#formatting on this site is such a bitch

[not-poignant]

Hi! Just from the last ask you answered, I was wondering what your writing media is? Do you use a computer/specific app on computer, or a notebook, or do you do like the portable e-writers?

Thank you! Just got curious… also the quote on your white board about writing flowing like readers tears is so evil and amazing 😂 I genuinely hope that for you cause your writing does tend to tug on the heartstrings very often

Hi anon!

I use a desktop computer, and primarily use Focus Writer (completely free, though for those who can afford it, I do recommend leaving a tip) and Microsoft Word, though I'm using the latter less now that they've forced Copilot on us. I hate it with the fire of a thousand suns.

I like Focus Writer because I like writing on pretty backgrounds and it's fully customisable.

I use Obsidian for my worldbuilding, because it's a nice lightweight program and I don't like browser based worldbuilding programs (I tried World Anvil for a while and it wasn't for me).

As for the quote, it's from a reader!! I liked it so much I printed it out. Just about everything on that board except for the Druidry flyer is from readers, because it helps keep me inspired and motivated. The tears one makes me laugh, but it was such a nice comic blessing I put it up :D

[victim9d]

long awaited graphics update has arrived

[lakesbian]

holy shit fighting for my LIFE to try to get screenshots of mspaint to size right 4 a tumblr post. yes i want to post my amy doodle no i do not want the image of her 2 be five miles long!!

[vocabulary-altering-posts]

you really need to raise your standards for what's considered "a phrase" because if it only makes sense in the specific context of the post it was originally found in and it isn't repeatable in other situations, that's not a phrase that has entered the lexicon, that's just something someone said one time.

i started this thing last week i need all the posts i can handle

What doesn't alter your vocabulary may alter, or may have already altered, someone else's. This is not about adding to The General Lexicon - I have an entire tag for things that change this site as a whole, which has a higher bar; this is largely about novelty and humor. This is us curb-stomping whatever the fuck we want into the right form for our needs, whatever those needs may be, including altering aspects of the phrase to fit the necessary format or context. It's a linguistic shotgun.

its my fuckin blog bitch ill shit where i want

[whatbigotspost]

I’m gonna start coining tumblr specific cognitive biases and logical fallacy terms…here’s the first ones I’ve theorized so far. (I’m using “actor” here meaning “the person, acting out the fallacy or bias for us all to see.”)

1. The unique contribution fallacy—reading a post of over 10k notes and the actor thinks of something they surmise is very clever to add. The actor imagines themselves to be the first special unique soul to contribute this add, when OP has actually received this “clever” comment 5000 times of those 10,000 notes driving OP up the wall.

2. The whataboutism bias— reading a post on any given particular topic, and believing that OP should say every single thing that you could possibly say about that topic under said single post. The actor doesn’t know they have a personal agenda on the topic and expects OP would have that same bias to talk about the side of the given topic that correlates to the actor’s personal bias, instead of allowing OP to be somebody who just writes what they wanted to write. This often works in tandem with… 

3. The TLDR bias— seeing a post that is actually extremely long and thoroughly well written, often times with sources, numerous added threads of detail etc. but the actor doesn’t actually read the content of the FULL post. Then, in reblogging it or commenting on it, “adding” something that OP definitely originally said, and revealing oneself as somebody who doesn’t even read the detailed things that they re-blog or add on comments about.

3. The literal URL fallacy— not understanding the total chaos that is the Tumblr URL, in this fallacy the actor thinks that someone’s username is ALWAYS telling you exactly what the content of their blog might be. I’ll illustrate this one in like a totally random example way… Let’s say that you hypothetically made a blog that was all about calling out bigots back in the days of yore, the early twenty teens. And yet somehow, despite the fact that every other user around you seems to not be taken literally by their URLs, the actor decides that everything that you post is therefore bigotry…….even if what you’re posting is your own original content that you’re writing, calling out bigots. Too bad, so sad! Because in this fallacy, the actor is going to see you as what your URL says, literally, always.

4. The missed URL fallacy— this of course is the exact opposite of number three. It is where a blog has a very particular theme and format to it, that is the most important thing you can notice to understand the context of a post. So, again, just a random example here… But let’s just say that the intent of a blog is to always post submitted weird ass dreams people had, but the actor doesn’t realize this in their relogging and thinks that somebody is reporting a real life situation that was definitely, very specifically a wild fever dream.

5. The throw the baby out with the bathwater bias— a fan favorite among left leaning and social justice corners of the site, this bias is when the actor reads a post where somebody doesn’t use the most optimal, virtue signaling language for them personally, so the actor ignores the whole entire point of the post. It could be something as serious as and attention demanding as genocide, but somebody uses a word like “crazy” or “stupid” or “bitch” in it and so the actor’s worldview and general proclaimed values are casually tossed aside because the language that was used to deliver it was not “perfect.”

6. The choose your own reality bias—The actor reads a post and reblogs it, adding commentary that is responding to things that are definitely not said in the original post and definitely not anything in the realm of what OP was talking about. Close cousin to…

7. The this is definitely about me/self-own fallacy— this one is actually one of my favorites to spot out in the wild because it is SUCH a tell. It is like a slightly more specific version of the “choose your own reality bias” but this is when the actor reads a post and blogs it, adding commentary that is responding to things that are definitely not said in the original post as if OP is talking about them personally, and therefore revealing themselves as potentially shady or suspect in someway because why did they make it about them, if it’s not about them, you know?

8. The zombie post fallacy—in this one, the actor most likely does not have time stamps enabled on their dash because that isn’t something that happens here by default, and this site has a higher presence of zombie posts (by the way its designed and how it functions) than any other social media site I know. So when a zombie post from 2011 shambles across their dash in 2024, they react to that content as if it is completely new and relevant information or news or a situation to be dealt with in the modern era.

What needs added?

[thepaintedsable]

PYRO! It’s Pyro! Yippee e!

I accidentally inverted the colors all of the insignias and gave Blue Pyro Red Pyro’s flamethrower :( My professional explanation for the second part is that Blue Pyro beat the living shit out of Red Pyro and stole their weapon, my professional explanation for the first part is I am is have are stupid.

Close-ups and special sketch page below the cut!!!

I remembered TF2 existed and this happened.

