#psycho-social research

[seasprincess]

Unsub!Spencer reid x reader

An au where Spencer Reid is like Joe goldberg from the series ‘You’

warnings-suggestive language, smut, use of y/n, mentions of drugging, spencer’s thoughts written in ‘’, misogyny linked through out, probably more

wc:2.4k

this is part 1

Spencer Reid is not a psycho. He’s not some creep like the other men in this world. No. He’s caring because he’s doing all this for you because he loves you. He wants to prove to you that he loves you.

Ever since that day you came into his bookstore looking out of place, gliding through the aisles like a goddamn angel. You were so beautiful as you looked over the books and actually taking the time to appreciate them. Most of the people who come in here don’t care about the books. Just here to take a quick selfie for their instagram to show that they are so mysterious and read. Of course Spencer hates that crowd. He’s always trying to avoid them as much as possible. He’d rather be reserved and by himself. But you, oh you. He wants to be around you.

And from the moment you walked up to the counter with the book ‘The narrative of John Smith’ he knew you were made for him. Sent to him by whatever god or angel that is watching over him. A blessing.

You both chatted about the author, you actually knew the author. Spencer couldn’t stop watching you. Watching the way your hair falls so perfectly as you laugh at one of his stupid jokes that would usually earn some weird looks. But you understood the joke. ‘Oh you are perfect.’ One of his thoughts.

And you flirted with him. He knows you flirted with him. He’s not crazy. He knows he’s not crazy. He’s a man in love that will do whatever he needs to to show you. To show you you are his and he is yours.

He’s not confident enough to outright ask you for your number. The whole idea to him is forehand and terrifying.

But when you got out your bank card to pay his eyes flickered down to see your name. And the stuff he can find with just a name.

Of course he researched you when he got home. He isn’t a fan of social media. Why would someone want to showcase a fake life to a bunch of followers that they didn’t even know? The whole idea was just not appealing to him. But he is thankful that it is too you.

He can find out so much about you. All the embarrassing college memories, all the things you like, what you did on the 21st of May five years ago. Not that he will probably need that information but he can always ask you about the family holiday you went on.

He found out your relationships with your family, your friends, where you liked to hang out with said ‘friends’. He knows all about them too, and he can tell it’s not your crowd. You’re a girl who likes books, likes to write, likes dorky little things. And they. Well they’re just loud mouthed rich party girls who are certainly not good enough. But you have to fit in. You think you have to lower yourself to fit in with them. ‘Oh Y/n, you don’t have to be different with me. You can be yourself with me.’

Your social media portrays different sides of you. Facebook isn't as active as the others. You’re gen z of course it wouldn’t be. But instagram? Oh he’s had fun with your instagram.

A bikini photo of you that you posted in 2021. You look so beautiful he can’t stop staring. His eyes roaming all over your curves and your tits. Oh your tits. He’s a fan to say the least. The thoughts he’s had about them.

Spencer can’t help but get hard as he looks at it. He just can’t stop looking at you and all your photos. Who needs porn when he can stare at photos of you and use that imagination of his?

He usually ends up here. Sat at his desk staring at his laptop screen. stroking his cock as he imagines you kissing him, sinking down on him as you moan his name.

It’s not weird. He’s not weird. He’s your soulmate.

Spencer stands by a tree, trying to appear as normal as possible. His hat and dark clothes allowing him to blend in. He’s trying to make his presence minimal as he looks through the windows. He knows this is okay for him to do, but if you or someone else saw. No one would understand that he’s doing it because he loves you.

It’s late. The sky dark and filled with stars. If only you could properly see them without all this air pollution. But that’s a rant that Spencer will just have to go on another day.

There’s a light. It is a distant street light. Of course it’s blinking every so often. He lives in one of the most famous cities in the world, the big apple, but they can’t afford street lamps that actually work. ‘Typical.’ He thinks to himself before sighing. But all his annoyance melts away as he sees you.

Spencer’s eyes are locked on you as he watches you walk around your apartment in just an oversized shirt and panties.

‘Oh come on Y/n. Walking around in that with the curtains open? Any creep could be watching you. You’re lucky I’m here.’ Spencer thinks to himself. Eyes scanning for anybody that appears to be a threat to you. But all there is is no one. Just you and him. You, and him.

Spencer’s watches as you get changed. Into some small dress that he is definitely going to have to fight some men away from you. ‘Oh you don’t make things easy for me, do you love?’

You’re going out. He can guess that much. The make up, the outfit. You’re going clubbing.

Spencer is not a fan of clubbing the same way he is not a fan of social media. He thinks it’s all stupid. Why would anybody want to be up close and personal with a bunch of sweaty strangers who are dancing like imbeciles. No. It’s not his scene. But if you’re going. So is he. I mean he can’t let you go to one of the places many people are attacked at alone can he? As your soulmate he has to protect you, to watch you. Keep you safe. Safe from the world he knows is willing to hurt you.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts as he hears the door slam shut. His gaze once again falling onto you and how good you looked. The way your breasts are on show from the low cut in the dress. Oh he’s definitely going to be using his eidetic memory to recall this image when he’s alone later. The way they bounce up and down as you walk down the stairs towards what he can only presume is an uber.

Looks like Spencer is going clubbing.

The music is pounding, lights all around the room that would give any regular person a headache. And they have. Spencer.

He’s sat in a corner, out of the way of everyone. He does not want to interact with people. He’s only here to protect you. To watch you.

The heat of the place giving him slight discomfort, he’s not exactly dressed for this place. No, he’s dressed to blend in to the streets of New york. To keep himself warm in the night breeze and not to be in some place that quite frankly might be his hell. ‘Oh Y/n, the things i’m going to have to do for you.’

He watches you dance. Watching how you move so easily and still look so fucking attractive. He knows if he tried he’d look like an idiot. He’d end up embarrassing himself and most likely falling over.

But you. Oh you move so effortlessly he’s actually getting lost in the way you move.

The way you’re laughing and smiling with your friends. He can’t wait to be the one to make you laugh like that. Laugh the same way you did at his stupid joke. He’s never felt love like this. He’s never felt his heart swell and feel so full the way it does when he looks at you. You’re so-

‘Hang on. Who’s this?’ Spencer watches as some guy comes up to you. It doesn’t take a genius to see he’s flirting with you. He’s the opposite of Spencer, all muscular and probably can’t tell his left from his right. And he’s definitely a dick. Spencer can tell he’s a dick. That stupid smile, that look in-

‘Are you flirting too?’ Spencer’s eyes narrowed as he watched your hands on this guy's arm. Why is your hand on his arm?

Maybe you’re just being nice. Maybe you’re just trying to be polite. He can only hope.

If looks could kill, this jock would be 20 feet in the ground and have died a horrific death.

Spencer has been staring him down for the past thirty minutes. Watching you two talk, dance and get way too handsy for his liking. He hates having to see another guy touch you. Only he should touch you like that. He’s actually radiating jealousy. His whole body can feel it. Anger pumping through his veins. He has to sort this out right? He has to stop this guy from taking advantage of you.

Spencer watches you like a hawk as you head off to what he can presume is the bathroom. So as you leave his sight for the first time this evening his eyes fall upon the jerk standing at the bar. Ordering drinks for the pair of you.

Of course he orders the cheapest there is for you.

‘Y/n you deserve so much better than this.’

The guy is joined by some friends, all greeting each other the typical frat boy way even if they are in their late twenties. Morons.

Spencer glides through the crowd. Not wanting to draw attention to himself. He just wants to listen to this douchebag's conversation with his so-called ‘bros’.

“Dude for real she’s all over me. I’m so getting pussy tonight!” He exclaims to his friends which of course doesn’t sit well with Spencer. You’re so much more than a fuck. You’re a smart, talented, beautiful woman who deserves nothing but the best. He knows about your exs, having stalked their socials to make sure he’s perfect for you. That he’s nothing like them. Not that he is anyway. God he has multiple PhDs and they were lucky enough to have even got into college with their grades.

As you return from the bathroom and his frat bros disappear into the club somewhere he decides enough is enough.

This guy is not touching you. This waste of air is not going anywhere near his girl. His soulmate.

“I’m just gonna go piss I’ll meet you outside.” Frat boy says before heading off. Leaving you to make your own way outside. You look uncomfortable, he knows you’re uncomfortable. So he’s going to save you.

He’s going to save you from a night of regret.

Before he can think anymore Spencer follows the guy, following him into the bathroom before he ‘accidentally’ bumps into him.

“Oh man, I’m sorry.” Spencer says before looking at the guy. His chest covered in the liquid from Spencer’s drink.

“You should watch where you’re going bro.” He’s not pleased to say the least. I mean who would be if they’ve just been covered in alcohol?

Spencer scans his surroundings like some spy as his hand slips into his pocket. All the stalls are empty, it’s just them. Him and his current number one enemy.

“Yeah absolutely.” Spencer’s eyes flick back to the guy. Scanning them for a moment before deciding to waste no more time.

He pulls out a needle and stabs him in the neck, quick and fast. The guy can’t even cry out or defend himself before it takes effect. Slowing down everything in his body.

Spencer has to hold him up as he guides him back out and through the crowd. To anybody looking it will look like two guys and one of them has drank way too much.

He has to chuckle and make light conversation with all the clubbers which does not please him but does help his facade.

The cold air hits both of their faces as they exit the building, having to go through a different exit to not be seen but you.

But now he faces another problem.

He has a practically unconscious mumbling man hanging off his arm. The lengths he’s going to go for you apparently have no line he won’t cross.

But to avoid this asshole saying anything when he’s back to consciousness. He has two options.

Kill him, kidnap him.

And seeing as you’re right round the corner waiting for a man that is never going to come. He decides that he can’t miss this opportunity.

He didn’t like killing him. No. It wasn’t enjoyable. But it had to be done. The man was a misogynistic prick. Who was also carrying drugs. Drugs he may have put in your drink. So Spencer is helping out really. One less prick.

As he was a bit pushed for time and in an alley he had to be quick. Stabbing him repeatedly, making sure to not leave any fingerprints and that no cameras were there. Good job Spencer is a smart man and enjoys crime shows.

His disposal wasn’t great either. But he didn’t have many options.

So a bin will have to do. Worst comes to worst he’ll have to come back and move the prick. This guy is just causing issues like he did when he was alive.

But right now all he needs to do is go find you.

As he turned the corner he had seen you. Poor you waiting for that guy to come meet you.

‘You look so good Y/n. You should be waiting for me. Matter of fact I’d never let you wait.’

Spencer’s having to sike himself up to go talk to you. He has a habit of embarrassing himself and he really didn’t want to do that with you. He refuses to do that with you. But the way you two were in the shop. It was so comfortable. So…right.

He had finally reached the stage of being able to head towards you. The nerves will never leave but this is the calmest he thinks he’s going to get.

His feet move before his head. Walking towards you. Palms sweating. Heart pounding.

But before he can reach you, you slip away. Getting in a taxi.

You’re out of his reach and gone.

He’ll just have to wait.

a/n: this is a different style of writing that i’m not sure if i like it. Part 2 will be coming soon.

[mazamba]

Sponsored By

Ironically, the most eventful day in the careers of Mr. and Mrs. Fenton had nothing to do with ghosts. The two had just returned from the supermarket and were carrying in the groceries, when the shadow in the corner began to speak.

"We need to talk."

"GHOST!"

The couple were on their back before they could draw their weapons.

"You are the foremost experts in the field of ecto-biology," said Batman as if he hadn't just brought down a three hundred pound man and a ninth-degree black-belt before either of them could realize he'd moved, "I have questions regarding your sponsor."

"Sweetie, is the Batman in our living room?" asked Jack.

"I do believe he is," replied Maddie as she stood up and patted the dust off her clothes, "you know, you could have called for an appointment. We'd have made time."

"In the 80's, the two of you had your doctorate studies rescinded due to your studies in what you called "ecto-science"," he stated, ignoring their indignation, "yet you now live in an upper-middle class neighborhood and spend thousands of dollars a year on technology that didn't have a proper proof-of-concept until recently."

"What's your point?" asked Jack.

"Where is the money coming from?"

"If you must know, we have a sponsor," replied Maddie, "after our dean proved to be too small-minded for our research, we were approached by a man who was more open to the possibility of inter-dimensional research."

"He wanted us to study ghosts!" cut in Jack, "He even gave us our very first sample of ectoplasm!"

