fact, actively indulge, without laughing at all. Without pointing out what may actually be hovering perilously close to the line of ‘honestly, a bit stupid’. “Well, yes, that’s a good point. I would have never thought of that,” I’ll say, and in so doing, allow it to continue. 

Mornings, I’ll wake, normally alone, and make breakfast, sometimes delighting in plucking a fresh orange from the tree outside, digging my thumbs into the flesh, eating it segment by segment in the garden, basking in the view while Astrid swims, or reads, or speaks to someone on the phone, fragments of conversation, Danish, floating through the foyer. Strange sounding language.

It twinges, still, the intimacy thing, like a sprain, as does the conversation we avoided the morning after. I don’t internalise, I compartmentalise, make a choice to not think about what it means; a young couple, five months in love, two gorgeous, fit, sensual bodies, and one, luxuriating in the bath upstairs, while the other masturbates in the shower, dodging the water. The hot, burned skin of his neck. 

Silvio and Suzana, of course, are still a factor of our afternoons and evenings. Trips together, meals, drinks, lounging beachside. Them, tongue kissing, practically dry humping on the sunbeds while Astrid reads a book and applies, methodically, punctually, on the hour, factor 80 sun cream to her tattoos. 

I hate them, actually. Loathe their very existence, there, touching each other, cooing into one another’s faces like infants. Can I do that for you, baby? What do you need, baby? That drink looks so yummy, can I try some? You’re so cute, no you, no you, no you.

There’s an understanding, a fact not lost on me, that I don’t actually hate them. Only their love and their affection. Why should they have it? What have they done to deserve it? Why not me? Et cetera. 

Astrid, when she’s feeing social, is not socialising with me, but Suzana. There by the shore, laughing like that, while I’m stuck with Silvio, trying to talk to me about Formula One racecars or something. Lewis Hamilton? Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of him, I think. Going out with the hot one from the Pussycat Dolls. 

He’ll always throw some comment in about his girlfriend, too. Like, “Look at her there, isn’t she gorgeous?” Like, yes, objectively, I suppose, but why are you asking me? 

Sometimes, for no reason, I’d like to punch him, but I picture it happening like a cartoon, where my fist would go kind of inside his head, turning his face inside out, and it’d take a second or two to pop back, like rubber. The reality would be like punching Fitzy on the rugby pitch in sixth year. When I flung myself at him and pretended it was an accident. “How’s your Chinese girlfriend?” he said. “The lads were saying you smell like fried rice.” I felt his nose crunch under my knuckles. It was weird. Blood on his face, up my arm, and when he collapsed onto the pitch with a groan, the exhalation sprayed a fountain of blood up my jersey. A gruesome victory. 

If I did that to Silvio, for what? Not being racist, for annoying me. How would that look? An intrusive image comes, him, clutching his face, blood pouring between his fingers while everyone screams: There’s a violent maniac on the beach! Like, no. I’m just a nineteen-year-old boy on holidays, and I’m very bored. 

Imagine the financial implications. The teeth alone. Teeth. I squint my eyes as he talks to me. It’s actually more like one tooth. One huge, horseshoe shaped tooth wedged into his gums. Uncanny. Ringing my dad, like, hey, I broke someone’s veneer. Singular. No, no, not the normal ones, but, like, one huge grotesque slab, the ones they put in animatronics. Do you have those in stock at the clinic? 

Late evening, one night after saying goodbye at another bar, we take the seafront route back to the villa. We can see it from here, lights in the windows yawning from the mountainside, Astrid’s heeled sandals clacking on the pavement. She’s going on about Sorrento. Why did we book Sorrento, anyway? An extra thousand euros for two nights, all because Elias said to her it was nice. Two extra nights spent being acutely miserable, when I could have done it for free in Berlin. Maybe she will invite Silvio and Suzana, too, as a fun joke. Ha ha, Jude, you thought you saw the last of them, but here they are! In Sorrento this time! 

These thoughts carry guilt. She walks ahead of me now, in a short dress that makes her body look sensational and the cruelty of life seem monumental. She’ll break up with me, probably, after all this, when she has squeezed the last she can from me. Used my money, sucked out my dignity. I flinch outwardly at that. Its viciousness shudders down my arms and out of my fingertips. This is the kind of thought to be ashamed of. An ugly thing. I never saw myself like them, those boys you’d get stuck with at school, their contempt for girls who didn’t like them. Stupid bitch, they’d say. She’s rotten anyway. Wouldn’t touch her if she begged.

Ugh. 

“Astrid.”

She stops, turns. The expression of surprise suits her face, makes her lovely. I move to kiss her.

Slippery satin under my hands, the silk of her hair over my arm. She’s warm and real. Lips soft and inviting.

“No, come on,” she’s saying. “Let’s just go back to the villa. I want to finish my book.”

“Astrid.”

“What?” Already, she’s leaving. 

“Come back.”

“Why?”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

She stops. “There’s nothing.”

“There is. You hardly let me touch you anymore.”

“Oh, Jude, please. We are in public.”

I look around us, vacant, cobbled streets. Cafes and shops shuttered. The perfect silence of night. “Sorry, what? You didn’t want to kiss me in front of all these people?” 

A sound. Short, dismissive, and indignation surges.

“Why do you do that? You just brush me off and act like I’m a burden.”

“Oh, stop. Honestly.”

“Like that. See? You just did it.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did. You make me feel like I’m not worth speaking to.”

She huffs and stomps toward me, her arms crossed over herself. “Come, please. We can talk back in the villa.”

“We won’t. You won’t talk to me there. I know you’re just going to read in the bath for two hours until you think I’m asleep, and then creep into bed when you know I won’t pull the moves on you”

“So, you want to do this here?” She tosses her hands. “Standing in the street.”

“Please.”

“You’ve done this on purpose,” she says. “You kissed me here because you wanted to start an argument.”

“That’s bullshit,” I say, though maybe that is what I did. “It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? Here we are. I just want you to talk to me.”

“About what?”

“Preferably about what’s gone wrong, or what I’ve done to put you so drastically off me.”

She scoffs. 

“We haven’t had sex in weeks.”

“Is that the only thing you think about?”

“Well, it’s not, actually, believe it or not, but it’s been on my mind pretty regularly, seeing as recently I’m not doing it at all. Out of nowhere, too, like you switched off the fucking tap.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re so cold,” I cry, surprised by a swell of emotion. “I hate this, how I’m trying to talk to you and you stand there like that, like a robot or something. It’s like you’re punishing me. You won’t even tell me what I’ve done. Can you imagine how that feels?”

She hesitates, eyes flicking to the ground. “No,” she says. 

“Well, tell me so I can be sorry for it.”

“Well, I don’t know.”

“You don’t.”

“No,” her eyes flicker to mine, an unexpected uncertainty in them. “No. I really don’t know.”

Along the shore, the waves hiss through pebbles. The clunk of wooden shutters somewhere, drawing in over a window. 

