#and this is incredibly obvious like it's literally just a statement

[m4rs-ex3]

ok but CALLUM WAS THE FIRST SON HARROW EVER HAD OK

#like we only see them together after ezran was born #which kind of inherently puts callum at number 2 #and this is incredibly obvious like it's literally just a statement #but for a good year he w a s his kid #even if they probably became closer because of ezran #im hoping u guys get me here but imagine someone sees this out of context and its just like #“BRO THE OLDEST CHILD WAS THEIR PARENTS FIRST EVER CHILD OMGASASDFASDHFAHSDF” #callum #callum tdp #tdp callum #king harrow #harrow #harrow tdp #tdp harrow #katolis royal family #tdp #the dragon prince

[anonymouspuzzler]

HAPPY UPDATE DAY!!! 🏠

After all this time, all this hard work, I can finally tell you all more about my work on Welcome Home beyond "Dude Just Trust Me I Work On It I Swear" !!

I've been calling myself the "production manager" because a lot of what I've done has been in that realm - making checklists and spreadsheets, doing research, sending emails, and generally keeping our wonderful team on track to do the incredible things they do, with all the support they need! I'm very lucky and grateful to get to support Clown and all the incredible actors and artists we've brought on!!

that said, over the time I've been part of this project (I looked back and realized February 1st this year is when it all Officially Began, can you believe it), I've gotten to work on some more obvious, visible things you'll find on the site today as well! most prominently, I am very proud to say, I was the curator of the very real Welcome Home exhibition!! Clown was extremely generous and supportive in letting me bring his work into the world this way, and with their help it became bigger and better than I ever could have dreamed! Though this iteration was very small and private due to our venue, I hope the few of you I know who attended enjoyed it very much, and for the rest, know we hope to find ways to host the exhibition in other and more public venues in the future! (Where and when, I don't know, but I'll work hard to make it happen...!)

As part of the exhibition, I was able to create a lot of new props to help build the world of Welcome Home! Most excitingly, I was able to create a real working toy telephone, and help Clown to find our talented group of voice actors to provide the recordings! And of course, I was able to meet dear sweet Wally and Home themselves, who were the sweetest little peanuts and a true pair of professionals! Just delights to work with!!

Though this was my most prominent contribution, somehow, that wasn't all! You will find bits and pieces of my art and writing all over the newest website update (some places more obvious than others...), and I was able to contribute to building many of the new and updated site pages as well! We've all worked so hard on everything you'll find there, so I hope you all enjoy the exciting new additions to the neighborhood!

My final little statement while I have my sweet little soapbox here... every last one of you who has provided support, even just one ko-fi tip, has Directly made this update Possible!! Not only do these tips allow us very literally to pay for supplies, art, voice work and the like, it very directly Supports and Improves the livelihoods of every single person involved!! so if you have the means, and would like to do so, please do consider tipping or subscribing to Clown and/or any of the other artists and actors involved!

And with all that... thank you, neighbors!! And Welcome Home!!

#anonymous puzzler talks #welcome home #partycoffin #long post /

[chunky-chee]

Okay, so I know a solid 40% of the new Fantasy High was about Tracker "There's still deep attraction here" O'Shaughnessy, but HERE ME OUT

Gertie Bladeshield is the perfect woman for Kristen Applebees.

Cause, like, look, there was a lot of talk in episode 11 about impulsivity and chaos as an aspect of Kristen's character, mainly in how it's mirrored in Princess "Kristen if she had money" Naradriel, but it's also been a general focus this season, especially in how she often uses it to guard her emotions. Think back to "That's what you think", an incredible improv moment, but if you look at the big picture, Kristen's estranged parents make an incredibly inflammatory statement about her religion right after actively bullying her little brother, and instead of honoring any of the actual negative emotions she's being filled with in that moment, she pirouettes away. It's brought up in the adventuring party after this exact episode how Kristen is a cleric, a high-wisdom class that is naturally insightful, but uses these silly deflections to hold other people back from being insightful into her (hence Mac & Donna's lifetime insight disadvantage)

This isn't just limited to small moments, too. To take a broader look at the season so far, Kristen's chaotic, shrimp-jumping, wrangler-wearing, salsa-dipping, middle-school-campaigning, steel-workers-union-supporting bid for class president is often shown explicitly as a distraction from her existentially important job as the only cleric of Cassandra. Even when trying to earnestly apologize to Cassandra and prove to them that she's gonna prioritize her over class presidency, the only way she can articulate it is "You're the meat, mama." Her emotions are always guarded by some amount of chaos and impulsivity.

Now, how does that relate to Gertie "I've had a crush on you for a really long time" Bladeshield?

In both of the two scenes we've gotten of The Best D20 NPC (/j (but I do really like her)), Gertie has shown a pretty similar propensity for making bold, chaotic decisions in the heat of the moment. However, in my observation, these decisions do NOT come from a place of emotional suppression. Quite the opposite, actually.

Think back to her Grand Entrance into the narrative. Gertie, being one of the last people awake at Fabian's party, gifts her longtime-crush a jar of honey, something that connects directly to her passion/special-interest of beekeeping, in a homemade container designed as a pun on Kristen's last name. (in hindsight, the crush was very obvious) Then, in the middle of her infodumping to her about honey, Kristen's rich friend makes an incredibly dismissive remark about her good-natured gift. This obviously pisses her off, but unlike Kristen "That's what you think" Applebees, Gertie "I don't give a shit who's kid you are" Bladeshield lets herself feel those emotions very loudly, immediately starts a duel with possibly one of the most accomplished sword-fighters in the history of Aguefort, and declares him a life-long nemesis. She acts very brashly and impulsively, but in a way that doesn't hide her emotions, instead expressing them.

(I know there's a lot of talk about outbursts of anger being tied to Ankarna, but not only does the scene not really seem like foreshadowing to me, it's more interesting to see it through the lens of being Gertie's actual actions)

This trend continues with the 12th most noteworthy thing to have happened in episode 11 (which incredibly high acclaim), where after being explicitly asked to talk about bees by her crush, and being placed inches away from her face, kisses her on the lips. Now, excusing the albeit upsetting lack of consent, it once again shows Gertie acting very impulsively in a way that exposes her feelings to the people she likes. With these two instances of characterization being literally the only two scenes we get with her, it poses her as a very interesting parallel to Kristen, someone who shares in her willingness to make impulsive decisions, but differs wildly from her in the way she uses them to react to strong emotions.

However, does this really make Gertie the Autism to her ADHD?

(idk if Gertie really shows autistic traits, I just wanted to say that) Well, part of what Tracker a good companion for Kristen was that, as a fellow cleric, she naturally had very high wisdom, meaning she had enough insight to look past the layers of shrimp and salsa and engage with her on a deep level. However, clerics aren't the only class that cast spells with wisdom, so do rangers, including swarm-keeper rangers, which is a subclass that both has a good few abilities focused on spell-casting and was confirmed to be Gertie's subclass in an adventuring party. While her highest stat still could be dex (which, come to think of it, is a hilarious contrast to Kristen), there's no doubt that Gertie has a higher chance than most at being able to look past Kristen's barriers and see the complex hive of sweet, buzzing emotions underneath.

Hell, maybe that's where Gertie's crush comes from in the first place. Maybe, seeing this popular, proudly sapphic cleric be incredibly playful and chaotic on school grounds, she not only saw a bit of herself, but a little more. Perhaps, the type of mind that dedicates itself to allowing small, harmless critters to prosper even when no-one cares to join her club, is also the type of mind able to recognize when someone isn't allowing their truest emotions to prosper, making her wonder if they might have something to gain from sharing some of that chaos, using it not to hide, but to be free.

Or maybe it's just cause her last name has "bees" in it, idk.

#even if Gertie's crush gets played off as a bit #I love gertie so goddamn much #and she deserves more love #fantasy high #gertie bladeshield #kristen applebees #d20 fhjy #dimension 20 fhjy #fantasy high junior year #bladebees #beesbees #appleshield #gert's bees

[cometkenji]

ghost in the machine

Pairing: Unsub!Spencer Reid x Agent!Fem!reader CW: Fluff, longing, mild angst, one paragraph with heavy implications of sex, cursing, mentions of reader being in a car accident, mentions of suicide and death, suggestive Ig? idk Spencer kind of taunts reader, if I miss anything please tell me! Summary: An unsub targeting local political powers starts calling you. With virtually no memories of your life before 15, you're tasked with finding out why his voice feels like home. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby. She's not physically described in this but reader is literally always a bigger person. Anyone can read but I wanna clarify <3 WC: 7.8k I lokey feel like I fumbled this one but this idea has been in my head since I saw a post about it like last month so i'm sorry in advance if it sucks 💀 I'm not saying looping ghost in the machine by SZA while reading this will elevate the experience but just know it's strongly advised and im even giving you a link to the song for easy access.

The fourth case this month. This was the fourth battered politician you’d forced into handcuffs while ducking away from the recoil of blood spewing from his mouth. The men you’d arrested had all protested strongly - and wetly - while being walked to the back of your cruiser, demanding to know why you were arresting them even though they were the victims. They were always the victims. They’d been burgled and beaten - yes- oftentimes you were restraining them while they sat in bathrobes or pajama pants, but this unsub always jumped the gun. Somehow they managed all this damage while simultaneously kicking the dirt that had been sedentary for years out from under the rug. The men would call the police themselves -  I’ve been robbed, I’ve been beaten - always astounded when you’d taken their statement then turned them around and recited their Miranda rights. This unsub was meticulous, planned down to the second. Somehow, the media always broke the story hours after the arrest with full fledged details on the crime - ones the BAU didn’t even have yet. 

The first time this happened, you’d questioned every media worker from Quantico to DC. His target zone never seemed to reach beyond that, giving you an offender right in your backyard. Those were always the hardest to stomach.  Journalists, Newscasters, even cameramen had been turned inside out as the team scoured for any connection. He was just too good. 

“How can it be just one man?” Derek spoke first, but that was the question all of you were about to ask. 

“Wife and kids were outta town. It was a sleeping 50 year old man against the element of surprise.” Prentiss was right, it wasn’t a difficult job when viewed like that. “Description is consistent with all the victims. All black attire, mask over the face.” She flopped the folder down in front of her for emphasis. 

“Either he has another guy or he’s incredibly tech savvy. Some of this information was encrypted, it would take weeks to compile all of this. If he’s hitting a new vic every week that’s not nearly enough planning time for something this orchestrated.” Hotch checked the time on his watch. “We’re not finding him tonight. The local PD are investigating. We don’t have clearance until tomorrow. Everybody go home and get some rest, we need to crack down on this.” 

