#lets call it abstract LMAO

[elizakai]

Two birdies in a tree💞

CONGRATS ON 1K+ @forgettingcrowbin !!!

(And HAPPY BIRTHDAY🌸🫶)

(sorry to post so late, i scrambled to color this thing in like 30 mins T^T i really hate the end product but i wanted to participate 🥲💞 love you crowbin🫶)

[soupmanspeaks]

okay ykw adding to this au, so you know the minigame in Help Wanted 2 where Jeremy has to brutally mutilate fix Helpy? and some of the FNAF 6 animatronics (notably Lefty and Scrap Baby) come get the player when Helpy cries out right? WELL, in this au, I thought that it'd be really funny if Michael, all the way up above in the pizza plex (oh yeah its still intact by HW2 in this au btw) had his father senses™️ go haywire and could hear his son's screeches from way down below and Charlie and Lizzie decide to repossess the animatronics for a little while just to see and (heh, pun) help a brother out only to find Jeremy absolutely just botching the robo-surgery on poor Helpy, and that's why they go after him because Jeremy please Michael is screaming and crying in front of customers lol Also, it gives this really funny visual of Glamrock Freddy just randomly powered down in the middle of a meet and greet and Michael's spirit just pounding frantically on the walls around Jeremy's underground medical room because JEREMY STOP YOU'RE HURTING HIM!!!

I have this silly little au where everything is sort of the same, except the Afton Siblings just talked out everything, and now Michael just has his two ghost siblings chill around him when he's working This started because I had a thought about Michael, CC, and Elizabeth having a BANGER prank idea, they're going to like, a Walmart or something, and they buy a bag of candy, and when Michael goes to check out, he's holding both Elizabeth and CC's hands. yk, normal brother stuff, the cashier asks "is the candy for the kids lol" yk, for small talks sake, and then Michael responds with "What kids?" The cashier looks back to where the kids were and finds that they're not there, as well as both of Michael's hands being in his pockets lol like fast forward to when he becomes GlamFreddy (I'd assume the fire happened in the pizza sim location because they wanted to get rid of William) and like, so many shenanigans will ensue Like, the Pizzaplex is setting up stuff for Halloween? What's better than to get real ghosts that can induce nightmares onto you! Or maybe one day, Freddy and the two will pass by the Cupcake Shoppe, which'll be selling Ice Cream cupcakes one day (those exist, right?) and Freddy'll say "Omg, look, Elizabeth, you can finally get your ice cream now!" And then Elizabeth will sucker punch him in the chest cavity Speaking of chest cavity, as they're getting the ice cream, Elizabeth points to the ice cream, mid-scoop, and says to Freddy: "Omg, look, Freddy, its you!"

Or like, idk, maybe some kid will be a bit too scared to hug GlamFreddy, or something, and then CC will just go "It's okay, he wont bite" and then just turns to look at Freddy with the most sh** eating grin ever as the guy struggles to contain a robo mental break down so many thoughts lol /pos

[tofixtheshadows]

I should've made this in the first place to go as a reference to my post about Kabru rarely being shown eating (and when he does it, it isn't pleasurable) and linked it somewhere. I didn't feel like I needed to go through every example and based on people's tags I do think everyone gets it ... but I'm compiling this anyway because I find it really interesting from an artistic/writerly standpoint.

Like, Kabru obviously is eating meals in the abstract sense. But as I said, Kui almost never actually draws him putting food in his mouth. At first I assumed that she was avoiding it to save on space because he needs to be shown talking instead, but as I've looked back, I've noted that she doesn't usually shy away from giving characters speech bubbles even when they're chewing or they have utensils in their mouths. Unless they're Kabru.

This would realistically be the best time to actually show him eating, since it's a normal meal at a normal restaurant, but no. He doesn't actually put food in his mouth in this entire scene. They show him taking a bite in the anime, so I almost forgot, but honestly the manga just makes it look like he's picking at his food. Again: I'm sure he does eat this meal. My point is that I think it's a deliberate choice to keep that off-page, to contrast all the other characters who get to both visibly eat food and enjoy it.

As mentioned, Kabru is only shown drinking wine while his party eats the snacks in chapter 32. I think it's possible to infer that he doesn't actually eat any food here at all.

The harpy egg omelette bit barely counts as eating lmao we all saw him struggling to even swallow a bite down. Let's move on.

Quick sidebar:

Are we all going insane over this panel or is it just me? Okay continue.

Like with the omelette, it gets a checkmark for actually going into his mouth but no checkmark for enjoyment. He hates this. He's being spoon fed bad cake and patronized.

Next:

Literally the worst meal in Dungeon Meshi lmao.

Barometz:

He does actually eat this. Rare Kabru mastication panel, not clickbait. But it's kind of a sad moment when you remember that he was looking forward to a cultural dish of his mother's- literal comfort food from his childhood- and instead got the weird godless crab-meat-plant that is the barometz. This may be the only time Kabru goes looking for comfort, and he's pointedly denied it.

Next:

Yeah he isn't drawn eating during this entire scene either. Only drawn holding the food and his utensil.

As stated: still never shown eating. Deliberately shown getting Mithrun to eat instead. Kabru, the call is coming from inside the goddamn house.

Bavarois is next, and once again it gets a checkmark for actual on-page chewing but as we see, he still hates it and has to concentrate very hard and block out all thoughts of what he's doing in order to swallow it down without making a scene.

Okay. Faligon feast. Kabru does canonically spend days eating for the sake of Laios and Falin! Yay! Caloric fucking intake! Clean plate club!

And yet.

Literally shown stopping himself before he can put the food in his mouth.

Mickbell is so real for this. No one needed to hear a lecture from Senshi more than Kabru.

Anyway. Given how surgically precise Kui is with everything else in this story, I just feel the choice to constantly show Kabru focusing on his worries during mealtimes, instead of drawing him just enjoying food, was purposeful.

[kookslastbutton]

Too Late to Dream ༓ jjk (m) || ch.I

✑ Summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader

AU/Genre: angst, smut, fluff, marriage au, age gap, series

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 4,187

Warnings: 8-year age gap, mentions of professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), flirty banter, fighting, jk has a bit of a temper, pent-up issues/desires, jk has daddy issues

Now Playing: Make It Right, Tryna Be, Infinity, Heaven+

A/N: Okay I have been having such baby fever for last few years no joke. I wanna be mom or aunty but my sister won’t have kids yet! So i write this lame series to cope even though it's lowkey sad? lmao. Enjoy!! 🥰

༓ ch. II >> | series masterlist

You’re not exactly sure when it happened but one minute you’re crouched over, sketching in your journal and the next, a child with big brown eyes comes up beside you to watch over your shoulder. He’s a cute little fella, you note. Can't be more than four years old. His hair is ink-black and on the longer side. He’s got on a pair of black and white checkered pants, navy blue sweatshirt, and a toy snug under one arm. At first glance, you struggle to make out the toy but it looks like an elephant.

“Hi…” His hand reaches for you. It tugs the edge of your dress sleeve before reaching down to latch onto a few fingers. You smile up at the child, warmth immediately beaming through your heart.

“Hi sweetheart,” you say. “What’s your name?” You wait for the boy to answer but he doesn’t. Instead, he shuffles down next to you on the grass and points to your drawing. His delicate eyebrows knit together in an inquisitive manner. “What is this?” he asks.

You look down at your drawing, examining it from various angles. It's unfinished but you're working on a sketch of the pond nearby. You've managed to capture the sun-kissed water but the sky needs more work. Being the weekend, you couldn't give up the rare opportunity to indulge in your favorite hobby. “It’s the pond with all the colorful leaves,” you reply.

Blank face, the child thinks before speaking again. “Who taught you?”

Now that's an interesting question. Drawing had always been in your blood since a child. You fell in love with the ability to let your imagination run wild on paper whether it be on the back of your homework or even cardboard. To you, drawing was freedom and discovery. It allowed you to express emotion, memories, abstract thoughts, and to recreate the real world. You typically preferred sketching with drawing pencils but occasionally dabbled with watercolors. You had a gift for it–a natural gift.

By the time high school rolled around, you tended to hole up in the art room, sketching for as long as you could. Your art teacher suggested you go to school for it come senior year which gave you enough push to bring it up to your parents. Determined, you spoke to your parents about it but it was null–art could only be a hobby, it couldn’t support your future. They suggested you go to school for economics or finance instead. You nearly hurled at the idea but you eventually agreed, knowing they’d never pay for you to go to art school. Drawing, as you found out, had to be on the side.

"I had a teacher once in school," you say. "But I mostly learned myself."

The child tilts his head to the side, a puzzled look on his face. “You?”, he says.

You nod your head in affirmation.

“No way! Even I have art teacher.”

You chuckle lightly and move to stand up from the grass, needing to stretch due to your crouched position. He follows suit, still clinging to your hand. “Where you going, Eomma?”

Eomma...That's a name you don't get called often. You're not used to being seen as the mom type. In fact, when you tied the knot with Jungkook, the two of you agreed that having a family was a grey area. You both liked kids, sure, but being parents? That was a subject neither of you seriously considered. “I’m sorry sweetheart,” you coo. “I’m not your Eomma. But, let’s find her together, okay?”

The child shakes his head, refusing to budge. "Mm no," he says, clinging to your leg. "Wanna stay with you." Your heart skips a beat. Children don't typically take to you like this. It causes something inside of you to want to lunge down and pick up the child in a tight embrace. But you nip that thought in the bud when you catch sight of a woman roughly your age jogging toward you. She looks like the child’s mother.

“Si-woo!” She gives a wave. "Si-woo come here!"

“Eomma!” The child’s cheeks rise into a big grin as he watches his mom approach nearer. He lets go of your leg but his hand remains locked in your own. You end up squeezing Si-woo’s tiny hand but then, like a bitter aftertaste, you remember– he doesn’t belong to you. You loosen your grip and allow him to run back to his mom.

“It was nice meeting you Si-woo!” There’s a hint of sadness in your tone but you do your best to brush it off. You only knew Si-woo for a short while and now he’s back with his real mom. You should be happy but when Si-woo’s mom lifts her son, she gives you a scowl. She doesn’t even come up to say anything to you but turns around and carries her son back to their picnic area. You frown realizing you were merely a stranger who little kids are told not to talk to.

You sigh and glance at your unfinished drawing. Suddenly, you don’t feel like drawing anymore. You pack up your belongings in your bag and head to your car, the event replaying in your mind.

You can’t blame Si-woo’s mom for being a little rigid, you think. You’d share a similar reaction with your own kids if you had any–if you had any. You repeat the phrase unexpectedly. Were you warming up to the idea? Your marriage did recently surpass the two-year mark, perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to consider having…no, you mentally stop yourself. Yes, Si-woo was cute but it likely wouldn't happen. You toss your bag of art supplies in the back seat and drive home.

“Jungkook! You here?” You step into your shared apartment and drop your bag on the kitchen counter. The smell of burnt wax mixed with vanilla bean hits you as soon as you walk into the living room. “Jungkook you better be home or these candles are going in the trash!” You really didn’t mind the candles but your husband had a nasty habit of keeping them lit even when you were both out of the house. He didn’t do it on purpose, of course, it was accidental but it was too much of a fire hazard to ignore.

“Kook!” you holler again, but no reply. These damn candles. You snuff them out one by one before venturing into the bedroom. Thankfully none were lit in there. You reach behind your back and unzip your dress, letting it pile around your feet. It's a beautiful dress but you were dying to get into a pair of sweat shorts and a t-shirt.

“Hey honey,” Jungkook says, emerging from the bathroom with damp hair and a towel tied around his waist. You let out a yelp before making eye contact. You've always been easily startled. “How was the park?”

Mentally, you bite your lip. This man was getting sexier every day, especially with that gold band wrapped around his fourth finger. You toss a t-shirt over your head. “Absolutely wonderful. Been a while since I’ve been able to really focus and draw. I loved every second." Should you mention the child? You pause, briefly contemplating the thought. Why not? "A really cute kid came up to watch me draw too…’til his mother took him away.” You don't notice but you nearly spat the last part.

Jungkook lets out a small snort, amused by your sudden irritation. There were many things he knew you could put up with, a resilient woman you were. But whoever this kid’s mother was must have gotten under your skin in the most unusual way. “It’s great you had a good time but you sound borderline offended about whoever this kid’s mother is.”

