#and he is not really a bad person even when he Is violent even when he Is cruel and vicious and hostile

[nereidprinc3ss]

you know the killer doesn't understand

in which spencer is so terrified he's going to hurt you after he gets out of prison that he can barely touch you. an argument ensues.

angst (+ comfort) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, mentions of violent intrusive thoughts (non-specific), arguing, yelling, use of the word rape, nightmares, happyish ending, mention of showering together, it's a bad time but it's also a good time for us woo i love angsty angst a/n: i miss posting for real so bad i dug up this draft which was mostly finished and polished it up. i think i really like this one and it was based on a request but i lost it:( i hope u guys enjoy this, pls lmk<3

Spencer is by no means happy with his sudden fear of touching you—it makes everything in his life significantly harder and less convenient and he hates that he’s constantly afraid he’s going to break you. He hates watching you hold back from attacking him with a hug when he enters a room like you used to, and he feels terrible every time you ball up on the opposite side of the couch as he reads, waiting for an invitation into his lap but too scared to ask for one (he’ll always hold out his arm for you, though—he’s not cruel.)

You’re adorable in the way you stand at the foot of the bed in your pajamas, arms behind your back like it’s not your bed too, but it makes him feel terrible. This isn’t at all what he wanted for you, and in all honestly he’s thought about ending the relationship because he knows he’s being an absolutely awful partner—but he just can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gestures for you to get into bed, and you curl up under the covers close to him but not against him, and he’ll play with your hair and read for a while because he can’t sleep very well. Eventually he’ll assume the position of sleep, but some sick part of him doesn’t know what to do with the sounds of the city and the fan instead of the sounds of a hundred men rolling and sniffing and shuffling around their echoey cells. He doesn’t understand warmth anymore, or softness, or nice pajamas or fluffy pillows. He’s starting to think he doesn’t understand you. And that’s the worst thought of all. 

So he essentially dozes for the first week, on and off, always exhausted in the mornings but what’s new. When he can’t sleep, he turns his head to watch you breathe—some beautiful, sweet creature dreaming in his bed, unwaveringly loyal to him even though he can hardly stand to touch you for fuck’s sake. You’re beautiful, and it makes him feel better to watch you, even if he can’t touch you. Not now that he knows what he is capable of doing to another person. What if he has some sort of PTSD—PTSS, thank you, Luke Alvez—induced dream and does something terrible to you in his sleep? It’s not like you’re tiny, but he’s stronger, he knows he is, and lately every time you get too close he remembers exactly what it feels like to exert the full force of that strength, and what it feels like when someone else unleashes their own onto him. 

They’re just intrusive thoughts, and in them he doesn’t hurt you intentionally, but he always feels a little bit sick now. He is so, so sick. A bull in a China shop. Spencer knows exactly how breakable humans are—it’s his job to know. If he left so much as one red mark on you by accident, he’s quite sure he’d drill down to a previously unknown rock bottom. And if he reaches that point, he doesn’t know if he’d ever deserve to come back. 

Every day it seems to become clearer that the only humane thing to do is break up with you. But for now he’ll watch you sleep—the delicate rising and falling of your chest, the way you curl in on yourself because you can’t curl into him. In sleep you look so peaceful and content. You never look that way awake, anymore. Not when he’s around, which is pretty much always. At least he can’t disappoint you while you’re asleep. 

Or so he’d like to think. 

Until one night, about a week and a half after he gets home; you whimper in your sleep. It’s so quiet he could’ve missed it, but he doesn’t, and then he watches your smooth brow furrow with worry and he knows you’re having a nightmare immediately. 

Spencer panics—before, he would have woken you up and held you and comforted you until you fell back asleep and it would have been so simple. Now he’s frozen, afraid to touch you but not sure if he can just lie there watching you so afraid and not do a thing about it. 

In the end, you choose for him—and it only takes a few moments. You’re close enough to him that it’s easy for you to close the few inches even in sleep, and maybe you’re slightly conscious but not enough to remember you’re not supposed to touch him. 

He stops breathing as you fold yourself against him, muttering worried nonsense—he catches his name, once—nestling against his chest, one searching arm gently draping over his waist. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and his thoughts—his mind goes… completely fucking blank. 