“I’m confused too,” she says. “I don’t know why I feel this way, and I wish I didn’t.”

“Because you don’t fancy me anymore.”

Lips open, close, and her hand comes to her neck, blotchy, I see. Pink, abstract blobs like the ghosts of bruising. Like months ago now, when I bit her there. Haven't done that for a while now, as it involves being close. Access to her neck. “It’s normal for a relationship to have periods like this.”

“It’s never been like this for me.”

“Never?”

“No, I–” I sigh. The past: Never asked about, never offered. “My last girlfriend, you know, from school. We were constantly at it. It wasn’t a good relationship, in so much as we fought all the time. She was a bit volatile in her own way, but in… you know, the sex department, things were good. I liked it with her.”

“How long were you together?”

“About eleven months.”

She nods. “Maybe it’s different for me.”

“Well, what about you, then, and your, um, your other boyfriends?”

Her eyes flash in the moonlight. “I’ve never been with another man for as long as I’ve been with you.”

“What?”

“No, never. This is the longest. The steadiest thing I’ve had. I met you and I thought you were so cute; that maybe my life would be calmer with such a nice person.”

I blurt it: “But you were engaged.”

“Excuse me?”

“Last year, you went to Paris with a man. He asked you to marry him.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just know. Someone told me months ago. Everyone knows.”

She stares, a light wind rippling across the hem of her dress. “Alright, well, it was meaningless. I said yes for fun. I didn't intend to actually marry him. It was like a play, and we were the actors. I hardly knew him at all. It was a thrill, and he was exciting for a while.”

“And me,” I say, foolish. “Am I exciting?”

She says nothing. A wrenching feeling in my chest.

“How was your sex life with him?”

“Don’t ask questions like that.”

“Well, there’s my answer then, isn’t it?”

“Jude, I–”

“What did he do for you I don’t? I do everything you say, I swear. At this point, I barely think about myself. I’m just,” I clench my fist, wanting to tear the front of my hair. “I’m just trying to make you happy, and it seems like the more I try, the further away I push you. That’s so confusing to me.”

“You are just… I do love you. Okay? You’re a kind person.”

“What do I have to do? Do I have to put you on the back of a motorcycle and whisk you away to Paris? How about Vegas? Would that be your taste? Lose all my money in a casino and marry you in a little Elvis chapel? Does that make you horny?”

“No, obviously not. That's tacky.”

“Then tell me what.”

“You’re…” exasperated. “You’re so nice. I know, and I’m thankful. You always do what I want you to do, but… I want you to do something else.”

Sharply. “What?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to have to tell you.”

“I don’t get you at all, Astrid, to be honest.”

“You should just do whatever you like to me.”

“I already do. What I like is making you happy.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “It’s…”

Frustration is fading into numbness as she trails off. “Am I getting this? You want me to do what you ask, but at the same time, you don’t. Now you want me to do whatever I like with you, but not if that involves doing what you ask.”

“Yes, I think so.”

“You think I should want something else?”

“Maybe.”

“Tell me.”

She’s struggling, eyes darting around, settling on nothing. “Well, what about the things men say to each other, or think on their own, but would never ask a woman to do? Isn’t it what you all secretly desire? To take a beautiful woman and disrespect her?”

“Ah, so you expect me to hit you across the face or something.”

It’s an outrageous thing to say to her, and my voice sounds loud, bellowing it through the streets in indignation. I imagine people inside their houses, the windows cracked, and listening. “He wants to hit her,” they’re whispering. “A crazed man. Someone help that poor girl.” 

“If you ever thought it would turn you on, I’d like to think you’d hold me down and do it.”

In the stunned silence that follows, she doesn’t waver. I reel back, abhorred.

“Have other guys done that to you?”

“Sometimes.”

Actual repulsion, then. A wave, like I might throw up over the pier. “Well, that makes me feel fucking sick, then.”

“You think I’m sick.”

“No, those guys are. They’re scum.”

“Fine, then pick something else.”

“Something else? Something worse than that, is it?”

“Anything you’ve ever wanted.”

My head buzzes, the sound of my own breath in my ears. Of course, I’ve had fantasies, things I’d like, but never admitted to. What about the things in my head when I’m having sex? The words that make me certain biblical hell is not real, for if it were, God would cast me down there for the crime of thinking them. Impure. Does she want me to say them out loud to her? But doesn’t it turn me on a bit, the imagined freedom of speaking them? The whole dirty dialogue, out loud, like, yes, this is what I think of you. This is how you look to me when I have you like that. This is what I’m doing to you. Tell me you like me doing it, and so on. It’s theoretically possible to say those things, but looking her in the eye and doing it...

“I’m only nineteen,” I say, my voice tearing. “Can you not just let me be nineteen for a while and have sex normally? You’ve clearly done all of this extreme stuff, and it freaks me out, to be honest. I can’t live up to that. Maybe we can work up to it, but this feels too sudden. Like, it’s jarring me. You assume I have all these secret fantasies about you and I’m holding back, but I’m not. I just love you, and I think you’re beautiful and I want to kiss and make love to you and talk afterwards in bed. That’s basically all.”

I don’t know how to read that look on her face, but there’s a feeling in my chest. A piece bored out of it, leaving behind something hollow. 

“Well,” she says, chin high. “That’s okay, then.”

“Is it okay?” I feel it is not okay, in fact, at all, but she’s already turning her back. “Astrid?”

“We should go back to the villa. My feet are hurting.”

A long, dreadful silence. “Alright,” and a finality in that.

We don’t walk together, but ten feet apart. Her ahead, the sound of her shoes, the moon rising, becoming full. The beauty of Amalfi, hills, sea, warmth in the air. I try to hold this; The way it feels, while I remember how it felt before. It wasn’t this way. Never had to be. Here I am wondering, in misery, if this is it. Adulthood. My parents, her parents, me and her. My life, a thousand times this, over and over again.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[cosmos-hime]

Hi! Wanted to clarify some things in regard to your post about Moo Deng always opening her mouth around her keeper, as a Thai person who lives near the zoo (and has visited the zoo many times) and has access to local information, that Moo Deng isn’t actually being abused like many posts with misinformation may have claimed.

Firstly, I’d like to start by stating that Moo Deng is not the first hippo who has been taken care of by this keeper. The keeper actually took care of Moo Deng’s older siblings for the past 8 years, and is still taking care of all of them even though they’re all adults now. And they all like playing with him.

As for how he’s handling Moo Deng, the process is simply what trained professionals here in Thailand believe is important for baby animals’ safety as well as the keepers’. It’s not just to cause her stress for cute and funny videos, it’s so that she gets used to being handled, because she’s going to be touched and handled throughout her life (by trained professionals, of course) when she gets her regular health checkups.

If he never handled her as a baby, she would only grow up to be an aggressive hippo who attacked the first time a keeper manhandled her. And an attack from an adult hippo can certainly be fatal.