“It’s nothing really.” You shrug. “The kid came up to me and grabbed my hand. We had a nice talk but then his mom showed up. She didn’t even say hi to me. She just picked up her son and scowled at me like I took him or something. Believe me, I get it. But I didn’t do anything!”

“Don’t think about it too much __. She was probably just worried about getting her son back. I’m sure she did mean anything.”

“I guess. But do I really look that harmful?” You face your husband, hands perfectly poised on your hips.

Jungkook strides over to you and strokes down your arms until your hands relax to your sides. He gives you a quick peck on the lips. “Yes.”

Surprised, your mouth falls open. How dare he?! You give a pout, one that Jungkook finds especially irresistible. “Then you can keep your hands and lips off me for the rest of the night, Mr. Jeon.” You wiggle out of his grasp.

“That’s what I’ve been telling you for the past four years Ms. y/l/n. But you couldn’t stay away, could you? Just had to marry your hot professor, you naughty girl.” Jungkook grabs you again, pressing himself against your torso. You squeal at the contact. Married for two years and you’re still a blushing mess, get it together __!

“I wasn’t the one who was grabbing my student’s ass after class halfway through the first semester,” you quip, gripping his biceps. “I’m innocent.”

“Oh honey, nonono. You don’t get to play the role of a shy little angel who got eaten by her big bad wolf of a professor day one of university. You were already a master's student when we met. You knew what you were getting into when you started wearing tight little skirts to my class.”

You roll your eyes. “C’mon I had leggings underneath and I wore sweaters. If you’re accusing me of seducing you through my wardrobe then you have a very odd way of getting turned on.”

“Honey, how long have you known me? Sure tits and ass are cool and I won’t say no if you wanna show me.” You give a light shove on his shoulder at that, Jungkook chuckles. “But I have a doctorate in economics. Nothing catches my interest more than a studious individual like yourself studying all the angles of supply and demand. Plus, I liked your sweaters. Made me curious what you were hiding.”

“Oh stop it!” You end up giggling at your husband’s beyond-cheesy explanations. “How am I supposed to know my economics professor was ogling my teddy bear sweater for fuck sake?”

Jungkook throws his head back, feigning frustration. “It wasn’t a teddy bear sweatshirt. It was a bunny and it was very cute!”

“Whatever. Point is, I’m not the one to blame. I was a good student getting her master’s like her parents wanted until she found out her professor was sculpted from the gods themselves. Your shirts were barely fitting you. I swore they were going to bust one of those class periods.” You imagine the horrified look your peers would give. Not you though, you'd probably start drawing him. Shameless, really.

“As I recall that shirt-busting happened many times by your claws. I had to replace a dozen shirts in a month from how many you destroyed.” A pair of manly hands sensually trace down your sides. Jungkook leans forward, lips near your ear. “Seems like you had a lot of pent-up energy.” He nips your ear before peppering small kisses down your neck.

“You have no idea.“ You close your eyes, a moan escaping from you. "Professor–"

Jungkook grunts, suddenly suckling on the sensitive skin. “Mmm you haven’t called me that in a while. Kinda missed it”, he says, backing you up against the dresser. You were about to hop on top when your ass hit the edge but a rude, obnoxious ringing pulled Jungkook off you.

“Hey man!” Your husband answers the phone, a little too joyous in your opinion. You knew exactly who it was on the phone–Park Jimin. You bite your cheek, doing your best to keep down a sour face.

“Yeah let me ask __. Hold on.” Jungkook looks at you. “Honey, Jimin wants us to go out to dinner with the guys. You wanna go or stay in?”

Maybe, you think. You love Jimin but his dinners are usually quite elaborate. He always makes reservations to the fanciest restaurants in Seoul, and he required everyone to be dressed to the hills. It was fun now and then but did you have the energy for that tonight? Eh. What the hell. “Sure. What time?”

Jungkook passes on your inquiry before looking at you again. “6 p.m.” You nod in consent and walk to your closet, rummaging through your clothes for something Jimin-worthy. “Alright man, we’ll see you there. Yeah got it, k bye.” Jungkook hangs up the phone and watches you pull out dress shirts, pants, blazers, literally all your work clothes. “Found anything?” he pipes up.

You pull out a dark green dress, above knee-length, and gorgeously hemmed. “I’m pretty sure I wore this last time but–“

“Next," Jungkook interrupts. "Jimin will notice and you know how he gets when people wear the same outfit twice in a row.” your husband fiddles with through his own dresser drawers, yanking out an oversized t-shirt. You groan knowing all too well how tight Jimin ran this operation. One time Namjoon came in the same maroon dress shirt as before causing Jimin to have an absolute fit. He even made the man go home and change. Dinner was late that night.

“Yeah, you’re right.” You rummage through your closet again hoping to find something tucked in the back. There’s bound to be something. “Damnit, I thought I had more than this,” you grunt, finding nothing.

“Do we need to go on a last-minute shopping trip?” Jungkook throws on a pair of cargo pants.

You groan internally. Shopping isn't your favorite activity. It always took so long, and nothing was to your liking. You prefer online shopping but with only three hours until dinner and apparently nothing in your wardrobe, you suppose it's inescapable.

“Come on, honey.” Jungkook combs through his hair with a few fingers and grabs his wallet from the nightstand. “This is for Jimin."

"Alright, let me put some jeans on.” Jimin, you bougie little punk.

You view yourself in the dressing room mirror, a plum-colored dress adorning your body. This is the tenth dress you've tried on and to be honest, you feel pretty good in it. Nothing feels itchy, too snug, or out of place. The dress was a simple, strapless sheath dress and it fit you like a glove.

"__." Jungkook taps on the door. "You're not gonna like what I have to say but it's inevitable…there's been a change of plans."

"Okay," you reply with strain. "What is it?" You unlock the door to find your husband glancing down at his phone. It's a text from Jimin, you notice.

"Sorry for this but we're not going out for dinner tonight. Seokjin's daughter isn't feeling well so they're going to stay home. Yoongi also hasn't been able to get much time with his kids and wife lately so he's not coming either." Jungkook continues reading Jimin's text aloud. "I don't think we should go out without the whole party so I'm thinking about canceling our reservations."

Damn.

"You look beautiful," he says, catching your half-disappointed expression. "I'm sorry."

"It's no big deal," you sigh. "We'll eat in." From Jungkook's point of view, you were upset about wasting an hour and a half on shopping. He knew you'd much rather be back with your drawing pencils or watching a drama. He felt bad. The real reason, the one you think best to keep to yourself, however, is that hearing Jimin's text reminded you of Si-woo again. Further, it reminded you that nearly everyone in your friend group had at least one kid except you and Jungkook. Normally it didn't affect you though, so why did it today? Had the little kid from earlier really stuck with you that much?

"__? Everything alright?," Jungkook says. "I know we had plans and we've been shopping for a while but if you like the dress you should still get it. Jimin will have his dinner again and there will be other times you'll need it."

It takes you a moment but you reply, forcing a fake smile the best you can. "Oh yeah, yeah I'm good. I dazed off for a second there. I'll–I'll put the dress back actually."

Seeing through your facade, Jungkook lightly grips your arms. "If there's something you're not telling me I'd like to know, please?"

His endearing facial expression both soothes you and creates coils of nervousness in the pit of your stomach. You want to tell him what's up. You also want to pop the question that you've both been sweeping under the rug for the last two years. But how? Maybe you shouldn't. Maybe you're just in a mood today.

"Have–" You start but the rest of the words don't come out.

Jungkook waits for you to finish the sentence. "Have you thought of any ideas for dinner?" You stutter out. "'Cause I was thinking it’d be easier to order takeout tonight."

Eyes narrowing, your husband stares into your eyes. He's searching for any hint that you're bluffing–shifty eyes and such. You think he's caught onto you until his shoulders relax and eyebrows soften. "I was thinking the same thing. But also, I'm buying you this dress even if you don't. It's gorgeous on you and I know you want it. Now take it off and let's go find something to eat."

You manage to chuckle a "thank you" and slip back into the stall to change into your normal clothes. You feel a slight pang of guilt in your gut for not coming clean to him but you weren't sure if you were ready to tell him the truth no more than he'd be ready to hear it.

“Seriously honey.” Jungkook’s voice carries over the stall. “Are you really alright? Do you need anything?” You swallow hard at his persistence.

“I’m perfectly fine,” you reply. “Maybe a little hungry.” One day at a time __, you think.

You end up placing a dinner order at a local favorite nearby. You and Jungkook take it back to the apartment, curl up on the couch, and put a movie on. You nearly fall asleep after the first forty minutes because the plot is so utterly dry and quite frankly, boring. Jungkook seems to be enjoying it though so the movie plays the entire way through.

Still hardly paying attention, your mind drifts off to other affairs. You think about your upcoming work week, what to get for your best friend's birthday in the following few weeks, and the cute dog you saw yesterday, and of course, you loop back to the same lingering topic–your brief afternoon with Si-woo. Part of you wanted to take him home but Jungkook would have a fit, as well as you know...Si-woo's mother. You snort at how interested you've become in entertaining thoughts about children and taking care of them. As you've covered before, you aren't the mom type.

Si-woo and his mother looked very similar though. They shared the same hair color, eyes, and face shape. You wonder what his father looked. Did he have long hair too? Did he share the same lips? Before you can stop yourself from going further you wonder how identical your own child might be to you and Jungkook. Would your child love the arts like you or the social sciences like your husband? You suppose it could be a blend since you technically have a master's in economics yourself. You'd much rather be owning and operating an art museum or being a studio art professor but that's beside the point. Your child would be free to venture down their own path. That is if you have any.

You shift your eyes to Jungkook who's concentrating heavily on the movie. He's a wonderful husband, you sigh, full of love. No doubt he'd make a great father but did he want to? Jungkook never really mentioned it before and neither did you. When you first start dating you had a brief talk about children and building a family but you were still in school then and Jungkook was swamped with his teaching responsibilities. Children weren't something that either of you felt like you could handle at the time. After you'd gotten married there was an opportunity to discuss it again but you were both quite comfortable with it being just the two of you. Today is the first day you've shown any serious aversion to your comfortable lifestyle–you want a baby.

Once the credit scenes appear Jungkook feels your eyes burn through him from your lounged position. "You're making that face again," he says.

"There's no face."

"Yes there is."

"I don't think so."

Patience running thin, the tone in your husband's voice gets firmer. He's not angry but it's clear his temper is rising. You and Jungkook haven't had a spat in a while and you really don't want to start now. "I can see that there's something on your mind. It's the same one you had from the dressing room and I'm pretty sure it isn't about food this time."

"I don't know what you want me to say," you mumble tiredly. You sit up straight. "My face is my face."

"Honey, I know there's something going on that you're not telling me. Is this about that kid's mother from earlier? Because I'm certain it wasn't personal."

"No, it's not about that at all. It's just been a long week and I'm exhausted," you lie, yawning as if on queue. Jungkook grips the couch arm in agitation. He isn't sure what's going on but he isn't letting you go to bed without getting to the bottom of it.

"You're not having second thoughts about our marriage are you?" He throws the idea out there, hoping its obvious inaccuracy will push you to tell him the truth. You grimace at the guess.

"That's ridiculous!" You sneer. "How could you think that?"

"Well maybe because you're not telling me anything else?" Jungkook tosses his hands up. "I mean who knows, it could be anything. Was it the movie? Shopping? Are you horny? What the fuck is it?!" You jump at his sudden outburst.

"No it's none of those–"

"Look," Jungkook cuts shortly. "Will you just tell me so we can deal with it?!" You throw him a nasty look.

"Just deal with it? Like it's some kind of nuisance of an issue that needs treatment?" You jump up from the couch and head to your bedroom in a fury, your husband hot on your trail.

"I don't mean to be pissing you off, sweetheart but I know something's up." He follows you into the bathroom, watching you reach for your toothbrush. "Can you please slow down and talk to me?" He grabs the toothpaste before you can, forcing you to stop in your tracks. You feel your body starting to shake, eyes tearing up. You friggin' hate fighting and you hate being so unsure about telling him the truth–that you want a family. You're scared of his response most. What if he says no?

Realizing your nervous state, Jungkook takes a deep breath and softens his tone. He hates seeing you cry and he hates it even more when he's the one causing it. "I'm sorry honey." He steps towards you but you flinch away. You're not ready to be touched yet.