As much as you loved your job, the departure was a welcome relief. The day had drained you, you had to basically drag yourself back to the BAU for the regroup after the case. It was routine, and incredibly necessary as this unsub continued his streak, but your brain was mush, and you didn’t know if you were capable of any breakthroughs in your current state. You were grateful, currently, that at least you weren’t dealing with a serial killer. He had an agenda, that much was obvious, but chasing a serial killer for a month bred a different kind of stress than chasing an anarchist. 

The AC blast that hit you upon entering your home seemed to steal the tension from your shoulders. It was summer, so on top of hunting an unsub who was essentially a ghost, you were also bearing through the violently humid nights. You locked the door, pulling up your sleeves as you walked deeper into your house. The lights were on, you never left them off for long, and your eyes locked on the pile of notes sitting on your counter. Three small papers, torn at every edge, were draped over each other. Evidence, you thought. You’d kept them for evidence. Once you told the team the unsub had been reaching out, you would show them the notes. It was that simple, you were planning to tell them. You didn’t know why the information hadn’t entered their radar yet. This unsub was clearly infatuated. You could be a valuable part of solving this case, the notes could be the reason you solved it at all. Those were words straight from the source, they would tell you more about the unsub than any crime scene analysis would. Something about them just stilled your tongue, though. You never particularly liked the feds, the cops, the higher ups. You became one of them begrudgingly, you’d been good at reading people your whole life. You wanted to solve things, see justice. It was never primarily about helping people for you, and you feared the reputational repercussions if your team members ever found out about that. You weren't ignorant, you had morals. You simply lacked the place of purity they came from, the virtue your team members carried was one you were void of. Half of the time you walked away from a case, you disagreed with the verdict, and you were ashamed.

You had only realized you zoned out when the phone rang, effectively breaking your gaze away from the notes and onto the ‘Unknown caller’ screen glaring at you from your cell. Morgan just got a new phone, you remembered. He’s probably checking in. You picked it up, stating just your last name in greeting as a reflex from almost exclusively talking to other agents. 

It was quiet for a moment, reaching the period of time where your stomach knotted up and almost forced you off the phone. “Hey, Y/n.” The voice was a new one, it pulled at certain strings within you. You knew him, but you didn’t recognize him. 

“Who’s this?” The spark of familiarity filled you with guilt. A car accident when you were 15 had stolen most of the memories from your childhood and left a bountiful amount of scars in their place. You barely remembered your own parents, if this man was an old relative, you definitely didn’t know who he was. As much as your family tried to be empathetic, you could tell it hurt them when you were none the wiser.

“God, it’s good to hear your voice.” The man was smiling as he spoke, you could hear it in his tone. “Your number was shockingly hard to find. Feds really don’t mess around, huh?” Your shoulders tensed, you looked around. Blinds were closed, your house was the same as when you left it. You're sure it wouldn’t be hard to find your address if he’d found your number. “I’ve been trying, believe me. I left those notes while I was looking, although it’s really not the same, is it? Phones are so revolutionary, I mean writing you a letter is one thing but it’s so underwhelming in comparison. A piece of paper doesn’t let me listen to you, doesn’t let me hear those little breaths you take when you get scared.” You didn’t even realize your breathing had changed until he called you out. 

“Do I scare you?” He sounded so domestic, the contrast between the genuinity laced in his words and the actual words themselves just about knocked you over. “I hope I don’t. I’m not trying to.”

“What are you trying to do?” Your mouth felt sealed shut, just barely managing to grate out the words.

“If you’re asking about my agenda, I’m afraid that’s a private affair for now.” He was so casual about this, sarcastically sucking air in through his teeth like he was telling you he couldn’t meet for coffee next week.

“What do you need with me, then? You don’t want to share and you aren’t calling to gloat. What’s the point?” 

You heard him click his tongue at the question. “Everything is so technical with you agents.” You could basically sense his lips quirk up, gaining some type of sick intuition for the man’s tendencies. “Maybe I just wanted a word with the pretty detective working my case.” 

Your knees were trembling, your grip getting looser on the phone as you struggled to keep your hold through the tremors of your hands. You had to focus, you could take advantage of this. “Why politicians? What happened to you?”

“Personal grudge.”

“How do you get their data so fast?”

“I know a guy” He knew a guy?

“So you have a partner?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s no one of importance.” Sibling, maybe?

“It’s important to me.”

He chuckled at that. You needed to hang up.

“Y/n-” Could he sense your fucking muscles tensing? “Don’t tell your friends.” He could hear your heartbeat from where he was, you were sure of it. 

“Why?” You were instantaneous, barely letting him finish before responding. “You gonna hurt me?”

“No.” He scoffed. “If you tell them, I’ll have to stop reaching out.” You swore you could feel the weight of his eyes on you. “Is that really something you want?” Cold sweat pierced through the skin on the back of your neck. You yanked the phone down from your ear and hung up. 

No, it wasn’t. 

–

You dreadfully greeted the sun as it peeked through the slits of your blinds. You’d slept maybe a half hour in total last night, sleeping in five minute increments while bearing through a paranoid haze only comparable to the first time you’d smoked weed. The world felt unreachable. You could see it like a screen but your true consciousness sat captive in his hands. He’d known you. That was the fact stuck in your throat, that’s why you couldn’t sleep. Does that mean you knew him?

“Jesus.” If you had to guess, the sight of your sunken eyes and hunched shoulders was the trigger for Morgan’s reaction to the sight of you. Walking into work wasn’t going to be fun, you knew that, but you hadn’t expected such an immediate acknowledgement. “Someone have a rough night?”

You wished you could banter with him. Morgan always made working here feel lighter, he was fun to be around, but you were guilty. If you were tired from a one-night, insomnia, even if you were drunk and puking your guts up all night, you would have joked back with him. Now, you had to force yourself to make eye contact. A childish part of your brain was scared he'd smell it on you. At this point, you were fraternizing with the enemy, and it’s repercussions were draped over you like a curtain. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Clearly.” He handed you a mug of coffee. “Is it the case? If it’s bugging you that much, one of us can stay with you for a couple nights. It’s no trouble.”

“No, Morgan, that’s not necessary.” He was so kind it was nearly suffocating. If someone stayed, he either wouldn’t call or you’d have to decline it. Both of those options making an uncomfortable amount of unease stir inside you. “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.” 

“Just tell me if you need anything.” He nodded at you, you nodded back, then you both headed into the conference room. 

“Any leads?” You walked to your seat as you asked, unsure what you were hoping to receive as an answer.

“None.” Everyone else was gathered around the table, Hotch scanning through the file as he replied to you.

“We’ve pretty much ruled out the media workers.” Prentiss spoke up. “This guy’s most likely an anarchist. His previous victims haven’t belonged to a consistent party so he’s not lashing out at the opposing side.” She thought for a moment. “What path leads somebody to anarchy?”

“Maybe he’s been kept out of office.” Morgan started speculating, just trying to sweep together something they could pin to him. “If he’s been running long enough, maybe he gets angry, changes course. He could be jealous of his targets.” 

Your brain was half focused on the case, half focused on him. Two sides of you were fighting, one instilling a sort of protectiveness over him, one howling at you to do your fucking job. 

“I don’t think he’s an anarchist.” You leaned forward in your chair, revving up to present your theory. “He’s been described in the same outfit for every victim. Long Sleeve, cargo pants, gloves and a ski mask - all black. That’s as minimal as it gets. Some pretty low income areas are well within his safe zone.” You paused, looking around to see if they were understanding what you were getting at.

“He’s poor.” Hotch had a glint in his eyes. Almost. 

“So - what?” Morgan prompted. “He’s doing this for money? This is way too elaborate for somebody needing cash.” He shook his head as he spoke. “Hotch, there was evidence of Scopolamine injections. A man who either knows how to make the chemical or already has enough money to buy it wouldn’t be in a position that warrants this. Plus, the kind of tech it would take to get the information he steals? Way more than your typical Best Buy - this is Garcia level stuff. He injects them and probably forces them to help with the robbing, he beats them senseless - he’s getting some kind of kick out of this.”

“He’s not poor” You concluded. “But I’m pretty sure he used to be.” You sat up straighter to elaborate. “A lot of times, kids who grow up homeless or with no money feel wronged by politicians. Here they are going to school hungry while the mayor rolls in cash and lets them bear the consequences of a put-off promise to help the community.”

Prentiss sat back in her chair as she considered your words. “To build this type of anger, though? This is a vendetta.” She glanced down at the crime scene photos as a reminder. 

“Exactly. Anger is expected in normal cases. Something extreme clearly had to happen to explain this type of outburst.” Personal grudge, you remembered him saying. You felt like you were airing out his secrets as you spoke. A weak sense of betrayal tugged at your guts. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, going over what type of event could cause something like this and I think I have an idea.” You pulled out your phone while talking to call Garcia, the woman answering immediately.

“Garcia, can you look up children in the Quantico to DC area who died from complications with chronic illness? Probably late 90’s to early 2000’s, I don’t think our guy is old enough to have been running for office.” 

“That’s gonna be a large list. Any more parameters you can give me?”

“Look for families making less than 20,000 a year.” 

“Got it. There were three families making under 20,000 that reported losing a child of illness. One was of stage 4 cancer with no plausible recovery and the other two said they couldn’t afford the medication needed for treatment. I just sent them over.”

“You’re the best.” 

“Don’t I know it.” You hung up the phone, pulling up the files she found.

“What exactly are we looking for here?” Morgan looked to you.

“We can rule out the first family. Dying of cancer wouldn’t create the effect needed for our unsub.” He looked like he was about to reiterate his question. “What we’re looking for is a sibling. If your family is struggling, you already have the seed of anger that this guy has. I think a family member dying from the lack of money might just give him the motive he needs.”

“That’s good thinking, he could be avenging someone.” Praise from Hotch always felt better than others. “The Bryson family was just the mother and the daughter who died. She worked in janitorial for the local middle school.”

“Doesn’t exactly fit the profile.” Morgan was right, all the testimonies had described a man. Plus the assumption of decent financial prosperity didn’t fit someone still working at a middle school.

“Who does that leave?” You were searching for the answer to your question, but Prentiss was quicker.

“Diana Reid and her two sons. Henry had type 1, seems like they could afford the insulin for a little while but something must have happened. He went into DKA and died a week later.”

Two sons. “What about his brother?”

“Uhhhh-” She scrolled down on her tablet. “That would be one Spencer Reid who…” She scrolled just a little bit further to find the whereabouts of the man, the hope in her eyes snuffing out with the information she read. “is dead. Says he committed suicide a couple years after his brother died.” The whole table deflated a bit as she said that.

“It was a good idea.” Hotch, despite being a monotone man, usually tried to keep things optimistic. “We’ll continue pursuing that angle. Morgan and Prentiss, I want you to go back to the first crime scene. I’ll call Dave and we’ll head to the latest.” The mentioned agents nodded their heads and started making their way out the door. 

Your eyebrows furrowed at your lack of instruction. “And me, sir?”