I have to mention that I have never touched this game, but I’ve been fairly aware of it for a really long time. I strayed away from it all because I was not/am not the best at multiplayer games, especially shooters (especially team shooters), and I never exactly felt like I had the skill to draw any of the characters. Plus the comic’s whole “missing the last issue” situation. I just really, really, didn’t want to be let down by investing myself in something I couldn’t be invested in. But something about “Meet the Pyro” stuck in my head like a burr to a shoe.

Rewatched Meet the Pyro more times than I should have. Looked into more animations and the fandom. Finally broke down and read the comic LMFAO. Surprisingly, I really enjoyed it! Even with the missing part, the format it’s presented in and the general wackiness was refreshing compared to what I normally read.

I still like Pyro, and when I remembered I’m better at drawing now, augh. There he go. They are all over, as they should be.

MF has a homemade flamethrower, canonically killed great value brand Smokey the Bear (on purpose), is/was the highly successful CEO of an engineering company, and is so efficient on the battlefield his teammates are horrified by him and his methods. Also there is no telling wether they even know what they are doing or where they actually are because of the pyro vision stuff. Plus the fun mystery of who they are under the mask. :) We don’t even know nothin about this guy.

Just a silly little guy. I’d like to take both the “They know nothing about what they are doing” and the “They know everything about what they are doing” and staple them to Blue and Red respectively. Which is which, though? Not important. Only need enough info to pit two bad bitches against each other, and also to consider how their teams treat them in response. They are both fucked up, but in opposite directions.

ALSO WHY DID I HAVE TO FIND OUT THIS FANDOM HAS THE CUTEST SHIP NAMES EVER ON MY OWN????? I don’t even really like ships in general, but like… Texas Toast? Speeding Bullet? Brush Fire??? Can someone please please confirm that French Toast is another one oh my god???? I don’t even care about the ships, I care about wordplay and cleverness. If you look up Texas Toast on this site it is all Engineer x Pyro and that is SO FUNNY

I can’t promise that this will be the last Pyro page. He might be the one that’ll actually stay.

[mod-kyoko]

Oooh~ I got one for either Mod, how about a one shot with Ibuki with her Tsundere boyfriend from the earlier ask. Where her friends mahiri, Mikan and Hiyoko wonder why she's with her boyfriend seeing how he acts all the time and she just responds that she thinks he's adorable. Then later on while he and Ibuki are in private he starts getting all affectionate verbally and physically saying that he loves her. U know to both of them Ibuki's friends caught a glimpse of his affection side.

ibuki x tsundere bf

fandom: danganronpa

info: male!reader, one-shot format, fluff

a/n: thank you puppteer, you keep this blog afloat

♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

"You know, I really don't get why you're dating that guy."

A shrill voice followed Ibuki as she made her way past the fountain outside of Hope's Peak. Hiyoko and Mikan always walked Ibuki to school since the three of them lived close by. Mikan trailed just behind Hiyoko, in the background as usual, while Mahiru trotted next to Hiyoko.

"Y- you're right... He- he doesn't seem... boyfriend material..." Mikan added, voice trembling as always. She played with her fingers while she spoke.

"No one asked your opinion, pigshit," Hiyoko retorted, rolling her eyes. Mikan whimpered in response to the insult, pursing her lips.

As they reached the entrance of the academy, Ibuki whirled around to face the three.

"You've got it all wrong, Mikan. All I need is someone who likes fun, and someone who likes music. My boyfriend likes both, so I'm all set!" Ibuki grinned from ear to ear as she thought about her lover, excited for their date later that day.

"I have to agree with Mikan and Hiyoko, I just haven't seen him act anything at all like a boyfriend to you," Mahiru chimed in, awkwardly playing with her hair. Hiyoko nodded, throwing an arm around her best friend. All Ibuki did was smile back at them, shaking her head.

"All you need to know is that he treats me well. And he's real cute!" With a wink, Ibuki turned around and bounded into the school, heading for their homeroom. The three girls exchanged looks with each other, before following her inside.

"Doesn't she have a date with him today? At the cafe?" Mahiru wondered aloud. Hiyoko puckered her lips, thinking, then let out a gasp like she had an idea.

"I know! Let's go spy on them! We'll get to see what they are like with each other!"

Mikan frowned. "Um, I- I don't think Ibuki would like that..." She was quickly met with a pair of angry eyes.

"I said no one asked for your opinion, ugly bitch! Didn't you hear me?" Hiyoko rolled her eyes, before turning back to Mahiru. "Are you in?"

"Sure. Sounds like fun." Mahiru responded with a shrug. Locking eyes with Mikan, she added, "It'll be okay, Mikan. It's a public place, if she sees us we'll just pretend we already had plans." Mikan would be lying if she said she wasn't curious, but the pat on the shoulder Mahiru was giving her wasn't helping the guilt.

The day went by slowly. Ibuki's boyfriend attended Hope's Peak, but was in a different class, so the girls had to wait to see the two interact until after school. Once the final bell had rung, the three followed Ibuki from a distance as she went to retrieve you from your class.

Peeking around the corner, Mahiru, Mikan, and Hiyoko watched Ibuki greet you.

"Hey, babe! Let's get going, I'm sooo hungry!" Ibuki rubbed her stomach dramatically, before grabbing your hand and dragging you away.

Meanwhile...

"Okay, they're holding hands," Hiyoko narrated as the spies walked from Hope's Peak to the cafe date site.

"Seems like a normal couple activity," Mahiru added, staring through a pair of binoculars. "Oh! Now he's got an arm around her. Aww."

Hiyoko snatched the binoculars away, watching for herself. "Hm. I'm still not convinced. We'll have to wait until they get inside."

You and Ibuki finally reached the cafe. You walked slightly in front of her, reaching for the door and holding it open, allowing her to go inside first. Ibuki immediately bounded over to the jukebox, as she always does when she first enters this cafe. It's her favorite because it had great music selections.

The three girls reached the cafe soon after, staking out beneath the giant windows. They watched as you walked alone to the front counter, where an employee greeted you. You ordered two drinks, your favorite and your girlfriend's favorite. Once you had paid, Ibuki already found a nice table in the corner. You decided to wait until the drinks were made, so you could bring them over to her.

Ibuki sat with her head in her hands, propped up on her elbows, and kicking her feet under the table. Her wide eyes met yours, absolutely sick with love. When you set down her preferred drink, a milkshake, she took the straw between her fingers and twirled it around.

"You're so sweet for remembering my favorite drink, babe" she reached out for your hand, lifting it up to her cheek and nuzzling it.

