#i have to be a little insane on the internet. as a treat.

[skungie]

i feel like.... there is not enough congruence love in this world. like, yeah, ok, everyone wants to kiss her, but like... do u ever just think about her.

congruence exists in her current form because of the love hal poured into her, and the colony exists as it does because of the love she pours back out, the love she fosters under her timeless care

because of hal's love, congruence loves, and she is loved in return. she feels, she teaches, she jokes, she consoles, and she grieves– and the whole colony feels the weight of it. she was not created to love, but she loves, actively, in spite of that.

she is a mentor, she is a caretaker, she is a cornerstone of the colony.

basically: girl. you are fucking everything to me.

[skinnypaleangryperson]

I can't imagine how quality my life would be if people were willing to listen to niche, incredibly strange cornered personalities. I'm such an interesting person, but people don't speak my language 98% of the time and nobody cares to unless you speak the mainstream, boring oversaturated languages that people speak with celebrity pop culture, influencers, and the so forth. The worthlessness that I feel from not being able to fit into mainstream society has made a black mark. Still, the niche incredibly strange personality persists.

I'm just a incredibly strange mentally ill, genuinely schizophrenic incredibly imaginative maladaptive daydreaming mentally ill person who cannot tell fantasy from reality, but I feel like it could have been so much more than that if society had spaces for more niche corners like us to speak.

[byuntrash101]

still your biggest fan. – 송민기.

SYNOPSIS. your boyfriend is on the other side of the globe touring. somehow you fear the cheers of the fans will make him forget about you. so you decide to remind him you are still and will always be his biggest fan

or in which you find a novel way to use your lightstick and send the video to your beloved bf.

mingi x f!reader, smut, mdni

tags. etablished relationship, facetime sex, masturbation (f & m), BLACK UNDERCUT MINGI (!!!!!!!!), jealous + slightly possessive reader, but mingi reassures her (awwww), use of (unconventional) toys (wink wonk im insane pls stop me), pet names, multiple orgasms (f), praises, squirting. wc. 2k

a/n. this mingi has me feral and the concert videos got me in a chokehold. and it's only the first date i need help. also shout out to that one video of yungi saying they use the lightstick to "relax" at night. not proofread.

There was one thing that was absolutely certain about Mingi: that man loved attention. That man lived for the roars of the crowd. When he danced, he was electrified by the cheers of the fans. And you knew your boyfriend was made to be on stage. He enjoyed the attention of fans, hence the fact he was constantly body rolling, hip thrusting and tongue poking. He loved to see the thousands of people thirst for him, he loved looking at all the concert videos all over the internet. He laughed and giggled at the tiktok edits, at the twitter threads, at every comment more over the top than the next.

Usually you don’t mind, you even enjoy them too. You like seeing him happy and fulfilled in his job but today maybe you’re a little insecure. He just flew out to start the American leg of the tour and you’re left behind in this bed that seems so empty. You fear somehow the loud cheers will make him forget about you. You don’t want that. You want to remind him. You want to make sure that today when he goes to sleep the last thing he sees is you. 

You looked at the time, your eyes darted to the digital clock on your night stand. At this time he was probably already at the hotel. It was pretty late for you but you wanted to send him a little treat, you knew how Mingi loved when you sent him videos of you playing with yourself and today you might add a little twist. 

You didn’t have much time if you wanted him to see the video before he slept…

***

Mingi was spent, true. But he was still pumped full of adrenaline when he stepped out of the shower with the ends of his raven black hair wet, the longer strands of his undercut dripping down. He didn’t even bother stepping into his pajamas, the AC was off and this part of the world in July was pretty hot. 

He tucked himself in bed, still wide awake. He looked at his phone, a text from you from several hours ago when you went to bed. You were probably sleeping right now. He debated responding, fearing he would wake you. But he pictures you pouting when you’d wake up in a few hours without a response from him and he couldn’t bear to make you feel that way so he typed a quick answer. 

🎀 princess #2: hope the show goes well (ik it will because you gonna kill it cause you the best😌). i lob you. you know that right? dont forget about me ok? <33333333

👸princess minki (real): i could never baby i love you more. hope you have a great day and i miss you baby <3

then for a second the three little dots appeared and Mingi thought he hallucinated it. But then an other text appeared.

🎀 princess #2: i’ll always be your first and your biggest fan

Mingi didn't even have time to reply that he received a video file. He faintly gasped at the thumbnail. It was your legs spread out on his bed. The big play button in the middle of the frame though blocked out the most interesting part and he didn’t even breathe before he played the video.

He continued to hold his breath when he saw you rub your clit throught your white panties. He didn’t know how long you did played with yourself but your panties were completely see through. Your juices were sticking to your folds, the laces barely concealing you anymore. But still, he needed these damn panties out of the way. 

He wanted to see you. His hand found his cock on instinct, immediately palming his hardening bulge. And his prayers were answered. You pushed the panties to the side uncovering the most beautiful sight Mingi had ever layed eyes on. He exhaled a long sigh when long strings of slick connected you to the thin fabric of the underwear. How bad he wanted to be there, to stuff your soaked panties into your mouth while he thrusted his thick fingers into you. How bad he wanted to feel you twitch around him. How bad he wanted to hear his name fall from your quivering lips as he brought you to your peak. He wanted you so bad.

But then you grabbed hold of something, something that emitted light… The lightiny? Mingi’s jaw hung open when he saw you bring the handle to your center, rubbing it through your folds, coating it with your juices before bringing it up to your hard clit playing with a little, prying beautiful muffled sounds out of your mouth. Just to bring the handle down again, you took a firm grip of the rounded part and pushed the handle inside your trembling core. 

“Fuck” Mingi exhaled as he started pumping his balled fist around his now fully hard cock, he kicked the covers off him just to be able to jerk himself off without resistance. 

“Nghhh” you moaned quietly as you bottomed out. “M-Mingi are you watching?” As if you could see him, Mingi nodded vigorously, qmd you gave more purpose to the coming and going of his wrist. “Keep watching me. K-keep- fuck aaaah. Keep looking at me. I’ll make myself cum for you, ok?”

“Fuck yes baby I wanna see it all.” Mingi replied in a strangled breath, his hand going to play with balls, while his other hand held the phone incredibly close to his face. if he could have he would have gone through the screen and right into you. 

You started to slowly bounce on the lightstick. You were obviously already really worked up, your pussy was clenching down on the shiny copper handle and the light was perfectly shining on your hard clit, making it obvious that you were pretty close. Red and swollen, ready to explode. Just how he liked.

So you did. In a few seconds your thighs were trembling and your movement became uneven. You started to squirt small translucent spurts, one then two.

“Fuck baby you’re so fucking hot” Mingi breathed and pumped himself faster. 

You took the copper handle out and rubbed your clit in tight and fast circles, squirting more translucent liquid and soaking the sheets. Your center quivering around nothing. You slowed down with a sigh and the video stopped.

Mingi felt like he was going to sink into eternal darkness and despair if he didn’t see more of you right now. His cock was twitching in his strong fist, his cockhead was leaking so much precum he wanted you to see him too. He wanted you to know what you did to him.

So he pressed FaceTime. It rang once, twice then you picked up. You looked disheveled and short of breath. Fuck how fucking beautiful you were. Mingi wanted to kiss you all over this pretty face of yours.

“Why do you torture me?” he said a little more whiny than anticipated. 

He was so cute with wet hair and his eyebrows meeting on his forehead. He flipped the camera to show you his swollen cock, hard, red and leaking. You bit you lip at the mouth watering sight.

“I just wanted you to remember me. That's all.” you started, your hand finding your folds once again. “Remind you I will always be your biggest fan”

“Fuck how could I forget about you? Are you insane?” he breathed out, his voice sounded strained, in pain almost. You could only imagine how worked up he was and this urgency in his tone compelled you to find a new angle to the video call. You balanced it on the covers and your wet pussy and the mess you made came into view again.

“Fuckkkk” Mingi sighed again, trying his hardest not to be too loud. San was next door and the last thing he wanted was for him to bring up his little intimate session with you tomorrow at breakfast. “You’ve made such a mess. I usually hate it but God I’d give everything to sleep in the wet spot tonight”. You saw him jerk himself off faster, his thumb spreading the precum all over his tip and dragging it down his shaft. Squeezing the head the bring out even more and repeat it again. 

“Please show me again” he didn’t intend to sound so desperate but it couldn’t be helped because he in fact was that desperate for you. “Please show me how you fuck yourself with the lightiny”

“O-okay” You brought it back and stuffed it inside your clenching little pussy with a sigh, your other hand spreading your lips apart, making sure Mingi had the first raw VIP view of the show. 

“Fuckkkk” he whined again. “You’re so fucking nasty for me, doll”

You chuckled, knowing your little scheme had worked. You knew right now he was only thinking of you. Completely pussy drunk even though he was thousands of miles away.

“I wish it was you inside me right now, Mingming”

“Fuck me too baby” he said strangling his cock tighter, more precum oozing out again. He was close judging by the way he kept on twitching in his own hand. The sight urged you to bounce harder on the handle of the lightstick, your pussy clenching around it, gliding so smoothly in and out of you while your other hand kept on abusing your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Baby I-I’m close” he said, a certain rasp about his voice that was only giving more weight to his words. His fist was frantically moving along his cock, now mainly focussing on his tip, making the poor thing absolutely miserable: all wet and beet red, close to bursting.

“M-me too” you said,  feeling the familiar knot in the pits of your stomach approaching its rupture point. The premise of your orgasm manifested itself in the form of an other small sprut of transparent liquid “Nggghh fuck-” you gasped. “I’m c-cumming again” you whined, rubbing your clit faster, in thighter circles. You ripped the handle out of you and one big squirt came out of your abused little pussy, joining the existing mess in Mingi’s sheets. 

“Oh fuck baby” Mingi couldn’t peel his eyes of the screen. “Fuck baby me- Fuck… Me too” He watched as your thighs became weak and as your pretty little pusy gushed out more and more fluids. You were the hottest thing he’s ever seen. And he couldn’t possibly take it anymore. He let himself go. He abruptly stop stroking himself just to let the first big rope of cum sprout out of his slit and crash over his stomach. You moaned louder at the sight. He kept on stroking again, milking more delicious cum out of his twitching red cock, completely repainting his stomach with thick and white cum, grunting as his hips involuntarily thrusted upwards until it all stopped.

