#this blog has been functioning fine

[submalevolentgrace]

Hi! I'm very interested in attempting to write a disabled character (not for this blog, I assure, for an book I'm writing) in which the story doesn't fetishize/objectify her prosthetic limb. I'm in many writing circles and have been for a long while, but I've never seen this issue brought to light which I realise is a very important one. I have much to change in my thought process, and thank you for bringing this issue to attention.

I'm curious, and I apologise if this has been asked before, but what sort of design could you see for a functional prosthetic that doesn't go for a plainly aesthetic appearance, or is soully to please others? I do note that you said prosthetics are generally... not that helpful. So is there a way that it could be? Or do you think it would always generally be better to not use a prosthetic, as its mostly for aesthetic purposes, as you said?

I apologise if this ask is too outright or anything, and I don't mean to intrude. Thank you for your time and have a beautiful day!

okay, i want to answer this as in depth as possible, because whenever i talk about having a prosthesis, someone will always tag some variation of "#writing reference" and i do wonder what message they're taking away, and i want to get as much of my experience out as possible to maybe help shape how this is all portrayed in the future. and yeah… this is gonna be one of those rambly smg posts that the expand feature was invented for, so i'll start with the very abridged TL;DR:

if you're writing a character with an upper limb prosthesis; don't. arm amputees are unicorn level rare even compared to leg amputees, and i've never interacted with or even heard of an upper limb amputee that regularly uses a prosthesis, let alone relies on one. fiction has lied to you for the sake of cool aesthetics, don't repeat the cycle. more in depth writing advice including nuance and "but i waaaant to" will follow.

that said, grab your donning parachute and let's get started...

context for everyone involved: i am an upper limb amputee that rants a lot about how prostheses suck, i lost my right hand roughly five years ago at roughly the age of 30 after a very rough decline in health… it was pretty rough. this question is being asked in the context of a previous rant post of mine, and i checked that the ask is about an upper limb prosthesis in particular.

the situation regarding the usefulness of lower limb prostheses is totally different; i am definitely no expert, but by all accounts, prosthetic legs are incredibly useful for many people. getting a good leg can be absolutely life changing and more or less necessary for day to day life for some; mostly because infrastructure and society is just so fucking hostile to wheelchair users. being able to walk - at the cost of pressure sores and rashes and increased residual limb pain - is a preferable option to many people than being unable to fit through a doorway or in a bathroom stall or find out that the key to unlock the only elevator is in the admin office up three flights of stairs (true story).

but upper limb prostheses… see, the thing is, hands are incredibly complex organs that rely on a lot of immediate haptic feedback to work at all. hand dexterity is all about control, you need fine granular movements of the digits yes, but you also need the subtle sensations of pressure and proprioception in order to adjust your movements on the fly. i speak from experience, in the years leading up to the full loss of my hand, i was slowly losing function of it, usually swinging between numbness that made it clumsy at best, or screaming overstimulation from moving it at all resulting in unpredictable spasms… and let me tell you, a half working hand is infuriating to try and deal with. you can never know if you have a good grip on something or if it's slipping because of the wrong amount of pressure, and there's only so many smashed bottles of pickles on the floor before you give up using it all together… so amputation wasn't a great loss there, i had time to adapt.

a prosthetic hand of any kind has all of those issues and more. they're heavy and bulky, the cosmetic faux fingers or gripping claw have crude movement at best, and there's zero feedback (put a pin in this). 100% of the time you're using a prosthetic hand you have to keep your eyes on the grip and visually guesstimate whether or not the thing you're carrying is held tight enough but not too tight, that is if your "heavy duty" prosthesis can even support the weight without the servos disengaging or the wrist attachment socket just busting loose. i dropped a whippersnipper on my foot last week when my socket couldn't take the weight and i think that was the final straw in me desperately trying to prove to myself that there is a single task my prosthesis actually helps with.

this is usually where fully two handed people start talking about bleeding edge DARPA tech, and how we just need to invest more,research more, develop more. better tech, more tech, neural integration, more more more. okay i promise the writing advice is coming! for starters on tech, my experience is already with a mid-to-high end ottobock terminal device: i've got a myoelectric nerve-signal operated proportional control heavy duty greifer; about the only upgrade left for me to get would be a rotating wrist joint if i could coflex. it's not military, it's not "rockclimber that owns a prosthetic company", but it's quality tech. it still fucking sucks. secondly, that high level military tech exists primary for PR purposes so they can say they treat their discarded casualties well, "we can rebuild him, we have the technology" style. every war vet i've read about or heard from that's been gifted that high level tech also abandons it for the same reasons; it's imprecise, there's no feedback (or the haptic interface has to be fully recalibrated every time they put it on), but mostly they're more capable without one.

okay, the transhumanist ableds say (i should know, i used to be one), what if we did more ~research and development~ and got that neural feedback working? then we could have fireproof superhumanly strong robot arms to fix up everyone! here's where i take out that pin we put up before and i tell you that a class of prosthetic arms/hands already exists that has perfect proportional control, fine motor control, and physics perfect pressure feedback piped directly into the patients' existing sensory systems! they're called body-powered prostheses, and they were invented in like the 1600s. you strap a whole bunch of stuff to your arm and shoulders shoulders, and control the operation of the terminal device and elbow through cable tension by flexing your shoulders. they do take a considerable amount of training to operate - though hell i spent 18 months training to use my myo - but based on everything i've read, body-powered prostheses are the best option if you're an upper limb amputee and absolutely need a second hand for some reason.

but they don't look cool and futuristic, and according to my prosthetist, most people give up on using them too. we all give up on our prostheses, no matter the type. my rehab OT was impressed i lasted the 18 months of my training. towards the end, they even asked if the clinic director could drop in to one of my sessions to see my progress; he expressed genuine amazement at me casually using my bulky robot claw to use a brush and dustpan, and made an offhanded (hah) comment about what someone can achieve "if they stick it out to the end", implying it was somewhat of a rarity for me to have done so. several years on, and yesterday i wedged the dustpan between my ankles to sweep up into it, awkward but exponentially less effort than putting my dusty robot arm on. which, by the way, is a whole thing. look up some videos, they're all awful to don. i don't actually know the official technical name of what my clinic calls a "parachute" but it's a bitch to use! have you ever tried to pull back with your arm whilst also pushing it forwards at the same time, and simultaneously lean in to and away from an external force pulling on you? that's how you get a myo socket on.

bare with me, i promise writing advice is coming, and i promise it's more than the tl;dr. but. remember when i said a half working hand is infuriating to deal with? any prosthesis, from fancy myo tech to pirate-era body powered, will only ever be half as good as a working hand, and being juuuust within capability to do something but not quite able to is maddening! but you know what works way better than a half working hand? no hand at all. using whatever residual/vestigial limb you have - whatever "stump" you have, i hate that word - is pretty much always better than trying to use a prosthesis. i can use the inside of my elbow to grip and carry things, i can use the nub of my arm to apply pressure to hold things, open doors, use a computer mouse, turn on taps and lights, if i put a glove over it i can use it to prep for cooking. i have full proprioception and pressure feedback with skin contact, i don't think i've ever dropped and broken anything from my elbow, unlike countless things slipped from my greifer - which, by the way, absolutely will start clenching as tight as it can if i get even slightly too sweaty around the electrodes, which has both broken things i'm holding and also injured me, because surprise surprise but servo operated robot claws have pinch points on them right near the "emergency disengage" lever for some reason!

but i am exponentially more capable without it on than with it. no, i'm not fully independent, i rely on housemates and loved ones to help me out with some tasks that simply just need two handed dexterity, but none of those tasks are things a prosthesis makes me able to do anyway. i used to imagine my prosthesis would be like a bra; a bit awkward and uncomfortable, but i'd wear it throughout the day because it's helpful and take it off in the evening to decompress. in reality it's actually exactly like a bra: an absolute bitch to put on one handed, unbearably uncomfortable because it never sits right, ugly af unless you're a millionaire, and absolutely useless except for the fact that i get gawked at and judged by strangers if i leave the house without it on.

and if you really want to discover how far "no hand is better than a half working hand" goes, brace yourself, and look up the patient's stories (not medical system stories) of people that have had hand transplants. the first man to receive one hated it, he was promised a return to normal function, and what he got was a nightmare worse than being one handed; he wanted it removed again but the doctors refused because it would undermine their grand achievement of the first hand transplant. the doctors and society wanted him to be fixed, they wanted him to be normal, they wanted him to be abled. they failed. they made him less able to do things, denied his autonomy, and left him with someone else's hand slowly rotting on him, prioritising the idea of "scientific progress" and "two hands good" over the physical health, mental health, and ability to function of this man.

he's not alone; every story from the patients' perspective about hand transplants that i've read goes this way, including a woman who was born quad limb different and was promised hands would improve her life, pressured into a double hand transplant, only to find herself after the surgery essentially experiencing disability for the first time ever, because she had lived her whole life getting by just fine with her 'underdeveloped' limbs, but half working hands are worse than useless. you can try to find these stories yourself, but i'm not going looking for sources on any of these cases, because if you look back through enough of my posts you'll get a glimpse of the horrors and abuses that i too was put through by doctors who prioritised trying to "fix" me at any cost, rather than providing me the best quality of life, and in turn traumatised me and left me more broken than any loss of limb on its own could. dear goddess, i promise the writing advice is coming.

so. why do upper limb prostheses exist at all? if they're so terrible and useless, what is their function? i want to borrow something someone else left in the tags of a previous rant here, from someone who i believe works in prosthetics and/or rehab, cleaned up and anonymised at their request:

"upper limb functions are wildly more complex than: 1) bear weight static, and 2) bear weight moving. but every single upper limb amputee i know has a fancy expensive prosthetic just gathering dust in the closet because there is literally nothing it can do like a few years of adjustment and if needed non-dominant hand retraining can't do. the existence of forquarter prosthetics to begin with is just kind of silly and useless and entirely to make OTHER people feel comfortable, especially considering they universally are UNcomfortable for the amputee. i hate the notion that as soon as you get the amputation the prosthetic is The Thing That Will Fix You And Make You Feel Normal again because it universally isn't! but every forequarter person i know had like this ideal of Being Fixed By Magic Prosthetic that they were then obviously wildly disappointed by and had to do yet another grieving process with, versus if the dominant narrative were just one of: yeah. it'll take time, there is no magic fix."

and i think that really nails down what the actual purpose of upper limb prostheses is: they're not for the user, they're for the sake of other people. and not just their comfort when looking at our bodies, although based on the pressure for both amputees and people born limb different to get functionless cosmetic plastic hands, there is a lot of that. but it's not just that.

i fully believe that the reason prosthetic hands exists is to comfort the fears of the two handed. "don't worry", they say, "we can fix you again. you don't have to fear becoming Disabled, you don't have to worry about adapting or your life changing. we can make you Normal™ again."

you would not believe the number of people that have approached me to shower me with pity, to tell me how horrific my life is, how they can't imagine it. people have told me, apropos of nothing, that they'd kill themselves if they lost a hand. indirectly, that my life isn't worth living. unless, of course, i happen to be wearing my cool as fuck looking robot prosthesis! then they tell me how wonderful it is, how lucky i am, how glad they are that we have the technology to fix me. that's what a prosthetic hand says, what all the happy fishing photos on limbs4life posters at the rehab clinic say: don't worry, we can fix you. that's what the bleeding edge DARPA flexi-whatever fully articulated neuro-feedback hands say: don't worry if you get IED'd while hunting civilians for us to drone bomb, if you get hurt, we will fix you, we will fix the fuck out of you, we will motherfucking adam jensen you into a cool as fuck cyborg that your son will idolise; come on boys, don't you wanna enlist just for the chance at being as cool as this? join the bomb squad for a ticket to the upgrade lottery.

and so we arrive at fiction. as much as his dialogue options protest, adam jensen loves his robot arms, they punch through walls, turn into fucking swords! they make him the most special man in the world. what would he do without them? learn to cope? grieve? practice acceptance? take up poetry? just, be disabled? there's no power fantasy for ableds in that.

in fact, can you think of a single fictional character that's an upper limb amputee that's, well, just an amputee? they all have robot arms. not realistic prostheses, not medical devices; robot arms. sleek or bulky, top of the line or broken down self built, steampunk or nanomachines or magitech automail; they're never without them. never just an amputee. never born limb different either! there's always that element of tragedy to overcome, always suffering and misery porn, always focus on the pain and the helplessness without the absolutely vital robot arm that makes them Normal and Whole. the closest amputee example i can think of is furiosa from mad max, who iirc fucking punches max in the face with her residual limb like a motherfucking badass! i can barely lean on mine wrong and she punches a guy! but she still apparently needs a dieselpunk robot hand to drive a truck, something you can do one handed so easily most drivers don't even notice they're doing it! please don't, by the way

and so many disabled fans love to point to robot armed characters as disability representation; the winter soldier, luke skywalker, edward elric, misty knight, that genderswapped furry girl from ratchet and clank, jet cowboybebop, finn the human, and yes, adam jensen…. these are all characters that someone disabled i know has told me they love because they "represent disabled bodies"…. and i know nobody wants to hear this, because i've been screamed at for saying it before, but… they do not. they are not disabled, functionally or within fiction. they are either perfectly able bodied Normal people with chrome paint on an arm, or tortured misery porn we are supposed to pity and feel lucky we're not them. sometimes both!