Throughout your date, the two of you talked and talked about your day, your next date, each other. You reached across the table and took your girlfriend's face in your hands, and she melted into your touch.

Meanwhile, three girls started screeching outside.

"I love you so much, darling," you cooed, eyes softening as Ibuki leaned into your hands. "You make my day so much better."

She giggled, placing her hands over yours to hold them in place. Soon, she felt a buzz in her pocket.

'I take back everything I said. You guys are cute together' the text read. Your girlfriend smiled at Hiyoko's message, before slipping her phone back in her pocket. She knew the three were going to spy on her. She was just glad she wouldn't have to deal with their conspiring anymore.

"I love you too."

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i haven't written a one-shot in a while, this was really really fun.

-mod kyoko

[pianocat939]

Unjust Punishment: Prologue

I love 2nd person, and no one can do anything about it-

Summary: Art block is a bitch, and your dumb self went out to the woods to paint a few landscapes. But of course, some crazy things happen *ahem* feral horse *ahem*, and you end up nowhere near where you were.

Tw: implied attempted murder, attempted beheading, MC gets so tired they're a bit delirious

Word Count: 1.1 K

Taglist: @dewdropthesimp @msvanillabean (Inbox or comment if you want to be added-)

This mountain fucking sucks. You aren't at all an active person, but this is just pure torture; scaling up the path while your ankles are halfway dead. At least you could see the top now, maybe another 15 more minutes of pain.

Finally, after reaching the top, there's a feeling of relaxation. No more coughing and wheezing like someone with Tuberculosis. You turn to admire the view before you: every tree top, every bird, and every bush. It simply maybe was worth your struggle. The sight is wonderful and gives great inspiration to your clouded mind.

Being an avid landscape painter, you had a fair share of going on different trips to paint the view. But this time around, a block had been in your way, and you haven't been able to wave the brush like you usually could. So what better than to spend a few days on the mountain, and paint whatever you see? It's a truly great method to pull you out of the entangles of no creativity.

You settle your luggage somewhere, only taking your easel and canvas. After setting up the items, you dig around for your paints, finding them shoved into the bottom bag. Vermilion, Prussian Blue, that ugly bastard yellow that no one likes but is also crucial for shadows...You have them all.

You take out a pencil and do a rough sketch of the landforms of the scenery before taking a light blue and painting over the entire canvas as the initial background. Soon, you start filling in each leaf and blade of grass, making dots and sharp strokes. Your mind turns blank, as concentration fills your head in a heavy, but empty void.

——————————————————

Once the sun sets, you set up your sleeping site in a rush. You were so concentrated on your painting you forgot you're in the fucking woods with a bunch of feral creatures lurking around. Fortunately, you actually practiced once or twice getting everything ready and managed to finish in record time.

By the time it's nightfall, you're still not quite ready to sleep, so you laze around on your phone, scrolling through your latest interests. You oddly felt calm, despite being in an unfamiliar place, alone. The isolation didn't feel foreign, if anything, it was nice compared to your hectic life.

That is until you hear a neigh. You know your animal sounds. That was a horse. Confused more than ever, you glanced out the makeshift, plastic window. There was in fact a horse. You could only see its hooves, but you could tell it was a gigantic horse. Its black legs and honed clipper-clapper hooves are a bit intimidating.

Then, the horse started to dash, at full speed.

In sudden panic, you took your phone and ran, out the exit. You didn't want to be squashed by a feral horse! After reaching the outside, you head for the nearby path, carefully skidding on the downhill parts. The horse was still running after you, and it freaked you out. Equinophobia was so real. As soon as the path was flat, you turned your direction into a zig-zag formation, trying to confuse the horse.

When you passed a tall pine tree, an object came flying at you, barely missing your head. You felt your heart stop, and your mind go blank for a split second. It was an axe. A fucking axe. First the feral horse, and now flying axes? Your night just went from peaceful to an absolute murder chase. You were basically running on adrenaline and nothing else as you dashed.

The moon illuminated the surface, bright and shining in a silvery colour. If it weren't for the fact you're trying not to collapse and freak out, you would have found the moon another lovely view to paint. Now that your frazzled mind leads back to awareness, exhaustion is really kicking in. You can't even hear the clapping of the horse's hooves anymore. In a desperate attempt at security, you leave the route, sitting on the nearby grass within the shadow of the trees.

You're already witnessing some stereotypical horror story not even five hours in. At least you didn't have to call the emergency number. Maybe in an hour, you can wander back to your settlement and go back home. You missed your bed; your wonderful bed.

"Hey...Are you ok?" A distant voice called, bringing you out of your thoughts.

You blinked and glanced behind your shoulder, deciding whether the voice was a threat, or not. It didn't sound hostile in fact, it felt familiar. Like someone you knew. You stood up, the slight ache in your knees more prominent than ever.

"Are you lost? Hurt?"

You slowly climbed the hill, eyes wide in curiosity as you approached to the source of the voice. You weren't lost or hurt, but something strange and eerie about the calling made you want to see the person behind it. You heaved yourself up the hill, using your abilities to your best. You aren't an athlete, nor an athletic person. You're a painter for fucks sake.

After a few moments, you call out, responding to the message, "Hello? Is someone up here?" You don't know exactly what you were doing, but you hoped for the best. The scare you had earlier made your heart crave comfort. This stranger probably just had a similar voice to someone you knew, but in a way, your body automatically wanted to go towards it. You notice a figure through the thin silhouettes of the trees. Your pace picked up a bit as you waddled through the grass.

The person turned their head, making a lovely smile. They were in a perfect pose, sitting on a spacious boulder underneath the moonlight. The sight was almost like a perfect shot from a movie. Your eyes picked up the shade of Rouge painted across their lips. The deep red highlighted their features nicely.

But in a flash, the person disappeared. Before you could even utter a word, your body tumbles back down the hill; bumping into every rock and twig in sight. It was painful at every impact. Your spine and head pounding terribly. What had happened? You couldn't muster any thoughts. All you could remember was the image of the lipstick.

You landed on the flat ground not long after. You're too exhausted, too out of it to bother sitting up. You just mindlessly stare at the sky, a few twinkling stars laughing upon your pitiful state. Wow, the phrase "Karma is a bitch" has never been more apparent than ever in your life. You should have listened to your close ones about not going out to the wilderness alone. Well, what could you do? You hoped no serial killer would hunt you down. You're tired. You need sleep. Getting murdered can happen another day for you.

