#its good for the fandom’s ecosystem

[sillyseasides]

🌊 anon here, i’m revealing my identity specifically to bring photo evidence. Bitotter couldn't have found Mysti’s body, they’re seen over Ivory’s shoulder in the kitchen at 27:55

plus the blood thing is a bigger problem for me: here’s a diagram of Mysti’s body relative to the blood around her.

That is not enough blood for how much she was stabbed. And i doubt someone would take the effort to move all those severed body parts. Plus there’s no blood splatter by her neck. Tbf whoever was helping (i think div was helping but thats a dif convo) might have tried severing her neck to cover up the bite. I just dont think they’d have enough time to do all the wounds. I dunno this theory’s still a work in progress.

I know I'm the "vampire theory guy" but I honestly am starting to doubt that a normal person could have pulled off the murder. its just unlikely at this point.

My reason for thinking so is simple, Mysti was in full uniform, and Pyro was fully dressed. Let me explain. According to Seraptor its' the maids' job to make sure the Hemlocks clothes are laid out and whatnot, (while ep 1 did show that Pyro is capable of doing it himself, Mysti was surprised he was up, so its not a common occurrence) and Seraptor also says that the Hemlocks usually wake up around 10:00 at the earliest. Right before Mysti is discovered, all of the others are in the kitchen, presumably preparing lunch given when the Hemlocks wake up. Therefore Mysti would have been found around 12:00pm.

That timeline does not line up for a normal person. They'd need to: Attend to whichever family member they're responsible for, Then murder Mysti, then wash or dispose of their clothes, then change, all without someone noticing they're gone.

Plus, according to the newspaper in the trailer, Mysti was stabbed so brutally certain parts of her body were severed. Where the hell is the blood? there should be a heck of a lot more if that was the case. Not to mention, who would go through the trouble of moving her body if it was in pieces.

However, the vampire theory accounts for this by limiting how much blood would spill, because the vampire would have drunk it all.

-🌊 anon

I’d like to note - It very much seems like someone almost tried to sever Mysti’s head if you look at the back of their neck. It’s covered in blood, as if they had been sawing through before realizing they were running out of time before they got caught.

Also, from what I can tell, it seems like we know who found Mysti’s body. Bit, guessing by the way she was being interrogated by the police. I wonder if that’s why Clown told him to ride in the car, knowing they’d be grilled pretty hard.

[aroaceleovaldez]

i think the thing i'm most disappointed about with riordanverse fandom now versus like 2014 is not only has the fandom not gotten any less racist or queerphobic or ableist (in fact in some regards its gotten worse!) but now it's just boring too. like there's no fandom infrastructure anymore - the community these days is almost entirely source material-driven - and you deviate from canon even slightly people get weird about it. whatever happened to the post-HoO fanon boom. the fandom needs to get weirder again. and self-sufficient. and less offensive.

[pyrriax]

ANYWHO goodnight tumblr i'll be back on the art grind tomorrow i think 🙏

[unendingphantasm]

i need to sleep but im thinking about what would’ve happened if prsk and the miku coachella appearance actually went through. like, would that have pushed vocaloid into the mainstream? idk. i think about it a lot

[communistkenobi]

in the discourse landscape of gay shipping I think a crucial element is the underdog effect. official approval of your ship from showrunners (ie ship going canon) compromises your marginal status as a fandom shipper on tumblr, and in the long run produces a sore winner subjectivity where you must constantly insist that your ship is still good and subversive. destiel is a good edge case as it went canon in the most homophobic way possible, thus maintaining something of an underdog status despite it being explicitly addressed in the text of supernatural, while still ultimately losing its fandom dominance as evidenced by it constantly losing in shipping polls. ofmd shippers in this respect occupy a conflict of class interests in which their gay canonicity confers a level of comfort and stability that gay shippers who have to work in the posting mines doing web weaves will never experience. therefore, we can consider ofmd shippers to be the petit bourgeoisie of the fandom ecosystem, caught between the big bourgeoisie (tv writers) and the proletariat (stuckys), predictably choosing to engage in downwards class conflict to maintain their narrowly privileged status

[mojoflower]

So You Want to Tumbl?

There are lots of newcomers here these days, and I thought I'd spell out how to begin and what it means to ‘curate your own dash’ for folks who haven't grown along with Tumblr for the past decade.

If you're coming from a platform where content is fed to you, Tumblr can seem barren and intimidating in the beginning.  But that's actually a good thing!  What it means is that you will see what you want to.  If you're in a fighting mood, go find political discourse.  If you're feeling fragile, make your dash nothing but art and nature.

How to begin?

You’ve made your blog and picked out your icon (seriously, choose an icon:  otherwise you’re indistinguishable from bots).  Feel free to be anonymous.  Most of us are, and it’s wonderful to have a place that’s not tied to your Real Life.  Here you can be a fandom freak (like me!) and no one judges you and your boss will never find out.

Now seek out tags that interest you.  For example, I was just looking through #moss because I like peace and green things and old-growth forests.  (And, apparently, beautifully naked fae-men, heh.)

Now you follow that tag (if it's a popular tag, it'll say how many followers the tag has, which is beneficial to know if you're making a post that you want to reach all its interested audience) and posts with that tag automatically fill your dash. Voila, you have begun to curate your experience!

Do Follow:  tags; blogs in that tag that you like; people who comment on posts in the blog/tag you follow that seem like they’re up your alley.  The more people you follow, the more varied and nuanced your dash is.

Don’t Follow:  people who make comments or posts that raise your blood pressure.  Topics that upset you.  Discourse that has you arguing in your head for the rest of the day.  PLEASE avoid toxicity.  Real Life is hard enough.