“Go home.” He looked you over for a moment. “You look like hell.” Then he was gone, calling Rossi on his way out. How mortifying.

– 

It had been three days since Hotch’s dismissal of you. You managed to get some sleep, convincing your co-workers of normalcy when you went back into the office the next day. In truth, you were anything but. You had been noticeably distracted but the others chose not to mention it until it hindered your performance, which it had yet to do. You were on a timer, counting down the seconds until your next call with him. You seemed to be endlessly tugged back and forth between excitement and pure dread. Everytime you got home, you took a moment to stare at your phone, almost like you could will him to call if you glared at it long enough. The day was just shy of a week since his last attack, and you were nervous as hell. Your phone buzzed once, then it buzzed again. He was calling. 

“You’re early.” You didn’t find it fitting to greet him. You knew who it was, why be friendly? “Is there another one?”

“Relax, honey.” His voice lit a fire in you. Jesus. “I didn’t know I was only permitted one call a week.”

“What are you playing at?” You tried to sound sturdy, but your voice hit your ears with more desperation than you’d ever expressed. 

“I could ask you the same.” You could hear the tilt in his words, he was so sure of what he was doing. “You didn’t tell them about us.”

“How would you know?”

“I’m not in cuffs, am I?”

“You think we’d catch you if I told them?” Was it your fault he was still free?

“No.”

“Maybe they’re listening.”

“Maybe.” He was so unbothered by the notion. You were never a good bluffer.

“It wouldn’t bother you?” You narrowed your eyes at nothing, staring at your wall as you tried to read him through the phone.

“You could bring in the whole nation, Y/n.” You listened more intently than you ever had. “It wouldn’t keep me from you.” You felt like you were choking on your own heart, feeling it beat at the confines of your throat. Jesus Christ.

“Do you know where I live?” Your lips were too weak to hold back the question. It’d been the only thing on your mind since the first note had been left on your car.

“Why?” His smile bled into his words. “Are you inviting me over?”

“Answer the question.”

“Why don’t you answer a question of mine?” He was so intentional, his MO proudly showing in the way he spoke to you. “Haywood or Clancy?”

“Are those your actual choices?” You tried to analyze him, justifying your actions with the ruse of investigation. He’d tell you more if he wasn’t monitored. “Or are you trying to throw me off your trail?” It was certainly plausible. Get you running after two men not of interest, leaving his real victim neglected by your team. 

He laughed, breathy and soft. “I don’t know.” You could almost picture him tilting his head, faceless and so enticing in your imagination. “Pick one for me. Maybe I’ll do him next in your honor.” 

“What do you know about honor?”

“Everything I do is about honor.” What did that mean?

“The only thing that would honor me is you turning yourself in.”

“What do you know about honor, agent?” His voice was taunting, you heard his body shift. “What do you think that team of yours would think about us, hm? Those are their words, not yours. You’re the one who’s waiting on calls from the enemy.” Shock paralyzed your tongue. You felt your head pulse with the blood rushing to your ears. “You don’t have to be guilty about wanting it, honey. You don’t fit with them.” 

“As opposed to what? Fitting with you?”

He chuckled. “You’ve thought about it.”

“Nightmares, maybe.” 

“That’s the angle you're going with?” He saw through you. “If you dreamt of me, I doubt they were nightmares.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

“I don’t know where you are.” You didn’t feel relieved. “I have no interest in hurting or robbing you. Why would I want your address?.”

You slipped your hand under your shirt to trace the scar across your chest. Gift from the accident, now a nervous habit of yours. “What do you want?” God, you were a broken record.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Y/n.” You could barely hear him over the thrum of blood in your veins. Your entire body felt tuned into his words. You’d never felt so far away while connected. “Only what I can do.”

“You take everything from them. More than just money. Clearly you lost something.” You were so sick of asking this question but you were getting farther from the answer with every conversation. “Why are you doing this?”

“They made the first move.” Jesus what did they do to this guy? “I’m not the bad guy, honey. I’m just defending my side.” 

“This isn’t a game.”

“It might as well be.” He was quick with his responses. “It’s all the same to men like them.” You stayed quiet for a moment. How did you reply to something like that? “Get some sleep. It’s late.”

“Give me less crime scenes to look at and maybe I’ll sleep more.”

He smiled, you could hear it in his tone. “Every mean has an end, agent.” You held your breath, and as if gaining consciousness, you hung up the phone. You felt the brick of the encounter sit heavy in your stomach. He wasn’t lying. You were guilty, and you wanted it beyond belief. 

–

You’d talked to him four more times over the past two weeks. There’d been two more victims corresponding with those calls, continuing his routine of a new one each week. Your understanding of your feelings had become less hazy as you talked to him more. Your guilt wasn’t from withholding information from your team, it was from the fact you wanted to. It stemmed from your instinctual desire to keep him to yourself. Let him exist differently in your home life than he did in your work life. It was difficult keeping something from profilers. It made you feel worse that they definitely knew something was up, but chose not to push it because they trusted you. Did this truly make you untrustworthy? You were only human. 

You’d spent what was meant to be your day off at the BAU working. When there was a case like this, rest time seemed to take the backseat. You were drained, more emotionally than physically. You were lying to your friends, but truly, you didn’t know how deeply you considered them friends. They were good people, easy to like and easy to work with. You were starting to wonder if that's where it stopped, though. Everything about their company was easy, but it lacked gratification. His company was hard on you, but it was so rewarding, so filled with feeling that you started to wonder what your morals even were. You wouldn’t find them here, you thought. You certainly tried. You stared into the chipped white paint aging poorly on the brick wall of the bar as if the pigment of the words would organize your thoughts better than your malfunctioning mind could. The liquid in your glass was nearing it’s end. The drink had loosened your joints, loosened your mind. You hadn’t come here to get drunk, you were basically still sober, you just needed the warmth of a drink. There was a certain coldness within you, there had been since the accident. You accredit the feeling with driving away any potential love interests of yours. There was always a sense of being stuck, like you were interrupted in the middle of moving on, and never fully got to close the chapter. This wasn’t hard for others to sense. You were as emotionally nonreciprocal and unresponsive as a corpse.

“Mind if I join you?” A man who’d immediately caught your eye upon entrance gestured to the barstool next to you.

You motioned to it. “Please.” A casual invitation. You didn’t know how to talk to random men in bars. You took a good look at him, something subconscious stirring beneath your skin. The minimal buzz of the drink you had making you write it off, preferring the focus of his eyes on yours. 

“What’s your name?” The smoothness of his voice could have rivaled the most expensive whiskey in that place. 

You told him your name. He nodded, murmuring a “pretty” under his breath as he took a sip from his glass. 

“I’m Matthew.” 

“Pretty.” You reiterated, raising your eyebrows slightly as you joked. He chuckled, and you asked if he was new to the area. 

“I’m a local, actually. I grew up here, surprisingly never been to this bar, though.”

“Really? I grew up around here too. This place is old as dust, been here forever.” You looked down, finishing the last of your drink. 

“I know. I’ve wanted to come here for a while because it’s so old.” Something about him was so off putting but so irresistible. You’d never encountered such an uncomfortable concoction. It was intoxicating. “I lost the knack for drinking I had in my teen years. Back then my friends and me would just buy a 12 pack and get drunk in the field on Fromage.” 

You lacked the memories to know if you related to the man, but you weren’t going to delve into why and kill the mood, so you lied. “That field used to scare the shit out of me. Everyone at my school said there were bodies out there.” 

His eyes held a certain glint in them when he looked at you, his lips perked up at the edges slightly, if you hadn’t been a profiler you might have missed it. “Really?” Maybe you imagined it all, that or he caught on to you, the look leaving his eyes after lingering for a moment. The slight promise of something more sinister pulsed throughout them. The hairs on your arm were standing. “Mine said the same thing.” He smiled, looking away, shaking his head fondly as he remembered. “My school was full of dumbasses though so I never really took it seriously.” And you laughed. 

You laughed a lot throughout the time you sat there with him. A few hours, you’d guess. He lowered your guard so easily, walking leisurely through the gates of you. You’d practically rolled out the red carpet for him. You wondered if he could see how easily he got in, how much you welcomed the feel of him in your veins. He didn’t seem to mind if he could. When he’d wanted to take you home, your lips parted, and you said you’d like that. You don’t really remember driving, knowing one of you did, both of you sober by the time you’d left. He’d been so gentle, so all-consuming. He’d run his thumbs along the scars he encountered, punctuating the sensation with his lips following close after. Mumbling praises against your skin and rhetorically asking “does that feel good, honey?” as your legs shook around him. He melted you down to pure liquid gold with just his touch, knowing exactly how to map you out. You’d felt him everywhere, his fingers burning their respective shadows on your skin, seeping slowly into your soul to leave marks there too. He’d felt so safe, the pure want joining the two of you together. A euphoric distraction from all the disaster you’d let befall you. He was gone before you woke up the next morning, but you saw him in your shadow, felt him in the soreness of your legs. He’d been a deviation, something put in your path to confuse you. What a brutal fucking night.

–

The same day, you’d gone to work, gone home, and then ended up back at the BAU an hour later. There had been another victim. Two days early. This was his eighth, and up until now he hadn’t strayed from his weekly pattern. This was a bad sign, if he was ramping up, who knows how many more he wanted to hit. The story had stayed the same, and that night you were arresting another board member, this time for solid ties to human trafficking. He really knew how to pick them. You’d give him that, at least.

The meeting post-arrest basically just shared what you were all thinking. He was ramping up, and you were getting no closer to catching him. Stating the obvious was doing nothing but wasting time. He was good. One of the best you’d ever seen. Nobody really knew what to do at this point. You watched their faces get more and more helpless and you felt bad. Nothing in your calls with the man would have helped you solve this case, you were almost positive. Any aspect that could have helped was one you explored. 

Emily had said the name ‘Spencer Reid’ and the way your stomach lurched made you feel like you had to be onto something. You’d never had such an intense gut feeling about something only for it to be absolutely impossible. You hadn’t told them, but you looked more into him. His death was an easy one to fake. As much as you hated speculating on what could very well have been just a heartbroken boy, you couldn’t deny the theory you were building. His mother had found a suicide note, they hauled a body out of the river a month later and just assigned Spencer’s name to it, marking it down as conclusive. You weren’t convinced.

–

You got home within the hour, locking the door and pulling out your phone. You hadn’t called him before, but it was the same number every time, and you needed to talk. The phone rang so long you were almost sure he wouldn’t pick up. Almost.

“Y/n.” He greeted you. “This is new.” 

“You broke your pattern.” You started with the topic at hand. “Why did you do that?”

You heard a chair squeak slightly as he leaned back. “What can I say? You being so interested gave me some extra motivation.”

“Interested?” What the fuck was he talking about? “This isn’t - I’m not fucking interested in anything. You’re a criminal.” You were slightly out of breath. When you lied to him, no matter how small the lie, air seemed to gain a disinterest in staying within your lungs.