He handled all of her older siblings, and they have all grown up to be friendly towards him. As for Moo Deng, her showing signs of stress is actually her being feisty, which is her unique personality (the main reason she goes viral).

Also worth mentioning that Moo Deng’s mom was with her the entire time her keeper handled her. If her mom actually thought her baby was harmed, she would have attacked the keeper long ago.

I’d also like to add that the keeper isn’t handling her all the time. He’s only with her when he feeds her mom and stays there to make sure the roaming moneys in the zoo can’t steal her food. All of the videos we see of her is from her keeper filming her during the time he feeds her mom, because that’s the only time he spends with them (Moo Deng and her mom)

There is also a live stream where you can watch Moo Deng from her enclosure 24/7, which proves Moo Deng spends most of her time relaxing with her mom.

The only issue is that some visitors have in the past thrown things at her to wake her up, but the zoo has threatened legal action against them and has since made sure no other visitors can bother her again, and so far there has been no reports of other incidents.

I’d also like to say that I understand why some people find the way her keeper plays with her and her other siblings to be “too rough”, as he sometimes (playfully) sprays water at them. Though I’d like to say that I genuinely believe that’s just how they play. It can seem rough in the videos, but as someone who’s seen them live, I can genuinely confirm it’s harmless and more like “how siblings play with each other”. And that they (Moo Deng’s siblings) all like him (the keeper) and are very clearly comfortable around him.

Lastly, please allow me to say that the misinformation about the zoo abusing animals is untrue; the zoo’s known among Thai people to have rescued injured animals, as well as taking in animals from abusive backgrounds whom they rescued. As we, Thai folks, would have been the first to know and call them out if they really were abusive towards their animals.

If you’ve read it this far, thank you. We have faced a lot of racism regarding this, but I understand that there are also good people who are genuinely concerned about Moo Deng’s wellbeing, and I thought I’d clarify this as a local. Thank you for reading. I hope you have an amazing day

I’m still surprised my dumb mistake of a post made waves in the first place.

I plan on deleting the post at this point. I’d reblogged the post with a correction when it had less than 25 notes, but only the incorrect part went semi-viral.

This ask has shown me it’s still having a bit of an impact, and disabling reblogs wasn’t enough. That aside, this was very informative and well written post-I had no idea moo Deng had her own livestream. Thank you for taking the time to write all this out!

[recently-reanimated]

So I heard moo deng (the viral hippo) was being abused and I was like "oh no" and clicked on the source.

It was a fucking tiktok. And not one from a zoologist or zookeeper it was some rando.

I've also seen people comparing her treatment to that of Fiona (a hippo born at the Cincinnati zoo) and one Fiona is not a pygmy hippo she probably has different enclosure needs. Two she was born prematurely so to my knowledge she needed a different level of care.

Furthermore, according to this source, the zoo complies with international standards. I don't know if those standards are up to snuff so if anyone has additional information please feel free to add it.

If Moo Deng is being mistreated and someone has a decent source please tell me. But so far it looks like people will just take a 10 second clip of her being sprayed with water and say "See! These Thai people are clearly unfit to take care of this animal. Unlike the American zoo keepers that cared for Fiona"

[rottenpumpkin13]

The Turks and SOLDIER now share an entire floor with each other, and their bosses (Rufus and Lazard) have offices on said floor. How "On Fire" is everything?

• Sephiroth and Tseng now share an office, something which Sephiroth only discovers when he arrives there at 6AM and finds the whole room rearranged.

Sephiroth: ....What have you done?

Tseng: Feng shui.

Sephiroth: Why was my desk replaced with a giant cat bed and a scratch tower?

Tseng: There was not enough enrichment in your enclosure.

Sephiroth: But—

*Tseng sprays him with water*

• Genesis is moving into a completely different office with Reno because the budget cuts are crazy.

Genesis: Oh no! The shelves won't have enough room for my limited edition copies of Loveless: The Screen Play and my 80s hyperpop records! Do you know what this means?

Reno: That the closet is made of glass.

• Zack ends up being the most bothered by all of this. He finds the Turks occupying the training room 24/7 and acting like they own the place completely ridiculous. Yet, his last straw is...

Zack: THAT'S IT! WHO ATE THE LAST ICE CREAM SANDWICH IN THE BREAK ROOM FREEZER!? HUH? SHOW YOURSELF, COWARD.

Rufus: I ate it. Is there a problem?

Zack: None at all!

Rufus: Really? You're turning blue.

Zack: My favorite color!

Rufus: If you have a problem with me eating the last ice cream sandwich, just say so.

Zack: I'm fine! Will you accompany me to the freezer for just one second?

• Meanwhile, Angeal has been put in charge of Dark Star and is walking her around while keeping an eye on the move.

Angeal: Isn't this such a nice day? Everyone's getting along so well.

*Genesis and Reno crash through the glass window of their office. They're on the ground choking each other*

Genesis: ADMIT IT! THAT BOX OF RED HAIR DYE IS YOURS!

Reno: NEVER! THE BOX WAS ON YOUR SIDE OF THE OFFICE! DOES MY HAIR LOOK FAKE TO YOU?

Genesis: YES!

Reno: YEAH, WELL AT LEAST MY HAIR ISN'T LIGHT BROWN AND I TELL EVERYONE IT'S RED!

Genesis: YOU TAKE THAT BACK!

*They get up and crash into the window of the next office*

Angeal: Come on Dark Star, let's go call the doctor.

*There's an explosion from within the office*

Angeal: And the fire department.

• Meanwhile, Lazard is frantically running around trying to find the culprit who locked Rufus in the break room freezer.

*He opens Sephiroth's office door*

Lazard: Sephiroth! Have you seen....

*Sephiroth is sprawled out in his giant cat bed playing with what looks like a sock of catnip*

Lazard: What are you doing??

Sephiroth: Enrichment.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

in your earlier ask you said that yves is pretty much anti child so is he also anti pet? or maybe anti puppy/kitten/baby animal? when you described yves pretty much conditioning reader to dislike kids it reminded me when i got my kitten when she was three weeks old. it was during the lockdown so although i was there 24/7 i was lacking sleep because she refused to sleep on her own and i had to feed her every two hours and when she got older she got hyper and i needed to play with her so she could chill out a little more. i remember as i put her to sleep in my lap for the third time i thought to myself “is this what babies are like? but worse, dirtier and for a longer time?” as much as i love my little fur baby i don’t think i could go through that again so i wonder yves’ thoughts on pets. he gives off those vibes that he hates fur everywhere and can’t stand barking lol. but then again if reader wants a pet im assuming he’ll accommodate somehow.

Pets that need his constant attention like most mammals and noisy animals like the majority of birds are a big no for him.

However, he doesn't mind having reptilians as pets. As long as they're big enough to not lose them. He is indifferent to fishes, but he sees them more as home decor than actual living beings. Something akin to owning lava lamps.