When he had caught his breath he approached the phone to show his stomach and scooped some of his spillage between his fingers. 

“Look what you did to me? Just cause you got a little jealous of the fans?” he chuckled.

“I did that?” you said appalled, “No you did that! Stop making me jealous and it won't happen again” He flipped the camera again and you couldn't help but to smile mindlessly at the screen. He was a complete wreck, sharp eyes half lidded, bottom lip swollen and red from being bitten and strands of black hair sticking to his forehead. This haircut made him ridiculously hot. A mischievous smirk pulled at his full lips.

“Or…” he trailed off. “I don't this stop and you make me dirty sexy videos after every show”

“Yeah” you said, sarcasm tinting your voice. “Let's see you do that! We’ll see how it goes when you came back” you challenged him. Your smile sent shivers down Mingi’s spine. He loved you but you definitely could be scary sometimes.

“You know what, I changed my mind. I'll just behave and you can reward me when I get home.”

want more? try my fic facetime ♡

SYNOPSIS. mingi has a small favor to ask you real quick.

want to be udpated when i post? join the taglist here

ateez masterlist | navigation

[itsabouttimex2]

I have been going insane about the not beloved au.

The idea and sheer emotions of it just cling to me and haven’t left me for days and I blame you. Just the idea of [User] not only not being the beloved- but in a way being solely viewed that way- and in a sense being completely treated as such where it is very obvious- just- I love it.

The pure angst potential with the au is there and I -‘ screeching about it.

Y/N’s Not The Beloved?

(Monkiefam)

Exactly- Y/N is so heavily defined by being “not the beloved” that it kinda becomes their entire character.

Just like some people get jammed into slots they’re undeserving of by born traits or mere appearances, Y/N is out here getting pigeonholed into the “not our favorite” just because MK is the little monkey demon that their parents dreamed of having for so long.

And it doubly sucks ass, because Sun Wukong and Macaque are such good parents to MK that any criticism on your part will be questioned and “debunked” by well-meaning peers who probably just see you as “spoiled” or “jealous”.

Like, imagine this: your classmate, Y/N, is the adopted child of the fucking legendary hero, Monkey King. He’s married to; of all people, to the infamous Six-Eared Macaque. They have an adorable adopted son who is also a demon monkey.

And if what Y/N has to say about this whole family dynamic is “they spoil my brother too much/love him more than me/expect me to constantly look after him” and like…

From their perspective?

Bitch! You are privileged beyond compare and comprehension! You have two unimaginably powerful parents! They could crumble a civilization and raise a new from the smoldering ashes! They could impose themselves as gods and demand proper tribute! And instead they adopt a silly little mortal out of the goodness of their hearts, and you have the gall to “whine” about it not being enough?

Some of your classmates get beaten for bringing home bad grades? Some of them have dead parents? And a few were disowned for being queer! Others live in filth! Some have literally nothing! Why are you so damn “ungrateful”, Y/N?!

And then desperately trying to explain that yes, you are grateful for them and everything they’ve done, it’s not right for you to miss out on fundamental life experiences just because MK didn’t want you to go, or to nearly flunk a test because you couldn’t sleep on account of MK demanding your attention, or to lose friends that you were never allowed to hang out with because MK didn’t like them.

It’s especially bad in the situation that Y/N is particularly young, around say… under thirteen, or maybe semi-verbal, if they’re shy or anxious, and they haven’t learned how to properly communicate and express themselves in a conducive and effective manner, which leads to exchanges where what Y/N says is utterly ineffective at conveying what they mean, like:

“My parents love MK more than me.” (My parents unhealthily prioritize him even at a cost to myself.)

“Aww, sweetie! He’s just new to your house! You’ll get used to him!”

“I have to babysit MK so much that I don’t get to hang out with my friends.” (My budding social life is beginning to crumble under the weight of being a caretaker to my little brother.)

“You’re such a good older sibling! I bet your parents are really grateful to have a babysitter on hand!”

“MK wanted to go somewhere new yesterday, and he made our dads take me. I didn’t get to sleep.” (MK’s immediate happiness is becoming more important to both of our fathers than my physical health.)

“I bet you all had a lot of fun if you’re this tuckered out, huh? You’re lucky they took you!”

It gets to the point that Y/N, as they grow up, turns to the internet for validation and support in their life, probably to results that are equally split towards positive/negative.

“NTA- Clearly your fathers do not respect your health or feelings! Pack up and move out!”

“I can’t move out though? We live on a sacred mountain and I’ve never had a job because they make me babysit MK instead.”

“ESH cause y’all sound exhausting. I’d beat the fuck out of this “MK” TBH. What a brat.

“He’s nine though??? WTF dude?”

“Honestly all these NTAs and ESHs are so confusing clearly OP is a fucking ungrateful brat who’s gonna regret pushing their family away when they’re alone and have nobody. MASSIVE YTA kiddo.”

“I just want to stay home and sleep because I’m tired as hell from all the other family trips that I went on with my family? This is the first time I’m saying no?”

And slowly growing more and more ostracized and confused by everything in their nonconventional little family and how MK’s obsession with them is both fueled and enabled by Wukong and Macaque’s obsession with him, all slowly heading to a peak-

And when you snap, you are inevitably going to snap hard.

[haunted-planes]

Some train facts that may help for your living train oc:

(From a dude who is a train mechanic and casually drives subways and city trains for years.)

Trains eat a lot of sand, some prefer mixtures with oil and other minerals but no matter what train you choose for your oc, sand is a crucial substitute for a healthy and happy train.

Rails are lubed by trains. The more trains drive on the same track the smoother the ride. (Fun idea if you wanna follow a train’s traces.)

Trains, including electric trains require a variety of oil, lubes, fluids and other liquids to operate. (Fun ideas for food or cosmetics products for trains. Fr, some materials look so freaking delicious)

Sudden and fast movements are painful for trains and can bend trails. Trains are powerful but they need more time to build up speed.

Subway trains have a burning hatred for pigeons. The amount of dead pigeons in tunnels is INSANE, despite all efforts to stop them from entering tunnels, pigeons are very passionate about flying into their dead trap.

The newest generation of trains panic about little intervention. Very anxious and scream at lot (at the driver)

All trains have graffiti on them. If it’s not outside then it’s on the inside.

Street trains or bims are like chihuahuas in my eyes. They may be small but they are thought and ready to fight anyone.

Modern Trains have several cameras inside and outside, they can see all around their body or what their passengers are up to.

Some trains are whiny bitches and constantly need service while others never complain about anything for years. (There is a fucked up reason for that but that’s a deep rabbit hole I won’t go into the details)

You don’t want to meet train drivers, they’re insane.

You absolutely don’t want to meet subway drivers, they’re insane beyond measure.

Trains honk at everything that’s near their trails.

Trains are surprisingly quiet while moving on trails. They can take you by surprise. (They did many times) Please stay away from trails.

Stopping a train is difficult, it’s nothing like a car or truck, When they arrive into a station, trains hit their brakes way before they can see the station. That’s why trains can’t stop in time when there is an obstacle on the rails.

All trains have ONE head. Most modern trains rear and front end look exactly the same, both ends have cockpits with very similar controls but their main controls are located on the head. They look like that to confuse predators.

This is optional but it makes sense to me that trains are very sensitive about their rails, they treat them like it’s part of their body, especially the ones in their region and base. You can’t compare them like cars on the road, it’s a completely different dynamic for trains.

That’s all for now, I started writing this in July and collected ideas over the months from my personal experience with driving and fixing trains. I will probably do a part 2 since I still have a lot to learn. You should be able to look up everything on the internet.

Feel free to add your own ideas below.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Yandere Coworker (part 14)

Thank you @i---believe---in---pink for commissioning this chapter.

(2945 words)

tw: afab reader, infantilization, butchered Spanish,

Masterlists (+commission info), part 1, part 15

You're in Cyprus's car, munching on one of the many treats he bought you from the farmers market. It distracted you from how Cyprus would sensually knead your thigh as he drove.

The car is full of fresh vegetables and fruits that he bought, so he could make tastier meals for you and him. In his styrofoam cooler, rest slabs of butchered meat and numerous ice packs to keep them from spoiling, as the ride home is quite far.

He was talking about an anecdote, in an attempt to prompt you to open up to him. But his tactic has been failing for the past half hour, all you did was nod and eat.

Cyprus pursed his lips as he glanced at you from the corners of his eyes. You have exhausted his conversational topics and he has a whole arsenal of them. You're driving him insane! What does it take for you to talk to him about yourself? He failed to consider that you may not have a lot to say in the first place because he truly believed that you are complex and more than your internet addiction. He wants to know your thoughts, more about your likes and dislikes, your beliefs, family, friends... anything!

Then, he had an idea.

"We're not going home just yet."

You looked at him and asked what he meant by that. He merely smirked and stayed silent.

-

Cyprus didn't drive back to his apartment or yours like you expected. You knew it was close to his home, since you and he passed by this place to get there.

He pulled up to a dilapidated building, no doubt another apartment complex but older and dingier. The wall paint was chipping off, and windows were shrouded with overgrown trees and moss. Cars were haphazardly parked around the complex without regulation or visible parking lines.

He pulled on his handbrake and switched his engine off. You're still staring out the window, wondering where he took you.

"Baby." You turned around, to have him cup your cheek and gently pull your lower eyelid down with a thumb. You initially struggled against him but relaxed when you realized he meant no harm and wouldn't let go until he got what he wanted. Which was to examine your eyes.

He hummed, staring intensely at you. Making you blush at how attractive he appears to you now, you would be caught dead before admitting that to him. But you didn't have to, he knows what you're thinking and is fully aware of how he presents himself.

Cyprus checked the time on his wristwatch. He finally lets go of you and reaches for his center console, where he has tucked your medicated eyedrops away.

You complained, telling him that you could apply your own antibiotics. He merely clicked his tongue in annoyance and rolled his eyes as he uncapped the bottle. "Look up."