"That one sample was the backbone of our research for years, until we got our portal running."

"You never asked where he got that sample from?"

"He seemed like a trust-worthy fellow," dismissed Maddie, "all he asks is for copies of our experiments and for ectoplasm from our portal."

"What sort of experiments?"

"Well, at first we needed to verify the psycho-active behavior of the sample," recalled Maddie, "if you give me a second, I have my research around here somewhere."

"You took the sample to several morgues," Batman told them, "the sample's most drastic and extreme behavior occurred when it was placed close to bodies who had a history of violent and anti-social behavior in life."

"Maddie, the League's reading our papers!" Jack giggled excitedly, "But yes, it's how we know that all ghosts are evil ectoplasmic scum!"

"You never questioned the origin of the sample?"

"It was the only sample we had," pointed out Maddie, "but it's properties matched all of our theories."

"The man you spoke with was Ra's al Ghul," he informed them, dropping a folder full of pictures and documents for them to peruse, "thousands of years ago, Ra's found a well of green water that is now known as a Lazarus Pit. Using its power, he has rejuvenated himself time and again to maintain his position as the head of the League of Assassins. After some experimentation, he found the same pits could keep his forces alive, even in death.

"Over time, the League came across a problem that threatened their continued existence. They were consuming the Pit's water faster than it was replenishing itself. After much experimentation, they found a solution. At the moment of death, when the human soul passes over to the Infinite Realms, what you call the Ghost Zone, a small amount of ectoplasm leaks over to our side."

"Wait, you don't mean...?" Maddie trailed off, horror settling in.

"Ra's killed people en masse to replenish his pool," affirmed Batman, "further experimentation revealed that people who died in a state of extreme fear or pain provided more ferocious soldiers. That is where your sample came from.

"In it's neutral state, ectoplasm reacts equally to all emotional ranges. Repeated exposure to emotional extremes will imprint the ectoplasm, causing it to react more strongly to a specific emotional range than to others. The negative emotions of Ra's victims imprinted on the ectoplasm, resulting in your skewed results."

"Wait, how would you know that?" demanded Maddie, "We're the foremost experts on ecto-science and we didn't know that!"

He pulled out a thick folder and slammed it onto the table.

"I had my research peer-reviewed."

"By who?" asked Jack, "We looked all over and couldn't find anyone in the scientific community!"

"You weren't looking in the right place. There is a branch of the Justice League that specializes in the supernatural, ghosts and demons chief among them. They want me to bring you in."

"Really!? Did you hear that Mads! We're being recruited by the Justice League!"

"They want me to arrest you," Batman corrected them, "for illegal poaching of innocent and neutral spirits, particularly after last week's attack on their newest member, Danny Phantom."

"The Ghost Boy!?" roared Jack, "That no-good ectoscum made the League before we did!?"

"I have watched his fights. He takes care to avoid collateral damage and only appears when other ghosts attack, sometimes at great personal cost."

"Look, Mr. Batman," sighed Maddie in a condescending tone, "we've fought the ghost boy for years. He has a history of crime and violence. If you look far enough, you'll find-."

Batman had no time for nonsense.

"The League has already looked into the incidents. All show indications of either coercion or mind control."

"Ghosts are deceitful and conniving-!"

"We have already established that your initial sample skewed your results," he cut Jack off, "this would imply that all of your research and experiments need to be reassessed, including your opinions towards ghosts in general.

"Regarding Ra's al Ghul, you will need to continue working with him. Cutting contact suddenly may put you and your family in danger."

That caught their attention.

"What do we need to do?" asked Jack, all jokes and outrage immediately tossed out the window.

"Keep doing your research with this new information in mind. Your experiments have been applied to the Lazarus Pits, resulting in unstable results. Recent subjects have come out in a mindless rage, while others have shown no effect on their mind, and yet others have had no effect. Ra's is already skeptical of your continued collaboration. If you provide him with research based off this new information, he may decide you are not worth his time or money. When it comes to Ra's, your best option is dismissal to irrelevance. You do not want to make an enemy out of him."

"It's not just that," admitted Maddie, "if we were the only ones being affected, we'd simply let him know we're exploring new horizons outside of ecto-science. The thing is, we have two children, one in college and one near graduation."

He gave them a card. "Call that number. All of their college expenses will be taken care of."

"I... Bruce Wayne?" read out Jack.

"We've collaborated before, he is trustworthy," he reassured them, "the next part is up to you. Will you be scientists, or poachers?"

Their lights flickered, and he was gone.

[journeytothewestresearch]

As someone who’s Chinese w/ a degree in social science + (art) history regarding East Asia I’m always super intrigued and interested to how others interpret changes in new titles on older religious texts- but I will ask in particular if you have any personal ties to Buddhism/Taoism/Confucianism (and Chinese culture) when you find yourself interpreting BM:W’s change in allegorical use of Buddhism as contemporary political adherence! BM:W’s religious and soul mechanics follows their previous game without much overt linking between the two.

Overthrowing Gods in East Asian media is a very common trope in videos specifically due to player involvement (contrast to books where you are separate as the audience) and often is used as an allegory for the system/recent events we exist in. In such it does shift a lot from the original text in base but I think it’s not supposed to relay the same allegory due to the time period in which the writers exist! Wukong’s story changing to him still being chained by the principles that envelop life is far more relatable to late-stage capitalist environments viewers and artists exist in- as such he fulfils the contemporary variant of his original role in JTTW!

I think the change in purpose the Buddhist mythos serves in this game is decisive by nature due to inherent bias present in the original text as a religious piece, and such is core to the allegory. However I don’t think BM:W is supposed to relay that allegory, I think it is supposed to branch off on its own as an alternate contemporary extension of the foundation JTTW set out (plus with the 2 DLC’s on the way, there is plenty of time to extend the universe in game to validate a shift in religious purpose compared to the cut 7 chapters planned during development). And such i think attributing it to the CCP can be a bit of a touchy statement (especially if one doesn’t have long standing ties to East Asian culture or Regional religious practice!) and can accidentally play into sinophobic phrasing and attitudes.

Buddhism as a practice and way of life has a very different presence in writers centuries ago compared to now, as well as how we use religion in audience-involved stories. And such I find it an interesting shift regarding a game made with an international and widely multi-religious audience (that isn’t consuming it as a psycho-socio poem compared to a much smaller and more culturally homogenous readerbase. I think the friction caused by thematic changes is more due to how the game relays the physical journey so closely with reusing characters and having to shift them according to the foundational changes- if it was closer to other written “sequels” that created characters connected to the original cast through descending from them etc, the changes wouldn’t grate on completed arcs or how we compare the experience to wukong’s parallel one

No, I do not have any direct personal cultural connection to Buddhism, Daoism, or Confucianism. I live in Asia, though, and beyond my research of JTTW, I do study religion here (with more of an emphasis on folk religion as it pertains to the Great Sage). My negative view of Black Myth: Wukong is colored by my deep love for the original story. In general, I don't like adaptations.

Thank you for your explanation of the game.

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— AN INTRODUCTION TO CREATIVE CAPTIVITY

SUMMARY : dean wants to know more about you and takes matters into his own hands when you don’t show up at his bakery. unreasonably, he doesn’t expect you to come back home early, but his mission was mostly successful.

PAIRING : vampire!dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none 

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), baker!dean, stalking (it’s only hot if dean does it), angst, unhealthy obsession, yandere!Dean, possessiveness, soft Dean, implied panty kink, creepiness escalates, nerdy reader, reader isn’t perfect, (vague) chronic illness, voyeurism, b&e, stealing, slow chapter, and more to come

WORD COUNT : 6.6k

A/N : this chapter will lead up to the square stockholm syndrome on my @jacklesversebingo card. no baking :’(. heheh, Dean’s a lot softer and way more caring than the typical psycho-yandere type maybe some of yall were thinking of. I did research on yandere types and yandere traits, and found that it’s completely acceptable! in fact, a soft yandere is preferred, LOL. xx

Over the years Dean found that the perks of being undead included not having to sleep. That meant there were no nightmares to haunt him.. and now, that he had all the time in the world to watch you, to research you, first.

You were a fluffy cloud of love that became his companion through the sleepless, endless night. He knew seeing you again would feel like an eternity had passed, so he indulged in thoughts of you to keep him company.

He was home now and he had nothing to do as the moon bled through the windows of the place he “lived” in. He laid in his bed, unable to shut his brain off for the pretence of a peaceful sleep that he enjoyed doing routinely ever since he was a… vampire. 

His four hours of nothingness. 

He had too much time on his hands. 

He’d already read over a thousand books, watched over a thousand films and series, scrolled through the endless stream of videos on social media, and attempted to get good at hundreds of hobbies. What was the point of it anymore, after all?

Now, he thought of you. And that was the only point that made any sense to him. The only thing that mattered in his useless life. The only reason why he even wanted the sun to rise and bring another day. 

If it meant that he was able to see you again. To know everything about your existence. Then, it all mattered. The world needed to keep spinning and the world needed to be safe, for you. 

He took his phone from the nightstand and appreciated the wallpaper of his beautiful Impala. He was uncomfortably restless. He wanted to keep thinking of you, but he also wanted to shut his brain off. He couldn’t creep you out, it would ruin everything. He stared at the numbers telling the time, 1:24 AM. 

You were probably asleep by now. 

He wondered about you again. What position did you sleep in? What colour were your sheets? What was the texture of them? Did you use multiple blankets? Were you cold, often? Were your hands and feet always the only thing that was cold? Did you not suffer that way at all? Did you wear socks to sleep? What was the temperature of your home? Did you wear baggy clothes to sleep? Or something sexy? Or something cute? What was the colour of your walls? How did you decorate your home? Was it fun? Minimalistic? Did your house already smell like you again?

He cared so much about every tiny detail of your life and the place you called home. He itched to just get out of bed and find where you lived to see for himself. 

But for now, he lifted himself up slightly to rest against the headboard of his bed and unlocked his phone to find you wherever he could. He felt embarrassed to do so, but he searched your name on every app, including the dating ones he never removed despite being… Well, he hadn’t had sex since he became a vampire. He was terrified of anything bad happening to the women he slept with. 

The thought made him freeze. Would he lose control with you? Would he ever hurt you? His mind overflowed with images of your blood and him standing above you. He would die before he ever hurt you. He shook the thoughts away, remembering Lenore, and the handful of monsters that coexisted peacefully with humans. 

He could be with you. You could be his. 

You were all he could think about. It’s a shock that he hadn’t shoved his hands in his pants and pleasured himself just thinking of you. He would have, but he felt it would be disrespectful to you. 

He did try to relieve himself with those sexy vampire women in the past, but he just didn’t feel any sort of attraction towards them because so few of them even cared about humans. It was unbecoming. They were arrogant, indifferent, and it wasn’t even sexy. He just couldn’t get it “up” with bloodsuckers. So, what? He was still prejudiced and all that. Whatever, he spent most of his time as a vampire still hunting. 

He killed the entire nest and hunted down anyone that managed to slip through his fingers. He tried his hardest to keep being a hunter, with Sam’s brain protected with a wall, he had hope, a reason to keep going. But that was all gone, his family was gone: Sam, Cas. 

When word spread that he was a vampire, and it did—like a nuclear bomb—the fallout was massive. Somehow, the fear of the Winchesters was hundred-fold, even though, in all his time as a vampire, Dean hadn’t slipped up even once. 

He didn’t know how he did it. 

He really just did. 

He remembered the devouring thirst of being around humans when he was in the process of turning, while he looked for the leech that bled into his mouth for the cure Samuel and Sam were waiting to have confirmed. He could smell every human’s blood, taste the delicious quench of it in the air, and he somehow walked straight past every one. And when that one vamp opened the fridge to feed him a pick-me-up, the scent of it was overpowering, but never quite enough for his stubborn ass.

He declined and carried on with the mission, but the world had other plans for him. When he found the guy that turned him, of course he knew that Dean hadn’t fully turned; he was the leader of the nest, after all. He was smart and didn’t let Dean make any move unless he drained one of the women he didn’t find useful for the nest. 

He refused but the leader of the nest didn’t take no for an answer, and once again, forced Dean to feed on one of the women in the cages. Dean remembered that way it felt, the taste of warm blood soothing the aching dryness in his throat. Dean had planned on biting the poor girl for show and collecting the blood in his mouth to spit it out later, but once it touched his tongue, the bloodlust took over.

