#for background context on this piece

[merge-conflict]

Rereading the horror-story-as-wikipedia-article "Lena" again as inspiration for my next cyberhanami prompt and boy oh boy it is just as gut-wrenchingly awful (complimentary) as I remember. If you're into the struggle of autonomy and self-control parts of cyberpunk the game (e.g. the Relic and the accompanying contract people sign with Arasaka), you may enjoy checking it out as well: https://qntm.org/mmacevedo

[trainwreckgenerator]

the earth wont keep me long

[alumirp]

White Blood, Red Teeth

a story where Luffy is constantly found by his friends having overdoses. It's a terrible behavior that started after Ace's death and everyone thinks it's a horrible coping method and finally gets together to admit him to a rehabilitation clinic. It's against his will, of course, so he resists and has withdrawal attacks and it's so bad that he goes on a hunger strike and loses a huge amount of weight and subsequently ends up with deteriorating health. A year and a half later, finally, after all this, the clinic considers him rehabilitated, although he is still underweight and doesn't eat as much as he should, but everyone is sure that Luffy will never look for drugs again. They are wrong and less than forty-eight hours after being released from the clinic, Zoro and Sanji find Luffy having another overdose in the bathroom of the apartment the three share. This time, the two decide to take a more aggressive approach and go after Luffy's drug dealer. Luffy is always talking about the guy, whom he calls Torao, who supposedly helped him cope with Ace's death. Whenever asked what he's on, Luffy responds "Torao's white blood", which Zoro and Sanji assume is the name of some homemade drug or something. Whatever it is, this Torao guy, is clearly taking advantage of Luffy's grief. to make a profit, so they stop at the drug dealer's address, almost knocking down the door, ready to give this guy 'Torao' a good beating and deliver him directly into the hands of Luffy's grandfather, a half-crazy police officer. They are surprised when the person who answers the door is a guy who goes by the name Penguin, who, strangely enough, lets them in easily after discovering that they are Luffy's friends. The house is nice, clean, airy, comfortable and cozy, everything you don't expect from a drug dealer's house. The place looks practically sterile in a hospital kind of way, which makes sense when they are finally introduced to the infamous Torao, a tall, malnourished guy who walks around on an IV. They confront 'Torao', who introduces himself as actually being Trafalgar Law, about the drugs he has been giving Luffy and the effects it has on their friend and, strangely, are surprised when: Law says he has never given drugs a Luffy and b: Law is surprised and then irritated when he is told about the "Toraos white blood" thing. Law then sighs and surprisingly takes off his shirt and displays his torso, covered in deep, fresh-looking bites, and proceeds to explain the craziest story of all time: Vampires are real and Luffy was turned into one the day Ace died. Law found him, injured and starving, and saved his life. He then explains that he is sick, his blood was infected from a young age with amber lead and he was living on borrowed time, so he had no qualms about feeding Luffy his blood. But they were both taken by surprise by the fact that, every time Luffy fed on him, his condition unexpectedly improved. But Law had no idea that his blood caused Luffy to overdose. He knew that there seemed to be a factor that made him somewhat dependent and Luffy was always lethargic in the first few minutes after feeding, but he never thought that his blood was acting as a drug for Luffy's undead organism. That's why in the year and a half that Luffy simply disappeared, Law, and his friends, simply thought that the vampire had gotten tired of helping Law and had left. They had been surprised when, last night, Luffy appeared out of nowhere on their doorstep and promptly attacked Law, feeding on him until Law was barely able to stay awake. Furthermore, in the time that Luffy was gone, Law's condition simply deteriorated terribly and he was practically convinced that he wouldn't make it until the end of the year. And now, they have to find a way to balance Luffy's feeding so that Law can survive, but in such a way that Luffy doesn't suffer side effects either. Everything becomes a mess when Robin, a mysterious friend of Zoro, gets involved, announcing that in fact, Law has been cursed by a witch.