"I–I want...I want to be a mom. I want a baby." You wait for your husband's reaction and when it comes you instantly start bawling.

"A baby? What do you mean you want a baby?" Jungkook feels everything inside of him panicking. There's a reason he teaches economics to college students and not high schoolers or below. He doesn't do children, he isn't cut out for it. He'll babysit of his hyung's kids from time to time but at the end of the day, they aren't coming back home with him. Jungkook was sure his wife felt the same way but now? Now she's tearing up in front of him, scared to tell him she wants a child–one that will be his.

Jungkook takes you into his arms, his thumb wipes off some of your tears. "Honey, I'm sorry I didn't know. When you came home from the park I didn't realize that little boy meant so much to you." You try blinking back your tears but they keep running down your face. He's being gentle with you and you appreciate that but his choice of words tells you his answer is no. It's quiet, subtle, and cuts like a knife.

You break away from him to splash cold water on your face. The coolness calms your nerves. “He didn’t. Never–never mind what I said, sorry. I’m tired and I’m probably not thinking straight.” You leave the bathroom, leaving Jungkook scrambling for his thoughts.

A/N: Lmk what you think, tysm for stopping by 💞

Masterlist

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[scrupulosity-comics]

hey is racism one of your obsessions? also white and ocd. if it is, how u cope with it? i'm really afraid all the time to hurt my loved ones who are black people, and they're the majority of my loved ones. and how do u identify whats racism from whats an intrusive thought?

Most of my race-related OCD is abstract stuff like “if I move out of my parents’ house and try to live my own life outside of their control, I will have to find somewhere I can afford to pay rent, which will probably mean moving into a low-income neighborhood, which would mean inadvertently helping to gentrify the community, which would gradually push the original residents out of their homes and disrupt community ties and support systems and creating housing insecurity, so therefore I can’t move out or move on”.

I think that’s just part of a larger existential terror that I can only ever make the world worse by living in it—a net harm to the universe, molecule by misspent molecule.

I have been letting this ask sit in my inbox for weeks now because I’m convinced that anything I say will be destructive. What if my answer enables or excuses racism? What if my answer fuels the anguish of the mentally ill?

The rational and compassionate part of my mind insists that your loved ones (and mine!) understand that you (and I) are white, and have likely dealt with white peoples all their lives, and are capable of judging for themselves whether you are good to them and deserving of their intimacy. It is impossible to go through life without hurting and being hurt by people you care about—always you will have blindspots and miscommunications and competing needs. That’s just part of the curse of consciousness and being a social species. We all get a little blood on our hands eventually, one way or another… friendship involves knowing this, accepting this, and committing to avoid it and then, that failed, to make things right.

Again: your friends know you’re white. They have reason to expect the best of you or they wouldn’t be your friends. They choose to have you in their lives; trust them to trust you, and to recognize the difference between a beloved friend struggling with a treacherous and unkind brain and doing their best in an inescapably racist society, and a racist who whose bigotry makes them unworthy of their time and affection.

I do think racism obsessions are a particularly difficult manifestation of OCD to cope with because they’re hard to discuss at all without feeling like you’re implicitly asking for absolution. With other types of OCD, it’s common to seek reassurance that what you’re obsessively afraid of isn’t true—but what feels more racist than asking someone to reassure you that you’re not racist…? LMAO.

They say the “cure” to OCD, such as it is, is just to learn how to embrace the existential horror of uncertainty. Tall fucking order. Hell on Earth! But in a bizarre way I have found the rhetoric that “everyone is unconsciously and incurably racist” to be unexpectedly helpful… there is no total psychological purging and mental purification we can undergo, no amount of ritual self-flagellation that will drive the demons out, no pristine state we can aspire to and hate ourselves for soiling. Only mundane everyday commitments to compassion and empathy and solidarity and cleaning up our messes. But even then, a thought isn’t a mess. A thought I’d not a thing that happened or a choice you made. It doesn’t represent an alternate timeline branching off into a parallel universe where you have acted on it and hurt people.

Earlier this year I was playing a video game—during my lunch break I got to wondering what happened if you failed a skill check that I had passed in my own playthough, so I looked up a clip on YouTube and was so triggered by the answer (the player character calls his companion a racial slur in the heat of the moment, without meaning to, even if you’ve played him as a committed anti-racist) that I immediately spiraled and was close to throwing up in the broom closet, and when I got home I opened my own save and tried to make the player character kill himself as catharsis. It was an incredibly unreasonable guilt response to a completely fictional scenario that I hadn’t even gotten in my own playthrough, but in retrospect it was a safe way to explore fear of my own internalized racism hurting somebody and what might happen if my intrusive thoughts came true. It sucked and it was terrible and I was angry at myself for being crazy about it, but it ended up being a small dose of exposure therapy and practice at not repenting for nonexistent through self-abuse.

I dunno. This has been a long uncomfortably personal ramble but I hope it’s helpful. I don’t know if your friends know you have OCD (or how it manifests) and I don’t know whether telling them would help. But allowing yourself to trust others to trust you is far more useful than beating yourself up for thoughts you don’t want. I have on occasion warned people that I am cautious about doing certain things with them—particularly drinking—because there is a risk that I may spiral and show symptoms humiliating and uncomfortable to both of us, and I don’t want to put them in a position where they witness or feel like they have to help me manage the white guilt elements of my disorder. These conversations have usually gone well, and the mutual understanding to boundaries takes some of the tension out, which seems to reduce the triggers. It’s messy and awkward and maybe it limits who is willing to be friends with me, but IMHO it’s better than surprising someone.

As for determining whether something is an intrusive thought or actual racism, I guess my answer is: does it matter? Would you manage them differently? Intrusive thoughts may be an evil voice in your brain, but racism is an evil voice in society’s brain.

[dearestdolly444]

Can tadc have victorian goth witch ? Her favourite film probably would be Love Witch...

Her dress and her witch hat has spider and siper webs accessory..

And calls them all with a "darling" nickname in a platonic way and kinda she is like a rich aunt to them and she is a good listener and has dark humor too

İ loved your blog btw

⛧°。⋆TADC x witchy!reader⋆。°⛧

Giggles this is my first anon request

As a witch, this made me so happy to get! I love that movie so much omg. And thank you cutie💕

If you’d like a part two let me know<3

Warnings: implied platonic, but could be seen as romantic

Characters: Caine, Gangle, Kinger

now playing…

Caine

- Lets be honest, he’s not going to approve of your choice in movies. The Love Witch isn’t exactly PG… but he’ll let you watch Sabrina The Teenage Witch! That’s close enough, right—?

- He might let you tone down the colours of your bedroom, but doesn’t let you change it to dark colours like black, sadly. Still have to keep the circus theme!

- Caine likes your style but would try to coax you to wear something more colourful. Maybe try a bright yellow! Or a neon pink! No? Oh well, maybe next time (it won’t work next time either).

- Calls you nicknames right back! A shortened version of your name, “dear,” or maybe “toots.” Gets a bit more peppy-in-his-steppy when you call him something when he’s not expecting it.

- Appreciates when you listen to the other circus members issues. It means less abstractions, which means less work for him… but really, he does find it quite helpful and sweet!

- Does not, however, appreciate your sense of humour. Will probably slap a censor on you when he thinks you’re being ”inappropriate” so you’ll have to tone it down, at least around him.

Gangle

- She’s attached to you, honestly. She just gets so happy and giddy when you call her “darling.” Depending on her mask, she might even give you a small nickname back. She’s be very shy about it, though…

- Adores your style even though she wouldn’t personally wear it. It just looks so good on you, probably not on her, though. She’s feel very flattered if you offered to dress her up, or even in the real world AU do her makeup. She’d probably let you but don’t go to heavy on everything. And it’s not staying on for a long time. She doesn’t like to feel very confined.

- Gangle will vent to you if you let her. If she’s feeling sad, she’ll seek you out to help her. She’ll either want comfort or light advice, so ask her beforehand.

- She finds 1/2 your humour hilarious and the other 1/2 kind of spooky… it really depends on her mask that day. She might make jokes with you or she might just give you a “😨” kind of look, LMAO😭

- Might watch movies with you, but she’ll cling to your arm when scary parts pop up. It’s not that she doesn’t like the movies or shows, it just creeps her out a little.

Kinger

- He’s a little afraid of you at first. He thinks you’ll curse him or something. He gets used to you, but sometimes he’ll scream and run away when you just appear there (He didn’t see you walk in).

- Once you’re there for a couple digital months he gets much more comfortable and even invites you in his pillow fort! Please say yes, it’ll make him so happy. Speaking of activities, he would also ask to find insects with you, seeing how you seem to like spiders. He probably thought you had real spiders on your clothes before he realized they were just decoration.

- Bless his soul, he doesn’t understand your humour. He asks about your jokes every time, and at this point you just pat him on the head and tell him not to worry about it.

- He likes to rant to you about anything. Sometimes it doesn’t even make sense, but you still listen. It makes him really excited to talk about how he once saw a game show that starred dogs in his dreams. And he also likes to vent, but it ends up in him talking about his next grand pillow fort..

- He giggles slightly when you call him petnames. If he had feet, they would be kicking. He probably doesn’t call you anything back, but he appreciates it! If he does call you something, it’s “dear.”

[casual-praxis]

Let’s get crafty. :)

This was supposed to be just a quick little doodle, but somehow it ended up taking a total of seven hours?? Okay.

As mentioned in the wip version, this is a snippet of the general vibe that Red, Vio, and Shadow had before getting well acquainted. Red was curious, Shadow wanted to pester, and Vio was attempting business as usual.

Vio just has resting :/ face, he’s fine.

It can also be noted that by this point, Shadow had already made outfits for both himself and Vio, but Red is still new enough that his boom slime aesthetic hasn’t developed yet. That changes soon enough.

Whether the eventual bodysuit was Red’s idea or Shadow’s, I’ll leave that up in the air for now because I genuinely don’t know at this point. I’m running on like, no sleep right now lmao.

At like 3am I started working on this again and my brain said, “he’s playing Doom on the fabricator,” and now I have to live with that thought. Like, I think Vio could do it. But this early in the timeline? He’s not that bored yet.

Bonus details under the cut! *sparkle sparkle*

Here’s the trio without any effects going on!

Shadow is indeed pointing at himself. It got completely cut off in the finished piece but I’m not even mad about it. Figuring out his hand positioning when my brain is a potato was rough. Would not recommend.

Side note, the way I stylize hands tends to make them fairly bulky, so they absolutely don’t look right on a regular sized keyboard lol. Overlook it just this once, kay? ^~^’

Hopefully my other “quick doodles” for this AU don’t also take this long to complete. Man, I work really slow. Still no clue what to call the AU itself either. Rainbow Ranch?? Should I go more abstract? I need to actually sit down and think it out at this point hm.

As always, thanks for reading my rambling! This whole concept has taken me hostage and I really wasn’t expecting that.

[bloodandthestars]

・✧ — 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐄

tags: NO SPOILERS!, a part in the HE ATE MY HEART series, antihero fwb! reader, takes place before atsv, little translations this time (fantastic, fuck), of course mdni.

author’s note: hello everyone! thank you for 155 followers?? never thought this would happen, much less me ever posting my work. so thank you for taking a chance on me! i hope you’ll enjoy where I’ll take this (when i figure it out lmao)

EDIT: so I’ve discovered that Miguel doesn’t have a spider sense, so let’s just have him go off of his enhanced senses instead, sorry for the error!

wc: 4.8k previous masterlist

You weren’t exactly knowing of Nueva York’s high elite, other than what you could use to your advantage. They were so high on their pedestals, that they think no one will climb to touch their things. And those that did, hid them within layers of secrets and security. That’s where you come in.

For the right price, anything can be known by anyone. Cooperate coverups, measly affairs, underground operations— you charge triple for anything connected to the government, god forbid. You could retain information that could crumble empires and not bat an eye.

You’ve been working with Miguel for a couple of months now. You weren’t used to working with someone else and well, neither was he. But so far, you had nothing for a cause to keep a knife behind your back.

Weeks went by without another word from the arachnid— at least on the work-related side of things. Behind closed doors was an entirely different story you both knew too well. You didn’t take notice, as he was usually tight-lipped on his plans. That was until you pulled out a hint of what he was doing at your previous job at Oscorp. It was only at your last hookup however that he mentioned a new job for you.