Suddenly, all he’s known, all he’s ever known, is the smell of your hair, the warmth of you seeping through layers of clothing, and the weight of your arm over him. Everything he ever was ceases to exist, and he’s just this, right now. The person you’d turned to unconsciously for comfort, so sure, so trusting that he would keep you safe. He can feel your breath for the first time in months. Slowly every tense muscle unspools. For the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like his entire body is spring loaded and ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Spencer allows himself to hold you, and part of it feels like betrayal because he knows how badly you need this from him while you’re awake but mostly he feels like he could cry. His thumb rubs circles into the middle of your back and your head tucks so perfectly under his chin while he studies the rumpled sheets where you’d been lying a moment ago. He almost feels like sticking his tongue out to gloat at your half of the mattress—haha, look who gets to hold her now—but instead he sighs, shakily, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

You don’t make another sound for hours. 

He’s reluctant to let you go when you begin to stir around six AM, but forcibly holding onto you is so far from what he wants to do that he manages. You roll back over to your own side of the bed, and he continues admiring you from afar until he falls asleep. It’s the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a very long time. 

Of course, you don’t remember it. When you wake up your sadness resumes, and so does the pretending like you’re not sad, but you’re a very good sport—and it helps that he’s feeling much better this morning than he has since he got back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper faintly, still blinking as you watch him longingly from your spot. 

Spencer pushes himself up onto an elbow, and you watch with big eyes as he leans over you, stroking your cheek with his free hand. 

“Good morning. You sleep okay?”

Your brow flickers, and he realizes it’s not a question he asks every morning, and you’re probably distracted by this overt display of affection, but you answer it obediently anyway. 

“I think so. I had weird dreams.”

He hums. 

“About what?”

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the exact spattering of microscopically fractured pigment over your irises. Your voice is small when you finally speak. 

“Do I have to tell you?”

That hurts. 

“No. But it might help.”

Coming from him? Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

You acknowledge him with a small hum of your own, studying him with soft, mistrustful eyes. 

He can’t help it anymore—Spencer leans down and gently kisses you, so tenderly, so chastely, it makes his own head spin. He hasn’t kissed you like that since you picked him up from Milburn. It’s long overdue. 

Which is why he’s not expecting you to start crying. He pulls back immediately, not far, just enough to assess your expression. 

“What’s this? What’s wrong, angel?” He frowns. Your lip quivers in a way that feels like a blow to the chest. 

“That’s not… you’re…”

“What? What is it?”

A fat tear finally traces a path down your cheek and when you speak your voice breaks in the most fragile, devastating way. 

“You’re not being fair.”

He has no neat question to summarize all the bafflement your accusation inspires in his lately cloudy head, but the wildly confused look on his face must be prompt enough.

“I’m trying really hard to respect your space and boundaries and not upset you but my feelings are hurt, Spencer, I don’t know how they couldn’t be. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore. I’m embarrassed around you because I feel like I care about you so much more than you care about me. And then you—and then you wake up one morning and you think it’s okay to act like you love me again but I can’t—I c—” you stop, obviously frustrated—now crying in earnest and lacking the words. “You can’t be mean to me. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry but you can’t treat me like that. I’m a person, too.”

His chest aches and he swallows down barbed wire.

“I’m not acting like I love you. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. That’s not an act.”

It’s not an adequate response, but your words are still spinning in his head until he can’t keep up with them. He’s not used to this, anymore. The language you two had developed is so foreign now. 

Maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to you. 

Resignation—a too-calm recognition softens the stormy look that has brewed on your face. As soon as it’s gone, and you’re looking at him placidly, he realizes he’s afraid. 

“Well, that’s not enough,” you whisper. 

Spencer feels like he’s been shot as you push the covers aside and slip out of bed. And he knows what that feels like. 

“Where are you going?” And then louder, when you don’t hear him because you’ve already left the room, “Where are you going?”

He follows you through the apartment as you march purposefully for the door, slipping shoes on and grabbing your keys and coat. 

You barely look over your shoulder as you leave, slamming the front door behind you. Things shake from the impact. A mini earthquake. 

Spencer is too stunned to follow you. 

It’s not until a few minutes later when he goes to call you that he realizes your phone is still sitting on your bedside table. He stares at it, tasting metal, because he has absolutely no way to reach you or guarantee your safety. There’s no way for you to call him, or anyone, if you get in trouble—and he fears that you’ll retaliate against him by doing something stupid and dangerous. 

He only just manages to stop himself from calling the police and asking them to start looking for you. Only just recognizes it to be an overreaction. 

Besides, he’s not feeling particularly fond of the criminal justice institution these days. If it came down to it, he’d trust himself and his team over the cops any day.

The team. They’re always a resource. If worst comes to worst, he thinks, robotically making coffee as he tries to talk himself down, and she doesn’t come home before dark, I’ll call all of her closest friends. If she doesn’t come home before the morning—the thought makes him feel sick—I’ll deploy every fucking resource at my disposal. 

