#like there’s no way this man is actually a real human being

[barrenclan]

Man,,, Sky being able to find himself hits different if you consider he mightve not had the chance to do so in Barrenclan. With all the pressures of trying to make sure theres another generation of kits, he couldve faced a lot of grief from Cootstorm, his older sisters, or even Nightberry. Comments about him finding a mate, having kits... Or even comments about him not being a true tom because he couldnt father a litter.

You wrote a very compelling type of transphobia and homophobia in Barrenclan, where cats could love who they love and be who they are only so long as they "fulfilled their duties". And more than anything I'm thankful Sky is spared from that entirely.

Trying to write a type of homophobia and transphobia that works differently from the way our "real world version" does was definitely a challenge, but I'm glad you feel it worked out in an interesting and reasonable way. I wanted to develop it in a way that made sense for this specific group of animals, without any pre-existing human biases, as well as parallel it with actual pressures that people face in terms of acceptance sometimes coming at a "cost". And yes, in the end I also wanted to show how much better and easier it can be for individuals like Sky when freed of those expectations that he would've had to suffer under otherwise.

I'm also very glad that people felt represented by Sky! I always liked him a lot and I was very excited to finally get to his story.

[ptej1980]

We see what we see….

This is my first post so if you are not a Lukola, on the ship, and believe in end game my blog may not be for you.

Bit of background…I am an Aussie Lukola, and have been on the ship since the first interview dropped in 2024. I got hooked on their energy and their chemistry, the way they spoke about each other and how they looked at each other.

I don’t like to be hand fed information, I like to do my own research, and if you have a gut instinct that something is not right, it probably isn’t.

Throughout this whole cruise 🚢 I have never gotten off the ship. There has been no point. We see what we see and what we have seen can not be matched.

Rumors

Luke and Antonia (twerk)

Antonia has been known in the fandom by many names, twerk/tink/lettuce🐜 she first appeared on the scene as a friend of a friend, Jack Vine. He is someone who is very close to Luke. There are pics and rumors that they may be connected romantically. But…who knows. She started to pop up with Luke, well I am sure you know the rest. We have random pics of L&A together, no real PDA, unless you count life guard Luke where he looks like he is holding a smelly baby. To this day, no confirmation, purely speculation, random pasta pics and all connection has been scrubbed from social media. IMO they were never in a relationship, she was just a friend of a friend that he was helping out, which turned sour after papgate.

Nic and JD (twink)

JD is affectionately called twink by his friends on SM. It is not an offensive term, it was coined by artist Troy Sivan, meaning young good looking gay man. I am just stating facts. Nic and JD have been friends since they met at the RN premier. The two of them have not only been papped constantly, but have also shared pics together with their friends. They have also never confirmed a relationship, yet the magazines, social media and sub fandom have confirmed the rumor for them, labeling Jake as Nics boyfriend. JD and Nics friends time and time again have tried to correct the narrative and say it without actually saying it. I mean come on dancing around singing Pink pony club”. IMO if it looks like a bird, has feathers and flys it is probably a bird.

Now my favourite…..

Facts….

Luke and Nic

1. In Australia Luke drank, shared Nicola’s tea, ☕️ the journalist was asked about it, she commented and said “it is ok they are in love”. In Brazil Luke went to grab and share Nics spoon and Nic gives Luke her cup to drink from. In Italy 🐜 goes to hand Luke a drink and he looks like it is poison.

2. Nicola carried/carries a Polaroid of Luke on her phone case. We first saw it in Australia and continued all through to the summer. She even posted it in her End of year dump, posting her skims campaign

3. These 2 had no end of PDA, from holding hands to being human magnets, heart eyes, cuddling thigh touches, but pinching…the list goes on.

4. Both Nic and Luke were unhinged, sexual innuendo, being called out on a live interview in Australia on the first WT stop. It just kept escalating. I mean we all remember “the bridgerton ride”.

5 They broke a couch and did not hear cut in their intimacy scenes. They lounged together naked, the scenes were not choreographed and they both said it was they favourite scenes to film.

6. Nic designed a claudagh ring collection, which was articled to be a bespoke for season 3. The rings on the hands of the claudagh are very similar to that of Luke and Nicola has been wearing the rings in the committed position since the Galway premiere. Chupi also has the rings listed under the engagement section on their website

7 In Galway Luke met Nics mum in a PDA with a long hug that made Nic cry. He also spent time with her family, where her brother in law tried to get him drunk on Guinness.

8. Cast, crew and Journalists ship Nic and Luke. Most notably Ryan Wheeler, Shonda and Shondaland, their makeup artist ect.

I am sure I have missed some but this blog is getting long…..

Looking at all the facts and rumours, what do you think is the most likely ship? Lukola, Antluke or Jakola? It is not a hard question not really rocket science.

What I am getting at is never forget the facts, ignore all noise. We see what we see. Trust your gut, if you feel yourself spiral and walking the plank may I suggest emerse yourself in a good fan fic. The AO3 authors are fantastic writers and can be a great escape.

[factual-fantasy]

30 Asks! Thank you! :)) 🐮

I was able to replace my tablet chord and download a brand new/fresh FireAlpaca file and so far things seem to be all better. But if my problems come back then I will be drawing in traditional yes <XDD

Also thank you so much!! :DDD

Bella my NPC cat? :0 She would accept the pats :))

@artistiemi

Awwwwwww 🥹🥹 This drawing is so cute and soft 😭😭💞💞💞 Thank you! :)))

@chickenmilk120 (Referencing this post)

Yeah 😔😔 hoping they change it someday soon 🙏🙏🙏

(Link in question)

Oh yeah! Its right here :)

@sc3n3mo-t3to

XDDD Thank you!! :))))

@candyglumboy (Sent after this post)

Not a crush, he's in love! :0 And so is Pomni but neither of them really realize that/understand it and thus aren't really doing anything about it <XD

@rockandtoon

SOBBBSSS THANOYIYUUU SO MCUCHYHH 😭😭💞💞💞

@fandomcenteral

Aw! Cute kitty!! :DD

And thank you, currently I feel not the best 💀 but hopefully this next doctors appointment will give me some answers <:))

@kwaziis-eyepatch-real

Thank you! :) But also sorry, no.. I wouldn't be comfortable with my art being used as pfps <:(

Ehhh,, I wouldn't <:( That probably wouldn't sit well with me..

Thank you very much for checking first though! Not everyone does <:)))

WAHAGG THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! :DD Sucks that you found me offsite but glad you're here none the less! :)

And don't worry, you'll find stuff for Kinger XDDD

@captain-skyler1987

Hello! And are those guys from Dandy's world.? XD

I don't like what you're implying by turning Jangles into a werewolf and then putting chocolate on the table <XDDD

@natewithcake (Post in question)

AAAAA THANK YOU!! :DDDD

MEEHEHEEEEHEHEEEEEEEEE🎶

@bellanova137

Maybe they'll come out and make it official someday! :0 But for now having them be in love and trying to hide it from each other is fun to draw and mess with XDD

I feel like having a wolf centaur body would mostly just be incontinent and very uncomfortable.😅

Typically, wolves display crepuscular behavior, meaning they prefer times of low light and are most active around twilight, dawn, and dusk. Imagine how that would clash with your human body which is supposed to sleep at night and stay awake all day..