He didn’t know what possessed him to stop. Maybe the way the girl whimpered, because she was just a girl. Or the way she pleaded for him to stop with her weak, cracked voice. The way her body slowly sank into him and crumbled limply, but he somehow managed to push her away from him.

She thanked him, even though she was still stuck being a blood bag for the nest. Dean felt guilty, even by just remembering how it all started. His soulless brother, his idiot best friend. How was anyone supposed to know how to handle that situation? 

Dean grieved his human life. Having to abandon Lisa and Ben on top of it all. Then, his brother’s life. And finally, his best friend’s life. 

Sure, Cas was the one who made the mess to begin with, but what was the point of friendship if you couldn’t forgive them for the worst of the worst? Obviously, there was a line, but with the type of life they lived, what Cas had done didn’t cross the line. After all, Cas tried to make amends, even if it was too late. 

Dean could stay mad forever at Cas, but he was going to be ancient some day. What purpose would that hatred serve when everyone was dead? Forgiveness was all he had left to remind him he still had some semblance of humanity.

And right now, he needed to feel human. For you. 

He was more relieved than he cared to admit when he didn’t find you on any dating apps. So, he deleted every single one after he got the answers he was hoping to not find there. 

He hated that your Facebook was more dead than he was. You didn’t have your relationship status updated or your birthday published. There was nothing, just an old photo of you at some Korean restaurant. And even your family members’ accounts were as dry as his throat felt after going days without feeding. They revealed nothing, but he did find your friends: Bela Levante and Daphne Jordan.

But there was hardly anything to see about you on their profiles. God, woman, why did you have to hide yourself so hard?

He carefully scrolled through Instagram and groaned at another obstacle. Your account was private. He wished to stare at photos of you. The numbers on your profile teased him, he could see the amount of followers you had, the number of people you were following, and fuck… 43 posts he could be gazing at like a celebrity’s fanboy. 

He wanted to see everything “private” about your life, your hobbies, flashes, glimpses of your life, pets—if you had any, and everything about your family. All the little things that would have slowly painted you on the empty canvas in his mind. 

Dean shut his phone off with a sigh and stared up at the ceiling being illuminated with the moonlight, creating shadows from the tree that creaked outside by the window. 

How was he supposed to feel about you? What was he supposed to do to get closer to you? Would you see him again the next morning? Or anytime after that? Would he see you in days? Weeks?

Would you think of him at all? Or would you be too busy with your life to do so? Did you even want to see him again? Did you feel the pull he felt towards you? Was he being delusional to think that there could possibly be something between you and him?

He’d have to take matters into his own hands if you prolonged appearing in his life. If he got dozens of women to like him before, there’s no reason why you wouldn’t want him in the same way. He just needed to play his cards right. 

5 Days Later

Coming into your life was more difficult than Dean anticipated.

He went out more than he would have wanted, hoping to find you anywhere in town. So, you weren’t lying when you said you wouldn’t be available for the first couple of days or weeks in town as you tried to settle in. He hoped it was just something you said to avoid Andy.

At least he knew you weren’t lying about that. 

He only saw you once three days ago at the grocery store. He watched you as subtly as he could, his eyes focused on your every move, his ears sharpened to your voice, every atom in his body was attuned to you, his nexus. 

He wished he was standing there next to you, as your boyfriend, a lover, a partner, whatever. As long as you were only his. So he could watch your cute faces when you touched something that you didn’t like, or be there to laugh with you when you giggled at something you saw, or to be there to remind you of something you forgot and had to pull up the list on your phone. He wanted to know what it was like to have another conversation with you, about anything. Was that asking too much?

He didn’t get everything he’d planned on getting when he got there, but at least he had your plates and the car you drove. He wished he was brave enough to have talked to you, to pretend to bump into you. Although it wouldn’t have been much of an act, he really hadn’t expected to see you there.

But there was something raw and real about watching you while you were alone, and in your head as you walked through the most-likely unfamiliar grocery shop. When was the last time you stepped foot in there? You stared at the signs above each aisle with surprise when you’d walk in and didn’t find what you probably would have years ago. 

He made his way to his car and thought of all the ways he could get you to be his. In any way that he could have you. All his ruminations and all his time was devoted to the goal of being with you. So much so that he felt like his entire life was on hold.

He knew it would start up again as soon as you entered his life. However, he hadn’t seen you—well, he hadn’t spoken to you in five days, and he wanted to respect you by letting you have your own space, but it was getting painful for him to be away from you for so long.

He waited to hear the beat of your heart or the sound of your voice being carried through the air and into his bakery, but he was only met with disappointment. Every time the door opened, he wished it was you walking in, he wished it was you smiling and flirting with him like every woman he regularly saw.

But you never showed up. 

Did he make you up in his imagination? Was he that desperate to feel something? Were you real and simply uninterested in him? That thought hurt more than it should have. He thought he’d left a good impression on you, and after you left that hundred dollar bill, his mind didn’t allow him to believe you hated him. In fact, it was the only proof that you were real after all. 

Why couldn’t you be as infatuated with him as he was with you? Why couldn’t you be as interested in him as the women who carved out time for him in their busy lives? 

You were impossible to get close to. His fingertips barely tapped the surface of your life and like a fish, you swam quickly in the opposite direction to evade being captured by him. But didn’t you see you’d be better off with him? Happier? Freer? More loved than you could fathom? More loved than you could ever be with anyone else? More loved than you have ever been loved?

You were on his mind every moment of every day since he met you. Was he nothing to you? How would you feel knowing that everything new he baked was because you had inspired him in his daydreams. He wished he could ask you how it tasted, what you liked, if he should make more of whatever new invention he had created. If he should add it to the menu. He’d make them all again for you to try them and give him these insights and suggestions. 

Mostly, he needed to know more about you. He just couldn’t bear the thought of you being a mystery. Or the fact that you’d never let him into your life to know the things that you inhibited within the safety of your home. Would the things in your house reveal your psyche? That’s all he wanted, to worm his way into you by knowing these things about you. 

Sure, he could be himself, but he needed an advantage first. He needed time with you where it wasn’t obvious he was imposing himself on your life without reason. Where could he accidentally or coincidentally find himself in order to spend time with you? So that it could all fall together perfectly as he has fantasised every waking moment of his existence since he met you.

He could only acquire that information by infiltrating your home. 

Dean didn’t expect this. 

It was all he could think when he tracked down your scent to where you lived—and he relaxed when he didn’t find your car parked in the driveway in front of your home. 

He blinked. 

He was astonished as he gawked at your home. The light of the stunning peach sunset was reflected on the tinted glass that made up the outer walls of your home. Those glass windows, from floor to ceiling, also reflected the breathtaking forest surrounding the area. How convenient that your house was surrounded by thick green trees. 

He stepped closer to your home to the surrounding area, the giant space that was entirely yours. There were a few plants, and despite being grateful about the lack of surveillance, he clicked his tongue in disapproval at the lack of it. 

You needed to be safe. 

He’d have to check out the glass, make sure it was shatter proof and bulletproof—even though there was no reason why your house should be armed against anything like that. He needed to make sure no creeps had made their way to your home, squatters or even people who may be infatuated with you. 

You hypocrite, part of his brain accused. But he huffed, pouting and narrowing his eyes straight ahead at the reflection of himself, scolding his brain for trying to compare him to those who were more selfish and probably more dangerous than him. He pushed the small voice that reminded him that there was nothing scarier or more dangerous than a bloodsucker being around a human. 

Dean pushed every thought away and had to quickly become familiar with the outside of your home before deciding it was safe to enter, to really get to know you. 

Were you going to clean this whole place by yourself? Did you have someone else do it? Did you cook? Or did someone else do that for you, too? He needed to know. How much freedom did he have to be in your home whenever it suited him?

He made his way to the porch and brushed his fingertips against the lock of your door. He may not have had a heart to race at the thought of being where you always were, where you felt safest, but his body still thrummed and tingled with excitement. 

Dean searched his jacket for the pick-set he carried in the inner pocket over his chest. He thought about how he hadn’t picked locks in a while. He didn’t have any reasons to, just the occasional need for it if he caught a case nearby. And ever since he became a vampire, he found that it was easier than before, easier to listen for the clicks of each pin falling as he slowly turned and prodded with his tools. 

He apologised to you under his breath once the door unlocked. 

He shoved the pick-set back into his jacket pocket while standing at the entrance of your home, and deeply inhaled the scent of you rushing outwards to greet him. Yes.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, surprised by the emptiness and the smell of newness that mingled with your sweet aroma. 

You were still way behind on unpacking. 

He found a shoe rack by the entrance and decided to respect your house rules by kicking off his boots and placing them neatly into an empty spot. So, that’s what it would look like if this were his home, too? His shoes, right next to yours. It looked right.

He curled his toes inside his socks, feeling the cool floor against his already cold skin and smiled. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it up at the coat rack, making himself at home. He could pretend for a few hours that this was how it always was.

He stepped deeper into your home, looked around and deflated. 

There wasn’t much to explore. Most rooms he walked into were empty, or they had boxes that had yet to be opened by you. Maybe it would scare you if he tried to help by taking everything out, so he left the boxes as you had them. 

Why hadn’t you made yourself at home? It’s been days and you haven't really done much. Was this just part of your indifference or was this because of the secret illness you had? Were you that busy with work? You were pretty vague about it when you were talking to Andy. 

For now, Dean sighed, he knew nothing. 

There was no indication of what was to be your living room. No furniture, no television, no tables. Unless he opened the boxes to peek inside and find out what each room would be, he would have to wait until you got to it yourself. 

At least your kitchen was easy to explore. Though most of the cabinets were empty. Only three glasses, four plates, two bowls… God, woman. Should he get you some things? He shook his head and quickly pulled open every door and drawer to peek inside the completely uninteresting contents. 

But finally, he got to your pantry. You had lots of snacks. Dean chuckled at the type of organisation that you had put them in. By colour. He smiled and reached out to touch them. He missed being hungry for this type of stuff, not that it stopped him from indulging in it every now and then anyway. 

His brain nagged him: Which ones were your favourite? Well, he had to guess that they were all your favourite to some extent. But maybe it was the Rice Krispies, they were nearly all gone. There were some spicy peanuts, too, and some other spicy, but still sweet, Mexican candies he had tried before—some, he hadn’t tried at all. 

His mouth would have watered if he were still alive. 

He snorted, moved on to read each package and box; he needed to try whatever he hadn’t already tried before, just to see if he could have that in common with you.

He didn't have to, but he wanted to be able to say: I have tried it before. At least. Maybe that would mean something to you, maybe it would matter. On the other hand, he already had a lot in common with you—in terms of preference for snacks. He liked your taste. 

He shut the pantry door and opened your fridge.

He pulled out the freezer and lifted a brow at the lack of contents. No frozen, microwaveable food. Just vanilla ice cream, some shrimp, salmon, halibut, and steak. That’s it? He frowned. Did you rarely eat at home or did you already cook whatever else could’ve filled your refrigerator? Maybe he was overthinking it; you looked healthy when he met you and when he saw you at the grocery. But looks could be deceiving—you were sick after all, and he had yet to find out what you had. 

Is that why you became a geneticist? Was your disease genetic?

He closed the freezer and opened the horizontal middle door. He found two bottles of mineral water, four bottles of water, and one can of Sprite. Was there any point to the giant refrigerator if you hardly used it? He snickered. 

After he finished checking out the kitchen—and after washing a bowl with traces of Greek yoghurt, honey, and oats and the spoon you’d used—he began making his way to the next room, trying to find more information about you.

He made a mental note of the softener and detergent you used for laundry and all the other cleaning materials you kept in the laundry room. He checked out the washing machine and dryer to make sure they worked properly—so you wouldn’t have to struggle. 

He frowned the whole time. He wouldn’t be bumping into you at the laundromat, that was slightly disappointing to think about. 

He made his way upstairs, giddy to find your bedroom once he got to the top of the stairs. He held his breath in anticipation after opening each door down the long hallway, always to an empty room, but he exhaled when finally found your room.

Your scent embraced him when he opened your bedroom door. Now, he’d definitely find out things about you that were much more interesting. Much more intimate. 

He was thorough with his search. 

He checked out every item on your shelves and your desk, your figurines and other collectibles. He took a picture of your bookcase to become familiar with your books the next time he visited the library. He opened each drawer and your dresser to review the contents thoroughly, your clothes and keepsakes and trinkets hidden beneath—and stole a pair of your underwear as he bit his lip; he knew it was wrong. 