You adjusted the earring back to fit snugly on the jewel and more thoroughly, the mic underneath it. Your eyes scan over your attire when he speaks from behind. “I heard it connect.”

You turn around, seeing his broad backside covered by a formal jacket. He turns around, adjusting the dress shirt’s cuffs underneath. “So it should work fine.”

You hear him, understand the words he tells you, but god how could you ignore the sight in front of you? Your eyes go to what harnesses his shoulders, a cool grey metal sitting atop each one. You see how the fabric compliments the hue of his skin. He left the jacket unbuttoned, allowing your gaze to go down the buttons of his dress shirt. With further observation, you could see how tight they were in holding his body, the curves of his abdomen evident in the fit. He should wear black more often, you thought.

Miguel coughs, and your attention goes to his face, where he sends you a look. You raise your brow at him. “I heard you.”

He hums, adjusting the other cuff. “Didn’t seem like it.”

“Just seeing how your clothes fit you.”

He looks up to give you another look, looking back down to the empty hole for his cufflinks. “I don’t know why you have me wearing this…thing.”

You know exactly what he’s talking about. The pieces upon his shoulders went into an abstract shape on his upper back. It was in metallic silver, shining with an alchemy symbol edged into it. You step forward, high shoes making light thumps against his bedroom floor.

“Because you were invited to an elite party. They don’t exactly dress in something as simple as a prom date from eons ago.”

“This is still an operation, don’t you think blending in would be the right call?”

You scoff at the sarcasm in his tone, looking down at the small case of various cuff links. You study each of them as you speak. “Blending in would be a crime to them and only get you noticed more. If you stand out in a crowd who’s trying to do just as much, that’s when you’re in a sea of secrecy.”

Your fingers trail over the different shapes, textures, and images edged into the small accessories. His eyes follow, listening.

“Who are you going as?”

“Myself.”

“So you have to try, but not too hard. As just a scientist, the middle ground is what you aim for.” You hand picks out a silver pair, with triangles cut into its shape. You display them out in your palm to him with your head up to meet his gaze. “I picked out something subtle.“

“This is subtle-?”

You laugh. “Best believe this barely scratches the surface on what they consider formal fashion. With your loathing, it was the best I could do with such a lost cause.”

Miguel looks up from your palm, then down, then back— slowly grabbing the cuffs from you. He goes to put them on, but after watching him fiddle with them for a minute or two, you step closer and let your hands take over. Silence falls over the two of you, both looking down to watch your hands.

“Lost cause, huh?” He mutters in a low tone.

You glance at him, going back to pinning the cuffs. “I only ever see you naked or in high-tech spandex. You’re not exactly giving me a good impression of range.”

The cuff secures the fabrics in a final tug. Your fingertips brush over the veins of his wrist, turning it over when you finish. You look up to him, voice going just as low as his does. “…but this is a good start.”

A small smirk appears on his face and you return it with ease.

You get into the penthouse first, with Miguel arriving a couple of minutes later to not draw suspicion. Whoever was hosting the party obviously had the cash to go all out. There was a champagne tower in the corner of the vast foyer. Guests in another interacted with Alchemax’s latest in augmented reality, giving the company their oohs and ahhs. You could immediately tell that the foyer alone could cost a fortune. It held a high ceiling due to the various floors. Long glass panels gave the guests a fantastic view of Nueva York’s skyline— lit in a technological blue.

You pretend to adjust your earring in the reflection of an extravagant vase, hearing it click to life. “You inside?”

“Mhm.”

You didn’t have to see him to know that his jaw was locked shut. Miguel takes note of the guests who were in small clusters across the space. He recognized a few faces, holding the disdain from his expression for a few others. It bubbles higher when he sees Alchemax chairmen socializing about “How’s security looking?”

You take a glance around the room, huffing. “Three security men in each corner of the room…including at the hall with the stairs. What a tool.”

Miguel huffs, not still hiding his glare into the crowd.

Your lips press together in thought. “Do you remember what you’re supposed to be doing?”

“Surveillance, look for an entry point and-“

“No, what you do during surveillance.”

He frowns, resetting his jaw so that he can resist a groan. “I know what to-“

A man comes up to him, and you can hear his voice faintly through your connection. “My, that is an exquisite piece! Such detail in the marking- Do you mind telling me who the designer is?”

Miguel freezes slightly, dropping his hand from his ear. “I- it’s Vancasa-“

“-Vancada-“ You correct.

“Vancada.” Miguel clears his throat, placing his hands into his pockets. “Excuse me.”

The gentleman raises his brow before looking over his attire one last time, then giving him a cordial nod. Miguel nods back and watches him leave to speak to others. He hears you snicker in his earpiece. “Shut up.”

“I said not a word.”

The arachnid supposed he’d have to play house, much to his dismay.

He was greeted by some of his colleagues, some that he actually tolerated. They all told him the same thing: it would be a death wish to their careers not to take an invite. Miguel hated that such intelligent people were held in the grasp of such corrupt ones, including himself. Eventually, he finds himself at the silver-lit bar at one end of the room. His eyes scan the crowd, finding you. You held a flute of champagne in your hand, letting out a fluttering laugh at what the woman next to you said. He knew you, however. It didn’t come as a surprise to him that you knew how to play with the crowd. Miguel’s eyes eventually wandered, going down the attire that you picked out for yourself to the tiniest detail. The way fabric hugs your figure, a dark blue satin that gives a slight shine. Your features seemed to be highlighted in the interior’s soft lighting. He presses his lips together with a sip of his drink.

“O’Hara!”

He snapped back to reality when two men wave him over. He takes a glance at you before taking another sip of his drink and walking a few short steps.

“Bastava, Mr. Hayward.” He addresses them with a nod. “It’s an honor to be invited to such an event.”

Each of them put out their hands to shake, and he wanted to brittle both of their hands. A firm handshake would just have to do.

“It’s so good to see you again, O’Hara!”

Mr. Hayward motions between Bastava and Miguel. “Is this the one you spoke of? The lead scientist?”

Bastava nods, a smile on display. “Yes!”

He goes around the tall table they gathered at to wrap around Miguel’s broad shoulder. “Cooperate Raiders’ finest scientist in the flesh.” He knocks Miguel playfully. “And he knows how to clean up too!”

The two elites break out into a laugh, Miguel joining in with a forced one. You were right, he was an absolute lost cause. Because if he had it his way, that arm around him would be broken.

Bastava goes back to his side of the table, refilling his glass of vodka while Mr. Hayward sipped at his own whisky. “Good to see you back at the company, O’Hara. The succession rates could never be better.”

He gives them a hard smile. “It’s good to be back.”

Mr. Hayward motions his glass in a brief toast. “May you don’t run into any other mishaps this time around for your continued stay?”

Miguel gives a short toast back. His paranoia may have gotten him over his head a few times, but with the way he emphasized it— it was almost like he was referring to what happened. And with the look Mr. Hayward sends over the glass as he drinks, it almost like he wanted Miguel to know that he is.

“Excuse me.” The two men give him short nods and he parts from the table. The arachnid practically felt bile come up in his throat from his words, taking a gulp of his drink to calm himself. The strong tang sent a kick to his head, shutting his eyes tightly so he could adjust. An exhale slips past his lips while his eyelids softened. He taps quickly into his earpiece. “Checking in.”

You hear him in your ear, getting up from your seat. “See, if I didn’t have to powder myself up, we wouldn’t have this problem of ending such a lovely conversation.”

He can hear formal laughs through the microphone, faintly picking up a “Why? You have nothing to freshen up.”

Miguel did your eye rolling for you. You give the gentleman a smile and thanks. When you excuse yourself, your face falls as soon as you turn around. Miguel catches that, giving him a slight amusement. You see him through the wave of people locking eyes. He was off to the side by an extravagant plant. You walk past, eyes forward, and stop at a mirror next to the hall you both needed to go down. Both of your backs were to each other with distance put between you. You begin patting your face, and clicking your earring in the process. “This place has a lot of rooms to cover.”

Miguel hums. “I figured.”

You continue to pat down your neck. “Did you get anything from speaking to them?”

His jaw sets again. “Nothing of use.”

His brows form a firm line as his senses began to go off. There were eyes on him somewhere. Red eyes cautiously look from side to side, finding a guard staring right at him. Before either can react, a click of glasses averts their gazes to Bastava standing atop a bar stool. A slurred chuckle escapes his lips before clearing his throat. “It’s an honor to have you all here tonight. I wouldn’t have an event going any other way. Now-” His hands flick out. “-Let’s get this music going shall we?”

The crowd cheers. Marble panels on the walls trade themselves out for black ones. With a press of a button, they emit a turquoise light out to the floor. Electronic lines are built into instruments. The crowd murmurs in wonder as they begin to play themselves. People a few at a time begin to stray towards the center of the room.

The arachnid’s sense was still going haywire. Miguel gives the security a glance before coughing into the mic. “When I approach you, just go with it.”

Your face contorted. “What-?”

“Excuse me, miss?“

You turn around to his voice, both of your earpieces shutting down with being in front of each other. You look at him up and down, looking into his eyes on what his game plan was. With his back to the guard, he’s able to dart his eyes in his direction and then back for you to catch on. His hand goes out between you both. “I couldn’t help but watch you the entire night, would you like to dance?”

You look down at his hand, then up at his figure. Your smile of amusement slips into one of formality. Placing your hand in his, you say in a hushed tone. “I would love to.”

Before he turns, he gives you a look, almost as if to tell you to behave. He immediately sensed the amusement under your facade. Miguel’s arm curls around your own, the build of his upper arm brushing against your own. You take your walk to the dance floor with a quick glance to see what others were doing. The music was light, tones of classical filling the air. You follow suit, turning to place a hand on his shoulder. The large of your hand envelopes your hip, snaking your other hand into his. Your eyes were at your feet to follow the steps in your head.

His mouth clicks. “Look at me.”

Your head shoots up in surprise, immediately going to slight your brow.

“Keep your eyes on me and I’ll lead. Think we got eyes on us.”

You take a glance at the room and then back to him. “From where?”

“My left.”

He shifts your dance, going in the motions of steps so you can see who he’s talking about. A guard from his behind looks in your direction from the corner of your eye. You did as the man in front of you asked, only using your peripherals to keep most of your focus on him. Miguel’s eyes are fully on you.

“We’ll have to go down the hall.” You say in a low voice.

His fingers press into your lower back to decrease your space, going along with the front of that he didn’t hear you. As if his senses weren’t already on ten.

“No choice?” He asks.

“Not seeing any other way around it. We’re going to have to get that guy to move.”

“Fantástico.” He mutters sarcastically, switching your perspective around once again with his lead in the dance. You can’t help but take a glance down at both of your feet, realizing just how in sync he is with his steps. “You’re a pretty good dancer.”

His face contorts to confusion, blasphemy even. “You think this is good?”

You shrug. “I’ve met a lot of people with two left feet. Terrible crowd for the club scene.”

Your jest earns you a short huff. “This isn’t even music to really dance to, much less just a step around with feet.”

“Classical is timeless to those who hold onto it. Including snobs with their heads up their ass.”

He grunts with distaste before a pondering moment of silence falls over you both. You watch him take a look at your feet as both of you follow his motions. “Maybe I’ll show you what the real stuff is.”

His mutter allows for something unknown to stir in your chest. The hand that grips his gives him a taunting squeeze. “I challenge you to.”

“To teach you a thing or two?”

Your head tilts. “Who said I couldn’t dance?”

He goes to speak, but your eyes cutting away from him stops him. He notices quickly how you spot something, the cogs slowly turning in your head.

“The one by the hall.”

“Mhm?”

“There’s one way we can get him to move.”

You surprise him by moving in your direction, turning him to your previous position where he faces the holographic instruments. Your eyes watch his face slowly draw his conclusion, looking down at you with an affirming nod.

Once you’ve secured a drink in your hand, you play out the routine of a drunken beauty. You pull out the charming smile a few giggles wandering about your eyes, catch the closest person to the panels and your foot goes behind theirs. And with a swift motion make it all seems like an accident and their drink spills onto the holographic base. It shocks with electricity, causing the crowd to gasp. You let out a dramatic gasp of your own. Miguel was right behind you as he put his hand over his mouth. Bastava quickly notices how the music ends up properly, and it goes on to address the crowd. “People people not to worry, we have mechanics on hand for this!”