[cuteniaarts]

Part 2 of my set of presents for my dear @katkastrofa’s birthday, combined with a small belated commemoration of LaF’s tenth anniversary :)

I know I’ve said it countless times yesterday, but once again, happy birthday, Kat!! I hope this year brings you many, many good things, everything you deserve and so much more. Thank you for being my friend <3

[dallonwrites]

actually making my tags from my last post into their own post. writers who struggle with grammar, spelling, typos, errors etc i love you. writers who struggle with rereading their stuff thoroughly no matter how much they try, who don't always have access to other people to help them read i love you. whilst reading through and checking for these things is good practice i really believe that the weight of it should not be put wholly on the writer's shoulders. especially writers who are neurodivergent, disabled, have any condition that can impede their reading + comprehension, are overworked and overtired, are not writing in their native language, list goes on....because grammar mistakes/language mistakes/typos have nothing to do with your abilities as a creative. this is where editors should be uplifting writers, helping them, not scrutinising them for something they cannot always control

[sophieebridgerton]

the thing about history is when you pick up something new you'll need to find the context for that, and you'll probably need some context to understand that, and that usually needs some context behind it, and suddenly you're 200 years back and things still don't quite fit yet

[msfaeriearts]

"Look how she lights up the sky"

Two totally platonic friends having a totally platonic dance on the beach after a banquet. totally.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

trying to write this essay while maintaining at least a facade of academic objective voice is ridiculous, actually

[theygender]

Does anyone have any good book recommendations that talk about transmisogyny in a way that would be entry level to like. A 50 year old cis lesbian

[enbyjane]

the truth is (a perspective on love)

context: edit based off a personal conversation with @onlineproblems about parental love, unconditional love and the love we deserve bonus: her wise perspective:

more bonus:

[shentm]

outsider still doesn't feel complete to me but i'm leaving it here for now. blade pov, no beta we die like baiheng, check tags for trigger warnings

dreamwidth mirror, which by the way is the more updated and also likely more permanent version of this piece, as this tumblr post always runs the risk of deletion anytime i'm awake past 11pm

The dream catches itself on those at the center of the tragedy, locking on to the minds already half-emptied by mara. It watches, as the nights repeat, as the hunt grows farther from its purpose.

He's covered in it, clothes slick with blood, the moonlight sliding off of it and watching him through the reflection. Every time he shows up, Jing Yuan has to stay awake for hours afterward, scrubbing at the floors to rid his home of the stains and the stench of mara-stricken beasts. It doesn't help that he likes to trail his sword behind, leaving gouges that the blood flows through, pooling in divots and seeping into the cracks between. But it's not like Jing Yuan expected him to be different.

An Outsider, who participated in a horrific ritual, and became tethered to the merging of paths, a creation of a collector who found the occurrence too interesting to resist. Who was given the abundance emanator's blessing, transforming him into something thought of as prey by most of the Xianzhou Alliance. It's strange that he's still sane sometimes, occasionally managing to break the contradictory resonance of intertwined paths where the hunt and the abundance intersect.

In the shared dream he sees the echoes of those he once knew, dead beings recreated in a perfect recollection of the waking world. It's just how he remembers, an everlasting reminder of what they did. He's drawn in when asleep and awake, unable to escape the repetition of memory.

In that intersection of paths he sometimes finds the shadow of the Imbibitor Lunae running away and away, too afraid to face his crimes. He finds the corpse of a dragon protected by its unborn kin, and tears it apart instead of looking back. He fights through the same landscapes again and again, always waking up in front of the same dim lamp. The only reason he can think of for this endless repetition is that someone out there likes these memories, wants to see the moment of the sin done right.

Skin melts against skin, fire burning through hair. The wet noise of a blade squelching as it rips through meat is the only sound that interrupts the guttural screaming of those beasts, displacing the cries with blood down their throats. Their pathetic existences mirror his own. Eyes press against his brain where they grow inside his skull, amplifying the beats of his heart. A constant high pitched whine carries through the sky, staying with him wherever he goes. Physical discomfort keeps him in the dream, afraid of what deeper pain awaits with the dawn of wakefulness.

He sees her too, sometimes, guarding the path before the corpse. She sees him in return, and they always meet in a clash of swords, the moon almost close enough to touch. It watches next to them, the blue light of her own weapon brilliant against the clouded orange sky. There was never any other choice; a recreation can only travel down the path of the original, like wheels in a rut on a dried dirt road. They tell each other that the dream will end. He continues the hunt again.

The dream is an awful thing to endure. He wonders about its purpose when cleaning his blade that Jingliu so kindly returned.

Dan Feng never acknowledges him, never admits to what he did, never even calls him by name. But it's clear that despite the physical differences, he's still the same arrogant coward that lives in the dream. How else would Dan Feng manage to kill him every time with the weapon he forged with his own once-deft hands, buying useless time before his inevitable judgement?