He made sure to steal your pink lace underwear that didn’t match with a bra you owned. He easily discovered which bras weren’t part of a set and memorised your cup size. You chose comfort over sexiness—even the sexy lace you owned looked comfortable. You were so cute. 

He turned to your closet and examined every article of clothing—which was organised by colour as well. From sexy to cute dresses, old and new t-shirts, sexy and cute cropped shirts, and so much more he wanted to see you wear for himself. He found a few of your scrubs and imagined the way they’d hug your curves, even if they were hidden below a lab coat. You were so sexy. So fucking hot, he couldn’t believe he was touching the things you’d wear at some point.

He went through your shoes to memorise your foot size, but made a mental note of your favourite type of footwear. 

He closed the door and looked over your vanity desk and the limited amount of makeup. Mostly, you had hair products. Gel to enhance the volume, different brushes for different uses, a multi-use hair dryer or something like that, cute hair ties and hair clips and a small bundle of what he’d label as boring; they were just brown, black, and tan hair ties. 

He slipped a brown hair tie onto his wrist—one that was loose from usage. He pocketed the mini-lotion bottle that was half-empty—a miniature version of the larger bottle you owned. And after peaking through your extensive jewellery collection, he stole a thin silver necklace with a cute little charm. 

He searched your nightstand, glanced at your cute lamp, a small mirror, a water bottle and a pill bottle. At the sight of the orange container containing a month’s worth of medication, he instantly picked it up and snapped a quick picture of the name to do research later. He wanted to look out for you. 

He opened your password-locked laptop and the tablet beneath. He wouldn’t be getting into those anytime soon. He had no idea what your password could be or what set of numbers mattered to you. It was frustrating. 

He opened the single drawer and pursed his lips—amused. God, you were so naughty. But you did live alone, why would you hide it? It's not like you knew he’d be inspecting every object you owned. 

Dean leered at each sex toy with a smirk and imagined—the fact that you probably used them more than once fueled his daydreams—the way you’d pleasure yourself with them. How many times could you come? Which toy was your favourite? Who did you fantasise about when you were in the midst of immense pleasure? He hoped it was someone unattainable or fictional. 

His hand twitched at the metal handle he’d pulled to open up the drawer. He was tempted to touch and kiss each toy that had at some point touched the depths and outer skin of your sweet pussy. But he exhaled shakily and closed the weakly concealed Pandora’s Box to move on with his investigation of your life. 

He checked the bottom space of your nightstand, open to the world. He found an extensive collection of sticker sheets and sticker books, empty A6 notebooks, one that was full, and another that was halfway worked through. He pulled the two of them out, but turned his attention to your bed. 

His mind inquired things he simply couldn’t figure out without you telling him. Did you pleasure yourself here? Do you ever pleasure yourself on the chair of your writing desk? Or the backless seat of your vanity desk? Did you plan on doing it downstairs on a couch you’d set up in the future? 

He slid his hand down the soft cotton sheets of your bed and picked up one of your silk pillows, accidentally knocking off a weighted dinosaur and a tiny shark the size of his palm that rested on its back. The other small stuffed animals remained undisturbed as he lifted your pillow to his face and inhaled slowly, deeply the scent of your shampoo, softener, and detergent. 

He sighed softly, eyes closed. You smelled so good, he could probably bite you if you let him. He’d never want to purposely hurt you. He just needed to feel you. 

He pulled your pillow away from his lips and nose to fix it back in place along with your woolly companions and blindly set down the two books he’d begin reading once he was done with his exploration. 

Was this the same bed and the same sheets you’d slept in when you were a teenager? Were you as horny as he was at that age? Did you sleep with anyone at any point in your life—on these very sheets? Were they new? New as in bought here once you moved in? Were these the ones you used when you left home to go to university?

Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking of that. 

He stomped away to your bathroom and rifled through over-the-counter medication behind the mirror—allergy pills, Benadryl cream, ibuprofen. He found your pink with green toothbrush, your toothpaste, floss, and mouthwash. He quickly glanced at the shrinking bar of honey-coloured soap by the sink inside a small bowl.

He rubbed his fingers against the beige hand towel and then your olive-coloured towel by the shower door. He inspected the scent and brand of your shampoo, body wash, face washes, and conditioner.

Why was he so drawn to learn all these things about you? He never cared about any of these things before. Sure, to some extent he tried to learn stuff about Cassie and Lisa, but never like this. Why couldn’t he take it slowly? Couldn’t he be normal about you? You were just a woman. Just a woman who made every withering seed suddenly bloom in his desiccated heart and desolate soul. Of course he’d turn to you, like a sunflower turning toward the Sun. It was his destiny, one he wouldn’t dream of fighting. 

He returned to your bedroom and slowly plopped down on your bed. He smiled instantly, swallowed by your soft mattress, and laid down on your pillows with your notebooks in his lap. He lifted the one that was full and became wrapped up in the story of your life.

He was only partially disappointed that you’d only begun writing a year before. He only knew about that and still nothing of your past. Only through subtext and vague statements could he decipher events of your past life. And every now and then, something would bring up the past and that’s how he discovered small details about you. 

Inside your half-filled journal, he found your work schedule. 

“Residency,” he mumbled and glared at the extensive, ridiculous hours listed for you to work. No wonder he hardly ever saw you. No wonder you were so behind on unpacking. 

Dean’s ears perked up when he heard rocks and dirt crunching beneath tires. His heart would have stopped if it were beating and his blood would’ve run cold if it still ran through his body. He was instantly at the window of your bedroom watching you drive towards the house.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean muttered, watching as your car pulled up into the driveway. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He scurried to shove your books back into place before legging it downstairs to retrieve his jacket and shoes and panicked momentarily. He wasn’t ready to leave yet! 

Did he touch anything else? Did he move something he wasn’t supposed to? He was so enthralled with his expedition around your home that he’d completely blanked out anything he should’ve been mindful of. 

He made his way back upstairs and quickly threw his shoes and jacket into the farthest empty room down the hall. There’s no reason you’d check out every room. Were you paranoid? Wait, he hadn’t accounted for this. Damn it, he was way in over his head.

It was too late. You were already making your way up to your porch. Dean could hear your quiet sigh, the sleepiness of it made him feel warm—at least the illusion of it. 

He quickly rid the bed of the form his body had made atop your sheets by pulling carefully at the edges and smoothing his hand over the wrinkles that remained until your bed looked untouched once more. 

Dean’s ears perked up at the sound of your car keys and your shoes being kicked off carelessly. Dean was suddenly excited to see what you wore. So, we should hide? his mind questioned. We? Dean scowled and looked around before picking the cliché of all hiding places: the closet. 

It felt like an eternity before you began to make your way upstairs. 

Much to Dean’s dismay, you’d discarded your lab coat at the coat rack, so he wouldn’t be fulfilling his fantasy tonight. But he could hear the material of your scrubs brush against itself as you shuffled lazily up the stairs and into the hallway leading up to your bedroom. 

Your door creaked open, you stretched, and then began to push your pants down your legs. Dean’s eyebrows shot up and he leaned forward to gently prod the closet door open enough to watch your black scrubs get pushed down your bare legs.

You kicked them off along with your socks and left them on the floor to lift your shirt up. Beneath it, you wore a grey thermal shirt. Dean watched, his mouth parched suddenly as your body stretched upwards, just in your violet coloured underwear.

He bit his lip to stop himself from saying something under his breath about how sexy you were. He couldn’t risk you somehow hearing him. But soon, you were completely naked.

Dean peered lewdly at your bare body. The way your hair came loose over your shoulders to brush against your warm skin, the shape of your breasts, the way you shivered and your nipples tightened as you collected your clothes to throw it into the hamper. Your proportions and the entire beauty of you captivated him. 

He wanted to fuck you, yes, but he also wanted to know what it felt like to hold the elegant dip of your waist. To know what it felt like for your body to curve up and mould itself into his body when you hugged him. To know how your fingers felt when they were weaved through his, as you had sown yourself into his dead heart to give him the illusion of life, of warmth. 

What did it feel like to cup the back of your head when he kissed you? Or to hold your jaw as he tilted your head for the perfect angle to kiss in? What did your fingers feel like when they skimmed over his cold skin and twisted into his hair when you got lost in the kiss?

What did your mouth taste like if his tongue brushed against yours? What did your plush lips feel like against his? Where would your lips trail off to and how would you kiss him?

Dean was dazed at his vivid fantasy and then you disappeared into the bathroom and he finally ripped himself from the perfect twill of his daydream. Disheartened, he leaned into your clothes, sinking deeper into your closet and briefly relaxed as your soft clothes overwhelmed his senses. 

Dean considered leaving now that you were home. He sort of got what he wanted, information about you. The rest of your house may have been mostly empty, but your bedroom wasn’t. And your bedroom revealed more about you to him than the rest of your home would have.

Still, maybe you’d get on your laptop and he could discern your password. Yeah, that would definitely be ideal. He could stay in the closet. There was nowhere else he could hide and the bottom of the bed was pretty useless. Besides, there was no reason you’d check in here, none at all. 

He waited thirty minutes for you, on his phone looking up what he could about your medication. He learned quickly the side effects, what not to take with your medication, when the best time was to take it. Then moved on to the minuscule list of diseases the medication was used to treat.

He was thrown deep into the research, reminding him of the days when he would have to search things through libraries and files for lore on monsters and to brief himself on the case he’d taken. It wasn’t too different: he wanted to get closer, he wanted to solve you. The only difference was you weren’t dangerous and you were beautiful, and he actually felt motivated to willingly delve further into the rabbit hole that was your life. 

The shower turned off and Dean shut off his phone. 

It wasn’t long before you walked out of the bathroom and Dean moved closer to the closet door, peeking between the small crack as you walked into your bedroom. You were patting your hair dry with a smaller towel and had your back to him. 

You threw the small towel successfully into the hamper and sighed exhaustedly. You were so silent. He wondered if it was only because of the fatigue of your job or if you always wordlessly completed tasks. 

He would only know once you completed your residency. Or if he found you on a day where you didn’t have to work. But he didn’t think you’d have the energy to go out, even on a weekend or vacation, after working such laborious hours.

He continued to watch you expectantly as you made your way to your dresser where your underwear was, he watched you sift through the neatly organised garments before you plucked something out and then your towel came undone slightly.

“Stupid fuck,” you muttered angrily and adjusted it. He grinned at your short temperament, but he wished you’d just let it fall completely so he could see you again. You bent over and looked through your sock drawer, picked a comfortable pair and finally pulled the towel from your body and threw it over to the hamper where it only made itself halfway in. 

Dean bit his lip at the sight of your ass; he traced the long divot of your spine down your back and the curve of your waist with his gluttonous eyes. He mouthed a ‘wow’ and licked his lips as you slid your underwear carefully up your legs.

You picked out a tank top and matching pants from the middle drawers and made your way to your bed with your socks in hand. So you did sleep with socks on. Ankle socks, fluffy loose ones with pink and white patterns. 

You lazily lifted your sheets, your expression more somnolent than he expected. Your feet, covered in clean socks, hid beneath your thick warm sheets. Your whole body was covered and your cheek pressed into the same pillow he’d grabbed. 

He waited as your breathing slowed, faster than he expected, you were out. Your mind shut off, tired from long hours of work. He envied you for a moment and then allowed his affection for you to bloom in his chest as he pushed the closet door open and shut behind him. 

He made his way to you carefully, and watched your peaceful expression. You lips were parted slightly and your breathing was so low and deep that your heart slowed down serenely.

He considered kissing you as you slept, but he’d rather have your consent when you’re awake some day; that’d really show him that you wanted him. 

Instead, he pressed his lips to your jaw, then dragged them hungrily to your quiet, gentle pulse and kissed you there. His lips lingered, promising the blood that would travel to your heart, that one day, it would be all his. 

-> life ain't easy when you're a mythical creature

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[pinkkop]

This week's recap is brought to you by OG BL actors and pairings returning to our screens. We got Saint back this week and then the upcoming week we get Singto and Krist back together!! Happy and exciting days!!! 👏🎉

QL Recap for Week 20

The 12th of May to the 18th of May

🇹🇭 The Next Prince

Episode 3 of 14 || Watching on: iQiYi, Saturday

I really appreciate that you can already tell that there's something between Khanin and Charan. Like there's chemistry but it also feels like there is a clear mutual attraction. This just works really well because of course they can't act on it since there's also a bunch of other things between them such as Khanin's higher station and Charan's loyalty. This show is such a delicious meal!!