You'd have to change your diet to give both your human AND wolf half the nutrients they need. It would be MUCH harder to clean yourself and wipe your own bum. You'd have to pay loads for pet shampoo and grooming products PLUS the human ones you already use.. You'd spend hours trying to groom your fur and not damage your wolf skin when you try to clean your human skin with other products and vice versa. All clothes have to be custom made, you cant sit or walk comfortably in any public spaces.. You'd have to go to human doctors AND special vets to care for both of your halves...

The list just goes on <XDD being a wolf centaur would just suck in my opinion.

Ah sorry- nono you weren't being rude. I just forgot to comment back that I don't actually know what laptop I have 😅

@ink-machine-kidd

She probably snuck past whoever was in charge of her and put on the headset even though she was told not to😔

(Recent post) (Queenie and Kinger comic)

Oh nono, I just hadn't made everyone's ref sheets yet at that time. But different outfits is something Caine would try to manage! :0

Man you really had pirates on the mind huh XDD

Ohh, I see. I might not do that.. but I get the idea now <:D Thank you!

Vibes received 🤩 Thank you! :)))

Thank you!! :DD

Big wolf! :D

@samcat71470558

Thank you for the kind words <:))) So far it seems like the new tablet chord and downloading a fresh FireAlpaca has fixed all my problems. Hopefully it stays that way! 🙏

XD I think I just have a pattern with medias I'm into. If the story is mostly wholesome it feels bland. So I add a bunch of angst to it. (Octonauts is a good example)

Or alternatively, if the story is super angsty or has types of angst that I don't take well, (like character deaths) then I usually make a fix-it AU that brings everyone back to life and changes/removes a lot of the angst. (TADC and my Undertale AU: RefinedTale being good examples)

Also in my AU, Kaufmo hasn't abstracted. So she bonded with the other humans in other ways overtime. 👍

@wolfie-777

At first I assumed these were obviously fake. But a quick Google search shows that they seem to be real! :0 Although the peeled banana is clearly photoshopped <XDD

Ngl, a vanilla-like custard taste is exactly what I hoped/expected those bananas to taste like XDD

@theintroverse

La Chancla translated to "the flip flop".? <:0 I'm sorry but I don't understand..

Also is he based on a Pinata? :0 I hadn't realized- perhaps I will have to consider giving him some candy powers <XDD

[sunbl3achedfly]

Do the dead comfort you? Pt.2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Spencer does all he can to save you from the hands of a psychotic unsub, and he makes a promise to remain by your side in the aftermath of the ordeal.

Content: Dead bodies once again, (tw) torture, stalking, breakdowns, hospital visits, blood, (tw) sexual assault, trauma, Spencer to the rescue & being a tad protective of the pretty girl he only met once before, the reader realizes she can't use her morbid sense of humor to cope with everything, hurt/comfort I guess?

Author's note: Here’s part two!!! I was listening to Ethel's new album while writing this and holy moly I was in the zone and wrote most of it in one go. (Pulldrone is exactly what was playing when I wrote the scenes while she was kidnapped and I feel like the eery ambiance encapsulates the utter sense of dread and despair that hits the reader once she realizes how serious the situation is). Hope you all enjoy <33

Let me know if you guys want a part 3!!

5,331 words (it’s a long one aha)

part one

masterlist

When you finally managed to open your eyes again, a sharp, dull pain radiated through your skull. The harsh fluorescent lights above didn't help as they glared down at you. At least you weren't on the floor. Nope, just restrained to an ice-cold metal slab. Fancy that. This must be how all my patients feel before I embalm them.

You attempted to look around the room but the bright lights from above prevented you from doing so. As you regained consciousness, you began to realize that both your wrists and ankles were restrained to the embalming table. And you were only in your underwear. The panic had begun to set in and you tugged at the restraints, but to no avail, they wouldn’t budge.

"Struggling won't help", a voice echoed through the room, "I made sure of that."

Your head snapped to the right as you took in the man who now began leaning over you. At first, he didn't even look real. He stood over you, bathed in the cold, sterile glow of the morgue’s overhead lights, his figure stretched and distorted by your disoriented mind. A nightmare stitched together from shadows and flesh, from surgical steel and the sickly scent of embalming fluid. His eyes—God, his eyes—weren’t just looking at you; they were studying you, cataloging every inch of your body as if you were a specimen he was about to dissect.

On any normal day, his face may have been forgettable, the kind you’d pass on the street without a second thought. But at this moment, in this place, it was the only thing in the world. The sharp angles of his cheekbones cast deep, skeletal hollows in his skin, making him look half-dead, like something that had crawled out of the very slabs you worked on everyday. His mouth curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile, wasn’t quite a sneer—just wrong, like he wasn’t used to making expressions that mimicked human emotion.

Then came his voice, it slithered into your ears, so sickly sweet that it made you nauseous, "You’re quite the fighter, aren’t you? But they all stop fighting eventually.”

You tried your best to focus on anything else at that moment, the details of everything else but him. The thin, latex gloves that he wore, they were stretched way too tight across his knuckles. The way his coat —a pristine white lab coat, because of course it was—fluttered slightly as he moved, the motion strangely elegant. You could smell him too. He smelled clean, too clean, like antiseptic and soap, but underneath that all was something rotten, something decayed. Maybe it was just your imagination. Maybe it wasn’t.

As he began mulling over which embalming tool to pick up first, his fingers hovering over them as if one of them was beckoning to be chosen, you realized just how exposed you were. For the first time since waking up, at the mercy of this thing, wearing a man's skin—you started to believe you might actually die here.

The sound of splintering wood as the mortuary door crashed open was deafening. You flinched violently, your body instinctively pulling against the straps that pinned you to the cold metal table. Relief and terror fought for dominance in your chest.

They’re here. Oh God, they’re finally here.

But then, just when you had begun to relax for the first time in hours, you felt the scalpal press harder against your neck. The tip of it broke through skin, not deep, but enough to make your breath catch.

"Don’t move,” the unsub growled under his breath. His voice was sharp, his calm façade cracking under the pressure. You could feel the tremor in his hands now, the desperation radiating off him.

Your pulse thundered, the pain from the cut on your arm flaring as you tried to keep still. The various cuts and injuries that littered your body were nothing compared to the fear the tiny blade at your neck instilled in you. You bit down on your lip to stop it from trembling. Don’t panic. Don’t make this worse. They’re here. They’ll get me out of this. Please let them get me out of this.

"FBI! Drop the weapon!" A commanding voice filled the room.

"Come any closer and I slit her throat!" The man bellowed. Up until this point he had not raised his voice once, and the sheer volume caused you to flinch again, the scalpal breaking through more skin. You could feel a warm liquid trail over your collarbone.

Your eyes darted to the doorway, tears stinging as you caught sight of the dark vests, the guns, the agents—saviors. But the unsub only pressed closer, his body partially shielding you. The scalpel was an unrelenting threat, cold and unmoving against your skin. The sharp sting at your neck anchored you to the moment. A hot tear slipped down your temple. I’m going to die here.

From Spencer's position in the doorway, his sharp eyes took everything in. The unsub’s trembling hands, the scalpel pressed against your throat, your bloodied arm, and—God—your state of undress. His chest clenched painfully, guilt and anger battling inside him. He only hoped the unsub hadn’t gotten too far before they arrived.

She’s absolutely terrified. One wrong move and she’s dead. Come on Spencer, think!

His jaw tightened as he saw the unsub’s gaze flick toward him, possessive and unhinged. Spencer’s hands twitched, his instinct to charge forward barely restrained. Stay calm. She needs you to stay calm.