How to be Social and Interact

If you want to find your tribe and interact, it’s best to start following individual blogs.  (If you follow a blog, they have an opportunity to follow you back.  Simply following a tag is a passive, one-way street.)  To Tumbl is to be in a vast cocktail party, and you need to mingle and eavesdrop to find the things that galvanize you.

How to be seen and heard

💬Comment on posts (please always stay positive and enthusiastic:  we really try to avoid toxicity).  You can read other comments (and reblogged comments) by clicking on the notes:

🔁Reblog posts you like, both to show your support and to show other people what kind of things get you excited.  Reblogging is essential to the tumblr ecosystem, because it’s the only way posts move around and get seen.  You can also “like” posts, but that's a much more passive way to interact. Also, reblogs and your own original posts show up on your blog and prove that you're not a bot.

Create your own posts and remember that the first 20 tags you use are essential, because that’s what gets you seen (and followed) by strangers.  Tags 21-30 are good for searching and archiving on your own blog, but they don’t count on the dash.  Instructions on how to Make A Post.

Participate!  Once you find your crowd, you’ll discover that there are always things going on.  For example, in fandoms, we’ve got writing events, art events, crafting and cons.  The more you try to be involved, the more new friends you’ll discover.  Tumblr allows for such an organic community.  One person has a thought, and many others build on that thought, creating something far greater than the sum of its parts.

There is no real algorithm beyond using those first 20 tags.  This may be discouraging to folks who are used to working an algorithm, but we like it fine here, because it keeps everyone real and keeps obnoxious social climbers/capitalists out of your face.

Be patient!  Just like in real life, when you find yourself in a crowd of people you don’t know, it takes a while to form connections.  Watch and listen, and learn to read the room.  Honestly, the thing that will win you the most friends/followers is honest enthusiasm about your space.

Don’t aim for the big names to become your new buddies.  You’re more likely to find a thriving coterie among other fresh faces.  Don’t assume that because they’re small or new they have nothing to offer you.  Often, this is the fire that keeps any given corner of Tumblr going.

Tumblr Etiquette

NEVER REPOST (without explicit permission).  Reposting is when you cut and paste from someone else’s content and then make it into a brand new post under your own blog name.  That is stealing and is very condemned.  Reblogging is when you use 🔁and the OP (original poster) remains attached to their post and continues to see and be in charge of interactions.  

Reblog in addition to Liking. A post that you 'like' is static. You are not helping it to get to a broader audience. If the post or poster is something/someone you support, then REBLOG that sucker: it deserves to fly!

Reblog and add your own content.  One of the best parts of Tumblr is that you can comment on a post, or even add to it in your reblog (as long as you’re not being a dick, okay?  Or changing the topic, which is known as ‘hijacking a post’).  Here is a wonderful example of the Tumblr ecosystem at work, where someone had a thought, other people had thoughts about that thought, and then a bunch of artists jumped in.  Tumblr posts BUILD COMMUNITY, and you can be a part of that conversation.  (Do try to refrain from reblogging with vacuous comments just because you want people to notice you rather than because you actually have something to add, though.  That’s just clutter.)

The most important part of “curating your experience” is learning to Block.

You can block individual blogs, Anons, people in the comments that you find upsetting.  Here's a post on How to Block.

Block entire tags or keywords if they are triggers for you.  (Here is a post on how to do that.) 

Blocking is self-care.  It is not a platform to demonstrate to the community how much you hate someone and how they should, too.  Usually the blocked person never even knows you’ve blocked them.  If they do something egregious (like tell you or someone else to kill themselves), then ‘Report’ them.

You can block something (like #US Politics) if you can’t handle it at the moment, and then unblock it later.  Block a friend if they’re spamming something you don’t like and then unblock them later.  It’s all good!  You are in control of what shows up on your dash.

But doesn’t this mean my dash will be single-topic and boring?

The simultaneous joy and pitfall in following individuals is that MANY blogs are not single-topic.  You will be exposed to all kinds of reblogs/ideas/other people from the folks you chose to follow, and can decide for yourself if you (a) want to be involved in that topic, (b) are indifferent to that topic, or (c) want to run from it screaming.

Also, the blogs you follow will move from hobby/theme/passion over time, and you can move with them, appreciate their new topic without vibing with it, or drop them altogether.

And THIS is how you curate your dash, my friends.

***Install New XKit extension.  It’ll make your life easier!

***Here's the Tumblr Help Center, where you can learn more details.

[thydungeongal]

I think that 5E having fanbase that mostly doesn't want to play it is good, actually.

If they really outnumber people who want dungeon combat game, wotc can allow themselves to do a total reboot - make 6E a basically different game, keeping only six stats and foundational systems like d20+stat modifier and AC and HP and classes, but otherwise make a very lite-weight game suited for recreating actual play experience with found family or whatever 5E players want (I don't play 5E).

It's a decision that would benefit everyone. Wotc will profit off new players because they are already trapped in their ecosystem, and even if already avid 5E players don't want to buy new books, newcomers will. 5E players will get a game they actually want. Oldies who don't like it can just move to Pathfinder or OSR, so they won't be deprived of games. Hell, wotc may even start their official line of OSR with new settings and adventures and easily get a share of that market as well!

Like, D&D as it is already suffers from incompatible legacy that can't be thrown out without enraging fans, and if this continues for too long it will collapse. But this way it can survive by transforming into a game that 2020s fandom wants.

Games Workshop pulled way riskier move with Warhammer and ultimately succeeded, I think hasbro can do this as well

Thing is, I don't think WotC will ever do it, because they have pretty much managed to cultivate an audience that is so incurious about game design that they think D&D not supporting the type of gameplay they want isn't a bug, it's a feature.