“Mhm.” He was smug. That wasn’t a good sign. “I don’t believe that. You seemed pretty interested last night.” 

He had pulled a lever, and your stomach dropped to your shoes. “That was you?” You sounded as defeated as you felt. Your eyes were watering from the pure shock, feeling the drop of the bomb shake you down to your core. 

“You kept tracing that scar on your chest, you know that?” You hadn’t known that. “Almost like you could feel it.” Feel what? He didn’t elaborate. “You sounded so pretty when I touched it, when I kissed you. Been thinking about it all day.” He was breathy, sounding like he was trying to put himself back in it as he spoke. 

You steadied yourself before you opened your mouth. “You lied to me.”

“I’ve never lied to you.” He sighed. “You lied to me, though.” You hadn’t imagined it. “That field used to scare you?” He laughed slightly. “You were the one who told me about it. Took me over there once to look at the moon in the back of your dad’s pickup.” 

God, this was frustrating. “Who are you?” The tears were dancing the border of your eyes, begging to run down your cheeks. “I knew you?”

“You know me.” He was so sure of it. “I’m still in there. Everything is.”

You had to ask, at this point you were near certain of it. “Spencer?”

He sighed, relief intertwining with his words. “There she is.” It was such a soft delivery, the moment he took before replying had you wondering if you’d said anything at all.

What kind of situation even was this? “Is this about your brother?”

“You know, when we were younger, my mother knew the mayor. He used to babysit my brother and me when she worked nights.” His tone was humorous, bitter, like he couldn’t believe the stupidity of what he was explaining. “I listened to him promise us he would change the community when he got the time. Get us a house with more than one bedroom, get us into a school system deserving of us. He used to call me a genius.” He scoffed at the thought. “Then my mom couldn’t afford the insulin, and he let my brother die.”

You didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“The payments wouldn’t have even made a dent in his pockets.” You could visualize him, alone in a room somewhere, that familiar crease between his eyebrows as he talked. You were going to be sick, you thought. “One man for every year my brother got to live. Seems only fair.”

“Two more to go, then?” You couldn’t identify a single thought in your head. All of them speeding past you like bullets before you could latch onto one. “Is it helping?”

“Yeah.” He sniffled, quiet and subdued. “It is.”

“I - um” A tear finally fell, breaking the dam. You wiped it away quickly, two more taking it’s place almost immediately “I have to go.”

“Y/n-” but you were gone already. You put your hand over your mouth, laughing into it slightly at the absurdity of your situation and sobbing into a moment later as you took the cold plunge into reality. You texted your parents, knowing they were asleep, asking if you could swing by when they woke up. If anyone would know something, it was them, and you had every intention of shaking them down to find out exactly how you’d known the man. You had to know. You spent the night preparing the questions you’d ask and trying to fall asleep. You were almost paralyzed with the weight of him on you. There was no getting out of it now.

–

The outside of this house always felt alien. You knew you’d grown up here, but it lacked any sense of home. You wondered as you stood out front how much Spencer had to have meant to leave more of a mark than the place you spent your first 18 years in. The sun was nearing it’s peak in the sky, it was almost noon. Your parents had texted back at eight am, worried and eager to know what was wrong, eager to see you. You’d fallen asleep barely an hour before that, waking up at eleven and quickly getting ready after seeing the text. You were scared. These were practically strangers to you, and you were betting an ungodly amount on them. That’s not fair, you thought. But honestly, nothing was fair, and you calmed your guilt with promise of filling the void in your gut. You broke your staring contest with the front door and leaned forward to knock, the thing opening almost immediately. 

“Hey.” You spoke before they did. You found that being the first to talk usually decreased the amount of warmth in their greetings. “It’s good to see you guys. Thank you for having me, I know my texts were sort of alarming. I just needed to talk about something.” You held eye contact to the best of your ability. They brought out a deep feeling of shame, knowing they didn’t blame you for the distance but still being responsible for it nonetheless. 

“Of course.” Your mother talked while your father looked down. “It’s good to see you too. Come in, please.” Your father broke from her side to go sit down, while your mother opened the door to usher you in. You stepped forward, nodding at her in thanks as you passed her, joining your father where he sat.

“Um…” You faced both of them as your mom took the place by his side. How did you even start this? “Well, in a case I’ve been working on, somebody came up.” You couldn’t tell them he was alive. “And he just…seemed familiar, I guess. Did I know a boy named Spencer Reid growing up?” You watched the sparks of recognition ignite in their eyes as you said the name. Your mother’s grew teary, while your father’s seemed to harden. 

“Knew him?” Your mother chuckled at the thought of it being so simple. “You two were more in love than your father and I.” She rolled her eyes as she held your father’s arm, the man laughing lightly at her words.

 “He was the first friend you talked about. I remember picking you up from the first day of kindergarten and listening to you rave about the boy who was ‘smarter than the teacher’.” Her tone got lighter at the end, seemingly trying to imitate the excitement of your adolescent self. “You two were always close, you know?” She seemed to remember him fondly. “When you got older, you would get so defensive if  I asked after him so eventually I stopped. But I knew. I knew you two would end up together from your first playdate.” She was on the verge of tears, giggling at her own words as the stories she told surrounded her, smiling at the past. 

“His family really struggled. Such a sweet kid, him and his brother both. They were over here a lot.” Your father took the role of speaker as your mother’s emotions got the better of her. “We went back and forth for a while after the accident on whether to tell you or not. It just seemed cruel to. He died the night before you got hit, and you were such a wreck we just -” He struggled to find the words. “We considered it a blessing you didn’t remember him.” Your father’s guilt was apparent, twisting his features slowly as he explained their choices. “You were so in love, sweetheart. You didn’t know who he was when you woke up and we figured, you know, what’s the point? When the only thing that could come from it was pain, it just seemed futile.” 

You don’t think you blinked the entire time they were talking to you. You only knew you were crying when your vision went blurry, completely neglecting the beading of tears down your cheeks. You remembered the day your mother was talking about, seeing the children you once were illustrate the world in front of you. You could almost see his face, how it would have looked when he died, how he used to look at you. Like he was staring at the universe’s secrets, easing his hands through the veil to touch them - to touch you. You remember the feeling he gave you, something warm and distinct, reserved for the two of you only. If you could have seen yourself in the moments you shared, you’re sure you would have worn the same look in your eyes. 

You started speaking, but couldn’t manage much. “Yes, yeah, you’re right.” Reassurance usually worked well. “It was a…a good call.” You had trouble with your words, remembering the feelings of him but lacking the visuals. “Do you have any pictures?” Your mother nodded in response, detaching from your dad and going to retrieve something that held the memories you sought. 

“I’m-” Your dad started. “We’re sorry.”

You shook your head. Your parents were the last people who owed an apology. “It’s ok, dad. I’m glad you did it.”

“I could never myself look back at these. Thinking about what happened to them I just…I can never look at them knowing they’re gone.” Your mother re-entered the room holding a camera, dark pink and cheap. “It was meant to document your childhood, but he was around so much, it’s basically just a compilation of you guys.”

You held the thing in your hands. It was everything you wanted to happen but you couldn’t force your fingers to move. Did you even want this? He was alive, sure, but you’re certain the boy next to you in these photos would never see the light of day again. All your birthdays for thirteen years, field trips, science fairs, even just the two of you sitting together reading. It was all here. All consumable. You felt the urge to boil them down and burn your skin with the residue. Anything to keep a semblance of this life with you. You had a right to them, they were yours. Your teeth clenched at the sting of the absence. He had been yours and you couldn’t even remember. “Can I keep this?”

“Of course.” You’re sure the thoughts in your head were obvious to them, spinning like a cyclone in your eyes zoning out on the camera. “I’ve thought about giving it to you for a while now anyway.”

–

They’d made you lunch, then dinner. They told you tales of your past and you let them glance into your present. It was dark by the time you left, setting the goal to talk with them more. You walked to your car, having parked down the street, and tried to shake yourself out of the trance that house put you in. You thought you were seeing things at first, squinting slightly to focus on the chunk of passenger door that was shrouded with out of place darkness. Someone was leaning against your car. You didn’t feel defensive. 

“Spencer?”

“Hey.” He pushed off the door and walked closer to you, facing you on the sidewalk. You could see him now, lit up by a streetlight. He took you in, too. Glancing at your hand and grinning. “I remember that thing.” You had forgotten you were holding the camera until now. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I don’t know, honey.” He shrugged, matching your exhaustion at the situation. “I guess I wanted to see how much you remembered.” He looked at you, his eyes just as bright as they’d been a decade ago. “How much I could make you remember.”

You sighed. God, if only it worked that way. “Do you want to-” What the fuck were you thinking? “Do you want to come over?” You’d looked through every picture on that camera. You missed him. You missed him in your space, on your bed, waiting for you at the bus stop. That knot of feeling stuck only wanted to unravel if it were his hands tugging at it. “I can drive us.”

He raised his eyebrows, surprise blending seamlessly with the undiluted hope he carried as a kid. “Ok.” He smiled, just a tiny lift at the corners of his lips. The image of that smile resting on his teenage face struck you so violently you felt it in your bones. You looked at him, starstruck. His presence was a trance of it’s own. 

“Ok.” You repeated him, trying to elongate the moment. You weren’t sure when you’d be ready to look away. He’d have to move first, and he knew it, so he walked to the passenger door. You blinked, grounding yourself, and unlocked the car. 

You were preparing for an awkward car ride, but clearly your subconscious was more than familiar with him, being silent with him came as second nature to you. You took the long way back to your house, trying to enjoy the comfortability as long as you could. He added an elevation to your existence that you hadn’t been aware you were lacking. You pulled into your driveway ten minutes later, parking and turning off the car. 

“Did you really not know where I lived?”

“No.” He was looking out your windshield, taking in the sight of where you felt safest. “I meant what I said. I never needed to. 

You walked into the house first, hearing him shut the door softly behind him. You’d been listening to see how he’d close it, not sure what it would tell you, but deeming it important regardless. He’d been nothing but respectful of your space both times he’d been here. You sat down, nodding your head to the chair near you. 

He let a moment pass, waiting to see if you had something to say. You had too much to say, too much to articulate. “I want you to leave with me.”

“Spencer-”

“Don’t.” His eyes were pleading, glistening with his unique mix of hunger and control. “Don’t write me off, Y/n. Nobody would know. They’re not gonna catch me. You can quit, and we can leave.” You looked away, down towards your hands. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.” It was all you’d been thinking about. Usually in dreams - obviously your mind was more up to date than you were. You were going to do it, you thought. Of course you were. You looked at him and knew you’d go anywhere he asked you to. Still, though, you had a life. One you needed time to wrap up before you could leave it. You were a federal agent, if you went missing, they’d send the entire nation to step on your heels. 