"You don’t want to do this,” he finally said, his voice softer than usual. He took a slow step forward, keeping his hands visible. Carefully, he raised them, shifting the gun away from the man. He was acutely aware of the five other guns trained on him, ready to fire if he made a wrong move, which was why he was willing to take the risk. “This doesn’t have to end badly. Let her go, and we can talk this through."

There was a slight pause in the unsub's movements.

“You’re in control right now,” Spencer continued, his tone gentle, almost soothing. “But if you hurt her, that control is gone. You don’t want that. You don’t want to make this worse.”

Spencer’s gaze flicked to yours, meeting your tear-filled eyes. You looked at him like he was your only lifeline. The desperation in your expression hit him like a punch to the gut. The only thought running through his mind like a mantra was that he needed to get her out of there, fast.

The tension in the room was suffocating, each second seemed to stretch on for eternity. Then, the unsub shifted slightly, but it was enough for Derek Morgan to lunge forward like a strike of lightning.

The scalpel hit the floor with a sharp clang as Hotch slammed into the unsub, yanking him away from the table. Chaos exploded around you—shouts, the scuffle of bodies struggling—but it barely registered. Your chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, your throat raw as you fought for breath, tears blurring your vision.

Spencer was at your side in an instant, undoing the restraints that held you down, while simultaneously giving you a once-over to take in any serious injuries he may need to keep in mind for the first responders.

You were in such a state that you barely registered whose hands were touching you and your heart rate immediately spiked. Your eyes were shut and you began thrashing on the table whilst whimpering loudly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s over,” Spencer’s voice broke through the haze.

You blinked, realizing he was kneeling beside you, his hands moving to undo the straps that held you down. You flinched as his fingers brushed your wrist, a sob escaping your throat before you could stop it.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “He can't hurt you anymore. I promise.”

As the final strap came loose, you tried to sit up, but your body wouldn’t cooperate. Your legs felt weak, your hands trembling so badly you couldn’t push yourself upright.

“Here—let me help you.” Spencer’s hands were gentle as he guided you into a sitting position, his movements careful, almost hesitant.

The moment you were upright, you instinctively reached for him, clutching his shirt as your body shook with silent sobs.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you. His vest felt stiff under your cheek, but his touch was warm, steadying. “You’re safe. I promise, you’re safe now.”

You couldn’t stop crying, the reality of everything crashing over you. His hand rested lightly on the back of your head, the other drawing soothing circles on your back.

Spencer’s heart twisted at how small you felt in his arms, how vulnerable. Gone was the sarcastic, spunky girl who had left such a strong impression on him after just one meeting. He held you tighter, his own breath uneven as he fought to keep his emotions in check. She’s okay. She’s okay now. But she’s so scared. I need her to know she’s safe.

When you finally managed to speak, your voice was barely a whisper. “He almost…” Yet another sob prevented you from continuing.

Spencer shook his head, cutting you off gently. “But he didn’t. He didn’t, okay? You’re here. You’re safe.”

You buried your face in his chest again, your fingers clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. And in that moment, he didn’t care about protocol or what anyone else thought. All that mattered was comforting the girl with the shattered spirit in his arms.

The sharp, sterile scent of the hospital was the first to hit you as the nurse wheeled you through the emergency room doors. The fluorescent lights felt too bright, their clinical glow exposing every bruise, every scrape, and every jagged line of your vulnerability. They reminded you of the lights in the embalming room. The embalming room. That man. The tools piercing your skin.

You were vaguely aware of Spencer at your side, walking just close enough that his hand occasionally brushed against the armrest of the wheelchair. You wanted to tell him you were fine, that he didn’t have to stay, but every time you opened your mouth to speak, the words got stuck in your throat. You didn't want to do this alone.

The nurse guided you into a small room, where a doctor was already waiting. Spencer stopped just outside the doorway, shifting awkwardly, his hands buried in his pockets.

“We’ll take it from here,” the nurse said gently, giving him a polite but firm smile.

Spencer hesitated, his eyes darting between you and the nurse. You could see the conflict on his face, his shoulders tense like he was bracing for an argument.

You managed to find your voice, though it came out weaker than you intended. “Spencer…”

His gaze snapped to yours expectantly, his features softening.

“Can you… stay?” The words were barely a whisper, but the way his expression shifted—relief, determination, and something almost protective flashing across his face—made you feel a little steadier.

“Of course,” he said without hesitation, stepping into the room. He pulled up a chair near the bed, sitting close but giving you enough space not to feel overwhelmed.

The doctor began her examination, her voice calm and clinical as she asked you questions. “Any dizziness? Nausea? Are you in pain anywhere besides your arm?”

You answered automatically, your voice hollow as your mind wandered. The doctor’s questions blurred together with the sting of antiseptic on your wounds, and the rustle of the hospital gown you’d been asked to change into felt deafening in the quiet.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the unsub’s hands on you, the way his gaze had stripped you of every ounce of dignity. The memory was suffocating, curling around your chest like a vice.

Spencer’s voice cut through the fog, grounding you. “Hey,” he uttered softly, his brow furrowed with concern. “You okay?”

You blinked, realizing the doctor had finished and was watching you with the same concerned expression.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice lacked conviction.

Spencer didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press. Instead, he waited until the doctor left the room before leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he studied you.

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke up again, "You're not fine."

You looked down at your hands, the hospital gown feeling too thin, too revealing, despite being more covered than you were earlier. You didn't know how to respond.

Spencer hesitated, noticing the sudden vulnerability in your expression. “I uh... I need to ask you a few questions… about what happened. It’s just procedure—to make sure this guy gets what he deserves. We don't have to do it now, but I'm here when you're ready.”

The sincerity in his tone made something in you crack. You weren’t ready to talk, not yet, but the way he said it—as if there was no question that he would be there for as long as you needed—made you feel a little less alone.

“You don’t have to stay,” you said quietly, though the thought of him leaving made your stomach twist.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “Not until you’re ready for me to, at least.”

You glanced up at him, expecting to see pity in his eyes, but all you saw was quiet determination. It made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t expected.

You took a shaky breath, your hands clenching into fists as you tried to steady yourself. “Ask the questions,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but firm with determination.

Spencer’s brow furrowed as he leaned forward slightly, his voice soft but insistent. “You don’t have to right now. We can wait until you’re ready. You don’t have to rush through it.”

But you shook your head, a flicker of something fierce in your eyes. “No… I want to do this now. If I don’t… I won’t ever.” The words tasted bitter in your mouth, but you pressed on, your heart pounding as the weight of what you were about to do sank in. “I need to nail this bastard. For me, for them… for everyone he’s hurt.”

Spencer remained quiet for a moment, watching you carefully, weighing your words. Finally, he nodded, his expression unreadable but softening with understanding. “Alright..." he hesitated, "This is going to sound silly, but can you close your eyes for me and tell me... what he did to you?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the request. For a moment, you didn’t know how to react. But the quiet, sincere way he asked you made something inside you settle, just a little. The room felt quieter now, the world shrinking down to just the two of you.

Closing your eyes, you tried to push the memories to the surface, to bring them into focus. Your heart beat faster, but you steeled yourself, knowing this was the only way to make him pay.

"When I woke up from being knocked out… I was tied down to the embalming table in my underwear, the straps were tight," you began slowly, rubbing your wrists absentmindedly. The sensation of the straps still lingered, and it made your skin crawl. "I couldn’t move."