🇹🇭 Pit babe 2

Episode 3 of 13 || Watching on: iQiYi, Friday

Wait so the thing that's amplifying their powers is the research and testing they're doing in their own lab? Interesting! What I really appreciated about the first season was how they committed to the bit and this feels the same. Like I can't help but get invested in the plot because all the drama, mystery, characters and their relationships are just done so well.

🇹🇭 My Stubborn

Episode 5 of 12 || Watching on: iQiYi, Sunday

This is the best kinda crack for sure! And our four main actors work so well for this concept so I am seated every Sunday, ready for a new episode, on the dot. Sorn is so entirely delusional because what do you mean Jun isn't allowed to sleep with other people but Sorn seems to kinda still see Penny as a possible hook up. My bet is that he only really decided to go with her because she baited him and now he needs to prove to her, and maybe also himself, that Jun isn't special to him. Wouldn't be surprised if he tries to get down and dirty with her but then he simply can't go through with it because Jun is really special to him now and casual hook-ups just aren't doing it for him anymore.

🇹🇭 The Bangkok Boy

Episode 4 of 12 || Watching on: Gagaoolala, Saturday

I'm not one for trailers or reading too much up on the plot of shows unless I'm actively deciding whether I want to watch a show or not. This means that I have no idea where this show is going but I'm still so intrigued because the world within this show and it's characters are so rich and fascinating. Side-note, Mei better be safe and unharmed! This show is real dark at times so our resident psycho could have done all sorts of things to her which makes me worried.

🇹🇭 My Sweetheart Jom

Episode 1 of 12 || Watching on: Youtube, Friday

It's so good to see Saint back in a main role and after this first episode I'm also feeling excited about Poom being the other main character. Also, Granny was my absolute favorite this episode, though it's a little sad to see that Jom obviously isn't out to her. Anyways, this was a really good start to this series and I'm excited for the next episode!

🇹🇭 Knock Out

Episode 1 of 12 || Watching on: Gray, Friday

I do love a stoic character who's probably just a little socially stunted! The first episode laid a promising foundation for this show so I'm excited to see where it goes.

🇹🇭 Boys in Love

Episode 5 of 12 || Watching on: Youtube, Sunday

I would like to punt every single parent in this episode into the sun, thank you very much! The kids are still cute though even if I still feel this show is lacking in a lot of ways.

🇹🇭 Sweetheart Service

Episode 2 of 12 || Watching on: Youtube, Friday

I'm still really liking this concept but I'm finding it hard to really appreciate this show when it's airing at the same time as some shows with much higher budgets.

🇹🇭 My Golden Blood

Episode 10 of 12 || Watching on: Youtube, Wednesday

Very satisfied to see that I was almost word for word right about Khun Thara but sadly GMMTV skimped on the sound quality for this show which kinda puts a damper on any excitement, me being right about Khun Thara, might have created.

That's it for this week!!

For links and airing schedule check out World of BL (Only for BLs)

[fear-is-truth]

What is a random headcanons you have of Kai? Like the type of headcanons that would make him seem really human and not like he's constantly a murderer or psychopathic.

KAI ANDERSON // headcanons

a/n: here goes.. but i fear he’s just as fucked up bc i was trying to be realistic ya know

judges people by their handshakes. a weak grip disgusts him, and he’ll never respect someone with gross clammy hands.

watches old footage of leaders like hitler, stalin, or jfk to study their body language, hand movements. kai practices in front of a mirror until it feels natural. every gesture he makes while speaking is rehearsed. the way he waves his hands, points, or clenches his fists is meant to manipulate emotions.

practices subtle gestures (touching someone’s shoulder, making intense eye contact) to make people subconsciously trust him.

enjoys watching true crime documentaries and infodumps about jonestown or heaven’s gate.

remembers oddly specific details about people but weaponises them later in arguments.

thrives on debates, especially when he can dominate someone intellectually. he’ll derail conversations just to win, even if it’s about the dumbest shit like the best way to eat a subway sandwich.

has entire passages of nietzsche and shakespeare memorized, knows random latin phrases and sprinkles them into conversations to seem cultured.

hates losing at anything—he’ll rage quit a game of monopoly if it’s not going his way.

when fixated on something—a person, an idea, or a goal—he becomes consumed by it. spends hours researching or strategising, often at the expense of his health.

has casually invested in bitcoin and other cryptocurrencies. checks his coinbase and binance accounts obsessively. has strong opinions about dogecoin being a joke.

occasionally reads self-help books.

his library consists mostly of power-centric books. his favourites include the prince by machiavelli, the 48 laws of power by robert greene, the art of war by sun tzu, and nietzsche’s thus spoke zarathustra. also delves into russian literature like dostoevsky’s notes from underground and tolstoy’s war and peace.

collects super offensive internet memes in a private folder. posts pepe memes on 4chan ironically but secretly thinks they’re funny.

leaves people on read for hours, just because.

desensitised himself to gore.

loves gta, rdr2 and civilization VI. played cod religiously in his incel days.

follows elon musk on x (formerly known as twitter) and admires him as a disruptor of society. or maybe it’s a tech bro thing idk. retweets his memes but also calls him a sellout for pandering to the masses.

loathes andrew tate for his shallow and illogical takes but agrees with 10% of his misogynistic rhetoric.

posts inflammatory tweets that toe the line between radicalism and satire, carefully wording them to avoid getting banned.

an avid user of letterboxd. some of his reviews are super scathing—but for some reason, they always blow up. he’d open the app to find that his hate review on la la land got 7.2k likes. screenshot compilations circulate on reddit and instagram.

his letterboxd favourites are: american psycho, fight club, the social network and the matrix (all 5 star ratings)—but claims he likes them for their philosophical depth.

his favourite show is mr. robot, saying elliot alderson is “the closest thing to a genius on tv.” he also likes the twilight zone and breaking bad.

obsessed with eminem—he’s been a fan ever since d-12. the marshall mathers lp are his go-to rage anthems. thinks lose yourself is the pinnacle of motivational music.

thinks kanye west is a misunderstood genius and frequently defends him online.

uses dark mode on every device.

apple loyalist. owns a macbook, iphone, and airpods because he appreciates their sleek and minimalistic design. calls android users “peasants.”

never charges his phone until it has like 2% left.

brilliant with tech—can hack into nearly anything. knows how to code in several languages, always staying on top of the latest tech trends and occasionally contributes to dark web forums.

builds custom pcs for fun. dabbles in coding and hacking. knows how to create computer viruses.

used to spend wayyy too much time on forums like 4chan, r/RedPill, r/foreveralone and r/incels, though he’s mostly active on subreddits like r/iamverybadass, and r/unpopularopinion. also lurks r/atheism just to mock people with religion.

frequently visits r/AmITheAsshole to judge people, always siding with the “bad guy.” bro has the potential to be a criminal defense lawyer that the DA despises.

lowkey obsessed with angelina jolie, specifically from her tomb raider days. probably has a pinup poster stashed somewhere in his room.

uses arctic fox’s poseidon blue hair dye.

firmly believes in the efficiency of 3-in-1 body wash, shampoo, and conditioner.

wears dior sauvage because it’s “masculine but sophisticated.” probably bought it after seeing johnny depp in an ad.

when he’s in a mood, kai loves sneaking up on people to startle them. he’s perfected the art of standing silently in doorways until someone notices.

prefers dogs because they’re trainable, loyal, and trusting on their owner. in other words they are easy to manipulate and control.

constantly rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. it’s both a habit and a way to intimidate people.

his lust for power stems from feeling powerless in his youth, particularly after witnessing his father’s abuse to his mother and the lack of control he had over the situation.

struggles to process complex emotions like guilt, shame, or empathy. often suppresses them or redirects them into rage.

swings between grandiosity (believing he’s destined for greatness) and crippling self-doubt (thinking he’s fundamentally unlovable)

finds it almost impossible to open up emotionally unless it’s to manipulate someone.

criticism, even minor, eats away at him. he’ll stew over it for days, replaying it in his head while devising ways to “prove them wrong.”

gets uneasy if someone expresses affection without clear reason—suspects ulterior motives.

goes online to stalk whoever winter’s dating at the time. sends cryptic, vaguely threatening texts from a burner number or straight up dox them. half of it is for shits and giggles, the other half is rooted in jealousy.

he’s attracted to girls who are intelligent and opinionated. independent but emotionally vulnerable, so he can swoop in and “save” them (he has a saviour complex). loyalty is non-negotiable, and she has to make him feel like her top priority.

anyone resembling winter is immediately his type, but he’d never admit it.

freakishly good at darts and chess.

knows how to pick locks and also, how to build a perfect pipe bomb.

his clown mask is inspired by satan in dante’s divine comedy (based on this convo with @porcelainlipgloss)

alternates between ice-cold showers and scalding hot ones depending on his mood.

drums his fingers or shakes his leg while sitting. can spin a pen around his fingers like a pro. learned it during boring college lectures and now does it absentmindedly.

can’t stand slow walkers, or when someone scrapes a fork on their teeth. his reactions to these are disproportionate and borderline hostile.

prone to road rage.

has read elliot rodger’s manifesto once, mostly out of curiosity and boredom, but ended up getting weirdly immersed in it. he disagreed with the bravado and entitlement, though—he finds it pathetic and would mock it, but still, he couldn’t put it down. deep down, he understands the mindset too well, which makes him uncomfortable.

selectively polite. says “please” and “thank you” when it benefits him but will completely ignore social etiquette in other situations, like cutting lines or taking the last slice of pizza.

his workout playlist consists of nine inch nails, rammstein. aggressive rap like eminem (“till i collapse” is a staple) and dmx. sometimes mixes in orchestral movie scores (the dark knight rises soundtrack pumps him up)

brushes his teeth aggressively, so his toothbrushes always wear out quickly.

loves gas station beef jerky and bags of plain popcorn with way too much salt.

doesn’t drink often, claiming alcohol dulls the mind. but when he does, it’s always something hardcore like everclear or absinthe. has a surprisingly high alcohol tolerance.

can literally live off black coffee or monster zero ultra (white can). claims he doesn’t need caffeine, but drinks it constantly because he “likes the bitterness.”

his handwriting is pretty neat, but only when he’s focused—otherwise, it’s chicken scratch.

loves the smell of gasoline and sharpies.

can’t sit his ass down during phone conversations—kai paces back and forth like a caged animal.

rarely gets more than four hours of sleep.

and when he does sleep, he sleeps on his stomach with one arm dangling off the bed.

sleep talks under extreme stress.

secretly likes it when someone takes care of him. whether it’s bandaging a cut or insisting he eats when he’s been working too hard, he fucking melts. he’ll complain about being babied, but it’s a front.