“Can I think about it?

He looked at you, suppressing a smile and tilting his head slightly. “Sure, honey.” He could read you so easily. He’d known he had you from the moment he asked. “I’ve still got two more.” The burning in your stomach wasn’t a resistance to the words. It was an admiration, a feeling you could wallow in. You weren’t an opposing force to him. Had you ever been? Truly?

“What happens if I don’t go?”

His eye contact had a way of transferring, enveloping any part of you it could reach. You were testing him. “Don’t force my hand, Y/n.”

You didn’t plan on finding out what that meant.

#comet: SR #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #x chubby reader #x fat reader #x plus size reader #spencer reid x chubby reader #spencer reid x plus size reader #spencer reid x fat reader #spencer reid fanfiction #suggestive #probably ass #im sorry for this

[rosie-kairi]

I don't think I've ever really spoken in depth about how much I love Lauriam as a character, which is honestly a crime because out of all the Union Leaders I'd probably have to crown him as my number one favorite.

I love Lauriam not only as a character (pink, sibling plotline) but also as an example of how much prequels can recontextualize an entire character. While Ventus is also an example of this, I think we all knew that he probably had some sort of messed up past that landed him in the clutches of Old Man Xehanort. Marluxia, on the other hand, had absolute zero background to infer from his screentime. He was the villain, you're not really meant to think too hard about him and how he became who he is because he sucks and you hate him.

I don't think there were many people chomping at the bit wanting to get info about his past. Like, it would've been cool to get, but I don't think a background for Marluxia was necessary for the story at that point in time. His role was to establish the organization as a threat to Sora and the other guardians, and that was pretty much the extent of it.

And then Union X happened, and Lauriam entered stage right into a tragedy where his fate was already sealed. You look at Lauriam with his polite little smiles and cute little chibi animations and immediately think "what is this man up to" because you are already primed to distrust him on principle due to COM. Did not help his case that he was introduced in the cutscene immediately following the death of Strelitzia, painting a huge target on his back. Fandom reaction was hostile towards him before he was even fully on screen. Occam's Razor, the most obvious answer is the correct one. Lauriam is the obvious suspect because of his actions in the future, so he must be the killer. Literally him just existing in a scene caused more ire to build against him.

But then the Shift Pride cutscene happened. Then it was revealed that Lauriam and Strelitzia -the girl who so many thought he killed- were siblings, and that he was quite worried for her wellbeing, actually.

Every cutscene a clearer picture of who Lauriam is a person was painted, and soon you stopped looking at him with distrust, and it's replaced with the question of "What happened to you?". What happened that caused Lauriam, someone who has been shown to care deeply and immensely about the people he loves, someone who is willing to do anything for those people, become Marluxia? It became increasingly obvious that they were incredibly different people, even though Marluxia came from Lauriam.

And this isn't to say that there was no connection between the two. Lauriam seemed to be incredibly self-confident in his abilities, enough to be pretty steadfast in his resolve to square up with goddamn Maleficent of all people (even if he did get his ass kicked). There's also his very intense anger, as seen in the cutscene where Ventus confesses to being the reason why Strelitzia "vanished", as well as a bit in the scene where he's at Ventus's bedside.

This is all to say that Lauriam was not a necessary addition to the khux cast, he very well could've been swapped with a random new character and the plot probably would've worked fine, all things considered. But because it's Lauriam -the somebody of a character that has already been established to be a prick- it gives his whole plotline a hell of a lot more punch. If it was a new character, people probably wouldn't have been as distrusting of him right of the bat, the sibling plotline would be sweet, but because it's Lauriam and we know how he ends up in the future, it becomes a hell of a lot more tragic. How did the change happen? He's tragic because we know that whatever he does will lead to the outcome of him losing his heart and falling to darkness, something that is essentially the exact antithesis of the keyblade wielder mission statement.

Lauriam is someone who was made to struggle against the destiny that was written out for him with a neat pen and ink, and someone who was doomed to fail in every regard. He could not save his sister, he could not defeat Maleficent, he could not help Ventus, he could not keep his memories when thrown into the future. He couldn't do anything about it.

I realize this is all rounding back around to "the inherent tragedy of prequels" but it's true.

...and yeah that's basically it. I have a lot more thoughts about this guy but I feel like if I write anymore I'm just gonna sound completely incomprehensible bc I'm very tired. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to sparkle on

#Rosie rambles #lost the plot a bit but I think it's decently comprehensible #kingdom hearts union x #khux #kh lauriam #lauriam #kh marluxia #marluxia #character analysis #meta #i think

[stuckinapril]

how to stop getting fomo?

I just remind myself that w 90% of the social functions I go to, I want to go home like 20 minutes in. If you obsess over not being invited to something, it’s bc you feel it makes a statement on your self-worth—not bc you feel like you’re missing out on anything special.

Tbh I’ve also just outgrown the desire to go where I’m not celebrated. If people don’t fuck w me enough to invite me somewhere, they’ll be missing out on me too. It’s super cliche but if you know what you bring to the table, it starts becoming incredibly hard to feel like stuff like this compromises your inherent worth as a person. I have my moments bc I’m human, but I’m over it in like 20 seconds bc I can’t bring myself to truly and extensively care for people who fail to find the value in my presence. I wouldn’t want to be around them in the first place, so their making it obvious where I stand in their life saves me a lot of trouble in the long term.

You should not feel the compulsion to be around people who don’t want to be around you.

Btw if you feel like you don’t have agency in this situation—you totally do. If people don’t bother to include you, let it be a compass for how much effort and time and energy you pour into them. I think the whole “I’ll just match their energy” thing can get childish if it’s down to literally how they text you… but if someone isn’t willing to invest in you, just pivot your attention elsewhere. There are 8 billion people on this earth, and your friends’ actions aren’t in vacuum. You control how you react to them & how you delegate your time in the wake of their negligence.

You don’t need to worry and obsess and think of what you’ve missed, bc there are tons of other people out there who can give you similar—if not even better—experiences… and they won’t act like it’s a chore to do it. Losing someone doesn’t just mean losing; it means freeing up the space for someone even better. You never lack. You just transition.

#I like the phrase “invest then test” bc it’s so true #If u invest bit by bit and test someone’s reaction and they’re lukewarm ab it it’s like ok… time to pull back #Time to invest in someone else #It doesn’t make sense to obsess over ppl who don’t care for u bc u can easily find someone who does

[ffb6c1lover]

The Madrigals and Anxiety

so, I think it's not a controversial statement to say that anxiety runs in the family... what I find oddly cute is that a lot of nervous ticks or outbursts are very similar to those of other family members, but let's proceed with order.

Alma, Isabela

Alma had it hard. I think homegirl is the culprit, but she probably had an anxious gene in her before everything.

do we need to explain what her anxiety looks like? absolute perfectionism to the point of insanity so people won't turn on her, constantly making Bruno check the future for possible dangers, self-soothing behaviours (asking Pedro for help, wearing the mourning shawl), always needing to keep a watchful eye on everyone, you name it.

The perfectionism moved straight through to Isabela. There's a whole song about not meeting expectations, so I don't think I need to go fruther into it.

Pepa

Pepa is another obvious one. Her anxiety is palpable throughout most of the movie and it is, unlike her mum, mostly related to things that are not life-or-death situations (Antonio's party needing to be perfect).

She is constantly seen spiralling and using self-soothing rituals (hair touching, "clear skies"), often to no avail.

Her mood swings and irritability outbursts are also proof of anxiety.

Bruno

Before you come at me!! He clearly has OCD... It's in the script so it was meant like this. And I know people say he was just superstitious, but I come from a very superstitious culture and it's not like that 😭

I can prove it!!

Throwing salt. It is usually done after you have spilled it. Bruno had not spilled any salt before the throwing over the shoulder. It is an act that is meant to cancel bad luck from an extremely specific action that he had not done.

Knock knock knock knock knock knock on wood. You are supposed to knock twice, say it once, only after someone has said something good you don't wanna jinx or bad you wanna prevent. Bruno hasn't been talking to anyone in 10 years, it's just a ritual to him at this point OR it's a reaction to his own thoughts. Superstitious people don't do things based on their thoughts: that's OCD. Also the number of knocks and the one on the head is oddly specific and not related to any superstitious beliefs as far as I'm aware.

Fingers crossed. Again, you do that when you are hoping for something good, but nothing happened he might want to cross his fingers for, it's just another ritual. Also, all of these rituals are kind of contradicting each other (hoping for something/trying to prevent something), he's just trying to bring as much good luck as possible.

I'm not saying he is not superstitious, he very much is, but his superstition pathologized to the point of becoming an illness. This is not how someone who's simply superstitious acts.

He also has a generally nervous attitude and lots of self-soothing movements, like the rubbing his arm we'll get to later.

The only other explanation could be that he thinks he is the bad luck, but that still does not explain things like the crossed fingers.

Julieta, Camilo, Mirabel

They don't look like they struggle a lot with anxiety (I am only talking about the actual condition, not genuine worry that has a reason of being like Casita breaking or not receiving a gift). They are all very accustomed to dealing with anxious family members though and they are good at it.

Mirabel is probably the more anxious among the three, but she is also an incredible supporter for Toñito, who's not getting his own section simply because his fear was very much justified, but for a literal 5yo his anxiety shows great promise of becoming just like his mum's.

Honourable mention in this section goes to Félix and Agustìn, we stan some supportive husbands and fathers.

Luisa

My baby. The first time we see her as being relevant plot-wise is literally because her eye was twitching. Her character arc is learning to chill. I rest my case.

Dolores

Now, Dolores is a bit trickier, because she is not as loud as the rest of her family. She does always seem to be extremely on edge though and she is often doubting herself (she stopped believing someone was in the walls despite hearing Bruno for 10+ years because they told her it was not possible).

I don't know whether it's canon or if I've read too much fanfiction, but her room is supposed to have some degree of soundproofing, that she doesn't use because she needs to hear if her family needs help (Luisa's eye twitch).

Finally...