When he wakes up it is only a brief moment of respite from the dream as clear-cutting pain reminds him of his immortality. Sleep comes with the soothing promise of comfort, but also with the knowledge that it will not be restless.

Later he joins the Stellaron Hunters, gets taken in despite being on the brink of insanity. Feels the frenzy slipping away with Kafka's words, feels the understanding leave his mind. Turns him into a docile puppet, waiting for the next command. He names himself Blade. She gives him the first genuine rest he's had in seven hundred years.

His senses are diluted with her influence, not enough to render him completely useless, but enough to clear his mind. It's mostly just his sight that's a problem, and it's easy enough to counter with his other senses. The other one is touch, but he doesn't expect that to really be important. He does most of his hunting with a sword anyways, distanced enough from his prey.

He's never gone back to the Luofu personally. Once or twice through the years he hears news of its whereabouts, and soon has those reminders taken from his mind, rendering his sleep dreamless yet again.

He doesn't go back because he's not done hunting.

But at some point it was bound to happen, the meeting of three tragic sinners and that other guy who was also there.

A mission brings him back to the Luofu, and he doesn't complain because his mind is too empty to think. He tries to think of himself as just a simple vessel to help Elio carry out his plot. A stagehand for the endless show that they try to put on. It's quite nice, being like this, the desperately needed reprieve from the eyes that always try to crawl their way back into his brain. It's not easy to forget once your body has learned.

Kafka says the mission went well. Elio says he can break the tether now. He doesn't remember any of it, except from the brief moment of clarity when Jing Yuan asked him if he was done, and then the consciousness when he wakes up later.

Jing Yuan looks the same now as he did all those years ago, except for the young shadow he keeps at his side. He's still just as radiant as the sun, the center of everything he joins. Of course a comet like himself was never meant to stay long in Jing Yuan's orbit. The sun does not need to change when a dirty snowball cuts through its orbit after centuries of desolation in the universe; the sun burns bright on its own, without a need for a secondary light.

None of them are, were, like that, just a product that reflected their surroundings instead of the magnetic core that shaped their era. Maybe that's why they're all criminals wandering the stellar seas now, shot out from the gravity well and driven by their own definitions of the hunt.

But eventually he feels the searing pain start to fade when he chokes awake on drying blood, glances over at the dissolving bodies next to him. The eyes can no longer see. Kafka helps with her lightning, and soon the only physical links left are those burning wounds inside his brain.

Between puddles of blood and dripping black stone he wakes up, and the night grows deeper but the streetlights start burning. He collaborates, strangely, with Dan Heng (a new trailblazer) to force Jing Yuan back into his bed. He sees the artificial sunrise a few times, occasionally with Kafka, and sometimes just on his own. The sight of a celestial object rising behind the clouds has been one he's not seen for a while, even if it is still a false sun.

It's done, the dream has an end. The hunt is over, its conclusion long since found.

He meets the one who couldn't let go in the waking world, both of them more alive than they should be. Neither of them deserve to be here, yet they sully the Luofu with their presence anyways, carving and gouging out a place where they no longer belong.

She meets him with the same intensity she always carries, unable to be diminished by time or a dream's veil, and he feels alive as they dance the familiar battle once again, for what may be the last time. Unlike the cycles before them, this time it feels like a breaking of bonds, like something being set free.

On the last night of his stay on the Luofu he ends up at Jing Yuan's family home after he manages to separate from the dream, and he's lucky that Jing Yuan still stays here even after seven hundred years. Conveniently, Dan Heng mentions that Yanqing would be dragging the Luofu's heroic trailblazer on some sort of sword-hunting adventure on that day.

"Yingxing," Jing Yuan says when he enters civilly through the window, "please stop dripping blood on the floor."

It's that name that breaks him into the clearest state of mind he's had for centuries. That and the newfound control over his own mind, now that the moon no longer watches him. Jing Yuan still sounds the same, calls him with the same tone of voice. When's the last time anyone's referred to him as Yingxing? When's the last time he's been able to hear that name without his consciousness slipping through the cracks?

"Jing Yuan," he responds, and he's suddenly aware of the winds outside, carrying with them a fine mist of pollen that coats everything in a layer of grit, sticking to the drying blood on his clothes. He's aware of the artificial moonlight that gazes into the room, blue in tone and so much softer than the harsh orange red in his sleep. He can feel the silence of the home, where four others once gathered and where only one stays now.