also you ever notice how it's basically always arms? lower limb amputations are orders of magnitude more common than upper, my prosthetist said i was probably only the 4th or 5th upper limb she'd worked with in her career, with literally hundreds of lower limb fits. but fiction doesn't seem to reflect that, huh? or any other part of the reality of disability. it's always cool as fuck robot arms, never cool as fuck wheelchairs or crutches or dialysis machines or colostomy bags. a fair few "i was blind but now i can see with Robot Eyes and also infrared and xray" around, which again, plays into that "we can fix you and make you cooler" propaganda.

by the way, up above when i was describing body powered arms, if you wondered to yourself why i went with a myoelectric one instead when i clearly believe body powered is better… yeah. i am not immune to propaganda! i too wanted to be cool as fuck. i spent years with deteriorating function in my hand for reasons that are still unknown, was misdiagnosed and medically neglected to the point that removing my hand seemed to be the only option left to offer some relief, and even that was a clusterfuck that left me worse than ever… of course i wanted to believe in the power and prestige of a cool robot arm that fiction promised me.

but fiction promises fantastical lies. and so.

we get to the writing advice portion of the novella that is this post. you asked for advice on how to write a disabled character with an upper limb prosthesis. you've read the tl;dr, you've read everything above i assume, you know i don't want you to do it. the obvious twist is that it's been writing advice all along, me trying to share my perspective on what it's like being an amp with a robot arm and how shitty it is, implying how almost any fully realised and realistic character that's missing an upper limb would give up on a prosthesis at all. you can already tell that every value judgement in me says "don't give her a prosthesis, no matter how functional or cool you make it. don't try to make the tech better to justify it, just let her be one armed, one handed. just let her be disabled, but not helpless. let her show off her elbow or underarm carry strength. let her love interest appreciate how soft and squishy her residual limb is in a moment of tenderness. let her natural disabled body be respected and valued."

but that's a personal value judgement from me, and you are the author of your own work. i know it's trite to say, but you are! even the act of deferring to someone with lived experience in the hope of doing a better job at representation is a value judgement, a good choice in my opinion, but one you needn't necessarily take. maybe you do want to write a character that has a cool as fuck unrealistic robot arm as a power fantasy, or a comfort blanket… i did.

i've been slowly writing my own probably terrible scifi epic for over a decade now, and when my arm was giving me hell back then, i'd take great comfort in this fantasy of my protagonist with her chunky robot arm, the terrible traumatic suffering of her loss, overcoming, the power and ability her advanced prosthesis gives her over others, that she alone has access to, because others are not willing to make the sacrifices required. inspiration porn. awful stuff to me now, but empowering to me then. as i grew and gained direct experience, i slowly reimagined her, rewrote her, ship of theseus'd her into an entirely new character; a reflection of me now, bitter at the whole thing, spiteful that her natural flesh arm evokes fear and distrust, but unwilling to suffer the pain and frustration of her unnatural prosthesis just to make others comfortable and respect her as "whole", however artificial that whole is. and as with the ship of theseus being two ships, once i realised the transformation, i re-added the old protagonist back in whole cloth as a separate character; proud of her robot arm and its power, but in new context, as a foil and antagonist, an in-universe military prosthesis propaganda figure to reflect how i now feel characters like her exist to us, the readers.

i'm not just sharing that as egotistical self promotion, but to highlight that, even if i sit here begging you all up and down not to write characters with robot arms for how bad and unrealistic they are; there's still something genuine and true that their inclusion can say. the great thing about the story that you're writing is that only you can write it, as they say. but i whole heartedly believe that to write to your best, you have to be aware of what you're writing and why. as tempting as it is to feel these characters form naturally in us and therefore we're averse to changing traits about them that feel organic and self evident; as authors we have omnipotent control over the text, every trait and detail is a reflection on us, so we'd sure as hell better understand why we're choosing to write a character with this trait. because anything you write without being aware of intent will take on its own meaning in the space between.

and on that note, if i don't say this, i'm leaving it to be inferred: i definitely don't want to appear to come down on the side of saying "you cannot write an amputee unless you are one", because we are rarer than single young bisexual unicorns! and it would be a tragedy if anyone read through all this and then turned away in fear, deciding to never write an amputee character (with or without robot arm) because they feel they can't do it justice… believe me, no matter what anyone says, some hack writer somewhere is going to keep writing adam jensens and winter soldiers. don't let them be the only voices in fiction! just try to do your best.

so my ultimate advice on the topic of writing a character with a prosthetic limb is to ask yourself one question in two different frameworks, and meditate on what you feel the answer is:

why does she have a prosthesis?

from a doylelist perspective as the kids say, as an author with omnipotent control, why are you choosing to write about this topic? why are you choosing to give this trait to this character? what does it say about how you view ability and disability, what makes a person normal, and what our society values? will you let her be in her natural body? or will you give her a prosthesis, force her to wear it by authorial fiat, or author her a meaningful reason to choose to? if yes, be sure you know; why did you give her a prosthesis?

and from a wastonian perspective, diegetically, inside the story, why does she choose to wear a prosthesis? what does it say about her inner character, and how she interacts with the world? how does she feel about doing it, is she prideful and loves the attention she gets, or does she resent whatever necessitates its use? how do people in this world view ability and disability, what does this society value? and above all, whatever the answer to these questions, whether or not she uses a prosthesis or is badass without one, how does she deal with the eternal freezing cold that every amputee ever feels constantly in their residual limb and why does nobody make a heat pack that fits over a nub without drafty gaps???

i can't outright tell you how to write a good upper limb amputee, but if you at least know why you're writing one and for what purpose, you're on track to write the best character that you can. that's the best advice i can give… other than, like, this whole rambly mess.

and, as a reward for reading this far, please have a very blurry cryptid photo of my cat doing his old man sit:

[bethanythebogwitch]

I recently found out a show I liked is 10 years old now so to not be the oldest thing on this blog I'm talking coelacanths for Wet Beast Wednesday. Coelacanths are rare fish famed for being living fossils. While that term is highly misleading, it is true that coelacanths are among the only remaining lobe-fined fish and were thought to have gone extinct millions of years ago before being rediscovered in modern times.

(image id: a wild coelacanth. It is a large, mostly grey fish with splotches of yellowish scales. Its fins are attached to fleshy lobes. It is seen from the side, facing the top right corner of the picture)

Coelacanth fossils had been known since the 1800s and they were believed to have gone extinct in the late Cretaceous period. That was until December 1938, when a museum curator named Marjorie Courtenay-Latimer was informed of an unusual specimen that had been pulled in by local fishermen. After being unable to identify the fish, she contacted a friend, ichthyologist J. L. B. Smith, who told her to preserve the specimen until he could examine it. Upon examining it early next year, he realized it was indeed a coelacanth, confirming that they had survived, undetected, for 66 million years. Note that fishermen living in coelacanth territory were already aware of the fish before they were formally described by science. Coelacanths are among the most famous examples of a lazarus taxon. This term, in the context of ecology and conservation, means a species or population that is believed to have gone extinct but is later discovered to still be alive. While coelacanths are among the oldest living lazarus taxa, they aren't the oldest. They are beaten out by a genus of fly (100 million years old) and a type of mollusk (over 300 million years old).

(image: a coelacanth fossil. It is a dark brown imprint of a coelacanth on white rock. Its skeleton is visible in the imprint)

Coelacanths are one of only two surviving groups of lobe-finned fish along with the lungfishes. Lobe-finned fish are bony fish notable for their fins being attached to muscular lobes. By contrast, ray-finned fish (AKA pretty much every fish you've ever heard of that isn't a shark) have their fins attached directly to the body. That may not sound like a big difference, but it actually is. The lobes of lobe-finned fish eventually evolved into the first vertebrate limbs. That makes lobe-finned fish the ancestors of all reptiles, amphibians, and mammals, including you. In fact, you are more closely related to a coelacanth than a coelacanth is to a tuna. Coelacanths were thought to be the closest living link to tetrapods, but genetic testing has shown that lungfish are actually closer to the ancestor of tetrapods.

(image id: a scientific diagram depicting the taxonomic relationships of early lobe-finned fish showing their evolution to proto-tetrapods like Tiktaalik and Ichthyostega, to true tetrapods. Source)

There are two known living coelacanth species: the west Indian ocean coelacanth (Latimeria chalumnae) and the Indonesian coelacanth (L. menadoensis). Both are very large fish, capable of exceeding 2 m (6.6 ft) in length and 90 kg (200 lbs). Their wikipedia page describes them as "plump", which seems a little judgmental to me. Their tails are unique, consisting of two lobes above and below the end of the tail, which has its own fin. Their scales are very hard and thick, acting like armor. The mouth is small, but a hinge in its skull, not found in any other animal, allows the mouth to open extremely wide for its size. In addition, they lack a maxilla (upper jawbone), instead using specialized tissue in its place. They lack backbones, instead having an oil-filled notochord that serve the same function. The presence of a notochord is the key characteristic of being a chordate, but most vertebrates only have one in embryo, after which it is replaced by a backbone. Instead of a swim bladder, coelacanths have a vestigial lung filled with fatty tissue that serves the same purpose. In addition to the lung, another fatty organ also helps control buoyancy. The fatty organ is large enough that it forced the kidneys to move backwards and fuse into one organ. Coelacanths have tiny brains. Only about 15% of the skull cavity is filled by the brain, the rest is filled with fat.

(image id: a coalacanth. It is similar to the one on the above image, but this one is blue in color and the head is seen more clearly, showing an open mouth and large eye)

One of the reasons it took so long for coelacanths to be rediscovered is their habitat. They prefer to live in deeper waters in the twilight zone, between 150 and 250 meters deep. They are also nocturnal and spend the day either in underwater caves or swimming down into deeper water. They typically stay in deeper water or caves during the day as colder water keeps their metabolism low and conserves energy. While they do not appear to be social animals, coelacanths are tolerant of each other's presence and the caves they stay in may be packed to the brim during the day. Coelacanths are all about conserving energy even when looking for food. They are drift feeders, moving slowly with the currents and eating whatever they come across. Their diet primarily consists of fish and squid. Not much is known about how they catch their prey, but they are capable of rapid bursts of speed that may be used to catch prey and is definitely used to escape predators. They are believed to be capable of electroreception, which is likely used to locate prey and avoid obstacles. Coelacanths swim differently than other fish. They use their lobe fins like limbs to stabilize their movements as they drift. This means that while coelacanths are slow, they are very maneuverable. Some have even been seen swimming upside-down or with their heads pointed down.

(image: an underwater cave wilt multiple coelacanths residing in it. 5 are clearly visible, with the fins of others showing from offscreen)

Coelacanths are a vary race example of bony fish that give live birth. They are ovoviviparous, meaning the egg is retained and hatches inside the mother. Gestation can take between 2 and 5 years (estimates differ) and multiple offspring are born at a time. It is possible that females may only mate with a single male at a time, though this is not confirmed. Coelacanths can live over 100 years and do not reach full maturity until age 55. This very slow reproduction and maturation rate likely contributes to the rarity of the fish.

(image: a juvenile coelacanth. Its body shape is the same as those of adults, but with proportionately larger fins. There are green laser beams shining on it. These are used by submersibles to calculate the size of animals and objects)

Coelacanths are often described as living fossils. This term refers to species that are still similar to their ancient ancestors. The term is losing favor amongst biologists due to how misleading it can be. The term os often understood to mean that modern species are exactly the same as ancient ones. This is not the case. Living coelacanth are now known to be different than those who existed during the Cretaceous, let alone the older fossil species. Living fossils often live in very stable environments that result in low selective pressure, but they are still evolving, just slower.

(image: a coelacanth swimming next to a SCUBA diver)

Because of the rarity of coelacanths, it's hard to figure out what conservation needs they have. The IUCN currently classifies the west Indian ocean coelacanth as critically endangered (with an estimated population of less than 500) and the Indonesian coelacanth as vulnerable. Their main threat is bycatch, when they are caught in nets intended for other species. They aren't fished commercially as their meat is very unappetizing, but getting caught in nets is still very dangerous and their slow reproduction and maturation means that it is long and difficult to replace population losses. There is an international organization, the Coelacanth Conservation Council, dedicated to coelacanth conservation and preservation.

(image: a coelacanth facing the camera. The shape of its mouth makes it look as though it is smiling)

[sunghoonnsupremacy]

ONLY IF YOU SAY YES. - bff!nishimura riki x reader

summary : riki's always wanted to make out with you, or maybe he just wants to makeout with everyone. after becomimg tipsy at a party, you quickly give in to his desires.

a/n : happy 1year to my blog!! to all my viewers&followers, enjoy this quick riki drabble. love you all, mwa mwa. also- didn't mean for this to get so long.

genre : fluff

warnings : making out, a lil blood, whore calling

wordcount : 970

you somehow ended up at one of the typical frat parties of your college. the host, aka jake sim, was lying on the couch with heeseung and sunghoon next to him, drinking their beers.

they notice you and give you a lazy smirk, jake gettong up to greet you. "hey pretty. where's your escort?" you smile at him, sighing.