Maybe that’s an overreaction, too, but he has to find a way to self-soothe somehow. Planning makes him feel better. Being prepared for the things you never see coming makes him feel better. It’s impossible, of course—but the illusion of control is stubborn and so seductive. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. 

At around 2 PM, he receives a couple of texts from Garcia that are a massive relief. 

Penelope: She’s at my apartment

Penelope: BE NICER TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!

The series of emojis that follow (including an octopus?), he doesn’t even try to decipher. He simply drops his phone and sighs deeply into his hands, releasing an extreme amount of paranoid tension that had been tying him into knots. Lately, he’s had this sense that everything is fleeting—that the things he takes for granted are painfully, violently impermanent. It doesn’t take anyone with a degree to figure out why he’s been feeling that way, but it’s so all-consuming he’s not sure how to cope with it. Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering how to break up with you. Now he’s asking himself how the fuck he thought he’d be able to do that when he’s barely functioning after a few hours without you.

It’s a question he still hasn’t answered by the time the front door opens at 10 PM. It’s clear by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that you hadn’t been expecting him like this—leaning over the counter, half-empty mug by his hand, staring at nothing in particular and waiting for you to come home. Neither of you have changed clothing since this morning—not that you could—but you look apprehensive as you close it behind you, never facing away from him. The whole thing is like a teenager being caught sneaking back in by a weary parent. 

For a moment the silent confrontation stretches into the horizon, a non-specific point as neither of you seem inclined to be the first to talk. You just watch him watching you—leaning against the door rigidly as if you can’t get far enough away. But he’s too tired for this. Too worn out. 

“How’d you get home?”

You swallow. 

“Penelope.”

Spencer nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between teeth and finally looking away. 

“You really should have brought your phone.”

You scoff, peeling yourself from the door. 

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s the same situation as this morning, but in reverse—him following after you down the hall as you storm toward the bedroom. 

“Wh—should I not have been? You scared me—” he says your name, barely catching the door before it can slam in his face. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” you face him, laughing bewilderedly as if the situation were at all funny. A kind of manic energy crackles from the surface of your skin and in your eyes that renders him unable to think of a reply. “Because you thought I would get raped and murdered and then you’d be sad?”

“Yes!” Spencer yells, eyes widening as he fails to contain his frustration any longer. “That is fucking exactly why I was scared!”

You step forward, getting in his space. It jars him, momentarily—he wants to get away from you. Being angry and so close to you is terrifying. What if he lashes out? What if he hurts you? He’s seen crimes of passion. His blood is freezing in his veins. 

“Of course you didn’t give one single fuck that I left you. You didn’t think for one fucking second that I might be tired of this. That wasn’t what you were scared of at all.” For every inch you near, he backs away. Another scorned, bitter laugh from you that feels like poison coursing through his entire circulatory system. You notice everything, eyeing him up and down as he cowers from you. “What is this, Spencer? If you hate being near me that much, just fucking break up with me.”

You’re close enough that he can see the tears welling in your eyes, but he’d know they were there even if he couldn’t observe them. He would hear it in your voice. He would feel it. But he can’t do anything about it. Right now, he’s paralyzed. 

“If the only thing holding you back is wanting to spare my feelings, just fucking do it. This isn’t better. I don’t give a fuck if it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me, too, but I’m not just going to ignore it anymore.”

There’s no more room. The wall is at is back. 

“Honey, please back up,” Spencer breathes. Last time his back was to a wall, he’d been gagged and beaten. Don’t lash out. She never hurt you. It wasn’t her. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you shout, as tears begin to spill over your cheeks. “Either break up with me or stop telling me to go away!”

At that moment, as you break down and your words become muddled with sobs, you raise your fist. 

Spencer watches it approach his shoulder as if in slow-motion. 

On instinct, he catches your wrist.

There’s a lull as he waits for something to explode, for something to go terribly, deeply wrong—

But it doesn’t. 

He realizes his grip is gentle. He realizes you’d never actually hurt him like that. He realizes how little resistance he’d found when he stopped what was sure to be nothing more than a petulant, petty bump against his shoulder—a maneuver that wouldn’t have hurt in the slightest. It was nothing more than a desolate, childlike display of feelings bigger than you know what to do with. 