You didn't have to do anything, Cyprus was the one who tilted your head upwards while pulling a lower eyelid down. Sighing, you let him administer the drops in your eyes. It felt humiliating, yet secretly, you felt somewhat comforted to know someone was out there remembering these little details of you. If it wasn't for him, the thought of your medication would have completely slipped your mind.

You blinked hard, letting the liquid sting your eyes momentarily. You could hear the rustling of the pharmacy's paper bag as he kept your medicine away. He had also pulled a sheet out of his tissue box. "Stop that!" Cyprus hissed, pulling your hands away from your face as you instinctually went on to rub your eyes.

You grumbled, letting Cyprus coddle you; gently wiping the excess drops using the tissue and carefully picking the crust out from the corners of your eyes. You remained still for the entirety of this, allowing Cyprus to do whatever he pleases. Luckily, he's acting with the best intentions in mind.

"There, done." He crumpled the sheet of tissue and shoved it into his pocket to dispose of it later. Cyprus then kissed you on the forehead. "Good girl." Whispered praises and chuckling.

You didn't respond, but instead stormed out of his car and slammed the door shut behind you. Cyprus got out shortly after, he took out the styrofoam cooler from his trunk and a couple bags of fresh vegetables before locking his car using his key fob.

"Come on, let's meet tu suegra." He gestured for you to follow him to a dim stairwell, where the only source of lighting was the outdoors. Cyprus started ascending the steps with the bags in hand.

The cogs started turning in your head, you may or may not understand what he just said, but all hints are suggesting that you're now at his mother's place. You also noted how his American accent suddenly changed into a completely different one when saying those two words. However, looking back, he tends to roll his "R"s.

You tailed behind Cyprus, climbing the bare, concrete stairs with suspect hand railings. It's dusty and cobweb-ridden, but at least it's functional.

You and he eventually reached an open-air corridor, grateful for the sunlight shining the path for you.

"Here." He handed you a bag and knocked on the door. It seems like the plaque fell off, you could see the screw holes, but you have no idea what number unit this is. The other doors don't seem kind enough to give you hints either.

You held the bag of vegetables in your arms as you watched Cyprus knock again, trying to get the attention of whoever was residing behind it.

Silence blanketed over him as you were made to wait for any further developments. You opened your mouth to say something, but your ear perked up at the sound of the door unlatching and unlocking. An unpleasant creak of the hinges, and then a surprised gasp reached your ears.

"Mi-" The voice, aged and feminine, stopped midway. You peered over the bag to see a woman in her fifties, her grey roots are showing as it seems she hasn't refreshed her black dye in a while. Like Cyprus, she too, wore glasses and had the same beautiful set of grey eyes. Her eyebrows were thin, charmingly drawn on and her lips were in a deep shade of red, but they were pulled downwards into a frown as she eyed you cautiously. Even taking a few steps back into her room, hiding behind the door.

"Mamá, tranquila." There was a sense of urgency in his voice as if he was trying to prevent a catastrophe from happening. But immediately after, he purred at you. "Ella es muy dulce." He gave you a sweet peck on the crown of your head. Cyprus rested an arm around your waist and brought you closer to his side.

Upon seeing her son's calmness and hearing his assurance, you saw the tension on her shoulders leave. But she's not convinced enough to fully come out of her hiding place. She stared at you unblinkingly, observing what you might do next. At this point, you felt embarrassed, feeling like a filthy, feral stray under her intense gaze.

You gave her an awkward, crooked smile and wave. Unsure if she could understand you if you spoke English. You also had half a mind to act insane, scaring his mother off so she would disprove your forced relationship with him. You assumed that the bag that Cyprus gave you earlier was meant to be for his mother, so you presented it to her. Which made her look amused with her focus darting between her son and you.

"Say 'Buenos Tardes, señora.'" You felt his breath on your ear as he whispered.

You did just that, butchering the pronunciation a bit but it's not too bad. Just enough for his mother to understand and be impressed by. You wonder if her standards for her son's partners are as low as Cyprus's.

"Buenos Tardes, Buenos Tardes. ¿Es eso para mí?" She gestured towards the bag in your extended arms.

"Sí, mama. Es un regalo por tú, Mi vida quería dar una buena primera impresión." He spoke up for you, affectionately stroking your hair as she took the bag off your hands. "Ella no sabía qué regalarte. Entonces sugerí comprar algunas verduras."

"¿Mi vida?" She appeared astonished at the apparent pet name he used for you. "Eso es nuevo. Ella debe ser muy especial para ti."

He laughed and nodded. "Sí, claro." Cyprus put the cooler down and went on to hug his mother as a delayed greeting. It was brief, they let each other go and brought their attention back to you.

Feeling the peer pressure crushing your bones, you mirrored what they did and hesitantly went in for an awkward hug. But it seems like she has warmed up to the idea of you, her arms wrapped around you comfortably.

"Entre, por favor." She stepped aside and opened her door wider. You assume that she's telling you and Cyprus to come in. You were about to step foot into her residence, but your boyfriend grabbed you by the arm before you could get any further.

"Take your shoes off, baby." He instructed as he took his own shoes off. You look at his mother and see that she's barefoot, there is a shoe rack inside that holds a few pairs of shoes and you assume that is where you're meant to put yours. So, you removed your footwear like how Cyprus told you to and it earned a nod of approval from his mother.

He picked your shoes up for you and coaxed you inside. You were about to whine that you could have done that yourself, but it's probably not worth the trouble. The quicker you finish this, the quicker you can leave.

You took a look around at her humble abode. It's not as bad as the outside, quite homely with the oddly luxurious items making their appearance here and there. But it is to be expected, as you remember how Cyprus described his mother as someone who prioritized looking expensive over her children's welfare. You were eyeing the leather massage chair in front of the flatscreen TV, wishing that you owned one.

"Good girl." He praised, kissing you on the temple. Cyprus then went on to put the two pairs of shoes on the rack. His mother is in the process of unloading the styrofoam cooler, bringing the meats to the kitchenette nearby; putting them away in the fridge.

"¿Quieres algo de tomar? ¿Té? ¿Cafe?" She asked, directing her gaze mainly to you.

"Una taza de té por ella, Mama. Ella no podrá dormir esta noche si toma café ahora." He took off his leather jacket and hung it on a coat stand nearby. The woman cocked her eyebrows at how much her son cared for you, it's something new and refreshing. She nodded and prepared three mugs on the counter.

You wish that you could have a say in your choice of drinks.

"¿Y tú, Mijo?" She filled the electric kettle up with tap water.

"No hay necesidad. Compartiré una taza con ella." He ended the line of conversation and turned towards you, cupping the sides of your face in his large, warm hands.

"You're doing so well." He crooned, gently squeezing your cheeks affectionately. "My mom likes you..." Cyprus nuzzled his nose against yours, feeling the cold frame of his glasses brush against your skin. "You make me so fucking happy, princess."

You tried to push him away, telling him that his mother was right there.

"Okay, and?" Your eyes quickly dart in her direction, seeing that she's still busy preparing two cups of tea.

You said that it's embarrassing and probably disrespectful to his mother. No one wants to see their son getting all sappy with someone else!

"She's fine." He brushed you off and pulled you into a hug, swaying you side to side. You felt judged when his mother glanced at you and a smirk, a damn smirk so reminiscent of her son's, began curling at the corners of her lips. So you firmly pushed him away, that did the trick but it was as if you gave him a soft nudge.

She brought the two mugs to the dining table, Cyprus lead you to the chairs and sat down on one of it. However, before you could park yourself onto a chair, Cyprus pulled you into his lap and kept you imprisoned there. His arms tangling around your form tightly, making it impossible to escape his hold without making a scene. So you let out a resigned sigh and sunk into him.

"Cuidado, hace calor." Said his mother as she picked her own cup up, blew on it, and allowed the steam to waft around her face. She used the metal spoon to mix the milk and sugar in the beverage.

"Lo sé, mamá." He picked the other cup up and blew on it. You were wondering if she had forgotten to make you a cup, or if Cyprus told her not to for some reason. It's such a shame, you were looking forward to it-

"Say aah." You were presented with a spoonful of cooled tea. And immediately, your face turned red as a tomato. Really? This level of humiliation in front of his own mother? You opened your mouth to say something unsavory, but Cyprus took the chance to feed you the drink.

It was delicious, no doubt. Enough to shut you up and seek more, but the cup was occupied by Cyprus; he was taking a sip out of it and probably burning his tongue with how hot the tea was.

This whole performance earned some laughter from his mother. You tried your best to hide your face from her, but in the end, Cyprus handed you the entire cup to drink. It's at an appropriate temperature for you to drink.

"Que niña tan Consentido, ¿Te gusta mimarla, Mijo?" You heard clinks coming from her spoon hitting the ceramic walls of her cup as she stirred.

"Sí. Muchisimo." Cyprus watched you with adoration as you drank sipped on the beverage.

Eventually, the mother-son duo started chatting in Spanish. You don't know if they're talking about you, or just catching up. You think it's most likely the latter because you've been with Cyprus 24/7 for a few months now. He has not visited his mother once, this is the first time in a while, you assume.

You're not stupid, though. There was a good chunk of the conversation where it's just talking about you, based on the glances she would give you and the mention of your name, and what you assume are Spanish pet names.

Either way, you felt ashamed. You felt inferior and belittled. You wish you could just go home and hide under the covers. But your home isn't even your home anymore, it's Cyprus's.

You decided to look around once more and drink in your surroundings, noting the lack of picture frames or any indication that his mother has children or a husband. There is a distinct detergent smell, nothing like you've ever smelt before and it's lovely. Cyprus washes his clothes with something similar, but the aroma isn't identical.

Cyprus picked the cup up and took a sip for himself. His eyes were trained on your bored face.

"Doll." He caught your attention and his mother's. Cyprus brought a thumb to your lower eyelid and tenderly tugged it down to check on your pink eye.

His mother seemingly asked him about what he was doing, to which Cyprus explained to her your situation. He then brought his attention back to you.

"Do you want to head home?" He asked.

You were about to say yes, but his mother's innocently wide eyes stared at you with a tinge of sadness.