Spencer stayed silent, his gaze never leaving you, his presence grounding you even as the weight of the memories pressed in. "Take your time," he said quietly, voice gentle but firm.

You took a shaky breath, nodding, trying to find the strength to continue. "He... he just stood there for a while, watching me. I could feel his eyes on me, like... he was enjoying it." You paused, swallowing the bitterness in your throat. "I couldn’t even scream. I just had to wait for him to decide what he wanted to do next."

Spencer’s jaw tightened, his mind was piecing it together, filling in the gaps even if you didn’t want him to. But he said nothing, giving you the space to speak. You appreciated that more than you could express.

There was no avoiding it. You had to talk about it. You had to say the words, had to help the FBI put together the full picture. You took a slow breath, trying to keep your voice steady.

“He—he used different embalming tools.”

Spencer looked up sharply, he noticed the pained expression on your face and realised just how hard this was going to be for you.

Your heart started to pound. As soon as you said it, the memories came rushing back.

The metal table was freezing against your bare skin, your body trembling with something beyond the cold. You pulled at your restraints, but they were too tight, digging into your wrists and ankles.

“I’ve always been fascinated by preservation,” the unsub mused, his fingers trailing over a set of gleaming instruments. “The way death can be… delayed. How a body can be made beautiful again.”

You didn’t say anything. Your throat was raw from screaming earlier, and you were running out of ways to keep yourself from panicking.

The unsub turned, holding up an embalming trocar—long, sharp, and glinting under the fluorescent light. “Did you know this is used to remove fluids and gases from a body before preservation?” He traced the tip lightly down your abdomen, not pressing hard enough to break skin. “It’s important to prepare the body properly.”

Your breathing hitched, and you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself not to react.

His expression darkened. “You’re supposed to be still,” he murmured, and without warning, he pressed down.

Pain flared white-hot in your side as the tip of the tool pricked your skin, just enough to draw blood. You gasped, your body instinctively jerking against the restraints.

The unsub sighed, shaking his head. “Messy,” he muttered, wiping the small bead of blood with his gloved hand. “I’ll have to try again.”

You inhaled sharply, coming back to yourself. The hospital bed, the warmth of the blanket, the steady presence of Spencer beside you—it was enough to pull you out of the memory, but your skin still burned where the tool had touched you.

Spencer’s knuckles were white where he gripped his knees. His breathing was slow, controlled, but his eyes—his eyes were burning with something deep and unsettled.

“He used a trocar,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “He—he didn’t go deep, but he wanted to see me flinch.”

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, like he was trying to will away the image forming in his mind. “And the other injuries?” he asked, his voice strained.

You swallowed. “A needle. He… he injected something into my leg. Some kind of preservative, I think. It burned.”

Another flash—

The burn spread up your thigh, a fire beneath your skin. You cried out, muscles seizing, your entire body locking up.

The unsub tilted his head, watching with interest. “Formaldehyde is quite versatile,” he said conversationally. “It won’t kill you. Not yet. But I wonder how much your body can handle before it starts shutting down?”

You bit down on your lip, hard enough to taste blood.

You took a slow, shaky breath, forcing yourself back into the present. The hospital bed. The warmth of the blanket. The steady presence of Spencer beside you.

Spencer’s hands had curled into fists. His jaw was clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitching.

“What else?” he asked, voice strained.

You hesitated again. “He used the embalming pump.”

Spencer’s breath audibly caught in his throat.

The hum of the embalming machine filled the room, a steady, mechanical noise that only added to the horror of the moment.

You were still strapped down, too weak to fight, but your breath was coming in panicked gasps as the unsub adjusted the tube connected to the pump.

“This is a test,” he murmured, almost absently. “A small amount, just to see how the body reacts.”

You barely processed his words before you felt the cool sensation of liquid seeping into your veins.

Your vision blurred for a moment. It wasn’t enough to kill you—not yet. But it left you dizzy, sluggish, your limbs feeling even heavier than before.

“Fascinating,” the unsub muttered to himself. “I wonder how much you can take.”

You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "The last thing he did... he told me exactly what he was going to do to me. Everything he'd done to his other victims—every single cut, every injection, every—"

Your breath hitched, your throat closing around the words.

"But I—I was going to be his favorite," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Because I had spunk. Because I fought back."

A shudder ran through you, your entire body recoiling from the memory. You couldn't say the rest. You didn't need to say the rest. The way his voice had darkened, the way he'd described it, savoring every detail like a promise—

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that could block it out.

Spencer's hand closed over yours, grounding you. His grip was firm, steady, as if willing you to feel something other than that sickening sense of violation crawling under your skin.

“That’s enough,” he said, his voice low but unwavering.

You shook your head, your breathing uneven. “But you need to know—”

“I do know,” Spencer cut in, his voice sharp but gentle. His jaw was clenched, his eyes burning with something unreadable—but underneath it, there was a quiet, unshakable promise. “You’ve given us enough.” He exhaled, slow and controlled, but his next words carried the full weight of his conviction.

“He’s never going to hurt anyone ever again. I swear to you—I’ll make sure he rots in prison for the rest of his life.”

A sob caught in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You weren’t ready to cry—not yet. But for the first time since it happened, you felt the faintest flicker of relief.

Spencer wasn’t just listening. He was hearing you. And he was going to make sure you got justice.

You weren’t alone in this.

And for now, that was enough.

As the night wore on, the hours began to blur together. You knew you wouldn't be able to sleep that night, and as guilty as it made you feel, Spencer didn't seem to mind. Throughout the night, nurses came and went, checking your vitals, re-bandaging your arm, and murmuring reassurances that didn’t quite reach you. And through it all, Spencer stayed.

The hospital room had settled into an almost eerie calm. Machines beeped softly in the background, and the dim lighting made everything feel slower as if the world outside had paused. You were sitting up in the hospital bed, the scratchy blanket pulled tight around your shoulders. Spencer sat in the chair beside you, his legs crossed, thumbing through a book he’d found somewhere in the waiting area at a speed you didn't think was humanly possible.

The silence was interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. The FBI agent that had first pushed the unsub away from you in the embalming room stepped inside. At first, his presence intimidated you, his muscular frame and broad shoulders made him an imposing figure, but there was an undeniable warmth in his deep brown eyes. His smooth, dark skin contrasted with the sharp angles of his jawline, and a hint of stubble shadowed his face. He was holding two cups of hospital jello, one red, the other green.

“Thought you two could use a little pick-me-up,” He said, holding the cups aloft with a charming smile. “It’s not gourmet, but it’s better than nothing.”

You managed to return a weak smile back, taking the red jello as he handed it to you. Spencer set his book aside and accepted the green one without hesitation.

“Thanks, Morgan,” Spencer said.

Morgan gave you both a once-over, his gaze softening when it landed on you. “If you need anything, just holler. But I’ll give you two some space.” He gave Spencer a pointed look as if to silently remind him to keep an eye on you, then slipped out of the room.

You began poking at the jello with the plastic spoon. The silence stretched between you and Spencer, not uncomfortable, just heavy with unspoken things.

"You know", you said finally, your voice a little raspy, “jello might be the most depressing food ever invented.”

Spencer glanced up from his cup, his lips quirking in a faint smile. There she is. “It does have a strange texture. Did you know it’s made from gelatin, which comes from—”

“Animal bones,” you finished for him, giving him a sidelong look. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

He blinked, a little surprised, then nodded. “Right. I guess... you would know that.”