"no escort tonight. just waiting for riki to meet up with me." he gives you a sloppy nod, pointing to the kitchen. "think i saw him in there with eun-yoo, pretty. not sure if you wanna interrupt them."

you roll your eyes, knowing what he's indicating. "it's fine, thanks jake. see you around." you walk to the kitchen after smiling at the trio, saying your goodbyes to them quickly.

your e/c eyes look around the messy and crowded kitchen, looking for your best friend, only to spot him making out with the said eun-yoo against the fridge.

sighing in annoyance, you grab a drink, pouring some vodka and mixer into a cup and sipping it before walking up to the pair. "hey eun-yoo, riki. busy?" the two of them break apart, slightly panting. riki smirks at you, pulling away from her fully as she just waves at you quietly.

"you made it. thought you got lost again." he hugs you, pulling you in by your waist and letting his hands rest on your hips before pulling away.

"don't be a dickhead. i only got lost once." rolling your eyes, you smack his chest and cross your arms. "are you gonna hangout with me or do you need some more kissing in your system to properly function?" riki groans at you, muttering a goodbye to eun-yoo and dragging you away as you sip your drink.

you two arrive upstairs, most likely in jake's room. "the hell are we doing here? you got games on your phone?" snickering to yourself, you sit down on riki's lap as he sits down on the bed.

"no games on my phone, y/n. just exhausted." he lays his head on your shoulder, watching you swirl your drink around in the red plastic cup. after a moment of silence, you speak up.

"you know you can't just kiss every girl you feel like kissing, right? you're gonna end up hurting someone, or yourself." he sighs, rubbing his face into your neck from behind.

"they know im not looking for anything serious, plus who cares if i kiss every girl i land my eyes on?"you finish your drink and lean against him to relax. "i know i know.. it's just the principal of the whole situation."

riki rolls his eyes, annoyed at your nice personality. "hey.. why don't you wanna makeout with me?" he looks at you, expecting an answer. "cause im your best friend and god knows where your mouth has been. your lips probably have an std from the amount of lips they kissed."

he chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you close. "you're a real pain in the ass, yk that? im a great kisser- and i know you've never made out with someone before."

he feels you tense up at his words, so he tightens his grip around you. "are you that much of a manwhore that you'd ask your bestfriend to make out with you?" you slightly turn your head to meet his gaze, his eyes boring into yours.

"maybe. is that a yes?" he smirks, tracing patterns with his thumb on your waist. "what would i get out of it? a cold sore? seeing how jake reacts to them, i'd rather not." riki rolls his eyes, scoffing.

"just say yes. it's not that deep, it's just kissing." you sigh dramatically, but agree. "fine, ill make out with you. only cause.. uh.." he snickers, tapping your thighs so you get off his lap. "cat got your tongue? 'ts all in good fun, doll."

you raise your eyebrow at the petname. "doll? which number doll am i?" he smirks, pushing you against the wall. "number 73." playfully pouting, you look up at him. "what a ugly number. id rather be something pretty, like 95."

he rolls his eyes, leaning down to kiss you softly. you kiss him back, placing your hands on his cheeks to tug him closer. his hands find your waist, keeping you close to him. his lips attack yours hungrily, begging for more.

"mm-" you let out a surprised whimper when his teeth bite down on your lip, shutting your eyes closed as you feel blood slightly come out. riki keeps making out with you, licking the blood of your lips, only to shove his tongue into your mouth.

you gotta admit, he is good at making out. no wonder every girl wants to kiss him.

your lips collide again and again until you pull away, needy to breathe. he snickers, finding your lack of oxygen amusing.

"so? how you liking my lips, doll?" ".. do you use lipbalm?" your question catches him off guard, his expression faltering. "sometimes, why? you like it? cherry flavoured."

you tug him closer, a smirk on your face for the first time tonight. "can't tell, let me have a taste again?" he gladly obligates, kissing you passionately and pressing you against the wall.

after spending the next 20 minutes making out, you both decide that's enough. walking back down stairs to the loud party like nothing happened, making sure to cover up the hickeys on your collar bones as you make your way back to jake, heeseung and sunghoon, riki finding his own friends.

jake looks up at you with hooded eyes and a lazy smile, obviously more drunk than when you last saw him an hour ago. "hey pretty. where were you?" sitting yourself down between hee and jake, you smile.

"eating some cherries."

[trafficblrpositivityproject]

The queue is empty right now! After several hundred asks, I am all out! (✨0✨)

I would like to send out a thank you from me to all of you. Thank you all for helping me out with this project and uplifting other members of the fan base. Thank you for sharing this blog’s introductory post and helping me on my mission. Thanks to everyone who has sent in asks about me and this project. This blog literally cannot function without the help and love from all of you, so I thank you for helping me keep it running so far!

This project will continue for as long as you are willing to send in asks to it! If you have been thinking of submitting an ask, now is the time!

If you want some ideas, here are things you can send asks about.

• Your favorite artists and writers, of course! You are all very good at this so far. If you want to specifically highlight certain pieces or art or writing, go ahead! I will not take links or imbedded images—I do not want to be reposting or accidentally open the door for people to send me spam links—but if you want to describe them, that would be fine.

• Creators of less “popular” types of media like cosplay, songs, collages and web weaves, textiles, and anything else I’m missing! These art forms do not always get as much attention, so all the more reason to send them love!

• Your favorite theorists and analysts! Share about your favorite theories as well, and why you like them!

• Your friends! “My friend [URL] is really cool” is a very good ask! Not everyone submitted here needs to be a creator, or be here because they’re a creator. I do not want people to think that this blog is just for people who are “famous,” anyone can submit asks about anyone for any reason.

• Similar, people who have supported you. Friends who brought you into the series, people who regularly leave nice tags and engage with your work. Send some love back to the people who have been cheering you on!

• Events and zines! The fandom could not survive without the work of event weeks/months and zines. And I definitely do not mind being free advertising for the events and zines you all are in ;)

• Former members of the fandom who are no longer active or have moved fandoms. If they used to enjoy life series and have since moved on, they still count.

And I will remind you I am perfectly happy to take submissions on people with a degree or two of separation from trafficblr. Hermitblr and Empiresblr accounts, or bloggers posting about other overlapping SMPs and series like POW and MCC. Or participants in fan made Life Series. As long as there is some sort of overlap, I will not be fact checking.

Repeating the same person who has already been submitted is also fine. If you wanted to send me the same person every single day for a month I would not stop you. Just keep your ask positive and include fewer than 5 people, and we are golden.

All I want is to make this fandom a little more positive. I thank you all again so much for helping me so far, and if this is as far as I go, I will feel very satisfied with how we have done.

Thank you again, everyone, from the ferryman! <3

[gogomatthew]

Request: (Smut)

Hotch gives Spencer the lead on a new case. And when Y/N doesn’t do what Spencer said to do- well let’s say when they get home she gets punished.

Just you wait

SPENCER REID X FEM!READER

summary: being from a different department and working with your fiancé was always great except but things change when you don’t seem to obey his orders

warnings: choking • punishment • spanking • sub!dom dynamics • cursing • arguing • bj • PV •

a/n: english isn’t my first language so I apologize for any gramatical errors! I don’t really see Spencer as a dom tbh so this was a little difficult for me to write sorry if its not exactly what you wanted honestly it was rushed :/

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI!! 18+ SMUT AHEAD

“I dont feel great about this just so you know” Emily says as you both enter the DCPD. “You think I do? but we can’t prioritize feelings over case right now” Emily sighs as you squeeze the orange envelope filled with new pictures of the crime scene between your fingers subconsciously releasing your stress onto it with a deep breath.

You see a lanky figure make his way towards both of you with a glare of disbelief plastered on his face. “You went behind my back?” though his tone is angry theres hurt laced between his words. “Im sorry but we found new evidence that-” he cuts you off “I dont care right now! Im leading this case and I told everyone to stay away from the scene until further notice. You cant just ignore my authority!” his eyes switch back and forth between you and Emily

“I work for a different department” Emily just sighs and throws her hands up in surrender as she walk away past Spencer after realizing the conflict just got a little personal. Spencer runs his hands down his face in defeated frustration causing his words to come out slightly muffled “Am I joke to you? seriously am I? I know you work for a different department but you never seem to have a problem obeying Hotch..” his hands fall back to his sides as he grabs the envelope from you and storms off leaving you there with your thoughts.

For some cases your department sent you out as the traveling detective to help out the BAU and you never had a problem working along side your fiancé I mean this job is what brought you both together but having him as your acting boss was slightly different. Its not that you didn’t respect his authority you just didn’t understand his judgment at this moment. He knew how your job functioned and always did his best to help you with whatever you needed but right now he was stopping you from doing your job and you were worried about him but there were victims at risk.

Hypothetically he would’ve been fine if..

If Hotch wasn’t hovering

If the geographical range wasnt so large

If the building wasnt so loud

If the PD didn’t see him as joke

if it wasn’t dangerous for his agents to leave the building alone

ect,, there were too many thoughts taking over and none of them were good.

Thankfully the evidence you and Emily found was crucial to the investigation and even though he was still under immense stress you felt as if at least you took a little weight off Spencers shoulders although that didint mean he was pleased with your actions. He avoided you throughout the day even after the unsub was caught not even breaking the silence on the car ride home. Before you can even finish parking Spencer is stepping out of the car and entering your shared apartment before you.

You make your way inside not too long after him with tears of pent up frustration brimming your eyes and threatening to fall only for those thoughts to be forgotten as your head gently hits the wall. Spencer has you pinned by his large hand lightly squeezing your neck the way he knows you love as his other hand holds both of your wrists between his fingers. “what was that today? first you ignore my authority..” a squeeze to your neck as his raspy voice lingers closer to your slightly open mouth “and then you humiliate me?” another squeeze and the tears fall alongside a whimper “why’re you crying baby? you know I just wanna keep you safe and thats why I couldn’t let you go to the scene” his tone is genuine care mixed with condensation as he looks you up and down hungrily “but you just had to ignore me and im gonna have to make you learn your lesson” his grip on your throat loosens as his hand gently strokes your face wiping away your tears “m- sorry” you choke out as he ghosts his lips over yours, his hot breath makes your thighs clench.

“I know you are but its too late now” his grip on you loosens and he pushes you down harshly to your knees as he undoes his belt without a word. As he frees his cock from his boxers he gives it 2 slow strokes “open” he simply says and you obey, taking him into your mouth eagerly. What you cant fit into your mouth you pump with you hand causing his breath to hitch at the stimulation. Spencer strokes his finger through your hair before fisting it and thrusting his hips into your mouth. He’s vocal and hes not shy about it, his moans come out strained and loud as you feel his dick twitch on your tongue getting ready to have your throat welcome in his load despite your gagging until he pushes you away “d-dont wanna cum yet.. gonna make you beg for it first” he says out of breath as he lifts you off the ground and into the bedroom.

“take it off.. I want a show” with a gulp you start unbuttoning your blouse slowly trying not to seem to desperate and take your pants off as he eyes you lustfuly. You are completely nude to him as his shirt and boxers remain “come here” you walk over to him cautiously and he sits you down on his thigh resting his hands on your hips slowly rocking you back and forth causing a moan to drop from your parted lips. “mm” you start rocking yourself faster as he removes his touch from you depriving you “please” he fake pouts “please what? I need to hear it” a desperate cry leaves your mouth knowing you wont be able to cum just from his thigh “I need you” he chuckles “need what? my fingers?” his hand cups your dripping cunt teasing your entrance with his fingers “n-no your-” a whimper leaves your throat “your cock”

one last look at you and he’s flipping you over so hes caging your body under his own. He grabs his dick in his hand and pushes it into your entrance without warning or giving you time to adjust. His hand finds its way back to your throat making your sounds of pain and pleasure sound strained. His thrusts dont have a rhythm theyre just ruthless and fast. “hah- ah you crying? im just correcting your behavior” his cock brushes your g spot so good it makes you forget how to talk “you know that right baby?” now this is condescending but you cant find it in you to care right now, the pleasure taking over “say it.. say you deserve this” his hold on your throat releasing so he can hold onto the bed frame to go deeper against your sensitive spot “ahh say it” with a yelp you manage to push the words out “I-I deserve t-this” his thrust dont let up it just fuels him on even more “wasnt gonna let you c-cum tonight but I think id rather fuck you stupid ah- what’d you think about that?” he knows you’re already seconds away from your orgasm as your eyes start rolling to the back of your head and you cant provide any actual words. His free hand makes its way down to your clit desperate to make you his own little fuck toy. Your legs start shaking erratically and without a warning you cum all over spencers aching cock with him hot on your heels. You pant but before you have time to catch your breath you’re roughly flipped over onto your stomach as a rough slap lands on your ass

“im not done with you yet”

[lookingforhappy]

TUA Inconsistencies, Plotholes and Goofs

before u read, pls know that i adore this show and wouldn't be critiquing it this harshly if i wasn't utterly obsessed with it.

I don't think that all of these need fixes or explanations since they function as fun little plot devices etc but I think it's important to note that they do break the story a little. although there are some that really do need fixes.

this comes from a place of interest, analysis, and frustration but not hate.