You close your eyes...

——————————————————

WOWWW I ACTUALLY GOT SOMETHING DONE FOR ONCE-

Literally this is probably more confusing and disorganized than it is logical, but hey- my little brain tried lmao

Originally, I was gonna make this a much longer part, (as in including Mikey's introduction) but because of how busy my weekend turned out I had to cut it short.

Fun fact: all the weird shit that goes on in this part is a foreshadowing of the upcoming weirdos haha- I'm so smart /sarc

Well- that's all I got for now. Goodbye world as I turn dead for a whole week and come back to life later-

- Celina

[honeydixonn]

die together, hae jo | mr plankton

two, hae-jo

4159 words

The sharp fluorescent lights of the hospital room reflected off the sterile white walls, casting an unnatural glow over everything. Hae-Jo's breath steadied as he stirred awake, his body slick with sweat, his head pounding like a drum. Blinking away the remnants of his trauma-induced dream, he narrowed his eyes at the unfamiliar surroundings. The antiseptic smell, the scratchy sheets, the beeping monitors—it all screamed hospital.

He rolled onto his side, groaning as his muscles protested, his mind replaying the chaos of the bike crash. The sound of screeching tires and yelling voices echoed faintly in his ears.

"Hyung-nim!"

The voice snapped him back to reality as Kkari, his loyal but impulsive friend, rushed over from a chair near the bed. His face was etched with concern, but there was a spark of relief in his eyes as he leaned over Hae-Jo.

"You're awake?"

Hae-Jo ignored the question, rubbing his temples to ease the pounding sensation in his skull. His body felt heavy, and his thoughts were sluggish, but Kkari's presence was an annoying constant he couldn't shake.

"Hyung-nim," Kkari pressed, clearly worried. "Hey, how many?"

Hae-Jo opened one eye, watching in irritation as Kkari held up a middle finger, then another, waving them rapidly in his face.

"How many fingers? How about now?"

"Motherfucker," Hae-Jo muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse but audible enough to make Kkari grin in relief.

"Ah, he's fine," Kkari said, plopping back down into the rolling chair beside the bed. "They think it's just a mild concussion. Is your recklessness bringing you good luck or what?"

Hae-Jo groaned, pushing himself upright despite the pounding in his head. Every movement felt like dragging himself out of quicksand. He glanced down at the IV needle in his arm, frowning at the sensation of the cold fluid trickling into his veins.

"The lady?" he asked, his voice flat.

Kkari scoffed. "Oh, that bitch? She rolled out before the crash. Got her scratches treated and hightailed it to the airport. Probably sipping champagne by now."

Hae-Jo's expression didn't change. He gave a brief nod, more to himself than to Kkari, as he yanked the IV needle out with a grunt. The sharp sting and cool air hitting the puncture site made him wince.

"Let's get out of here," he said, slipping on his shoes and grabbing his jacket from the chair.

Kkari threw his hands up in exasperation. "Are you serious? You almost died, and now you want to just walk out like nothing happened?"

"Uh-huh."

As they moved toward the door, a voice from behind stopped them.

"Excuse me, a moment please."

They turned to see a doctor standing in the doorway, his expression calm but purposeful. Hae-Jo frowned, the man's demeanor putting him on edge.

"You're Mr. Hae-Jo, correct? If you don't mind, I'd like to discuss something with you privately," the doctor said, gesturing toward a small office down the hall.

Hae-Jo hesitated, glancing at Kkari, who shrugged. With a resigned sigh, he followed the doctor, his footsteps heavy against the linoleum floor.

The cramped office had walls lined with medical books and anatomical diagrams. The doctor's monitor on the desk flickered as he displayed a series of CT scans. Hae-Jo sat in the chair across from him, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and tapping his fingers together impatiently.

"You see these round, white masses here?" the doctor began, pointing to the screen.

Hae-Jo squinted at the images, his brow furrowing. "Like sae-al, or what?"

The doctor blinked. "Sae-al?"

"Yeah," Hae-Jo said, sighing as he gestured vaguely. "The little rice cake balls in patjuk."

A flicker of recognition crossed the doctor's face as he refocused on the scans. "Well, not exactly, but... I suppose they could look similar. These are blood vessels in your brain that have knotted up in abnormal formations. That's why they appear as these tangled masses."

"Tangled?" Hae-Jo repeated, leaning closer.

The doctor nodded. "These malformations reduce blood flow to the brain, decreasing the oxygen supply to brain cells. Over time, the intracranial pressure increases, and eventually—"

"They'll explode," Hae-Jo interrupted, his face pale. "Like a bomb."

The doctor hesitated, then gave a grim nod. "That's... one way to put it, yes."

Hae-Jo leaned back in his chair, his fingers digging into the fabric of his pants until his knuckles turned white. "I'm dying?"

The doctor's face softened, but his tone remained clinical. "This is a rare condition. Untreated, it's terminal. Surgery might be an option for others, but in your case..."

"How long?" Hae-Jo asked, his voice sharp, cutting off the explanation.

The doctor paused, leaning on the desk. "It's hard to say definitively, but... if we're being optimistic, three months."

Hae-Jo exhaled sharply, the weight of the words pressing down on his chest. His gaze drifted to the window, where the faint outline of the sun shone weakly through the tinted glass.

"Hereditary?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

"In most cases, yes," the doctor replied. "Do you know if your parents or siblings have a similar condition?"

A bitter laugh escaped Hae-Jo's lips. He shook his head, scratching his nose as he stared at the floor. "Parents? Siblings? No. Just me. But it's good to know they left me their ticking time bomb."

The doctor opened his mouth as if to say something, but Hae-Jo stood abruptly, cutting him off.

"This doesn't feel fair," Hae-Jo muttered, his laugh hollow as he adjusted his jacket. "But what is, right?"

The doctor watched as he walked out of the office without another word, his mind already racing toward the only question that mattered: What do I do with the time I have left?

Hae-Jo sat in the dimly lit hospital lobby, the sterile smell of disinfectant and the muffled chatter of voices pressing in around him. His chest felt hollow, his body heavy as though gravity itself was punishing him for simply existing. He stared blankly at the screen mounted on the wall, playing an endless loop of public service announcements.

"We will stay by your side like your family so that your final moments are beautiful."

The words crawled across the screen in pristine lettering, their message meant to be comforting. Instead, they clawed at his mind, taunting him. Family. A concept he'd never known and would never have. He shifted uncomfortably, biting back the bitter laugh that threatened to escape.