"My mom is really enjoying having you here." He explained what that look potentially meant. "But if you're tired, we're going home. We can visit her another time."

She's enjoying you here? She's barely talking to you! And that language barrier is not making it any easier. You think that his mother is sad that her son is leaving so soon.

You told him that you could head back home by yourself, you know the way back and he should spend more time with his mother while he still can. Cyprus narrowed his eyes at you. "No way in hell am I letting you go alone."

You said you're fine. It's just a few blocks away.

"We're leaving." He lifted you off his lap. "Gracias por el té, mamá." Cyprus rose up to his full height, towering over you and his mother.

"I have extra pillows and blankets if you want to take a nap." You whipped your head towards the woman at lightspeeds, she could speak English fluently all this time?!

You looked back at Cyprus, he was crossing his arms over his chest and waiting for your response. He isn't shocked, annoyed, or amazed at this sudden switch, he's simply indifferent.

You turned back to his mother and asked why she didn't speak English from the beginning.

"I'll tell you if you stay for dinner." She smiled, speaking in a moderately heavy accent. Now you know where Cyprus gets his blackmailing traits from.

You looked back at Cyprus. He merely shrugged.

"Your call, Mi cielo." You asked him what that term meant.

"I'll also tell you that if you stay for dinner." Beamed his mother.

Cyprus smirked and chuckled, but didn't say anything else.

[necronatural]

Context on Project Moon discourse

I did some digging and watched some internet slapfights between Korean users, and collected as much context as humanly possible, trying to avoid hearsay where I can:

Misogynistic dudes start complaining about how sexless and non-waifu-female-heavy the game is, feeling the skimpy Sinclair outfit with the thotty little collar VS the fully covered Ishmael outfit is pointed feminist jeering (a law Hawkeye Initiative). Korean anti-feminists are really sensitive to pointed feminist jeering. More on that in a bit

Upon learning the identity artist is male, they trawl the rest of the staff to prove their stupid-ass theory.

They latch onto the lead CG artist, who has tweeted about feminism before.

Project Moon receives countless threats and people marching on their office IRL demanding to speak to the CEO.

The resulting hate campaign leads to Project Moon firing the lead artist for violation of contract; it was specifically requested by the company that all users delete political statements and controversial topics before joining, and the tweets the incels are using seem to prove that the worst case scenario for not adhering to the request has come to pass.

The thing is, she did delete the tweets.

This user has screencapped incels scrambling to justify their belief the game is for man-haters, including a statement that he had dug up deleted tweets. These are old records.

These are the retweets, all made before joining the company (but again, the policy was that the tweets like this should be scrubbed). Most of them are just being catty. The most extreme statements are a scathing satire even a child could understand, and some general feminist sentiments which are not incendiary in any way. It seems they were screencapped to cement a pattern of passionate feelings on feminism.

In Korea, feminism is considered a wedge issue, which means basic activism becomes extremely politically charged. Think of it like how trans issues are being treated in America at the moment, or how "Critical Race Theory" was a wedge issue like 2 years ago. Nevertheless, the most hateful statements in these tweets are not "feminist", but rather annoyance at misogyny, and pretty obviously jokes.

The tweet that the incels are latching onto here states "if being a feminist makes me Megalia, I am Megalia. If being against patriarchy makes me anti-social, I am anti-social". Megalia was a scumbag leftist radfem group originating from Korea's 4chan (anonymous messageboards). It was bad enough that banning gay slurs created a splinter group. Megalia was well-known for mirroring misogynistic behaviours back onto men. They were reviled. An actress lost her job for wearing a T-shirt this group sold, even though the funds were going to supporting women seeking legal actions. Association with Megalia was reputation poison.

Notice I refer to them in the past tense, because Megalia shut down in 2017. The tweet was in 2018. You could not get any more obvious that the statement being made was "you can insult me by calling me Megalia, but I still believe in feminism". There is no association with this incendiary group.

Incels "supported" their argument with an image of Yi Sang holding a vial in basically one of the only 2 ways you can hold a vial, calling it a reference to 🤏, an emoji used as the Megalia logo interpreted to mean "men have small penises". This insane interpretation is being used to cement the whole company as misandrist.

Therefore: Project Moon fired their lead artist even though she didn't violate her contract because insane incels did a "how dare you say we piss on the poor" bad faith misinterpretation of deleted tweets in order to justify their belief that Project Moon is a man-hating company, and as a man-hating company deserves to be annihilated, leading to threats to staff.

The artist for Leviathan later stated that Project Moon pushed the comic forward with no buffer, and when the schedule became unbearable, they just cancelled it. They were told there was an issue with production (supported by the fact the company dropped the translation in favour of focusing on the game), but this news has made the artist pessimistic about the company's treatment of their art team. (Update: deleted, with a statement they feel they felt attached to their debut work, and struggle with feeling like they ran away.)

Here's the artist Vellmori's twitter if you would like to support them through this period.

[frownyalfred]

I know this probably doesn't help, but if I were ever such a terrible person that I was rating fics in public bookmarks on AO3 I'd give all of your fics a 10/10!

I don't even rate fics privately because it feels a little mean when this was just someone who loves something and has a hobby having fun, but if I did yours would be a 10/10 and honestly every other fic because they went through the effort of posting it where people can be mean to them on the Internet and that alone deserves a 10

People openly rating fanfic is insane behavior! Rec something if you like it but that should be where it stops, this is stuff people take time out of their day to write for the sake of writing and their enjoyment of the source material! It shouldn't be judged on a scale.

Exactly! Thank you so much. If you asked me anyone putting stuff out there and taking time to share it with us is a 10/10. Especially since lower ratings are so subjective — oh I don’t like that kink, or unhappy endings, so I rated it lower. What??

We need to start remembering that actual people are attached to those fics and treat them accordingly. Which is to say, we keep our criticisms to ourselves unless explicitly asked for them.

[martialartslover7]

Headcanon time: I feel like, during the Blank Period, we should have had the Daimyos as the new major antagonists, backed by Orochimaru and Kabuto, whom they had struck a deal with, as, ever since Naruto and the Shinobi Alliance managed to put an end to Madara's ambitions, and now that Orochimaru is back, now, they fear for their position, and to keep it that way, they "have no choice anymore, but to strike a deal with the enemy". Because we all know, Naruto is no longer uninformed. Most of what happened to him, along with the likes of Sasuke, Hinata, Neji and Gaara, only happened, because these withered, old fools, enjoy playing god, whenever it suits their convenience. Pretending they are above everyone else, even the Kage, yet doing little to nothing to ensure that the villages stay safe. And the worst part, they knew, they KNEW, that what a scumbag like Danzo was doing, was endangering everyone. So even if they weren't proactively supporting him, they still didn't ask questions, meaning, deep down, they really don't care what happens to their own villages, as long as they stay in power.

Kinda reminds me of real-life politicians. They have no principles, no integrity, they just make empty promises, and never act in the name of the people that voted for them, knowing full well, options are limited. Take that piece of knowledge for what you will.

And yes, I know, by this point in time, after the war, someone like Naruto and Sasuke would be way too strong, making these old farts appear like ants going up against dinosaurs, but here is the thing: This arc is less about raw aggression and fighting, and more based on psychological warfare. Naruto wants to become Hokage, right? Like, what is the driving force behind this story arc, the overarching goal? Simple: Naruto will not accept becoming Hokage in a system, that treated people like him, and Gaara, Kakashi, Might Guy (R.I.P.), Anko (don't @ me, she is buffed to hell in my AU, and has way more screen presence, she deserves it, even now making use of the Snake Sage mode, using Wood Style jutsu, and bearing the Kusanagi sword), Tsunade or Sasuke, like dog water. And this said system, is mostly backed by the Daimyos, the same people who never once thought to stop someone like Danzo from going on his insane ego power trip.

And we also know, Naruto is not type of person to be exactly interested in handling politics in a boring and straight-forward way. He will be leading this revolution, overthrowing the feudal rule, by hosting a "tournament" of sorts, a televised event, which, in their time period, will also livestream online (you cannot tell me, they didn't have internet of some kind there, even though, limited, because of the villages being practically militarized dictatorships, because of the Daimyos), to pit specific shinobi against one another, hoping to both entertain the crowd, to get them on his side (this is also a pro-Naruto political campaign, making the acceptance for his role as Hokage way easier in the long run), and publically humiliate the Daimyos by basically showing off to them: Hey. These people. These proud shinobi. They have made it so far, despite all your restrictions and the scrutiny you put them all through. And they made it big, despite you guys laughing in their faces.

But also, this trip to the Daimyos, will be financed by all the Five Kage, meaning, they can all indulge in some luxurious hotel stays, hot springs, good food, in short, their credit cards will be on fire. And Naruto, Sasuke and Shikamaru get to spend some time alone with their ladies, to some champagne and warm bubble baths, with room service (*Ahem* insert 'Careless Whisper' by George Michael *Ahem*).

C'mon. After all the crap they went through, they deserve some peace and quiet, and if they were going to change the system, they might as well make the most of it, if it's all financed by the village leaders.