[nshtn]

how well do you think wesker would get along with a s/o or friend with ASPD?

writing RE5 wesker and making him way more sociopathic than I normally pen him for the bit.

with ASPD? well, he has ASPD. severely. he's a psycho-sociopath - i fear this is one of the more effective passive ways to strip him bare when it comes to existing relationships, but it also makes him almost unrecognizable as the Wesker that is often presented to the audience. i also think he would overly-strip his own persona to chameleon their own until he's acting a degree of detached he doesn't even find himself.

kinda DDDNE below i'm ngl!

i think he would literally just be like "hey, what are positive reinforcements for you?" and then literally reward/punish them like they're an algorithm and not really a person. cut out the middleman of silly things like "overly-abundant lingual placations" and "social engineering in an attempt to garner a one-sided lovebombing relationship relative to interests". he's not fretting about reciprocation or communication too deeply. he'd probably drop a lot of his persona around them because there's no point, depending on the type and severity and the level of friendship that is shared.

probably likes to talk about deeper aspects of humanity he finds confusing with them. (issue: he's a know-it-all hotheaded egomaniac who is snobby & pompous) yes, he knows why people are programmed with disgust, but isn't it annoying? why must he fret in the trenches of 'reciprocal social warmth' so that his plan - benevolent in its' leanings (absolutely not) - may progress? why can his intention, the bigger picture, never serve as enough for most of this useless, ungrateful population?

he has to stem his brutal honesty when others speak. people twine their words around common idioms and metaphors, dancing around truths that mean nothing to him just to spare their own hide. it's difficult for him not to spring into a lecture when his scientists do something wrong that he could never. he has no empathy to spare for failure to incubate limited, unstable samples. must he do everything - must he teach everyone everything every time, or will they find insult in that, too? and doesn't his little friend find it difficult to participate in this annoying "dance"? it's draining.

i think he'd express less of his anger towards them specifically because, if their ASPD is severe, they're likely not even doing things to intentionally seek it (unless they're acting directly, inescapably incompetent - but he won't pull out the big book of ad homs; why do it if it is to no effect? he almost wishes they'd respond to his prodding so he'd have something to use, so used to the mask that going without feels itself a breed of foreign.) he automatically views them without the same level of malice as long as they don't harbor thrill-seeking in destruction or passive, extreme homicidality like Marcus.

he'd likely spring into deeply philosophical or scientific topics with them with very little to buffer between it, nixing the small talk that people are used to because it isn't optimal - ever the optimizer, to the point of mania - the kind of man who rounds a corner, spots them, and immediately breaks out into whatever problem he's run into with his own research with no buffer. hello, rubber ducky! of course, he expects the same from them, but he'll mind a lot less if they drudge through small talk, safety in the knowledge they find it as useless as he does when they're both public-facing. (the truth is that wesker does not mind the small talk when it's all about him, but...)

do they not feel an irk when they must relax their tension manually? do they find it difficult to pull the proper degree of smile that a situation demands - never too much, never too little? he will flat-out ask if he can imitate if they're really that good or find it easy - while he can certainly do it, he doesn't invest as much of himself as he reasonably should as a bioweapons manufacturer and continually sits on the splitting, guillotine's edge of the necessary imitation. he'll also learn the tics that represent the sign that their irritation is peeking through when they're with others and act as their wingman, swooping in to pull them away with the expectation they'd do the same for him.

probably keeps them around for Excella's invasions of personal space like they're a beacon of safety.

they talk about how natural he was afterwards - where he can improve, what was perfect, where irritation bubbled into the periphery. they will likely have picked up on the fact that he bathes in positive reinforcement and preens to it. honestly, they could probably defang him and have him under them if they play their cards right.

he'd definitely probe on how deeply it effects them - neurology intrigues him and is a cog in the grand machine of his research, and to learn about the finer parts is useful, especially if he might want to induce it in people who carry uroboros (what grand, irredeemably unreachable goals - to invade the brain will only result in severe irreversible cannibal disease). he would definitely seek the physical representations that underpin it, and would feel great interest in the difference between someone who was born with ASPD vs someone who developed it.

blue umbrella already knew how to make weapons out of the thick dough of the humanity they're initially presented with. he needs to know how to do it at the genetic level.

willing to experiment with eachothers lack of:

"did you hear about [x]? do you want to see the raw footage?"

"at what age did you realize you felt a separation?"

"have you had an f-MRI before?" ... "what about an EEG?"

definitely puts his hands on their shoulders, waist, or grabs their wrist occasionally in interactions, examining their face for the telltale signs of flush. display it, do it. give him something to work with, please.

treats them clinically, in an almost insulting way, simply the way he treats others stripped bare. over time, as the fascination pours and froths over, it becomes playful and natural.

as he gets to befriend them more closely he'd be willing to be indebted to them to provide them with what pushes their own personal goals forward. unfortunately, i think he'd always have a degree of his own personal separation because they're an uncontrollable variable who knows enough of his depth that they could fuck him over. he will always strive to put out the ward that that goes against their finer sensibilities.

i think he'd fear that being too truthful with them, especially about his own goals, would make for another birkin. at the same time, there's a draw to someone so similar or even worse than he is, especially if he can use them as a nearly-consensual canvas without much prodding.

if he can talk with them about topics that usually evoke disgust in others, this will be the ultimate springboard into the breaking dam of friendship into a warped intimacy.

kinda nsfw:

he'd definitely enjoy getting reactions out of them to an unhealthy level that becomes near-exponential as his interest breaks the dam - if they're a sadomasochist, they're in for a fucking ride.

what closeness and ultimate equality in standings would look like to him would be different than it would be for someone who lacks ASPD - would they like to test uroboros? he could do some gene edits to produce an artificial compatibility... this is, to him, one of the most intimate questions he could ask someone in this unique setting; it is like marriage, flipped on its' head from something done without a second thought to a ritualistic, hierophiliac art form. would you join him on his pedestal and ascend? do you want to become true equals?

[jariten]

November-December 2024 roundup!!

Happy New Year to everyone reading this! Wow!! What a year. But my personal year end roundup is still WIP so let's catch up on the months I missed instead.

I never shared my thoughts on the Who's Afraid of Kanako Inuki collection Kodansha USA published a few years back. I loved getting introduced to her but the selection itself I found a little bit weak overall but I got some more tastes this year with the Horror Anthology Comic Shikaku collection and found her stories to be among the best so I am totally open to checking out more. But what I liked the most about 'Who's Afraid' was her writings about her favorite manga and the artists who inspired her the most. Which pointed me to Ushiro no Hyakutaro by Jirou Tsunoda. Note that I didn't read the complete series but an anniversary compilation of some of the "best" stories from the series. First thing that struck me was wow, this is like Mob Psycho played completely straight. Some scenes were like the Reigen fraudster scenes but like there is no fraud because our hero's father does not fuck around when it comes to the supernatural, its serious business. And the second is how truly instructional and educational it is. It teaches the reader how they can train their latent supernatural powers, there's even a scene responding to a readers question on how to talk back to your teacher when they claim that the supernatural is not real, and presents genuinely thorough research on the super- and paranormal. In between these things is an exciting manga about ghosts, possessions, humans who use ESP for evil, and even a journey to the realm of the dead. And a sassy (telepathic) talking dog sidekick. I don't know if I will ever go out of my way for the full series but I'm happy I got a taste of what it had to offer.

When 2024 didn't turn out as yuriful as 2023 I made some last ditch efforts to read the yuri and lesbian offerings I have yet to read and Catch These Hands! by murata was an obvious pick. The series follow the instant inductees into my personal failwoman hall of fame. I love adult yuri, I love when both parts of a romance are equally socially incompetent but in different ways, and I found the conclusion to be really wonderful. Merry Yurimas to ME!

Ohayou! Spank by Shizue Takanashi and Shunichi Yukimuro is one of those like obvious Kodansha multimedia efforts that successfully sold Spank toys and related merchandise. But it's always nice though when the manga attached to these projects is pretty good and funny. I liked that Spank is more of a charming sidekick who moves the story along and sometimes gets to be the main character. It's not hugely remarkable beyond Spank's presence (and an abrupt protagonist switch around the halfway point??) but I am a humble enjoyer of tween manga like this that explores familial relations, first loves, and friendships. I just really enjoyed myself.

Price-wise I can't really win with Kazuo Umezz (Rest in peace, another great loss in 2024...) since his works go for premium prices both in the english and japanese market. A lot factors have made My Name Is Shingo one of the most expensive for me to collect in english but my godddd I'm too hooked. This is such a like not quite sci-fi not quite pure fantasy take on the sentient robot story that feels so unpredictable and is deeply suspenseful. Not in small thanks to Umezz's trademark art style. There's something extremely hypnotic about how Umezz constructs the flow of action. Had it been anyone else watching a character spend 1-2 pages just walking from A to B would be so excessive. The only word I can think of is hypnotic and suspenseful. And the spreads that visually represents Monroe's computer mind let's talk about those spreads. I haven't seen anything else like them personally and I can barely wrap my head around how they were drawn analogue and much less with a deadline. I'm very excited for the rest but will be shedding tears whenever I see the price at the register.

[genderkoolaid]

(different person than last anon) can you give us like actual scientific papers that "nonhumans" are real and not just ppl that need a lot of psychological help? bc like while gender + sex can be very diverse and change w the individual, species is extremely specific and thats why shit like making crossbreeds is so insanely hard and they usually end up infertile bc the genes arent meant to be combined. n also the only example i can think of of any other species having "i am not the species i was born as" thoughts is that one female monkey that was raised so close w people she thought she was a person and she would refuse to breed w any of her primate species bc of it. you would call that mental illness in that monkey because she cannot be a person in a monkey body, just like someone can't be a dog or angel or horse in a human body, so why do you not consider being "nonhuman" also a mental illness?

can you please explain about alterhumanity? I don’t mean to be negative, I don’t understand… “there are only two sexes” is wrong because biology knowledge we have today actually doesn’t support that. did modern taxonomy find out something similar about humans? that’s very interesting, I don’t know a lot about it! but if you do I’d love to read that research!

So I think "there are only two sexes" isn't the best example; the comparison is more like "people can't change their gender because gender is whats in your pants"

Yes, we can look at chromosomes and hormones and sexual organs, and that stuff is related to gender. But to say "gender/sex is a construct" does not mean "chromosomes/hormones/sex organs don't exist." Its pointing out that our relationship to those things is culturally dependent (I wouldn't say "unnatural" because humans making social constructs is natural).

Similarly, we do divide up species based on reproduction and common ancestors. But "humanity" is also a construct. What it means to be human & who is defined as human can and does change depending on our culture. Not only can some people be excluded from humanity (for example, people of color and neurodivergents), but some people believe they are spiritually nonhuman (whatever that means for them). Some people who have been rejected from humanity identify as alterhuman as a way of saying "you don't want me, then I don't want you" (voidpunk is related to this although not inherently alterhuman). Some people are delusional and identify with alterhumanity as a way of coping with their delusions (and also, yes, you can be self-aware about your delusions). Some people believe in reincarnation or alternate universes or have some other spiritual belief related to being nonhuman. Some people just feel like dogs and enjoy being a dog and it doesn't matter why because they just like it.

Honestly, the monkey does sound like a monkey-version of alterhuman, because (if I can get a little anthropomorphize-y on y'all), it sounds like she did not feel apart of "monkey culture." Obviously we can't know if monkeys have a concept of monkey-hood like we do with humanity, but if they did it would not be hard to imagine how a monkey raised with humans would feel more human than monkey. But regardless... we don't need other species to have alter-species-hood for the same reason we don't need snails to crossdress for trans people to exist. Other animals probably don't have the same complex. abstract social constructs we do.

Why can't someone be a horse in a human body? For the same reason someone can't be a man in a woman's body- because "science says"? Both trans-denial and alterhuman-denial emphasizes biology over sociological investigation, which leads people to just keep shouting "but science!!!!!!!!!!" at people who are more invested in questions of culture and constructs and what it means to be [man/woman/human] in society.

(Also, I'm kind of uncomfortable with how the first ask talks about mental illness. Specifically "person believes harmless weird thing, so they must need Psychological Help for their Wrong Thoughts")

[camcat1320]

Been doing more research into personality disorders for the purpose of writing Azula's and Ozai's characterizations. Based on what we see in the show, I believe the (fictional) characters may have Cluster B personality disorders. Ozai would have anti social personality disorder, specifically psychopathy, whereas Azula has borderline personality disorder.

Azula has a shifting sense of identity shown in The Beach. She wishes to be something other than what we have seen her display thus far. Her behavior in the finale shows her losing her composure and having angry outbursts. She pushes everyone away due to her abandonment issues. Her cutting her hair could be interpreted as a safe for children's TV version of self-harm. Then her mother appears in the mirror as a hallucination. Looking back at her childhood, I think her cold and calculating persona is all an act, mirroring her father. I need to revisit the film "Girl, Interrupted" because I think she has a lot in common with the character Lisa Rowe.

But don't count her out for redemption. According to sources, people that have BPD are more likely to seek help than people with ASPD. Azula still has a shot at redemption.

Ozai is another story. I'm taking inspiration from Kill Bill, Vol. 2 and American Psycho to flesh out his character further in my fanfic. Like Bill, he would be manipulative, cool, calm, and calculating. However, when raising BB, he puts on the act of a caring and loving father. He normalizes death and violence, raising her to be a cold-blooded killing machine for his use. Ozai would do the same to Azula, molding her into his perfect image. Azula's mirroring only exacerbates the problem.