(also apologies to all the gifmakers who i have indirectly @'d in this post)

here's a list of all the problems i could remember in tua:

The Commission is too OP

(this one I saw posited by another blog but I can't remember who first brought it up? so credit to whoever said this first i think)

The Commission is shown to be capable of:

time travel

time freezing

body cloning & consciousness transplanting (essentially, their workers can live forever because they can build new bodies and transfer their minds as soon as they start to get old/ill)

paradox-proofing

timeline monitoring/spying (the Infinite Switchboard)

if the Commission has had the ISB all along + infinite time + unaging employees, then they have been able to watch every second of history, and every second of every alternate history ever (Lila watches the timeline Five rewound/erased).

If they can see every second of every possible history, then even if they're the most inefficiant organisation ever, they're able to know everything before it/they even exist.

which makes more or less every plot point impossible:

Five would not have been able to return to 2019 without being spotted and hunted down by people who know exactly what he looks like (13yro not 58 yro), exactly where he is (also making the tracker in his arm, and in the sweet wrapper, redundant), and exactly when he's vulnerable eg. when he sleeps, is injured or drunk.

The Handler would not have been able to hide in 1963 and plot against the Commission without being spotted by the Commission and killed/fired. Same thing goes for stealing and hiding multiple Briefcases.

The 1963 Apocalypse would not have been allowed to happen as the Commsission would have had Viktor killed long before it happened.

The Kugelblitz wouldn't have happened because the Commission would have seen it decades or centuries in advance and prevented it (this should be top priority because this is what kills them!).

Herb and Dot's Goals for the Commission

In s1 the Commission wants a very specific timeline to take place (aka the apocalypse) with no deviations, and are willing to do anything and everything to make it so.

Herb and Dot seem more than happy to go along with this, and even believe that the Commission is correct for doing this.

Dot in particular is the Case Manager for the apocalypse, meaning she is the one who spotted Five when he arrived as a 13yro and left him there to die/live a life of pain and isolation. She also was chiefly responsible for ensuring the deaths of 7 billion people including all the Hargreeves' for "the greater good".

Dot is actually seen snitching on Five to The Handler, was implied to be working with The Handler to prevent Five from stopping the apocalypse, and is the one to alert security/sound the alarm when Five starts fighting The Handler.

So it's pretty weird that in s2 and 3 Herb and Dot are suddenly fine with the apocalypse not happening. It's one thing to change management, and another to completely uproot the entire mission statement/ethos of the Commission. The Commission, from the moment Herb and Dot gain control, has no goal or purpose. because they gave up that purpose when they agreed to let the Hargreeves go to an apocalypse free 2019.

This is also weird as Five is completely fine and trusting of them at the end of s2, when all they've done so far to him is prove that they cannot be trusted and will do anything to cause the apocalypse, as well as having left him to suffer alone in an apocalypse for 45 years as well as force him to join the Commission and become a murderer (or else die alone).

The Two Fives + The Briefcase

old!Five doesn't take his Briefcase to 2019 in the original timeline.

So why don't Five and Luther wait until old!Five has left for 2019 to pick his Briefcase up off the ground, where it's entirely unguarded and completely abandoned, and avoid the Paradox Psychosis altogether.

old!Five wasn't in the timeline or remotely near enough to Five to cause Paradox Psychosis when Five originally came up with this plan.

The Grandfather Paradox + Similar Goofs

TUA Time Travel operates on branching/alternate timelines, like Loki, not on a loop/predestined, like HP, and not on one single malleable timeline, like Back to the Future. ergo The Grandfather Paradox cannot exist within the show.

As soon as Five averts the 2019 apocalypse, his existence would trigger a paradox as without the apocalypse he never got trapped and has no reason/knowledge to return to 2019 to prevent it.

Same thing for S2, the only reason the nukes aren't dropped in S2 is bc Five saw it happen and time travelled back to prevent it, but as soon as that apocalypse is prevented, the nukes are never dropped, and so he never sees the apocalypse happen and therefore cannot know to prevent it.

In fact, the very first episode of S2 as a whole should cause the Grandfather Paradox, by the shows own laws: as by causing a nuclear apocalypse, their mothers were never born/did not survive long enough to birth them -> so they cannot be alive -> they cannot time travel -> cannot cause an apocalypse in 1960s -> the mothers were born -> and around and around and around.

A similar goof happens in S2, as Five helps his older self return to 2019 without de-aging himself. Five is concerned that he will cease to exist if his other self doesn't travel to 2019, but his older self does travel back. But as a 58 year old man. However, Five himself doesn't turn into a 58 year old man as he should have if this was a singular malleable timeline. Hence, he needn't have worried as they created a separate branching timeline rather than edit their own timeline.

so essentially, they're creating entirely new alternate timelines and nothing they do changes their own experiences, lives, memories or bodies.

It doesn't matter that their mothers were killed before they were born in the sparrow timeline, because they're not from this branch and therefore still have mothers in their original timeline. which is proven to not affect their current selves.

Which... breaks the entire plot of S3.

(S3 may have also caused another paradox as the reset causes Five to regain his arm, and lose the tattoo, possibly meaning he doesn't found the Commission, meaning essentially none of the series can even start as Five cannot leave the apocalypse without the Commission).

Polk Salad Annie

Five travels to 1982, Wisconsin, to kill the Commission Board. yet he has no Briefcase, cannot time travel on his own, and is shown to meet The Handler separately rather than be picked up by her for transport.

(If Lila took him, then surely he would have attempted to steal the Briefcase from her rather than go through with the plan.)

furthermore, 1982 should be inaccessable. or at least, it should be a nuclear wasteland.

At this point, the events culminating in the prevention of the apocalypse haven't started: The Handler is not in control of the Commission, so Lila can't kidnap Diego to work for them, so he can't find the ISB and discover Viktor is the cause of the apocalypse, so Klaus doesn't know to take Ben to the FBI building, so the apocalypse can't be prevented. Five's action in 1982 is what sets that in motion (The Handler seizes control of the Commission), but 1982 doesn't exist in this timeline, so how does that work?

Five and the Commission don't seem to know how to Timeline hop, only how to create new timelines, and how to move backwards and forwards on their current timeline.

The only way to make 1982 accessable is to remove Viktor from the timeline or prevent the FBI from capturing him. Which they didn't. So how can Five get there.

The 7 Bells

Reginald's reasoning for adopting the superkids is to send them to Oblivion to use it to reset the Universe. He needs himself and a minimum of 7 superkids to do this, any less and Oblivion won't activate, and without him there to program it, nothing changes.

In the Original Timeline, his plan is foiled in 2002 when he looses Five, and he doesn't try to rectify it. Then again in 2006 when he looses Ben, and yet again doesn't rectify it.

He screws himself over even worse by killing himself in 2019, as now he cannot even go to Oblivion to program it. Klaus could theoretically summon or be possessed by Reginald, but once again, Reginald only has 5 out of 7, and with Klaus indisposed by summoning Reginald, he only has 4 available to power Oblivion.

Even stranger, he could have adopted spares for if situations like Five and Ben happen, in the form of the Sparrows, but he chose not to.

its also a strange choice to build the academy(s) as public superheroes, as he chose to send his only 7 children into life threatening situations repeatedly, which nearly killed Luther, probably nearly killed sparrow Ben, and did kill umbrella Ben.

He also admits that he purposefully stunted the Umbrella's powers, which contradicts his Oblivion plan, where they need to fight 3 near-immortal Guardians. it also contradicts his words to Klaus in s1 - that he's disappointed because Klaus never reached his true potential. Which, if he killed himself with the plan to have Klaus summon him to reprogram Oblivion, he would need Klaus at full power to be able to do that at all.

The Sparrows also don't seem to have this issue, they have great control of their powers, Ben especially. so why bother stunting one lot of kids, but not the other.

Smaller Goofs

-Luther being normal not monkey in 2015 (1x03) when he had his accident in 2012 (1x04) is a big goof up

-klaus not reanimating in the original apocalypse with five remains unexplained

-in s1 the commission is set in 1955 (1x06), in s3 it's set in 1953 (3x07) and this remains unexplained

-klaus was kidnapped in just a towel but Hazel and Cha-Cha have his jacket for some reason

-all of the Founder Five plotline bc there is no given reasoning for why Five would willingly go against all of his morals and create the organisation that caused him pain (both emotional and physical) and got his family killed.

-if Luther was on the moon for a purpose, why not have him running useful tests to make sure Abigail's pod remains functioning? or acting as a sentry to make sure no one sends an exploration mission to the moon/behind the moon? why just have him send samples, that reginald never even opens, every day for 4 years? and how could sparrow reginald know what umbrella reginald planned for Luther? they're different people.

-edit: 12/07/24 the newspaper Five finds in the apocalypse is dated as 1st April, but when he finds the same newspaper at the end of season 1, it's still March 31st and Diego says that newspaper was sold that morning.

[bees-with-swords]

So you're a celebrity who moved to Tumblr. Do you have what it takes to survive?

Twitter is a fine planet. But now, trampled by Musk and with citizens panicking, you've decided to take a vacation to the little wilderness of Tumblr. That sounds lovely. I bet it's cottagecore.

Wrong.

Tumblr is a jungle planet. The eco system is finely tuned, full of poison and predators and bugs with HUGE asses. Anyone who walks in unprepared will be eaten alive. You smell like another planet. You don't know the rules of this place. So how do you survive?

Run your own blog.

Tumblr can sense marketing teams like a shark can sense blood. You are a person, not the @montereybayaquarium. Someone else writing your content is a death sentence.

Be cringe.

Tumblr is comprised of cringe based life forms. Being on Tumblr is in itself an act of cringe. Cringe may be considered a biohazard on Twitter but here it is the basis of all content.

Irony is enjoyed in moderation.

This should be a rule everywhere, but it applies more on Tumblr. Irony is like alcohol: fun to use but poisonous in excess.

There is no algorithm to help you.

You don't have a little GPS to feed you the location of good content. Strike out and find it on your own. Luckily, if you're famous, @staff will probably help you out. They have a hut in the jungle filled with sample specimens.

The lack of algorithm also means that you won't get much free attention without being interesting. Tags broadcast everyone's posts the same amount. Random wacky memes are as dense as foliage, they won't make you stand out. Neil Gaiman lives on a mountain and spends his mornings discussing his work seriously, feeding the birds. What can you offer the ecosystem?

This is a place where you die.

Do NOT censor your language. The algorithm isn't going to punish you for saying "dead." Talk like a human being.

Keep your head down

Focus on your own stuff, reblog some stuff. Hubris is punished swiftly. You are not the most important beast in the jungle.

(The most important beast in the jungle is @straycatj. Follow him but do not interact with him. Every organism on this planet will burn you to the ground if you touch a hair on his head.)

Listen to the ecologists.

@strange-aeons has been documenting the ecology of this place on YouTube for years. Since the "search" function is nonfunctional, posts come and go. Geography shifts when you look away. Documentation is difficult. If you don't understand a meme, research content from the experts.

The novelty of a celebrity asking the public about a Tumblr meme may work to your advantage. However, most other celebrities on this platform prefer to avoid all memes. It is easy to get lost when exploring the shifting landscape.

We don't want you here.

Are you sure you're up to this? You're going to have to prove yourself. You're probably not ready.

[furiousgoldfish]

I wrote a very pained, depressive and dark post, even maybe too dark for this blog, but I ultimately decided to publish it, just because this pain has always been invisible in me, and I want to be able to say something. If you're going to read it, there's a lot of mention of death and contemplation of suicide in it, and a lot of painful emotion. Maybe someone will resonate with it and find words to describe their own pain. I also want to note that even though every word of it is true, I am most of the time completely dissociated from this, I'm not actively thinking it, and it came out now because my parents are actively trying to find me and disrupting the life I've tried to make for myself.

What my parents did to me is worse than death, they erased me. When I escaped I didn't know who I was, I had no hope to survive, I didn't think I was worth anything, I felt ashamed to even exist. I was suicidal, i thought I'd be dead within a month even if I don't do it myself. I didn't think I had it in me to survive, to be alive, to be anything. I was a less than a ghost, I didn't even have memories to remember of who I once was because there was no warm memories, only violence, blame, guilt, shame, pain, terror. I was supposed to be a person, and they put me in a state where I knew nothing about being a person, only property and a target, it was my entire life. I was told I deserved this, I was a monster, there was never anything else that is correct to do to me, but hurt me. I thought it was my job to be endlessly harmed. They knew I was suicidal and didn't stop. The only reason I didn't kill myself was the dissociative disorder that functioned like a suicide prevention measure, I physically could not have done it because I have been split into pieces and one of the pieces prevented me from doing it. I would have died otherwise.

What would a quick violent death be compared to this? A fucking blessing. I was slowly tortured until I was willing to kill myself in order to end it. They didn't want to dirty their hands with my murder, they planned on torturing me until I did it to myself. I had an intense drive to survive despite everything, and even that was getting erased. My basic instincts were being erased by the amount of pain I was in. My personality was gone, I didn't even have a personality, it was all overwhelmed by pain and desperation to both survive and end it all, I walked trough life looking death in the face the entire time, it felt so close, so close to me, like it would claim me any second, but I had to stay stoic, calm, me staring down death had to be invisible, I couldn't let it show. It shouldn't have mattered to anyone what I was experiencing. I was torn between life and death, stuck in constant anticipation of it and it couldn't have mattered.