His phone buzzed against his thigh, the vibrations a sharp interruption in the stillness of his thoughts. He pulled it out of his pocket, the screen glowing with Kkari's name. With a tired sigh, he pressed the power button, silencing it.

The weight of his reality pressed harder on him. Every mistake he'd ever made, every decision he'd avoided, all of it played back in his mind like a relentless reel. What if he'd stayed with her? What if he hadn't lied? What if he had chosen differently?

His thoughts were interrupted when he saw movement in his peripheral vision. A figure walked through the lobby, her head hung low, and her hands clutched a bag like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

His breath caught.

Seorin.

She hadn't seen him, but he couldn't take his eyes off her. Her lips were pressed together in that familiar way, trembling as though holding back tears. She'd always done that—swallowing her pain, pretending she was stronger than she felt. His heart ached at the sight, a sharp pang that nearly knocked the air out of him.

Her hair was longer than he remembered, lighter too, the color framing her face delicately. But her glasses—her signature glasses, the ones that always slipped down her nose—were gone. He had loved those glasses, loved the way she adjusted them absentmindedly when she was thinking too hard.

His chest tightened as he watched her step outside, into the rain that had started to fall heavier. He stood without thinking, his body moving on instinct when he heard the first choked sob escape her lips.

He approached the glass doors, his footsteps quiet, his breath shallow. She was leaning against the wall outside now, her back to him, her body trembling as she clutched her bag for support.

She still wore the gray coat he had given her last year, the one with her initials stitched on the tag. He remembered the day he bought it, how she had laughed at the extravagance, saying, "What do I need with initials on a coat? Who's going to steal it?" But she'd loved it. She'd worn it almost every day.

He clenched his fists as the memories washed over him. She looked so small now, so fragile against the backdrop of rain and gray skies.

She hated the rain. He remembered that too. She hated water on her face, hated swimming, hated anything that reminded her of drowning.

The wind picked up, and the rain began to splash against her pants, but she didn't seem to notice. She stayed there, her sobs quiet but raw, the sound cutting through him like a knife.

Hae-Jo took a shaky breath, his emotions warring within him. His hand reached out almost of its own accord, grabbing a black umbrella from the bin near the doors. He stepped into the rain, pulling his hat low over his face to shield his identity.

When he reached her, his steps slow and deliberate, he slid the umbrella into her hand. His fingers brushed hers for a fleeting second, a spark of connection he hadn't felt in months.

But he forgot to open it.

His nerves frayed, his heart pounding in his chest, he turned on his heel and began walking away, his footsteps quick and uneven.

"Wait!"

Her voice cracked, the sobs still clinging to her throat, and it stopped him dead in his tracks. His heart burned as if someone had set it alight, her voice reverberating through his very core.

He didn't turn around. He couldn't.

Instead, he walked further, stepping to the side and lighting a cigarette with trembling hands. The smoke filled his lungs, the brief reprieve doing nothing to calm the storm inside him.

From the corner of his eye, he watched her. The rain blurred his vision, but he saw the way her tears slowed, her sobs subsiding as she adjusted the umbrella he'd given her. For a moment, she stood there, and he allowed himself the faintest smile.

But the smile was short-lived.

A sharp crack of thunder pierced the air, and suddenly his vision blurred. Pain exploded in his head, his hands flying to his temple as his knees buckled. He stumbled to the side, gripping a low concrete wall for support as the world tilted around him.

The groans left his lips unbidden, his nails digging into the rough surface of the wall as the searing pain radiated through his skull. He forced himself to glance up, his vision swimming as he caught one last glimpse of her.

She was stepping onto a bus, the rain still falling in sheets around her.

His heart twisted as the bus pulled away, carrying her into the distance.

This wouldn't be the last time he saw her. He would make sure of it.

He couldn't leave this world—not without being with her again. One last time.

The rain soaked through Hae-Jo's clothes, the cold seeping into his bones as he slumped against the concrete wall. His head throbbed with a relentless pain, each pulse of it dragging him deeper into the memories he'd tried so hard to bury. He pressed the heels of his hands against his temples, as if he could force them away, but they came anyway—sharp, vivid, and unbearably cruel.

He remembered the mornings. The way she'd burrow into his chest when the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, her body warm and soft against his. She always woke up first, her sleepy voice teasing him to get up, but she never moved until he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to steal a few more minutes of peace.

He remembered the pictures she took with her old, beat-up Polaroid camera. She loved that thing, despite how often it jammed or smeared the photos. Her laugh had filled the room whenever they tried to pose together, her head resting on his shoulder as they waited for the film to develop. Those photos had been everywhere—tacked onto the walls, slipped into her notebooks, tucked into the corners of his wallet. He still had one, creased and faded, hidden deep in his drawer.

And the rings. He'd surprised her with matching silver bands on their second anniversary, simple but elegant, just the way she liked. She had cried when he slid the ring onto her finger, her smile brighter than the sun. She never took it off. He wondered if she still wore it now.

Then there was the fish tank. She adored it, spending hours studying the colorful fish swimming lazily in the water. She had names for all of them—Sundae, Bada, even one she called Mr. Wiggles. She'd sit cross-legged in front of the tank, sketching the fish in her notebook, her brow furrowed in concentration. The tank was empty now, the glass cracked and stained. The fish were gone, killed in the chaos caused by that woman and her bodyguard. He hadn't even gotten to fix it.

And he remembered the words he had once said to her. "You'd make an amazing wife." He'd meant it. She had a way of making even the coldest spaces feel like home. But he had left her. He had taken that dream away, all because he thought she deserved better.

The memories darkened, turning sour and sharp.

He remembered their argument a month before the breakup. She had been frustrated, confused by his sudden distance, and he'd lashed out, telling her things he didn't mean. "You deserve better than me. I'm just an errand boy. What kind of life could I even give you?"

Her response had been fierce, her voice trembling but unwavering. "I don't care about any of that. I chose you. Why can't you see that?"

But he couldn't let himself believe her. He couldn't let her stay.

Then came the breakup.

It was cloudy that day, the sky heavy with the promise of rain, though it never fell. They had met at the park, under their favorite oak tree. He'd told her the lies he thought would make it easier for her to walk away. "I don't love you the way you deserve to be loved."