Ultimately, as I have said before, D&D held hostage to nostalgia because it has to adhere to a certain shape of what D&D "has to be," and even though it's actually one of the worst games for supporting plucky found family heroic narratives people will insist it's good for that because the people in question don't think of D&D's rules in terms of incentive structures and genre emulation, but instead as just "stuff" that the game has which means that the game can do the "stuff." Basically, many of these people think of RPG rules in terms of the shape of dice being rolled, instead of the behaviors that RPG mechanics can actually incentivise and how rules actually shape narrative.

I do agree that D&D not being the game most of its players want it to be is good in some way, but not because I think WotC is ever going to address that contradiction: it means that the aforementioned incurious players who genuinely don't care about game design are kept captured within WotC's walled garden, but at the same time those people who do genuinely care about games producing specific narratives will have to look to reconcile that contradiction elsewhere. We just have to keep throwing Molotov cocktails inside of WotC's walled garden to make people aware of the fact that they live in a false paradise.

[kingofthewilderwest]

Am I the only one who feels like HTTYD isn't as memeable as Shrek or KFP? I know we have "You're as beautiful as the day I lost you." and the famous dancing Toothless, but that one was really from a parody recap. Other than that, I really don't see a lot of memes from it.

I think that means HTTYD is successfully doing its job with the type of narration it intends.

There are comedic lines like "talking fishbone" and "thanks for nothing, you useless reptile" that fandom has parroted since the early days. There's Hiccup encouraging Toothless while the Light Fury looks aghast as a meme template. And fandom can find anything to josh with, be it Hiccup's hot froglegs in HTTYD 2, or Hiccup's love affair with scrap metal from RTTE, or throwing everyone in the dungeon who made a Stoick joke (I am DATING my time in the fandom here, y'all). There will always be moments we play with, as it were.

But HTTYD, while funny, is built on heart. Shrek and KFP have heart, too (especially KFP), but they're built around different vibes (especially Shrek). Shrek was an intentional, abrupt, genuinely shocking aberration from animated fairy tale movies. For people who weren't around when it happened, there's a REASON it was a HUGE, rocking sensation and has become part of permanent culture. Meanwhile, KFP is a comedy action. HTTYD, at its core, is the story of a boy and his dragon, and a boy and his dad. I wouldn't expect fan response or general societal response to respond to these different frameworks the same way.

When audiences think about the impact of HTTYD, they aren't thinking about the pleasurable absurdisms that lead to "You're tearing me APART, Lisa!" or "I don't like sand" (which actually, for the record, I think is an unironically good character scene, sue me).

You ever watch a movie where they try soooo hard to be meme-able? Or they're throwing in jokes at places they shouldn't? I'm not not not saying it happened here, but one of the things I think THW could've improved was by reducing the number of gags it tried to run - while competing for time to emotionally conclude a sweeping trilogy. Sometimes it's not the place for a movie to have the content that'd make it meme-able. HTTYD's always been funny, yeah, and that's part of the franchise's charm. But different types of funny bring different audience results, and you ain't gonna beat Shrek when it comes for appropriate humor vibes for memes.

I could be forgetting a ton in my sleep-deprived state. But I'd agree it's not as meme-able as Shrek, one of the most meme-worthy pieces of media to exist. It means both have their place in the ecosystem of movies, and it makes both of them fantastic for what they are.

[shalotttower]

Pholcus phalangioides

Title: Pholcus phalangioides

Fandom: The Collector (2009). Can be read as an original inspired by the source, because I took some creative liberties.

Summary: There's a spider in your bathroom, it lives under the mirror cabinet and you a) don't want to kill it, and b) are too scared to touch it, so now you can either keep giving it one side eye after another, or ask your neighbour for help.

Word count: 4000+

Characters: Asa Emory x Reader

Notes: yandere Asa, spiders and insects descriptions, stalking, voyeurism of sort - Asa watches Reader without her realizing it, kidnapping, vague hinting on body horror, non-con touching, Reader is socially awkward. Asa is not 100% in-movie-character Asa (he actually talks lol), a huge chunk of him is based on my headcanons.

You have this problem - a spider problem, to be precise. Not that it's too big of a deal, but...it also is.

Spiders are generally okay.

They eat unwanted guests, like flies and mosquitos or even other spiders. Make cool webs, which is probably one of the most complicated forms of art, not to mention a mathematical pattern to it - a combination of radial and circular symmetry. The golden ratio in nature.

In general they're important for keeping a backyard ecosystem nice and intact.

But.

But there is a spider in your bathroom, right under the sink cabinet, with thin legs, a long body, and of course - eyes. Quiet, kept to itself, really chill spider who doesn't move much except to crawl around a little and sometimes look at you when it catches you looking.

It probably lived in hiding somewhere, before deciding that dark spaces weren't up to its standards anymore and making an appearance. You haven't swatted it away, caught it, struck it with a paper - mostly because you're not good at killing living creatures, and secondly because the spider isn't doing any harm, just observing your every step, and generally being present.

When you check your makeup bag, it watches. When you brush your teeth, it watches. When you close the cabinet door it wiggles and your heart goes "ee" as if someone shocked it with a static charge. This yellowish-brown witness of your everyday activities, silently approving and judging, lately makes you feel like a nuisance in your own bathroom. You desperately wish there was a way to make it move to another corner. A less centralized one, less straight in your face. Yet the thought of touching it makes you cringe inwardly; your mind conjures images of different scenarios involving spider-related unpleasantries - accidentally squashing it, or getting bitten and dying a slow, miserable death.

It's gotta go.

Because the more you see it, the more your brain tries to assign it human features. And the longer it stares, the bigger the chance it might grow a pair of lips to say "get out of my bathroom".

The thought comes to you in the morning while setting a breakfast plate on the kitchen counter. The house is quiet, all windows are open and you stare through one of them at your neighbour's fence. You rarely see him, though the parked car is always a giveaway of his presence. Emory, that's what the mailbox says, and he has a neat garden, not an extravagant type, but everything is carefully trimmed and arranged into simple patterns.