He especially likes snakes. It fits with the aesthetic of his house and they're one of the lowest maintenance pets there is. He would meet all of its physical needs, but other than that, he wouldn't care to spend more time with it than necessary. The snake will be locked up in its enclosure at all times, unless you want to interact with it and he knows that your personality wouldn't lead to trouble. He knows everything there is to know about the snake, yet he sees it as a mere display piece for his living room.

Yves despises insects, he uses the presence of them as a sign that the environment isn't clean, and he does not appreciate having to think his house is filthy. No matter how much research he does on them and how many results show that insects do not necessarily equal dirty, Yves just could not accept them.

He is not squeamish, though. Yves despises them but he is not afraid of them, he knows how to handle a tarantula gently and keep calm when it decides to crawl under his turtleneck. If you threw a bucket of cockroaches on him he would not scream or flail, he would dodge it gracefully before dusting himself off. If any got onto him, he will just pick them off his clothes as if they're paper stickers. Yves will not beat around the bush and try to find a roll of newspaper or a bug spray, he is squashing that colony of spiders with his bare hands.

The way he could simply grab a handful of mealworms without hesitation makes the world think he loves bugs. He doesn't, not one bit.

You could simply shove him in a vat full of writhing maggots and he would come out as if he took a leisure swim in the pool, combing his hair with his fingers to get rid of any leftovers.

Yves would be annoyed more than horrified, lecturing you that pushing him into ponds of worms is rude while he jerks his head to expel the ones that are stuck in his ears.

Not to say he is inept at taking care of them. Yves can be an excellent caretaker for any and every animal. His research skills are unbelievably godly and he loathes the idea of him being perceived as incompetent in anything.

Yves also has a strangely high tolerance for all things disgusting and vile, he could clean up the most brutal bloody murder scene complete with mutilated bodies, decomposition, faeces, urine, vomit and other bodily fluids without wearing gloves or a gas mask; and still have an appetite to eat lunch immediately after. Vacuuming fur and sifting through the litter box is nothing to him. He just does not find much fulfillment in owning a pet. Hence, a pet becomes a parasite in his life, and he detests all things vermin.

If you wanted a furry companion so badly, he will hit the books and review the patterns in your life again.

Do you really want a pet or are you actually just bored? If it's the latter, he could effectively fill your time and make you forget about your desire for an animal companion. He could also negotiate his way out of this too.

Are you someone who hyper fixate on something or someone, then lose all interest after a few months? Then, he could wait it out. Taking care of your newest breathing toy as he counts down until you finally decide to abandon it and move on to greener pastures.

Are you someone who easily gives up at the first encounter of a problem? Maybe all it takes for you to drop the interest entirely is a meow that's too loud or a nip that's a bit too painful. He's going to train the animal to misbehave around you.

Are you someone who is susceptible to peer pressure? He is going to train your pet to misbehave around your loved ones. Manipulate your friends and family into thinking that you're an abusive or neglectful pet owner. He doesn't have to say a word to you, everyone is doing the pressuring for him.

Maybe you would fold under his dour glare and stern words, he can be quite scary at times. That generally reduces anyone into a shivering, crying mess that will not bring up the things that displeases him. This is usually the second-last resort to anything.

Perhaps you're a fierce animal lover and have a strong portfolio of being a cat or dog owner. You wouldn't give your beloved four legged friends up for the world, you will fight for them till your very last breath. Someone with unbreakable maternal/paternal instincts towards your precious fur babies. Giving them up is not in the equation.

Well, he is not above traumatizing you for life.

When push comes to shove, you might find your trusted non-human companions betraying you by lacerating your extremities to the point of no repair. Puncturing your throat with its sharp canines and claws, leaving you to breathe on a ventilator while Yves takes care of you in the hospital.

Or he could direct the attack to someone else, make you liable for lasting damages and having to put your seemingly rabid pets down. You would also have to live with the guilt of knowing you're mainly responsible for disfiguring that poor child's face, changing his life for the worse, just because you "didn't" train them well.

He warned you not to test him. Yves has been lenient and his patience has reached its limits. He may love you and want the best for you, but he is also very, very selfish.

[changingplumbob]

Knightstone Household: Chapter 9, Part 12

Suzanna walked in to the office where Silas was playing on the computer and Pollock was having fun with one of his toys.

Suzanna: Hey you two

Silas: Hi Mummy

Pollock wandered over and hugged Suzanna’s leg tight.

Suzanna: It’s bedtime for you Pollock. Head to bed and Daddy will read you a story okay?

Silas: What about me

Suzanna: Want to go upstairs and collect your alien?

Smiling Silas shut off the computer and sped up the stairs.

Silas: Oh oh, can I have the squid? Or maybe you could clone the porcupine for me

Suzanna smiled and set down the jar from earlier.

Suzanna: You can have this guy, fresh off Sixam today

Silas stared at the jar. It didn’t escape his notice that the jar had no air holes and the Red Coral inside wasn’t moving

Silas: Mummy, I can’t take a dead alien to show and tell. That’s creepy

Suzanna: He’s only a little dead. Some types of aliens operate on a similar frequency to us and with a little manipulation...

Silas: You’re going to bring it back to life?

Suzanna: That’s the plan. It takes a lot of focus though, you may not be able to do it until you’re an adult

Taking a deep breath and concentrating Suzanna sent out pulses that resounded through the coral, making it twitch. After a short time the light returned to it’s eyes and it began to move.

Silas: Oh wow, we better get an enclosure Mummy!

Silas: Do you think he’s happy in there

Suzanna: He feels happy, yes. Don’t worry, when you’re a teen you should be able to start picking up on his feelings. Now, will that do for show and tell

Silas: *beaming* YES

Suzanna: Good. Now you better get to bed. Would you like me to spray the monster?

Silas: No, I think I’m going to try be it’s friend. Goodnight Mummy, I love you

That job done, Suzanna set about doing some cloning. She’d gotten a new metal on Sixam today, rose gold. Figuring it might have some new elements she wanted to make copies to send to the geo council. Unfortunately the time in her inventory had messed with the calibration and initially she got a crude lump of matter. A few adjustments though and she was able to create several new minerals and gems for her stock.

Adam: You ready for bed

Suzanna: Just let me put the cloning machine away

Adam: Can it clone people

Suzanna: Logically it should be able to but I haven’t tested that

Adam: You should clone Faye and freeze her clone in front of her

Suzanna: You Mr Knightstone are a bad influence

Adam: Maybe but you love it

Suzanna: I do

Giggling the pair got in bed and fooled around.

Silas wasn’t sure why he’d woken up. He felt the clink of simoleons and cheered at the gift from the tooth fairy. Then he heard it. The growling and plopping under his bed, the monster was back! Taking a deep breath, and trying to channel some of his favourite book characters he sat down facing the gap.

Silas: Umm, hi there. I’m Silas. Are you... comfy?