Take a person, any person, imagine them having a life, family, friends, interests, hobbies, desires, dreams, loved ones, support, community. Now imagine that same person isolated, everything stripped away from them, and them being hurt until they can no longer remember anything they wanted to live for. Even their basic instinct to survive is stripped frm them as pain is too large for them to be able to sustain themselves, there's no longer anything in this person's life worth living for, nothing they remember about who they were, no warm thought they can think about themselves, and they're repeatedly told they deserve this, they've wanted this. Until there's nothing of them left.

That was me, but from the start. I didn't get to experience having a life, family, loved ones, interests, dreams, community, or any of that first, I didn't get to know how it was to have any of that! From the very start it was pain and being told that this is all there is, and that I'm stupid for ever thinking there would be anything more to life, that it is in fact, only terror and death and I'm a weakling for not taking it better, everyone else is dealing with this just fine. Shame and guilt were the only traits I could have, I didn't know anything further about me. Nobody knew me because nobody saw me being abused. Nobody could know I was worthless, it had to be my private hell. I would have to live only to the point where it was decided that it was enough and I had to die, or until the point where I couldn't take it anymore and take my own life, even though I so strongly didn't want to, even that basic desire was tempered with and overwritten by pain.

Who would want a life like that? Life of not only being aware that nobody cares about you, but everyone around you is willing to inflict pain on you until you wish to die, but can't. Where crying and screaming is forbidden even when you can't breathe from the amount of pain you're in; you're not even allowed to cry out. You fight with yourself every day on how badly you want to die and why you can't, and it doesn't help, you get lost in magical thinking in order to escape from the hell you're in, but you're brutally reminded of it every time you interact with anyone, when they find you hiding under the bed and dreaming. You don't even know that you're supposed to have loved ones, be safe, be unharmed, that life is supposed to be different, that you're not alive only to be a target, that you're worth anything. You don't even know that you're supposed to have more freedom in life than to choose the manner and time of your death, this is all that's dealt to you. And now, live, see how far you can get before you die. Would anyone choose that? Would anyone decide to be born into a life like that? Wouldn't you choose not to exist at all rather than be put trough that? To be erased and then having to keep on living while thinking you in fact, deserve death, and should do it yourself, and you know if you do die, it won't matter, just like your life didn't? Because people around you regularly nearly kill you and then laugh about it like it was a funny joke? They humiliate you for how ugly you look close to death? You're scared that your last moment will be humiliation for how unseemly your corpse looks and you're hoping you'd be able to die alone, to not be berated as you're dying.

Death is nothing to me compared to this. Waiting to die is worse than death. Endless anticipation of pain is worse than death. Having everything about you erased by pain is worse. Not knowing anything about yourself except that you are incredibly shameful existence and that you need to feel guilty all of the time, is worse. Watching people around you receive care and warmth while you're stuck watching death in the face silently, pretending it's not happening, and trying to not have anyone's attention on yourself because someone noticing means more pain, more shame and guilt. It's worse. Kill me any fucking day. But this will always be worse. Every time I face the reality of my life I wish I had died in the womb, at childbirth, I wish I had died when I was 1, 2, 3, 5, 10, 12, any time before I experienced all this. It would have been so much less pain. It would have been so much easier on me.

And I've already given up on ever having a place in anyone's heart, because at this point, I don't have it in me to make people love me. I have nothing about me that is other people find worth caring for, I made peace with it. There will be no loved ones, and thats fine. But at least then I should get to live my life alone the way I want it. I should find joy in being who I found I am, and doing what I want to do. I should get to do things that give me a little bit of pleasure and enjoyment, and I should be safe, and death should no longer come knocking at my door, staring me down like I owe it something. If I can't even have that, then to hell with everything. What is the fucking point of anything if all my life is a continued slow torture until I can no longer bear it. I have nobody to bear it for, nobody would be harmed by my death. But I also don't deserve to die, because I want to live, and this should be mine. Who the fuck dares to try and take this away from me again. I want to fucking explode. If I have to make my own justice then how do I do it. I literally just want to live. And I see other people having at least that much secured for them. Why can't I at least have that much. I am seriously asking for the bare fucking minimum.

[catboybiologist]

has anyone ever told you that you're perfect as a biological man and you should learn to love yourself as the man that you are????

so cw for discussions of transphobia and all that. So first off, yes, but I'm still trans. End of that discussion.

But anyways, I got this and a similar ask back to back, from either a transphobe or a troll making a weird joke. While the asks themselves are uninteresting, they made me want to talk about something that's been brewing in my head a while. And that's how the phrases "biological man" and "biological woman" make no goddamn sense, as a biologist. So I'm gonna use this ask as starting point to launch into that greater discussion- I'm not really responding to the asks itself, more dumping some thoughts I've had kicking around for a while. (Also sorry this blog is so transfemme language centered sometimes, I'm just writing from my perspective and don't want to exclude anyone I'm sorry. The rest of this post will be from a transfemme perspective but applies to transmascs as well for testosterone and other elements of ftm transition).

The reason it doesn't make sense to me is like, what exactly do you mean by biological? You're describing a massive biological system, and all of its components. So let's dissect what you could mean by "biological".

Obviously you're not talking about the entire human biochemical system, because biology includes our thoughts and behavior. So if someone socially or identity transitions, we're already eliminating some biological factors from what we consider as "biological" here.

Soft tissue secondary sex characteristics are easily acquired by HRT. Shit, I have some breasts growing already, and I'm 4.5 weeks in. So that can't be what you're talking about.

So maybe you're talking functional genetics? Well if we wanna talk that way, we gotta talk about gene regulation. The entire point of taking HRT is the change patterns in gene expression across the body, suppressing genes associated with masculine secondary sex characteristics and promoting genes associated with feminine secondary sex characteristics. Estrogen, like any hormone, is a signalling molecule that is trafficked between cells and across the body. Its job is to kick off a network of downstream signals that carry out a variety of individual functions. So in terms of active genes, a trans person on HRT will functionally be the sex of their target gender.

Okay okay, maybe for some reason you don't care if they're off or on, if you have a gene that has the potential to make you male, you're a man, dammit! Well, as mentioned before, everyone has the genes required to give you secondary sex characteristics of either sex. So under that definition, everyone is biologically both a man and a woman at the same time. And also biologically cancer. Not "biologically has cancer", biologically IS cancer. Also, we're all every organ all at once everywhere on our body. Changing patterns in gene expression are how one organ differentiates from another, and how many visible traits arise. As mentioned earlier, this includes many genes responsible for secondary sex characteristics.

But chromosomes! Y chromosome is a man! The only reason the X and Y chromosomes have relevance to sex determination is due to the Sry gene, which is linked to the Y chromosome. Why is this the case? Well, your chromosomes are paired. Normally, pairs of chromosomes are the same size and have the same genes. This is helpful, because it means you can have two copies of every gene- if one becomes nonfunctional, you have a backup, or you can express multiple spicy variants of the same gene. Somewhere in our evolutionary history, one of these pairs of chromosomes experienced a large scale deletion, causing many of these genes to be missing. It's fine if you have the backup copies on the other chromosome- but some kind of patch needs to be developed to help make sure that, on average, most offspring have at least one copy of the full chromosome. So, the individuals that linked the Sry gene to the Y chromosome, the chopped-up version of the chromosome, passed down some offspring. But there's nothing intrinsic about why it has to be this way- most animals don't have chromosomal sex determination at all. Even in mammals its fairly common for an X chromosome to grab the Sry gene, creating a phenotypic male with an XX karyotype. It's an evolutionary patch, nothing more, and a rule that is frequently broken. And if we want to talk about evolutionary patches being biological determinism… well then let's start talking about how vitamin C deficiency is the "biologically mandated" state of the human. And besides, chromosome structure is really mostly relevant for how it functionally affects gene expression, and we already talked about how gene expression is changed by HRT here.

Alright, alright dammit. I'm talking about the genitals, dammit. If you have a penis you're a man! Okay great. Tell me if you would classify post-SRS women as "biological" women then. Also, we're really starting to reach here.

Fine! I'm talking about bone structure and bone structure alone! I mean yeah, some elements of bone structure will always remain in someone that's had testosterone in their system long enough- its rock deposits in your body after all, its difficult to reverse. But some don't! Even adults on transfemme HRT experience hip widening, changes in height, and other changes in their bones (they just take a LONG time, and I've often ranted about the massive amount of misinformation regarding how long HRT takes to show its full effects). Additionally, there's plenty of surgeries for facial structures- is FFS the true hallmark of a "biological" woman? And also… no matter what metric you start drawing lines on here, you're gonna end up excluding some cis women as well.

To be abundantly clear, NONE of this is to say that you aren't valid if you aren't medically transitioning. What I'm doing here is pointing out that "biological" is a useless, overexpansive, arbitrary adjective that, even using the most transphobic definitions, still includes most trans people. The line is drawn… somewhere in here, to them. And more often than not, it will be drawn wherever excludes the most trans people, which will invariably exclude some cis people, and they'll all eat each other alive.

The reality is that "man" and "woman" are useful conventions that can be generally applied to classify most people into one category or another. And that's not unique to gender, it's literally how language works. As with pretty much any linguistic classification, its observational, not prescriptive. When thinking up of names for animals, we don't think up of a definition first, we see a group of animals that share similar traits and then think up of a name that will represent that species. But then, if we find more edge cases later, or an edge case becomes more prominent, we either adjust the definition or subdivide the group further with accurate terminology. Imagine if, around the time humanity discovered weasels, we made a definition of weasels that only included the European Mink. Then we found the least weasel, and people started crusading about how its "not biologically a weasel" and "defend weaselkind". It's just so… arbitrary. Where it begins and ends is up to us as a society, and linguistics, meaning that "biological" as an adjective here isn't doing much.

What is a woman? Well, some combination of the factors above, and many, many more I didn't talk about here. It's a classification cluster of people exhibiting certain traits that is not easily reducible to a simple adjective. And guess what, so is literally anything we see in the world. What is a race? What is a nationality? What is a species? What is continent? There are useful, simple definitions for each of these things- and those definitions are helpful on a first pass! But once you start to examine it more closely, that utility breaks down, and you have to get more nuanced. Which is exactly what happens for trans people, but for some reason, people aren't willing to have that conversation in the same way we're able to have quirky debates over whether or not Australia counts as a continent or an island.

I want to develop these thoughts further at some point, but I hope this is at least a good summary of my perspective on all this, as a biology grad student, and I hope that some people find utility and comfort in my explanation!

[esmerulia-chantelle]

Aster - "Take care of yourself for me."

— Azul Ashengrotto x GN!Reader.

Notes: Established relationship.

Part of my Autumnal Flower Shower series. Check out my blog for more! ^^

Life can be busy sometimes, especially for someone like Azul. He always has things to do and his mind works non-stop, always thinking and calculating and planning ahead. Yet it was a part of him you admired so much. The way he can multitask and juggle his plentiful responsibilities and at the same time, still being a doting lover to you.

But this nature of his worries you sometimes. You noticed how Azul would overwork himself especially when you weren't around. With no one by his side to remind him of his breaks, Azul works continuously like a machine.

"Zul. Did you have your break yet?" You ask through the phone.

"I'm fine, darling. Don't worry about me," he responds.

He sounds fine but you know he needed to take a breather. You can imagine him slumped in his desk full of paperwork, writing on a piece of paper with a tired expression while holding onto his cellphone with the other hand.

"Just for fifteen minutes. Please? I understand you need to finish it but you can't function properly and can't work better without proper rest."

Azul remains silent on the other side of the line and you know he was contemplating it.

"I'll give you lots of hugs when I come back if you take a break~" You say, trying to coax him more.

There was a pause before you hear him sigh and speak softly.

"...kisses. I.. need your kisses too."

Your heart bumps loudly in your chest hearing him say that. You let out a giggle and smiled at his answer.

"Hehe~ Okay then. I'll give you lots of hugs and kisses when I come back."

Unaware to you, Azul was blushing brightly on the other side. He wasn't always used to such displays of affection and didn't show his vulnerable side much but with you, Azul can completely let down his walls and be more open with his inner thoughts and feelings.

Azul likes having physical affection with you. The way you hold and cling onto him and shower him with your love without recoiling in disgust on who he is and what he looked like.. it truly makes him happy.

He was feeling a bit flustered when he asked for kisses but his lips couldn't help but curve into a smile when you so easily agreed. Now he was even more excited to have you back.

"Zul? Are you still there?"

"Yes. Sorry. I was just finishing something. I'll be taking my break now."

"Hehe~ I'm happy to hear that! I'm sorry I'm not there yet. I didn't expect I would take a long time here."

"It's okay, sweetheart. Just do what you got to do. I'll be here."

"And taking a break?"

Azul chuckles. "Yes. And taking my break."

"..oh! I think they're calling me now. I have to go, Zul. But I'll see you later, okay? I'll give you lots of hugs and kisses when I get back. So until then... Take care of yourself for me. Okay? I love you!"

"I love you too, sweetheart. I'll see you soon."

You end the call and try to hurry and speed up your task. You feel even more motivated and hope to finish up sooner, wanting to get back to Azul as soon as possible and give him lots of affection.

On his side, Azul leans back against his armchair while thinking of you. He imagines you coming back and rushing into his arms for a hug. Your lips pressing against his in a chaste kiss before they travel across his face, peppering him with more kisses.