There's even a stone bench by a small tree. Does it actually get used on sunny days? Probably no. He seems like a loner, from what you've seen so far: tall and pale, with wire-rimmed glasses and still grey eyes. Very focused and put together, a turtleneck and dark trousers kind of Mister. Never waving when passing by, though he does glance sometimes - sharp and attentive.

Once you caught him leaning over a bush with back straight and head hanging low. Your stomach gave this funny, nervous twitch, like when a stranger tries to start a conversation in public. He looked your way and then resumed whatever he was doing.

"Whatever" appeared to be something small, sharp limbs and a shiny body. It looked like a beetle, stretched to an absurd degree, and the way he held that thing felt strangely intimate. The same way you'd cradle a baby animal in your hands, rubbing its forehead with a fingertip. Emory put it in a plastic box, sealed it, and went into his house, not sparing you another glance.

This particular memory - of long fingers and a careful grasp - is what makes you think that maybe, possibly, theoretically, he could handle one pesky spider for you. You've seen him with insects a couple of times after, no doubt Mr. Emory is one of those who glue bugs to display boards. The creepy friend in the bathroom must be right up his alley then.

Five minutes later the two of you are staring at each other in awkward silence. Bothering barely acquainted neighbours isn't usually high on your list of priorities, especially if said neighbours look like they prefer being alone. You know it's odd, you know it probably crosses some boundaries, yet here you are.

With a crease on his brow and a tight mouth, Emory isn't thrilled at this sudden visit. Maybe he was in the middle of something, or is just uncomfortable with people invading his space. In any case, you clear your throat.

"Good morning. I live in the house across the road. The white porch? With-"

"I know," it's a dry reply. Not rude, more matter-of-factly; his eyes are fixed on you with a hint of unsettling peculiarity which makes you shift from one foot to the other.

He's not pest control, you think. Or obligated to help in any way. Emory can tell you to kindly fuck off right now and close the door, why did you even come here? It's stupid and intrusive. You're almost ready to take it all back and go home, pretend like nothing happened and just deal with that spider yourself, when he speaks again.

"What do you need?"

He has a quiet voice, a very even direct tone that doesn't encourage small talk, but prompts answers. Now and without pointless filling.

"I know how it's going to sound," you start, cringing inside, "and apologize in advance for bothering you, but I had an impression you collect...bugs."

"Insects. Arachnids."

"Right. So I was thinking if you'd mind removing a spider from my bathroom. I don't want to kill it, but I can't- I can't touch it."

His gaze slowly shifts from your face to the house behind you. As if Emory has an x-ray vision, or a complete mental map of your household layout. Ha, this would be ridiculous. There's no apparent disapproval in his pale face, but something else, a different kind of assessment. Evaluation of how much it is worth spending time on someone with an overgrown lawn? His eyes return back and you feel pinned down.

The longer he stays silent, the more you wish for the ground to open and swallow you whole.

"If you can't I totally understand-"

"What kind of spider?"

It's your turn to stare. How are you supposed to know, you've never studied spider biology. It looks like any other common variety, except creepier because it refuses to leave its spot and stay in the sewer where it belongs. "I...light-brownish, with long legs. Thin? Slender," there's more you could add but any further description will probably make you sound like a total dunce who can't recognize basic arachnids. "Kind of big."

You expect a 'sure', maybe 'I'll be there shortly' or 'no'. What you get is Emory moving past you and walking up your front porch. The scent of laundry detergent and soap, very clean, hits your nose before you rush to open the door.

"Uhm. Second floor," you explain, awkwardly shuffling after him. For the first time since the day you moved in, you worry about what someone might see inside the house. As far as clutter goes, your place is acceptable, perhaps a few forgotten cups around and yesterday's sweater thrown on a couch. Surely, it's not too bad.

Emory, however, doesn't seem interested in the surroundings. The staircase doesn't even creak under his weight, despite the house being around a century old. He steps over the little border which always makes you trip if you walk too fast, like it's not there. Like the corner you often bump your hip into doesn't exist either. He navigates your home with effortless precision, an inward kind of certainty that makes your eyebrows rise. Maybe...the houses on your street have the same blueprint.

Either way, he walks into your bathroom without hesitation, turning on the light. You hover by the doorway, unsure: should you offer something to drink, ask him if he needs anything else or just step away and leave him to do his thing?

The spider is there, hiding under the cabinet, when Emory leans over to observe it. He's probably seen many different specimens, you think, and this isn't interesting at all compared to the ones who have an intricate design or unique behavior.

"She's a part of the Pholcidae family," Emory says suddenly. Just like that there's 'she', instead of 'it', and the spider twitches and shifts. "Daddy long-legs. Harmless."

He puts his palm up close to its back. At first, it seems startled, but after a moment slowly calms down, and moves a leg - left then right - getting familiar with his hand.

"Docile creatures," Emory continues, while the spider walks along the edge of his palm. No running around, no random leaps, stick-like limbs touch and probe him with curiosity, much like you'd study something new. "They stay in the dark, hide in the corners while feasting on smaller things. Your intruder is a useful tenant."

It makes you feel slightly nauseous, how nonchalant he is about holding something that prompts recoil on instinct.

"Do you want to hold her?" Emory turns to you and there's a faint, strange smile on his lips. It doesn't reach his eyes and makes him look like an alien who tries to mimic human expressions based only on observation. His pupils are so dark that you can barely tell the difference between the irises and the rest. They seem bottomless, absorbing all light, but reflecting none in return. You take one step backwards, shaking your head.

"I'll pass."

He keeps staring at you for what feels like forever before returning his attention to the spider crawling on his skin. Emory reaches into his back pocket for a small container.

"Are you not setting her outside?" You ask. "She...she doesn't look like, uh, a rare species."

Not that you're an expert.