His guests give him a small clap. He relishes it in full before turning to your targeted guard and signaling him to get assistance. As the guard leaves, you both look at each other in a quick glance before going into fits of fake giggles. People step back from the panels, creating a cluster of distractions, and the both of you slip down the hall with ease.

As a pair, you take cautious steps down the hallway. Each of your eyes darts left and right, looking for a space that could remotely resemble an office. Miguel was on a determined path, the sooner he could get this done, the sooner he didn't have to feel like he was suffocating.

“Wait-” You stop him. He turns around quickly, looking to the same door you do— noticeably with a keypad right beside it. You both share a look, stepping into the door. Miguel looks over his shoulder to keep watch while you pull that square glass tool from the fabric of your attire. You press a few hologram buttons then face it towards the keypad. It takes a scan of it, lighting with a projection of which numbers had the most fingerprints. The more you could do with that thing, the more curious you were about the arachnid hero.

The keypad clicks with a green light and with a part of your attire in your hand, you open the door. To your surprise the space was normal looking compared to the heights Bastava would go for extravagance. A glass panel wall was behind the desk. To the left were large cabinets, and even enough space for two lounge chairs. Miguel goes to the right at the tech board whirling to life at his presence. All of Alchemax at his fingertips if he wished. His hand itched to take control of it but he had to remain on task, making sure that their fall would be from a higher drop. You catch how he sighs with frustration, turning back to you, and hovering over the computer. “Another drive?”

“Another drive.” He says, practically trying to convince himself.

You eye him up and down, giving him a short nod and turning back to the computer. “You don’t think there’d be any physical files we’d miss?”

Miguel scoffs. “I doubt it.”

Thanks to another scan of fingerprints, your go through two attempts to finally get the password. From there you slide out of the way for Miguel to take over. As he does so, you go to the door to keep watch. Your eyes keep to the crack you let open, ears catching the clicks of the keywords and various sounds. One sounded promising with a BING!

“How long?” You ask with your eyes still on the hallway.

“Twenty minutes.”

“Be fucking for real-”

“Anyone out there?”

“No-”

“-then shut the hell up. I’ll make it go as fast as I can.”

You snicker under your breath. “Shocker.”

You hear him exhale through his nose.

Fifteen minutes pass with smooth sailing. You have yet to see a passerby to the stairs. Miguel keeps his focus on the computer for a long while, leaving you in silence, until his head perks up abruptly. So abruptly, that you whip your head around in his direction. His face scrunches. when you turn your head around, you see what might be the cause: Bastava, coming up the stairs and heading in your direction.

You turn to Miguel. “How long?” His eyes go back to the computer “Five, maybe three minutes?”

You cursed under your breath, your body starting to fill with tension. Your eyes go back out to the crack in the door. Bastava stumbles slightly, but he doesn’t lose his way.

Your tone shifts to urgency. “Miguel-”

“I’m working on it.”

With one more head turn, you see that he’s only three pieces away. You feel your heart drop quickly, shutting the door as quietly and as quickly as possible.

“Shocking-” You don’t finish the curse when something tugs your arm. Your head whips around to get only a split second of Miguel pulling you towards an opened large cabinet. Taking you both inside, he shuts the door just in time for his senses to pick up the click of the keypad.

You control your breathing the best you can after the rush of adrenaline. Your chests graze each other each time you quietly breathe. There’s a stumbling of feet, a chair sliding against the marble floor that causes you two to wince. Miguel recognizes Bastava’s voice. “Hey there, gorgeous…no no, I’m not busy at all. Just want you..to come by…maybe after the party, eh?”

You roll your eyes, turning your head in the direction of the call to hear any sign of a goodbye. Miguel was doing the same, brows furrowing suddenly. As soon as you turn your neck something immediately takes hold of him. His nostrils fill with your scent, something new, he caught. It had to be that or perhaps his senses being on eleven ever since he heard Bastava coming up the steps. He closes his eyes, the scent envelops him whole with a tilt of his head.

“What are you wearing?”

The question snaps your head his way in an instant. You look him up and down. “Under-?”

“Your fragrance.” He said with a hard tone. You question if there was restraint in his voice. Your eyes linger on him before answering. “It’s new…picked it up for tonight.”

He hums quietly. Scarlet eyes still bore into your being even when you turn to listen for Bastava. The chairman was still on the phone. Something still along the lines of convincing someone to come over— Miguel couldn’t process his words, much less comprehend them. He was tuning his words out and into your heartbeat instead. His felt like it was quickening to your pace— a light thump loose of the threads of adrenaline.

You turn your head back, startled at how his eyes look. They were almost…carnal…in a way that you only knew how.

Your tongue swipes over your bottom lip, causing him to let out a low “Don’t.”

He catches your eyes in a heated gaze. It didn’t help how close you both were. He wouldn’t have to move much to wrap around you. Your breath quickens, latching onto the sight of his parted lips. He does the same with yours, breath even heavier.

Bastava’s tone picks up. “Well, what can I do to convince you, baby? Just because we aren’t public doesn’t mean…” He scoffs with abrasiveness. “…Yes, it doesn’t matter- we’ve gone over this-”

He’s in an argument now, you know that much from that point. Everything goes in and out with your focus shifting entirely on Miguel. His eyes go lower, not to your lips anymore, but to your neck. His tongue suddenly felt *dry*, nose taking inhale after inhale of you and taking him further down the rabbit hole. Your eyes never leave him when an arm sneaks around your lower back to pull you into his body. You meet his head to line it with your own. With each of your breathing tickling the other’s face, you feel how worked he is.

Your breath hitches when he shoves his face into your neck. His air is hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your hand goes to the back of his head in case you slip. His feet shuffle mere centimeters to place his other hand on the wall by your head.

“Carajo..” He mutters against you, head flooded by your scent. Now that he was fully surrounded by it, his senses soothed— barely, but enough to not raise suspicion. Your heartbeat was picking up, thumping inside his head. You feel something wet graze your neck in a slow lick, making you inhale tightly.

You’re trying to listen out for the man outside but it was growing difficult with the way Miguel was nosing your neck, as if there was any space left he had to get rid of. Every now and then, his lips brush against your neck and makes you shift under him. The hand on your back adds pressure.

“Thought you could handle me.”

“I can handle you just…” You let out a shaky exhale. “…fine.”

Miguel’s huff turns into a muffled sigh.

“…See that wasn’t so hard, cupcake. You get your sweet little ass over here after the party…Eleven…bye.”

You hear Bastava take a large gulp then sigh. A few steps go past you, making you both hold your breath. The steps stop for a few minutes then fade off to the other side of the room. You hear the door open and then shut, but you knew better than to rush out. You steady your breathing to become background noise to Miguel’s senses. He could still hear your heart calming and now, the steps of the chairman’s dress shoes echoing down his vast hall. He only eases when he knows Bastava is going down the stairs. “We’re good.”

He turns his head to be met with your nose brushed against his. Your eyes were big looking into his own. He knew you were wondering what the hell came over him. The one thing you did know was that all of what he was doing wasn’t to start anything but to give himself restraint.

Miguel swallows before you both leave the cabinet without another word.

Leaving the scene felt like the easiest part of the whole night. You two pretend to giggle drunkenly together back into the foyer, just in time to for Bastava to close the night. You slip into the leaving crowd to waddle alongside them. And since you felt eyes on you, you knew Miguel wasn’t too far behind.

You look out at Neuva’s brightly colored building from your passenger window. The car was heavy with silence, you could practically feel the weight of it right in the pit of your stomach. His hand on your thigh *certainly* didn’t help. The arachnid kept his eyes on the road, only keeping focus by kneading your flesh. Miguel glances at you through the interior mirror. Your lips were slightly obscured as you rested your chin in your palms but he could imagine them all the same.

Taking notice of the scenery, your exit flies past you at a moment’s notice.

“Not going back to my-?”

“No.”

You turn to catch his eyes in the mirror, quiet in both of your stares. Your lids lower. “…work-related?”

He turns his gaze back to the road and squeezes your thigh in his grip.

“…No.”

taglist: @manchuria @mezzke @rea-zxv @vvitcxen @pooiooi @jowtaro @deputy-videogamer @vegas-writing-den @m150-50up @simplysolo @timotheesrealgf @thecityofspareparts @miguelsfangs (dunno why it won’t let me tag you guys, trying to figure it out!)

[feralferretxp]

I've been meaning to introduce one of my Storybots ocs that I've had for a while but here we go. Let me introduce you to...

Melissa Malware

She's a totally normal storybot who is definitely not a shapeshifting virus who has alterative motives for taking over the computer world! :D

Melissa is inspired by the Melissa and I LOVE YOU computer viruses, influencing both her name and theme of spreading love worldwide. In an alternate universe called the LoveBug AU, she launches a campaign called "Project I LOVE YOU", encouraging StoryBots to express love in various forms, aiming to boost mental well-being and promote world peace. She also advocates for self-care, which leads people to work less and less, eventually creating a job crisis in the computer world.

However, Melissa's true intent is to infect others, causing them to slack off from work, which in turn slows down real-world computers, much like a virus. As her followers idolize her, they unknowingly spread her influence, infecting others with the same behavior.

Melissa's origins lie in a more abstract form sent into the internet by her creator. Her mission was to oversee a planted computer worm and ensure its success without interference, remaining in the shadows. However, her plan was unexpectedly derailed when a young Bang, wandering in the internet department while accompanying his father, mistook the worm for a colorful gummy and ate it.

Enraged and shocked, Melissa's task was ruined, forcing her to shift focus and watch over Bang as he grew up, tracking the effects of the worm on him. Over the years, she observed his growing forgetfulness and other changes (I'll make a future post about this and my theory in more detail) as she remained in the shadows. During this time, Melissa herself evolved. Watching storybots and their society, she became curious about life beyond her virus role. She gradually changed her appearance to resemble a storybot and secretly longed for a life where she wasn’t bound to a pre-programmed destructive endgame.

As she grew fond of the attention and adoration from those who saw her as one of them rather than a virus, Melissa tried to prolong her influence and delay her inevitable mission of ruining the computer world, torn between fulfilling her creator’s purpose and finding belonging among storybot society.

When Bang becomes an adult and the computer worm fully integrates with his programming, Melissa is devastated to discover that the worm is now inseparable from Bang, and removing it would kill it. This ruins her original plan, forcing her to adapt. Instead of separating the worm, she decides to use Bang to spread the infection.

Melissa presents herself as a sweet, humble activist and invites Bang to join her "Project I LOVE YOU," using his recognizable and beloved status in the community to help promote her cause. Behind her friendly demeanor, however, Melissa despises Bang, seeing him as a foolish and undeserving figure who, for some reason, is adored by everyone. Despite her loathing, she plays the role of a supportive ally, manipulating him into unknowingly aiding her true goal, while he remains completely oblivious to her hatred and intentions.

So in a nutshell, Bang has no enemies... except for one which is Melissa because she hates his guts LMAO. But yeah that's the LoveBug AU basically. There's more to it but that's for another time.

One important thing about Melissa is that her and Milo (@supgoddo's oc) are in true real love and are perfect for each other YIPPIEE GRRR I LOVE THEM SM

Anyways that's it for now for Melissa! Just wanted to introduce her character and stuff. Live laugh love Melissa <3

[maul-of-shame]

I feel like I'm losing brain cells by reading some takes online... Elrond and Gil-galad... are misogynistic...?? but Sauron is fine, he was good to Galadriel, even made her open up and all...

The hell? 💀

Legit my reaction lmao.

[TW: very long, heavy, salty rant, if you like Sauron don't read. Tw for abuse, emotional, physical, mentions of death, violence etc etc]

Honestly, if people spent half as much time looking up the meanings of words as they do tossing pseudo-feminist “hot takes” around Twitter, we’d see fewer baffling opinions like this.

Calling Elrond and Gil-galad misogynistic is not only a huge leap but shows a serious misunderstanding of both character dynamics and what misogyny even entails. Elrond and Gil-galad consistently act out of genuine concern for Galadriel and respect for her skills; they’re leaders with an eye on the bigger picture, making difficult decisions with the safety of their people in mind—not as a personal slight against her.