Monster: Comfy? Yes. I just like the dark

Silas: Oh not me, I have a fear of it actually

The pair talked for a while and Silas felt like he had befriended the monster.

Silas: Mummy you’ll never guess

Suzanna: You got a visit from the tooth fairy

Silas: Well yeah but- I made friends with the monster under my bed

Suzanna: You did? Oh that’s wonderful Starshine

Silas: I’m going to tell everyone at school about it! Even the humans accept there are monsters under the bed or in the closet. Can we watch Monsters Inc this weekend?

Suzanna: *smiling* Sure, Pollock might be old enough to watch it now

After walking Silas to the school bus Suzanna tended the garden and got the mail. The rose gold had indeed contained a new element for her display and she couldn’t wait to slot it in. She took a moment to enjoy the crisp winter air, to think she’d missed out on snow all those years in Oasis Springs.

Suzanna: Hey Faye, I think I fixed my calibrations

Faye: *scoffs* Not again. Look I have actual work to do

Suzanna: You’re on your lunch break, and it will just take a second, hold still

Faye: Have I ever told you I hate you

Suzanna: Not in those words but it’s implied every day

Faye: Good

Suzanna: I feel like maybe your skin tone has shifted slightly

Faye: Wow, that’s some cutting edge science right there boss

Suzanna: Your sarcasm is noted

Faye: Right well I’m going to get back to my lunch now

Previous ... Next

[poppys-pets-and-arts]

Girls night!!

Candy came out while I was misting her enclosure (came right into the water spray, completely unfazed). Kali was already sitting out, begging for food with her big wet puppydog eyes. Lucky just molted the other nights and needs a few more days for its exoskeleton to harden

[miastideclock]

a year with bang chan, "april 17th."

word count: 687 warnings: not edited notes: funnily enough, this is the first one i've posted on the right day lmao

january 2nd ⁺₊ february 14th ⁺₊ march 2nd ⁺₊ april 17th ⁺₊ may 30th ⁺₊ june 4th ⁺₊ july 14th ⁺₊ august 1st ⁺₊ september 12th ⁺₊ october 3rd ⁺₊ november 1st ⁺₊ december 31st

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆

int. outside at a zoo. noon.

“oh my god, look at those two!” chan practically squealed as he raised his hand to point at the two baby elephants that were stood in the pond they had in their enclosure. the two calves were filling their trunks with water, only to spray each other with it and running after each other.

“i didn’t realise visiting the zoo would be so similar to going to your dorms.” you snickered, just barely dodging the push that came from your boyfriend as his aussie came through with a playful ‘oi!’

you laughed at his reaction, but let him grab your hand despite his faux pout. he found it impossible to keep up the upset demeanour and a massive smile had soon found its way back on his face. “where to next?” you asked him as you stopped to look at a map of the zoo.

“the gift shop is right by the food court, so maybe stop there, grab something to eat, and then continue on to this section over here?” he suggested, pointing all over the map as he spoke. it sounded good to you, so you were soon sat in the food court, having lunch as you spoke about everything and nothing all at the same time.

next thing you knew you were in the gift shop, doubled over in tears from laughing. the two of you had found matching monkey-hats, and put them on as a joke. it was ‘couples’ hats, so when you stood next to each other, the monkeys on the hats were stretched out for one another, trying to kiss. you didn’t even have to say anything for chan to take the hats off of your heads and go to the register to buy them.

as you walked around holding hands, with those god-awful hats snugly on your heads, a little girl had spotted you and couldn’t hold her giggles all to herself. what you assumed would be her mother, picked her up and placed the girl on her hip, apologising for her daughters behaviour. the two of you reassured her that it was absolutely fine as the hats really were laughable. the mother gave them a warm smile and moved her daughter from her hip, over to the back of a man that was stood next to them, presumably the father. as he gave her a piggyback ride, they walked off.

“isn’t it wild that one day you get picked up and put down again, for the very last time and you don’t even know?” you spoke as you moved further down the walkway surrounded by animals. this made chan halt in his step and look at you, pretty much like you were crazy.

“now, why would you say that? now i’m sad.” chan let his legs go back to moving while you chuckled at him.

“this obviously doesn’t apply to you, as you and the boys make sure you are more above ground than you are on it at this point. never once have i been to your place without witnessing at least one member of your getting picked up.” you explained, chan nodding in agreement as you spoke, seeing as you made very valid points. “so you’re fine, i however am most likely floor-bound for the rest of my life.” what you said was not meant to be taken as an invitation, but that is exactly what chan interpreted it as.

“not on my watch!” your boyfriend announced, grabbing both of your hands and turning around so his back was facing you. he then bent down slightly and used the grip he had on your hands to pull you onto his back, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips. he let go of your arms and grabbed onto your thighs instead, readjusting you slightly so he could comfortably give you a piggyback-ride.

“you okay up there?” he asked.

“splendid.” you chuckled at him, planting a little kiss on the side of his face as you couldn’t properly reach his lips.

[kittykittyanon]

OH NO OH GOD,, WHO GAVE THEM A GUN?!?! NOO—💥💥💥

(plot twist.. it was ME 😈😈)

((here's the pic by itself!!))

BOO!! BIRTHDAY GIFT ART!!! forrr,,,,

the skrunkliest of crunkles ever!! the silliest of sillies!! the gremlin-est of gremlins!! FRANKIEEE!!! sing her the birthday song, throw flowers in her direction, gift her weapons of destruction (/j), GO SHOW THE BIRTHDAY GIRL SOME LOVE @averagerottmntsimp !!!! \(≧▽≦)/ \(≧▽≦)/

i've said it before, and i'll say it again, you deserve the world frfr!! forreal!! your writing and art is fantastic, its like every time i blink you get better!! GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE YOU'RE SO COOL!!!! happy birthday frankie-doodle!! happy day of birth!! devious plan number one is finished!! WOOOO HAPPY 13TH‼️‼️‼️ 🎂🎂🎂🎉🎉🎉🎉🎁🎁💥💥💥💥💥

i asked you for when you slept and when you woke up so i could get a feel of when to schedule this so you see it in the morning,, im SO sorry it sounded SO suspicious when i sent the asks HUEHSRUOAHAIEU (╥﹏╥)

one last time for the silly ever,, happy birthdayyy!!!!! YIPPEE YAHOO UEUEUEUEE!!!!