"No," Emory closes the lid with a quiet click. "She isn't one. But I'm going to keep her."

And he does. The little captive spider rests at the very bottom of a plastic case when you send the man on his way and thank him for the help. Emory accepts it with a nod, no further words, and then there's only his back when he leaves. The morning air rushes in, crisp and fresh, smelling like grass, tree leaves and soil.

*

It feels like you blink, and three days go by. You still keep an eye on the bathroom cabinet by some sort of habit, however there's nothing out of the ordinary lurking there, no creepy critters and definitely no thin legs scattering in multiple directions. All is well, now you can brush your teeth, take care of business and even lean close without fear something might fall on your head.

It's just a spider. You googled it later, and how common it is around the continents should be a bit ridiculous. Keeping it might equal to going on a beach and picking the most unremarkable pebble you see; Emory certainly could find hundreds more Daddy long-legs wherever he pleased - parks, gardens or forests.

So...why?

The question gnaws at you, together with that smile and cold grey eyes hidden behind glasses' frames. The weirdest part wasn't the expression, it was how you couldn't read it. Despite the obvious display of human emotion, however misplaced and alien, it failed to reveal anything. The smile was there, and yet nothing broke through it, not amusement, nor politeness - or any kind of feeling whatsoever.

Your neighbour is odd.

Not necessarily scary, though there's a sense of mystery surrounding him, it makes you feel like standing next to an iceberg and only seeing its tip. Or you've just read far too many psychological thrillers and your imagination likes to conjure up the wildest scenarios, trying to turn each and every thing into something sinister.

Maybe you should just chill and get some tea, and stop being so dramatic about a guy who came over and politely removed a spider for you.

*

They're not a unique species. Not even remotely uncommon.

He taps the container gently with his index finger, making the spider move back and forth. She doesn't have venom, no poisonous chemicals to injure and kill. Hiding in abandoned corners she does, patient and careful, waiting to catch the wrong fly.

You're just like her. Nothing exciting. Not unique.

Your movement patterns are similar, concealed in a different package you're still predictable: getting home from work, cooking dinner, watching TV shows. Everyday routines.

Fear is a part of your nature. Awkwardness which comes with socializing: you shuffle when uncomfortable, avoid prolonged eye contact and don't like confrontation, he noticed this right away. A quiet type, keeping mostly to yourself unless you need something urgently; and then you rush, like a scared Daddy long legs. There's this shiftiness, an inner desire to be less visible, but also a yearning for recognition because the lack of it hurts. And he saw all those small things, catalogued them one by one, as you moved into his street and became a constant presence.

Asa has never thought about keeping something - someone - so mundane before. Never. He likes rare things, spectacular, and those collected in the basement, they all are, especially when he's finished with them. They're extraordinary, displayed under glass cases and preserved for eternity.

He doesn't collect common species. Daddy long-legs are abundant everywhere around him.

But.

There's the way you linger by the kitchen window during the morning routine, slowly sipping hot coffee. When your lips purse and eyes lose focus for a moment. Or how the corners of them wrinkle sometimes when you have a genuine, amused laugh. It's something like warmth. There's no label for the feeling - positive, negative or neutral, it just is, like one single, meaningless element in an ecosystem.

He shouldn't want someone so average.

And yet Asa watches from the corner of your living room, crouched on the floor by a plant.

You don't hear him, too invested in your personal bubble. Well, he had enough time to polish his craft and figure out how soundless he can be when moving through spaces, how much weight he needs to place onto soles to avoid creaking wood and floorboards.

It's interesting to see you interact with your environment, unaware of being watched. There's an invisible pattern behind each action, even if you think everything is randomized. The web you wove around yourself is cozy, and Asa follows its threads while you check the phone and frown at whatever notification pops up. He is considering. Contemplating this impulsive desire he has yet to identify.

Would it be worth it? Keeping you. Adding you to the collection and seeing what comes out of it, how far his usual approach might take him with you in the same conditions. You're just a face with features. So...ordinary. He wants to pick you apart and look inside to make sure it's not some strange sort of mimicry, camouflage of a different nature hiding something else entirely.

There's this vague idea how those features may feel when touched. He can recall them accurately, even when you've never stood too close. Asa watches quietly from his hiding place, memorizing a displeased mumble and then a frustrated gesture.

You seem so alive.

Those below who are frozen in time now were too, before Asa decided to give them a purpose and make something special and worthy of his attention. They were alive like you, but now they're something better.

What purpose you have remains to be seen.

Asa decides then.

A plain trunk is nestled in the corner behind a coat hanger, no fancy latch or keyhole needed, only an ordinary padlock. You'll fit in nicely, squeezed in the cramped space, it won't be the most comfortable experience, but it's not for long and then...then he can show you the room where others stayed before, and where you'll be next.

Asa looks around one last time: the front door is locked, blinds down, lights off - you get up from the couch and head upstairs, right on the dot. Your house is easy to navigate despite the darkness; Asa knows his way around it, having been here already more than once. A step after a step he follows the soft padding of your bare feet, and when the steps halt, he pulls out a cloth. It's a heavy kind of pleasure to be able to stand right behind and admire your nape, there's a strange sort of vulnerability to it.

Something raw and very exposed.

It takes only a few movements, he catches your yelp into one of his hands and holds it clasped tightly as you thrash. Your nails dig into the fabric of his turtleneck but fail to leave any marks. He's never tired of it, the initial fear of his specimens realizing that their secure habitats are ruined. He doesn't mind this fight for survival.

"Shh," Asa breathes into your ear. "Shh."

The struggle doesn't last long - you're not a fighter - and when your body goes limp, he picks you up. Your perfume is surprisingly light, a very sweet and pleasant aroma, not overwhelming at all like he'd expect it to be.

It's nice.