And note, the following people will be following Naruto on this journey:

Kakashi

Anko (by this point in time, she and Kakashi are married, and she plays the role of Kakashi's advisor, too)

Sakura

Sasuke (he will be joining up with them in the city)

Rock Lee

Tenten (in my AU, remember, like I have shown in my "Tenten's Untold Backstory" one shot, she is a techwiz in that version of the story, meaning, having a technician with you, and a weapon master, all at the same time, invalueable, and well, I love the idea of Naruto and Tenten being the braindead besties, don't @ me)

Hinata

Shikamaru

Gaara

Temari

Kankuro

Ai

Killer Bee

Kurotsuchi (she came by herself, because she is growing a little exhausted with her grandpa, sorry XD)

Mei

Chojuro

Karin (Naruto and Karin will FINALLY meet and get the chance in learning more about one another, two Uzumaki foxes, flocking their tail as one, yay)

Suigetsu

Jugo

And the battles that Naruto has organized for the PPV, are the following:

- Naruto VS Ai (The Orange Flash VS The Raikage)

- Hinata VS Sasuke (Bankakyo VS Mangekyo)

- Rock Lee VS Gaara (Rematch)

- Tenten VS Killer Bee (Weapon Master Duel)

- Temari VS Chojuro (Fan VS Sword)

- Shikamaru VS Kankuro (Protective Brother VS Sister's BF)

- Sakura VS Kurotsuchi (The ladies, whose punches feel like dynamite)

As you can see, as Movie Shadow would say:

But well, again, because of the Daimyos striking a deal with Orochimaru, things will not go as planned, and pure chaos will break out. Essentially, that snake man will suggest to them, a machine, built from the stolen blue prints that Tenten created (yup, she will be that vital in the story, she is the only one who can stop this machine), that shall spread madness all across the globe, until the entire planet is enveloped in a mist, so deep, humanity will be wiped out completely, succumbing to the madness from within. Following up on the trauma and scars that Madara and Obito have left behind. It's not exactly clear, that part, I still need to flesh out in my mind, but the fact remains, it's meant to be this one final hurdle of a story, until Naruto returns home, and can finally start applying for the ranks of Chunin, Jonin, and at last, the Hokage position, in peace. Giving Anko and Ibiki full clearance to do whatever they want with the arrested Daimyos, for having struck a deal with an S-rank criminal.

And just this once...

...Naruto will be landing in a very miserable situation, where this madness machine affects him the most, out of everyone, even worse than Sasuke, as Kabuto will be pulling a very nasty trick on him. Yup, Naruto is definitely colder in this story, rightfully so, for many reasons. Usually, that's Sasuke's job, but they switch places here, as soon as Orochimaru starts causing trouble.

Peace.

P.S.: Also, for the shipping freaks among all of you, during this entire trip, Mei is flirting with Shino through her phone. Yup. Shino X Mei. Thank the YouTuber @NCHammer23 for giving me this downright MENTAL, but ingenious idea. Shino is a "granny chaser" in my AU. Don't @ me. For context, here is the video, where he explains it all, and trust me, very rarely, do YouTubers win me over, but this one, made me both laugh, but also smile at the end. Shino also deserves some love.

And again, Neji is alive in my AU, so Tenten will be very lovestruck and make a lot of phone calls with him, who decided to stay back at the village, along with the others from the Konoha 12, just in case the Daimyos decide to stab them in the back and attack the villages, while the leaders are out of town.

Note: The part between Shino and Mei starts at about 17:39.

[the-s1lly-corner]

I have a cool idea for you if you're interested. Can I request how reader would deal with people finding out they're in the company of Slenderman? Like. Someone has managed to take photos of the two of them together and now the reader has to explain and dodge questions.

The Reader after getting caught w/ Slenderman

Long ass title hissssss

I need to wash the dishes but I'm so... blugh

Notes: reader is GN, post mainly focuses on the reader

CWs: mentions of canon typical violence but it's like "proposed but not acted upon"

easily the best excuse you can come up with is saying that its edited or even AI- I mean that's such a weird image, whats the point in showing you this? clearly its not real!

internally though youre a little impressed that the person even managed to snap a picture, given slendermans ability to tamper with cameras... its also... very weird seeing how he looks compared to you

was he really that tall compared to you? insane

thankfully many may side with you with the claim that the image is fake

on the chance that there are those who arent as easily convinced, they begin to pry- since when did you start wandering in the woods, anyway? even worse if that wasnt a normal behavior from you before

youre stuck in a hard position.. if slenderman decides to kill them to keep things under wraps it'll just draw attention... after all what would be the chances of these people dying after accusing you of hanging around an urban legend?

slenderman is actually... pretty normal about the situation- hes had his picture taken before from someone whos managed to escape him, so this isnt anything new

the internet will spread it around, but most will believe its another work of fiction

the internet popularity of slendermam works in your favor... oh? is this fanart? a new ARG? oooo a little treat for those who're fans of horror but dont realize the picture is real

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls-Episode 3x9, Deep Fried Korean Thanksgiving, Part II

LOOK OUT BEHIND YOU! NINJA MARIANO ATTACK! The Pea Soup Vomit coat makes its triumphant return (and possibly its last appearance?) In the spirit of Thanksgiving, perhaps he will return it to the Savlation Army reject dumpster from whence it came, to beclothe another down on his luck Victorian orphan.

It's never too early for some good old fashioned public macking.

Rory Gilmore, World Class Public Macking Self Saboteur: But but but...what about Dean?! If anyone wonders why I often go weeks without updating these things (and I'm sure this is something that keeps you all awake at night)... I've been stuck writing this piece for over two weeks because I plum ran out of new and novel ways to complain about this idiot in the red coat's continued preoccupation with Dean. Like, how many times can I say I want to smack her over the head with a rolled up newspaper like a disobedient dog? You're killing me here girl.

Rory, you're a dumbass. And also you're frigid. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, you should put out and let Jess stuff you. One of your legs is Thanskgiving and the other leg is Christmas and you should let him spend time between the holidays. I know having to look at the pea-soup-vomit coat is probably putting a damper on your libido, but you can take it off of him, I promise he won't mind. He's quite touch starved, that boy.

You wish, pal. Seeing as there's no high speed internet, premium cable porn, or dirty magazines to be found anywhere in Stars Hollow, a little street show might provide some tittilation to the sexually constipated residents of The Hollow. R: Yeah, you know, in the the street...with people watching... J: Go on...

Wow, this screen shot is a real beaut. Look at this gorgeous curly man. Someone should give me a gold medal in pressing the little button on the browser extension that takes screen shots for me, an award that is both real and possible to achieve. Shout out to GoFullPage. Why is his collar popped up so damn high? Is he trying to protect his neck from vampires?

R: We shouldn't flaunt it. J: But I want to flaunt it. R: It doesn't feel right. J: He's a big boy, Rory. It's not the first time a couple has broken up. R:It is for us. J: This is insane. Edit: Thank you @ernestonlysayslovelythings for reminding me that Rory is claiming she doesn't know how to manage her first breakup when Dean The Clod had actually dumped her twice by this point. She should maybe go and eat two beach pails of Ben and Jerry's ice cream over it again if the wound is still that raw.

WHAT doesn't feel right, Rory? Kissing your own boyfriend? Not that I'm unhappy you kinda sabotaged your relationship with Dean in order to get with Jess, but you did kinda sabotage your relationship with Dean to get with Jess. Now that you have him you're treating him like a collectible beanie baby, puttng him under glass and refusing to remove his little tag. Take him out. Play with him. Rough him up a little. Bring him to show and tell. Put him through the wash. For goodness sake.

Narrator: And they would never experience a single moment of comfort together ever.

By the time Millennials like me and Jess and Rory here are old enough to qualify for social security, there will be nothing left. So, yeah, never.

Me, outloud: Girl you are demented. Oh Rory, I don't know what you're so worked up about. I mean, what's Dean gonna do if he sees his ex girlfriend kissing someone else? Stalk her new boyfriend in an alleyway late at night and call him The Glad Man? Pshaw.

Narrator: Things did not get better over time. In fact, they got much, much worse.

ARRRRGH.

[box-dwelling]

I did enjoy the hell out of ratfish even if I did feel like Rekha got short changed, I get why they made the choice to give it to Katie. Like they did say the ratfish got to give an advantage to the best artist (but I also thought that was Rekha. My girl went above and beyond. I loved your little tables queen) Other people have given better ways they could have handled it but I do get it.

I honestly think the issue was getting a celebrity guest to be the ratfish and have it be someone who it's seems like most of the fan base didn't know? I didn't but I'm not American so a lot of American comedians I just don't know so I just thought it was a cultural thing.

But this seems to be a very common experience? I looked the guy up and I've never seen his work but I have seen other comedians reference it. He's apparently the Eric half of Tim and Eric.

It kinda feels like they got in a guy they all knew and respected but didn't realise that, well their audience are younger and most of the comedians we love often come from their circles. People they do just get on their shows anyway. Like they could get on Pro zd or Brian David Gilbert and WE'D go insane but to them that's just, their normal colleagues who can and have done cameos (I mean Brian is literally working for dropout now) but don't feel like they deserve that much significance.

Dropout is a small indie company in the grand scheme of Hollywood and think of themselves as such but I think the reality is that to us, they're already the big stars.

For their target demo, the internet celebrities that are treated like small fish in Hollywood are the big catches. We actually don't know the big fish that are down to earth enough to be willing to chill with the small company. Industry politics and costs mean they aren't going to anyone big enough to feel bigger than the cast who are already big celebrities to the niche of their fans base. And given it's kinda by definition a niche streaming platform, it's not really going to bring anyone else in who would know the people they can get.

It's a decision I do absolutely understand but there's a weird wrinkle to it too that I can see why they overlooked.

Anyway what they should do is make it a social party game online. There'd need to be a few tweaks but honestly it would be pretty easy to implement. Make it free to play, put on a few ads, to cover costs or just have it be a loss leader to get people into the site. If anyone asks in the notes or my anons I will literally make a plan for how I'd implement it because the entire show I was thinking about it

[sweetprfct]

Midnight Rain

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: The glitz and glamour of Hollywood isn't always what it seems. When Joe had started working with you in a movie, he had started wondering as to why you, the famous Hollywood starlet, has been acting out lately. Was there some dark secret behind all the angry spoiled façade? And why was he so fascinated about it?

Author's Note: Okay, I decided that this series will only have 5 parts but who knows, I might come back with a volume 2 since I really like this one.

Disclaimer: 18+

Wordcount: 3.3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Did he go mad? Probably. 

Was he slowly going insane? Maybe. 

After a long day of doing press interviews, Joe had found himself in his hotel room late afternoon. He had been sitting at his small dining table, his eyes staring into the laptop screen and googling just about anything he could find about you. After your little panic attack this morning, Joe couldn’t help but be more interested in you. 

The real you. 

He wanted to know what was going on, and there must be a reason why you were acting like this. He couldn’t help but look back at the way your team ignored you this morning when you were clearly having a panic attack. Why would they just leave you like that? Why would they just not care? Sure, Joe understood they were all probably frustrated with you because of the attitude that you would give them, but it was a panic attack. 