You smirked faintly, the smallest flicker of your usual sarcasm peeking through. “What can I say? I'm full of fun facts. Comes with the job, really.”

Spencer tilted his head, studying you once again. "Your job... I can't imagine it's easy," he said carefully, his voice gentle.

You hesitated, your spoon hovering just above the jello. For a brief moment, you considered brushing him off with a joke or changing the subject like you usually would. But when you met his gaze, there was something about the way he was looking at you. God, stop looking at me like that. His unwavering, earnest stare made you feel safe enough to answer honestly.

“It isn't most of the time” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “But it’s worth it.”

Spencer didn’t respond right away. Instead, he kept his gaze on you, his expression soft yet intent—like he was trying to unravel everything you weren’t saying. His eyes, sharp with quiet intelligence, searched yours as if they could decode the weight you carried, the thoughts you never voiced, the depth you kept hidden from the world.

There was something about you that fascinated him—not just your words, but the silences between them, the guarded way you spoke about things that mattered. He could tell there was so much more beneath the surface, layers of emotion and experience you refused to share. And yet, just for a moment, it felt like he could see them anyway.

He finally spoke, "Why?"

You sighed, setting the jello cup on the bedside table. “Because… when I embalm and prepare a body, when I make someone look like the person they were before…” You paused, swallowing hard. “I get to give their family one last chance to say a proper goodbye. One last moment where they can see the person they loved, not the person the world left behind.”

Spencer kept his gaze steady as he took in your words. He could tell how much those words meant to you. Surprisingly, his expression held a little bit of understanding and even awe.

"That's... incredible." he said finally, "I had never thought of it that way."

You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, well… not everyone thinks it's incredible. Most people just think it’s creepy."

Spencer’s lips quirked into the smallest smile. "I mean, technically, you do spend a lot of time with dead bodies."

You gave him a pointed look. "And you spend a lot of time profiling serial killers, but you don’t see me calling you creepy."

Spencer tilted his head, considering that for a moment. "Fair point."

A comfortable silence settled between you, the heaviness of the conversation lifting just a little.

Before the conversation could continue you blurted out, "Thank you."

Spencer glanced at you, “For what?”

“For staying,” you said simply.

He hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. “I couldn’t leave,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Not when you…” He trailed off, looking down at his hands. “I just couldn’t.”

You nodded, understanding more than words could convey. For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel completely alone.

As you leaned back against the pillows, your eyes growing heavy, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you were going to be okay.

After your third day in the hospital, you were finally discharged. The hospital doors slid open with a quiet hiss, letting in a crisp evening breeze. You inhaled deeply, filling your lungs with fresh air—something that didn’t reek of antiseptic or overcooked hospital food. The gauze beneath your shirt still tugged slightly with each breath, but the soreness was manageable.

Freedom. Finally.

Beside you, Spencer hovered with the same quiet intensity he’d had when you arrived at the hospital, arms crossed like he wasn’t entirely convinced letting you leave was a good idea.

“You know, I appreciate the escort,” you said, adjusting the strap of your bag over your good shoulder, “but unless you’re planning on kidnapping me back to my hospital bed, I think I can manage from here.”

Spencer blinked. “I just— I wanted to make sure you got out okay.”

You smirked. “What, did you think I’d trip over my own feet and fall into traffic?”

“I— statistically, you’re not at full mobility, and with your pain medication, your reflexes might be slightly impaired—”

You rolled your eyes. “Spencer, I’m not going to faceplant into the street.” Then, after a beat: “At least, not immediately.”

The corners of his lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile but failing miserably.

The silence stretched for a moment. For all his intelligence, Spencer still looked like he wanted to say something but hadn’t quite figured out the words. His hands twitched at his sides, like he was debating reaching out.

You tilted your head at him. “You okay there, Doc?”

He cleared his throat, straightening. “I just— I hope you know that you, um… don’t have to go through this alone.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I mean, I was alone in the embalming room with a serial killer, so technically—”

Spencer shot you a look.

You snorted. “Okay, okay, I get it. Not the time."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just meant… I know how trauma can make people isolate themselves, and I just wanted you to know that you have people who care.”

You nodded slowly. There was a warmth in your chest at the sincerity in his voice—softer, earnest.

“Well, in that case,” you said, shifting your weight to your good side, “since you care so much, would you... wanna get dinner sometime?”

Spencer’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. “Dinner?”

“Yeah, you know. The thing where people sit at a table, order food, and consume it?” You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I mean, unless you don’t want to—”

“No! I mean— I do! I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, looking both overwhelmed and adorable in a way that made you bite back a grin.

You decided to put him out of his misery. “Spencer," your voice softened, "I’m trying to ask you on a date.”

He froze.

“Oh.”

You smirked. “Yeah. Oh.”

Spencer’s brain seemed to reboot in real time. “I—yes! Yes, I would like that.”

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. “Good. You can pick the place.”

He nodded, still looking slightly dazed. “Right. I, um, I’ll text you.”

You chuckled, stepping back toward the curb where your ride was waiting. “See you soon, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer stood there as you got into the car, still blinking, like he was trying to process what had just happened.

As you pulled away, you saw him through the rearview mirror—standing there, hand running through his hair, a small, boyish smile tugging at his lips.

For the first time in a long time, despite everything that had happened, something felt right.

[see-arcane]

The Book: Victor is 20

The casting: 45 year old man

They keep aging Victor up to Appropriate Dad-like Age rather than allowing him to be the unhealthy fainting fever-brained college kid barely out of puberty because

1) Easier paternal comparison with the Creature and

2) It's a lot harder to be aghast at his abandoning !!1! of said Creature and definitely for real responsibility for all the murdering he does when you actually highlight his youth and the unhealed death trauma that spurred him, a 'man' barely past being a boy, to chase the concept of a better human being to spite death

Like, imagine seeing Victor Frankenstein standing beside the Creature as they appear in the book.

A young and stunned David beholding the Goliath he made, misplaced, and has met again only after said Goliath took a turn for the monstrous. A talented boy who invented a wretched man. There's so much more meat to be had with that contrast than with 40-year-old Victor VS Generic Man-Monster in His Prime Creature.

This isn't just a warped parable about parenthood and the way society can form its own monsters. It's about a desperate young man, distraught at the inability to prevent grief and loss, who throws everything into making the 'ideal' impervious improved human. He wanted to make something better than himself and frail humanity, but fucked up colossally. And isn't that something we never see in Frankenfilms!

Imagine a movie that reminds us that Victor wasn't just chasing pure hubris in cackling mad scientist fashion. He wanted to cure death itself so no one would hurt from loss as he did (and never moved past). A child building a solid imaginary friend to magically fix the problem of his pain as masked by scientific cause. The tragedy in it being that the very thing he made to repel death was the figure who would go on to murder all the loved ones he had left in poorly aimed vengeance.

I don't doubt that Oscar Isaac will do well in his role, however del Toro steers him. I'm sure I'll enjoy it. But I don't really need another middle-aged Victor Frankenstein.

I want to see the actual haggard and wretched boy, limping through his final days of life in an arctic waste. A child crushed by what amounted to an elaborate toy he made in lieu of processing his mother's death.

But I won't hold my breath for it.

[macsimagines]

YANDERE EX-BOYFRIEND!RAN HAITANI PT.2

Ok so sorry for the long wait on this I wanted this to be soooo good since everyone loved the first one! I really hope it lives up to everyone's expectations. please let me know what you guys think

MINORS DNI WARNINGS: YANDERE BEHAVIOR, MURDER MENTION, DUBCON, BLOOD KINK, SEXUALLY EXPLICIT, AFAB READER

You're starting to realize you never really knew Ran Haitani. He always kept you at arms length before, like you only ever existed when it was convenient for him to give you attention.