He puts you in the trunk, a boxy space barely big enough to fit you curled on the side, it's going to take around thirty minutes to reach the hotel and another three to put you in the right cell. You'll sleep the rest of the journey, which is fortunate for everyone. It's always easier to deal with a specimen if they're resting.

The lock clicks softly - it's time to go home.

*

Something runs down your cheek - a drop, a bead of sweat, a touch - and you blink, trying to make sense of it. The surroundings are unfamiliar, blurry shapes with undefined outlines that stretch and wobble before your eyes. Your jaw hurts, clenched so hard that teeth grind together, and it takes a conscious effort to relax.

Where...what?

The living room, a TV program, a soundless whisper that froze the hairs at your nape, then someone was behind you. You remember a sickly sweet smell, and after that nothing but a haze and the dark, and the sensation of being squeezed into a shape. Your legs feel numb, arms too, like you spent hours immobile in one position. Slowly the world sharpens back into focus, but instead of relief there's only dread.

You're in a room.

No bigger than a regular bathroom and void of any furniture beside a cot-like bed, a toilet in the corner and a sink. The walls are a bluish-gray with thin cracks, tiny fissures that create uneven lines from the ceiling all the way down to the floor.

And there's a man, observing you quietly through the thick glass.

You don't notice him immediately, too busy assessing your new location, and when you do the air feels heavier, difficult to move past your throat. He's wearing a mask. Black rubber or something, covering everything except his eyes. He presses two palms against the barrier separating you, the silence stretches into an eternity.

'Who are you? What do you want?' - these are kind of questions you should be asking, but they don't come out. You remain glued to the spot, counting the passing seconds by their painful tick-tock-tick-tocks. One minute turns into two, and he...just stares without moving a muscle in a beyond unnerving manner. Your gaze dips lower to check his clothes, perhaps find a pattern to identify this person later.

There's none. Everything is plain black, like a uniform made to be invisible - turtleneck, pants, even gloves and boots.

It seems that your silence somehow pleases him, because a few moments later he leaves without looking back.

You don't know how much time passes; there's not a window around, only a bare, stark bulb, yellowish in its brightness and casting unpleasant shadows all over the floor. Not a single sound. Traffic, voices of distant passersby or birds - all is absent and doesn't provide even a bit of understanding where the hell you are.

In the end, you...sit down on the bed and wait, because what else is there? Everything is eerily silent and very, very uncomfortable: this emptiness, the absence of noise, the endless ticking of an invisible clock. It's difficult not to cry, but you try your best, somehow it feels important to remain composed. There has to be a reason behind this. There must be one, and you repeat it over and over, like a mantra to soothe the nerves and present your mind with some semblance of logic: once you figure out what's going on, you'll figure out how to get out as well.

Pulling loose threads from your sleeve is poor entertainment, if anything, the strain of boredom and unease gradually grows into anxiety so sharp that you almost miss the sound of approaching footsteps.

He's back again, the masked stranger who stands in the doorway with hands clasped behind his back. A pair of light grey eyes is a splash of different color, but they are blank. They watch with distant curiosity of an animal trainer monitoring a newborn cub. The comparison makes something ugly squirm inside you. A part of you wants to make a run for it, the other keeps yelling that it would be immensely stupid.

One, two, three, four steps he takes into your cell. Your back meets the wall, the chill coming from its solid surface cuts right through the layers of clothing. Five, six. He stops only when there's less than arm's reach between you, then leans to brush away loose strands of hair sticking to your temples. Your stomach goes taut. This scent. Laundry detergent mixed with soap. The turtleneck, grey eyes, very collected kind of Mister.

A sickly shiver of revulsion shoots down your spine, making you curl tighter into a ball. Emory cups your jaw with both hands - they're cold even through the gloves material. This is too close, an unwanted and unpleasant violation of boundaries, and yet he continues to examine your face, like you're some sort of an object he can handle however he pleases.

Your cheek gets a light pat. Any theories about his identity stay unvoiced, mostly because you fear the reaction they might prompt. Something tells you that screaming is a bad idea too. 'Be quiet,' an insistent whisper says deep inside your skull, 'be still.'

His thumbs press to the corners of your mouth. "Open," he orders, and you can't not, even though the whole thing sounds and feels bizarre. "Wider."

There's a quiet click. A flashlight, of those small ones you can easily hold in one hand, shines right into your eyes, making them water from the unexpected brightness. "Don't bite or I'll remove all of your teeth."

It's a simple threat, delivered with such a calm tone, there's no need for yelling when words are that clear and straightforward.

He inspects your mouth, the edges of teeth and gums, your inner cheeks, and you let him, clenching your fists. There's not much you can do, at least that's what you keep telling yourself to ease the heavy, sinking feeling of powerlessness. Your mind chants 'too close' on a loop, urging to wiggle away; you stay. It's unclear what exactly he's looking for - dental or oral diseases, a sore throat, cavities, or the lack of them?

It lasts forever until he straightens back up and puts the light away.

"Good," Emory states. There's another pat to your head before he turns around to leave. "No biting."

The door panel slides with a soft hum, locking shut. And the silence, and the waiting, and the mind numbing monotony is back again.

[ai0lisauce]

I need all of you to read this (#2)

If any of you were teens when Miraculous Ladybug was in its early seasons, you'll remember the absolute SWARM of anti-Lila Rossi fanfics. Lila Rossi as a character destroyed what fragile fan ecosystem we had in the fandom, and it got very toxic very fast. Now, I'm not proud to admit that I was ADDICTED to the Lila Rossi's Lies Are Exposed tag on AO3 back in the day, but one thing it did lead me to was this fic:

Word count: 23.6k

Rating: T+

Chapters: 7/7

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Relationships: Alya Césaire/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Kagami Tsurugi, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe (I know all those ship tags look intimidating but just trust me on this one)

Author: @captorations

I started reading this because at the time I was getting really sick of the constant finger-pointing fics had taken in the fandom. Character traits were blown to the absolute extremes (I'm sure a lot of us have at least seen one fic out there where Mari is an untouchable goddess who kills/destroys everyone around her and Felix is also there), and one character in particular got a LOT of hate.