If someone was that bad or cruel to him, Joe would still help them. He couldn’t let anyone just suffer like that. He knew how it felt like to be in that situation, and he never wanted anyone to feel that way even if they were rude to him. It was a medical situation. Something worse could have happened to you if he didn't help you. So now, here he was chronically googling you all afternoon and night trying to figure out what happened. Trying to figure out who you really were and what made you act like this. 

Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t find those answers through Google. The only articles he could find were a bunch of different websites with the same headline, which was how you went crazy for the last two years. Articles about how you disappeared for months, and no one was able to locate you at all. Articles about how bad your attitude was on set that crew members and Directors refused to work with you anymore. Joe couldn’t understand because he never saw you act that way on set. Maybe to your manager, and maybe the fact that you were always late but not once had he seen you treat a crew member badly. It was weird…

All of these articles were all negative. 

He couldn’t find one positive thing about you on the internet. If there was ever one, he was sure it was all covered by all these horrible articles that they kept writing about. 

Then, he had gone to Youtube to watch more interviews of you and found the older, happier ones. He couldn’t help but smile and laugh towards your jokes all the time. You seemed so bubbly and a very loud, outgoing woman in a good way. He enjoyed every interview of yours when you were still happier. You were always very interactive, and he kept thinking how your laugh was always so contagious. The joke might not always be that funny, but your laugh always made it funnier, and Joe loved every second of it. Now, all he saw was this woman who could barely get through a thirty minute interview without taking ten breaks. A woman who could barely laugh or smile. In fact, as he thought about it, Joe had never seen you smile or laugh at all. You were always so stiff and serious. When you laugh or smile, it was always fake. 

Forced. 

It was never real like the way you would before. Leaning back against his chair, Joe exhaled a sharp breath and ran his fingers down his face. He couldn’t stop questioning himself as to why he was doing this in the first place. You weren’t even his friend. Just like Alex said, you have your own team to deal with whatever you were going through but after today, it seemed like they didn’t care as much about you. Maybe that was why he was so interested. He wanted to help you, and he saw the real you earlier after your panic attack. Even if it was just for a second, he saw it. He knew you were still in there behind that façade. 

With the way Google hasn’t given him any answers at all, he knew asking you would be the only way, but how? You didn’t even talk to him. You could barely acknowledge him at all. His mind replayed what happened this morning again and the look in your eyes before you walked away. You seemed such an amazing woman, but he couldn’t seem to see all of it because you kept it hidden away.

But why? 

Feeling the frustration coming up in his emotions, he sighed and closed his laptop. He looked at the time and realized it was getting late, and he hadn't even eaten dinner yet. When did the time go by so fast? Stretching his arms out, Joe grabbed his coat and walked out of his hotel suite. After staring at the laptop screen for so long, he could feel his eyes sting, and his vision adjusting from the lights. He needed some fresh air after all of that, and he definitely needed some dinner. 

He didn’t even realize that he was hungry until he stepped out of the hotel building and walked down the streets of Paris. The night air was crisp, and he could see the stars sparkled above him as he gazed up at the sky and enjoyed the new environment he was in at the moment. Maybe clearing his mind and eating something could help him right now. He kept wondering all day if you were okay after you left the studio. He kept wondering if you really didn’t feel well because of your panic attack or because you just didn’t want to do any of the interviews. Either way, Joe kept thinking about you. 

As he continued down the street, he cursed the Universe for reading his mind too well because the moment he passed by one of the restaurants, he froze in his tracks when he saw you through the window. You were eating alone, and he could see the melancholy in your eyes. For a moment, he looked like a creep just standing there and watching you eat until you gazed up and saw him staring at you through the window. Joe saw your brows raised at him as he felt reluctant to do or react to anything. His feet were glued to the ground, and he told himself to do something before he could look even more creepier in front of you. 

Finally letting his feet lead him, he walked inside the restaurant and walked towards your table with a small shy smile tugging on his lips.

“Hi.” Joe murmured. 

You leaned back against your chair, your eyes studying him. 

“Joe.”

His name slipping from your lips sent an unfamiliar good feeling down his spine. He couldn’t explain it, but he loved the sound of his name from your lips. He still couldn’t believe that you knew his name all this time and still kept calling him John. 

What was up with that? 

“Are you stalking me?” You asked, snapping Joe out from his thoughts. 

His eyes widened, cheeks flushed as you watched him all of a sudden got all flustered in front of you. You couldn’t help but hold in your smile. He looked adorable all flustered like that. 

“What?” His voice was defensive. “No, no.”

“I know.” You said, your voice in a serious tone. “I’m kidding.”

“Oh.” Joe’s tensed shoulders dropped.

Your eyes studied him for a moment, thinking he looked captivating under the dim light of the restaurant. He was just awkwardly standing there, and you didn’t know if he wanted to talk or he just wanted to say hi. The awkward silence was killing you, and you hated it. 

“So, are you just going to stand there?” You asked, shifting your eyes at the empty chair across from you. 

“Oh. I—” Joe stuttered as he gazed down at the empty chair in front of him. 

Of course, you expected this. 

There was no way he would like to have dinner with you, especially after what you have been treating him. When were you ever nice to him? When did you ever acknowledge him? And you expected him to just sit here and join you? 

Pathetic and embarrassing. 

“I’m sorry,” A small chuckle escaped from you, shaking your head. “You must have other plans.”

Joe’s chocolate button eyes widened as he shook his head and pulled up the empty chair to sit on. 

“No,” He said. “No, I don’t.”

A rush of warm feeling spread through your body as he sat across from you. You didn’t expect him to actually stay but the fact that he decided to, it sort of made you feel elated on the inside. You watched as the server came by and handed him a menu, and it didn’t take a minute for him to pick what he wanted. He was really nice and a gentleman to the server, and you have never seen someone like that, especially in this industry. He seemed more genuine and real. 

“Are you okay?” Joe asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

You nodded your head, looking down at your food. “Yeah, thanks for earlier even if it was sort of… embarrassing.”

Joe chuckled softly, “It’s not embarrassing. I’ve been in that situation.” He pouted his lips, his lashes fluttering as he shook his head. “Not fun.”

You bit your lower lip, holding in your smile. What was it about him that you found so winsome? You couldn’t put your finger on it, but he was a very interesting person to talk to besides the fact that he was sweet and a gentleman. He seemed honest. You never noticed it before when you were working with him on set. Maybe because you were always too busy and stuck in your own head, but was he always like this? Did he treat other people like this too? 

Your thoughts started spiraling again as he continued to talk about how he also felt anxious in these kinds of events. His voice, however, was starting to sound distorted because of the fact that you couldn’t seem to put your finger towards the idea as to why he was being nice? No one was ever this nice to you, especially these last couple of years. 

So, why was he?

“I actually play with this ring.” He showed the ring that was in his middle finger. “Sometimes it helps me when I feel anxious on stage or in interviews. Maybe there’s something that could help you—”

“Why are you being nice to me?” You asked, cutting his sentence off.

Joe stared at you for a moment, a bit startled from the question you just asked him. He tilted his head and knitted his brows, his eyes blinking. 

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“Why… Why did you help me?” 

Joe smiled softly, his eyes glinting at you. “I think I would help anyone who’s having a panic attack.”

You nodded your head in understanding. Of course, he would. Did you really have the audacity to think that you were someone special? Eating your dinner, you didn’t utter another word. Your mind continued to spiral out, thinking of other reasons as to why he was sitting here in front of you right now. Why did he join you for dinner in the first place? You knitted your brows together, drinking your wine. 

“Is this some kind of PR that I don’t know about?” You asked, this time your voice sounded frustrated. “Is there something my team isn’t letting me know?”

Joe looked at you confused, wondering as to why you kept asking him these questions. 

“No, I just… I just wanted to help.” Joe replied.

You set your wine glass down on the table, scoffing. “You could tell me, you know? I don’t care if you sign a NDA or something. I won’t tell anyone. I just want to know what I’m getting into.”

“There’s no NDA or PR.” Joe explained. “You were having a panic attack. I wanted to help. That was all.”

For some reason, you couldn’t seem to believe his words. Although at the same time, you could tell he was telling the truth but who knows these days? Some people around you always acted like they care, but they would end up backstabbing you. So, how sure were you that Joe wasn’t doing the same thing? How sure were you that he was telling you the truth? You exhaled a sharp breath, grabbed your glass of wine and drank it again. 

Joe’s eyes studied your reaction, and he could tell that you felt sort of uncomfortable and frustrated. 

“Do people around you usually don’t help you with that?” Joe asked.

You shrugged, “Couldn’t blame them.”

You took another sip of your wine as Joe said, “Then, you surround yourself with some pretty shitty people.”

You couldn’t help but snort the wine that you were drinking, laughing softly. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand as you laughed and shook your head. Joe grinned widely the moment he heard you laugh.

There it was.

He couldn’t believe that he was hearing this right now. You were actually laughing. Smiling with teeth and everything. Joe sat there and just watched you laugh. It was like the façade that you have built just shattered and the real you had unraveled without you realizing it. 

You were beautiful.

Stunning, actually. Joe couldn’t help but think. 

Your eyes sparkled as Joe laughed with you. Your eyes twinkled in happiness, and your laugh was infectious just like the way Joe remembered when watching your old interviews. He didn’t think his comment could make you unravel in front of him like this, but he was glad that he was able to. He was glad to see you like this. 

Your laughter slowly died down, shaking your head at his comment. “I guess you got a point.” 

You would never say it out loud, but you agreed with what Joe had just said. You did surround yourself with shitty people, and you couldn’t help but laugh at it because what the fuck was wrong with you? It was a shitty thing, but you couldn’t help but find humor in it. 

Maybe you were slowly losing your mind at this point. 

“Do they… Do they not care?” Joe asked after the both of you had calmed down. 

You shrugged your shoulders again, “I don’t know. They said they do, but it feels fake… Like the friends I thought I had.”

Joe remembered reading an article about that earlier. Something about how you had a close knit of friends for a while, and everyone always loved the friendship that you all had until it slowly shattered the last couple of years. Most of the girls in the group blamed you for the split up because you were apparently always having drama, and they didn’t want to deal with that anymore. 

Joe couldn’t help but wonder if that was true or just a rumor.