Also, let's be clear here: the one manipulating Galadriel and playing on her vulnerabilities is Sauron, not her allies.

The level of mental gymnastics required to paint Sauron as “kind” or “helpful” while calling Elrond or Gil-galad misogynistic is truly astounding. Sauron is the one who, let’s not forget, has left a wake of devastation behind him, specifically targeting and harming those close to Galadriel.

Sauron is a manipulator of the highest order, skilled in emotional abuse and psychological warfare.

This is the same character who killed Galadriel’s brother, stripping her of her closest family. He has slaughtered countless others she held dear, including close friends and allies, and waged a campaign of terror against her people. And we’re expected to believe he was “good for her”?

How is a person who systematically destroys everything she loves somehow cast as the “kind” option here?

His manipulation was designed to dig at her most vulnerable places, coaxing her trust with calculated, fake gestures of “understanding.”

This isn’t kindness—it’s classic predatory behavior.

From gaslighting to attempting to align himself with her desires, Sauron’s methods are textbook examples of psychological manipulation and emotional abuse. The fact that some people can’t see it doesn’t make it any less clear or less sinister.

And let’s not overlook the physical violence he’s responsible for: he didn’t just oppose her in the abstract—he tried to kill her, manipulated her friends, killed them, and later had the unmitigated audacity to use Celebrimbor’s body as a banner, grotesquely displayed on a spike. He desecrated her friend’s body as a twisted symbol of power, essentially mocking everything she fought to protect. He turned the people she cared about into tools for his own violence, forcing her to relive those losses and betrayals again and again.

Sauron is not “good for” anyone; he’s a walking embodiment of trauma and loss.

The baffling attempts to rewrite this as some kind of “healing” relationship for Galadriel completely miss the point and diminish the actual violence and abuse she endured.

I’d love to know what brand of “kindness” involves murder, manipulation, torture, and desecration of loved ones.

By defending Sauron as “understanding” or “helpful,” people are erasing the impact of his cruelty, the kind of cruelty that left Galadriel scarred, hunted, and haunted.

I genuinely hope some of these takes are trolling—because if people genuinely believe Sauron is some kind of “kind” influence on Galadriel, I’m honestly worried for them.

Glorifying abuse or romanticizing a character who embodies calculated cruelty is troubling at best and deeply problematic at worst. Sauron isn’t some misunderstood anti-hero who’s “good” for Galadriel; he’s a sadistic manipulator who thrives on deception and violence.

And let’s be clear, Galadriel is not here to be Sauron’s therapist. Her role isn’t to rehabilitate him, heal his darkness, or stand by while he exploits her traumas.

This kind of thinking is where we veer into dangerously misguided territory.

Galadriel has no obligation to be his redemption arc, no duty to make sense of his twisted motivations or forgive his endless cruelty. She doesn’t possess some bottomless capacity for “forgiveness” that she just doles out freely to those who have wrecked her life. In fact, framing her relationship with Sauron as one that could foster healing or understanding utterly erases the real, devastating impact of his actions.

It overlooks that Sauron tried to destroy her, killed her brother, and desecrated her friends and loved ones and more.

Sauron has been portrayed as the epitome of cruelty, from using her loved ones as pawns to gaslighting her in moments of vulnerability. His manipulation wasn’t some misguided, accidental misstep; it was a calculated effort to destabilize her and gain control. We’re talking about someone who willfully destroyed everything and everyone around her, leaving her in a constant state of survival.

If this is supposed to be “kindness,” then I am sincerely alarmed by this interpretation.

Galadriel’s journey, her strength, and her resilience are hers. She has fought to survive and rebuild, not to carry the weight of Sauron’s sins or give him a free pass on his malicious actions. She has limits, vulnerabilities, and every right to hold onto her own boundaries and values, which she has firmly established throughout her life.

Repeat with me people: Forgiveness isn’t infinite, nor is it owed.

The idea that she should somehow be “understanding” toward Sauron’s abuses is not only baffling but dismissive of her own traumas and boundaries.

Attributing kindness or “understanding” to a character defined by his repeated acts of brutality—who has actively terrorized and killed those close to her—is a massive red flag.

Reducing this violence to a misunderstood “bond” is a dangerous distortion that trivializes real trauma and suffering. We cannot afford to confuse abuse for care, or cruelty for kindness, because it not only distorts Sauron’s character but also disregards the depth of Galadriel’s struggle and survival.

She doesn’t exist to redeem him; she exists to live fully and freely, unchained from the shadow of his destruction.

Galadriel isn’t here to be Sauron’s emotional outlet, his means of “improvement,” or a balm for his cruelty.

She has weathered enough loss and darkness for multiple lifetimes, and she deserves her own peace, free of this twisted rationalization.

If there’s one constant presence in Galadriel’s life, it’s Elrond. Through every triumph, every heartbreak, and every devastating loss, he has been there, steadfast and true. She trusts him with one of the most potent symbols of her legacy, her heart, and her identity: Nenya.

When she entrusted it to him, she wasn’t just passing along a trinket; she was giving him one of her greatest sources of power, telling him to carry it to Gil-galad, someone she trusts, with a weight that few could ever bear.

That isn’t just a passing gesture. That’s the kind of profound, deep-seated trust that is built on years of loyalty and understanding.

And that’s not all—Elrond’s very presence calms her. The fact that she visibly stops trembling when he reaches for her speaks for itself and their bond. There’s a gentle comfort, a reassurance in him that she feels safe in. This is someone who’s earned her trust and loyalty through countless acts of support, not someone who would even think to undermine or belittle her. Calling Elrond “misogynistic” is not only misguided, but it’s a glaring insult to a relationship that has been a pillar of mutual respect and trust.

Let’s be clear: Elrond has shown nothing but loyalty, understanding, and compassion for her. Painting him as anything else is, quite frankly, a weak, baseless interpretation that cheapens both his character and their relationship. Those who call Elrond “misogynistic” aren’t just missing the point; they’re actively ignoring all evidence to the contrary, and for what?

A quick, shallow take that contradicts everything we know about his role in her life?

He’s been there for Galadriel in ways that are anything but controlling or patronizing. He listens to her, stands by her when others fall away, and has enough respect for her choices and independence that she, in turn, trusts him in a way that’s rare and significant. Those moments they share aren’t empty, nor are they superficial. They’re moments where we see the depth of their connection, built on years of friendship, shared experiences, and unspoken understanding. There’s a strength and resilience in their bond that has withstood more than most would endure, and it’s utterly ridiculous for anyone to dismiss that as misogyny.

Elrond’s relationship with Galadriel is one of genuine care, loyalty, and respect—a bond that has nothing to do with undermining her power or her autonomy. When people throw out terms like “misogyny” in relation to Elrond, it honestly reflects more on their need to create drama than any actual analysis of his character. To label someone who respects, supports, and cares for her as “misogynistic” is not only lazy but a poor reflection of the genuine, nuanced bond they share.

It’s honestly baffling that some people are so quick with their pitchforks, charging at anything that doesn’t align with their own view, that they’re willing to twist the story until it barely resembles what’s actually there. They’re rallying under a banner of pseudo-feminism, claiming that Sauron—the literal antagonist, the epitome of cruelty—is somehow “the good guy” because he “made Galadriel open up.” Like, are we watching the same story?

Because what I saw was a manipulator who has never had anything but power and control on his mind.

Let’s get this straight: Sauron “opened her up” alright, in the most twisted, vile way possible. He made himself out to be her ally, whispering exactly what she wanted to hear to manipulate her. Then he mentally tormented her with the image of her dead brother, dressing him up in everything Galadriel associated with purity and love only to taint it. He used her past to break her even more.

This isn’t “making her open up.”

This is weaponizing her trauma, breaking into her mind, using her memories of her dead brother to twist her into submission. How anyone can possibly see that as anything other than outright manipulation and cruelty is absolutely beyond me.

The man literally tried to kill her! He spent every waking moment of his screen time attempting to gaslight, manipulate, and twist her into his pawn, culminating in physical violence. And let’s not forget: this is the same guy who killed her brother, who’s responsible for the deaths of countless of her close friends, and who used Celebrimbor’s body as a banner, who's ruined cities, manipulated everyone trying to get his way. If that doesn’t scream cruelty and malice, I don’t know what does. And yet some people are out here saying “oh, but he made her feel vulnerable; he was kind to her.”

Kind?

Really?????

If that’s what they consider kindness, they seriously need to re-evaluate what they think love and compassion look like, because there’s not a shred of either in Sauron.

What’s even more disturbing is how he twisted her childhood memories. She’s literally in a mental space resembling her memories as a little girl, even wearing a dress that she had back then. He then morphs into her brother, leaning close, whispering poison into her ear, turning one of the most innocent relationships of her life into something dark and manipulative.

That isn’t “kindness”; that’s psychological warfare, plain and simple.

The way he corrupted her memories of her brother is disgusting—an affront to everything she holds dear. This is someone who’s actively working to tear down every pillar of support in her life, to isolate her, so he can better control her. And people are seriously defending this?

And meanwhile, who’s actually been there for her? Elrond and Gil-galad, who’ve supported her, trusted her, and stood by her even when her quest became dangerous. They’re the ones who’ve offered her a place to lean on without breaking her spirit, without trying to shape her into something she’s not. But apparently, that doesn’t fit the drama-filled, pseudo-feminist narrative people are desperate to push, so instead, they twist Elrond and Gil-galad’s genuine support into “misogyny” and call Sauron a “good guy.”

It’s absolutely absurd, and frankly, the mental gymnastics involved to justify that take would be impressive if it weren’t so horrifyingly misguided.

Also (probs a hot take but I mean you're on my blog so what do you expect-): “wanting Galadriel to forgive Sauron” isn’t some emblem of “girl power.”

And neither is the idea of her “healing” him.

There’s no empowerment in bending to the whims of her abuser or in opening herself up to someone who has systematically torn down every safe space and person she’s ever known. If you’re hellbent on wanting Galadriel to be this “strong woman,” then maybe don’t advocate for her to keep being tormented and manipulated by the one person responsible for all the pain she’s suffered.

That’s not strength; it’s glorifying abuse under the guise of some pseudo-feminist ideal.

There’s this strange irony in people claiming they want Galadriel to be independent, to be strong, yet they seem to want her locked in an endless cycle of manipulation with Sauron, who has literally preyed on her vulnerabilities from day one.

What they’re pushing for isn’t “strength” or “girl power”; it’s a twisted need for Galadriel to keep “fixing” Sauron, a person who has shown no remorse, only calculated moves to control and dominate.

And if you want to ship this pairing, go ahead—it’s your prerogative.

But let’s not kid ourselves: this ship is on some level based on glorifying the very manipulation and darkness that Sauron brings into her life.

There’s no soft underbelly there; it’s not a misunderstood romance. We’re talking about someone who, with full awareness, transformed himself into the guise of Galadriel’s brother, twisted her memories, and then leaned in close to plant his poison. Who destroyed cities, killed hundreds of people, tortured people... Do I need to go on?

He didn’t do this out of any love or misunderstood affection; he did it because he knew exactly how to break her spirit. Because he wanted power.

And for those who genuinely think this is an empowering storyline, please, go back and look at the scenes we’re talking about.

This is someone who has turned Celebrimbor’s body into a banner, who actively killed Galadriel’s friends and family, and who has taken every opportunity to break her down. Who killed everyone standing on his way to power.

This isn’t a redemption arc; it’s an attempt to shackle her to her own trauma.

For those cheering on a “redemptive” relationship between these two—if you can’t see how problematic that is, I honestly worry about what you think healthy love and respect look like.

Also, very important: Abused women (or people in general) don’t have to forgive, forget, or extend a single ounce of emotional labor to the person who harmed them.

There’s no obligation to “be the bigger person” or “heal the one who hurt them,” and it’s disturbing that some people believe Galadriel should take on this impossible, damaging role. Forgiveness is a choice, not a requirement, and for survivors of real trauma, sometimes the healthiest, most powerful choice is to walk away and never look back.

It’s baffling that some people are so invested in seeing Galadriel “redeem” Sauron or forgive him as if that somehow validates her strength. Strength isn’t found in bending over backward to heal her abuser; it’s in her resilience, in her commitment to herself and her allies, and in the boundaries she chooses to set with those who have repeatedly wronged her.