Alya baby, I'm so sorry for what they did to you.

Told from Alya's POV, we jump in the MOMENT she realizes Lila's been lying to her. It's not much of a spoiler since it's mentioned in the fic summary, but here instead of being a bad liar with just plot armor, Lila is a bad liar with magic abilities (that quite honestly makes so much more sense than whatever the show was trying to do).

I originally fell in love with Miraculous because I loved the idea of a fun 'villain of the week' show with a super unique magic system that I felt was fresh and mysterious enough to keep me interested. Where the show has frankly gone off the rail, this fic's exploration of ML's magic system makes the original show make sense. And that's really what I'm trying to get at here. This fic drew me in for the premise of Alya being the best friend we know she's supposed to be, but I stayed for the wonderful analysis and exploration of ML's world and lore.

If you're like me, you get a bit intimidated by a ton of ship tags. And I get it, sometimes it's just not my cup of tea, but I think the balance of all the characters here is well done. The characters act and think like actual teenagers, and the romance is mostly on the side, so if you're here for plot like me, it won't hinder your reading experience.

Some great quotes:

It hadn’t been a sound so much as a feeling, a moment as fleeting and precise as a lightning strike. Her senses had stretched beyond her body and told her, in no uncertain terms, that someone here was on the verge of shattering Lila’s glamour for themselves. (Ch 5) Rena was good at that, certainly. Good enough to ensure every non-fakeout illusion she’d cast for Lila had just a touch of imperfection. (Ch 6)

I just think this fic deserves more attention for being SO damn good. when I started writing my ML ATLA au, I came back to this fic because I loved how the magic system was expanded out and made to feel so natural.

10/10, would read this a million times again. Happy reading and stay saucy!

<Previous Post, Next Post>

[pyrriax]

im actually going to explode i think. i think thats what i need to do.

im so normal guys <- had another fic idea. because im normal like that.

[patrice-bergerons]

In the reblog vs likes debate, the motto we should unite under is "reblog more of the content you like to see" or "tumblr is different than social media sites and reblogs are integral here for the ecosystem to thrive" rather than "likes are useless!!!" because the latter sets the counterfactual all wrong and is condescending to the large swathes of the user base who do regularly reblog posts.

I am a part of that contingent; I reblog often and doubly so for original creations like art and fic and gifsets. But. When I simply like something rather than reblogging, it's often because the post in question is not in one of my fandoms so not something I'm directly interested in or I disagree with some of the creative choices the op made but still recognise its beauty/value/the hard work that went into it and i want to give op a little pat on the back. When people say "likes are useless!!! and you suck for simply liking and moving on," the alternative is not me reblogging all of these posts i simply liked, it's me moving on without interacting, and I don't think that's a better world for the artists or my mutuals or for me.

We can encourage people to reblog more while still recognising the value of the little hearts that appear in our notifications from people saying good job! this is neat! as they scroll thru their dash.

[utdrmv-confession-box]

Transcript: ‪Honestly I hadn't expected myself to send an ask here, but I felt the need to say this. ‬

1. I highly respect the mod for doing things the way that they are; must be a quite exhausting, dealing with a bunch of confessions every day, and I highly encourage breaks. I'm always entertained whenever I see an ask pop up on my feed, no matter what the subject matter is. It's a nice hub, I guess. Keeps me connected in a way to the opinions of people I haven't shared a word with, yet am part of this community all the same. But I digress- its super cool. Keep it up! <3

2. What im confessing.

I find this fandom to be one of the most impressive I've ever really come across, what with how it interacts between members, and how it somehow both disconnects and connects at the same time to the OG source material. Part of our wild and untamed growth as a fandom is BECAUSE of the game that we come from. Undertale is a game about choices and their consequences, we all know that by now- but what I've seen for the past NINE YEARS is what's come of the impact of that chance, that opportunity to dive into another world and spread it apart like a rotten log to see what gooey and weird curiosities are inside.

And in that regard, I feel we're both the hands spreading it open and the bugs writhing underneath. What we've made, the good and the bad, is an ecosystem all of its own. The game is that metaphorical log. We merely live inside and around it, feasting off of it and spreading it even further.

That, to me, has always been gorgeous. It's a wonder of human imagination, in it's most convoluted and mishmashed form. That, if given the chance to peek and create from SOMETHING, we could do amazing things. Undertale was that chance. At least for me, that is. It certainly hasn't let go of its grip on my mind, that's for sure (send prayers lmao)

That's all. Ha, I'm tired. :'')) wanted to let all that out, in as much of a coherent thought process as i could. Thanks for the opportunity. This fandom just means a lot to me; i always found it to be something of a marvel, in spite of all its many, many flaws...(Sorry about how long this is!!! Btw!!!!!)

[ineffectualdemon]

The bad, hetero, original fiction omegaverse stories I keep getting advertised to me are so strange

It's clear they evolved in an entirely different ecosystem from gay fandom omegaverse or even gay omegaverse manga

Like they lean really heavily into the whole wolf thing with "your she-wolf isn't strong enough" and gay omegaverse is like "if you're going to reference an actual animal you have so many to choose from. Be creative"

But most of the time no actual animals are mentioned. Its just like a thing

Anyway the hetero omegaverse stories I've seen promoted at me or seen people react to are not good

[randoimago]

How would Jolyne, Ermes, and Foo Fighters react if their boyfriend has a baby Burmese python as a pet? In Florida, Burmese pythons are considered an invasive species destroying the ecosystem of the Florida Everglades.

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure

Character(s): Jolyne, Ermes, and Foo Fighters

Note(s): Here you go!!