He had watched the disbelief shatter into heartbreak on her face, watched the tears spill over as she turned and walked away. She had left without looking back, and he had stood there, unmoving, holding back his own tears until she was gone.

It had been the worst kind of pain, the kind that hollowed him out and left him empty. She was the only woman he had ever truly loved, and he had let her go.

Now, standing under a faulty awning that did little to shield him from the rain, Hae-Jo lit another cigarette with trembling hands. The glow of the ember reflected faintly in the puddles around him, the smoke curling into the cold air like whispers of regret.

A single tear slipped down his cheek, warm against the cold of his skin. He wiped it away quickly, almost angrily, before it could reach his lips.

"You fucking idiot," he muttered, his voice cracking.

The words felt hollow, but they were all he could say. He let out a shaky laugh, bitter and broken, as he cursed himself. His lips trembled as he stared out at the rain, his mind racing with the memories that wouldn't let him go.

He thought of her walking out of the hospital earlier, her frame trembling as she stood in the rain. He thought of the way she had looked at him that day under the oak tree, the way her voice had cracked as she said goodbye.

He wanted to chase after her, to grab her hand and tell her everything—that he had lied, that he had never stopped loving her, that he was a coward for letting her go. But he couldn't.

The rain fell harder, streaking down his face like the tears he refused to shed.

Hae-Jo puffed on his cigarette, the smoke burning his throat, as his hands tightened into fists.

"This isn't fair," he whispered to no one. "None of this is fair."

But life wasn't fair. Not for him, not for her.

The cigarette burned down to the filter, and he dropped it, crushing it under his shoe as the rain began to wash it away. He leaned against the wall, his head bowed, the ache in his chest spreading like a sickness.

He didn't know how much time he had left, but he knew one thing for certain.

He couldn't leave this world without seeing her again. Without making things right, even if it was too late.

By the time Hae-Jo arrived at the apartment, he was drenched. Rainwater dripped from his hair and soaked into his shirt collar, the sharp scent of wet earth and asphalt clinging to his clothes. He punched in the code on the door handle and pushed it open, only to be met with Bong-Suk standing in the entryway, her arms crossed, a face mask pulled over her skin, and her silk pajamas glowing faintly under the fluorescent lights.

"What happened to you?" she asked, her brows raised.

Hae-Jo grinned smugly, holding up the plastic bag of takeout he'd grabbed on his way over. "Peace offering," he said, stepping past her as she reluctantly let him in.

He trudged toward the bathroom without another word, his body feeling heavier with each step. The cold rainwater clung to his skin, making him shiver as he peeled off his soaked clothes and let them fall in a sad pile on the floor. The hot water from the shower barely warmed him, his thoughts clouded with the weight of the day, the words from the doctor replaying in his head like a broken record.

When he emerged, he was wrapped in a blue robe, his hair still damp. He made his way to the fridge, pulling out a can of diet Coke. The hiss of the tab breaking the seal echoed faintly in the small apartment.

"What's wrong with you?" Bong-Suk's voice broke through his thoughts as she watched him from her perch on the bed.

He ignored her question, instead sitting on the edge of the bed and taking a slow sip of the Coke, the carbonation fizzing faintly on his tongue.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his tone disinterested.

"You avoided me when I was looking for you, and now you're here, sucking up to me with soggy takeout," she pressed. "What's gotten into you?"

He sighed, his gaze drifting to the green wall in front of him, its surface uneven and faintly scratched from years of use. He stared at it as though it held answers. "Hmm."

She wasn't about to let him off the hook. "Don't you have any friends to drink with? You're still young, for god's sake."

Hae-Jo's eyes fell to the can in his hand, his fingers tracing the aluminum rim. "If I did," he muttered, "I wouldn't be here now."

Her scoff was loud, filled with irritation. "I'm your bong, I guess."

"Bong-Suk-a," he said, only half-joking.

She glared at him and hit the back of his head. "Ju-Ri, Bong Ju-Ri. I changed my name a long time ago, you brat."

He sighed and turned his head away, his lips curving into a small, bitter smile. "Don't hit my head, all right?"

That only egged her on. She crawled onto her knees and began slapping the back of his head with both hands. "Don't hit your head? Don't hit it like this? What are you going to do about it?"

Without thinking, he grabbed her wrist and gently pushed her down onto the mattress, pinning her there.

"Stop," he said, his voice low, but there was no anger in it. "Keep hitting it, and it'll explode. There are a bunch of bombs in my head. Fourteen at that."

She rolled her eyes as he chuckled softly, but the laughter faded quickly, his smile turning hollow. He stared at her, but his mind was elsewhere—thinking of someone else entirely.

Seorin.

He missed her. The way her breath would fan against his cheek when he pinned her like this, her heartbeat quick against his chest as she waited for him to make the next move. She always looked at him like he was everything, her eyes soft and full of trust he didn't deserve.

It hurt, thinking about her now. It hurt every time he did something—every time he breathed—and thought of her. Because no matter how much time had passed, no matter how many lies he told himself, he couldn't escape the truth: he had ruined everything.

Ju-Ri snapped him out of his thoughts, pushing him off her. He rolled onto his back as she tossed him a blanket, shaking her head. "You're crazy," she muttered. "Wandering around in the rain, talking like that. Just go to sleep, all right?"

She sat against the headboard, patting his chest lightly as if to comfort him. "Go to sleep."

He stared at the window, watching the rain streak down the glass. Her voice became background noise, a faint hum as she began singing a made-up lullaby, but it only made his mind wander further.

"Sleep, sleep, my dear Hae-Jo," Bong-Suk sang softly, her voice laced with a teasing edge as she patted his chest.

He sighed, staring at the ceiling, the dim light from the window casting faint shadows across the room. "Bong-Suk-a."

She bit her lip in mock irritation and swatted him lightly on the chest. "You little jerk, how many times do I have to tell you? It's Ju-Ri now. Bong Ju-Ri. You'd better remember it."

He gave a half-hearted chuckle, closing his eyes and placing his hands behind his head. Silence fell between them for a moment, broken only by the sound of rain tapping against the windowpane.

"Why do tragedies always seem to find people whose lives are already pathetic?" he said quietly, almost to himself. "If you're poor, you're more likely to get sick. And when you're sick, there's no one to look after you because you don't have a family. And if you don't have family, you're truly... all alone."

He paused, the weight of his words settling heavily in the room. His voice softened, cracking slightly as he continued. "And loners always push away other loners. So why did I push her away?"