The similar twitches and anxious responses

The arm-rub of Luisa and Bruno (+ supportive sisters <3<3<3<3<3)

The hand movement while screaming, like mother like daughter

#encanto #I definitely think this has been done before but I was really spiraling yesterday due to my own anxiety and this helped <33 #mirabel madrigal #alma madrigal #pepa madrigal #bruno madrigal #julieta madrigal #dolores madrigal #isabela madrigal #luisa madrigal #camilo madrigal #antonio madrigal #tw anxiety

[dnalt-d2]

Alright I'm not one to talk about drama more than once because I just really don't like to interact with that sorta thing, but there's been an update that's almost comical in how it was handled

(Links to what I'm talking about at the end btw)

Basically this guy on twitter, Jay, essentially created an account either today or in the last two days, then posted a PDF saying a bunch of stuff that boiled down to "Nuh-uh, it's not our fault you didn't ask to be paid and also we definitely didn't do those things you said, this is all YOUR fault"

And literally only showed screenshots that corroborated their story, which could EASILY fall apart once the other party shows screenshots that show the other half of it

(I would recommend reading the PDF for yourself btw because that's about all the detail I'm gonna give on it here)

Then he logged into the Quackity Studios account specifically to follow this obvious burner account and retweet the PDF (Only for someone else I assume, to just straight-up delete the retweet pretty soon after, because it's not there now)

And THEN, the person who originally brought this whole thing up made a response doing EXACTLY that thing I said before (Showing the other screenshots that the PDF didn't show because it wouldn't match their story)

AND THEN JUST CASUALLY THREW IN A "Oh and btw, I have NO clue who this Jay person is"

The absolute irony here is that this guy could've been waved off as some rando, if he hadn't specifically logged into the Quackity Studios twitter to interact with his account. But instead he did exactly that, which 100% confirms that there are people on the admin team who are aware of what's going on, and are actively trying to cover it up, even trying to downplay it to the current members of the Admin Team. They literally just added credibility to the Whistleblower's statements

There's just something about the fact that this guy is obviously pretty frantic in trying to cover up what's going on. It's almost funny to me in that it has absolutely failed and will inevitably backfire (And technically already has a bit) because it's just so obvious that this was all done incredibly hastily. Like he's scrambling to do damage control now before he can get found out. Which again, only serves to prove he has something to hide

This is going to end well, I can already tell :)

Link to the Admin PDF Tweet

Link to the Whistleblower's Response Thread

(EDIT: OH AND NOW QUACKITY'S ABOUT TO STREAM IN LIKE 10 MINS IT REALLY IS HITTING THE FAN)

#qsmp #qsmp quackity #quackity

[anxresi]

…Isn’t it a bit late for April Fools Day?! 🤡🤣

I was going to just write a few snarky remarks in the tags, but fuck it… I have a bit of time on my hands right now, so let’s tackle these somewhat disingenuous statements one at a time shall we? Starting from the one in the top left hand corner, and working our way anti-clockwise around… *Cracks knuckles*

1. Yep. SO nice in fact, she doesn’t have any other noticeable character trait. ‘Niceness’ by itself doesn’t make you an interesting, intriguing or compelling character… it just makes you boring. In fact, I’m gonna have to work pretty damn hard to finish this off before I nod off just thinking about her… 🥱

2. …And this is a GOOD thing? It just proves how much the writers were DESPERATE to make her Chloe’s replacement they rushed virtually everything to do with her, including her rapid induction to ‘Hero’. Most of the other Miraculous users had to wait AGES to get their chance, and Lil Miss Perfect just turns up in Paris and gets her chance virtually the first day. It wasn’t earned, it wasn’t believable… it was just handed to her on a silver platter because… reasons. 😩

3. So what? This is just yet more evidence that this girl, a TOTAL STRANGER up to S4 is all of a sudden being treated like the queen of all Mary Sues. Just listen to all the endless shilling about her from the rest of the cast (especially Marinette and, more depressingly Plagg) Now imagine them said in Thomas Astruc’s voice as he lays his case against Chloe… and everything should become clear.

4. This means virtually nothing. Everyone gets their Miraculous permanently at the end of S5, so the fact she gets her’s 5th is just down to a quirk in sequence. If anything, I’m surprised she didn’t get it sooner… in another gratuitous ‘Take That’ to diehard Chloe fans… 😬

5. I don’t even have anything to say about this.. it calculates the precise sum of 0.00% in terms of her worth of a character. You got anything better?

6. Oh, you mean the same acting ‘skills’ that she used to manipulate her sister into pretending she ‘loved’ her and to carry that useless charm about?The thing is, everyone might’ve SAID her talent was great in that AWFUL Queen Banana episode… but it actually wasn’t. Just because the other characters say she’s the next Sophia Loren, doesn’t mean the viewers don’t have eyes and ears. But I guess if they’re stupid enough to fall for Lila’s incredibly obvious lies when the plot demands it, anything’s possible…

7. What, you like her colorful shoes? This is possible the only one I’ll grant you (they ARE pretty snazzy) but at the end of the day, they’re just pointless aesthetics. Anyone else could be wearing them, and the garish colors can’t blind us to her all-conquering mediocrity. Moving on…

8. Here’s a hint: NEVER use the word ‘objectively’ when the opposite is clearly true. She’s not just ‘sweet’, spending time with her is akin to being pinned down in Wonka’s chocolate factory being force-fed candy by all the Oompa-Lumpas until you literally explode. Not a pleasant experience in other words, thanks to the writers laying this sole facet on with a literal trowel and shovel.

As for the ‘sass’ part… nope, not seeing it. Unless you mean the occasional scene when she ‘deals’ with her sister… these parts were obviously only put in to throw red meat for the Chloe-hating sheep out there could hoot and holler at the screen (probably waking their parents up in the process) whilst screaming “SEE? THAT’S WHAT YOU GET!!” Well, I hope you’re happy now. You hapless lame-o’s.

9. Mary Sues don’t get ‘character assassinated’. They get bigged-up, cheered, given every resource in the show to be Da Best… but NEVER wrecked in that manner. Her sister, on the other hand… 😢

I would argue though, that what she is, is WORSE than character assassination… she’s an individual that never should’ve existed in the first place. In fact, I’d barely even describe her as a character. A plot device, a waste of space, a product of Thomas Astruc’s inexplicable raging hatred against Chloe maybe, but not a serious character. As the popular meme goes, Change My Mind (you won’t).

10. …You’re REALLY scraping the bottom of the barrel now, aren’t you?

Besides, this hasn't even been confirmed yet. We don't even know anything about the elusive Mr Lee, or even what he might think about his daughter being forcibly adopted by the Mayor. Something which I'm sure a show of such grandiosity and ambition will go into at great length.. Nah, just kidding!

Next, you’ll be telling me that somehow her sexuality is another reason to think she’s the best thing since sliced bread…

11. And there we have it (sigh). How terribly predictable. 🙄

I’ve already done a whole post thingie about how her being a lesbian and having a short-lived crush on Marinette was just imposed to get unearned brownie points from underrepresented communities when they won’t actually do anything with said revelation, so I’ll keep this short. Sufficed to say though, I feel like starting a hashtag… #TheGaysDeserveBetterThanZoe. Get it trending, peeps! 😎

12. Whatever you’re smoking, can I have some of it? This is crossing the line from ‘delusional’ to ‘crazy’ now. She’s remained as static as a statue since her opening episode, has NO room for change and growth due to the fact she was only brought in to replace Chloe and in that uncomfortably dull niche she’ll stay. Sorry, but just because you wish that she’d had any kind of interesting development doesn’t mean she has. Facts have a funny habit of getting in the way of the truth.

13. In turns of ticking boxes for diversity, French-Americans aren’t exactly a high priority IMHO. But sure if you think that makes her the bees knees (pun intended), you go ahead and celebrate it. 👍

14. So in conclusion, I do agree that Zoe Lee is indeed ‘Best’ character… (hears sharp intake of breathes all round) oops, I’m sorry. What I meant was ‘Pest’ character… in that just having her buzzing about in all her flawless Mary-Sue glory makes you just wanna reach for the bug spray.

You know, like you would for a pesky wasp during a delicious picnic. Because she’s Vesperia, get it? 🤪

The only upside to this sad situation is, from what I can tell (being strictly a non-watcher these days, you figure out why) the writers half-agree with me.

After all for such an 'amazing' character who's apparently achieved so much in her short time in the show... why is she barely featured? They must know, somewhere down deep in their artistic brains, she's a narrative dead zone.

A collection of tiresome off-the-shelf quirks, traits and spare parts (someone here said she was like a bad fanfiction self-insert... ABSOLUTELY RIGHT), loosely held together with visible stitching and hastily assembled together like Frankenstein's Monster for the most cynical of reasons.

She has no arguable reason to be in the show, apart from being a far inferior replacement to the potential mine of character development that someone like Chloe could've represented.

I guess Thomas really does hate complex characters who may overshadow his precious Marinette... or school bullies who traumatized him so much as a lil kid he specifically wrote someone into his show he could subsequently and systematically destroy (as the rumors go... but it wouldn't surprise me with THAT guy).

Now I’m off to bed, but let me end on at least ONE positive note for this much-maligned individual: She’s EXACTLY the kind of character a show like Miraculous Ladybug deserves… and if you like her, you deserve her too.

Now, good night. 🌝 🛌

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #ladybug #chloe bourgeois #ml salt #ml #marinette dupain-cheng #disney #Zoe #zoe lee

[gavisuntiedboot]

You are Everything (Gavi x reader)

28 day writing prompt challenge - prompts are linked here

Day 3: "I love you."

"Amor, turn the lights off and come to bed."

You and Gavi had been dating for several months now. Given the nature of his job, you didn't get to see him often if you weren't at his house. So this evening, like many others, you were at Pablo's apartment to spend the night so that you could have some quality time together. Unfortunately, you were also a university student, which meant that nights at Pablo's were never free from studying or homework. Tonight was no exception. You were sitting on the couch, laptop open in front of you with notes scattered as you tried to figure out your problem set.

"I can't right now, Pablo. I need to finish this."

"Amor, you can finish in the morning. Tomorrow is Sunday. Just get some sleep, and it might be easier to do when you're well rested."

You turned to look at Gavi, eyes tired and body aching. You pulled your glasses off your face. Before you could make a smart comment at him, your eyes began to water, and then you were crying. Gavi's concern was obvious. He got out of bed and came over to you, hugging your form that was shaking with sobs.

"Baby what happened?" He said, softly rubbing circles into your back. You couldn't speak. Sobs wracked your body. You used your remaining strength to stand, and Gavi took the opportunity to wrap his arms around you, embracing you tightly. You continued to cry into his shoulder. He switched off the light, leading both of you to the bed. He laid down with you, keeping you close to his chest. He rubbed circles into your back, placing gentle kisses on your forehead.

"I won't be able to do it Pablo. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. I'm stupid. I don't know why I convinced myself I could do this degree. I'm an idiot and I should drop out." You said softly sniffling against his chest. He separated the two of you slightly, moving one hand up to caress your face.

"Amor don't ever say that about yourself. You are incredibly intelligent and hard working, and you are more than capable of finishing this degree with excellence. I see how much effort you put in. I see the dedication. I see the lack of sleep and sacrificing meals so you can keep studying. I see how you haul your books here every night so I can see you and you can get work done. I'm always in awe of how smart you are. My girl is wonderful and intelligent and sexy. Please don't allow yourself to think anything different. You're amazing."

Your eyes welled up with tears again.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because I love you. You're my girl."

Your breath caught in your throat. This was the first time either of you had said it. You stared deeply into his eyes, trying to decipher if he meant it in a romantic way or not.