Ozai is also like Bateman. In The Runaway, we see a statue of himself to make himself look powerful and the center of attention. In The Search, he is shown to have a diligent workout routine to keep him in shape. I'd like to further show in my fanfic that he is vain, using lotions and creams to keep his skin looking young and healthy. I'd also like to include a scene where he is envious that others prefer his forefather's tapestries more than his own. This would be my rendition of the business card scene from American Psycho. Ozai would have ordered the assassination on multiple people (some of which were failed attempts) with zero remorse or guilt. If it all adds up to him obtaining the throne, he'll do anything and nothing will get in his way.

Dang, my fanfic is getting good inside my head if I do say so myself.

[rainbowdrop]

Trying to keep me Sane #2

Part 1 (+inspiration post) —

///

As Tim finally arrive to his house, it felt as if his mind was finally getting cleaner, finally focusing on something else that wasnt-- wasn't that. The whole day of school was spent scheming up the plan, for now it was just mere ideas, things he would require and then he would plan how to get them.

1. Get in contact with the Joker (luckily it would take a while for that since he just got into Arkham... It would take at least another month or so for him to break out again if his memory is remembering his data right)

2. Make Joker trust Tim (that he still didn't knew how)

3. Ask his parents to pass him to an online school (they took a while to answer, if he was lucky they will answer his email before he had to call them)

4. Make sure Mrs. Mac don't discover he would not go to school again (the woman was an angel and he didn't want to worry her about him not socializing enought)

5. He need to tell his not-so-close-friends in school that he wouldn't go anymore (he would not risk getting the attention/worry of anyone, thank you)

6. He needed a type of disguise or the like so the Joker couldn't easily recognize him (again not wanting the attention who knew what would be of the people close to him if he discovers who he was)

But really as he get off the bus, the most important question still wasn't answered, how will he create a kind of trust with the Joker? And not even that but get him to get close... Could the Joker really trust anyone? Really the only one that seemed to follow Joker everywhere was Harley Queen and she almost didnt count because she sure as hell got manipulated by that psycho so of course Joker knew he could use her as he saw fit- because- because he made sure that she will follow him-

If- if Tim was able to fake that out to make Joker believe Tim got as crazy as Harley, that Tim got so obsessed by him that he couldn't do anything else but follow him- then that would be it.

Finally with that final peace falling rightfully in his plan and that issue got solved he could start with actual actions and not just plans and loose ideas he would need to make a lot of research he needed to be perfect on this performance, he would be on the spotlight of not just the Joker but also Harley wich was an actual psychiatrist and who knew what she remembered of that time. He couldn't also just appear in front of the joker and told him that he wanted in as his little sidekick- nobody would believe that... He needed that the Joker saw him, it needed to be Joker the one to pick Tim... To make him believe he was the one in control.

///

It had already passed another two weeks, two weeks in which he luckily got an answer from his parents, in their text they didn't seem as sure as getting him out of the school as it could meant that he couldn't make connections with future investors and make alliances with them, but really? Just a few words saying that it wasn't worthy right now, that he needed his focus on school things saying how good his parents will look when he graduated sooner and with honors, he didn't out right say it but he knew how much they like it to show him off when they were here, being able to mention how he was so independent and manage to not just self educate himself but also at a fast rate and hight honors would just be the perfect trophy for them, so in the end they accept it, and he quickly make the transition easy enought, he said his goodbyes and his see you later's and he was pretty much able to spent his time as he wanted, he could finish easily his courses of the day in half the time and had the other free to learn about psychology- and acting- and to practice- and really! having the house all alone meant he had all the space and time to do as he wanted-! even if the echo sometimes rumbles in the deeps inside of him.

///

It was really just a matter of time, and just a bit earlier of what his calculations got there was a break out in Arkham, Joker one of the inmates to go out- so it was finally time to start doing it- he would say he could go out today, but really in between all the other villains and chaos that surely will ensue in the city- it just wasn't worth it to go out and search for just one crazy man, there just a hight chance Joker could manage to not be trapped today (a 67% based on others breaks outs) so with that in mind he turn on the Tv on the news, took a notebook, see other news on his cellphone and his laptop and prepare to stay awake for the whole night following Joker whereabouts.

///

At 4 in the morning it seemed it was finally as calm as Gotham could get, and lucky him the Joker did manage to not get caught, and following the few things that he saw, and another annotations in another tab of popular hideous of the Joker... Tim could narrow where he would probably be, and if he (just a 12kid with free time and no supervision) could discover that he knew Batman would also as easily, but there was Jason Todd a kid who also had school and a life, Bruce couldn't just keep going all day so they would already turn to wherever it's his place of operations (that he was pretty sure it was close or below or somewhere inside Wayne's mansion, based of the directions of where they headed at the end of each night patrol-) and probably recollect themselves for today's "night" patrol... So now it was a wait night until late...

He thanked his parents that he didn't have to go to school now, because otherwise he wouldn't have slept at all for like another days-

///

As the sun was close to disappear in the city he prepared his new look(it was a lot more covered than the last, he didn't need for the Joker to see his face, the less he knew the more curious he will get, and the higher chances that the Joker wouldn't hurt any person close to him) he took one of the cameras he didn't feel much attached to(not risking his more expensive ones) and he make his way out, he needed to get out before Batman, he needed to make sure that Joker saw him, saw him get enthusiastic for Batman, notice that Batman didn't know about him and that it would be a great chance for him to hurt Batman where it hurt the most, in innocent kids.(Not like he is, but nobody needed to know that)

///

The sensation of the air hitting his face, and the bump in his chest going faster and faster, the puff of air as the cold night embrace him- he thought he wouldn't be able to enjoy this after the last time- but it was still there, pulsing thought his system as if it never left even after- after that- he make sure to came to the location before Batman, going close to what he thinks is where the Joker could be, and he forced himself to stay out more, to look more expectantly to the sky as if searching for something that he knew wouldn't be there for another minutes, he didn't hide his camera and made sure to make noise in his steps from time to time, he barely saw something green once trought his peripheral vision, and he knew the Joker took his bait, and just in time- he could hear from afar the grappling guns, so he make his run and now hide better outside of Batman and Robin eyes, he hoped Joker catched that and well... Now that he was here with his camera... Well... it was a great chance that he could not miss right?

///

The Joker manages to escape - through some random goons reinforcements a little tricks and also a few treats to destroy the neighborhood the Joker barely manage to lost track of the Dinamic Duo (he could also see how Robin seemed a bit more slow... Probably tired of yesterday's hunt, and that also means a Batman that worries more about Robin than the villains... It was kind of cute to see him worried about Jason...).

But as the two go in another direction, probably to another sighting of one of the other villains that were still roaming free on Gotham, he barely heard someone falling behind him, he knew who it was before he made himself known, still- he needed to act as an clueless kid, so he just made himself put away his camera and got a hold in himself, taking a deep breath... It was another different thing plan this out than-

-"Who knew someone could enjoy birdwatching as much as I do?"

Lucky Tim, he didn't need to act feared as it was the only thing running through him, he jumped in the position he was, he barely managed to keep balance on the roof, and after he gave himself a second to calm himself(that didn't do much) he turned around quickly.

A big smile was welcoming him, he gulped and he now was thinking if this was really a good idea in even the first place.

\\\

Yei second part :D

[covid-safer-hotties]

School’s back and so is a COVID-19 surge: Protecting kids and precarious workers - Published Aug 30, 2024

While the chance of dying has decreased, we should be concerned about the serious long-term complications that can follow an infection.

The 2024 school year is beginning amid one of the biggest COVID-19 waves of the pandemic.

One U.S doctor states, “This is a very significant surge. The levels are very high. They’re the highest we’ve ever seen during a summer wave.” It might be hard to think about, but we’re still in a pandemic and experts are warning against COVID-19 complacency in schools.

Dying with COVID-19 in the acute phase may have decreased, but complications from an infection exist — more than 2 million Canadians have “long COVID” (LC). In this context, societies that see themselves as equitable, inclusive and just need to consider if they’re doing the best job protecting their more vulnerable members, like children and many precarious workers. Research shows governments are not doing the best protecting the rights of children in a crisis, and reports from workers indicate some feel abandoned and left to deal with scary health situations, largely on their own. For school staff, students, their families and communities, this all seems quite cruel. It does not need to be this way.

Organizations are working to make Ontario schools safer. Ontario school safety advocates for cleaner air in schools and research shows schools are safer when things like masking and vaccination are in place. However, these measures are generally not being followed.

Dr. Pantea Javidan writes, “the lack of health and safety in schools resulting from zero-mitigation policies continues to cause great physical and psycho-social harms to children and families.” One study found 14 per cent of adolescents who have gotten COVID-19 developed some LC symptoms. Another study found 45 per cent of infected children with at least one persisting LC symptom. For workers with LC, about 14 per cent have not returned to work within three months since their infection. Many people have been knocked off career paths because of LC. It is a public health crisis for workers and youth.

Allowing uncontrolled spread in communities and schools will likely see the crisis grow, so schools need to be made safe. Not making schools safe violates children’s rights because children’s rights to education include the right to an environment that is safe and not harmful to one’s health.

Kids are major spreaders of COVID-19 and with certain policies, the schools they attend can be safer. HEPA filters should be in every classroom and always on.

Businesses like the Apricot Tree Café in Mississauga are committed to clean air, use HEPA filters and are considered a leader in COVID-19 safe business practices. The owner reports not being sick in four years despite working in a high-risk industry. If a private restaurant can provide clean air, so can the public school system. Not doing so may violate certain human rights.

Dr. Javidan argues “policies threatening the life, health, and education of children are cause for alarm among defenders of human rights.” Importantly, human rights overlap into workers’ rights. In the U.S., workers have been disabled at an unexpectedly high rate since the pandemic began, and researchers are wondering if there’s a COVID-19 connection.

My research looks at precarious occasional teachers (OTs) in Ontario during COVID-19 and ways to make work safer for them, which makes schools safer for students. For example, hiring more secure contract teachers can reduce class sizes making them safer. Higher OT pay, basic income, and paid sick days could help by enabling sick people to stay home. OTs in B.C. make significantly more money per day than Ontario OTs, so higher wages are possible.

Ontario OTs have no paid sick days and can be exposed to multiple schools and hundreds if not thousands of students and staff, which puts them and others at risk. Higher wages and/or a universal basic income allows OTs to have a buffer due to lost income from days absent. A policy of paid sick days can stop sick workers going to work and helps a robust economy.

There are many educational and employment policy options available to reduce COVID-19 levels and protect students and workers during the 2024/25 school year. To uphold the rights of children and workers, these policies should be advocated for by community groups and unions, and adopted by governments and school boards.

[borderline-culture-is]

Not culture but it might be useful, specially bc it was an actual discourse on cluster b community.

Self diagnosis is a serious topic and a topic both mentally ill and, specially, neurotypicals use to discredit others. Specially because there's people who actually banalise mental health topics by saying they are "psycho" for example.

Now, how do you even differentiate people who are actually hurting the community and the people who genuinely do not have access to diagnosis or doesn't want to?

Ok let's go by personal experience. I used to call myself labels I did not know or research, I knew I was not normal so I explored many labels and saw what sticked with people. This is a important experience because it's neutral over the topic, it's not specifically against mentally ill people, but it is ignorant. It's a non educated guess from a teenager that was called horrible ableist names their entire life for not comforming socially and mentally.

Then I started researching. I wanted to make my characters accurate, I wanted to be a GOOD mental health rep. This is when I self diagnosed as autistic. But not because I'm quirky, not because I felt different. But because I researched, a lot. I saw media from autistics sharing their experiences, their symptoms, the societal problems, I did tests from actual psychologists, I researched actual criteria. A year later I was diagnosed by a professional. I would have never gone there without making my own educated guess. I've done the same with BPD, but since I myself think my symptoms are mild and not fully developed (I'm only 20), I didn't look for having a diagnosis yet, and I don't know if want to.

Now going to the people who don't actually have a certain mental illness and are clearly not educated on the subject. I'll give two examples, having it in mind that the "faking an illness" illness is not real and only exists to be ableist.

1. I have a co-worker that thinks she's a psychopath. I do not think she is, she's a little fucked up, she likes questionable stuff like I do (we both enjoy "You" even though NTs hate the series for it's "romanization" of stalking and murder), she would be willing to kill out of stuff that genuinely I think most people would anyways. I want to ask her more about it, indirectly ask her typical psychopathy traits, but overall, she says she's a psychopath bc she's kinda weird. It's banalizing the illness over the "everyone is a little fucked up in the head" thing.