“Like I said, I couldn’t blame them.” You added, letting out a soft sigh.

Using your fork, you gently played with the food in front of you. Joe saw how you suddenly looked crestfallen in front of him when the subject came up. He could see the melancholy washing over you again, the sparkle in your eyes dimming again.

“I could be your friend.” Joe suggested, a small soft smile tugging on his lips. 

You gazed up at him, dumbfounded at the suggestion he gave to you. “Why?”

“Why not?” Joe shrugged. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You argued, drinking your wine again.

“I wanna be your friend. A real friend. Not someone who takes advantage of you or someone who would leave you when things get rough.” 

“You have no idea what you’re getting into, you know that?” You scoffed, shaking your head.

Why was he doing this? Why was he wasting his time on you? 

You didn’t get it.

Everyone was done with you. Everyone didn’t want to make any more effort with you, so why was he wasting his energy on someone like you? Joe would just end up being disappointed.

“Well, that’s what friends are for, right? Be there for you through rough times and guide you and accept you.” Joe pressed the subject even more.

Your lips parted in disbelief, while your heart was beating a thousand miles per second the moment you heard those words escaped from Joe’s lips. 

Maybe you were wrong.

Maybe he really was genuine. Maybe he really just wanted to be your friend, and you were just having trust issues because of the experience you had before. You couldn’t trust him fully yet but there was no harm in giving him a chance, right? 

“Thank you.” You murmured, your voice was almost a whisper. 

A small genuine smile tugged on your lips and for a moment, Joe saw the real you again. The smile was tiny, but he could tell that this time, it was real and sincere. He saw it in your eyes, and he could feel the energy that was radiating out of you. 

Walking back to the hotel later that night, Joe had lost count on how many times you had smiled at his little jokes. He had lost count on how many times you laughed softly at them and shook your head at it. The rush of that good warm feeling in his stomach had washed over his body every time he listened to you laugh. Joe wondered if you ever had a good laugh in a long time. If not, he was glad that he was able to make you. 

“Well, thanks for tonight.” You said the moment you both entered the hotel lobby. 

Joe nodded his head, “Hey.”

His fingers softly grazing over your arm, reluctant to touch you. Your eyes shifted towards his fingers, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s okay.” You murmured. “Forget what I said last night.”

Joe smiled, taking your hand in his. “I meant what I said earlier.”

You hitched a breath, squeezing his hand softly and another small smile tugged on your lips.

“Thank you.” You slipped your hand away from his. “Goodnight, Joe.”

“Goodnight.” 

Entering your room later that night, you could still feel your heart beating hard in your chest. You leaned against the door as soon as you entered your suite. The words that Joe told you at dinner kept repeating in your head, and you couldn’t help but smile. You exhaled a sharp breath and headed to freshen yourself up and get ready for bed. 

This morning didn’t really start off well but at least, you had a good time at dinner with Joe. For the first time, you felt something inside of you again. For the first time, you had a conversation with someone that seemed sincere. Sliding yourself under your covers that night, you grabbed your phone on the bedside table and scrolled through social media. 

The moment you opened the app, you saw your name trending. Your heart raced as soon as you clicked on it and saw an article that was posted about you. A headline about you sleeping with the Director of this movie was in big letters and suddenly, you felt your heart drop in your stomach again. Reading the article, you felt tears welled up in your eyes. The article wrote that the only reason you had received the role was because you slept with the Director and the reason as to why there was a sequel was because you continued to sleep with him. 

Your hands trembled as you exited the article, your phone slipping from your hands. You couldn’t believe someone would write something about that. In fact, you couldn’t believe that someone would think you would do something like that. You were always honest with your job, but no one seemed to believe that. Clamping your hand over your mouth, you let out a sob as tears streamed down your face. 

You just wanted this feeling of torture and pain to be over.

You just wanted everything to be over. 

*********

Taglist:

@palomahasenteredthechat @sunvick @eddies-acousticguitar @demonsanddemogorgons @joesquinns @mmunson86 @ghostinthebackofyourhead @corrodedcoffincumslut @figmentofquinn @tlclick73 @browneyes8288 @munsonluvrr @ali-r3n @ficsbypix @capricornrisingsstuff @missonlypost @ali-in-w0nderland @amberolivia666 @lalalala-melmosworld @niallersfreckles @nanas-lasagna @emma77645 @indulgence-be-thy-name @readergf @ladamari68 @1paire2vans @d4rk4ng3l86 @paleidiot @josephquinnsfreckles @readergf

[thearchercore]

Question, why does charles get so much hate? I've literally seen people rate 55 higher than him and say it's because 55 performs better and I'm like??? And it's depressing how it seems like no one is rooting for him. I genuinely thought Charles was one of the more popular ones so what's all this about? Sorry for the depressing ask but I had to know, I've been out of online f1 fandoms for a good long while (since 2022) and I swear people had more faith in him back then.

depends on the corners of the internet you're in. some fans of other drivers subconsciously perceive him as a threat and dont like him for that. then you have internal fights (carlos fans, for example) which are their own little niche.

then you have people who blame ferrari not having the best car/strategies on his driving.

plus he's not british so f1, which is at the end of the day sport with insane british bias, so he will always be treated differently than let's say, lando

[tanadrin]

AI and copyright comment:

Look, I absolutely get the argument that there might not be a strict delineation we can make between the human brain experiencing a work of art and using that as inspiration, and a machine intelligence doing linear algebra on a piece of art and experiencing it as inspiration. I am very much of the opinion that what the human brain is doing is linear algebra (albeit with a number of algorithms we have not cracked yet) and that should we be able to replicate that on a machine, it would not be less possessed of creative thought than we are.

But my response to that is simple.

If the nature of input and output of a genuine artificial intelligence is indistinguishable from what the human brain is doing, then it should in fact be indistinguishable from what the human brain is doing under the law. That is, the artificial intelligence should be the person who has legal rights to the for profit use of their work.

If it is intelligent enough and possessed of enough agency to make its own decisions as a sovereign entity, it *and not the people who taught it* has the right to treat what it creates as a function of inspiration comma and not as a transformative action not permitted by intellectual property holders (and not meeting the for profit fair use exemption criterias).

Given that we are definitely not even a little bit close to that, I think we can treat this flavor of linear algebra as more similar to the existing body of linear algebra artistic transformations out there which are very much not protected for-profit fair use transformation under law. And that there is no circumstance under which the creators of a genuinely intelligent creative process should be given rights to the fruit of its intellectual labor rather than the genuinely intelligent creative entity itself.

Right now you are proposing that it should not even be legal for a human being to do by computer something I am pretty sure one would be permitted to do by hand; see my artwork example, in another post.

We don't even have a philosophically coherent definition of a sovereign entity; trying to enshrine such a distinction in law--nevermind one that didn't instantly create full human rights for everything with a nervous system--would be an incredible undertaking.

From where I'm sitting you are making wild demands of law that even the most arcane and ambitious fields of philosophy and cognitive science cannot meet, and somehow envisioning a consistent and fairly administered system will result. I think that's insane. I think the underlying philosophical framework you're operating on is incoherent and bad, but as a matter of actual policy what you want to do is impossible. As I said in another post, I'd be curious to see a proposed statute that would ban scraping the public internet to train MMLs and not create substantial adverse effects in terms of restrictive copyright laws in other domains, because I've never seen such a proposal. If you want to make even a token argument that what you're proposing is possible, point me at an example.

[perfinn]

let neptune strike ye dead

merman!din djarin x lighthouse keeper!reader

wc: 2.8k

summary: you've spent the last year in near total isolation on an island, tending to a lighthouse and slowly losing your mind. something begins leaving you gifts.

cw: nsfw, no pronouns used but reader is afab and will later be established as a woman, masturbation (not particularly explicit), paranoia, isolation, general decent into insanity, lighthouse keeping inaccuracies (i did zero research)

read on ao3, banner by cafekitsune

The stairs inside the lighthouse have no rails. They're cut from stone, winding up into the heavens as a tower of brick, beaten by decades of crashing waves and brutal storms. Unmoving, unforgiving. And you, godforsaken you, are forced to climb those winding stairs each day and night. Tending to a light that never goes out, once clinging to the stone bricks now confident in your wretched climb. You will not fall, you know, and if you do then there is little more can be done for you. You need only hope that if you do, you'll fall from the lowest steps.

Would they relieve you of your duties if you broke a bone? You doubt it. They couldn't hope to get another keeper in time, this job is as wretched and undesirable as the tower is ancient. You had been tricked into it, you came to realise after a torturous fortnight of lighting that lamp, of clinging to those cold walls along the stairway. Still, your contract was immovable. Two years tending to the lighthouse. Two years of near complete isolation. Two years to lose your mind on a tiny island with only a ship's captain to talk to twice a month.

It's not all bad, the isolation. There's nothing to waste your hard earned wages on, like sweet treats from a bakery. The food you need is delivered by that captain, a sweetener to the deal you'd signed a horrifically long twelve months ago. The wages are generous, too. Without the trappings of rent and bills and little expenses that seem more and more ridiculous the longer you rely on yourself on this island, you're saving thousands of dollars.

Your sanity seems a low price to pay for what will be plenty of financial comfort when you finally return to civilisation.

(Though the longer you spend away from it, the harder it becomes to believe you'll ever be fit for society again. You begin to wonder if you may die on this island.)

There is another hidden benefit to the isolation, you’ve found, that comes in the form of being able to make as much noise as you like. You can scream at the very top of your lungs if you like, and no one will be around to complain.

When your myriad of work is finished for the day, you retire to your measly lodgings. You can't do much to personalise it. You didn't bring any decorations with you, and you can't exactly pop out to get yourself some nice succulents to warm the place up. Succulents would probably die out here anyway. So, with little other choice in the matter, the room is impersonal. Your activities in the room are not.

There isn't a lot to do in order to fill your idle time. You tried cooking– it didn't stick. You tried knitting– the captain didn't bring enough yarn to tide you over until his next visit. The only hobby – which is no true hobby at all, really – that you’ve kept up, is masturbation.

On the mainland, you had toys. Vibrators, dildos, whatever else you desired. You didn't bring them with you, assuming you wouldn't need them.