"Pablo you don't even know what love is."

"Yes I do. Love is that feeling I get after every kiss, where my heart swells and I feel like I'm on another planet. It's the way that sometimes I look at you in the morning, with the sun hitting your face, and you're so beautiful it hurts to breathe. Everything in this world reminds me of you: the blue of the sky, the smell of the rain, the feeling of the sun on my skin. Everything makes me think of you, and you're all I want to think of. You are everything. I love you."

You looked up at him with wet eyes.

"Say it again."

"I," he kissed your forehead, "love," another kiss to the cheek, "you." He punctuated the statement with a deep and passionate kiss.

"I love you. I think I will continue loving you till I'm no longer on this Earth. I love you I love you I love you."

"Pablito... I love you too."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~A/N: a little short, but hope y'all enjoyed! I am literally falling asleep while typing. On a more personal note, I submitted my application for Grad school today. Clap for me pls. Part 3 of "Just Pretend" taking longer than I thought - sorry for the delay!

[transmascutena]

i love being a hater, everyone please look at this terrible utena review i found with me

starts off with whatever the hell this relationship chart is. i don't even know what to say.

i need everyone to stop talking about akio like this forever i'm so fucking serious

this is not only the first thing they have to say about utena as a character but (aside from "she is gendernoncomforming") also pretty much the only thing. an incredibly obvious statement, considering she doesn't have siblings, followed by one that's literally just not true. great analysis. 👍

not only did they somehow get every single episode number wrong (none of them are about nanami or are "filler" episodes for that matter) but to say that she has no importance to the plot?? i am killing nanami haters with my mind

did we watch the same movie?? hello????

also like half the article is about why "touga is the real prince and utena is in love with him actually" and anthy is barely mentioned outside of the plot summary other than to say this:

#not included in this post because i've seen it a million times and it's boring but: #also had a very bland surface level ''explination'' of juri shiori and ruka. because of course it does #also had complaining about how hard the metaphors and symbols were to understand and how they are probably never going to rewatch the show #revolutionary girl utena #m

[tired-biscuit]

Ok but right now, all I can think about is Kiba’s incredibly attuned sense of smell. Like that dude can pick up on anything, right. I just know if you were trying to hide that you were horny or something, he’d ofc know right away. It’s all over your scent. He’s smile so devilishly. And tease the fuck outta you.

Also hope your headache goes away quickly 🤍🤍

it's all under the cut!! i went crazy over this, ahhhh....... <3

18+ mdni / fem!reader

i know i usually don't write canonverse cos i tend to pick modern au over it, but that's always been one of my fave things about him in that setting - that keen sense of smell.

i like to imagine he'd literally be able to sort of read your emotions judging by the way you'd smell. like, through the level of your hormones that would subtly alter your scent (the change is minuscule but he can catch it; he's made to catch it after all) he could tell if you're scared by how bitter your sweat would get, or how happy you are by how sweet it'd turn.

so by that logic, all of that would also include arousal.

and omg fiwnfiwjdueu, that would work so well with enemies to lovers for him. can you imagine him turning sort of dazed when he finally starts scenting want instead of pure hatred?

like, his cute lil' nose sort of lingering right at the crook of your neck when he puts an end to yet another one of your hissy fights with him, but does it differently this time around. just brings you close for a change; inhaling that sugary sweetness that is your building desire for him, the way it turns even more potent with the racing of your pulse????? there's nothing but tension in the room, he can feel it crackle like electricity on his skin; the lightning pulls it taut.

and you, well, you're so into this. that bratty mouth of yours is clamped shut as he breathes you in, for once failing to spit nasty remarks at him - what an experience. especially as the tip of his nose traces the spot that hides your treacherous, erratic heartbeat; sharp fangs hovering just a mere inch above it, but never quite touching the skin.

his voice all of a sudden sounds so strained, throat tight and dry enough to hurt as he says, "can't believe i'm saying this right now... but- fuck... i want you."

and you try to frown at that; to pull a face at his sort of a backhanded statement, but you just aren't able to when he starts to pepper kisses all over your neck. no, words simply fail you. there's nothing witty and clever about the moan that escapes your lips the moment he picks up the pace and sinks his teeth into you.

AND PLS THE WAY HE'D GO ABSOLUTELY HAYWIRE WHEN HE'D PUSH YOU TO LAY ONTO YOUR BACK THEN, AND YOU'D FINALLY PART YOUR LEGS FOR HIM?? AHHHHH

in true kiba fashion, he's all smug about it, of course. "damn. you really want me bad, too, huh, sweetheart?"

looking up at his flushed face; at the way his broad shoulders move with every inhale as he tries to process all of the information you're spilling through your pores, you're embarrassed and simply furious at your own body betraying you so obviously and so easily. so you try to save yourself by being a little bit mean.

calling him names as an attempt to distract him from the obvious, you're saying, "stop smiling like that, you dog... i'm not that turned on by you. and don't call me sweetheart."

but heat sears your face violently as you watch him tug your drenched panties down your legs a moment later, and see his cat-like pupils dilate in a way you've never seen them dilate before. sideways. big enough to eat up most of the white in his eyes.

the sight sends a shiver rolling down your spine as he looks up at you, then. still maintaining eye contact, he bunches up the delicate lace of your underwear that he now holds in his hand, and brings it up to his nose.

your toes curl when you hear him inhale. as you watch his thick eyelashes flutter and his eyelids turn heavy. goddamn, he's so fucked up, so nasty. and fine as hell during it, too.

thrill pulsates in your belly as he bites back a groan that's crawling up his throat and turns it into a mere grunt. you just smell so fucking good, it's hard to remain civil when the scent of that sweet little cunt of yours fills the room so fast; making him start behaving more like a beast than a man.

still, kiba controls himself. he reels it all back in - just like he's been doing it for years whenever he's been bound to wind up in your 'dreadful' company. puts himself on a leash.

but all of that still isn't enough to dismiss the fact that he's got that shit-eating grin plastered on his face now. the one that you hate, hate, hate as he twirls your panties around one finger and says, "aha... not sure if i ever told ya this before, sweetheart," he pauses to sneer at you with the pet name you forbade him from using.

"but scent doesn't lie, y'know."

#also thank u bb!! my headache got better during the day #took a painkiller and drank lots of water so i felt loads better <3 #naruto smut #biscuit drabbles #kiba smut #kiba x reader

[jambeast]

Man, since October 7th, feels like partisanship on social media has never been worse.

Like I don't want to be the pro-Israel guy, but so many people have clearly only ever obtained information on the topic from the most incredibly one-sided sources that it's like they just... they have just never even *heard* anything else. Living in a cartoon world made up of hyperbolic statements made to emphasise a point taken literally at face value with 0 other context in the background as a baseline.

Like, you don't even *need* to ignore that Hamas is a far-right fundamentalist jihadi group (that hasn't allowed elections for 17 years!) that is wildly antisemitic, or that Hamas definitely intentionally killed civilians in the October 7th attack, that it has been *trying* to kill Israeli civilians for ages or that Israel has legitimate self-preservation concerns what with all the people that want to kill them, or that the majority of Israelis don't have a second country handy to 'move back to', or that the blockade on Gaza is at least partially motivated by preventing weapons from getting into Gaza where they will be used against Israel, or that the evidence points to them *not* blowing up that one hospital and killing 500 people for no reason, or that Gaza and the West Bank are different places and that the average Israeli civilian is not personally actively attacking palestinians in the west bank... to be able to be what I would, before October 7th, consider 'pro-palestine'.

Like you can acknowledge all those things and still be pretty pro-Palestinian liberation and acknowledge how bad all the *other* stuff the Israeli government does and how important the plight of the Gazan people is. You don't need to make shit up!

Like I've seen a sentiment thrown around a few times that the Israel Palestine Conflict is 'very simple', and that anyone trying to make it out to be complicated is just trying to obfuscate how obvious the answer is. Certain answers are sort of obvious. But, like, please don't let that make you think it's not worth knowing literally anything about the situation outside of what you read on twitter, or that you can safely ignore any argument that could be made that could complicate things.

I think the cause for Palestinian liberation is strong enough to be able to handle the complications without totally ignoring them.

#israel #palestine

[fandom-flight]

I'm about halfway through Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint,and I'm really impressed with how it practically bleeds with themes of storytelling and our relationship with stories as humans. There's the obvious stuff, like how the main character's whole shtick is being a reader with "bookmark" and "fourth wall" abilities, but as of about chapter like 240, I've never stopped tangibly feeling how much ORV seems to want to explore the concept of stories (and not just in the sense of the novel's world where stories are like a kind of power, though that is kind of part of it). I ended up having a lot of roving thoughts, so more under the cut

Specifically what I mean by this is that almost every aspect of the world building and the plot has some kind of commentary on how people relate to stories. The constellations, for example, are very clearly kind of meant to be audience stand ins, especially in the beginning. They're watching the stories of our main characters on stream much the same way that we the readers are watching the story of ORV on our devices in the real world, and oftentimes their reactions to the events mimic our reactions from the outside– they cringe when characters do embarrassing things, they ship characters with chemistry, they hold their breath when things gets tense, and feel genuinely sad and heartbroken when bad things happen to the characters in their show. It's through their financial support that some of these stories can continue to be told, kind of the same way that fans' monetary contributions to artists enables their art to continue being made. Kim Dokja even calls out how the tables have turned early on in the series, that he used to be the one watching them through a screen, and now the situation is totally reversed. The constellations also kind of mimic the negative effect that the audience can have on art– sometimes artists have to bend to the will of their supporters even when it goes against their desired direction for their own art because that's what pulls in the money, and the way that incarnations and dokkaebi have to listen to the will of their sponsors feels like a very on the nose parallel for this. ORV sets up both the constellations and Kim Dokja as content consumers who have a love of stories in common in order to make a statement about how loving stories is universal, while simultaneously laying groundwork to make statements about the line between reader and narrative. Another thing that Kim Dokja has in common with the constellations is that both he and they are increasingly brought to the boundary of the fourth wall as the series progresses. In the same way Kim Dokja starts to realize that he IS part of the story now, and that the people he previously just saw as characters are actually real human beings that he has emotional attachments to, the constellations also start becoming characters who appear in the story and impact it directly, rather than being detached observers. This process of becoming a part of the story after being emotionally invested in it is naturally not something that literally happens to people in real life, but readers wanting to insert themselves into a narrative they love is something very human. I mean, fanfiction is incredibly popular because a lot of us humans can't just leave media that we love alone, we keep thinking about it, we want to expand on it, change it, and sometimes even insert ourselves into it. Historically, myths have had many different versions circulate over time, with some cultures borrowing figures from others and literary giants creating characters of their own (or even versions of themselves *cough Dante cough*) to insert into these legends.