Azul smiles at the thought and sighs again.

"I think I'll have some tea for my break. And maybe some light snacks. Can't have my darling not giving me my well-deserved hugs and kisses, after all."

A/N: Hi! Sorry it took a while to post another one from this series. Things have been keeping me busy so.. yeah. 🥺 BUT! I do plan to finish this series so stay tuned!

[vegasicilia]

My bad, I forgot I had autism.

So, big f*cking week at work. Very f**king big week. I crushed it. I rose to the opportunity and finished better than anyone thought a project of mine at work. Boss huged me. Parents said they were proud. My LinkedIn was soaring. I was happy. I'm still happy.

I spent a whole week being more social, more hyperactive, more organized and more talkative than ever. I met people after people and made small talk. I f*cking orchestrated, directed and executed an event I had been planning for since May. Working 13 hours a day for 3 days. I FREAKING KILLED IT. All while going to the gym, keeping my diet in check and taking care of myself (bedroom clean, teeth brushed, nails clean, beard shaven).

Side note, for you my readers (is anyone reading this?). There's a thing I haven't told you officially, my dear Tumblr blog, and that is that I have a big fat autistic brain with ADHD sprinkles on top. And since I didn't know about any of this since I was 20, years have passed and my subconscious stil thinks I don't have autism and ADHD and that I can just function as a normal human being.

Back to the main story, an hour after the event was done and everyone was going home, it hit me. Like a train. My regular delusion that I can be a normal person for extended periods of time came to an end faster than I can say "autism". Like a freaking tsunami had reached my shore, I broke down at a friends house and slept for 12h straight. My brain had had enough. Dopamine wasn't flowing. Adrenaline rush was gone. My frontal cortex announced early retirement as I said goodbye to the few people who stayed until the very end.

I was down on my friends's sofa for about half a day. I thought that would be it, that I would get home and go to work the next day and everything would be fine. But it was not. I've spent the last few days as a zombie, walking around the office as if anything around me had anything to do with me. I came home at the end of my 9 to 5 to have dinner at 7 and be in bed by 8-9 every day. I stopped going to the gym, I couldn't care less about my diet and my skincare has stopped. And I can't do anything about it. I just don't care. I can't make myself care.

I have to stand aside as my brain repeats the cycle again: work hard & play hard until you can't take it anymore. And it's not something I can't really control. My roomates don't understand why I'm home so much and I'm not out and about all day like always. My friends reach out to hang but I just wanna wear my new pajamas and watch the new Doctor Who special (it was awesome btw, love you David Tennant)

I need recharging, but it feels like the world is made only for Duracell AA batteries I'm a potato in salt water trying to power a Tesla in the highway.

[cripplecharacters]

In general, how would you approach writing nonhuman/feral characters with disabilities? How would you balance the symptoms animals usually show vs human symptoms, experiences and available accomodations?

I'm considering giving my Warrior Cats character with TBI-induced blindness (yes, I know, these books are awful about disability rep and yet I can't help but get attached) a guide animal of some sort, but... in real life blind cats can get by just fine using their whiskers, and though realism isn't a concern here, I'm worried that'll come across as nonsensical. However, I'm personally uncomfortable with writing yet another blind character that doesn't need mobility aids despite not being able to distinguish objects from one another "properly". He may not be totally blind, but I feel like I'd be contributing to the misconceptions surrounding my own condition that way. Thoughts?

Thank you for your ask! In real life animals, including cats, have been known to assign themselves as a guide for a blind packmate, usually walking on the side with less vision to help with navigation. Sometimes an animal of another species will act as a guide, but only if they’re bonded. This also occurs more often in domesticated animals, so if you don’t want the guide to be another cat you could do something like a dog, chicken or rat (though I’d imagine the last two would be hard to keep in a cat pack!).

You could also have your character able to move around unassisted in familiar areas that he is often in, but need assistance in unfamiliar areas.

As for writing your character, I’d say research how his injury affects his other senses. Touch, smell, hearing and limb movement can be affected by a traumatic brain injury, and it would definitely affect your character's ability to get around.

As of now, this blog unfortunately doesn’t have any blind mods (applications are still open as of posting this). However, you can check out other blogs for more information on blindness, such as BlindBeta, AskABlindPerson, and Mimzy-Writing-Online.

Have a lovely day!

Mod Rot

Hi!

When talking about TBI induced blindness, you have to keep in mind that it's different from ocular blindness. The brain-based type of blindness is called CVI, or Cortical Visual Impairment, and it's very common!

(Note: I have done a lot of research on CVI, but I don't have it myself. I heavily encourage you to check the blogs that Rot mentioned!)

A CVI will often have different symptoms than ocular blindness. For example, the character's field of view could be severely limited - the left (or right, or top, or bottom...) half of their vision could be non-existent, and the other half could be what is sometimes described as "incomprehensible". It could also present in infinitely different ways from that, as it can be very diverse!

CVI is often fluid and the person (or cat) can function very differently depending on the circumstances like fatigue or stress or even the weather. If he's having a horrible day he will be able to understand the visual input less than when he's doing fantastic.

With CVI, it's important to remember that visual acuity generally won't be the main problem, but the brain's comprehension of the image is. This is where cat-available accommodations can hopefully come in.

Showing him experiencing visual fatigue and how he deals with it could be one of them! During his kitty activities he could prefer to have them spaced out so that he only sees one at a time and makes it easier for his brain to comprehend without tiring him out. A cluttered environment would probably only make it worse, so you can have him make sure that everything is nice and in its place. He could also take longer to recognize new objects or cats.

If he has, for example, very limited field of vision, then he could have his kitty house (I don't know how warrior cats work I'm trying my best here) arranged so that it would work for him; i.e. everything being on a specific height.

I also very much agree with Rot that he should have more symptoms than just blindness! One example of a brain-based cat disability could be cerebellar hypoplasia; it can't be caused by a TBI, but it causes ataxia which can be a result of a TBI (mildly complicated, sorry). Either way you can use it as a reference to visualize how your character could move!

I hope this helps! I really appreciate the effort of trying to include disability accommodations in a character who's a forest cat.

mod Sasza

[qqueenofhades]

JSYK the OP of the Crab Day post is a self-identified conservative Christian. Can't speak to anything she may have done or said, but I do know that Crab Day wouldn't actually fix Tumblr - the site is running a 30mil *deficit,* which is different from debt. All Crab Day would do would be telling staff that their current policies get users to send them more money, which doesn't actually change anything. Corporations change only when their business strategy is losing the shareholders money.

Gotta be honest, my friend, I'm... not sure what you're trying to do here? Warn me that the original post was made by a Problematic Person (tm) and therefore that must mean it's all wrong, or.... what?

We know that Tumblr badly needs money, because they have told us that and openly admitted that the unpopular new changes were spurred by a need for increasing revenue. I logged on just now on desktop and got a suggestion that I could purchase an ad-free browsing subscription to help support the hellsite (which is the word they used, because they have very much embraced the joke). I have in fact already bought an ad-free subscription, both because I like the product Tumblr provides and want to keep using it in its current form, and because it makes my mobile experience immeasurably nicer. I am well aware that especially in this era of social media sites dropping like flies, the continued existence of a platform that is 30-million-dollars underwater (however you want to split hairs about exactly how) is not a guarantee. And we all complain about Tumblr, but we have all been here a long time (me, uh, over 10 years), we have a solid community, there's no other alternative that's really ever come up or gotten the same kind of uptake, and if it went under, we would be uh, screwed.

Tumblr is kind of a mess, it's the antithesis of every social media site, and it doesn't (for now) have the crap that makes The Artist Formerly Known As Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram so utterly unusable, or if it does, you can (mostly) turn it off. That's why we all like it and why, even if we are resolutely anti-capitalist gremlins who resist being marketed to with every fiber of our being, it doesn't change the fact that servers, staff, and all the rest cost real human-people money which the site, by their own frank admission, is struggling to raise. Even if staff does often make crappy updates, they generally at least TRY to listen to us and include a feature to make it optional or roll it back, unlike certain unnamed idiot billionaires. Their mockery of other social media sites can sometimes be a little much, but for now, Tumblr is pretty much the last place on the internet that does what it does, and I like it that way. If it went under and took my blog of 10+ years and all my friends with it, I would be incredibly sad.

That being the case, and basic financial realities being what they are, encouraging people to toss a few bucks at a TOTALLY OPTIONAL and fun gimmick that increases functionality for a product we like is actually not a bad thing. TumblrMart has crabs, checkmarks, Ea-Nasir merchandise (seriously), ad-free browsing, etc., and if our choice is voluntarily supporting the site through fun (and again, OPTIONAL) purchases versus having us all be involuntarily subject to some horrible data-scraping mechanism or forced off altogether because they couldn't keep the lights on, that is fine with me. Nobody is making anybody do or buy anything. But if you like the product Tumblr provides and want a fun material way to show your appreciation, then I don't think it's some Great Transgression to participate in that.

[staybabblingbaby]

Soulmate Garden AU Ch.1 (Dahlia) a2 d5

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 5,368

Notes: My friend Tiny said this was very Wattpad era of me, so I'm so sorry that I'm cringe, guys. She also said she loved it and I am also p satisfied w it, so. Celebrations! It's also fucking long for me, like damn. Chill. I do have some disclaimers abt this tho. 1) I have never been to a k-pop concert, I am doing my best working off of what videos, vlogs, blogs, and Quora and Reddit answers for this. I'm very sorry if it's horribly inaccurate. Also it's idealized so it'd gonna be inaccurate 2) Covid never happened in this universe! Send-offs for everyone!

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: She/Her Reader, sort of dissociating? ish?

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Prev Part | Next Part

“Yes, Ma, I promise I’m doing just fine,” You grunt into your phone, tucking the device between your cheek and shoulder as you juggle your groceries and try to dig out your keys, “No one has tried to mug me, I’m eating well, and the job is the same as the last time you called.”

You manage to both open your door and kick it shut as your mother replies, “I just worry about you dear. You’re so far away from us now, what if you need help?”

You waddle to your kitchen counter to offload your burdens, stretching your cramping fingers out as you go to properly hold your phone again.

“I know, Ma, but I’m sure I’ll make some friends with time and then they can help me out.” you finally reply with a sigh. You begin the arduous task of actually putting your groceries away, resigned to the fate of a functional adult.

You hear your sister bark out a laugh in the background. It’s possibly about hearing ‘you’ and ‘friends’ in the same sentence (Which, ouch. True, but ouch). You magnanimously ignore her.

“Honey, I love you, but it’s been almost a year. You have yet to tell me about a single friend.” Your Mom retorts. Again, ouch.

“I have Taylor!” You defend, slamming your fridge shut with a pout.

“Your roommate doesn’t count!” Your little sister taunts from the background. You hear your mother shush her but her agreement is implied when she doesn’t correct the little gremlin.

“He so does!” You argue, “We hang out in contexts that are not work or school, we eat meals together, and we’re even going to a concert this weekend! That’s friends! That’s best friends, even.” You sound a bit pathetic even to yourself, but the day your sister wins over you is the day you die.

“That’s a friendly roommate,” Is your sister’s amused response, “I bet you don’t even know what his favorite color is.” Your silence is answer enough, and she cracks up, laughing so hard that you hear a muted thump as she falls off of whatever furniture she’d been occupying.

Guess you’re dying today.

Your mother changes the subject to the goings-on of your hometown while your sister asphyxiates in the background. You’ve only been away for a little under a year now, but as you listen to her talk about which of your littlest cousins are starting school and which of your relatives are causing drama, you realize that it’s already been a little under a year.

You flop onto your couch as your mom babbles away, holding back an existential crisis.

Your fingers begin tracing the long-since memorized lines of your soulmark over your clothes as you ponder the passing of time, fully zoned out of your mother’s gossip. Your sister seems to catch on to your long silence, interrupting you mother to pester you into giving her more material to taunt you over.

“What concert are you going to, anyway?” She questions.

“Oh, it’s a K-Pop group called Stray Kids,” You tell her. You can practically feel her interest shrivel up and die as soon as you say K-Pop, bless her elitist, snobby, little heart. “Taylor likes them a lot, and his boyfriend dumped him last month, so I got some good tickets to cheer him up.”

Your mother coos at you briefly before your sister overtakes the conversation again, “Are they even good?” You can hear the sneer in her voice as she falls into Music Snob (tm) mode, so you roll your eyes when you reply.

“They’re fun to dance to when I’m doing chores, so that’s good enough for me.”

“You can’t even understand them.” She complains.

“I can, actually.” You inform her primly, “My language elective was Korean. I took the whole course.”

“You’re a weirdo.”

“Tell that to my sweet, sweet, degree, kiddo.” It’s finally your turn to taunt.

“Whatever, you’re not even going with a friend, just your roommate. How fun could it be?” She pouts back.

“I told you, we are friends! Best friends, even!”

“You still don’t know his favorite color.” She retorts smugly.

“I know his favorite flower, that’s gotta count for something!” Your mother hums in agreement, and you picture her watching your bickering like a tennis match, assigning points in her head.

“It doesn’t, because you know everyone’s favorite flower! You know the mail guy’s favorite flower! It’s like an obsession.” You picture your sister rolling her eyes at you, exasperation pouring off of her. The image makes you grin as you reply.