The truth was that you never wanted to get to know the real Ran Haitani. The man that's cuddling you just hours after watching him murder someone with his bare hands.

He has you wrapped in his arms, still covered in drying blood, when you wake up, and when you start to stir you get ready to scream. But he's instantly covering your mouth, with his filthy hands, and muffling any shriek you think of letting out.

Ran is fighting you into the bathroom, and tearing you out of your clothes and ridding himself of his own. This man is pushing you into the shower, turning it to full heat and letting scalding water fall onto the both of you.

He's lathering your body with a combination of a very expensive brand of soap, that he got just for you, and the blood still caked to his knuckles.

You're focused in on the way it slowly swirls down the drain, eyes zeroed in at your feet. Ignoring the burning water. It's touching you, god its all over you, the blood, his hands, his arms wrapping from behind you, his breath tickling at the back of your neck, his lips meeting the side of your cheek.

The hot water does nothing to stop the uncontrollable shaking you're doing. You don't want to set him off but - fuck - you can't stop the fearful quaking he has you in.

His smell, his touch, the blood, all the fucking blood being washed down dripping from where his hands touch your body. The blood is on you, it's covering you, its smothering you-

Suddenly he's tangling a fist in your hair and pulling you back so your eyes meet his. Ran's gaze is almost lazy, but there's an underlying edge, like he's ready to pounce out of his own skin and onto you.

"Look at what that fucker did to you," he whispers leaning down to brush his lips with yours, "He got you so fucking dirty, it's pissin' me off."

His hand is tightening in your locks, and you're whimpering in his iron grip. He was never violent with you, maybe rougher during sex but never quite so... domineering.

"I'm s-sorry," you whimper, trying to find some way to pacify him, "P-please, make me clean?"

Suddenly he's snaking his hand from your hair to your neck in a much softer grip, and pulling you in for a gentle kiss. You almost want to puke. Not at the fact that you had offered that, but the fact that his simple sweet touch is washing you in wave after wave of relief.

You kiss back, disgusted at how eagerly your lips meet and match his. Of course, they meld together like they were made to just kiss Ran. And you're letting him bend you over, letting him lavish your necks and back in his kisses, letting him run his hands all over your body until they stop running red and bloody.

He thinks he likes that look on you. Bloody, soapy and wet. He thinks his blood and yours mixing together would look the best of course.

And you don't fight back when he's attempting to insert himself into you, you just choke back tears when you realize that you're actually wet. Oh god, he was turning you on, he was actually going to fuck you with the last remnants of a murdered person's blood running down his shower drain.

Ran is groaning as he stretches you, tight baby, so fucking tight, he knows no one has been playing with his pussy. He made sure that anyone who tried ended up being buried somewhere they'd never be found.

He makes sure to tell you too. In graphic morbid detail, thrusting at a steady pace. "Every fucking kill I made, every fucking shred of humanity I had, all the blood coverin' my hands," he can feel you start to shake, he's not sure if its the coming pleasure or your fear, he just knows it feels so fucking good, "Was so worth it to get back in this cunt. My cunt."

You're whimpering now, tears falling freely on your cheeks, praying to god to let him finish soon, or to let you cum. And Ran is fucking harder, faster, like your cries are just egging him on.

Over and over, a sharp thrust into your cervix, and the occasional slap on your ass, making your pussy flutter around him, like you were trying to milk him.

"Why would you ever try to give this to another man?" he grits out, suddenly slapping your pussy, "Does anyone fuck it as good as me? No one loves it and you like I do, baby."

Your eyes are rolling into the back of your head as he keeps an impossible rhythm, fingers suddenly reaching between your legs to run circles around your sensitive to clit.

"See? I know how to make you feel good, I'm the only one that gets to make you feel good."

You're babbling please and more like they're goddamned prayers and you swear you're loosing your sanity the closer you get to cumming. You just need a little more of a push-

"Fuck, I love you," Ran is groaning, pushing into you faster, fighting against your tightening cunt to get in deeper, to thrust in harder.

And that has you breaking, your legs are shaking and Ran has to grip your hip so hard to keep you steady. You can already feel the bruise starting to form under his palm. And your pussy is fluttering so violently, your cumming around him so hard, you can feel him push all the way into you, not caring that you're blacking out.

Ran is coming inside something he'd either be wearing a condom for or pulling out. He never finished in you and now he's forcing all of his cum into you not letting a single drop go to waste.

"Love you so fuckin' much," he grits out, just as your vision is starting to fade again.

You're waking again, naked in clean sheets and blankets. This isn't Ran's old apartment. Its too large and fancy with a window over looking the city. Then again, so much has happened in the past 12 hours and Ran is... so different.

Speaking of which, you see him sitting at the edge of the bed, turned from you and not so much as glancing in your direction. Just hunched over and looking at the floor.

In this solid quiet moment you look him over and fully notice all the changes. He's... skinnier than you remember, and he really did cut off all his beautiful hair. What the hell happened to him?

"I thought I was gonna die without you," he confesses, as though he could hear the thoughts racing in your mind, "At first, I was sure you'd come to your senses and realize I love you. That you were goin' to come back after you were done coolin' off like always."

Bitterness fills you and you try to look away. You just watched him commit murder and he still has the gall to act like that- "I was wrong." Your eyes snap up and you see he's turned to look at you. Actually look at you. It feels so different than the nonchalance he usually greets you with.

"I'm not a man that gets worked up about women. They can come and go for all I care. But you're MY woman. I fucking need you."

He's crawling closer to you, eyes never leaving yours as he inches nearer and nearer, cornering you like a cowering animal about to become prey.

"You made me want you, need you, live for you," Ran whispers suddenly on top of your shaking body, "I'm not lettin' you go. You need me to fucking live."

His hands hands are wrapping around your throat, not tight enough to constrict your airway but just enough to remind you that they're there.

"Say it. Say you fucking need me, say you want me, tell me you love me!" he's demanding, getting visibly more desperate and unhinged, but his hands... They're so gentle around your throat.

"I protected you! From every fucker that thought they could take you! Look around you! I got this place just for you!"

You're so shocked at his confessions, at the fact that he's loosing his calm composure, at his tear falling onto your face.

"Wh-why won't you say anything!? Say you fucking love me or else I'll-"

"I love you."

Its almost like a switch had been flipped. Three simple words have him suddenly stopping and calming down, almost like a trance. "Y-you do?" He's asking, his voice quiet and small. His shoulders loose the tense edge and you can see the way his muscle relax.

"Y-yes," you nod, not entirely sure if you really do or not. It's just what he needs to hear, you realize.

He lets out a breath and embracing you in his arms. Falling fully onto the bed with you. "Put me through hell," he mumbles burying his face into your chest like a child, "I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, I couldn't even breath right without you. You won't do this to me again?"

"I-I won't," you nod, unsure of how to react to all this back and forth with him, "I swear Ran. I love you."

"Hmmm," he moans holding you closer to him still, "You fuckin' better. I don't wanna think about what I'd do if you didn't."

You your head and let your fingers play in his hair. Just how he likes. Maybe if you soothe him enough you'll be able to get away, maybe you can-

"I'll fucking kill myself," he suddenly says, tone so serious it has chills snaking up your spine, "Kill everyone you love, then me and make you fucking watch. Ok?"