"That's not my name."

The dream tries to call to him, but its voice is quiet here.

Jing Yuan reclines on the mass of pillows he calls a bed, and when he shifts he can hear the sound of feathers scratching at their confinements. He hears his pulse in his head, reviving nerves once thought to be dead, and he can feel the tingling sensation where it creeps through his limbs.

The air is cold where it hits his skin. It's been so long since he's been able to feel the temperature. He looks at Jing Yuan, and he can see the shine in his eyes, the strands of his hair where it was only a blurred image before. The world is clearer than it's ever been. It's like getting glasses. Do they still have those?

Jing Yuan grounds him in the present, the physicality distracting him from the broken link between his mind and that all-seeing eye disguised as the moon. The moon here on the Luofu is fake, as is the rest of the sky over most of the ship. The mara-stricken here do not scream as they claw at their faces, nor do they tear apart their prey with overwhelming strength.

He can touch and be touched now, acutely aware of the blood on his face, his body, his hands, the stains across the sheets and the fabric where he dares to rip them apart, but it doesn't matter in the moment. Cauterized wounds of foreign eyes that once grew inside his head start to make their presence known again, but they don't try to regrow. Flesh, not his own, knits itself together when he lets go, and the scent of iron permeates the air.

He's never been a particularly selfless lover. He bites down again.

"Ren," Jing Yuan says, quiet with an edge of something else. The false moon silently hangs behind the clouds, diffused into a hazy shower of light. The metallic taste of blood fills his mouth.

Jing Yuan is just as pliant for him now as he was centuries ago, body remembering and opening its vulnerabilities for him so readily. The heat in his head is easily ignored in favor of the heat beneath his hands. It's easy to get lost in the chase to consume and feed, but he reins himself in with the control he thought he'd lost a long time ago.

An Outsider, on equal ground with the Luofu's general, if only for one night. An Outsider, carving his own mark into the Xianzhou's history.

He finds Jing Yuan again after all these centuries, and he's still just as passionate as he's always been, fervent energy and primal fear driving him deeper into the desperate desire to stake a claim of his own.

[fideidefenswhore]

It was [une étrenne] [which] Anne [gifted] Henry. He was overjoyed because the symbolism was transparent. She had remembered her journey around Brittany with Claude and Louise of Savoy in the summer of 1518, when the citizens of Nantes had presented Francis with a silver-gilt ship jewel whose meaning was that his subjects were safe in storms so long as he was at the tiller. Now she gave Henry a smaller, modified version of the same device: a 'fair diamond' set in a 'ship in which a solitary damsel is tossed about'. As the means to convey a message, it was brilliantly choreographed.

Hunting the Falcon: Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn, and The Marriage That Shook Europe, John Guy & Julia Fox

[aceforwhatevenisthis]

OC-Tober 2023 Day 9: Future

Artur's hands were bleeding from tightly gripping the sword; trying in vain to stop the blade from puncturing his heart. It was no use.

Jackson glared at him with such hatred, such vindication, that Artur had never seen in the young man. So much so, that Jackson's blue eyes were a vibrant purple. Some sort of magic was at play here. It seemed as though all Artur's actions, all his sins, had come back to spite him until the very end.

Artur gasped; no words came out. Jackson tightened his grip and dug the sword in. Was he sorry for all that he'd done? All his time and effort dedicated to perpetuating a fabricated war? Just so that he could, what? Prove himself supreme? Supreme to whom?

It didn't matter. The light in his gray eyes faded out anyways.

[chaosintheavenue]

Essential Fallout 4 lore question: Can the Sole Survivor (or the faction they're working with, if applicable) end up using nukes during any of the possible endgame quests?

If you could please answer as spoiler-free-ly as possible (literally just yes or no, unless it's more Complex than that somehow) it'd be appreciated, cheers!

[heres-someart]

If I open commissions, would people actually be interested in purchasing them?? Also, for other artists, how do you go about pricing commissions?

Here are some examples of my art are under the cut!

[catastrophic-crisis]

y'know bud I don't think it makes your hour+ video on a topic look that good if you immediately turn to padding the front of it by having your first major section be "wow isn't this guy's face weird. it's so weird. and he's such a bad person!"

brother I want to hear about the topic this thang is about!!