In the second that it takes him to realize all of this, to realize he is not endangering you in the slightest, nor you him, you’ve begun to truly sob. Standing just inches from him, head angled down as he holds your wrist carefully, you are the picture of a girl who has been running on empty for a very long time and has nothing left to give. Spencer twines his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and slowly rubbing your back like he’d never forgotten how to hold you. It stuns you, and the tears pause for just a second—before you’re wrapping desperate, weakened arms around him and sobbing even harder, albeit silently, into his shirt. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, his own voice shaky with understated emotion. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say that. I don’t want that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” You cry, a desperate plead caught between sobs that wrack your body against his against the wall. And he knows it’s not an accusation. It’s not an insult. It’s a question born of confusion and fear. It’s what a child might ask a sick dog while tears stream down feverish cheeks. And it’s completely appropriate, considering he never tells you anything anymore and he’s only just realizing how scary that must be. Spencer is back from prison but you may as well still be living alone for all that you know about him. He tangles a hand in your hair and holds you against his chest, breathing you like nitrous oxide. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The room beyond blurs as he stares at nothing, focused only on the tingly euphoria of feeling you under his hands clashing with the ever-present and crushing shame that he couldn't do it sooner. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you—to be sorry.” Shuddering breaths and gasps still cleave your sentences in half, and Spencer listens so intently he thinks there might be harmonics hidden in the layers of your voice. He clings to every syllable like you’re wielding the word of god in a five-foot-something body. “I just miss you so m—much. I want you to—to love me.”

“I do,” he promises immediately, lips pressing to your ear. “I do love you. So much. So much.”

When you don’t respond, he’s not exactly surprised. He almost asks what he can do, what you need—but is quite sure that’s not the right move. Instead he doesn’t say a thing. Only holds you.

Later, you’ll pull back and he’ll swim in your teary gaze, and then kiss you. He’ll trace silent apologies into every inch of your skin under the torrent of the shower, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you understand. But for now, for the first time in months, you’re holding each other, and that’s all either of you need.  

[utilitymonstermash]

In California due to prison over crowding and a policy called realignment, many sentences are now served in county jail. Recently I came across this very funny jail memoir in The Newsweek.

On race:

I knew that I had to join the Peckerwoods, a notorious white supremacist gang. But I am by birth half-Jewish. I have a Jewish last name too, so I was fearful.

My plan was to pretend I was German since my last name is Yiddish, so pretty similar sounding. It's probably not politically correct to say this, but I also don't look like a stereotypical Jewish person, at least in the eyes of neo-Nazis.

I also think my image played into it. They saw a crackhead from Skid Row who weighed 130 pounds and just didn't connect that with a Jewish guy. So I got away with it. They believed I was just a German-American. They had no suspicion whatsoever.

For about three or four weeks, I played along. But I soon realized there was no need to. I never heard anything really racist or antisemitic.

There was another man named Lou. He was probably 50 years old, and every day, he would get a different meal than everyone else—a special meal in a blue box—and people lined up to buy it.

I was curious. I looked in the garbage and saw there was Hebrew lettering on this blue box so I knew Lou was probably Jewish. I asked Lou if he was, and he said yes, that's why he gets the kosher meal.

I said: "I'm Jewish too, actually." He didn't really care. I said I had told the shot caller—a kind of gang leader—and all the guys that I was German when I came in, and now I'm thinking about getting the kosher meal.

I asked what he thought the consequences would be of revealing that I was Jewish. He said: "Oh, well, they're not going to care that you're Jewish, but they are going to care that you lied. So, I would just go talk to the shot caller privately and work this out."

I expected a very violent repercussion for lying. There are violent repercussions for everything, from not washing your hands after using the bathroom to getting caught sharing food with another race.

I talked to the shot caller. He was pretty angry that I lied, but at the same time, he said: "Listen, I'm half Armenian. I'm not even fully white. We don't really care. These are just the rules and we have to follow them.

"As the shot caller, if it gets out that I'm not enforcing these rules, I'll get stabbed on the yard.

"You lied. You got to come clean to all the boys, and it's not a big deal. Just when you get the kosher meal, make sure that white guys get preference over buying it. If no one white wants to buy the meal, then you can sell it to the other races."

On managerialism:

Violence is highly organized in the California prison system. I was in county jail, but it's just as bad as prison, if not worse.

If you get into an altercation with someone, you're not allowed to fight them. You have to go to your shot caller, and he has to go to his shot caller, and the shot callers must decide whether you're allowed to fight in a very controlled environment.

[...]

I had to fight people for breaking very stupid rules, such as sharing food with a Black person—a rule that I think is ridiculous. To be honest, my shot caller thought it was ridiculous too. He told me personally that he shared food with Black people all the time; he just had to keep it secret.

[...]

It's Kafkaesque; there's some kind of bureaucratic overwatch going on and you don't even know if it exists or not, but you just have to follow these dumb rules.