People clamoring for Galadriel to extend her grace to Sauron seem to forget that her strength lies in not being a savior for someone who has proven himself as irredeemable time and again.

Let’s look at the facts. Sauron didn’t just make a mistake or go down the wrong path; he committed outright atrocities.

This is a person who didn’t slip up or stray; he is the architect of pain, not a misguided soul needing “healing.”

Why should Galadriel be burdened with the weight of “fixing” him?

To be clear, advocating for her to let Sauron back into her life or, worse, to forgive him, is the opposite of respecting her strength. It’s as if people want her to forget all the pain he’s caused her for the sake of some feel-good ending that absolves him of responsibility. This expectation that women must forgive or reconcile with their abusers is outdated and toxic.

Survivors of abuse don’t owe anyone closure or compassion—they owe themselves the peace and freedom that comes with cutting toxic people from their lives and honoring their own worth.

People, she literally tried to unalive herself to AVOID him and being USED by him and literally said "Heal yourself" ?????

Like, I'm just baffled by some of those takes, cause literally, on SCREEN it's shown she doesn't want to fix or forgive him.

On a lighter note: Rob LITERALLY said this in his recent interview when asked about Morfydd/Galadriel's relationship with Elrond:

"You find yourself on the opposite side of the argument to someone who you absolutely love and have such a strong bond with. So how do you navigate that? And what does that mean, especially when you have such respect and this person is so powerful in the world?"

People are just trying to join the Antis Olympics, once again, and twist every little thing they can to try to dismiss something genuine and excuse my french, it's early and I haven't had my coffee yet: it's pathetic.

Imagine trying to twist EVERYTHING from a genuine, loving relationship, where both characters are not abused, where they've shown for YEARS that they LOVE and CARE for each other like?????

Are people THAT blind?????

And it's the SECOND TIME he said it!! the first was here:

[amber-laughs]

I’d love to know ur opinion on Jon’s ships (Jon&Ygritte, Jon&Satin, Jon&Sansa, Jon&Daenerys, Jon&val and so on). I personally like Jonerys but I also find a lot of Jon ships a bit ridiculous lmao

i like Jon and Dany in a very abstract way but it’s hard for me to really get behind them because they haven’t interacted yet if that makes sense. they’re obviously gonna have the largest part to play together in coming books where i think they’ll end up being one of my favorite ships of the series tho

Jon/Satin 10/10 i personally prefer to think of it as Jon being so fucking lonely in his command that he can’t help but take advantage of satin’s position. like when Jon said in adwd he craves company not food hmm i’m lonely and horny and here’s this handsome guy devoted enough to change religions for me and (in amber-laugh’s eyes) is attracted to me so yeah let’s give this a go and then feelings of affection develop from there but it starts out as just a means to an end

Jon/Val my personal favorite of canon possible endings i agree with people who say this is more idealized in Jon’s eyes than it should be but i think that’s part of the fun. she represents something to him that he’ll not only never have but may not even want when it comes down to it. i think that fantasy is part of the fun. if she survives and he does end up going beyond the wall in the end than they’re ending up together in my eyes. she brings out a boyish side of him we haven’t seen in a long time and it comes from a different place than what Ygritte brought out in him that seems to sit easier on his soul. also i could’ve sworn the first time i looked them up on tumblr someone was calling them JonValJon as a Les Mis reference but ive never seen it since so can we start that?

Jon/Ygritte loved it for the storyline it brought and the character development we got to see through it. i’m glad she died so they couldn’t end up together because like i said even tho he loved her she obviously never sat right with his spirit and on a personal level her “fuck me or die” stance never sat right with my spirit either. and she kicked ghost out “find somewhere else for ghost to sleep tonight” NOT ON MY WATCH! ghost’s evil stepmother ik he smiled when she got shot. on a serious note tho he seems to love her far more after she died than he ever did when she was alive and i wonder if that’s something we’ll get in to if he falls in love again in the series

i like Jon/Sansa in a non canon fictional sense. some of the AUs are cute and fun. i don’t see any plot where they actually end up together but i do think there’s a lot of familial angst and self esteem issues that could be worked in to their fanon that’s a lot of fun and their fans have some really talented authors that do it well

and you didn’t ask for this but Jon/Alys Karstark is one of my favorites and i really hope we see her again when he travels back to winterfell. Alys resents the Starks for getting her family killed while Jon resents the Karstarks for leaving Robb to die surrounded by enemies but they’ve found childhood comfort together at the edge of the world. she trusts him in a way she clearly couldn’t trust anyone else in westeros and i think she’ll easily follow him when it’s time for him to lead. and them flirting at her wedding to another man? i mean COME ON!

[cheatsykoopa98]

Theory About Abstracting

long text below (the amazing digital circus)

I saw people taking the meaning of abstraction in TADC as "to remove certain parts of a program" and theorize that they get corrupted because they're losing parts of their virtual self, their sanity and stuff, but what I actually believe happens when one abstracts is you lose 100% of your original self to the virtual one.

Ragatha says going insane itself isn't what makes you abstract, but it's part of the process. It's when you reach your breaking point that you abstract. But what breaking point? If you're already insane it means your mind is already broken, right?

So let's look at Kaufmo, he's a clown, he likes to tell jokes, and according to Gooseworx he was a little bit too positive, like Ragatha, that fits his character within the circus, but apparently his jokes weren't good, and when people did laugh, they were faking it

We don't know how long Kaufmo knew about that, but it appears to hurt him badly, both by Ragatha saying he called her out for fake laughing and Gangle saying he got mad at her for not laughing.

So what am I getting at? I think Kaufmo only abstracted because he "gave up", like Zooble puts it. His room shows he was obssessing about the exit, but like, a negative outlook on it, like "I know there is an exit, but I won't ever be able to reach it, it's hopeless". I think the moment his spirit breaks and he gives up the last bit of himself to embrace his clown persona fully, he abstracts. The abstracted parts (that is, the removed parts) aren't the virtual ones, but the real part of his mind as a human. That's why he turns into a beast, he's not human anymore but just a jumbled code of what used to be a player

(basically abstractions are the source games error model lmao)

So when his mind is gone and he's just the avatar Caine made for him, he abstracts (probably not intentional since we know Caine isnt malicious, just incompetent). Caine is smart and knows how to make NPCs for the adventures like the mannequins, Bubble, the Moon and the Gloinks, but he can't comprehend fully how a human acts, so in his logic "humans are unpredictable, chaotic, so since Kaufmo is giving no player input anymore I'll just replace him with an NPC that is unpredictable and chaotic" which is the monster we see, and since he fails every time to recreate a human but can't really (isn't allowed or is unable) to kill or let the humans leave, he just throws them into the cellar

So in conclusion, I don't think anyone in the main cast will abstract because as much as their avatars do give away what they were probably like in the real world (someone who masks their sadness, a person figuring out their gender, a coward who is important in their ambient, a yes person, a troll, a person who likes to make people laugh and the person who is butt of everyone's jokes) as long as they don't give into being just that, but real people with depthful personalities, they will be fine. Probably miserable, but fine.

(TL/DR): Abstraction is AFK mode, Caine can't have a circus if the players are brain dead not doing anything after giving up on their individuality completely, so he tries to recreate the player as an NPC, fails, buries his mistake in the cellar and moves on

[lostinstem]

My point of view regarding how Walter Sullivan perceives apartment 302

Going straight to the point of my post, I feel that Walter associates apartment 302 with his mother's womb, and I'll explain why I think this. Since this is my personal opinion, I'm not imposing my ideas on anyone, and obviously, I welcome criticism as long as it's respectful.

tw: poor english maybe

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To begin, I would like to point out the constant emphasis the game places on the connection Walter experienced with his mother through pregnancy, united by the umbilical cord. He longs for that symbolic bond, a connection he never had the opportunity to experience outside of his prenatal existence.

Let us consider that the apartment represents the only remnant Walter has of his mother, whom he never came to know. This absence fosters a form of dependence in him, typical of a child who never experienced genuine love; the unconditional love embodied by the maternal figure.

That primordial affection, Walter only knew it in its purest and most fleeting form, linked to his mother through the womb, where the deepest and, paradoxically, most unattainable bond of his life was forged.

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Now let’s talk about the social concepts of what a home is and how this relates to my main idea: the womb and the apartment.

Socially, the concept of home is associated with a space where affection, security, and belonging are experienced. For many, home symbolizes stability and refuge, a place to return to in search of comfort and peace. The home provides a warm and welcoming environment, a safe space that evokes the feeling of being inside the maternal womb (I'm trying to explain this the best I can lmao).

I think the fact that Walter sees an entire apartment as his mother is quite abstract and open-ended, which leads us to the next question... What is Walter’s vision of what a mother is if he never had a maternal figure in his life?

I don’t think he can answer that question, but...

Motherhood is closely linked to the womb, as it is through it that a woman’s generative capacity manifests, and throughout history, motherhood has been tied to the womb not only in biological terms but also as a cultural and spiritual symbol that has defined roles and expectations around women. In ancient times, the womb was seen as a divine mystery, the place where the miracle of life occurred.

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pd: I almost forgot, but mini Walter (it's fun to call him that) one of the first things he does when he enters the apartment is to lie down in the fetal position

[thefeathercollective]

we're 99.9% sure that portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa was plural.

okay uh disclaimer. we're not a psychology or literature expert by any means. we rarely even read poetry. we only heard of this guy in high school literature class and the thought stuck with us and then we found plausible evidence lmao. also, as a plural system ourselves, we're clearly biased.

and a considerable amount of this post will be sourced from wikipedia. and this is the first time we've made a post like this. please don't come after us I'm just writing this for fun lmao

huge ramble ahead!

who even was that man

Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa (Portuguese: [fɨɾˈnɐ̃du pɨˈsoɐ]; 13 June 1888 – 30 November 1935) was a Portuguese poet, writer, literary critic, translator, publisher, and philosopher, described as one of the most significant literary figures of the 20th century and one of the greatest poets in the Portuguese language. He also wrote in and translated from English and French.

yeah that's who the man was. but what really sparked our interest in him during class and made us wonder if he was plural were his...

✨heteronyms✨

y'know pseudonyms? when someone writes under a different name than their own for whatever reason? these are similar, but the catch is that the different names have different personalities, supposed appearances, philosophies, all that shit.

the term was coined by Pessoa himself, and his heteronyms were written as if they were real people. they had detailed careers, histories, etc. he had at least 70, although I vaguely remember some other source estimating it at around 100.

"but eva, these could just be OCs or something!",

he had 3 main ones though, being Alberto Caeiro (known for interpreting the world as-is, without greater meaning or anything, like some sorta anti-poet), Álvaro de Campos (a naval engineer who even had multiple phases in his philosophy) and Ricardo Reis (who wrote with a lot of structure and rationality, and was very pessimistic).

I predict someone typing. to that, I begin my endless copy-paste + ramble about all the things that make us think the heteronyms were headmates.

I'll throw in a section of a letter Pessoa wrote to some other poet (bolding the parts I find relevant because I don't love walls of text lmao)

How do I write in the name of these three? Caeiro, through sheer and unexpected inspiration, without knowing or even suspecting that I'm going to write in his name. Ricardo Reis, after an abstract meditation, which suddenly takes concrete shape in an ode. Campos, when I feel a sudden impulse to write and don't know what. (My semi-heteronym Bernardo Soares, who in many ways resembles Álvaro de Campos, always appears when I'm sleepy or drowsy, so that my qualities of inhibition and rational thought are suspended; his prose is an endless reverie. He's a semi-heteronym because his personality, although not my own, doesn't differ from my own but is a mere mutilation of it. He's me without my rationalism and emotions. His prose is the same as mine, except for certain formal restraint that reason imposes on my own writing, and his Portuguese is exactly the same – whereas Caeiro writes bad Portuguese, Campos writes it reasonably well but with mistakes such as "me myself" instead of "I myself", etc.., and Reis writes better than I, but with a purism I find excessive…)

so not only does he describe writing Caeiro completely unexpectedly, he also gives the same sort of opinion about his heteronyms' writings that we've seen (and experienced) plural folks give about their headmates' typing or drawing styles.

hell, "writes better than I but with a purism I find excessive" is exactly my opinion of lynn when he does our assignments lmao

the semi-heteronym surfacing when Pessoa is sleepy could be some sorta dissociative state that lets a headmate come through, be it straight-up fronting or passive influence... but I'm probably forcing it too much here.

uhhh here's something on the heteronym thing from some guy called richard zenish. I bolded some parts again

For each of his 'voices', Pessoa conceived a highly distinctive poetic idiom and technique, a complex biography, a context of literary influence and polemics and, most arrestingly of all, subtle interrelations and reciprocities of awareness. [...] Pessoa was often unsure who was writing when he wrote, and it's curious that the very first item among the more than 25,000 pieces that make up his archives in the National Library of Lisbon bears the heading A. de C. (?) or B. de D. (or something else).