In addition to the very human desire to become a part of the stories we love, ORV also calls out how humans are are kind of enamored with certain themes, and that we show this by having these themes appear in various legends the world over. Realms of death, myths of resurrection, tales of slaying supernatural evils, all of these things are shown to be so universal that constellations sometimes have copyright disputes over them. The fact that the constellations that appear in ORV are so varied is another place where ORV proves to be a love letter to storytelling. The author has such a diverse collection of gods and historical figures that I can't help but see their love for stories as something so strong that it transcended culture and nationality. Furthermore, the fact that constellations obtain their status from how widespread their stories are feeds into the theme of people being stories, which is another interesting angle to look at the relationship between people and stories. ORV has characters literally say "people are stories" out loud, and Han Sooyoung references the philosophy that people only truly die when they've been forgotten, but there isn't a single second where I really stop feeling like this holds true for everyone in the book (and not just because souls being stories and people needing stories to live ends up being part of the worldbuilding). The idea is that our stories give us value, both intrisinsically and extrinsically. ORV represents this literally, as the notoriety of a story actually makes people stronger, and also stories can be used as currency or food to some people. Even on a scale lower than the constellations, the reputations of characters and the rumors of their incredible deeds can increase their value to outsiders, the same way that a person's reputation in the real world can affect their job prospects and social connections (this is a little more obvious and would happen in any story, but I think that the mythologizing of the ORV characters in their own universe is meant to exemplify the effect of a person's stories on their perceived value).

The theme of people being stories also extends to a related but still separate (I think) theme of everyone being the protagonist of their own story. Kim Dokja begins ORV by talking about how much Yoo Sangah feels like a protagonist. She has all the qualities that a main character should have, and Kim Dokja feels like he could never match that, despite the fact that he clearly wants to be a protagonist really badly. He wants to be cool, special, and confident, but it's not until the scenarios start and he starts being able to use skills in a way unique to him that he starts realizing that maybe he can be a protagonist too. And again, this is a theme that ORV just constantly exudes– Kim Dokja often explicitly talks about how everyone is living their own life and being their own person. When he sees Yoo Sangah and Lee Hyunsung for the first time after the intermediate dokkaebi Paul separates them following the golden thrones destruction, he's impressed by their growth while he wasn't looking, and we the audience are reminded that these people learn and progress as the center of their own world. When Kim Dokja is separated from his friends after the Dark Castle arc and hears what they've been up to, he muses about how, even without him, the world continues to turn, scenarios continue to run, and people continue to live. It very much helps that the author of ORV gives every side character a vibrant and memorable personality so that we can better empathize with them as their own people with their own lives, even though they might not get as much screentime. Characters who we do not think to care much about are shown to have significant development while the main character isn't with them. Kim Namwoon matures into a calmer, happier person in the Underworld long after I forgot he existed. Han Myungoh went from bring an insufferable nepotism baby to being a determined and loving father who is willing to be an ally. The author constantly reminds us that Kim Dokja isn't the only one in this world who is a protagonist with a story worth telling, and in a way, it kind of feels like they're also telling the readers that, not only are we the main characters of our lives, but we also can never forget that the people around us are protagonists of their stories as well.

In short, ORV uses just about every character and storyline to convey that humans may love to consume the stories of others, but we can't forget that we're also writing our own stories by living them. Humans are made up of the stories they love, the ones they write themselves, and the ones they put a part of themselves into, and I just get the sense that the author has a lot of feelings about stories and how important they are to us as a species in every sentence they write. I'm definitely curious to see how the story ends because I can't imagine how the author will conclude the series when making a statement about this theme seems so important, but anything that would be a satisfying conclusion to the story would really be counterproductive to making that statement. As a reader, I want a definitive "and they lived happily ever after after solving the story's problems," but since the author actually has Kim Dokja muse on how "he never felt satisfied by 'and they lived happily ever after'," I kind of can't imagine that that's how this series will end? Because it doesn't sound like the author was ever completely satisfied with those endings either. But I also don't think ORV is meant to be a tragedy, so I'm excited to see where things go!

#orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv spoilers

[z0r0z]

I wrote some short headcanons for Zoro with a flat chested reader and they went down really well so I might make this into a series! Law was requested on that post and I was super happy that someone asked, so here's some headcanons for my favourite edgelord hehe. Let me know if there's someone you'd like to see next in this series. Some smut under the cut of course ♡

Content: afab flat chest reader, s*x mentions, law is kind of a dweeb

⤹ Law has literally never even thought about the size of boobs- maybe it’s his anatomical and medical knowledge talking, but tits are tits. You could have an A cup or a J cup and he would not care either way... or so he thought.

⤹ When he met you it flicked on a switch in his brain; the small boob appreciator switch if you will. Even though it was something he thought he didn’t care about, your lil titties quickly won over his heart as well as that secret, dirty corner in the back of his mind.

⤹ This man straight up avoided you for weeks on end and it was painfully obvious to everyone around the two of you. Any time you’d walk into a room he’d just… leave LMAO. He hated how distracted he’d get around you, the pinkish blush on his cheeks apparent to seemingly everyone except you.

⤹ He is pretty terrible at comforting people, so when you feel down about your chest size be prepared to be hit with some factual statement like ‘it’s good that you don’t get any back pain.’ He’ll eventually realise that this doesn’t really help and instead awkwardly tell you how he thinks they’re perfect as they are.

⤹ If someone made a rude comment about your chest he wouldn’t cause a scene. Instead, when you look away, he’d just use his powers to get them away from you before promptly dumping them into the ocean; good riddance in his opinion. He doesn’t tell you that he does this, but you figure him out eventually.

⤹ Is UNABLE to last for long when you ride him, your cute tits bouncing above him as you lose yourself on his cock, the most incredible lewd expression on your face. He can’t help reaching up to pinch your sensitive nipples and the mewls that slip from your lips when he does so are like music to his ears.

⤹ Daydreams about having you laid across his desk touching yourself for his viewing pleasure, begging for him to fuck you, before he snaps back to reality and remembers how little work he’d get done if that were happening- he’s already getting less work done just because you exist.

⤹ You casually walk around the submarine with no bra on like you’re not killing the man. He once impulsively asked you to stop after you accidentally got him hard, but he immediately took it back as it’s your choice what you want to wear. Now, every time you inadvertently get him horny like that, he simply drags you off somewhere private and fucks your pretty face as ‘punishment’.

#trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law smut #one piece smut #one piece law #trafalgar water d law #one piece x reader #i wanna do ace next hes been on my fuckin MINDDD lately #sorry if these suck it's 2am and im super tiredddd

[divorcemotif]

thinking about the context & format of scrutiny as a literal harassment complaint—delivered to jon's workplace with all the official language of one—with the kind of unavoidable suggestion of sexual violence this episode, given jess' initial impression of him; the gender dynamic, his presence being an incursion into a specifically romantic setting; and what follows being an incredibly violating abuse of power. interested in her decision to go to the institute to complain, and ultimately the trauma & relative futility of that complaint from her perspective, as part of a wider commentary about the sort of. trap that is the idea of the institute's professional academic authority as a legitimizing force. i think there's this interesting angle to what the show has to say about power dynamics and abuses of power in general—and how they are acknowledged and framed by the systems that maintain them—within the depiction of the experience of this kind of corporate interaction on a more abstract horror level.

like the beginning of the show kind of satirizes the way that academic institutions police the value of information and the legitimacy of ppl’s perspectives, through jon’s insistence on his own rational objectivity in the face of all the supposed liars and mentally ill drug users he has to deal with: his entitlement, the fact he has the power to classify and dismiss the statements however he likes and the obvious unfairness of how he does so. the institute’s claim to objectivity & rationality is established early on as something jon is (to an ultimately limited degree) able to hide behind: his need to be taken seriously, his temporary comfort at the price of the arbitrary dismissal of the statement givers' experiences and the demonization of already stigmatized demographics, lol. and like. in scrutiny, I do think at least subconsciously, jon introducing himself with his position at the institute is a way of lessening the apparent severity of what he’s doing to assuage his own guilt, for the moment at least. invoking his position at an academic institution introduces a cover of professionalism to his purpose that serves to distance him from any personal or emotional implications of his actions—he’s not just some creep who’s accosted her at a cafe, he’s from the magnus institute, and he wants her story. what we hear of his pre-statement spiel, in this episode and to floyd matharu on the boat, is an echo of what he’s always said to the live subjects: the polite, professional coerciveness of his language—“whenever youre ready”, “thank you” at the end—made horrifying by the new context; suddenly almost “it is polite to knock”-esque in the way his words foster the illusion of free will while paving only one possible path for the victim. the horror is that the politeness doesnt seem in line with what he's doing, or what it feels like he's doing—a big part of jess' distress is self-doubt, that for all it felt creepy there’s very little concrete about it to justify how much she's been affected! she'd never even heard of the institute before this, but the job is done: she hopes that filing a complaint through an official channel with them will validate her experience as necessary to prompt some sort of action. she says she’s come because she doesn't think the police would take her seriously.

there's a kind of parallel thing in a lot of the early seasons statements where the subject's coming to the institute desperate for protection from whatever horror is threatening them and/or their loved ones. piecemeal, burnt offering; even when people have some preconceived disdain for the magnus institute (it's a running thing that the institute is widely held in some ridicule), it is the respectability & objectivity it purports that ultimately draws them in in their desperation. spurred by the idea that having their experience legitimized might elicit help, or just desperate to be heard and believed by someone in their isolation. but the institute doesnt actually help people, doesnt even explicitly claim to (what's the point in outright lying when you can manipulate people's assumptions with set dressing to achieve the same effect?). the purpose and design of the whole thing is fundamentally self-interested: there's no incentive for them to extend you any understanding or respect. the venue the employees are given to engage with visitors is as subjects, sorting through their most vulnerable moments for useful information and discarding the rest. like in terms of the vibes, it's always struck me that it's when martin tries to get her info down on a form that being at the institute gets to be too much for jess and she runs. consistently at the core of the eye's portrayal in tma is the passivity of the watcher: specifically as an individual in this kind of institutional context the horror becomes not just of having the details of your life known but of having them displayed through that dehumanizing academic lens, stripped of sensitivity and personal significance, presented completely dispassionately. you're sacrificing something of your personhood in pursuit of legitimacy and aid that you'll never be granted. scrutiny like all the statements ends with no closure or explanation for the statement giver, and the dramatic irony of the whole episode is that we know from the start the futility of trying to engage with the institute on its own terms. the consequences jon ultimately faces are all personal: there is no mechanism for him to be professionally punished in the way she imagines, and the institute she is coming to for help is the structure within which he gained the power to do what he did to her

#wrote this months ago and was dissatisfied with it at the time. coming back to it now i think i said something.. waddever #tma #the magnus archives #mag 142 #op #scrutiny my beloved.... I miss season 4 :(