“Only if it’s still Jim. I haven’t been around to ask anyone new.” You point out. Reasonably, you think, but for some reason your sister lets out a loud groan of annoyance and you hear her exaggerated stomps ass she removes herself from your presence. Your mother lets out an amused little huff and you imagine you’ve won the tennis match in her head.

No death for you today. Score!

Your mom yaps with you for a little longer, before finally bidding you farewell, telling you that you should call more often (like you don’t chat literally every Friday afternoon like clockwork), tell your dad to come home soon if you happen to call him (you won’t. He won’t either), and tell her all about how the concert goes next week. You promise to do that one easily.

When she hangs up, you’re left with the ringing silence of an empty apartment. Moving to LA has been a quieter experience than you’re used to in general, for many reasons. Sure, the city itself is louder than your little suburb by miles, but life has been... More peaceful, since. Quieter.

It still makes you uneasy, even 10 months later.

You get up from the couch and drift off to your room like a ghost, opening Spotify on your way. The opening notes of Ruth B’s Lost Boy and a something nauseous swirling in your gut is all that follows you.

On concert morning, you’re woken up bright and early by your air-horn of a roommate slamming your door open.

“Concert daaaaaaaaay~” He trills at you from the doorway. You don’t even open your eyes when you roll over and throw a pillow at him in protest. A soft ‘oof’ tells you that you hit your mark for once. Nice.

“Nice shot!” Taylor cheers, “But now I have your ammo, so it’s up time.”

You roll over again, taking the edge of your blanket with you and tossing it over your head. You pull a stuffed animal under with you, and curl tightly around it.

“Nmf gmf.” You grumble at him through a mouthful of fluff.

“Nuh-uh!” Taylor tuts, already fluent in Morning Grumble, “We gotta get up. There’s food to be eaten, outfits to put on, and lines to beat!”

You let out a long, agonized, groan, but obligingly roll over and starfish out with childish protest. Taylor waits until you open your eyes to glare at his annoyingly cheerful blond bedhead before he leaves your doorway with a sunny smile. Smug bastard.

He leaves your door open too, the shit, allowing the sweet smell of french toast and eggs to drift into your room. You sit up with a whiney groan, scrubbing harshly at your face.

You’d forgive him this time. Just for the french toast.

You lean over to grab your phone from your bedside table, just waking the screen to check the time. When the numbers register you lay right the way back down with another long wail of protest.

Four in the morning. That french toast had better be fucking good.

You eventually stumble into the kitchen and are promptly handed a very large and very welcomed cup of coffee. Taylor hands you a plate piled high with french toast and eggs, fruits and toppings already out, before you can even try to start bitching at him.

You take in the spread with a furrowed brow, before slowly lifting your head to pin Taylor with a suspicious stare.

“My dude, it is four in the morning. How?”

Taylor just shrugs at you. “Couldn’t sleep. Too excited.”

You nod slowly at him. “I’ll drive. You’re napping in the car.”

This triggers a round of outraged whining from your sleep-deprived roommate, which you cull by pointing out that headaches and concerts are an awful combo. He subsides but insists he’ll be even more excited in the car, since it’s closer to concert time. You tell him to do it anyway.

“Why are we up so early in the first place?” You complain as you drain the last dregs of your drink. “The concert isn’t for, like, fifteen hours.”

“The concert is only fifteen hours away! Countdowns have already started, mark my words!” Taylor counters, “You got us Soundcheck tickets! VIP! We have to take advantage! I want the entire experience. Freebies, insane merch lines, sponsor booths, everything.” He gets more and more incensed as he goes on, leaning farther over the table, his shirt almost dragging in the puddles of syrup on his plate.

You raise your hands in surrender to his wild-eyed look. “Whatever,” You concede, “You’re the boss, this is your day.”

Taylor nods in satisfaction, leaning back. You notice that he actually does take some syrup with him as he re-seats himself. “As it should be.” Is his prim reply.

You sort of just laugh at him, and your routine of friendly bickering continues as the two of you make quick work of fixing up the kitchen.

You two split off to get ready, Taylor demanding a leave time of 6am sharp. You do your best to appease him, dressing up enough to say you put effort in, but paying mind to comfort over style. You’re putting the last touches on your eye liner when Taylor barges in.

You give him a stink eye for not knocking, which he blissfully ignores as he looks over you top to bottom. He summarily declares you “Good, but not good enough” and stampedes over to raid your closet.

At this point in your cohabitation you’ve learned to just let him do his thing when he gets like this. He doesn’t let you dress yourself when you go clubbing with his friends either, the jerk. Your fashion sense is perfectly acceptable, thank-you-very-much.

He tells you you’re being assigned a bias for today based on your wardrobe as he tosses you a white and navy stripped polo shirt and some navy sweatpants with racer strips on the side. He pulls up a reference photo on your phone and tells you to accessorize while he goes to find an appropriate tie from his stash for you.

Looking at the picture of Han Jisung on your screen, you admit that the outfit is pretty close already. You decide to leave the polo’s buttons undone, grabbing a white camisole to put on under. Your accessories take a bit longer, and you can’t see the shoes to match those, but Taylor seems satisfied enough when he comes back.

He hands you a tie and a handful of pins to complete your look and begins pushing you out the door before you can even put them on properly. When you protest this he insists that the two of you are running late, despite the concert still being more than 13 hours away.

You do, in fact, make him sleep in the car. He does not appreciate this, but early morning traffic can lull even the most dutiful of soldiers to sleep. He’s somehow even more chipper than usual when he wakes up, despite being groggy and bleary-eyed.

The crowd, when the two of you arrive, isn’t as big as you were expecting it to be. With all of Taylor’s rushing, you’d expected to barely be able to see the doors. The merch booth he was so excited about isn’t even open yet, and he settles the two of you into the line to enter the venue instead of camping there.

It’s immediately obvious who the extrovert between the two of you is, Taylor’s bouncy blond head beginning to duck and weave among the small crowd as soon as you claim your spot, laughs and excited exchanges popping up wherever he stopped. You, on the other hand, stay exactly where you’d been left and fiddle around on your phone, Taylor’s clear backpack abandoned in your arms.

You’re pretty sure this is purposeful on his part. You know each other well enough by now that he’s well aware of your tendency to stay planted once you’re settled. You’re definitely being used to stake out your spot. You steal one of his granola bars as payment for your services.

An hour or so drags through, and Taylor has thoroughly befriended most of the people around you. Once he’s decided that it’s about time to line up for some of the merch booths, Taylor leaves you in the tender care of the other fans as he goes to stake out a spot. He gracefully accepts both your wallet and your request of “a t-shirt and something they can sign”

The group of four people behind you, in particular, take his (only semi-joking) request of “take care of my introvert for me” seriously.

“So are you a Han bias?” One asks you as Taylor prances off. Her outfit is majority blue, little Bbokari (You can admit that the little characters charm you. You probably know their names better than the Stray Kids themselves) hair clips and keychains decorating her person.

You look down at yourself and then back up at her, almost having forgotten that you were dressed up as him. “Ah, no. Taylor, my friend, dressed me this morning. We’re here for him today. Though, he did say Han was my assigned bias today.” You laugh nervously, hoping they don’t judge your lack of knowledge.

Thankfully none of them seem discouraged by your response, giggling along with your little joke. In fact one of them, dressed head to toe in merch, seems almost excited by the prospect.

“Are you a baby Stay then?” She asks you with sparkling eyes. You wave your hands in front of yourself a bit defensively.

“Ah, no. I wouldn’t go that far. I like their music when Taylor plays it around the apartment, but I wouldn’t consider myself part of the fandom. This is actually my first k-pop experience in general.” You explain, “When I say we’re here for him, I mean I am here in total ignorance.”

Another girl, dressed in a loud assortment of colors you vaguely recognize from the music video Taylor had on loop in your living room for a week and a half when it dropped, lets out a low whistle. “Throwing you right into the deep end, huh? Hardcore.”

The group of you laugh a bit, the only guy in their group agreeing with, “Well if you’re not a fan now, you will be when you leave. Their performances are amazing, honestly.”

You absorb the gushing with an open heart, truly hoping for that to be the case. You take this opportunity to take the spotlight off of yourself.

“Oh, have you guys been to a Stray Kids concert before? It’s Taylor’s first.”

That question is the key to the floodgates, and you end up spending the next 3 and a half hours waiting for Taylor’s return (with text updates from the man himself, assuring you that he is still where he’s supposed to be) being regaled with tales of concerts, events, and comebacks past. You feel a bit like you’re getting a crash course in all things Stray Kids, phones often popping out to show you clips, fancams, and photos.

It makes you smile, feeling very included and welcomed as you occasionally pepper in a question or two to keep them going. It’s just like dinners at the apartment with Taylor, him unloading his stress through fandom, and you unloading yours through listening to his ramblings.

This is exactly why you came with him today.

Taylor makes his return loaded down with goodies both purchased and gifted by other fans, to which you welcome him by cheering loudly. This triggers your new group to do the same. Somehow, the five of you cheering leads to a large portion of the early crowd, which had grown by the hour, cheering with you.

You feel a bit shy at the power you apparently hold, and laugh about it with your new friends.

Eventually Taylor and Merch Girl (you hadn’t managed to catch any of their names, you realize belatedly. It’d be too awkward to ask now. You resolve to simply Not Address Them) split off to do more rounds among other fans, distributing their own freebies.

You hadn’t even realized Taylor had made freebies. You’re also not sure how he found the time. Love finds a way, you suppose.

The other group’s Token Guy Friend (who will always been Token Guy to you, so sorry Token Guy) passes the conversation back to you. Not appreciated, Token Guy.

You can’t be all that mad though, as he shuffles through his bag to produce a piece of paper and a chisel-tipped sharpie. He passes the items to you with a grin.

“If you’re close to the stage you should have a sign! You might get an interaction that way!” He enthuses. The remaining girls cheer at the idea, sighing over the possibility of you getting an interaction at your very first concert.

You hold back correcting them that it’s just your first k-pop concert. You’re sure that’s what they mean anyways, as the experience so far has been quite different from your usual.

You look at the items in your hand, and then back at him. He offers to let you use his back to write on. You once again stare between his meticulous outfit and the sharpie in your hand. You are so not going to ruin someone’s day with what was supposed to be a kind gesture.

You motion for him to wait a moment and dig around in your own bag for a moment, the seat cushion Taylor had insisted you bring slapping you incessantly from where it hangs as you shuffle both your shoulder bag and Taylor’s backpack around. Eventually you manage to pull out your travel first aid kit, pulling a gauze pad from it.

You unclip the seat cushion from your bag and place it on the ground, motioning for Token Guy to kneel. He does so bemusedly.

“I’m gonna make it fancy,” You inform him, “those random calligraphy classes from high-school aren’t going to fail me today.” He makes a noise of assent and you’re crowding over his bent back, unfurling the gauze pad to make a barrier between the paper and his shirt.

He and the girls make their conversation around you as you sink into concentration. It’s very difficult to make nice, even, lines on an uneven surface like a back, and you have to keep gently slapping Token Guy’s shoulder when he laughs to remind him not to move.

Taylor and Merch Girl have returned by the time you finish your sign, Taylor laughingly cautioning any of them from breaking your concentration for anything less than Token Guy’s health. Unless they wanted to face your Wrath(tm), of course.

His advice seems to have been heeded, because by the time you tune back into the outside world you have a sign with very pretty (and most importantly - legible) calligraphy that reads:

[HAN! You’ve been assigned as my bias today! Make me fall for you?]

You even took the time to add Korean translations in smaller script beneath each line. You also take the time to admire your own foresight for laying out the gauze pad, small black marks littering it’s surface. Token Guy seems equally impressed when he looks at it, before taking the initiative to trash both it and the wrapper for you.

Merch Girl reads your sign when you proudly hold it in front of yourself and cackles.

“So that’s why he really brought you along, huh?” She teases, elbowing Taylor like they’re old friends. He has that effect on people. “She can talk to them for you if the Aussie line isn’t around.” Taylor gives a sheepish laugh and a faux-guilty shrug.

“That, and she bought the tickets. I couldn’t leave her behind if I tried.” He pokes at you as he speaks, mirth dancing in his eyes. Laughter erupts around the group as you shout your offence, making to start roughhousing with him like you do your sister.

The time passes joyously this way until the doors finally open to begin letting people in for sound check.

You’re not gonna lie, you’re already super tired and peopled out. Luckily, Taylor had clocked you flagging before even you had, and sent you to sit in “introvert time out” on your cushion in a shaded spot away from the crowd. So you could make it through sound check and the actual concert. Probably.

You and Taylor pass through security unscathed, having already eaten or trashed any snacks or drinks you’d brought with you, and having not bothered bringing much else. Both of your bags were just full of merch and freebies at this point.

Once you actually enter the venue you take the lead, dragging Taylor by the wrist to your seats. You’re actually super excited to show him the seats you’d gotten, having kept anything beyond ‘soundcheck’ a secret.

Taylor is already vibrating with excitement as you lead him to the floor seats. He’s nearly trembling as you lead him right up the center, past rows and rows of little white chairs erected for the reserved seating tickets. When you finally sit him down right in front of the thrust stage, plopping into the seat beside him with satisfaction, he turns to you with saucer-wide eyes.