"O-ok, Ran," you nod, eyes filling with tears, believing every word. "I w-won't try to leave again."

"Good. I love you so much, Y/N."

[plaidos]

I looked through your history after previous ask and I feel bad being so nice you’re a genuine bigot. Like I thought maybe if I explained in a kind manner “hey yknow you prolly didn’t intend to be so weird about this but-“ you might be nicer but like no you just actually hate transmascs that’s wild. I really hope you can meet a transman one day and a have real convo and realize we’re not these monsters you seem to want us to be-but I have minimal hope because you’re clearly a radfem who can’t admit it to herself, which is very sad. Part of me wanted to refute your points, write out about my experiences and try to explain but idk it’s not really worth the time when you just have so much hate. Btw stop calling everything harassment-people acknowledging your bad opinions is not harassment-especially when you invite others to respond.

Also guys is a gender neutral term usually, At least how I’m used to it being used. I apologize sincerely if that made you feel upset, it was not my intent and I don’t wish to misgender anyone. However I’m friends with several transfem people and they’ve never had issues, though that’s not an excuse and I’ll try to avoid it in the future if it’s something transfem people are actually upset by.

guys is not a gender neutral phrase, and asserting that it is is sexist. this is the kind of thing i’m talking about! i appreciate you listening to me when i pointed it out but... you know asserting masculine-coded words aree "gender neutral" is just about as classic sexism as it gets? like back when humanity was just called "man" levels of sexist!

by the way i can guarantee you that i personally am friends with more transmascs than you have ever met in your life, and none of them think i’m a “frothing bigot” who “hates them” — they think i’m a feminist & they understand that when i talk about the way men oppress and marginalise me i’m not talking about them personally and specifically because they aren’t sexist antifeminists.

[dross-the-fish]

huh Why do you write Edward like THAT?

Honestly? There's something fun about writing a really villainous character. One who actually does awful things and makes all the good people around him question how much they are willing to look the other way if it serves their purpose. Edward serves not only as a villain but as a reflection of the evil otherwise good people will excuse out of "necessity" and I hope to pose the question. "At what point has necessity become convenience? At what point are you looking the other way because you've bonded with him?" I want Quincey and Watson in particular to start asking these questions of themselves and to feel tested by Edward's presence in their group. Edward does all of the things the rest of the crew won't. He is not burdened by their sense of ethics and while he does care for the people he loves he's not even above hurting them. He's cruel, selfish and he's self-aware enough to hate himself for being like this, especially when he's Jekyll. He also knows that he's being used because none of the others are willing to go the lengths he will to get answers or to defeat their enemies. Adam is on a redemption arc, Erik is tired of killing, Theo is terrified of giving in to becoming the monster she can feel consuming her more with each passing year. Larry will never forgive himself for what he's done as a werewolf. Selma has crossed several lines already and is re-evaluating her stance on monsters. But it's Watson and Quincey in particular. The ones who have never fallen from grace, that Edward has the most resentment for. He DESPISES them both because being good is easy for them. They don't have temptations or vices so they automatically condemn people that do, even while they consider themselves kind and generous. Meanwhile both of them are allowing Edward to do whatever he needs to cure Larry and Theo. They won't cross any lines themselves and Edward knows that they tolerate him because it means they can continue to view themselves as untainted. it's Edward doing the killing, the unethical experiments, breaking every law known to man and god. It's Edward who is evil. Not them... ...right? I also really wanted to write a foil to Watson, someone who is an unquestionably good person. Someone effortlessly kind and humble. Of all the members of the crew Edward hates Watson the most and a lot of that hate is envy. Watson represents everything Jekyll is meant to be, everything Jekyll was externally. An upstanding middle aged doctor with a good reputation and a flawless track record. Watson is the real deal through and through. Jekyll/Hyde hates him and wishes he could be him and then hates him twice over again for that envy. I enjoy the challenge of writing a character who is an objectively bad person while still making him feel human. Part of me wants to see how far I can push this without making him completely irredeemable.

[straycalamities]

old aromantic man yells at cloud under cut AUGH

maybe its the aro, but i also genuinely think its not only aros that yearn to have a significant relationship with a "best friend" that goes into the "gray area of romance"

i quote that because it literally doesnt all have to be seen as romantic is the thing and i think people deep down understand this on some level and yearn for it

i think the only thing i truly dislike overall from romo-shipping culture (other than omegaverse existing. rage. hatred.) is that it kinda devours people just being besties or just being so signifcant to each other in a non-romantic way. but then everyone's turning to hyping up "familial" relationships made it even worse. cuz now it's like oh they're non-romantic? oohhh they must be siblings...or parent/child...

like no what if people were just friends and that was also seen as significant. or enemies. or foils. or even coworkers. and all of that be seen as significant for what it is

i feel like this is especially true in fandoms into real life ppl/celebrities/influencers/etc. i feel like that's where it actually starts to become a big frustrating problem

fiction is something else because you can simply change the rules if you want, in your head, with headcanons, but you cant (or at least you really shouldnt and im judging you if you do) headcanon real people. if they say otherwise about this, or shipping, or whatever then ok thats their prerogative, BUT then ppl take one guy (gnc) saying this to mean they have permission for every guy (gnc) and it's like ok idc if people have been doing this with real living persons for centuries, we've been doing all kindsa other jacked up shit to each other for millennia am i supposed to suddenly be okay with that too because it's always been done? 😭 idk i dont mean for this to be all about how i dont support RPF and how parasocializing and celebrity worship has fucked over everyone's brains and warped them into dehumanizing people as normal even more than all of us being so online in general has and finding every buzzword that sounds like justification they can to okay it

but it is kinda linked to my point. i dont mean this in the whole "men are scared to be best friends for fear of being seen as Gay" i mean it as "a whole shitload of people are redirecting deep non-romantic relationships into just feeding the alloromantic normativity machine and my little aro ass is getting kinda tired of it"

i mean it in "everyone keeps trying to put relationships into neat little labeled boxes that have these hard and rigid rules to them and my loves-to-appreciate-the-depth-and-variety-of-human-emotions-and-relationships" ass is even more tired of this than the other thing

even in MY shipping. yes i say "shipping" yes i draw charas kissing, hugging, dating, intimacy. but i dont always mean romantically. because i remember the era when shipping could be whatever. it just meant you liked that those characters were significant to each other. and now it's become only one kinda thing (maybe two if youre differentiating between sexual and romantic shipping or a mix of the two)

and now i wish there was a word just for what i mean 😓 (and other ppl like me) that was just...yes i like these two (or more) charas together and idc what flavor of what it is theyre doing i enjoy it. and i wish that it could also not be seen as meaning less or just being lesser than romantic shipping

IM SO TIRED OF ROMANCE OUTWEIGHING AND EVEN OVERSHADOWING EVERY OTHER RELATIONSHIP PLEASE AND IM TIRED OF THE ONLY OTHER OPTION BEING NUCLEAR FAMILY DYNAMICS

i remember when "found family" didnt mean literal Mom Dad Son Daughter shit sighs

i also just think that if we saw friendships and best-friendships as more significant it'd also help with how so many people feel so damn lonely all the time just because they're "single" or whatever. it'd also mean less ppl jump into harmful romantic relationships, ignoring all red flags, just because it means they have a relationship

if they're getting social, inter-personal fulfillment outside a romantic relationship and it's treated as significant as that is. because it IS. think about your best friend, and the relationship yall have. or past best friends. its amazing! its deep! its meaningful!