(Which, for a time, was the case. In the beginning you’d end the day so exhausted that you fell right into your cot and passed out. As your body adjusted to the workload, this became less and less common. You were growing stronger and more durable, and so was your stamina.)

You only have enough service for perhaps one phone call a week, which you usually reserve for your family just so they’re certain you haven't drowned, so internet is out of the question. And you’re not brave enough to ask the ship’s captain about the magazines you’ve seen poking out of a drawer in the bridge of his ship. So, no porn.

You’ve, in turn, gotten incredibly creative with your fingers and your imagination. Were you perhaps deeper in the depths of your impending insanity, you might even go so far as to act out your wildest fantasies like a one woman show. You’re not quite there yet, so the fantasies remain inside your head. That doesn't stop you from making a frankly egregious amount of noise. You scream, moan, whine and yell as much as you please, more than you ever did in the apartment you lived in on the mainland.

The walls were too thin there. They’re too thin here, really, but that doesn't matter, because no one’s around. You make as much noise as is physically possible because you assume no one in the world can hear you.

(You assume wrong.)

You obviously don't notice anything strange during the act, due to all the wanton screaming, that combined with the incessant crash of waves against the rocks doesn't make for a wonderful listening environment. You have every reason to assume that there's no one out there to hear you except perhaps an unfortunate seal or two. The oddities which begin, happen outside of that time.

Seaglass.

There's an abundance of it on the beaches below your island, washing up from decades of glass litter, formed into something lovely. Generally, you leave it to the sea, figuring that if the waves can beat it into a shape they like, they’ve earned the right to keep it. But one day, after a rough storm, a few pieces of it sit on the end of the dock.

It's odd, but not enough to arouse much suspicion. You assume it’s the result of some well arranged wind and waves, and gently knock the pieces of colourful glass back into the ocean.

But then, it happens again.

It's after another storm, (of which there are many, hence the need for a lighthouse) when you’re stood at the paved stone edge of a small cliff and your boot almost crunches on three pieces of seaglass.

You yelp, stepping back to avoid shattering them and crouching down. You pick them up, brows drawing together as you arrange the treasures in the palm of your hand. Two of the pieces are a seafoam green, but the other is a pretty orange. You pluck it between your fingers, holding it up to the rising sun. A smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

You try not to make a habit of keeping seaglass. Don't take too much of the earth’s abundance and what-not. But you do have a few exceptional pieces arranged on your windowsill, and you’ve never seen one this colour before.

“Alright,” you concede in a murmur. You place the orange piece tenderly into the pocket of your overalls. “I’ll keep this one. But you can have these back.”

As you gently plop the other two pieces back into the waves, you try not to think too hard about the fact that you’re speaking to the ocean like it's listening. You briefly consider telling yourself that you’re just talking to yourself, and not the ocean. But that's probably worse.

“God,” you murmur, running a hand down your face. You make a mental note to call your mother.

The odd occurrences stop for a time. That, or your sanity has slipped too much to recognise things as odd. Reality is askew when you’re this alone. Things that are strange don't seem so out here.

Though, you know you can at least attribute your attraction to the supply ship’s captain to the simple lack of contact with anyone else. He’s not ugly, not by any means, but certainly not your type. But Christ, what you wouldn't give to rip his clothes from his body and have him until you finally felt satisfied again.

Your loud masturbation can only satisfy your libido so long. You give it another three months before you’re crossing a lot of professional lines with Captain Fett.

You’ve become friends, at least. He’s your only real connection to the outside world, other than your shoddy transistor radio and your phone calls with your mother that last thirty minutes on average. (Which she only uses to fill you in on family gossip because you generally have nothing of import to tell her.) When he comes by, you force him to sit and enjoy tea with you and tell you about life on the mainland. He’s funny, if a bit gruff. But he makes you laugh, makes you sane.

And then he leaves again, and you watch his ship disappear over the horizon, feel that horrible isolation sink back onto your shoulders and suffocate you. You picture Captain Fett when you scream-masturbate that evening.

The next morning, there's a pile of fish on the edge of the dock.

You stare at it for a long time, brain ticking over as you try desperately to make sense of it. It's a decent variety of fish, all quite massive sizes. Nothing that you generally catch off the docks on the days you try to fish. This is from much further out, in the open ocean where the fishing boats make their rounds. You crouch down, sniffing at the pile. It doesn't smell, they seem as fresh as anything.

Perhaps you have lost it entirely, because you pick up what you know to be a cod and look it over, sniffing it. It smells fishy, obviously, but not rotten. It’ll make a far better dinner than the soup you had planned. You eye the other fish, wondering if you ought to waste them, or let the waves take them back to their fishy graves.

You take the cod inside, and return to the dock with a bucket full of ice in order to collect the other fish. Even if you can't eat them all before they go bad, you’re damn well gonna try. This isn't like the seaglass, you tell yourself. These fish are already dead, it would be wasteful to just ignore them and let them rot away at the end of your dock. As you settle the last fish in the ice bucket, you hear a splash in the calm water.

A tiny thing, barely even a plip. But it makes your head snap up, makes your eyes dart around at the water around you. You curse the fact that the ocean is never completely still, so any disturbance is lost in its perpetual motion. You can't find the source of the splash, but you know it wasn't something innocuous.

(Were anyone to ask you how you knew this, you couldn't tell them. You think it may be some sort of paranoia you’ve acquired in your isolated insanity.)

You feel watched. Perhaps not by something sinister. But watched all the same, like an intent pair of eyes are trained right on you as you accept this gift of ocean’s abundance. You stand up, hoisting the bucket up into your hip as you squint out at the waves. The sun reflects off the water and hits your eyes, and you’d be upset with it if you weren't trying to cherish the rare day of warm sun. You huff, taking one last glance at the slowly lapping waves before turning and heaving back up to the lighthouse to get to work.

You know there’s another storm coming that night. Weather so forgiving is never not followed by something brutal. You’ve grown very accustomed to the mercurial weather of this godforsaken island.

(That, and you heard it on the weather report on the radio.)

Still, generally the best you can do in this weather is make sure the lamp is lit and you’re safe and warm inside. You have two of your fingers buried knuckle deep in your pussy when thunder first cracks. You barely pause, glancing toward the window as rain begins to beat down on the panes, before closing your eyes and focusing on hitting that sweet spot again.

When you’ve moved to rutting against your pillow and letting wanton moans tumble from your lips, an alarm goes off high up in the tower. Your eyes snap open and you look up– the light’s gone out.

The very most central thing that you’re expected to do in this godforsaken lighthouse is maintain the light. Now, in this kind of weather, more than ever. You barely give yourself a moment to pull on a discarded pair of overalls before you’re scrambling up the stone steps to the light. You swear to yourself as you fix the light, glancing out the windows to the dark and stormy oceans.

You pray there’s no ships out there, pray you won't suddenly hear a deafening crash as some poor fishing barge slams into the cliff face. There shouldn't be any ships out in this weather, but that's really the whole point of the lighthouse, isn't it? Just in case.

But you manage to secure the new bulb, relief flooding you as the room is illuminated and the beacon shines out over the horizon. You turn to look out the windows, thankful when you note there’s not a ship in sight. In the five or so minutes where the ancient lighthouse wasn't faithfully emitting its beacon, no one even came near. As you’re about to step away, though, the light illuminates something that catches your eye.

You’re not able to make out much from this distance, or from the brief second of illumination, but you’d swear on anything that you saw someone out there. A head and shoulders, with brown hair, just poking out of the waves.

You’re scrambling on the steps again before you even realise you’re moving. Slipping and stumbling down those wretched stairs, uncaring of your safety since instead your brain is thrumming with fear and adrenaline and a screaming need to help whatever poor soul has somehow ended up in the stormy waters. You grab a flashlight and a floatation device from by the door before you’re stepping into the unforgiving elements.

You don't even know what you’ll do when you get out there. As you rush out into the bruising wind and rain hammering down on your skin, you can't think of any sort of plan. You’re sure as hell not going to dive in to get them, that would only end up with both of you dead. You make it down to the dock, slipping several times in the mud but managing to stay upright. You’re barefoot, you don't have anything to cover you but your worn pair of overalls, so essentially your entire torso and arms are bare to the elements. One wrong move and your tits will probably spill free too.

But you don't think about that. You think this poor drowning idiot won't care that you’re sort-of-kind-of-half-naked, they probably have more important things on their mind. You make it to the end of the dock, shining your flashlight out at the waves.

“Hello?!”

You’re not sure you can be heard over the wind and the rain and the thunder clapping overhead. You can't see anyone either. Whoever it was has probably been pulled under, or out further into the waves where you can't help them. Still, you search frantically amongst the blackened water, eyes wide and breathing quick.

You catch something in the beam of your flashlight. Something, again, so quick you think you may have imagined it. A tail, flicking up before disappearing beneath the waves.

Unlike any tail you’ve seen before, large and wide, a dark colour almost as black as the water. You freeze, flashlight lingering on that spot, silently begging the universe to let you see it again, just so you can know it's a seal or something.

But a seal’s tail doesn't look like that. Nothing’s tail looks like that. You squint in the rain, desperate to prove your insanity wrong. But it doesn't appear again. You’re left only with the memory of a tailfin and the distant view of a person’s head and shoulders, and the sinking feeling of knowing your insanity has reached a point you can't be certain you’ll return from.

When you’re about to give up on the poor soul that you probably-definitely hallucinated, you glance downwards. You think of the seaglass and the fish, and wonder if those were hallucinations too when your flashlight reflects off something new. Another gift from the ocean. You reach down and pick it up, heart thrumming in your chest.

It's a cowrie shell, but that's not what sends your mind spinning into confusion. There’s a carving on its surface. You run your thumb over it, clearing it of raindrops for a brief moment before it’s covered by them once more in the unrelenting downpour. It's a symbol you recognise, Captain Fett has one hanging from the gearshift of his ship. You’d asked him about it once, and he’d recounted an old mariners tale about it.

A mythosaur.

You look back up at the waves, searching their murky depths for explanation. There's none. So, shaken, you pocket the cowrie shell and turn away to go back inside, not noticing the pair of brown eyes that watch you from just below the dock.

part ii