((ignore my horrible camera and weird-looking coloring,, bonus and extra silly details under the cut!! (brace yourself, it's long!)ヽ(>∀<☆)ノ))

(song: There's A Cat Licking Your Birthday Cake by ParryGripp)

((extra details for the road;; the text on her bag is supposed to be her name embroidered on but i didn't do it very well (> ^ < " ),, the outfit she's wearing is the cat-ear beanie and a mashup of clothes from the pics she posted in response to me asking about her fashion style (among other questions)!! she's chewing raspberry bubblegum, which she mentioned she bought often in the same post, i wanted to draw her eyes open with a sort of mischevious look but i couldn't get it right and i gave up after trying to redraw it twice ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝ in the little drawing of the gun itself, the spray-painted turtle head in the background is originally supposed to have its eyes like this 😋 (but with its eyes crossed out) like on the actual gun, but i put button eyes in its place as a tiny reference to the button eyes series frankie's writing!! go check it out btw its SO cool!!!! i actually struggled SO much with the gun in that perspective, i didn't have a reference to go off of so i just tried to guess which is why it looks so wonky. (oops). the keychain on the strap of her bag is the character toro inoue from doko demo issyo (never played it though) with a bow around his neck, and the last thing is i strugged with the hands SO hard its so embarrassing LMAOO but that's everything i think,, thank you for sticking around and actually reading this huge block of text!! when i first saved this to my drafts it didn't pop up so i panicked but it appeared like 30 minutes later LMFAO,, one last time, go show frankie some love <33))

[objecthusbandry]

My spider never leaves her enclosure except for meal time every few weeks, and he’s never tried to eat her. I’ve only had this problem recently after I got her more stuff; backpack seems more interested in the Cool Plastic Thing With Stuff Inside than the spider. I’m just worried about usual solutions used to deter theft like the scent/taste sprays or anything that could affect my girl..

i suggest distracting your backpack with other objects that he might like or take an interest in! make sure that your spider is ALWAYS in a separate room from your objects

[ficklecat]

what do we think gamers?

friend of mine requested I write an omegaverse piece for her, and it's coming along nicely so far, but I was wondering if there was any interest in me sharing it on my AO3 for you all?

I know it's not quite within the typical stuff I write, and I can't promise I'd write more of it, but it's coming along pretty well and I think maybe it would be enjoyed by more than just my horny lil goblin friend, so...

[zaynnaz]

Bleach One-shot fanfiction.

Title: Rukia the Visored: Hollow Resonance

Rukia Kuchiki sat alone, her back pressed against the jagged wall of her cell in Hueco Mundo. The enclosure felt less like a room and more like the innards of some great, malevolent beast. Its walls had the texture and hue of aged bone, as if calcified over centuries of neglect and malice. The air was stale, redolent with the putrid odor of decay, each breath she took tinged with the taste of something foul.

“I can’t believe Captain Aizen is a traitor. If I remain here much longer, all could be lost," she thought, her eyes narrowed in quiet darkness.

Her eyes squinted as she tried to see beyond the shadowy darkness, but it was a futile endeavor. It was as if the air itself had swallowed all light, leaving only an oppressive void in its place. She clenched her fists, the raw energy of the Hogyoku deep within her a pulsing reminder of her imprisonment. Aizen had taken her for this cursed gemstone, embedded irrevocably into her soul, yet his experiments had failed to extract it.

Her thoughts were shattered by a sound—an echoing roar that seemed to resonate from the bowels of Hueco Mundo. It sounded both distant and uncomfortably close, as if the very walls were channeling it toward her. Her heart pounded in her chest as her eyes darted around, widening when they focused on the creature that had just materialized through the bars of her cell.

It was a Hollow, yet incomplete. Its facial features were twisted in a grotesque mockery of human and Hollow traits, its signature mask missing. Its eyes, however, were not filled with the mindless rage typical of its kin. Instead, they regarded her with what could only be described as curiosity.

"Who—or what—are you?" Rukia questioned cautiously.

"Is this one of Aizen's failed experiments?" she wondered, gripping her makeshift shiv—a shard of bone she’d managed to pry loose from the wall. But before she could make any defensive moves, the Hollow lunged.

As it made contact with her, Rukia felt a maelstrom of reiatsu engulf her. The sensation was electric, her skin tingling as if struck by lightning. She screamed, not just from the sensation but from the soul-deep agony that came with it. It was as if the creature was trying to fuse with her very essence, to burrow into the core of her being.

Rukia screamed, "What is happening to me?!"

For a heart-stopping moment, Rukia felt her control slip away. A white, skeletal mask began to form over her face, its touch cold and foreign against her skin. She could hear the Hollow's guttural laughter intertwining with her own thoughts, a corrosive symphony that sought to shatter her will.

"Hold on, Rukia. Hold on!" she mentally commanded herself.

But then something remarkable happened—the fusion, instead of consuming her, stabilized. Her scream reached a crescendo and her spiritual pressure surged, a torrent of raw energy that expelled outward like a shockwave. The white mask cracked, then shattered into a spray of ethereal fragments, vanishing before they touched the ground.

Rukia staggered back, gasping for air as she felt her spiritual pressure stabilize. "I don't know what you were, but it looks like you've become a part of me now."

Rukia slumped to her knees, the hollow was gone, its essence now a part of her, contained by the resilience of her soul. But she knew something fundamental within her had changed, something that could alter the very fabric of the war to come.

In the quiet that followed, tinged only by the distant echoes of Hueco Mundo, Rukia allowed herself a moment of vulnerability. She pressed her hand against her chest, feeling the rapid thumping of her heart, and closed her eyes.

She was different now—changed in a way she didn't yet understand. And although she was still confined within these walls, Rukia Kuchiki felt an ember of newfound hope flicker to life within her.

That hope, tinged with the icy cool of her newfound power, would soon be tested in battles she could scarcely imagine. But for now, it was enough. And as the darkness of her cell seemed to lighten just a fraction, Rukia knew she was ready for whatever came next.

The oppressive atmosphere of Hueco Mundo seemed to weigh heavier with each step as Ichigo, Renji, and the others advanced through its labyrinthine corridors. The air was thick with tension, their senses heightened by the adrenaline of their mission—to rescue Rukia Kuchiki.

When they finally arrived at her cell, a sensation of both relief and urgency flooded them. There she was, standing by the bars, seemingly unharmed but visibly different, as though carrying a secret weight.

Just as Renji reached to unlock the cell with his Zanpakuto, an ominous spiritual pressure filled the space, growing thicker with each passing second. Materializing from the shadows with a disdainful smirk, an Arrancar appeared. His blade was already drawn, its gleaming surface reflecting the eerie light of Hueco Mundo.

"Rukia, step back!" Renji bellowed, releasing his Zanpakuto. "Roar Zabimaru!"

But before the chains of Zabimaru could lunge, Rukia’s eyes flashed—a piercing cobalt that cut through the darkness. Her spiritual pressure erupted like a geyser, filling the air with a chilling, electrifying energy. A collective gasp spread through the group as a Hollow mask began to form over half of her face, its visage a ghastly blend of skeletal grimace and icy design.

Gone was the frail prisoner they had come to rescue. Standing before them was a warrior changed, her reiatsu now a chaotic vortex that fused Soul Reaper and Hollow essences.

With a swiftness that defied her previous limitations, Rukia lunged at the Arrancar. Her Zanpakuto, Sode no Shirayuki, glowed an ethereal blue with black undertones, its blade now enveloped in a dark, icy mist. The Espada met her strike with a clash of steel that reverberated through the room, a cacophony of spiritual energies colliding in mid-air.