Ju-Ri laughed, breaking the tension with a sip from his can of soda. "Are those song lyrics or something?"

He didn't respond, didn't even glance her way. Instead, he turned over, his back to her, and stared out the rain-streaked window. His breath hitched as the memory of the breakup hit him like a train, the vivid images replaying in his mind: her tear-streaked face, her trembling voice, the way she had walked away from him without looking back.

The pain of it all burned in his chest like a smoldering ember, refusing to extinguish. He closed his eyes tightly, but the tears threatened anyway, prickling behind his eyelids.

Bong-Suk said something else, but he barely heard her. The sound of her voice faded into the background as he let out a shaky breath, the rain outside mirroring the storm raging inside him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but the memories came anyway. He saw her again, crying outside the hospital earlier that day, her shoulders trembling under the weight of whatever burden she was carrying.

Why was she crying? Why was she there?

He remembered the message she'd sent him after the breakup: Get your things tomorrow when I'm at work. I don't want to see you or them again.

She had blocked him after that. No contact. No closure. Just silence.

"What a fucking joke," he whispered to himself, his voice breaking.

He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling as the rain outside grew heavier.

If only he had stayed two more weeks, maybe he'd know the thing she was hiding now. Maybe he wouldn't have thrown everything away.

But now, he had no clue. And no time.

[simpjaes]

haiiii simpjaes!! this is my first time sending an ask but how are u ml? i've been rereading ur fics a lot recently and the things one of the damned girls does to me ..... ><

also i've been wanting to start my own writing blog for such a long time now (as i was mostly a reader) but i genuinely dk how all the tumblr layouts work and all that 😕 also seeing that most ppl on this site prefer to read fluffier smut (which i enjoy too!! but .... yeah) idk if they would like my writing :(

hope u have a good day forwards, sorry for this long ask hh

omg helloooo!!!! OOTDG is that bitch fr, so proud of that one and im glad you like it ; u ;

anyway!!! i definitely encourage you to start your own writing blog but also, please be nice to yourself and know that it's a learning process! You don't have to post anything until after you practice and learn how layouts work as well as fic formatting! It's not hard once you get the hang of it, and im always here to help too. Also, rule number one to writing, in my opinion anyway, is don't start writing with the idea that other people will take the time to read it. never expect that, because if and when you do, it will stop being fun. write for yourself. write what you want. your audience will find you. not everyone will like your writing, i deal with that a lot too, but also know that the people who do like it are here too. so, like, writing is fun but it can be scary sharing with a whole platform. I still get insecure every single time i post a new fic, so it's not just you who feels that way. but it ends up being worth it. your audience really will find you, so don't limit yourself to what you think people want to read. write what you want to read first and foremost, because no one else is gonna write it for ya!

[gothamitelove]

I had a request for gotham Victor Zsasz if you’re up for writing it :) (it can be written in any format I don’t mind)

Victor x gn!mute! Reader where R is a good friend of Oswalds, and Vic is protective and has a soft spot for them. Maybe they get hurt or something so Victor takes it upon himself to teach whoever did it a lesson.

so i had a whole thing written for this and then the site crashed so here's the recreation of it!

he's taken with you almost immediately.

well, first he's intrigued- who are you and how have you managed to get on cobblepot's good side? so he's eager to meet you, even if he doesn't show it

and then he meets you and thinks, well, i think i know why penguin likes them so much. you're quiet. in fact, he's never heard you speak a word. it leaves oswald all the time he needs to get all his thoughts out, and then work through them. (this is not the entire reason oswald likes you, but look it doesn't hurt)

victor does his utmost to get closer to you. he tells you jokes, compliments you, and his entire goth bitch squad (meant positively ofc) basically adopts you on the spot

you guys get milkshakes a lot.

but then one day somebody decides that to get at oswald, they're gonna mess with you, and that's when victor gets pissed.

not even gonna lie to you pal this person probably ends up dead. if not by oswald's hand then absolutely by victor's.

he will probably show you the tally mark he made for them

"don't worry, i took care of it," he'll say, and give you a kiss on the forehead.

you will never hear from or about this person again, but after this incident, everyone treats you with a lot more respect.

[malocclusive]

God I hate teaching bc 99% of my coworkers are cishet normies

Nobody I can show "we got trans bitches on this site named shit like Die" who won't be immediately baffled and potentially scandalized

My one coworker didn't understand "she ____ on my ____ til I ____” joke format and I probably seemed like I was having a mental breakdown

I mean I kinda am but still

[necros-writing-stuff]

I'm still a big fan of killer dare- I wanna know what happens when he's 'working' what's his process?? Is he clean or like bloody the whole time? Is he careful methodical? Or is every kill random?

(I was gonna ask for head cannon format but Dare is littraly yours)

I love your stuff as always!!!

~🩷

Ooooo okay time to get graphic. I'll put it under the cut, look at your own risk (and also behold the evidence of me consuming too much true crime from a very young age).

How he kills:

Darius is a big big fan of strangulation. With his hands or with a rope/wire/length of something depends on the one he's taking out.

Reason being the lack of blood to clean up. He's a strong man, he can take most people out this way. It's also very personal. He can whisper insults in their ear while they're dying.

However, when it looks like there will be a struggle he might not win with his fists alone, Dare likes a good ole hammer to the skull.

Very very conscious about evidence. When he kills and while he stalks. Super vigilant about cameras, always leaves his phone at home when doing his little hobby. Never picks someone he knows personally or even tangentially. Has to be a total stranger. Always comes with gloves and something to keep his hair tucked away in, and something obscuring his face.

No aftershave while he kills, no branded shoes or clothes. Just as blank and inconspicuous as possible. Tends to kill at night, but not always if a better opportunity presents itself.

Victims:

Still undecided here. It depends on the story.

Victim type 1: police. From his sense of jealousy and jadedness that he lost his job because he stood up for a victim by pummelling his boss. Like the pig joke so he'll cut off their noses and make them more snout-like. Male officers get their junk cut off too.

Victim type 2: pale women with long red hair. Because Molly left and took the cat and he's a bitch about it even though it was his fault. He does not do anything sexual here, it's just rage. Post-mortem he'll often brutalise their faces.

Victim type 3: someone got too close to you and Dare can't have that. He's nearly got you in his clutches and this ass thinks they can swoop in and take you right from under him. Nuh-uh. Type 3 can happen at the same time as the other two. He's quickest with these, but also sloppiest, because they're the most emotional ones for him.