Ermes

She's a bit iffy when she sees your snake the first time, but she trusts you so she'll try to extend that trust to your snake.

Would gradually warm up to your snake while letting it slither over her. Ermes tenses up and asks you to take it away if it starts coiling around her neck. Even if it isn't restricting, she's not that brave.

Honestly, she prefers the python being your pet than destroying the ecosystem. She's not super nature-y, but she knows enough about invasive species being pains in the asses.

F.F.

Considering they're a whole colony of plankton, they aren't the most thrilled at the idea of you having a pet snake. In their current form, they know they could easily overpower your snake. But there's still that predator v. prey instinct that they have.

But I can see F.F. growing chill with your snake as time passes. They aren't going to let it wrap around them anytime soon, however. The last thing they'd need is the snake realizing that they could be a new addition to its diet.

Probably taunts your snake when you're not around. Just sticks their tongue out at the reptile and make taunts about it being stuck in a cage. F.F. just has a bone to pick with your snake for silly reasons.

Jolyne

She thinks your snake is cool. She debated on getting a tattoo of one when she was younger, but she's seen too many messed up snake tattoos. Your real one is cool though.

Jolyne has had enough of Florida's wildlife, to be honest. But if your python is just a good pet and not going to try to eat her then she doesn't mind touching the little guy.

She's really not scared of it at all. She'll touch the snake, hold it, let it wrap around her neck. She's faced scarier things than this.

Taglist:

@abellaheart-blog @joestarfoundation

[effervescentdragon]

I loove in the reflection, WHy did you get bad comments ? Are people mad?

Alright so I've been thinking since last night whether or not to answer this, but I got a comment this morning that cemented the decision for me, because I want to explain what I mean and you asked very nicely.

First of all, thank you for your kind words, im super happy you like my writing! That makes me genuinely happy, because when I write, I write so I can bring at least a piece of joy I feel while writing to the people who are reading my works.

Thats very kind of you to ask about the comments, too, and here we go.

When I said i got bad comments, i did not mean outright hate or "your writing sucks". That is obviously not true and wouldn't impact me, plus, only registered users can comment on my fics and people are much less inclined to be hateful when not on anon. It was comments like these:

These were left on a couple of my wips, and there are more like this but these are the first two i could find. These comments are bad in a sense that they are entitled, demoralising, and prone to make me much less inclined to write anything any time soon.

Writers and authors live on feedback. We feed on it and there is nothing that makes us happier than knowing that people enjoy our work. When the readers tell us this, it genuinely feels like we are on top of the world. A simple heart emoji in the comments is enough to make my day, and not to speak of in-depth analyses that I cherish with my whole being and re-read every time I'm in a slump or need a pick-me-up. All these comments, short and long, are inspiring and make me want to write more. People discussing my fics with me makes me want to write more. Anyone saying "this brought me joy" makes me want to write more and give more joy out in the universe. The loop is neverending.

However, comments like these have the exact opposite effect. I (and other fanfiction writers, but let me talk about me here, and my writer friends may add whatever they want, if they are so inclined) do this for free. I do this in my free time for the sheer joy of sharing a story in my head. I write for myself and for the story I'm telling, but I appreciate knowing that that story brought someone joy, or relief, or a way to put names to the feelings they may be feeling. What I do not appreciate is being made to feel like I am a content producing machine. What I don't appreciate is demands for updates cloaked in seemingly harmless compliments that really aren't that. I "forced you to leave a comment"? What does that mean? "My heart dropped when I saw [this was a wip]"? Why do you project your feelings on me? Why do you think I would be flattered that you left a comment that is, at its basis, just a demand for more content? I am taking these in as good faith as I can, but impact always trumps intent, and the impact of these comments on me personally is "I don't want to write anything in these universes again".

Fic writing is a community. It's a two way relationship between writers and readers, and, like any ecosystem, it thrives on mutual recognition and appreciation. I do not feel appreciated when I get a comment like this. I feel guilty for not writing, which is insane since I am and adult person with a full life who does this for fun and for free. I feel angry, because it makes me feel like I should be putting out 20k works every other day to stay "relevant", and what does that relevance even mean? I've been writing fics for years. AO3 is an archive. It's not an algortihm driven site that favours only new "content". I read fics from 2009 and comment regularly, because that's how an archive and fandom works. It's not tiktok, it's not instagram. So I refuse to bow to the demand of "write something new immediately or basically fuck you". It makes me feel disheartened, because I am a writer, and I hold myself to a certain standard, and a good story takes time.

Now don't get me wrong. For every one of these comments I get at least two lovely ones. And I focus on those because they are the ones that give me inspiration and joy. But I am also human, and sometimes, I am so fucking tired, and I can't just ignore this.

Did you know, well, you didn't, you can't, but I'll tell you anyways. I have been itching to write lately but I never got the time, and so I cleared up my day today to deal with some administrative things I need to do in rl and left the rest of the day free for myself to write? I thought I might finally finish this one chapter of a wip I've been writing on and off. And then I wake up to a comment like the ones above, and guess what? I'm not writing shit :) all my inpiration flew out of the window and burned in the heat of this obscene summer, and that's it. That's what these kinds of comments do. That's why I call them bad. Because they are bad.

I am lucky to have faith in my skills as a writer, so I am not worried about that. I know I am a comparatively good writer, and I personally like the things I write. But I wonder what comments like these do to people who are less certain and more insecure in their writing skills? I wonder how it impacts them? I wonder how many people stopped writing because they couldn't cope with the guilt and the pressure these kinds of comments produce?

So there. That's my answer. And I want it stated clearly that I didn't post these comments to call anyone out personally. I posted them because I needed to show them as examples and to explain and maybe make some people understand what your thoughtlessness and entitlement does. Food for thought, innit?