In an instant, the atmosphere itself seemed to turn against the Arrancar. The chamber filled with a sudden, biting cold, as Rukia whispered, "Dance, Sode no Shirayuki." A blizzard erupted from her blade, but this was no ordinary storm. It was a tempest infused with Hollow spiritual pressure—a dark, swirling whirlwind that choked the air from the room and dimmed the light to near-total darkness.

The Arrancar struggled, his form becoming a silhouette within the storm, his movements increasingly sluggish. Then, with a final, piercing cry, Rukia thrust her Zanpakuto forward. A jagged spike of black ice, coated in a layer of dark spiritual energy, materialized and shot towards the Espada, impaling him. He was frozen in place, a grim statue in a sea of swirling darkness.

As quickly as it had formed, the mask on Rukia’s face shattered, its pieces dissolving into ethereal motes that vanished into the air. Her spiritual pressure dropped dramatically, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. She staggered back, her body a tangle of exhaustion and relief, and collapsed into Renji's arms, who had rushed forward to catch her.

Ichigo looked at Rukia, his eyes wide with both astonishment and a newfound respect. For the first time, he fully realized they were all evolving in this never-ending war, crossing lines and breaking barriers to face the unknown.

"Rukia... What the hell happened?" Ichigo muttered, his voice tinged with utter shock

Drained but alive, Rukia looked up at her friends, her eyes conveying a complex mixture of gratitude and warning. They had won this battle, but the war was far from over. Yet, one thing was clear—Rukia Kuchiki was no longer just a Soul Reaper. She was something more, something transcendent of Soul Reapers, and fearsome.

And as they prepared to leave, that realization filled them with both dread and wonder for the inevitable battles that lay ahead.

Rukia knew that her newfound abilities were a double-edged sword, filled with immense power but also perilous instability. Intent on gaining control, she found herself transported to the World of the Living, her feet touching down on familiar soil, yet feeling like a stranger in her own life. With each step toward the secret hideout of the Vizards, her mind oscillated between anticipation and apprehension.

"Didn't expect a Kuchiki to show up here," Shinji said, breaking the ice.

"I need your help," Rukia said. "Are you Shinji?"

The atmosphere was heavy when she entered their lair, the room charged with a mix of suspicion and guarded interest. Though the Vizards were used to shades of gray in their own powers, Rukia had told them how she was first afflicted by the hollowfication and how it came to be. Her unique form of Hollowfication intrigued them.

“That bastard must have perfected that crazy ass experiment of his.” Shinji commented, insulting a man he loathed.

“Can you please teach me how to control the hollow power within me? Ichigo told me you would be able to help me.” After a tense discourse marked by veiled questions and carefully chosen words, Shinji, the Vizard leader, nodded.

"We've never seen a case quite like yours, Kuchiki," he said, breaking the silence. "You got our attention. We'll train you."

Rukia's training was nothing short of grueling. Each day was a kaleidoscope of sweat, determination, and spiritual energy, all blurring together in a never-ending cycle of trial and failure. Their underground training ground became her world, a cavernous space that echoed with the sound of clashing Zanpakuto and the reverberating cries of hollowfied Soul Reapers. It was a symphony of chaos, the perfect setting for her to tame the tempest within her.

Donning her Hollow mask during training exercises, Rukia felt the immediate shift in her abilities. Her movements became swifter, each slice of her Zanpakuto leaving a trail of black icy mist in the air. The cold no longer came just from her blade, but from within her, a seamless blend of her own spiritual energy and the frigid powers offered by her Hollow self.

Shinji watched her intently, his eyes narrowing as he observed her rapid progress. Even among the Vizards, few had shown such a natural affinity for harnessing their dual nature. It wasn't just her skill; it was her unwavering focus, her complete dedication to mastering this chaotic fusion of Soul Reaper and Hollow.

"You're getting the hang of it, Rukia," Shinji finally said one day, sheathing his Zanpakuto. "I gotta say, you’re surprising us all."

His words washed over her, a bittersweet blend of accomplishment and ever-looming challenges. Yet, they fueled her, made her feel an inch closer to the elusive mastery she sought.

Rukia knew this was just the beginning. Understanding her powers was an ongoing journey, one fraught with pitfalls and revelations. But as she looked at her reflection in the steel of her Zanpakuto, her Hollow mask materializing and dematerializing as if in sync with her thoughts, she realized something vital—she was not afraid of what she had become. She was ready to wield it, to integrate this newfound duality into the core of who she was.

And in that moment, surrounded by those who had walked this tumultuous path before her, Rukia felt a sense of belonging, an unexpected camaraderie that transcended her former identity. She was not just a Soul Reaper or a Visored; she was Rukia Kuchiki, a warrior evolving beyond labels and limitations.

As she sheathed Sode no Shirayuki, the black icy mist from its blade swirling around her, Rukia knew she was one step closer to understanding the intricate tapestry of her own soul. And that realization imbued her with both humility and a fierce resolve, as she prepared to face whatever lay ahead, masked or unmasked.

As she ended her training for the day, Rukia reflected on her journey. "I know this is just the beginning," she said, almost to herself. "But thank you, Shinji. Thank you all."

"Don’t mention it," Shinji grinned. "We're all walking this tightrope between two worlds. We Visoreds got to have each others backs." Rukia nodded, her eyes set on the path ahead.

—————

Do you want to read more of my work? I post One-shots on my blog and I post ongoing fanfictions on Ao3 and Fanfiction net.

[randomfoggytiger]

React: "Return to Me" (from the POV of Someone Averse to RomComs, Part VII): Scars and Hearts, Dining and Dashing

We're back, let's go!

**Note**: Editing later, brb.

Bob is deterred from further work instructions by his workers' "we got it all done" even if they don't know what it was they got all done. It's time to clock out, let them live.

The new enclosure's done-- Sydney gets a new cage, woo.

Some guy named Fennington is going to do the speech and apparently that's mock worthy. Forgot who that was, maybe old man at the party (in Part I) or one of the boardroom guys (in Part II?)

"Elizabeth would love that, huh?" Charlie quips.

"She would've loved this."

"You did it."

"Took me long enough."

Love how Bonnie Hunt sets aside time for characters to celebrate each other-- the restaurant, the bowling alley, and now the construction completion. It makes this world feel homey, lived in.

Charlie picks up that Grace is playing at something; but he thinks it's long-term teasing rather than her being scar-shy. To be fair, no one but she and her family (and Megan-Bonnie and her husband-- who are practically family anyway) know about the scar thing.

The mock turtle soup line DOES play into this but not directly as Charlie asserts: "This is a game that all women play just to reel us in."

And that could be true-- for the women Charlie surrounds himself with, who want to play rather than settle down. But Grace isn't like that; but he doesn't know she's not like that. And he's worried about how hard Bob has fallen for her, especially how quickly.