He chooses victims based on a variety of things very similar to how he chooses a spouse tbh.

Are they lonely? How long will it take for people to notice they're gone? Will anyone notice? Where do they they? Who do they live with? Do they go out alone?

He stalks them appropriately each time to find the best window.

Different from choosing a spouse though, victims will have a quality that pisses him off enough to get his attention. It won't just be that they're a red head or an officer. It's a bitchy red head screaming at a tired service worker, it's an officer stopping a drunk person for a stop and search just to cop a feel.

Dare feels justified in what he's doing. One less asshole on the earth to bother everyone else.

Disposal process:

Takes the body to his work site. Chucks them down a hole that's going to be filled with cement, secure in the knowledge they be buried under a fucking skyscraper soon enough.

No construction of that kind going on? Freezes the body (liquid nitrogen), and uses a saw in the warehouse to cut up the body into itty bitty pieces. A lot less blood due to the frozen state. Then he'll take it with him and burn it on his next hunt, ensuring to smash up the teeth and jaw and scatter them far from each other.

For the type 3 though... he's liable to strangle them and then just leave them in the spot he killed them. He wants you to know he's killing people for you. He wants you to see that he sees you. They're his love notes.

Where you come in:

He won't take you to kill with him, but he'll take you hunting and show you the cut up body before he burns it. He'll make sure you don't look away. And when you recognise who it is, he'll gloat about how he can do this for you - just kill someone you hated and probably wanted dead anyway. So thank him. He'll have a blowie now please and thank you.

If he thinks it's the only way to make you stay as his, he'll somehow have you kill someone and hold it over your head. Probably by kidnapping someone and saying he's bored of you and thinks this person might be a good replacement - unless you can prove yourself interesting again by killing them before they can kill you.

You're his lovely little house spouse (again though, this is Dare, he'll call you wife no matter your gender identity), who's gonna wear skirts and make his food, massage his back, bounce on his cock and kiss his palms despite knowing they'd been squeezing the life out of someone a couple of hours prior.

But if Dare ever does actually get caught? He won't pin anything on you. Not even if he made you kill someone. He can't do it. He can spend the rest of his life in jail, you can't. Especially if you had a kid together.

[the-acid-pear]

I'm getting so anxious my legs are going cold so I've decided I'm gonna start reading Dungeon Meshi. Gonna do the classic manga liveblog format too 👍

Chapter 0

It's been so long since I did something like this man goddamn.

Oh this manga is really fucking short! Only 97 chapters goddamn. Might get to finish the whole liveblog in like, 2 rbs.

This is so silly n cute tbh

Catgirl looks HORRIFIED

Wait is, is the dwarf naked? Is he in his fucking underwear??

Thought they were praying for the food for a second

WHY ARE WE JUST RANDOMLY SHOWING A BRUTAL DEATH FROM A DRAGON THIS. THE WHIPLASH

Oh she's alive nvm

Chapter 1

Goofy ahh dragon

Love that it's formatted as a menu that's cute

Well that was a haunting introduction

Capitalism is one hell of a bitch <- pretty sure this has nothing to do with that

I love this short critter's beautiful black eyes

Why is she breakdancing to express discontent?

Man these chapters are long, like 45 pages each. That makes it almost 200 chapters since 20 pages is more of the average length.

THE BLUSH. HUNGRY BASTARD UTSYFSYSEYSRRUD

"who are you?" He was licherally there when the girl was vored what do you Mean who are you . . .

Un capo se trajo un disco.

Holy shit you can die?

Marcille you're such a girl fail it's honestly hot

Oh Chilchuck is a name i though it was an insult

Sabés el asado que te puede hacer el Senshi, te caes de culo

Chapter 2

The settings are beautiful

👍

The way death is handled feels so Weird

Laios I did not wish to learn about your bondage kink

Chilchuck is so real I love him 😭

Chilchuck why were you at the gallows...........

Chapter 3

Already got in the groove of it

He looks so distraught at the unbalanced diet

"reptilian features" "cool" "cool"

I love Laios and Senshi's relationship they're such a good team

Senshi is sooo silly

These are such good ppl tbh

THANK YOU FOR YOUR MOTIVATIONAL APEECH SENSHI

I'm using the same site I did to read Baki and bro there's a clown in the notes who keeps adding the image of Marcille being told elves are good cock sleeves and it's starting to seriously annoy me.

Stopping for now so I can eat and stuff 👍

[scpaesthetics]

life updates

my husband got top surgery!!!

it's going to be awesome but right now he's still in a lot of pain. however also until nanowrimo (sorry im That Bitch) it's the last major event in my life, which is great. im fuckin wrung out, gang. it feels like outside of work and loving on my husband i barely have energy to keep up.

but i really do love making aesthetics and reading scps, especially these new ones!! ive been active on the site since the 1000s and reading since the very old creepypasta days, so seeing how the format evolves and changes is so beautiful.

keep sending asks, ill keep making aesthetics. i just may be a little slow. love u guys.

[lonibergqvist]

Hello again, Loni.

Well, we're here again.

Back to tumblr. Back to writing.

A lot has changed since I used this site frequently about a decade ago: I use capital letters now, I'm still married, I have three kids, a company, both my parents have died and I live in Denmark.

Instead of rehashing the last ten years, I'd rather explain why I'm back.

Last March, I stopped drinking alcohol.

I'll probably write more about that in the future but for now the only relevance is that becoming sober has given way to a lot of "ah-ha" moments... one of them being that I really don't want to be on social media anymore.

When I think about how I've leveraged Instagram and Facebook these past years, it's been a space to reflect and share moments of life that I find interesting or note-worthy. I like to leverage SoMe to reflect on these moments.

But I don't really like being tied to it.

Or feeling like I live moments through the intent to post about them.

And I'm tired of automatically checking SoMe... for what?

I still love reflecting. And sharing. And writing.

So, here I am. A tumblr bitch once again. I think writing a blog again might satisfy my urge reflect, share and write.

I'll probably be changing some of the formatting, the tag-line. "Navigating the 30's" doesn't apply to me in two weeks, so there's some necessary updating that clearly cannot be postponed for long.

Does anyone even use tumblr anymore? Well, I guess if you're reading this, you do.

And apparently now I do, too.

Photo: Me. An-almost-40-something-with-no-parents-three-kids-working-sober-married-american-in-denmark.