“Noo...” He whispers.

“Oh, yes.” You return, blessing him with a grin and little eyebrow wiggle.

Taylor basically tackles you in a hug, almost knocking you into the person next to you, and squeals his thanks so loudly that you’re sure the entire stadium hears. When he’s done thanking you he pulls back, hands on your shoulders, with the most deadly serious eyes you had ever seen on him.

“I would die for you.” He intones lowly. You crack first, the two of you breaking into a giggle fit that was almost concerning with it’s intensity. When the two of you calm down and turn to settle and sit properly, he nudges your shoulder with his.

“Seriously,” He says, eyes soft, “You’re the best ever. You need anything from today on? I’m your guy.”

You chuckle at him, nudging him back, “Do my dishes for the next month, then.” You tease.

He rears back, hands up in joking surrender, “Woah, woah! Let’s not go that far! I meant if you needed to escape from the mob or something, not chores.” He gives an exaggerated shudder before breaking into his usual silly grin.

The two of you spend the next however long indulging in familiar banter, waving at the group of fans you’d made friends with outside when you spotted them not terribly far away, and generally recharging your batteries for the concert. Taylor eventually moves on to talking to the people around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder.

You close your eyes for just a moment, trying to turn the lights off in your brain for a bit. You really needed the music to start soon, you were going to fall asleep.

Almost as if in answer to your prayers, the group begins trickling on stage for sound check.

To be honest, both soundcheck and the concert pass in a blur for you.

Once things kick off, you’re swept away in a wave of cheers, music, and lights. You hadn’t expected front row seats to be quite as intense as they were, but you made a note to yourself to not book such tickets for yourself in the future.

You couldn’t really handle it.

Still, Taylor seems to have the time of his life, and you manage to immerse yourself in the concert enough to shake your sign at Han when he passes by, earning yourself a wink and a cheek heart. Taylor was nearly euphoric at having caught the interaction with his phone camera.

By the time it’s over, you’re fairly sure you had a good time, but also 100% sure that you were completely overwhelmed. Taylor manages to drag you to the send off that you paid for spots at anyway. Curse his charming, sunny demeanor.

You can’t really process how it happened at this point, but you end up practically pinned to the railing of the barricade at the send-off location, separated from Taylor, and clinging to your façade of an excited fan with a white knuckled grip. You have three things on you to get signed, and a mission from Taylor to get all three scribbled on.

Your sign for Han, a ballcap Taylor had customized, and a Lee Know photocard Taylor had entrusted to you with a gravity you weren’t sure it warranted. He had, like, three of the same one.

You try to drum up the determination to see your mission through, but find it difficult to dredge up any will at all.

Time waits for no man, however, and soon enough the members begin making their way through, delivering high-fives, autographs, and aegyo as they pass through. You end up squished almost violently to the railing, ducking a bit and making yourself as small as possible as hands, phones, and items all get waved around and over you.

You’re not sure you like send-off.

There’s so many noises and sights and smells that you have a really hard time keeping track of which member is where. Plus, you’re still a lot overwhelmed from lining up before dawn and the concert itself. You’re tired, you’re cranky, and you want to go home.

At some point Lee Know must pass by you, and you must have presented the photocard properly, because you have a signed one now. That’s cool. The faster you get the requested autographs, the faster you can leave.

Bangchan spawns in front of you from the aether, from your point of view. You may be a bit more out of it than you’d like to admit. Still, you dutifully hold out your ballcap for him to sign, exchanging post-concert niceties on pure autopilot.

Because you’re not all that present at the moment, or maybe because all you’d had was your breakfast and some granola bars in the last 13 hours, you don’t hold your balance the way you should when someone shoves at you from behind. You catch yourself on the railing, but you dropped the freshly signed cap.

Bangchan kindly stoops to pick it up for you, and you thank him. A couple of things happen very quickly at that point.

1) Unlike the first two exchanges of the cap, because of the awkward and quick nature of Bangchan’s action, it is no longer being handed to you with lots of space between your hand and his.

2) You’re still being jostled around. No matter how much you brace for the impact of the bodies surrounding you, you couldn’t possibly keep totally still.

3) These two things have a consequence. Your hand brushes Chan’s as he hands you the cap.

The world stops for you for a moment, as pins and needles stab into dozens of familiar spots all across your lower abdomen. You freeze, dumb, awkward, overwhelmed smile plastered to your face as Bangchan turns away from you.

The pain isn’t that bad, really, more like a bad period cramp mixed with a sleeping limb waking up. Still, you curl your arm around your stomach, and your body bows with the motion. As if you could protect your reality from shattering and reshaping itself in front of you.

Static fills your ears and your poor, overloaded, brain throbs with the beginnings of a migraine.

Bangchan is your soulmate.

International k-pop sensation Bangchan is one of your eight soulmates.

Bangchan is part of a group with eight members.

Your soulmate is already moving away from you, your minor interaction just a footnote of his day, the tingling pain of your soulmate bond awakening probably blending in with a thousand other minor aches and pains from a very physically intense day for him.

You come back to clarity with the resolve that you’d like it to stay that way.

With a sense of urgency, you look around the crowd you’re part of, noting distinct faces and colors for the first time. You’re not really sure what you’re looking for until you spot it, and suddenly your escape plan is fully formed.

There, just a couple shoves and elbow throws away, is Blue Bbokari Girl from this morning.

You struggle your way over, people falling into the space you’d left at the railing like a pack of hyenas on fresh meat. When you reach her you the gently at her sleeve to get her attention.

She turns to you with confusion first, a bright greeting next, and finally a concerned scrunch of her brow as she takes in your hunched form.

“Hey, I’m feeling kind of sick, can you help me get out of the crowd?” You’re sure you look convincingly pathetic and weak as you plead with her. If only because you really did feel pathetic and weak at the moment.

“Oh, of course, hun! Just a moment.” She begins to crane her neck around to scan the crowd like you’d done moments prior. You feel a bit bad for interrupting her night like this, but as she calls out to someone behind her, you’re more thankful than anything.

Blue Bbokari Girl successfully gets the attention of someone you don’t recognize, and a quick summary of, “She’s sick, help her leave!” shouted over the crowd has you being passed through the crowd unmolested.

You find yourself enveloped in a chain of fans, one passing you to another, pausing, and calling on someone else to pass you to until you’ve finally stumbled free of the send-off mob.

Feeling a bit like you’d just been spat out of the maw of a great creature, you look back at the rustling crowd, now looking like it had never been disturbed at all.

The last lady who had finally freed you, an older woman with a Jiniret picket, eyes you with concern as you put you back to the nearest wall and slide down it.

“Will you be okay, sweetie?” She questions you worriedly, “Do you have anyone to pick you up?”

You smile weakly at her and assure her that you just have to get ahold of your roommate and he’d get you home safe and sound. She tries to insist on waiting with you, but you persuade her to return to the crowd with promises that you’d make your way to a bathroom or security guard once the worst of your vertigo had passed.

You watch her return with morbid fascination, amazed when she just sort of gets absorbed back into the mass of people. Almost like it ate her. You once again marvel at making it out of such a thing unscathed.

Truth be told, your stomach was only sore and tender this point, the sharp, needle-point pains long gone. Still, you take a moment to bring your knees to your chest, just breathing as you press your forehead to them. If anyone were to look at you then, you wonder what they’d think of you curled up on the floor and trembling like your dog had just died.

You hope they’d view you with kindness.

After giving yourself a moment to just feel, though you couldn’t tell anyone what you had felt, you gather yourself enough to totter to your feet and drag yourself to the nearest bathroom. You text Taylor as you go.

[Hey. Felt sick, in bathroom rn. lmk when we can leave pls?]

Perma Tag List: @mbioooo0000

[kyra45]

Running into a tough spot near the months end again due to multiple bills as usual, so please feel free to check out my ko-fi if you’d like to see my commissions info, the colorable digital lineart I have in my shop, or the tiers of membership that offer various art related rewards. If you can’t send anything, that’s fine. I do everything here for free, with no charge, and if you’d prefer to send money to something else here is a link to legitimate fundraisers. Donate to them to get a dragon. Learn how to spot a scam blog otherwise.

Also remember that accounts who message you claiming to want to help but won’t use your links to support you are generally scammers who want you to pay them to ‘boost’ your fundraiser. They often appear in the notes of mutual aid posts such as this one. Do not give them personal information.

Additionally, it has been a whole year since I’ve been scam busting without a functional laptop and that is why updates are often slow aside from daily working of my real job.

[sourle]

Never thought I'd find a Phighting! × Reader blog—

Katana, Hyperlaser or Medkit with a Male phighter reader with this power set:

The reader has many recording devices naturally ingrained in their body. They can use these devices normally (recording others and such) but there's another function to these devices.

They can mentally connect themselves with other people via physical touch and can scan through their memories—good, bad and ugly. Then, they can use these memories and give others flashbacks of them via shockwave emitted by their recording devices. When they use painful memories, it often hurts mentally AND physically.

AAAAA IM HAVING A HSRD TIME IF IT SHOULD BE ONESHOT OR A HEADCANON D:

If I pick oneshot then I couldn't do all of them:(

If I do HeadCanon idk how to start the story aaaaksndoenfke

Headcanon

Character: Katana, Hyperlaser, Medkit.

Genre: slightly Angst

Who's the lucky charm?:

M!Reader with a built in camera in their Brain lol.

Katana

A new Phighter on the field? A pleasant surprise to him.

He's one of the few people to welcome you in, being gentle enough not to scare you away.

As you get used to the Phighting systems, the first Friend you made was probably Katana.

His calm aura just makes you.. relax and great. You hangout around him either just to talk or after losing a match.

You always thought that Katana would be a tough guy but.. he was easy to approach.

As you went out to more Phighting matches, the more you both see each other, the more bonds are built.

He introduced you to his drinking buddy, Hyperlaser. you may not be as close to Hyperlaser with Katana, non the less you opened up to him.

You three would sometimes hang in a bar or just took a time to walk.

One of the time as you three went out to drink. You got lost in thoughts, wanting to know about them more, knowing they're sensitive about their past you keep your mouth shut and let them take the time.

Either by accident or you did yourself, you reach a hand and place it on Katana shoulder.

His memories flash before your eyes, everything that happened in lost temple and who he we're once.

You shook your head as Katana turned to you, your hand on his shoulder grabbed his attention. Quickly you retort your hand back and excuse yourself of just being dizzy after the match and they both buy it.

You kept to yourself about what you saw, staying silent not wanting to make Katana uncomfortable by saying you know what happened in his past.

The pain and mental pain he felt... Was etched on your body, giving an impact on your health. Making your figure seems... Gloomy.

Both Katana and Hyperlaser noticed and asked if you were alright, you just brushed their questions with a quick ' i'm fine ' before excusing yourself to go back home first.

What you saw in the past, you should keep it shut. No one should know.

Hyperlaser

After joining to be a Phighter, you met Katana who introduced you to Hyperlaser.

At first the relationship was awkward but the more you go out with them the more it blooms.

Memory of what happened a month ago flashes in your mind as you walk side to side with Hyperlaser who's talking to Katana on his other side.

They asked if you want to come to take a walk with them, which you agree cuz' you need some fresh air.

The cold air nip at your exposed skin as you try to quicken your pace to catch up to them both.

Winter is coming and it's not making your condition any better.

Hyper noticed this, and asked if you were alright.

With a weak smile you nod, catching up to stand besides them.

This time, Katana wasn't buying it and pried for you to tell the truth.

Hesitantly, "I'm just a little sick, I'm... Never been a fan of cold weather."

Both stare at you before Hyperlaser puts a hand on your shoulder, once again memories flashed through your mind.

The time he was raised as a soldier, the deal he made with Subspace, the scared faces of his victims.

You flinched, pulling your shoulder away from Hyper's hold giving him a surprise.

Quickly you excuse yourself and leave, leaving both worried and confused.

What you saw is not some pleasant memories. The screams of all the people he killed, the fear in their eyes. The pain he feels. Everything searing to your body.

What a pain.

Medkit

You know him through Sword, introducing him as a medic.

He helped you patched up after an intense phighting matched.

It was mostly silent, so you asked him some questions, which he half-ahh answered. You don't mind either way.

As you both get to be on the same team more often, the more you talk to him.

You bond with both sword and rocket too, soon becoming their fourth member in the group.

You four sometimes hang out together, either after a Phighting round or just when you all have free time together.

One day, Rocket planned a hang out for the four of you.

You were the last to arrive at the place you guys would meet. As soon as you arrived, you all went and goes with Rocket plan.

At first everything is fine, but slowly you start to notice how tired Medkit looks. I mean he usually is tired but.. not this much.

As Rocket and Sword go off somewhere for a bit, you confront Medkit. Asking what's wrong.

He brushed you off, saying nothing is wrong. You tried to pry it off him but, he kept on saying everything's alright.

You sighed, placing a hand on Medkit's shoulder and stared into his eye.

Your vision flashed seeing what had happened. What has brought Medkit here.

His screams echoes in your ear as his eye was ripped out by his own teammates.

The rotting face of his old companion haunts you as you retract your hand.

You reassured Medkit. Pretending the memory flash never happened.

Rocket and Sword returns and you four continue with the hang out. But you can't shake off the feelings of dread and nausea.