A shot caller is your gang leader in jail. This is not the leader of the entire gang but the leader in your pod, meaning your dorm.

Every gang has a shot caller, and then that jail has a head shot caller, and then the whole prison system has a single shot caller somewhere at the top that is this Wizard of Oz-type overlord who no one ever really sees but somehow enforces the rules.

On yarmulke:

I'm not a practicing Jew; I never was, and no one in my family really is. But when you get the kosher meal, they also give you a yarmulke for some reason.

When the other inmates saw the yarmulke, they were mesmerized by this magical Jewish hat. The people who ran the world wore these hats, they thought, and now they were around one in a jail cell.

The Mexican shot caller would request to wear it when he gambled to bring him financial luck. This started sort of a buzz in the jail, and eventually, lots of people were requesting to wear it. Even neo-Nazis requested to wear it when they were gambling.

I asked them to treat it with respect, not because I am religious, but I thought: "My ancestors were religious. Don't be disrespectful."

The amount of respect they had for this yarmulke was actually disturbing; the fact that a Nazi with swastika tattoos would be so polite about a Jewish yarmulke.

On tolerance towards the Jews:

Once it came out that I was Jewish, I experienced zero antisemitic hate. It was more of a fascination. A lot of these people had never met a Jewish person. They pictured Jewish people as owning banks and companies and potentially even the jail.

So when they saw this Skid Row homeless addict who was Jewish, a lot of light bulbs went off about their preconceived ideas. Immediately, they asked: "What are you doing here? Can't you make a phone call? Don't you know a lawyer?"

I said: "No, I'm Jewish. My dad was a heroin addict carpenter. Not all Jews are what you think they are."

It opened up a lot of playful conversations with these people. They were fascinated with the concept that Jews were lawyers, so I started getting a lot of requests to consult people on their cases.

I had to tell them: "Listen, I'm a carpenter crackhead homeless guy. I'm not a lawyer."

They didn't care; they wanted to go over their cases with me. There was almost some soft antisemitism, but it mostly was playful and fanciful obsession and inquiry. They thought I had mystical powers.

[...]

I have stayed in touch with some of the people in jail. Not all white people were Nazis. In fact, a small minority identified as neo-Nazis; most just identified as Peckerwoods. I've kept in touch with both.

On demographics as destiny:

I talked to Lou about it, and he said that there used to be some problems for Jews, but in the end, the white gangs have such low numbers that they don't really care. They needed people.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

A Changed Future (2) | Yandere Isekai

Part 1

It’s so irritating for Haruko 

He remembers how he used to try and make noise in the beginning, when the same thing happened to him

But even without your struggling, he’s got more obstacles than he thought

“Tch all these guys getting in our way, maybe I should just kill them.”

“Haru no!��

“Why not, I'm sure you did it when I was trapped.”

“That…that doesn’t make it right!”

“So? Who cares about right when we’re in love? I think it was you who said that.”

Either way with or without your approval he’s figuring out a way to take down his newfound rivals

He kind of hopes they are as ambitious as the friends who recently abandoned him

Too bad they aren’t

In the original story, the crazy thing about the protagonist was that despite their obsessive love for Haruko and general disregard for those who got in the way of that was otherwise really inspiring

Breaking away from their elitist family for their violent morals ironic right

Joining the workforce, easily rising because of their work ethic and intelligence

And all that while beautifully evading a less-than-clean detective trying to pin the blame of random crimes on them

Which of course got them their own male leads attempting to pursue their affections

Always doomed to fall short because of circumstance or the protagonist suavely crushing their hopes to gush about their love

It was a uniquely terrible tragedy for their characters to be written this way

That’s what the random reviewers would say

Which is why you did feel inclined to maybe entertain them a bit more than the original protagonist would have ever done

“Since you are quitting….I hope you’ll let me treat you to dinner. For all your hard work of course.”

“Uh sure but I have to be home by sunset.”

“That’s a shame then we’ll have to—Wait. Did you say you would?”

“Yeah, are you okay?”

“YES! Ahem I mean yes I’m fine! I look forward to a nice evening together!”

Unknowingly furthering the obsession the protagonist was barely keeping at bay

“So mind telling me what you ordered that day at the restaurant?”

“I think it was my favorite dish there called the berry delight but I’m not sure. I think they changed the menu since I was there.”

“Why not confirm it later today? That way you can tell me if you did see the missing classmate of yours.”

“But I don’t remember exactly where I sat–”

“Then we’ll just have to sit in every spot until it rings a bell.”