2. Popular people who got fame for faking it. I don't think these people are normal, first of all. I don't like watching content related to these people, but overall, they ARE faking it and they DO fuck the honesty of actual mentally ill influencers. But, the only example that is open about her mental health journey: Trisha Paytas. She faked pretty badly having DID. People said she was trolling and there's a big reason she did troll, since that was all she did at the time. But you know what she was diagnosed two years after this video? BPD. She's not a neurotypical. But she faked having another illness. I can't say for her intent, but I don't think that anyone who ever fakes a illness does not have issues to talk to a therapist about.

I don't think that self diagnosing is the same as faking. Either the person is calling themselves self diagnosed or not. The real question should be: is your self diagnosis an educated guess or a ignorant decision?

I don't also believe in black and white morals (even though the more I think about BPD splitting I do it way more than I initially thought.) So a person who fakes it and trolls an entire community and the mainstream idea of that community can STILL be mentally ill or have mental health issues. Which I think happens more often than we like to admit.

But the person above is also not the same person who follow pop psychology and calls themselves a narcissist without knowing the first thing about NPD just to excuse their hate against a group of people.

I hope this helps someone... I don't remember who was the user that talked about the "NPD" TERF but wherever you are, I hope you know you complaining about her is not a jab to self diagnosed people because it's literally. Not the same. And if a self diagnoser DOES feel offended by that, then they are part of the problem (or take everything personally lol).

-🍬🐈‍⬛ (anon cause idk if I'm in the right blog lol)

.

[bricky-brikson]

Writeblr Intro

Hello all ! I'm Bricky, but you can call me Brick. I'm a fresh young adult, currently in university for medical sciences. I'm an acearo trans man, and since I'm on Tumblr I'm predictably clinically depressed, probably autistic, and have some other mental weirdness of the personality disorder type going on.

I've been here for a while now, but I thought a writeblr intro should be in order as I am very slowly re-organizing my blog.

I mostly write historical fiction, horror, and crime procedurals (all featuring whump), but I often branch out in attempts to try new things. Some of my favourite tropes/themes/subjects include Victorian aesthetics, obsession, social isolation, medical or psychiatric settings, cannibalism, and snakes (hence the dividers). So you know, only the cheeriest of things around here.

My current original WIPs (and their tags) are...

#dear cassedy : a murder mystery set in 1920's Toronto, centred on the area of St John's Ward, which was where most immigrants and impoverished of the time lived. I've been doing a lot of research about the history of marginalized groups in Toronto for this story, and research is like, my favourite part of historical fiction.

#echolalia : a creature feature, featuring the creature, set in a rather nebulous 80s-90s somewhere in Canada. Not quite sure what to do with it, but I'm currently ironing out character concepts.

#spirit phone (title pending) : as the name implies, a story (or series, still not sure) inspired by the album by Lemon Demon. I'm still trying to figure out what it's even about. There's cults and demons involved, that's all I'm certain about.

#psycho-therapy (title pending) : one of the first stories I ever made that I'm now re-working. Likely going to be focused on psychiatric abuse mixed with paranormal horror

#group projects : a general tag for a couple of unnamed stories that are based on random RPs I do with some of my friends. One is vaguely realistic and about a small drug trafficking ring. Another is an urban paranormal setting where monsters and other such creatures are a fact of life.

#writing about injuries : a series of posts about injuries and their effects, aimed primarily at whump authors.

I also write fanfic (predictably). I share them on my AO3, if you'd like to check them out. Some of my fandoms include Cookie Run (CRK/CROB), Psychonauts, Gravity Falls, Sky: Children of the Light, and Hollow Knight. I'm into some other stuff too, but not super interested in writing fic about it. Currently I'm working on...

#no cost too great | psychonauts : a Psychonauts fanfic focusing on Lucrecia's experience in Grulovia leading up to her assuming the title of Maligula.

#poor thing | cookie run : a Cookie Run Kingdom fanfic about Shadow Milk visiting the dreams of Pure Vanilla post Beast-Yeast 8.

#no mercy | cookie run : a Cookie Run Kingdom AU considering what things might be like if the Beasts were to win the final battle between the Union and forces of Darkness, mostly focusing on Beast x Ancient whump. I like seeing the Ancients suffer :)

So, those are my WIPs ! I hope something caught your eye. Throw me a follow or a reblog if you're interested in what I have to show :]

My asks are always open, feel free to send me questions or requests ! I can't guarantee a finished product, but you'll get some thoughtful rambles at the very least.

Above divider by @/cafekitsune. I sadly do not have the source for the snake divider.

[hatsunevitu]

okay so since the Cupid Ye was aired i’ve been constantly thinking about cartman’s mental condition. we know he’s probably taking medication now, so i hc him having antisocial personality disorder and bipolar disorder. and i’ve been imagining him having his depression episode for the first time after he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. he’s not used to it, he has no idea what’s going on and why he suddenly feels so tired and numb all the time, so he just stays at home skipping school and avoiding social contacts. he’s scared and the “it’s all because of your illness, poopsikins!” from his mother doesn’t help at all.

and sooo i wrote a short moment about this?? i’m sorry for any mistakes because it was originally written in my native language, not in english :(

***

Ever since early childhood it was clear and obvious to everyone that Eric Cartman had problems. Not even like that, Kyle corrected himself in his thoughts. Eric Cartman had Problems. Sociopathy, sadism, aggression – all that a person could notice in Cartman after only half an hour of communication.

And Kyle wasn't too surprised when bipolar disorder was added to all of the above in a sloppy psychiatrist’s handwriting.

By the time Cartman was finally diagnosed he had already gone through several phases of mania. Kyle even did a little research on the disorder. "To know what to prepare for the next time I meet this psycho," he told Stan. "And to know how to help him if necessary," he added silently to himself.

By the age of fifteen, Stan's company was already used to Cartman's regular explosive mood swings, which were accompanied by crazy ideas, aggressive behavior, and, if absolutely unlucky, deaths of a couple or more people.

It was typical: after a short break, Cartman would burst into Kyle's room (often through the window), start showering him with business plans, startup ideas, and opportunities to have extreme fun. Kyle was silent, trying his best to ignore him and frowning irritably when Cartman smiled ecstatically and rushed to Kyle, tugging at his sleeve and almost shouting that everything would be better this time and that it’s a one hundred percent successful scheme.

For some time Broflovski genuinely believed that everyone in their friends group was going through such tortures, but after a short questioning, he found out that they had not seen Eric's mania with their own eyes. Kyle understood — and they won’t, when Cartman just chuckled at the outraged "What the fuck, Fatass?" and replied, "I guess you're just special, Kahl. They wouldn't understand." His eyes flashed especially maliciously, and Kyle looked away hastily so as not to give Cartman the opportunity to start another fight.

Well, all in all, no one's world collapsed when Cartman was diagnosed with a new mental illness. Over the past months of insane hallucinations and obsessive intrusive thoughts, he managed to make everyone sick of him. He refused to go to the therapy sessions for a long time, shouting, running away and trying to get into a fight, and Liane was too afraid to find out another unpleasant truth about her son, preferring to go with the flow and shut him up with the fulfillment of every single of his whims. Kyle doubts that anyone would have done anything to help Cartman if he hadn't intervened. Why – it was unclear to Broflovski himself, but Cartman's first depressive phase hit them both unexpectedly too hard.

Disappearing from everyone’s sight for two weeks, Cartman ignored calls and messages (although Kyle had a serious doubt that anyone other than Butters and Broflovski himself texted him) and skipped school despite Mr. Harrison's threats of expulsion.

Liane avoided answering questions, pursing her lips in frustration and talking her way out with a trivial "He's sick." Kyle didn't believe a damn second, knowing that if Cartman was sick, Kyle would have known about it the very first. Something was wrong. For some reason, the desire to find out what exactly was much stronger than it should have been when it came to Eric Cartman.

***

Perhaps Kyle really shouldn't have worried so much — not to the point of climbing into Eric's window at night. But the Cartmans hadn't opened the front door all day, and by that time Kyle's nerves were so stretched that they threatened to break if he didn't get answers to his questions in the next few minutes. Disturbing thoughts and images of possible turn of events appeared in his head. Perhaps Cartman was dead? Or, on the contrary, has killed someone and had been dissolving dismembered body of his victim for two weeks? One option was no better than the other, but nothing was even close to what he saw in Eric's bedroom.

Haggard, seven kilograms thinner, with an unhealthy skin color and bags under his eyes, he looked painfully wrong, not Cartman-like. He didn’t look exactly ill — more like lifelessly tired. But that wasn't even what hit Kyle so hard.

He did not suspect how much had been hidden in Cartman's eyes before – lively fire, hatred, anger, enthusiasm, passion – all this was gone, dissolved, buried under this empty, dead, unblinking gaze. For a second Kyle even thought (hoped?) that he was really dead, but the heaving chest under the blanket and almost inaudible sound of breathing exposed life in Cartman. He was lying on his back, his head slowly turned towards the window. Kyle sought recognition on his face, but did not see a single shade of any emotions.

He froze in the window, making eye contact with Eric, feeling like he saw something he shouldn't have. He tried to revive the old familiar hatred that usually boiled in him as soon as their eyes met, but Cartman’s emptiness totally killed all the anger. Kyle climbed through the window – Cartman didn't react in any way, lazily closing his eyes – and walked up to the bed, touching his shoulder timidly.

“Hey, Cartman?” he said, shuddering at the way his voice echoed throughout the bedroom. Cartman didn’t open his eyes but smiled hardly visibly.

“Hey, jew”. His voice was empty and emotionless and Kyle pursed his lips with a bit of a pain.

“You need to see a doctor, Cartman”, he said firmly as Eric finally opened one eye disinterestedly. “I’ll help you. I promise”.

And he did.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Erin Reed at Erin In The Morning:

In a letter to Texas Department of Public Safety Director Colonel Freeman F. Martin, Attorney General Ken Paxton unilaterally declared that court orders granting gender marker changes on Texas birth certificates or driver's licenses are null and void. Paxton’s directive, issued without a court ruling backing it, effectively positions him as the sole arbiter on the matter, bypassing Texas’ judicial system entirely and usurping its power. He further ordered that all previously amended documents be "immediately corrected," asserting that the court orders were issued without legal authority. “The ‘judicial power’ endowed to district courts does not countenance ex parte orders directing state agencies to amend a person’s biological sex on driver’s licenses or birth certificates. The underlying proceedings are coram non judice, and the resulting orders are void. State agencies must immediately correct any unlawfully altered driver’s licenses or birth certificates that were changed pursuant to such orders,” states Paxton’s letter. Paxton offers a convoluted rationale for his directive, arguing that Texas courts lack "statutory authority" to grant gender marker changes and that the state holds "sovereign immunity" over such matters. He further claims that courts acted "unreasonably" in allowing these changes, relying on a historically dubious assertion that gender identity did not exist in 1936. "It is unreasonable to suggest that the original public meaning of ‘sex,’ in 1936, somehow included a psycho-social concept that had not yet been invented," he wrote, falsely implying that conceptions of gender beyond reproductive roles were absent from historical discourse. To justify this, he cites contemporary definitions from that era, which he claims defined sex strictly in terms of biological reproduction. Paxton’s claim is demonstrably false. By 1936, the German Institute of Sexology had already been looted by the Nazis, its books burned precisely because it researched gender identity and facilitated gender transition treatments. Transgender people had long existed in the United States as well—Lucy Hicks Anderson transitioned in the late 1800s in California, and Albert Cashier lived as a man during the Civil War and decades afterwards. Beyond the U.S., transgender identities have been documented across cultures for millennia, further undermining Paxton’s assertion that the concept did not exist before the mid-20th century. Paxton’s directive is likely to have immediate and far-reaching consequences for transgender Texans, particularly those who have already updated their birth certificates or driver’s licenses. Because the order applies retroactively, the state may begin voiding previously issued documents and replacing them with ones that reflect an individual’s assigned sex at birth. The Texas Department of Public Safety had already been preparing for such a move—late last year, the agency sent a letter to Paxton asking whether it could "voluntarily correct its own introduction of inaccurate sex information" on licenses issued under court orders. Paxton’s response now appears to be an unequivocal “yes.”

Tex-ass “AG” Ken Paxton unilaterally declares court orders permitting gender marker changes on driver’s licenses and birth certificates null and void by ordering retroactive reversions of gender markers changed back to their assigned at birth gender.