"okay.... they could still be characters though"

the heteronyms were aware of and sometimes interacted between themselves. wikipedia's list of Pessoa's heteronyms even has the man himself as a heteronym and pupil of Alberto Caeiro, although I don't feel like going after the source for that bit.

dear hypothetical person I'm quoting here, you're entitled to your opinion. but how about we take, say... a more DID/OSDD-y approach to things? because there's things that hint that Fernando Pessoa's plurality could be traumagenic and/or disordered too.

When Pessoa was five, his father, Joaquim de Seabra Pessôa, died of tuberculosis and less than seven months later his younger brother Jorge, aged one, also died (2 January 1889).

(written by himself about himself:) Nothing had ever obliged him to do anything. He had spent his childhood alone. He never joined any group. He never pursued a course of study. He never belonged to a crowd. The circumstances of his life were marked by that strange but rather common phenomenon – perhaps, in fact, it's true for all lives – of being tailored to the image and likeness of his instincts, which tended towards inertia and withdrawal.

(written by a schoolfellow:) For one of his age, he thought much and deeply and in a letter to me once complained of "spiritual and material encumbrances of most especial adverseness". He took no part in athletic sports of any kind and I think his spare time was spent on reading. We generally considered that he worked far too much and that he would ruin his health by so doing.

so childhood trauma, check...? at the very least this stuff doesn't sound very good for a child's mental health.

Pessoa's earliest heteronym, at the age of six, was Chevalier de Pas. Other childhood heteronyms included Dr. Pancrácio and David Merrick, followed by Charles Robert Anon, a young Englishman who became Pessoa's alter ego.

"I can remember what I believe was my first heteronym, or rather, my first nonexistent acquaintance — a certain Chevalier de Pas — through whom I wrote letters to myself when I was six years old, and whose not entirely hazy figure still has a claim on the part of my affections that borders on nostalgia. I have a less vivid memory of another figure . . . who was a kind of rival to the Chevalier de Pas. Such things occur to all children ? Undoubtedly — or perhaps. But I lived them so intensely that I live them still; their memory is so strong that I have to remind myself that they weren’t real."

oh I just found some spiritual stuff too

the appearance of the first heteronym was after his family members died so that's one thing... and like, that's not just one childhood heteronym but at least four. and well, to me they sound a bit too vivid for your average imaginary friend.

Pessoa's interest in spiritualism was truly awakened in the second half of 1915, while translating theosophist books. This was further deepened in the end of March 1916, when he suddenly started having experiences where he believed he became a medium, having experimented with automatic writing. [...] Besides automatic writing, Pessoa stated also that he had "astral" or "etherial visions" and was able to see "magnetic auras" similar to radiographic images. [...] Mediumship exerted a strong influence in Pessoa's writings, who felt "sometimes suddenly being owned by something else" or having a "very curious sensation" in the right arm, which was "lifted into the air" without his will. Looking in the mirror, Pessoa saw several times what appeared to be the heteronyms: his "face fading out" and being replaced by the one of "a bearded man", or another one, four men in total.

........

man, this wikipedia article is extensive and full of stuff that supports our silly little theory, huh.

yeah, so he attributed it to spiritual reasons which is fair and valid, but... "owned by something else" all of a sudden? the thing with the right arm sounding a lot like partial possession in tulpamancy? seeing his heteronyms' faces in the mirror?

yeahhhh.

(I'm guessing the magnetic aura thing could be some sorta derealization, contributing to the he-was-a-dissociative-system hypothesis, but that's yet another stretch on my part.)

(plus, spiritual plurality is a thing.)

oh! this thing he wrote sounds a lot like it too.

"This tendency to create around me another world . . . began in me as a young adult, when a witty remark that was completely out of keeping with who I am or think I am would sometimes and for some unknown reason occur to me, and I would immediately, spontaneously say it as if it came from some friend of mine whose name I would invent, along with biographical details, and whose figure — physiognomy, stature, dress and gestures — I would immediately see before me."

let's just do a quick google..

am I biased? yes, very much so. but y'know. you can see I have my reasons.

to see if any people with more qualifications than we have think the same about Fernando Pessoa possibly being plural lmao.

...oh, yes. contrary to what we thought a couple years ago when we had that class about the guy, other people have indeed thought the same. and written about it.

keywords "fernando pessoa mpd" give us:

this paper from 2012 (in portuguese) that... well, I *think* it claims he had mpd but it's very convoluted and abstract about it

this little... forum post? from 2009 that quotes a dead link :v

this one seems kinda cool. it regards Pessoa's positive approach to his heteronym-having as a creative condion called Pessoa Syndrome, and later mentions some Multiple Personality Order (not disorder). don't love some of its wording about mental disorders and madness... it's good to see someone consider healthy multiplicity as a thing that exists, though. it also claims Pessoa became someone with multiple personalities through his heteronymic writing, which is yet another possible origin I hadn't considered before for some fucking reason.

this one cites a dissociative process

this one straight up calls it "subject plurality"!

conclusion ig. I'm pretending to be organized here.

other keywords (like "fernando pessoa dissociative") provide some more results :0 but I've been writing this post for far too long now and would rather not read through more odd wording lmao

it really surprises me that wikipedia doesn't mention the possibility at all from what I've read and ctrl+F'ed. I thought we were being a conspiracy theorist about it but then I found even more stuff to back us up, including other people's analyses. so that's nice.

and I think this kind of thing, of plurals of the past, should be talked about more in the community. it's really interesting to say the least.

...

how does one even end a post like this one.

uhh thanks for reading!!

[not-that-n]

I read like all of Sleepless Domain yesterday and it was pretty good, its one of those stories that I know will really resonate with some people even though it didn't with me. Don't take that comment wrong, I think the comic is great and has some pretty amazing ideas, I love the world it presents and I love how the characters inside it act in relation to that.

I like all those things about magical girls being celebrities and how that's a purposeful way of making the concept feel more abstract and surreal to the average public so that girls don't hesitate to participate in such a life threatening job and how the general culture of the place sees magical girls and their organization, but I think the most compelling aspect of the comic was how different circumstances, mainly the presence of a support group, affect two people that went through the same tragedy.

If this sounds interesting to you, please go read it, it is a pretty good story that I know will resonate with some people incredibly deeply. That said, beware spoilers below

Tessa if my favorite part of the comic because of how that character reflects Undine's situation. While Undine still is hurting the loss of her three friends she takes action, while shy she still tries to better herself, to make new friends, to make new relations and get help, it is stated that she goes to therapy something that seems, well, logical considering what she goes through but outside of that she shows progress in trying to move on from this tragedy. She keeps hidden a lot because, well, of course she does, talking about such a traumatic event is incredibly hard specially if you think that opening up might put your friends in danger, but even though she is scared of this, she does open up, to Kokoro and then to her other, new friends. She is afraid but she works to Kokoro, she accepts her proposal to participate in the training club, she is afraid but she makes new friendships.

Its also important to mention Kokoro and just how much I like her as a character, originally I thought she was just too emotionally intelligent and that it made Undine's journey a bit more plain but that's kinda the point. Kokoro's character is about how a single person can change someone's life for the better through kind acts. She does struggle like everyone does, she is insecure and she went too through a great loss. She keeps somethings bottled up because she is afraid of making things about herself, of being annoying to the people she wants to help. But she still opens up to Undine, afraid of course but she does it. She makes the club a friend group and everyone ( except one character ) is better for it. Kokoro made the club a support network for everybody involved and that's incredibly cute and heartwarming, this one person made the world such a better place for most of her friends as a result of being so kind.

Then, as a parallel, you have Tessa's story. Instead of, like Undine, trying to get help and establish new relations and a support group, Tessa isolates herself, not letting herself move from that tragedy. She makes new friends, Rue (I won't talk about Rue much but she is amazing) and the whiteboy she likes (I forgot his name lmao) but never really opens to them, every time someone tries to get closer or make a friendship with her, she runs away and even with Rue, someone she actually used to hang out quite a lot and were friends if not really close, she still keeps at an arms length, never talking about her issues, never opening up. When Rue attempts to get closer, Tessa ends up hurting her, saying some (in universe) horrible things to say and breaking that friendship, she is constantly avoiding Undine, not answering and purposefully calling at a time she knows she won't be at home, and when they meet up again she is distant, not opening up, waiting until she goes away to showcase any feelings of discomfort as showcased by the comic panels only beginning to shatter when Tessa is alone.

And I find this such an interesting juxtaposition of characters because Undine tries to move on, she does feel horrible about it, saying that she feels like things are finally becoming normal when after such a tragedy things should never feel that way, she like Tessa feels like she shouldn't be moving from that moment of loss, that doing such isn't grieving correctly her friends. But unlike Tessa she doesn't let those feelings win mainly because when she doubts, Kokoro is in there to help her, to lift her up, to be the shoulder to cry on. While Tessa just goes to the cemetery every day, never opening up, lying to people about her situation and just further isolating herself.

When Rue, after all that happens, still tries to do the right thing, recognizing both that there's no excuse for Tessa treating her that way but that she is going through something incredibly hard, and asks her if she is ok, asks her, in a way, to open up about her feeling so she could help, Tessa again says no, she says that she is fine and only wanted to be alone in that moment, that she didn't mean what she said. Something that actually might not be completely bullshit, she probably never doubted Rue's magical girl ability and wanted to be alone, to isolate herself even more, and just said that so Rue couldn't get closer, and I find interesting that Tessa, in a way, said the truth to justify the pretty obvious lie that she is ok.

I just really love this, presenting two different, opposite outcomes of how people deal with tragedy makes both stories feel both more heartwarming and more tragic, when you read about Tessa you remember Undine's story and, knowing that Tessa could be going through that, it feels like adding salt to the wound because you know she can be in a better place, and while reading Undine's story you always have Tessa's on the back of your mind, feeling more heartwarming because you know how her friends helped her and what would happened if they didn't.

[cookinguptales]

The ingenuity of Armand and Louis's relationship was a deliberate choice. That's why Daniel always calls them out on their forced shit. And their actors said they made the scenes dry on purpose.

Yeah, I figured. Louis in particular gets verbose when he's trying to distance himself from his actions and feelings, though Armand is more than willing to meet him on that level. They speak much more plainly when they're letting themselves actually feel their emotions. I think it feels safer for them (again, particularly Louis) to talk about their memories like they're literary fiction rather than real life. It lets them abstract their experiences rather than confronting them head-on. I think I'd even go so far as to call it a form of dissociation they use to avoid their own trauma.

(That tendency is really just made worse by Armand's ability to literally delete traumatic memories from Louis's mind. Any time he gets too close to actually dealing with his memories and emotions, Armand can make that go away.)

Like, I think the two of them managed to live for decades indulging in that form of avoidance, mostly because the people who would have called them on their shit in the past were dead.

Both Santiago and Claudia played that role for them in the past, I think. That said, both of them kind of had a tendency towards the dramatic that sometimes made things worse, lmao. (Which... is also why Lestat is a non-starter in this conversation.) Claudia was very willing to tell Louis to shut the fuck up when he was getting too in his own head, but I think that because she was so emotionally invested, sometimes they built off of each other instead of her managing to actually deescalate his histrionics. Santiago is pretty willing to skewer both Louis and Armand, but again, he's always got to make a show of it.

Daniel is dramatic in his own way, but... I guess I would say he seems to live for the reveal? And perhaps the destruction of illusion, whether it's his own or someone else's. (I guess he's kind of the anti-Santiago in that way? Santiago seemed to love to couch his criticisms in illusions and metaphor, but Daniel doesn't have the patience for any of that at all.) That makes him a good choice for him to just shut down the bullshit without getting too mired in it himself.