“I don’t know if that’s–”

“Don’t fret. I’ll be paying but there's no way we’ll get to try every table. We’ll have to come back multiple times.”

“Okay…”

“No worries I’m sure you’ll get tired of eating there so we’ll go to some other places to give you a rest. Anywhere you wanted to try?”

You’d be foolish to think you could escape them by agreeing to Haruko’s entrapping of you 

It only takes a day of you not responding to messages that they both eagerly awaiting you at your door

And after the first few times, Haruko shooing them away they begin to get resourceful

“Yeah bud nice try their still out.”

“Hm well say that to my lovely warrant right here.”

“Wait! H-h-hold on! Geez I-i’ll go get them now but they are not going to be happy with you!”

It really doesn’t get better as the guard against the protagonist’s secrets begins to be let down as interested parties slowly make their way in

You don’t have the same ruthlessness or ability to deceive as the protagonist you took over for 

On top of that you never actually read the webtoon so you’ll be left trying to piece together whatever few weak points the protag has

Where if you hadn’t already started to make your pursuers interested all those faults are fuel for their agenda

“It’s so unfortunate that the company can sign off on your absence during this suspicious crime but I don’t mind editing records if you wouldn’t mind spending time with me. That way I can vet your personality myself. Over wine of course!”

It’s overwhelming constantly being pulled in 3 directions 

What’s worse you’re completely oblivious when the latest obstacle in the protag’s perfect life finally makes themselves known

“Hello darling, it took us years to find you but we did it!”

“Don’t look like that come give your Mama a hug!”

Part 3: Coming Soon

[cerosin-bis]

Hello Cerosin :]

I have several questions, if I may.

1. How are you?

2. Has Nikto always been bad at taking care of himself or is that a result of the torture?

3. how does Krueger handle rejection, if he's interested in someone?

4. In your fic "Anger Management" (btw I love both your arts and writings!) Nikto hugged Krueger tight, before Krueger fucked him. It says "it's conflicting for Nikto" what does that mean? Would Nikto like to have a normal relationship with someone? Like, does he want/need a certain tenderness but knows Krueger probably isn't able to show it?

Thank you for your time and all your great works for this ship! It literally wouldn't exist without you and I mean it in a good way!

Have a good one and be safe :]c

Hi hello! 1. I'm doing mostly fine! Thank you for asking 🥺 I hope you're well, anon!

2. I think Nikto never really practiced "self-care" due to both his education (or lack thereof...) and his personality. However it's noticeably worse since his torture and the development of his mental illnesses/conditions because he now barely even thinks of basic human needs.

3. Good question. I think he'd be very frustrated because it's RARE, but be able to move on very quickly. Orrrr he would try extra hard (which ultimately does succeed but at very high costs with dire consequences. this would have happened with Nikto, but didn't need to because these two were doused in gasoline to begin with imo.)

4th answer regarding Nikto, Krueger and intimacy under the cut bc this got long.

(And thank you so much. I don't want to be presumptous as to say I ~invented~ the ship because there were like 3 fics when I posted Remanence already, but feeling like I was able to set its foundations in art and then consistently over the past years is unbelievable when I see where it is today.)

4. Thank you so much for letting me know you like both my art and my fics!! I feel like I never say it enough, I'm incredibly grateful people are reading all the shit I put out, let alone let me know they liked it. 😭

So, in my headcanon, Nikto craves intimacy in very very short and specific "windows", but he has a conflicted relationship with it as a concept.

Krueger can display tenderness/intimacy without a second thought if he knows it's needed by the context (and this is one), but his affectivity is abnormally... dulled? if I may say. Krueger's emotions are genuine... but extremely dampened. So it suits Nikto, because it's "as if" there were no feelings (there are. but it's beyond gestures, it's whatever they have. the codependency and violent devotion, the wordless communication... Tenderness is a rare occurrence in this whole frame - an occurrence that Nikto likes, but would rather not acknowledge, if this makes any sense.

In my headcanon, again, Nikto wouldn't be able to have a normal relationship with anyone. Normalcy repels and scares him, and even if it wasn't the case... Without extensive therapy, which he will likely never want to get, he has too many issues regarding emotions, attachment, jealousy and violence. (I want to stress this again, this is just my specific and personal hc of the character)

[franzkafkagf]

What do you think of the choice to make Aegon a rapist? That's the whole thing that really turned me off his character originally & I think it's a shame they went that route because he genuinely seemed so interesting. ( Though I don't expect everyone to have the same reaction it's all fiction and I can empathize with fictional murderers just fine so it's just a personal thing )

Your Aegonposting did kind of changed how I felt about him tho!