"Well, it's working."

"You are so sad."

Bob calls Charlie Sammie Sosa-- brb, gotta research him because the kids went HAM and chased his pal across the park. ...'Kay, so he was a Chicago White Sox player big enough to be on a baseball card. That explains that, though I'm outta the baseball card loop (and baseball.)

Megan-Bonnie still insists that Grace tell him about the heart surgery; and is adoring of her chaotic, salt-of-the-earth Joe man.

Bob's getting prepped for "the talk" Grace promised-- which includes messing up the microwave over and over to make popcorn.

He does know how to make popcorn, guys.

He does.

He says so while grabbing the popcorn back out to rip off the plastic wrapper he'd forgotten to take off.

He brought up the writeup on his wife's tribute coming up.

The magic fingers worked: the popcorn will now pop once the safety guidelines have been followed. A miracle.

I guess affectionately slapping your dog off the couch is the next order of importance. I mean, he's a dog who likes it, so that's kind of tempting.

Enclosure talk time. Bob's proud and relieved and feels like a weight is off his back. And a bit of closure as well....

3/4 angst mark here we COME.

Grace understands and compliments him on his hard work.

"Yeah, but it's been worth it... to make Elizabeth's dream come true. At least I could do that for her."

"I'm sure she's very proud of you."

That's such. an amazing compliment.

Unlocked: Bob will remember that.

"Thank you, Grace." DD, perfect line delivery: a breathy exhale more than a word. A sentiment instead of a sentence. Validation and understanding.

Grace is saved by the bell (the microwave timer); and Bob reads the room, backing off and giving her space to recuperate.

And, of course, this is when Grace stumbles across the letter.

Her letter.

I knew this plot point was coming, here we go.

A furthering of the gag: Bob burns his hand on the hot popcorn... in a bowl?? Bob, you put the popped microwave packet in a bowl???? Are you okay--

They're all burned and Bob's discouraged.

Bob--

Bob, what.

Bob's spraying the popcorn demons away. Please tell me that's-- IS THAT WINDEX.

What's peak comedy about this is the scene's done in complete silence other than the kitchen banging and spritz sounds, perfectly cutting back and forth with Grace/Minnie's unraveling revelation upstairs.

Grace reads the paper, sees Elizabeth's death date, and starts making gruesome connections.

Yuuuuuuuuuuup, she just saw the letter.

Yuppity yupperoo.

She books it, making up a babysitting excuse.

Bob tries to help put on Grace's coat even if she's already whipping it on herself. It's the little touches that, to me, are unintentionally hilarious and also really endearing.

She's wheelin' outta there even if parts of her bike are breaking; and both of them are chattering-- she to avoid conversation, he to engage it.

Bob's as perplexed as any reasonable man would be. Maybe she smelled the popcorn upstairs, BOB.

He trails her out, maneuvering the bike down the steps and catching a few extra seconds with his gal pal. Bob is still chattering, wanting to lighten Grace's stress as much as possible.

All his solutions and questions are brushed away as she zooms off.

He's smitten... but he's also thinkin'.

Survivor's guilt kicking in.

"What was God thinking??" got a chuckle out of me.

Megan/Bonnie is all for transparency and honesty but can't say the complicated truth herself. Great characterization.

Joe walking in and knowing someone died and misinterpreting everything and wanting to fight Bob is both why Megan loves and wants to strangle him.

Megan blurts it out.

Joe: "He's not married? ...Oh, okay." That's good enough for him.

Joe's great.

Grandpa is making plans for Grace to go alone to Rome since that's what she thinks will make it easier for Bob to process.

It's the day of reckoning.

Bob pops in, greeting both of them cheerfully; and charmingly adds, "Hey Gracie, close your eyes and don't open them until I tell you to open them."

Marty gives her some advice-- the strongest character gets the hardest challenges-- doing his best to uplift her by twisting lemons into lemonade.

Bob got her a new bike because her other one was a bunch of busted bolts. Ooooooooh, isn't that always how it goes in movies? Make it just that gut-punch a hair tougher, why don't ya?

A touched and pained cry-- I like it, Minnie Driver, I like it a lot.

Bob even made a trumpet noise to celebrate.

Bob I'm sorry I ever doubted you if our journey led up to this trumpet noise.

Those chipmunk cheeks of happiness won't last, Bob. Enjoy your mood while you may.

"You okay? I was worried about you last night."

"I'm going away."

"What?"

"I'm going away."

"Why?"

Minnie/Grace reveals what she didn't have the courage to tell him sooner, leading up to her admittance of surgery last year.

Bob's radar fears are up; but he has no idea what's coming. (But WE do, heheheh.) His posture is slightly turtled back: stomach tucked in, shoulders hunched, preparing for the worst (nice acting chops)--

but EXPLODES forward in relief at the heart transplant news.

He flings out the quickest joke he can think of that's farthest away from his true fears: "I thought you were gonna say you were a man or something." Which is the least detached way of expressing unbearable relief.

Then he immediately jumps back like Minnie/Grace feared he would: "Am I hurting you??" His face then cycles from worry to panic to lessening anxiety ("You're okay now?") to saturating, processing relief ("You're fine. You're healed."); and, finally, to mild but reasonable reproof ("You could have told me that....")

Apparently, Tumblr's decided I've had too much fun and is making me cut off there.

Will continue as soon as I can.

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

[schreckensbleiches-nervenbuendel]

Ahhh you have stick insects?? Show me please 👀👀👀👀

Of course! 💚😌

I said 'stick insects' in the tag game because I didn't know the right English term for 'Gespenstschrecken'. Not 'stick insects' but 'ghost insects'.

Get ready for some cute pics!! 🥺 I took these photos a few years ago and my beloved insects are in insect Heaven now, but I really wanna get back into the hobby 😌

Sungaya inexpectata, female / her Name was Paige

She had a boyfriend and his name was Skinny (😏). After their mating session I had sooo many eggs and babies. It was a mess.

Extatosoma tiaratum / Australische Gespenstschrecke / her name was Laurie

When this little cutie arrived, she only had five legs and I needed to be very gentle with her. Then she molted... and she was even prettier!

I called her 'my little dragon' or 'dinosaur'. What makes the Australian walking stick so fascinating is that their walk is really wobbly. They imitate a leaf moving in the wind! So they're just dancing around all the time!

They strike a defense pose when threatened and sometimes lash out at you to scare you off.

Archispirostreptus gigas / Afrikanischer Riesentausendfüßer / their names: Bob & Justus

I had two of them and they were really chill. They spray a stinky liquid onto your skin, when they feel threatened. Just like a ladybug. But handling them was quite cool. They crawled over my arms and just sat on my shoulder, while I cleaned their enclosure.

I'm sorry! This post is really long, but I love insects so much and I'm soo happy you asked! 💚😊 Thank you!!