think about even just your friends even if yall arent super close and how you still smile if you meet up or see them come online or get a text from them. or that coworker at your job that you probably wouldnt hang out with outside of work but they still make your shift less torture. IDK

look at the beauty and variety of your connections with other humans and how a lot of them you dont even have a term or name for. it's just. significant.

the stranger that smiled genuinely at you when you held the door open for them while you were having the worst day of your life and, for a moment, the world wasnt so bad

you'll never see that person again, but you'll probably never forget it. and even if you forget their eyes or the color of their hair, you'll never forget how it made you feel.

that's what i'm talking about. and i feel like you shouldn't have to be an aromantic person to appreciate that kinda stuff and the world would be sooo much better for it. what if we just fuckin appreciated our fellow man yknow????? especially when all the evil powers that be in the world are trying to make us turn on each other and eat each other alive so they dont have to do as much work

[draconicfool]

     So his body was even made of this energy. Mimicking what it meant to be human. That was why it was off. Why Eros couldn't heal him. Why biting him had felt wrong, tasted vile. He was made up of matter that was only pretending to be human. 

     And then – then he's moving on. Speaking of the past that he'd once lived. Joachim Nokianvirtanen. It's the first time he's heard any other name be used for him. The first time he'd ever even thought that was possible. That there could be a name for him other than Welt Yang. But then, there comes something that clicks into it's own place carefully. He'd been given this name by someone who had been important to him. And he'd named his son, even, after that man. 

     “ I see… ” It would still take a bit to process. To understand that this was reality. That what he was being told was nothing less than the honest truth. All of those things that he'd been promised later were now instead. Overwhelming, but he was glad to finally learn about him more.

     It sounded like so much to go through, let alone recount. Remembering everything so clearly, as if it were carved into his very being. They're alike in that matter, he supposes. Though, Welt's recollections are a part of what it means to be - whatever he is, surely. At least, Eros thinks that's what it comes down to. Maybe?

     It feels like a stupid question regardless.

     “ So y'use that name as a way t' honor him, more or less? T' protect th' world that he had t' leave behind? ” He hopes more than anything that he's understanding what he's being told. That he isn't just blindly repeating what he's being told.

     He shifts enough to press a kiss to the other's forehead. As if it would do any good to help and sooth him. Not that he thinks Welt is hurting, but surely there are things that people don't want to recall? Places they don't want to be stuck reminiscing in. He lets out a quiet sigh, brushing part of his hair back as he listens to the other speak. 

     And for a moment, all he can do is remain quiet. Because he isn't sure what to even say, now. Everything's laid out on the table, or the things that matter are. There's only one question left that remains on his mind. “ So – this s'all real. Y'er this- herrscher thing. And y'er name's actually Joachim. Everythin' y'er doin' in this universe s' t' save th' place that y'call home. ” He leans back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest as he tries to find the words he wants to use. The ones that he feels are important in the moment. “ S' there anythin' else that I should… y'know, be made aware of? ”

“Like the rest of my power: it’s constructed from the honkai energy and mimics the properties of the original object—though I won’t lie, biology wasn’t ever my strong suit so there are things that even I didn’t get right.” He could laugh about it now, but worrying about things like why he wasn’t aging and why his eyes were a different color were a pretty big deal back then. “I’m alright. Like I said, being able to remember everything is both a blessing and a curse.” 

Where would he even begin with this one? New York was such an old story, and even older that those who remembered what happened that were just the three of them. History was written by the victors for a reason, and he was sure he was learning that intimately.  

“It was 1955, a young boy by the name of Joachim Nokianvirtanen had gotten to known the man that had been at the center of the first Honkai eruption 3 years prior. The scientists hadn’t known anything about him beyond his mysterious appearance—though now we know that he had been a mix of the 300,000 lost souls given form by the core to protect it. He had no name until Dr. Einstein gave him one: Welt Joyce.” 

Welt found himself putting his free hand over his chest and sighing, not out of discomfort but rather... familiarity. A familiar stirring within the core, or perhaps that was just a forced bit of nostalgia. He liked to think Joyce was still there for a reason. Listening, going on adventures... 

Maybe it was foolish. 

“In his short time with Dr. Einstein and Dr. Tesla, he got to see the beauty of Earth for what it was and experience things he had never imagined before. Rather than use his herrscher power for destruction, he wanted to use it to protect that beauty. And he did... and saved the boy from joining his father in death.” A pause, shortly for consideration to the next part.  

“I remember hopelessly trying to stop the bleeding in the middle of the rubble he laid in... the feeling of his blood coating my clothes and fingers, the images of my father’s cold body and the unmoving professors... how he asked me if I loved his name as much as he did.” The leaf was placed in his hand as a replacement for the core itself, energy wouldn’t allow exposing it again. “’The German word for the entire world... From now on, you are Welt. This herrscher core, and the mission to protect the world... I’ll leave them to you, Welt.’.” 

[karinasbaby]

so jake is just walking around with a face like that like it’s just another regular tuesday evening.

[edwinisms]

it’s actually so wild to me that this fairly quirky YA type show gave both of its main characters deaths that can, in one way or another, solidly be considered hate crimes. they were both flat out murdered as a result of being A) gay and effeminate or B) brown (south asian, specifically) and you could argue whether or not those kids thought of it that way in the moment or whatever but the bottom line is that they would not have been in the situations that killed them if they weren’t of their respective minorities. like legitimately that is a ballsy choice for this kind of netflix show, let alone for the two Main Characters, and i respect it big time

[undead-moth]

I know I've been on about this for a while now and I'm being a hater but you're telling me SydCarmy was "always meant to be platonic" even though there are two seasons of writing making use of tried-and-true explicitly romantic tropes, themes and writing signals, and SydLuca is going to be romantic because...he was nice to her on screen for a few minutes?

I don't even care if people ship SydLuca, or if they just prefer it, but you can't honestly tell me that you believe Carmy was always meant to be a friend but Luca is an obvious love interest.

Just because Syd and Carmy haven't kissed or confessed their love to each other doesn't mean that isn't very obviously the direction this show is going. The Bear has already shown you who is endgame. It has shown you every episode of the show so far.

Honestly I really don't think The Bear fanbase understands this show or cares about these characters or the story being told here, which is unfortunate because this show is shockingly well-written in comparison to most shows right now, and we should be so grateful for it but all we're doing is complaining that the writers led us on by not making a ship canon fast enough. It's just. Sad.

[weaverofink]

Reading the archie sonic comics is such an Experience bc I'm always somewhere between "wow sally is such a cool character" and "girl you've GOT to put a shirt on"

[tautozhone]

standing on the corner of the street with a sign that says “ask me about how i think a vast majority of plastic surgeries can be considered gender affirming procedures” and on the back it says “trans people getting the surgery doesn’t make it trans surgery”

[s0fter-sin]

sometimes i think about how wild a mw2 movie would be if they just dropped soapghost right in the middle with no warning or marketing. like imagine it being beat for beat the exact same, it’s your typical military action movie, promoted as just another military action movie then after they get to the safe house, ghost has to patch up soap and he’s still out of it, overwhelmed by the betrayal and everything he’s seen and ghost needs to ground him and keep him in the present, to remind him that he’s alive and safe so he kisses him and they have sex. the tantrums and the rants and the “ReAl sOLdiErS aRen’t liKe ThAt”, god i can taste it and it’s delicious