Hi anon! First things first thank you lmao!! It's wild to hear that people actually change their opinion/feelings on Aegon based on my ramblings! <3 (For the uninitiated: #aegonposting)

Honestly, him being a rapist in the show does not bother me as much as it bothers other Aegon girls (I understand hating the decision, though)— the implications are there in Fire & Blood (he was known to be promiscuous and to fondle serving girls even as a younger boy) -> him being a rapist is not really that big of a jump from his "characterization" (using this term loosely because we know so little of F&B Aegon).

I didn't even have that much of a problem with introducing him as a rapist in episode 8— the thing that bothers me most is that they had 8 minutes (so odd to give adult Aegon so little screentime!) to establish Aegon as a character and they decided to load so many negative traits onto him that the audience automatically saw him as a Joffrey-like figure when he is pretty clearly not that. The fighting pits was a very… interesting choice.

Now they're trying to give him other traits and people scream OOC— I already had some of those in my askbox. It's very bizarre because, as I said, we have seen adult Aegon for only 8 minutes, most of that screentime he was going through a lot -> we have not seen how Aegon acts normally and it's frustrating to see people act like they already know everything there is to know of Aegon.

Particularly grating is the entire debate on him being a proud/good father; being somewhat of a distant / uninvolved parent can definitely coexist with loving your children fiercely.

Getting back to your question on him being a rapist, I see the choice to portray him like that as a commentary on the broader rape culture that exists in Westeros. Theirs is a society that is so deeply entrenched in misogynistic traditions and practices, where women are often treated as commodities and men are raised with a sense of entitlement over their bodies.

In ASOIAF, noblemen are frequently seen visiting brothels, viewing it as a normal and even expected activity— the act of buying sex in itself it not bad, but it becomes violent when you realize how many of the women in westerosi brothels were sold against their will and are working under unfair indentures.

This normalization of brothels, where many women are forced into working against their will, reflects the casual acceptance of sexual exploitation and the use of women for the pleasure of men.

The tradition of First Night is another example of the institutionalized misogyny in Westeros. Though it’s mostly looked down upon in present-day Westeros, this tradition allowed lords the privilege of “taking” the bride of their vassals on their wedding night.

Aegon himself is also an example of the problematic views on consent and autonomy within Westerosi culture. His forced marriage to Helaena highlights how even the nobility often has little control over their own bodies and destinies. Both Aegon and Helaena were forced into their union to serve as pawns and nothing more. They could not and did not consent to what they were forced to do.

This lack of autonomy over one's own body is further illustrated by Aegon's behavior. He brought Aemond to a brothel to lose his virginity at the age of thirteen, suggesting that Aegon himself had likely experienced something similar, why else should he see it as a necessity for Aemond to do the same? This cycle of abuse and distorted views on sexuality perpetuates the culture of normalized sexual exploitation and a fundamental misunderstanding of consent.

Some shameless self-promo, I actually deal with Aegon's fucked up views on sex and consent in my fic The Dog Days Are Over give it a read if you’re interested in the topic.

When considering Aegon's character and the choice to make him a rapist, it's important to recognize the narrative purpose it serves. While it may turn some people off, it also provides a deeper understanding of his place in the culture and how young men are socialized in a feudal society. It highlights how systemic rape culture and the normalization of sexual exploitation can corrupt young men, even those who might otherwise be good people.

[beemochi-art]

Does the Matrix do any fuckery with Prime's mind or body at times? Is the Matrix even sentient?

The matrix unfortunately does create some fuckery in primes life. But not as much as you’d think, it’s more ambitious than straight forward. it’s other… factoids related to it to Op’s deteriorating mental state.

The power of the matrix

The matrix is like the key to primus (cybertrons.) spark (Aw). It creates a deep connection with the holder and the planets core. The Matrix will attach itself to the new Primes spark, where then they will get a unique feelings and a special power. Feeling that come from the matrix is usually a calming sensation, some says it’s like a powerful fire, other primes reports an endless supply of energy. It depends on the person I guess. In Orions case, the sensation he got from the matrix was calming and gentle, the feeling of absolute comfort. He ended up sleeping. (Of course he woke up depressed but that an thing Orion probably.)

But in dire circumstances the Matrix will let’s out extreme burst of energy that can cause the older to become feral and incredible violent. This is pretty rare but as of recent times Primes have made it a focus of their training to harness this power.

Not only that, but the planet as well as it’s creatures seem to bend to the will of primes. The surface of cybertron is always shifting. At times the environment will change for the prime, and other times it falls completely still. Some primes have the ability to connect with some of the most dangerous creatures on the planet. It works in mysterious ways but will never be completely tamed.

It also connects all the primes to each other, both dead and alive.

A prime doesn’t have to actually die to have the matrix passed to another. If a Prime were to die and just anyone pick it up and tried to use it, the matrix is a glorified paperweight. No one really understands how the matrix chooses and when it leaves. How long all this is or anything for that matter. It’s a mystery. It is said to come at dark times.

Even tho the Matrix is gone from the holder the bond formed with planet and past/present primes will never go away. Leading a curtain level of entitlement.

The point is the matrix never had any specific rules of in place except a description that reads till all are one. The matrix isn’t inherently a good or bad object either. It chose both sentinel and zeta at one point, but it also chose Optimus.

Right of passage

Any Rules and Rituals set in place have all been written by past primes. Shuttle interpretations her and there over millions of years just became law.

In cybertron society to be Prime is to be the emperor of the whole planet. It is the highest class system you can on cybertron. But a prime must prove themselves worthy to the people first.

One of Sentinels lessons was, if you can conquer primus creatures you can conquer her people.

So he’ll take his knights to Uraya for a lil field trip. The idea is to find the biggest baddest creature and tame it. Normally these trips are unserious and unsuccessful. But when he took Orion he was completely serious.

Conquering different cities and cultures being the main focus of most of a primes training. A prime cannot be a stranger to killing.

A prime is supposed to be a representation of cybertrons strength and strike fear to their lessers. So before they are presented to the public modifications must be made to not break this belief. Optimus is heavily modified. Most of him was reconstructed.

Older primes will share parts of themselves with the new prime. Allowing them to have pieces of their own frame. Optimus eyes are not his.

By the time a prime has been presented to the public, they have killed, dominated and changed into something else entirely. Leaving their old weaker self behind.

In Optimus quest to become strong he realized he lost his way. He never really committed to being as horrible as Sentinel classest and a complete psychopath. But he has killed.

(I really didn’t do some of these rules in order but oh well!)

[jasontoddenthusiastt]

It is not classist that Jason, a vigilante in a *family of vigilantes*, is violent like the rest | just | because he comes from a poor family

What's (more likely) classist is writers thinking he needs to be taught right vs wrong from Bruce and co and that he consequently makes snap judgments out of some childish grudge-fueled rebellion which makes him dangerous the way a toddler holding a knife is dangerous

[mugentakeda]

is it weird that jokes ab zukos """angst coma""" make me lowkey mad

[6-2-aestheticsofhate]

i love minos (thinks about his fanon depiction) (throws up)

[jin-zixun]

People are always saying, like, they hate it when people defend villains by saying they did nothing wrong. That it's better to hate a villain for valid reasons than love them for invalid reasons. That loving a character as if they are flawless is inferior to pointing out their flaws and mistakes and crimes every time just to prove you understand that your problematic fave is problematic and like...

That's nice or whatever but Jin Guangyao did nothing wrong.

[dootznbootz]

There's something so specifically infuriating when someone uses one of your experiences or your demographic in an argument, especially if said argument is about spreading hatred or is just so wrong. They "speak on behalf of the ___" to say such fucked shit.

"You're not thinking of the ___!"

"I literally am ___. You saying that adds nothing as you do not speak for me or for other ___. Shut up."

[sonknuxadow]

i dont even like chris all that much but a lot of people who hate him are so weird and annoying about it that i feel like i must defend him

[faultsofyouth]

Sometimes I think I miss some of my old male coworkers and then I remember the way they defended Johnny Depp and im like nah

[lilgynt]

still sobbing my eyes so never having a weed free night again

[ziracona]

YES! I was right!!! Even Cole thought Grandin was too dangerous, but I WAS THE ONE WHO WAS RIGHT!!! SUCK IT BITCHES!!! HAH! : D I knew more about spirits for once than SOLAS OR COLE! Take that!!! Ahahahahahahah!! He’s doing great killing Hakkonites, and saved a child. The Avaar think he’s special and cool. He’s entirely himself! He did it! He and the spirit, even though it was giving off the energy of something corrupted and leaning towards the far end of the demon-spirit slider, is doing, if anything, BETTER! It is maintaining equilibrium, sanity, personality, and ethics!! Ha ha! Me, slamming my Doctorate of Fade Spirit down on the table and shoving now every other character and player aside:

[arnie-cunningham-official]

Upon its release, the film grossed $21 million at the US box office. The film received mostly positive reviews from critics and has since become a cult classic.[3] A remake is in development.

my disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined