#its probably the producers tuning

[technicolorxsn]

cover artist ive been obsessed with since middle school has her own vocal synth now!!!!!!!!!!!!

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Bout to sit down to watch DW with the folks already internally cringing bc I saw it this morning and they are gonna haaate it

[pirateboy]

sometimes i can't believe rebirth was a real album and then i'll listen to the latest lil yachty and remember that there is an argument for it being rlly influential and ahead of its time and that's wild to me. cos i love wayne but it sucks.

[safination]

The Second Time Around

|Masterlist|

Alastor shakes his head, chucking a little. Each puff of his laughter cranes your head up and down. “Mother would strangle me if she learned what I’m doing with you,” he says. “Oh, she would go bonkers and grab my ears, telling me I was raised better than this.” “What exactly are you doing to me besides lulling me into sleep after filling my belly with the most exquisite food.” “We’re living together.” You pull away, looking at him to motion to the house. “Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but we’ve been living together for the past two years. Well, ten if you count our life up top,” you say with a snicker. “Living together is the least sinful thing we’ve done together!” Alastor shakes his head, pushing you up to your feet. TLDR: Alastor prides himself in being a gentleman, yet here he is now, living with his not-really wife but still his wife without rings around your fingers. It’s time he changed that.

Just a small little fic. I'm working on some requests right now, so to those who requested, I didn't forget about you, don't worry <3

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Alastor adjusts his hold, securing your body with a firm hold as he carries you on his back. The pads of his thumb go up and down the skin of your leg, and each movement lulls you deeper into him.

Strands of his hair brush your cheek when you rest your chin on his shoulder. They caress your skin every time Alastor takes a step, humming a song as he walks down the street. It’s a familiar tune.

Night-time air blows cold, even in Hell. Despite already wearing Alastor’s coat, the breeze forces you to sink deeper into his back. It’s warm—he’s warm.

The pads of your fingers draw circles on his dress-shirt as you press yourself into him. Closer…the desire to be closer never ends. It’s like a never-ending fire that consumes you with every touch. How unfair of Alastor to hold this kind of power over you.

It's funny—hilarious, even.

The same scent of detergent emanates from your clothes, but there’s this undertone in Alastor’s coat. It’s a whole mix of different scents but to you, it’s just Alastor. Nothing less and nothing more. How can the same batch of laundry produce such a different smell? 

There’s a metaphor somewhere there that Alastor can probably find. Your clothes. His clothes. The same smell of laundry detergent, but each piece holds a different whiff.

You tighten your grip on Alastor’s shoulders, steading yourself to lean back and stare at the sky.

The sudden shift of weight causes Alastor to stumble back. His leg shoots out to keep your bodies stable. Still, you lean your head back to watch the reddened sky. Clouds filter across its red canvas, prompted by the cooled winds of Hell.

“Dearest…if we fall, I will blame you.” Alastor scowls, and the faintest of static emits due to his annoyance. It’s something he’s still learning to control, and you let this offense pass…for now.

“We?” you echo, smiling into his shoulder. “Does this mean you would fall into the ground with me, my love?”

“Perhaps…,” Alastor begins, keeping his eyes ahead, “…I…I should skip a few steps and drop you right now. Oh, that would be quite the hilarious sight! Just the thing to end the night.”

A laugh escapes into the air and echoes across the dirty streets. You crash your weight forward, pressing your chest against his back.

Alastor stumbles forward, catching himself just in time to keep your bodies from falling. “I will actually drop you if you continue this childish behavior of yours.”

You settle yourself on Alastor’s back and press a small kiss on his shoulder. “My feet are starting to feel better. You don’t need to carry me,” you begin but wrap your arms around his neck, “my darling…my sweetest, sweetheart.”

“It’s you who insisted on wearing these blasted shoes. I told you to wear practical ones.” Alastor makes a face, pointing his nose into the air…but still, he presses his lips down on the skin of your arm. “I would say, ‘It paints me to tell you so’ but we both know that isn’t true.”

“Then don’t say it.”

“Dearest.”

“Yes?”

“I told you so,” Alastor says, and despite him looking away, you can practically see the smile on his face. “It doesn’t pain me to do so at all. Actually, it brings me great joy knowing I was correct.”

“I hate you.” The words are mumbled into his back.

“Now, now,” Alastor says. “We both know that’s a lie.”

“Al…I love you.”

“I know,” he tells you, pressing another kiss on your arm. “I love you.”

“That’s sweet but if you truly loved me, you would have told me we’d be dancing after dinner,” you say, banging your forehead on his back with a small huff. It’s a poor attempt to hide your shy smile. “Go on then, drop me if carrying your wife bothers you so much.”

Alastor keeps his eyes ahead as he walks, angling his head to connect with you. “That’s quite the ridiculous notion, considering we’re already home.”

You try to slip out of Alastor’s hold.

“Dearest, we’re still at the gate,” he says, shaking your body to force you to wrap around his neck tightly. “We haven’t reached the door yet—sit still.”

“Al, I can walk the rest of the way,” you tell him but still…you settle back into his hold. “The door is right there.”

Alastor keeps silent, intent on walking to the entrance of your home with you on his back.

He struts past the garden, and walks straight up the porch, landing you gently on the rocking chair. The pads of his fingers trail down your leg until they catch the soles of your shoes. Alastor slips them off your feet, revealing the red spots that mark your skin.

Alastor kneels before you, one leg propped up like a stool for your foot. Ha! It’s quite the sight to see the Radio Demon on his knees for his wife.

The pressure he uses to massage your feet brings instant relief to the buzzing of pinched nerves. His thumb glides over a particular aching spot that forces a hum of delight out your lips.

Maybe wearing the wrong shoes wasn't such a bad thing…and maybe, you should wear the wrong shoes more often.

With Alastor’s gentle attention, your feet stop aching.

Alastor takes your hand, pulling you to stand off the rocking chair. He takes the seat from you, but before you can begin to huff, Alastor pulls you on top of his lap. Your legs lean against the arm rest as you curl between his legs and into his hold, pressing deeper into his chest.

You flick the ends of his bowtie, and take the monocle resting on his face. The round glass connects to a chain. “Do you actually need this?”

“Sometimes.” Alastor rests his chin on your head.

The monocle distorts your vision as you bring it closer and farther to check the grade. “You didn’t need this when you were alive.”

“That’s because I had glasses.” Alastor snatches his monocle, and places it back on his face. “You smudge it.”

“I liked those glasses,” you say. “They were very handsome, and suited you very, very, handsomely.”

Alastor hums, rocking the chair to bring you into a lull. The breeze of the night forces you to pull his coat closer around your shoulders, eyes drooping as you settle between Alastor’s legs. This moment will pass, and soon Alastor will force you to your feet and into proper clothes then into a proper bed.

That’s later…this is now.

And right now, you’ll inhale the soft scent of sulfur from Hell’s air while chasing that precious mix of Alastor’s scent. And right now, you’ll lean into the heavy hand that soothes your back, grounding you into his arms.

Alastor presses a kiss on your forehead. “My dearest.”

“Hmmm?” you say, letting the lull take hold.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” He brushes a palm across your head, patting the strands that stick out. “I need to know if you had fun.”

“It was the most fun I’ve had in years.”

Alastor shakes his head, chucking a little. Each puff of his laughter cranes your head up and down. “Mother would strangle me if she learned what I’m doing with you,” he says. “Oh, she would absolutely go bonkers and grab my ears, telling me that I was raised better than this.”

“What exactly are you doing to me besides lulling me into sleep after filling my belly with the most exquisite food.”

“We’re living together.”

You pull away, looking at him to motion to the house. “Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but we’ve been living together for the past two years. Well, ten if you count our life up top,” you say with a snicker. “Living together is the least sinful thing we’ve done together!”

Alastor shakes his head, pushing you up to your feet.

He presses a kiss on your ring finger, letting his lips linger across the skin. “I am a gentleman,” Alastor tells you, and each word brushes your skin. “My mother raised me to act with honor…yet, here I am living in our house, sharing a bed with you, all without being married.”

“Alastor, we are married,” you say. “Was tonight’s dinner not meant to celebrate our anniversary?”

“You’re forgetting that our vows ended with, ‘till death do us part’,” Alastor says, wagging his finger at you. “I died…and so did you. Death parted us, yet it also brought me to you once more.”

Alastor lowers to his knees, your hand still secured around his own.

There’s a smile on your lips that you don’t remember smiling, and the words tumble out on their own. “Yes.”

“My dear,” Alastor starts, sighing. “I haven’t even said anything. The ring isn’t even in my hands yet.”

“Okay…okay,” you say, laughing into the air. “Sorry—go on, please. I won’t interrupt you.”

“Let me finish.” Alastor reaches into his pocket, bringing out a small box. It’s just the right size to hold a ring. “Will you—”

“Yes.”

“—let me finish?”

You flash your most innocent smile. “I’m sorry. I promise to stay silent.”

“From this day on, I never wish to be parted from you,” Alastor tells you. “Death or no death. I am to be your husband, and stay in this house until eternity ends.”

You squeeze his hand. “Yes.”

“Dearest…,” Alastor says with a warning tone, but squeezes your hand back. “Will you do me the honor of re-marrying me?”

“Yes,” you say once again. “Always…I will always say yes to you.”

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek, allowing his lips to linger for what seems like a lifetime—the same lifetime you’ll spend together once more.

The next kiss lands on your other cheek.

A kiss to the forehead.

A kiss on the edges of your lips.

Alastor runs his thumb over the soft skin of your mouth. Breaths mix together with small huffs. The intoxication of his nose trailing up your face consumes your very being.

The back of his fingers caresses your face until they reach to tuck a strand behind your ear. His touch shifts to cup your face as the pads of his thumb swipe across your cheek. It’s over…you’ve fully lost yourself into him.

His lips brush above your own, torturing you slowly.

The hold on the back of your neck brings you closer until your noses crash into one another, and your forehead presses against each other. His mouth grazes yours, but never fully connects. Inches of breath separate your kiss, and every exhale only pulls you deeper into madness.

The lids of your eyes flutter to a close when he finally kisses you. Kiss after kiss after kiss. Your arms snake around his chest, pulling him closer into a hug.

The kisses he blesses you with are slow, as if he savors each and every one. Alastor kisses you like there’s no place he would rather be than pulling flush against his body like he was carved to fit you into his space.

Alastor slips the ring around your finger.

You’ve said ‘Yes’ once before, and you’ve said ‘Yes’, this second time around. The answer will always be the same throughout any lifetime or any world.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Tell me what you think! I quite like this short one. It's sweet and just hits the feels for me. School has been killing me. BUT DON'T WORRY I REALLY HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOUR REQUESTS. THEY'RE DRAFTED AND WILL BE COMPLETED

[gemini-sensei]

Prime | Jaime Reyes x Chubby!Reader NSFW Headcanons

Fem!Reader ○ NSFW but cute n' funny (IMO)

💙 Khaji Da is keen on certain human interactions; others not so much. So sometimes there's restraint on its part, like not wanting to totally rip apart a threatening foe. However, sometimes it misses the mark, and being in tune with Jaime, it knows when he is totally in love with his girlfriend. So the comments it makes about a certain subject are still a little out of pocket, but at least it waited for the right time. Maybe.

💙 Just on a chill afternoon, when nothing is bothering literally anyone, Khaji "casually" brings up Reader's current state of being - that being in the middle of her cycle and "prime for mating."

💙 Jaime literally spits out his drink and anyone nearby gives him weird looks. Like, the Scarab on his back just says the most bizarre things in this completely serious way, and he can't act normal about it ever.

💙 He has to leave the room to have an argument with Khaji Da about what is appropriate and not appropriate points of conversation. Also scanning his girlfriend to check her fertility is out of line in his opinion and should not be done (I'll go ahead and tell you that Khaji does not listen to this tidbit.)

💙 "But Jaime, now is the time. The next natural step is to mate and produce offspring. Reader is not only in her prime state to mate, but she is a perfect partner to reproduce with-"

💙 "No! We're done talking about this! And don't say it like that! What even-"

💙 One time, when Reader is grinding down on Jaime's lap, hard-on trapped in his pants as they're just having fun, Khaji brings it up again: "She obviously wants you to mate with her, Jaime. Her body is ready to relieve your-"

💙 "Stop it!... not you, amor."

💙 Khaji Da literally never stops though. Uses the "It's in your best interest, Jaime" line a lot and Jaime gets annoyed with it every time.

💙 Don't get him wrong, Jaime wants a family of his own one day. He would just rather have that conversation with Reader and not the world-destroying alien weapon under his skin.

💙 Khaji Da knows Jaime wants a family and thinks he's in the perfect position in life to start one - meaning as long as he is alive and healthy then that's all the conditions that need to be met. Jaime disagrees.

💙 On the other hand, sex still happens even when Khaji is being persistent. Jaime just tries to ignore it. However, all of its suggestions and encouragement lead to a slight breeding kink.

💙 Jaime will have Reader in his arms, curves in his hands, chest to chest, making out, and Khaji feeds him ideas of what positions to be in and all of that fun stuff.

💙 Khaji says one thing about a mating press and Jaime has suddenly found his new favorite position.

💙 Now Jaime can go for multiple rounds, probably thanks to Khaji and all the energy it gives Jaime. Reader, on the other hand, cannot go as many rounds as him. So Khaji is constantly watching her vitals, her hydration levels, her energy levels, and more all throughout sex. When she's spent, it stops Jaime from giving her another orgasm, though a little overly cautious about it in the way it will physically make him recoil to get away from her.

💙 Khaji is always looking out for Jaime's best interest, so this includes looking out for Reader's wellbeing. (Also, Khaji likes Reader, so of course it's going to look out for her as well.) (If Khaji didn't like Reader, then there'd be some problems.)

💙 Aftercare king Jaime Reyes. He's so good at aftercare, but Khaji accidentally insults him when it tells him how much water Reader should have after they finish having sex. He mutters under his breath about how he knows how to take care of Reader and Khaji goes on a little spiel about her hydration levels and how they need to stay hydrated if they're going to be so "vigorously sexually active" and "conceive offspring."

💙 He tells it to shut up and brings Reader her water.

💙 Khaji brings up the "mating" idea every time Reader is "prime and fertile," and Jaime just has to deal with it. It becomes a one-note sort of thing after a while, like, it'll come up and Khaji will say something, and Jaime is just like "Uh huh." But once he and Reader start talking about it themselves, better believe that breeding kink is creeping back up and about to go full force.

[nicktoonsunite]

1. Just needed to say how much I still adore the comics and how much you love these characters. I'm not ashamed to say that I absolutely lose it whenever you post something new. You're the reason why I got back into this fandom and why my incorrect quotes blog exists.

And 2. I was wondering, does Jimmy still see much of Carl, Sheen, Cindy and Libby? I feel like HQ would gain some extra chaos from those guys visiting

THANK YOU SO MUCHH AND ALSO NO WAY so you're the one running the NU incorrect quotes blog?? I probably sound like a broken record at this point but dawg all the interactions you manage to put them in are hilarious and so in-tune with how I picture their characterizations in my head. Pls keep doing what you're doing i love it LMAO

He does but more often its during his own time, because I'd like to think they lead on with busy lives with their careers; Carl and Sheen follow the canon future where Carl's starting out as a Llama caretaker and Sheen's a successful model (yes he safely returned back after Planet Sheen idk I didnt watch that show LOL) as for the girls I imagine Libby's a DJ/music producer and is roommates with Cindy who's furthering her ed in college. They all live far apart now but still actively keep in touch, and when they do want to physically meet up, transport isn't a problem because they have Jimmy lol They would have met the others in HQ a couple times at least, usually it'd be just Carl and Sheen but all four of them have visited together or individually before. Timmy's acquainted with all of them so he's always happy to see them around, Jenny gets along extremely well with Cindy and Libby, Sheen would take every chance to infodump about his favourite super hero Ultra-Lord to the actual irl "superheros" Danny and Manny, and everyone loves SpongeBob because he's SpongeBob

[p0orbaby]

a leah x reader blurb where leah has a nightmare, she wakes you, and she’s genuinely upset. you comfort her, when she tells you about it’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve heard, you’re struggling not to laugh because leahs genuinely upset.

-

The night is dark, and your room is soaked in the kind of silence that only 3 a.m. can produce. Until, of course, Leah startles you awake. She’s sitting bolt upright, clutching the duvet like it’s the last line of defence in a war. You blink the sleep away, registering the panic in her eyes. She’s not like this often—usually steady and unruffled, even when Arsenal loses, even when the media is chewing on her career like a dog with a bone. So, seeing her like this sets something off in you. Instinct. Worry.

But it’s just as you’re about to ask if she’s alright, if she’s hurt, that she blurts out, “I dreamt I was being chased by a swarm of bees”

A pause, because the stupidity of it lingers in the air like a stubborn fly. She’s gripping your wrist now, like it’s your fault somehow, and you’re doing your best to look concerned—sympathetic even—but your lips twitch involuntarily. She’s genuinely upset, eyes wide, breath coming in shallow little bursts, and all you can think about is how ridiculous it is for a full-grown woman, a defender no less, to be traumatised by a nightmare involving bees. Not even killer bees—just normal, garden-variety buzzing things.

You clear your throat, trying to keep your voice steady. “How many bees, exactly?” you ask, because it seems like the appropriate level of absurd detail that might diffuse the situation.

“All of them,” she says, dead serious. “Trillions”

You picture her, Arsenal captain, England star, sprinting from an exaggerated cloud of cartoonish bees, legs pumping like something out of an old Looney Tunes episode. It’s the kind of mental image that’s almost too much to bear, and you have to bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from bursting into laughter. She’s still gripping your wrist, holding on for dear life, and it’s genuinely endearing in a strange way. You haven’t seen her like this since she got that dodgy pre-season haircut, and even then, she was half-laughing at herself.

“You know they’re not real, right?” you say, keeping your voice gentle but there’s a hint of a smirk curling your lips despite your best efforts.

“I know,” she huffs, flopping back against the pillows in exasperation. “It’s just… They were everywhere, and I couldn’t get away. They had this horrible, droning sound…” She trails off, her hand finding its way to your arm again, her fingers curling against your skin. There’s a brief silence where you can’t decide whether to laugh or apologise for the universe’s cruelty in allowing such an absurd nightmare to exist.

“It’s probably karma,” you say after a moment, because if there’s one thing you’ve learned from years of being with Leah, it’s that she appreciates brutal honesty, even in the wee hours of the morning. “You did laugh at that poor bloke at the pub last week. The one who swallowed the wasp that died in his pint”

You feel her glare more than you see it. But then, finally, a begrudging smile breaks through, and she exhales a shaky laugh that tells you the worst of it’s over. She’s fine, really. Just had a bit of a fright. She leans against you, her forehead resting on your shoulder, and you can feel her settling, breathing slower.

“Honestly,” you murmur, running a hand through her hair, “if a swarm of bees is all it takes to scare you, I think the rest of us are in trouble”

She pinches your side in retaliation, but it’s more affectionate than anything else. You press a kiss to her temple, and somehow, without even trying, you’ve turned her nightmare into a joke the two of you will recycle for weeks.

[dear-ao3]

bucket of facts here. This is one of my favorite f1 things ever, apologies for how long it ended up being:

In the 1980’s, formula one teams, notably BMW, added toluene to their fuel mixtures. If that word sounds like it’s probably dangerous, that’s because it is — most people know it as rocket fuel. It’s extremely poisonous and carcinogenic, but did have some upsides! For one, it was less volatile [citation needed] than what they had been using, making is slightly less dangerous in the event of a crash (by 1970’s-80’s F1 standards that just means in only turned into a small bomb most of the time). It was also denser and burned faster, so the same amount of toluene could give much more power than the standard F1 fuel.

While the new fuel did allow them to run higher turbo pressures, it did it have a tendency to increase turbo pressure as it was run during the race, and everyone ran turbos at this time. They had to dial back the turbo pressure from what it’s max could’ve been, just to compensate for the power of the fuel — this mitigated the admittedly high likelihood that the engine decided to submit its two weeks notice on two seconds of warning (read: it caught on fire and sometimes kinda maybe sorta just exploded).

Modern f1 fuel has an RON octane rating of 95-102. The toluene aided fuel had an RON octane rating of 120+. For context, your car probably runs on about 87 RON. For those unfamiliar, RON octane ratings measure how much compression fuel can be put under before it sparks, which is how engines work: compress fuel, spark, make power (I can explain that better if you want but short version is that). This incredibly high octane level allowed the engines of the time to be run at a much higher compression, which had a myriad of bonuses to the cars.

Current F1 regulations are 1.6 litre V6 engines that rev to 15,000 RPMs (max allowed) and produce a max of 850 BHP (horsepower) when they’re pushing the edge of their abilities without aid of electric components like H/KERS, which is used to boost the cars to around 1,000 BHP.

Brabham-BMW’s 1983 engine took Nelson Pique to his WDC that year. It was a 1.5 litre inline 4 (so smaller than current) and produced 12,000 RPMs, as the restrictions were a bit tighter there back then. Without electronic aid like today and a smaller engine than your standard Toyota Camry, it easily produced 850 BHP at race trim, the version built to last a whole race. When in qualifying trim, with everything tuned to maximum to get the most out of the car without it blowing up, it ran at 1,250 BHP. Original testing put it at producing over 1,400 BHP, but BMWs testing facilities couldn’t measure past that — the car put out more power than they could even register.

The teams also had a sneaky loophole: the amount of fuel allowed to be held at once in the car (refueling was banned at this time) was effectively limited to how large the gas tank could be. The teams realized that they could literally freeze the fuel and store it at cold temperatures. This compacted the fuel, allowing them to put more fuel into the gas tank — more fuel per fuel, really. This allowed drivers to be more aggressive and push harder more often, not having to worry about running out of fuel.

In case this whole toluene thing seems bad, don’t worry! It’s only used in nail polish, rubber, adhesives, and paints :3

hit me up for more facts if you want

oh my

anon bestie i might in fact be in love with you

[ghosts-bandwagon]

yay its open again! so i really love snacking and i hoard and hide them all around the house. we all know military live and rely on mre’s and probably go hungry until they are free from their missions/tasks so pls pls pls, i would love to see a reader with the habit of just producing snacks like magic and just feeding them. they can also be a good cook once they have the chance to do it and just surprise and awe the boys but only if you want to add this. thank you for this!! you’re awesome and i worship you. 💋

Just like me fr fr I’ve always got some kind of snack or treat stashed away somewhere lmao

They love you so god damn much for that reason, you always manage to sneak in some snacks and it’s witchcraft

They kind of make a joke out of it, Soap and Gaz will act like it’s a drug deal, going so far as to come up with code words or phrases or secret hand signals or facial cues

They’re so fucking giddy when you pull out their favorite snacks, like little kids on Christmas

Eventually Ghost catches on and you think he might put a stop to it but he loves it, “throw in some crisps and I’ll keep it between us”

But then Price found out and he was more offended that you didn’t offer him anything, but he’s cracking up when you produce a pack of maltesers from thin air

You’ve just been promoted to the mom friend of the group

And then you offer to cook for them back at your place after your mission was over and they’re booking it, it’s finished in record time, fuck going to the pub afterwards, they’ll buy drinks on the way to your place

Your apartment has never felt more homely and more alive than when your boys are all there, Price and Gaz are sitting on the stools at the counter chatting over a beer and some whiskey, Soap is being nosy and looking at all your pictures, Ghost is lingering by you and watching you cook

You’re tuning in and out of the various conversations, focused on the task in front of you

Bonus points if you’re making something from your culture/childhood, they love that shit

And when you’re putting their plates down in front of them, they’re thrilled, compliments a plenty, you thought you were warm from being in the kitchen? Nah love, it’s all the compliments, they won’t shut up lol

“Alright I get it, it’ll get cold if you leave it there, idiots.” You tease, taking a forkful, relieved that you didn’t over salt anything

You thought they wouldn’t shut up before, you ain’t seen nothin yet. Especially Johnny, he’s begging you to show him how to make it next time, Simon is nodding in agreement, sighing blissfully at every bite, Price is begging you for the recipe, Kyle is begging you to move in with him and make it forever

[bignosebaby]

If you've heard of black crested macaques or the Yaki monkey, it is probably this one:

This black crested macaque became famous in 2011 when the photographer David Slater was taking photos in the jungle of Sulawesi Indonesia where black crested macaques are indigenous fauna. Slater was not the photographer who captured this photo, however. It was the macaque who has since been commonly called Naruto who took its own photograph on Slater's camera. The famous monkey selfie sparked a copyright lawsuit brought by PETA onto Slater, which was settled in 2017 with an agreement that Slater would donate a percentage of any profits gained by the pictures Naruto took to organizations that protect this species in the wild.

For the millions who enjoyed Naruto's selfies online, the story ends there. For Naruto and the Yaki the story continues. The black crested macaque is critically endangered. Slater's website says he donates 10% of the proceeds of all "monkey selfie" merchandise to "a monkey conservation project in Sulawesi", and while he does not specify which conservation project he supports, there is one I know of that does incredible work.

Selamatkan Yaki is an operation with a huge impact. The Yaki is one of the most endangered primates in the world, and it can be difficult to gauge just how many of them are out there. This is where biodiversity monitoring comes in to produce the data needed for effective conservation protocol. A pilot study was conducted in Tangkoko Nature Reserve, which has created the blueprint for surveying the entire province using camera traps and remote sensing to observe the Yaki and their threats over time.

Using the data gathered from monitoring, Selamatkan Yaki collaborated with the government agency for natural resource conservation to create a Species Action Plan (SAP). This species action plan is not only an evidence based conservation plan designed to save the Yaki, but all the other species that share its forest home. Establishing the Yaki as a flagship species is crucial as this charismatic monkey is just one of many species that is not found anywhere else in the world.

One of the major threats Yaki face, like many other primate species, is hunting for wildlife trafficking and the bush meat trades. While hunting the Yaki is illegal, it takes a true culture shift to keep endangered animals out of traps and cages. Selamatkan Yaki has developed both community conservation and environmental education programs designed to unite local communities in protecting the species. The community conservation program involves surveys conducted since 2007 so that long term data on human-animal relationships can be tracked to best identify community conservation methods. This data is used in the environmental education program which introduces information on biodiversity and conservation to school curriculum and provides research opportunities and scholarships for post secondary students to contribute to conservation.

Selamatkan Yaki understands that it isn't enough to have a team of people dedicated to saving the black crested macaque-- the more people who care and help the better. Everyone has a role to play in conservation, but right now so many people outside Indonesia have only ever seen the black crested macaque once, in a photo online. That's why I'm partnering with Selamatkan Yaki to spread information about the work they do and the species they protect. To learn more about Selamatkan Yaki you can click the links in this post, and stay tuned for more on the black crested macaque.

[sleepinthrumyalarms]

— protective instincts

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!oni!reader

warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, spoilers

summary: a full blood moon brings out the worst in oni demons: anger, jealousy, and extreme protectiveness over what is theirs

word count: 2.5k

It was late evening as the (h/c) – haired demon stood in her bathroom, hands on the sink as she looked down, gaze unfocused. Her head hurt badly, and there was weight behind her eyes as she raised her palm to rub at them, hoping to ease the pain.

The night of the Full Blood Moon came faster than she was prepared for, and her body felt all sorts of aching in unpleasant kind of anticipation. Because of her condition, the demon was one of the few people in the campus not assigned a roommate – and, while it did get lonely sometimes, she knew it was a necessary precaution. But still, she felt… isolated. As if a ruthless beast in need of a personal cage, lest she hurt anyone around her.

In her palm (Y/n) clenched an accessory adorned by a rope-like lace. It was a golden dragon pendant, eyes of rubies glistening in the light, toothy maw wide open as the snake-like creature wrapped its tail around itself. Her father gave it to her when the girl was younger, a protective charm with a purpose to lessen the fury that burned in her heart every Blood Moon. A symbol of wisdom, immortality and metamorphosis.

The demon stared at the pendant in her hand, tracing the outline of the dragon’s scales with a clawed finger, lost in thought.

She found it weird how she had never seen her father wear one of those during Full Blood Moons before. Like she was the only one in need of restraint.

(Y/n) sighed and put the charm on, taking a quick look at herself in the mirror. Her chest felt heavy, and not because of the golden trinket now adorning her being. The oni had always put her trust in her intuition and feelings rather than logic and cold calculation, and it had never failed her before. At least she believed so. She knew a person who probably wouldn’t agree.

(Y/n) didn’t want to be there. She wanted to be with Wednesday, wherever the grumpy girl was at the moment. They didn’t even have to do anything – simply being in her presence brought (Y/n) so much serenity that she wished she never had to leave the ravenette’s side.

Maybe Wednesday would play the cello for her. The demon loved watching the other girl play, how concentrated her gaze was, how her perfectly manicured fingers moved on the strings with swan-like lightness, producing grand tunes that bore a piece of the girl’s personality in its melody.

The oni’s eyes glistened, and she looked out the window – it was time to go. The (h/c) – haired girl left the bathroom reluctantly to grab her silk haori off the chair and put it over her naked shoulders and, mumbling a short prayer under her breath, moved to exit her room.

When the girl opened the door, she was greeted by the sight she had least expected – Thing, standing at her doorstep, and (Y/n) flinched, startled at the way she had almost stepped on the poor guy.

“Thing?” She raised her eyebrows, crouching in front of the appendage, “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but… are you alright?”

Thing began to sign hurriedly, his digits shaking as he tried to explain his sudden visit.

“Dude, slow down, it’s bad when you’re stuttering,” the girl scolded as gently as she could, now on her full guard at the hand’s uncharacteristic behavior, “Wednesday is… what? Where?”

Thing signed again, and (Y/n) didn’t waste any more time to grab him, letting the hand take perch on her shoulder before starting out of the room.

Wednesday ran through the dark forest, breath staggering. She could barely make out the path, stumbling over twigs and boulders, but never slowing her pace down. The girl knew she had to make it to the school, and that she had to do it quick. Even though she didn’t have anything against arson commitment, and, more importantly, encouraged it, and on a teenage prison no less, this was a different case. There were people she cared about. Friends she’d do anything to protect. And someone who she’d risk her life for, as cheesy as it sounded.

Near-death experiences really could change one’s life, the ravenette guessed.

As she came to a clearing of the forest, a dark silhouette appeared from behind a tree trunk, and, stopping in her tracks, Wednesday had to squint to let her eyes, not used to the pitch blackness around her, recognize the person blocking her way.

“Thornhill said you were dead.” Tyler mumbled incredulously, staring down at Wednesday with a frown.

“I’m feeling much better now.” Wednesday deadpanned in reply, eyes wide open and on alert, body frozen in place as she watched the young man walk over to her.

“You’re like a cockroach,” he seethed through gritted teeth, grabbing the much shorter girl by the lapels of her suit.

Wednesday didn’t flinch, looking up at Tyler with the same amount of hatred in her eyes, “This will not end well for you.”

As the man stared down at Wednesday, his face started to morph, skull deforming and eyes ugly and protruding as his bones shifted, and the ravenette fell down on the forest floor.

Now two feet taller than before, Tyler’s body tore the clothes he wore, and he growled, his back bending unnaturally, huge clawed hands almost reaching the ground. Standing back up on her feet without tearing her gaze away from the monster, Wednesday realised she might have spoken too soon.

With a sharp twist of his long arm, the hyde grabbed at her neck, and the girl’s back hit a stump painfully as she clawed at his huge hand, desperate to get out of his choking hold to no avail. As the monster raised his free arm over his head, talons ready to deliver the final strike, a loud roar tore through the midnight air.

A force equal to that of a charging bull rammed into the hyde’s side, sending him flying away into the trees. Wednesday fell down, taking big fulfilling breaths into her aching lungs before looking up.

A creature twice the size of the monster that was standing over her a few moments ago now towered in his place, broad shoulders rising and falling as it breathed heavily. Huge horns were sticking out of its head, and its disheveled (h/c) hair shined in the moonlight like an animal’s fur, pointed ears flicking in the wind.

The being turned its big head to look at Wednesday, and the girl instantly recognized the (e/c) slitted eyes glowing in the dark.

“…(Y/n)?” She whispered.

The demon’s tusks were now as big as to not let her lips close around them properly, steam coming out from the gap and out of her snout. Her gaze slid down the bloody streak on Wednesday’s forehead, and she growled, rage boiling under her grayish skin.

She turned back to the hyde who seemed to had come back to his senses, shaking his head and looking up at the intruder, baring his sharp teeth at the demon. (Y/n)’s huge mouth slowly opened impossibly wide with a low intimidating growl, saliva dripping down her tusks, gaze furious under her furrowed brows.

Oh, she was mad.

The oni lunged at the monster with a snarl, knocking him off his feet, her sharp claws tearing into his face, and the hyde howled from the pain, trying to push the demon away with his legs. He drove one of his taloned hands into her side, piercing the meat and muscle there, but (Y/n) didn’t budge, seizing the hyde’s arm still buried between her ribs in a grip strong enough to break the bone in half, and grabbed at his upper jaw, claws digging into the roof of his mouth, before throwing him further into the forest and away from Wednesday who watched the scene with astonishment, frozen.

But she quickly realised that the demon was giving her a chance.

For the first time in her life, the ravenette felt genuine fear creep up her neck. She was afraid to leave (Y/n) in the dark forest, forced to fight the hyde all by herself. While Wednesday was aware that the oni was in her element under the red light of the Blood Moon, her heart ached immensely.

A loud growl tore her out of her thoughts, and, sparing her last glance at the hurricane of teeth and claws a few feet away from her, the girl turned around and ran as fast as her feet could carry her.

Please, be careful.

To say that (Y/n) was angry would have been an understatement. She was furious, blood threatening to boil over in her veins as she tore at the monstrous creature in front of her, claws and teeth and fists almost not enough to satisfy the deep aching feeling in her guts.

How dare you?

Who do you think you are?

Did you think you could get away with this?

The image of Wednesday’s bloodied face, contorting under the hyde’s grip, flashed in front of the demon’s eyes again, and the golden pendant dangling on her neck did little to soothe her wrath as she clawed at Tyler’s face, carving deep wounds that would surely leave nasty scars even in his human form.

It was the first time she had ever seen the ravenette so helpless. She didn’t like the way it made her feel.

So (Y/n) tore, bit and clawed until she was satisfied. Until the monster was almost rendered to a bloody pulp, laying on the ground, motionless but still breathing.

For a split second, a pleasurable idea of burying her claws into the hyde’s ribcage to tear his still beating heart out coursed through the demon’s mind, hazy with fuming wrath. But she held back. She wasn’t a murderer, unlike him.

The Blood Moon illuminated (Y/n)’s body, muscles shifting under the oni’s skin as she stepped away, breathing uneven, and let out a loud roar that scattered across the whole forest, announcing her victory.

It was over. Crackstone was defeated, and Nevermore was finally safe, no longer haunted by the bloody past of the Jericho city. All of the outcasts breathed with relief seeing Wednesday come out of the front gates, victorious. But there was no rest for the wicked.

Wednesday couldn’t relax.

As Enid ran up to the shorter girl to pull her into a tight embrace, Wednesday’s eyes scanned the crowd, looking for the familiar face of the oni. But she found none.

“Where’s (Y/n)?” She asked, pulling away to look at her blonde friend, who turned her gaze towards the dark forest, not saying anything.

Without a second thought, Wednesday turned to set off into the darkness, but Enid was quick to grab her hand, stopping her.

“Wait. You… you probably shouldn’t.”

The look in Wednesday’s eyes was enough for the werewolf to let her go with a sigh, and the ravenette went past her fellow students and into the forest.

As she walked, she called (Y/n)’s name, dread crawling at her black heart with each step she took and each minute her desperate calls remained unanswered.

She tried to recall the path she took when she ran to the school, looking under every nook and cranny to find the signs of the oni’s presence – a body, anything.

Wednesday felt bitter tears gather in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall, her stride unrelenting. She knew (Y/n) was still out there. She could feel it.

“Wednesday.”

The ravenette felt a tug at her stomach as she heard a painfully familiar voice call out her name.

And there she was. Her demon girl, back to her normal size and horns gone, sitting in the shade of a tree in a far-from-perfect seiza position, her back a bit slouched with exhaustion. Her (e/c) eyes shined in the dark, illuminating her bloodied face in a warm glow, a clear remainder of her demonic spiritual power that was slowly fizzling away along with her anger. Her silk haori was draped over her naked shoulders that were rising and falling with heavy but steady breaths.

“I get it that we won?”

It took Wednesday a few moments, and then she was running towards the oni, falling into her embrace and wrapping her arms around her neck, completely ignoring the sticky red liquid the taller girl was covered in. (Y/n) was quick to return the hug, sitting back against the trunk of the tree to let Wednesday rest comfortably in her lap, bloody claws clutching at the fabric of her suit jacket.

They were quiet. No words needed to be said as Wednesday buried her face in the crook of the demon’s neck, inhaling deeply. She was real, and she was there, alive and breathing, in her arms.

Wednesday pulled away, pale hands on (Y/n)’s cheeks to inspect her face, and the demon leaned into the cold touch, closing her eyes and almost purring. The ravenette gently rubbed at a blood stain under the girl’s eye, smudging her own thumb with red in the process. (Y/n)’s eyes opened, and their gazes met.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” the (h/c) – haired demon whispered, squeezing the girl’s waist comfortingly.

“After that stunt you pulled? Of course I am. Are you hurt?”

“Oh, no. Did you think I was there to save you, silly? What I had with Tyler was personal,” (Y/n) laughed when she felt the smaller girl pinch her thigh reproachfully, “Sorry. Too soon.”

Adjusting her hold on Wednesday, the demon pressed both her hands into the ravenette’s thighs, pulling her closer to herself, “I’m fine. I humbled the guy real quick. He needed that,” she smiled, baring her bloodied canines, “Honestly, you’re underestimating me. A hyde? That’s the weakest thing I’d fight for you. Keep them coming, bring a whole army in –,” the oni wasn’t able to finish her sentence, her mouth pressed against Wednesday’s as the smaller girl pulled her into a kiss, hands on her cheeks to press herself impossibly close.

(Y/n) sighed and melted, the ravenette’s plushy lips against her chapped ones, and Wednesday tasted blood as she pulled away.

“Your overconfidence is going to get you killed one day.”

The demon averted her eyes, and her smile dropped suddenly, grip tightening, “You have no idea how badly you scared me.”

But Wednesday had. She had felt the same fear, after all, like a cold serpent crawling up her body. To her own surprise, she didn’t enjoy it.

“I’m quite notorious in the scaring department,” the girl grabbed (Y/n)’s chin to gently make the demon look into her eyes, “But with you it doesn’t feel an accomplishment.”

(Y/n) huffed through her nose and smiled again, a bit bashfully, and Wednesday’s way with words had never failed to fluster her.

“You didn’t lie. They really were quite big. Your teeth, I mean.”

They stayed like that, basking in each other’s presence, as if having spent many years apart, hearts yearning for one another, and (Y/n) finally felt the serenity she had longed for, in the arms of the person who saw her at her worst and still stayed.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Could you do a reader that’s ends up as a “functional” lycan after combining with the cadou? Functional in the sense of keeping the ability to communicate but with the body, instincts and mind of a Lycan with Donna adapting to the changes?

Yess!!! Thank you for your request!!! Well, I've changed the polt a bit, but I hope you like it anyway!!! Sorry about the language mistakes!!! :))))

Not a human, not a wolf

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, Lycan! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Lycan stuff, but happy ending

Word count: 7,040

Summary: You want to kill, eat, you don't want to love...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :)) And if you're wondering about the song, is "Something Stupid" by Frank & Nancy Sinatra (1967) Totally a classic of love songs ;)

"You can’t do anything?"

A strange murmur enters your head as you open your eyes. It’s a voice distorted by the sound of blood flowing through your veins. Everything seems new to you, everything is confusing. You can't think, even if you try. You can't see even if there is light. The only thing you are capable of feeling is hunger, sleep, the desire to run.

It smells like stagnant water, humidity. You are able to perceive that, but you cannot see the figures in front of you. You try hard to calm down, but you can't. Your head only asks you for basic things, your instincts are your top priority.

Kill, eat, sleep

That was the mantra that your mind repeated, one that was confusing and at the same time very clear, very necessary. You move, but you can't walk, something prevents you. A chain surrounds your neck and jingles as you move. You are trapped, locked in, you can't run, you can't fight, you can't kill.

“I'm so sorry, Donna. I can’t,” another distorted voice forces your mind to turn your head. The sound of your heavy breathing is even louder than the jingle of the chains. Donna. For some reason that set of syllables produces a different, familiar effect on you.

Your vision becomes clear little by little. All you see are prey, prey that terrifies you, that makes you retreat against the stone wall of that strange place. You feel bad, you shouldn't be there.

 You should be in the forest. You should be hunting, killing.

A pleasant sound, a cry reaches your tuned ears. The black figure in front of you cries. She cries uncontrollably, but you don't feel anything. You just think about the same words, over and over again.

“The best thing for (Y/N) is to spare her suffering,” the softer voice says. Two prisoners together and you tied with chains, what a waste. You weren't even interested in interpreting the words that came out of their mouth. You only wanted their flesh.

Kill, eat, sleep

“No! There has to be a way to…” The figure in black insists. In her desperation, you find pleasure. Just the way you like prey, defenseless. But no, you were the defenseless one, you were tied.

The hunger begins to be too much and your body moves on its own, lunging towards those two pieces of meat. The pain in your neck when stretching the chain is unbearable. You go back against the wall, crashing with the same force you launched yourself with.

“Come on, (Y/N), calm down, please,” the black figure says again. She was talking to you and you knew it, but you can't understand why, you can't know who or what is (Y/N). It’s probably prey, a delicious piece of meat that is going to satisfy your needs.

“Maybe she's hungry,” says another, higher-pitched voice, making you turn your head as you struggle against the chains. No, it’s not prey, it’s not meat.

“Is it true, (Y/N)?” The figure in black asks. Her features are familiar, her scent is different. It doesn't smell like prey, it smells like flowers. “Are you, are you hungry?”

That question was aimed directly at you. A female figure who was wearing a black dress. Her figure is clearly seen in your eyes, for some reason, you can't stop looking at her. Maybe it was that, or maybe it's just you're really hungry. Hungry, yes, you understand that.

You shake your head up and down, thinking that this way your plea for food would be heard. The figure further back approaches abruptly, looking you in the eyes.

“What did you just do?” That black and gold prey asks, keeping the distance, but watching you.

You can't know what she's talking about. Hunger yes, strange questions, no.

“Are you hungry?” the woman in gold asks, to which your head moves again. Her face now is curious. “Well, well…”

“What's wrong?” The prey with the black dress asks, holding that piece of talking non-meat.

“It's curious. Normally Lycans are not able to communicate, not even with such simple gestures,” the woman explains, you ignore it. You're not interested, you want to eat.

Lycans? What's that? More prey?

“What do you mean?” the flower lady asks. The noises they make when talking make you nervous, you are still hungry.

“Well, I don't want to give you false hope... But you may have a small chance of saving her,” the bird woman says. Yes, that mask is like a delicious bird.

The lady in black smiles, she is happy, you can tell. You would be too if you had someone to eat.

“Please, Mother Miranda, tell me what I have to do,” the lady begs, joining her hands. The more she moves, the more intense the floral scent. That calms you down, but it's not enough. You want to take off your chains and get out of that dark place, you want prey.

“I wish I could tell you, Donna,” that bird sighs. “The only thing you have to do is to hurry, or the Cadou will eliminate any trace of her consciousness, if is any left... Well, and I advise you to feed her, or she will become even more furious.”

The bird falls silent and moves, leaving your range of vision. You can't follow her, you're chained. You roar angrily, struggling with your restraints. The woman in black looks at you, water falling from her eye. She cries, you know she cries and you feel something, you feel... Pity.

Darkness reigns in that place. You are alone, you have no prey. You have nothing, only chains with you fight against to. You're hungry, you're starving.

You can hear footsteps in the distance, footsteps of a prey, which makes you lick your lips, drool anxiously. You can't see beyond that smell, an intense, appetizing smell. The flower lady brings you meat, a big piece of meat, and you fight to escape again. It was not necessary, that prey remained still, waiting to be devoured.

The pleasure you feel when sinking your fangs into that piece of meat is unmatched. You feel alive, euphoric, you want to grunt, you want to call your companions to share that feast. But no matter how loud you roar, no one was going to come with you, you were locked up.

“I will save you, I promise, (Y/N),” that woman says, sobbing, while you only focus on eating, on feeding yourself. You hadn't killed, but at least you had eaten.

Your breathing relaxes after the feast. You are sated, alone and chained. You can't do anything but drop to the ground. Your bloodlust calms little by little and your vision of your own body becomes clearer. You see claws, hair, blood. You feel uncomfortable, as if something doesn't fit, as if you weren't like that, as if you had once been something different.

Those thoughts hurt your head, they make you scream, but you can't do anything but growl. The efforts to escape had left you tired, your body asked you to rest, asked you to lie down and close your eyes.

Kill, eat, sleep...

“Hello, Lady Beneviento, I bring you the fabrics,” you said with a smile.

The day is sunny and there is no hair in your hands, there are no fangs in your mouth, only skin, only a smile on your face.

The lady in black opened the door for you, letting you pass suspiciously.

“Where is the Duke?” She asked, holding the doll in her arms.

You shrugged and shook your head.

“Hasn't he told you? He has hired me as his assistant,” you explained, spreading some cloths on the hall table. “Come on. Tell me which ones you like.”

“The Duke works alone,” the lady in black said, with that mysterious veil on her face. She didn't seem to trust you, and you couldn't blame her for that.

“Yeah, well... He worked,” you joked, cutting a piece of the fabric that she pointed out. “I guess we all need some help from time to time,” you said amused, marking another piece of gray fabric with a pencil.

“Not me,” the woman said, touching the soft texture of the product. You nodded with a smile.

“No? Well, how lucky you are,” you said, avoiding that doll, Angie, from bothering you while you were cutting. “But I understand you, people suck, right?”

“You're very talkative,” she said, annoyed, keeping her hands together in front of her body.

“Sorry, factory defect,” you commented jokingly. “If it bothers you, I'll keep quiet. I don't want you to send me traveling trough the traumas of my past.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Lady Beneviento asked, with an offended tone.

“Well, that's what you do, right?” You said, following her instructions, cutting more fabric.

“Only with people I don't like,” she explained. You couldn't tell if she was joking, she was quite a strange woman.

“Do you dislike me?” You asked with a mischievous look, carefully folding the fabrics.

“Are you hallucinating?” She asked, back. You shook your head, raising your eyebrows.

“Mmm, no, I don't think so.”

"Well, so this is the answer,” she finally said, handing you a bag of coins and turning to turn her back on you. “Tomorrow I want the white fabric lace that I asked for.”

“Tomorrow? Tomorrow I have to go to the factory to…” You said confused by that request. It wasn't on your list. “Could it be that you just want to see me again?” You asked jokingly, with that audacity typical of you.

“Maybe,” she whispered, disappearing from your field of vision like a ghost.

Maybe…

That voice reverberates in your head over and over again as you open your eyes again. Everything you had seen in your mind fades away when your instincts wake up, when you wake up. The chains are still attached to your neck and dried blood decorates your fur. Had you dreamed?

A terrible thirst makes you forget all those confusing images. You've woken up, it's just another day, or so you think. You have to kill.

Kill, eat, sleep...

The very sound of heels disturbs you, makes you alert, get up. The sound of the chains hurts your ears.

But it is not a piece of fresh meat that appears. It’s that woman in black, the same one you saw in your dreams. In her arms she carries what looks like a bucket of water. Water… Yes, yes, you are very thirsty.

The lady leaves it in front of you and you go for it, putting your head inside of it, eagerly drinking the liquid of life while she watches you. Her eye is red. You know how to recognize sadness when you see it, but you don't know why. You are not able to feel anything else, you cannot think about anything other than escaping, running, jumping through the forest, hunting. Yes, those are your only thoughts.

“It was my fault,” the woman in black murmurs, leaning against what looks like a small stone wall.

The smell of stagnant water comes from there. It looks like an old well. Little by little that place stops seeming strange to you.

You look at her, leaving the bucket empty, letting yourself fall to the ground. You're hungry, but not too hungry. That woman seems curious to you, she still smells like flowers. It's not meat, but it's nice, you feel good.

“Please, (Y/N), tell me you're there...” She says, looking into your eyes, eyes that stung, that were surely red, like hers. “Tell me it's not too late for you to recover.”

You don't understand her. You don't know what she wants. You only see her as the prey that brings you food and water. There is nothing else on your mind, not even that strange dream.

Your gaze is lost in her figure and your breathing is calm. The woman turns away from the well and walks slowly towards you. Your instincts become alert, but you don't move, you can't. The smell of flowers is pleasant.

“Remember me? Do you know who I am?” She asks, moving closer, reaching out her trembling hand toward your paws. You get nervous, the sound of blood returns to your ears.

Don't come any closer.

Her skin makes contact with your claw. You feel the need to tear her arms apart, to devour her, but you can't do it. You stay still, fighting your own anxiety. The woman looks at you pleadingly, waiting for an answer, something to tell her that someone is inside of you. No, no, no, no. There is nothing inside of you, only bloodlust, only death, only prey.

You get more nervous, you shake your head confused, not knowing what you are, who you are. Questions that your mind can't process, that doesn't want to process. You growl, menacingly, baring your teeth at that cheeky piece of meat. You want to devour her, kill her. You want the smell of flowers to disappear.

You move quickly, attacking the woman, managing to scratch her skin, tearing the black fabric of her dress. Blood, that prey bleeds, and you like blood. She screams and falls to the ground, looking at you in horror.

Why are you looking at me like that?

“Donna, Donna!” That shrill voice comes to her aid. It was the puppet of your dreams.

Donna… What a strange and familiar word.

The woman steps back and pulls something out of her dress, crying, her arm hurt. You have done that, you have caused her pain. You shouldn't feel bad, but you do. The doll takes the sharp object and fights against your spasms, against the desire you had to break that porcelain into a thousand pieces.

You feel a sting in your neck and you claw at the air. Your strength gradually decreases, as if you were sleepy, but you just slept, you shouldn't feel like that.

Your legs give out and you fall to the ground. You can't move, you can only see that woman bleeding, approaching you again and collecting your head in her arms.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, tesoro...” She whispers into your weak ears, unable to process nothing but her voice. Your sense of smell was saturated with the flowers and the tiredness is getting stronger, making you weak, making darkness loom over you.

“Checkmate, Donna, she's KO,” that insufferable doll murmured.

Checkmate…

“Checkmate,” the lady in black said, knocking down the last piece left on your board. You growled furiously, but amused, crossing your arms.

“You don't get tired of winning, huh?” You joked, sighing in defeat. She laughed through her veil.

“You don't think things through, (Y/N),” she said with a soft voice, rearranging the pieces on the board.

“I don’t? Well, I've always been told that,” you murmured, leaning your back on the couch. “Maybe if I thought things through, I wouldn't be here with you instead of neglecting my obligations.”

“Is it a bother for you to be with me?” She asked, offended. You shook your head hastily.

“What? No, no, it was just a joke,” you said confused, used to her insecurities. “Anyway, I think I should go home, before the Lycans devour me…”

“But it’s too soon,” she said, getting up from the couch, with a broken voice. “Could you, could you stay for dinner with me.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” You asked amused.

“No, I...” Donna said, fleeing from that accusation, a well-founded accusation.

“No? Well, then I guess I’ll leave and…” You whispered, standing up. A hand on your wrist stopped you from moving and you smiled victoriously.

“What would you tell me if I asked you on a date?” She asked nervously, keeping her hand on your skin.

“I would tell you why you haven't asked me before, Donna.”

I would say why you haven't asked me before, Donna...

Abruptly, you open your eyes. The pain in your head is unbearable, your temples throb and your hunger calls for help again. You growl, annoyed by that dizziness. So you can't hunt, you can't kill. You are weak and the black figure in front of you was responsible, that overwhelming perfume of flowers. Donna. That name spins around in your head. You can't help but relate it to the lady in black.

“She has woken up! Give me another syringe,”  Angie doll squeals. You hadn't realized how close she was until she disappeared. You want to destroy that doll, you want your prey.

“No, Angie, it seems like she's calm,” Donna said, yes, Donna. You're sure that's her name. Since when do preys have names? Maybe it's not prey, maybe the prey is you.

The irrational fear of fainting again makes you recoil, teeth bared threateningly. The lady in black has a bandaged arm. You recognized the smell of your attack. You smile seeing how you managed to hurt her, but you didn't want to. You're hungry, you're hungry again.

“(Y/N), please, comes to your senses. I know you are there, somewhere,” the woman says, approaching her doom again. You don't feel like attacking, but you are hungry, very hungry.

You groan and shake your head. You have the need to respond, something inside you is dying to come out, but no, you can't, you have to kill, you have to hunt.

Kill, eat, sleep...

“Gods...” That Donna murmurs, her eye crying again. Preys don't cry. Preys flee, they scream, they bleed to death, but they don’t cry, they don’t smell like flowers.

The lady disappears and you scream, roar, flee. Hunger drives you crazy, loneliness is not a problem, but you need to eat, you need to take off those chains.

Fortunately, another piece of meat arrives just in time. Donna brings it, Donna feeds you. She is not your prey, she brings food, blood. She takes care of you. Does she take care of you?

You senselessly devour that raw meat, feeling how your body relaxes, how your instincts calm down. You don't care, you're eating. That's the most important thing.

When only the bone remains, you throw it with a grunt across the dark room. A grateful feeling settles in your mind, your eyes drift to the lady in black, who seemed focused on some kind of book. She gets scared when you throw the bone, she looks at you carefully again.

You sit, sated, drooling, dried blood matting your fur.

“Have you finished?” She asked kindly. No, preys are not kind, preys flee.

Your hand plays tricks on you. You extend one of your claws towards her, you don't really know why. You don't feel like killing, you want to reach your prey, but not devour it, just touch it.

She avoids you, but she can't seem to do it. She grabs your claw with her hand. Your eyes are lost, staring at the bandage on her arm. You did that, you hurt your prey, Donna.

“D…D…” Some clearer sounds come out of your mouth, tripping over the blood that was still between your jaws. Your throat struggled to pronounce a word, that word that had been floating around in your mind.

“Do you want to say something?” She asks, looking at you carefully, with curiosity, surprised by those strange noises.

“Do, Do... Donna,” you finally say, making a superhuman effort. No, you're not human, not anymore.

“Yes, tesoro, yes, I'm Donna, do you remember me?” She says with a broken voice, with her eye shining, excited.

You nod, not sure if you're telling the truth, you don't even know what telling the truth means. You once knew it, now you don't.

She cries excitedly, putting your claws on her face. You wanted to tear her apart, but you couldn't. Her name still echoed in your head, looking at her smile made you calm down.

But that's where your moment of lucidity ends. Your instincts attack again, causing the lady to flee from you, your prey to escape again.

The days go by and you remain the same, perhaps more hungry, more thirsty, perhaps more growling, more desperate attempts to escape. Donna is still with you, she is always with you, even at the risk of you killing her, of devouring her as your body asked. No, you didn't, you didn't speak again either.

“Come on, say something, I know you can,” the lady in black asks you, with her faithful squire Angie covering her. If by chance your desire to attack increased, she would stick that strange spike in you that made you fall asleep. You didn't want that. “I'm really trying, (Y/N), I'm trying to save you.”

You look at her confused, tilting your head, making her huff and pace from side to side. You were calm, you had just eaten.

Kill, eat, sleep, D…D…

Sighing, you laid down on the ground, feeling comfort in your fur. You didn't want to continue listening to that woman. To sleep was your next step.

“Please, say something, anything, (Y/N), please let me know that I haven't lost you,” Donna says, moving closer, knowing that when you were sleeping, you were almost defenseless. Her voice sounded very close, and her scent was intense. The flowers were pretty, they were not prey. She was pretty.

You growl in annoyance, pushing her hand away from your hair in an unpleasant manner. She backs away, but she doesn't seem to want to give up.

Don't bother me anymore, Donna. I don't want to devour you.

“Please, say something, I know you can... Please, (Y/N),” she insists, hurting your ears, making you squirm and the sound of the chains muffling her voice. “I don't care what you say, please, even if it's something stupid...”

Her words have no effect on you. You want to sleep, you need to sleep. Donna sobs and turns away from you, walking up the stairs, running away from you. You breathe a sigh of relief for having freed yourself from her annoying presence and curl up on yourself, sleeping.

Something stupid…

A strange music begins to play in your head, a familiar melody... A voice you didn't know...

Then afterwards we drop into a quiet little place

And have a drink or two

The music surrounds that strange atmosphere. A room, a song, a dance, two dresses moved by turns, two lovers.

And then I go and spoil it all

By saying something stupid like, "I love you"

Your hands rested on her shoulder while your eyes admired her smile. Donna danced with you, you danced with her. That romantic melody clouded your senses. Your hand in her waist, her hand in yours in soft movements, with looks of love.

The record was spinning in the player. The sun came in through the windows, making your shadows dance too. The smile on your face was impossible to look at, the smile when looking at hers, when seeing her beauty without that veil.

Your heart was pounding as you touched her dress, her skin. Donna smiled and rested her head on your shoulder. You wanted nothing but to keep dancing, even if the music ended. Your smile was camouflaged as you lean in to kiss her, to feel her lips on yours. Donna sighed, joining that kiss, running her hands over your waist, over your chest. The music continued playing, her hands wandered over your body, yours over hers.

“I love you, (Y/N)” her lips whispered. Yours smiled. “I want you to live with me, I want you to never leave.”

You nodded, playing with her hands, not missing a beat, giving her a spin before taking her firmly in your arms and bending her over slightly, holding her back.

“I love you, Donna,” you said, kissing her romantically. “I would love to live with you, spend my life with you.”

She kissed you again, cupping your face in her hands emphasizing the happiness those words brought her. The kisses became hot, her hand grabbing yours, saying nothing, dragging you towards the elevator, towards the bedroom.

The music was still playing. The song was ending, just like your dream.

I love you,

I love you…

Your eyes open again, it's another day. Thirst and hunger are no longer a problem. Donna made sure you had everything you needed. Your neck hurts. You have wounds, probably from having been trying to escape. Curious that you hadn't realized it until now. Your instincts scream for you to listen to them, but eating or sleeping are no longer the only things your body asks of you.

Kill, eat, sleep, Donna…

That melody of your dreams is still in your head, it continues sending images, memories to your heart, if you still had one. The piece of meat that you had in front of you calls you, but you are not able to pay attention to it, you are hungry, eat.

You extend your claws, but when you sink them into the flesh, you withdraw them in fear, why were you afraid? You don't want to eat, you're not hungry, or so you think. You're scared, you need Donna. You look for her.

She is there, far from you, far from your attacks, from your ferocity. You try to call her but you can't, you cry from helplessness, you put your claws on the metal collar, you feel the sting of your wounds.

“D, D... Do... Don,” you murmured, your voice hoarse, but clearer. You fight with your damaged vocal cords, but it's useless. You can't talk. You're a Lycan, now you know.

She doesn't listen to you. She's lost in her books. You have to roar, you have to scream, you have to make her listen to you.

“Do, Do, Donna!” You scream in a guttural, heartbreaking voice, one that scares the lady in black and makes Angie take out the usual syringe.

“(Y/N),” Donna murmurs, running towards you, crouching down to observe you, as she did lately, observe you, look at you.

Her eye goes from your face to the intact piece of meat. Her expression becomes confused, her brow furrows, and she looks back at you.

“You're not hungry?” She asks, nervously playing with her hands. Yes, she was afraid of you, she was your prey. She already was.

You shake your head sharply, putting your hands on your head, trying to make that strange pain go away. Donna doesn't come closer and you want her to, you need her smell of flowers on your fur, you need her hugs, the ones you dreamed of. But she fears you, you attacked her, you scratched her arm, you were going to devour her, she was your prey, she still is.

Your words are the only thing that seems to calm her, you had to speak, you had to try, but you couldn't pronounce anything, only that song played again in your head.

“I… Practice… Every… Day,” you murmur, the song guiding your actions. It was the only thing you could say, the only thing in your head. Donna looks at you confused, shaking her head, stepping closer. “To find some clever lines to say…”

The lady in black crouches next to you, looking at you strangely, looking for the hidden humanity in you, the one that made you sing that song that meant so much to her, and to you.

“But then I think I'll wait, until the evening gets late...” Donna sings, with a soft voice that numbs your senses. You try to smile, you really want to.

Kill, eat, sleep, Donna, I love you...

“And I'm alone with you,” you two whisper in unison.

Donna cries again, she smiles, brings her hand closer to your hairy, blood-stained face. She's not afraid of you, you don't disgust her, she loves you, you love her. Now you know, now you remember. You haven't died yet.

“(Y/N),” she sobs, throwing herself into your arms, hugging your beastly body. You are confused, you should want to kill her, devour her, but the only thing you can do is to hug her, is to feel the heat of her hug in your hair, in the worn parts that remained of your dress. You were not a Lycan. You were a woman, a human being. You once were the woman Donna loved, the one who made her happy, the one who made that smile.

Her tears should alert you, tell you that your prey was weak, but they didn't, they made you feel bad. No, she was no longer your lover, nor your prey, you were no longer her love, you were a monster.

“Gods…. (Y/N)...” She sobs again, without letting you go, letting you also seek comfort in her arms. The perfume of those flowers never seemed so pleasant to you.

“I... I love you...” You whispered with difficulty, with your fangs preventing you from speaking clearly, from appearing human, you weren't, you would never be again.

“My love, my tesoro...” The doll maker murmurs, broken with pain, letting herself be embraced by the weapons that were your arms, your claws, burying in your skin.

“Donna...” You say, rubbing your head on her body, wanting that comfort that only she could give to you. But no, you weren't going to say something nice. You are aware of what you are. The images of how you got to that situation became torture in your mind.

One night, cold, wolves, bite, you get sick, you die, you wolf now.

You knew Miranda had experimented on you when you were a little girl, but the Cadou didn't develop until that bite, until that unexpected attack from the Lycans. You were just like them. You would never be (Y/N) again.

“Kill me...” You ask with a hoarse voice, your decision clearer. She looks at you, pulling away from your chest, her eye shining, red with tears.

“What? No...” She sighs, those words hurt her, they hurt her and you don't know why. You weren't going to come back. If you couldn't love her, you didn't want to live. You didn't want to be a monster. You didn't want to see her as your prey. Either love, or death.

“Kill me,” you insisted, with an irrational rage beginning to build up in your guts. The hunger had returned, but you had to fight, take advantage of that small moment of humanity. You want it to end, you want the suffering to end. You want Donna to be safe, from you.

“No, no, (Y/N),” she says, shaking her head, holding your chin, cupping your jaws with her hands. The smell of the flowers is starting to be annoying again. “I'll save you, I, I'm working on a serum, I'll save you, (Y/N).”

“Kill me!” You roared, causing her to fall to the ground. The ferocity had returned and the smell of that intact piece of meat was becoming unbearable.

Pushing the lady in black again, you dive into your food, forgetting about that song, those desires to die. You wanted to eat, you needed to eat. Not even the desire to die was strong enough to make your hunger disappear.

“How is she going?” A strange voice wakes you up, that appetizing bird woman. Your hunger calls you, but, as always, you have your food in front of it, you go for it.

“She's better, or so I think,” Donna says, her voice breaking. Her appearance is pitiful, even a Lycan like you realizes that.

Kill, eat, sleep, Donna, I love you, I want to die...

Instincts speak for you. Your conscience is locked under bloodlust. You didn't speak again. You were no longer capable of even grunting something close to her name. Only sometimes, when your lucidity allowed it, you wanted to stop existing, stop being a monster.

“It doesn't seem like it,” Mother Miranda murmured, yes that was her name, she did that to you, but you don't hate her, you admire her, you owe her loyalty.

“She spoke a few weeks ago, she said my name,” Donna says, holding her guardian Angie, the prick doll, in her arms.

“Mm, that doesn't mean anything. The total transformation is different for each specimen,” the blonde says, looking at you out of the corner of her eye. “It's a lost cause, Donna, you should stop trying.”

“I can’t stop. I already have an almost ready serum, it could work,” the lady in black protests. You don't listen, you just eat. You just tear the meat from the bone. “She, she said that she wanted, that she wanted me to kill her.”

“Mm,” the witch murmurs again. She seemed to have no feelings, like you. “It could have been a cry for help, don't you think?”

“I know she is there, somewhere, I have, I have to help her...” Donna comments.

Don't insist, you are my prey.

“Maybe helping her is fulfilling her last wishes,” Miranda says, getting a little closer.

I can't kill you, you are my mistress, I owe you loyalty. My body says it, my hunger says it. I can't eat that bird.

“What do you mean?” Donna asks, approaching the bird.

“Donna, you're putting yourself in danger,” Miranda states, observing in disgust your voracious hunger and the constant drooling you made when eating. “I have given you a whole month to solve this. I can't let you.”

“But, but,” the doll maker protests, with a sad, scared look.

 Yes, yes, you are scared.  You are my flower-smelling prey.

“Enough, Donna. I’m very sorry that this has ended this way,” the bird interrupts, untouchable bird.

“Please, Mother Miranda, let me try, please,” Donna begs, kneeling before the bird. You look at her curiously, licking the bone that was left from your meal, grunting in satisfaction at your satiety.

“Mm, you said you had a serum,” the blonde comments, an omnipotent bird.

“Yes, but, but it's not finished,” Donna says, nodding, getting up from the ground. Her doll nodded as well. “I need more time, just a little more.”

Miranda shakes her head and you groan in confusion. They are talking about you and you didn't realize it.

“Give it to her,” the bird orders, to which the lady in black shakes her head again. “You've already wasted too much time. It's the last chance.”

“It's not finished,” Donna says, scared again.

Flowers…

“I don’t care! Obey, Donna,” the blonde screeches, echoing off the walls and causing an horrible damage to your ears. “You are lucky that I give you that opportunity. If your serum doesn't work, (Y/N) will die, I will end her suffering.”

Who is (Y/N)? Another prey? I'm thirsty.

The lady nods with a sad look, disappearing up the stairs.

When she returns, she is carrying something in her hand, a jar with a strange liquid. It's not blood, you can't smell blood.

Donna approaches you slowly, cautiously, uncovering the jar. The smell is horrible. You couldn't smell the flowers anymore. Frightened and helpless, you back away, shaking your chains.

“Please drink it, please,” Donna begs, extending the jar towards you. Miranda sighs listlessly.

“Do I drug her? Do I drug her?” Angie asks, shaking her usual syringe in her hand.

“No, Angie, if you do it it won't work. She has to be awake,” Donna explains, trying to get you to drink from that horrible jar. You squirm, you kick, you shake your claws, until you couldn't do it. Something prevents you to.

The bird looks at you, as if concentrated. You look at your claws, stuck to the wall, held by black roots.

“Obey, drink,” the bird whispers, something that makes you react. She is your master, you owe her loyalty.

The liquid burned your sore throat, the taste was horrible, you preferred blood, meat, you wanted prey.

Nothing happens, time stops, the two women look at you and your throat continues to hurt. You're angry. You can't defend yourself. The taste of that liquid was horrible, you wanted blood. You drool while you show your teeth at Donna, she was the culprit, not Miranda, she was your owner, you her servant.

You want to kill Donna, devour her, but before you could feel that fury, a burning pain begins to burn your insides. You run your hands through your fur, trying to get rid of that internal fire, the fire that consumed your skin from within.

You roar, roar like never before as you stand up, tightening the chains that keep you pinned to the wall.

The pain is unbearable, all your skin burns, your eyes hurt, your legs hurt, but you have to escape, you have to kill. You couldn't stop roaring, wailing, moving your claws erratically until they landed on the collar on your neck.

Screaming again, with all the strength you had, you managed to break that collar in two and you moved triumphantly, howling in a terrifying way. The women look at you scared. The bird narrows her eyes, as if wanting to give you some orders. Her lips are moving, she is talking but you can't hear her. The pain is stronger, the pain is your master now.

Locating the perfume of flowers, you run on all fours towards the lady in black, who tries to flee, in vain.

You grab her, push her against a wall. The pain is strong, but you lick your lips, she is yours, your prey. The voices in your head cry out for your attention. You have to kill, tear apart, she has caused that horrible pain. Donna has caused it.

You roar in her face, making her close her eye. She doesn't fight to get away from you, she knows she can't. You double over in pain, but you keep her against the wall, you have to kill.

Kill, eat, sleep, Donna, I love you, I want to die

Kill, eat, sleep, Donna, I love you, I want to die

Kill… Eat… Donna, I love you, I want…

Kill… Eat… Donna… I love you.

Ki… Ea… Donna… I love you.

K…E… Donna, I love you.

Donna, I love you.

Your pain becomes strong and voices confuse your mind. Something wants to come out and you must let it go. You let Donna go and clawed at your head, roaring, roaring until the sound coming out of your mouth was more like a scream.

You scream in pain, you scream in the burning. You're screaming, not roaring. Donna looks at you scared, but she doesn't run away from you, she is no longer your prey, she is no longer... She is... She is...

Your mind overflows and you become dizzy, letting yourself fall forward. Warm arms pick you up. You no longer see anything, only darkness.

Only darkness

Your whole body aches, you move slowly, waiting to feel the hard rock beneath your feet. No, it's not rock that you feel, it's comfort, it's a soft surface, you are comfortable.

You open your eyes. There is no more well, no more meat, no water. There is no hunger, no thirst, no prey, just that smell of flowers that came from the sheets you were under.

Frightened, you sit up and see your hand. It was a human hand, soft, without fur, without blood, without claws. You bring that hand to your face, to your body. There's nothing, just soft skin, just some wounds.

Run your tongue over your teeth, there are no fangs. There are no instincts, there is only you. (Y/N), that's your name, you're human again.

“She's awake, she's awake!” Angie screams, jumping on the bed. You can't help but smile. That whole atmosphere was so familiar. Despite the pain in your body, you are happy.

“A... Angie, is that you?” You ask, extending your sore arm towards the doll, which nods fervently. Yes, Angie, it's Angie.

“Hello, hello!” She squeals again, shaking your hand as if she just met you.

Hurried heels reached your ears. That noise no longer hurt you, it no longer sounded loud. It was no longer an approaching prey.

“Gods, (Y/N)!”Donna screams, smiles, cries, she throws herself into your arms. You, confused, but happy, hug her back, remembering how good her warmth felt on your body. “(Y/N), tesoro…”She sobs against your bare skin, grabbing your face with a look of pure happiness.

“What…? What happened?” You ask, having vague memories, something in your body that asked you to eat meat, although the part that prevented it was still stronger. “Have I died?”

Donna shakes her head, with a wide, sincere smile.

“No, no, my love, you're alive... I've saved you,” she says enthusiastically. You put your hands in hers and smile. Yes, it's Donna, your Donna. You are alive, she has saved you.

“I'm a bit... Dizzy,” you say, enjoying her caresses. “But I'm glad to see you.”

“You've been asleep for three days, I thought you wouldn't wake up,” she explains, lying down on the bed and placing your pillow. Her gaze darkens, you remember why.

“Well, I guess I'm back,” you comment, smiling at your love, at your everything, at your Donna. Yes, she saved you, in too many ways. “Maybe, maybe you don't believe me but... I haven't stopped thinking about you all this time.”

“I know,” the lady in black responds, nodding and leaning towards your lips, kissing them, making you hug her even tighter. You don't want to lose contact.

Laugh, cry, love, Donna…

You separate, as if it were a dream, you caress her pale skin, her black hair. You drown in her flower perfume. You were back, and you were happy. She cries and so do you. You were back, you would never leave again.

“Donna, I love you,” you say loud and clear with your human voice, one that spoke without problems, that said everything it wanted to say.

“I love you, my love...” Donna responds, burying herself in your aching body. You laugh, knowing that the previous month was nothing but a nightmare that you didn't want to remember again.

“Hey...” You sigh, with an amused look. You were always too much of a joker. “I'm hungry.”

[crystalandparrot]

ROTTMNT x Reader

Part 1, Part 2

The flashing of cameras and the voices of reporters was the first thing Leonardo heard as he stepped out of his limo. Due to the long plane ride, Leo decided to wear comfort over fashion, although it's hard for him to look bad in anything. He wore a white wife-beater, revealing his plastron and tattooed arms. Much like his brother, Leonardo loved art, he just loved it in a more show-off sense. Of course, he let his brother give him his first tattoo, a large colored portrait of their family on his thigh. On his legs were blue sweats, a personal favorite that his agent always advised him not to wear. Expensive shoes designed for him specifically adorned his feet. Finally, silver chains decorated his wrists and neck (he would have chosen gold, but his brother advised against it. C'mon, blue and gold?), glistening with each movement. He flashed a smirk at the cameras and gave finger guns at fans. One of his bodyguards leaned close to whisper in his ear, "You have a meeting with the executive producers in thirty minutes."

"Which means I get at least twenty-eight minutes to strut my stuff." Leo chuckled. With split-second motions, Leo changed between poses, performing for the camera.

"-mask!"

Leo turned and stared into the crowd, "W-Who said that?" The crowd parted as if making way for a royal or God to walk without interruption. A small woman with a microphone in her hand shook as Leo approached. "Just now, you said something, what was it?"

The small girl stuttered, "I asked i-if you could put on y-your mask. F-for a picture for Channel 10?"

Leo's heart dropped, and his breathing quickened. A pat on his shoulder shook him out of his mini panic attack. He nodded thanks at his bodyguard and gave the reporter a quick grin, " I don't even know where that old thing went! It's been, what, psshh, five years? It's probably shoved in a box somewhere." That satiated the hungry reporters and fans, for now. Leo and his bodyguard left, heading off to the large building behind the crowd.

Okay, first things first. You don't know the old password so you can't change it to one you'll remember. So you changed the screen dimming time to never. Now the phone won't shut off on its own. Dialing your number, you called about three times with no answer. A sudden thought crosses your mind, causing your palm to hit your face. Your phone was on silent. Taking a deep breath, you quickly texted your number, explaining the situation and the password to unlock your phone. That way the turtle Yokai won't be as clueless as you are now.

With nothing else to do, you connected your headphones to the turtle's phone and searched for Spotify. It was his fault, the least he could do was spare some tunes. Wait a minute...his Spotify account...this dude was Othello Von Ryan? Man, you couldn't wait to see him again. His studying playlists kept you awake and alert through college! His barrage of random music, ranging from 80's dancing music to hardcore techno kept your mind alert and focused. Donnie, or, Othello Von Ryan, helped you with memory. Oddly enough, some of the quirky tunes in his playlists gave you memorization songs.

In fact, now that you think about it, Donnie looked an awful lot like your favorite actor--

"(Y/n)! Come in, dear! I've been expecting you!" A shrill voice called from across the street.

You looked up, spotting Mrs. Erin, the Heron Yokai. You grinned, pulling your headphones out of your ears and shoving them in your pocket. You waved at the Yokai as you crossed the street, stepping into her swampy garden. "How's your husband, Mrs. Erin?"

"Oh, Harry's fine! Come in! Come in! Let me get you a cup of tea." The old Yokai hobbled inside, her talons dragging across the waterlogged wood. You followed behind closely, used to the drab environment. You learned throughout life that the more you understand how something came to be, the more beautiful it becomes. With a clap from you, the twinkling string of lights came on. It's warm glow bouncing off the waxy leaves that broke through the cracked windows. Dew drops fell onto the wet floor, filling the room with quiet plip plaps.

A chipped cup of lukewarm tea was placed in your hand. A feathery hand pushed you down onto an old rocking chair, the owner of the hand sitting down across from you. "I want you to tell me all about this new job!" Erin grinned with a toothless smile.

"It's just a small librarian job at the school up top." You said, sipping your tea.

"Up top! With all those-those monsters?" Erin screeched.

"They're not all monsters! Some of them—"

"(Y/n). When your mother died I promised your father I'd make sure that you were safe! W-wouldn't you rather stay home? Marry a nice Yokai and settle down?" Erin tottered closer to you and grabbed your hands.

You chuckled, "I'm not exactly looking for someone to settle down with yet. I'm ready to get out there and explore! Besides, I can protect myself!" You said, proudly.

"E-even with all the humans?" Erin stuttered.

You blinked at Erin, your face neutral, "Mrs. Erin. I'm human."

"I know! B-but you're one of the good ones! I'd hate for you to go up top where I won't know what happened—Oh!" The old Yokai snatched the cup of tea from your hands and peered into the old china. She glared at the leaves and swirled the remaining liquid in the cup. With a gasp that jostled your core, Erin’s beak stretched into a long smile. She breathed a sigh of relief and set down the cup. “I was worried for nothing. You’re going to fall in love and get married to a nice, young, handsome Yokai.”

You shook your head, yet a smile still sat on your cheeks, “Maybe in a couple of years, Mrs. Erin. I’m not in any rush to get married to anyone right now.”

“Oh, I’m sure!” The Heron chuckled like she knew something you didn’t. Without warning, she began pushing you out of the house. “Okay, bye-bye now! The quicker you go up top the faster you fall in love!” With that, the door was slammed in your face, the sound echoing through the marshy area.

“Love you too.” You said flatly. You pulled the mystery phone back out of your pocket and put in your earbuds again. When you clicked onto Spotify, a notification popped up.

“Leonardo Hamato back in NYC for upcoming movie shoot, exclusive interview from Channel 10.”

Huh. How weird would it be if you ran into your favorite actor while after just moving back up top? Probably entirely impossible, but it was nice to hope, right?

"Shoved in a box?! Did you hear him?"

"I did."

"Shoved in a box?! Ugh! He's just so—"

"Annoying, pompous, overconfident, lacking in empathy, ass-like?"

Mikey turned to Donnie, his hair falling into his face as his head whipped around. "I was gonna say stupid, but yeah, those work too." Mikey nodded, turning back to the T.V, seeing the reporters final words to the camera once Leo left the cameras view.

Donnie felt himself N.E., which stood for Nose Exhale. Mikey learned that phrase years ago and thought it was more fitting than L.O.L for his emotionally unavailable brother. While it was rare for Donnie to "laugh out loud", when he found something humorous, he always let out a little breath of a chuckle through his nose.

"I just...out of everything he could have done...why'd he have to take away the one thing that..."

When Mikey paused, Donnie looked up from his purple holographic screens that he had been typing on. He saw Mikey looking at the screen sadly, and he knew it wasn't from the sad dog commercial that came on, but the interview that came before it. "That what, Michael?" Donnie asked, the screens disappearing.

"Nothing, it's stupid," Mikey sniffed, wiping his eyes before tears could escape.

"Leo is stupid, you're emotionally intelligent. You obviously have a reason to feel what you feel. You're not stupid for feeling emotions, Michelangelo." Donnie used his full name with the intention of leaving an impact.

Mikey chuckled and turned to Donnie, tears running down his smiling face, "Thanks, D."

Donnie nodded and sat up in his bean bag (yes it was his, the purple color made it obvious), "I may have taken a page or two from Dr. Delicate Touch," he shrugged.

"Nah, that was Dr. Feelings for sure," Mikey joked, knowing his brother was rather uncomfortable with feelings, but to be fair, he had gotten a lot better. Realizing this, Mikey sighed. Donnie appreciated honesty over anything, so this was something he needed to get off his chest, for his sake and his brother's. "Dad always called us by the color of our masks. Red, Orange, Purple...but Leo's not wearing his anymore. It's like he disowned us...he's not Blue anymore." Mikey began tucking his head and limbs into his shell with every word. By the end of his sentence, only his shell was visible sitting in front of the empty recliner.

This time Donnie sighed, he stood and gripped the purple beanbag so it stayed comfortably on his rear while he shuffled towards his brother. Letting gravity help him, Donnie let himself and the beanbag fall to the ground. He wiggled slightly and hummed, pleased at the fact that his position hadn't changed and the beanbag was still holding his shell and rear perfectly. Using his hand, he hesitantly patted Mikey's shell in comfort. "Leonardo's done some idiotic things in the past. I'd put this in his top ten, actually." Donnie thought aloud, but shook his head, remembering his original point, "He’s a dumb-dumb but, unfortunately, he'll never stop being our brother."

Mikey poked his head out, looking in Donnie's eyes for...something. A lie? Hope? Donnie didn't know, but whatever he found, he liked it, because the next moment, Mikey had his head and limbs out. He outstretched his arms, but didn't move aside from that. Donnie rolled his eyes, although a small smile poked at his lips. With a nod from Donnie, Mikey jumped onto him, giving him the tightest hug that he thought he'd ever received. Donnie hugged back.

Thankfully for Donnie, Mikey understood boundaries, and separated from Donnie before the hug got too overwhelming. Sloppily wiping his tears and sucking up his snot, Mikey gave Donnie a sincere smile. "Thanks, Don."

Donnie nodded, a small smile on his own lips. Out of his battle shell came a robotic arm holding a tissue. Mikey took the tissue and blew his nose as the robotic arm retracted back into the shell. "Hey-"

"I would prefer if you finished blowing your nose before you change the subject, please." Donnie asked, pulling up his holographic screens once more with the help of his Ninpō.

Mikey obeyed, then tossed the tissue into the trashcan on the other side of the room. When it landed, Mikey pumped his fist in a silent cheer. "What happened at the Mystic City? We were chasing Meat Sweats and you stopped to talk to some girl." Mikey remembered.

"Oh, yeah. Raph was texting about meeting for dinner, so I naturally opened my messages to form a reply, when—" Donnie pulled out his phone to show Mikey the texts when he immediately felt something amiss. The case was the same, the weight was equal to his phone, the model was the exact same, everything looked fine. But this is Donnie, he lost his phone for less than a day and went nearly insane when he was still a teenager. Give him a week and he might've made a phone from just things in the woods. He knew everything about his phone.

"Donnie?" Mikey called, noticing his brother's sudden silence.

Shakily, Donnie turned over the phone, noticing the background first, then the surplus of texts and calls from his phone number. He whispered something too quiet for Mikey to hear.

"What?" Mikey asked, putting his hand up to the side of his head where his ear would have been.

"This. Isn't. My. Phone."

[sytokun]

A lengthy thought wall about the recent RT shutdown and DillonGoo Studios' interest in acquiring RWBY - I speculate and entertain some hopium about the pros that could come with it and why all in all, impossible it may be, it's probably the best shot we have for RWBY.

Some rwde cause it mentions Shane's letter and nobody likes that.

I've been reading a lot, a lot of the various discussions around RWBY's fate and Dillon Goo Studio's (henceforth shortened to DGS) interest in acquiring it. Here's my overall evaluation everything so far:

This goes without saying but this is obviously an optimistic take on the matter, I wanna talk moreso about the pros rather than the logistics of whether DGS can afford it, whether you think it's just clout-chasing, etc.

Dillon's a former RWBY animator and a fan of Monty's work. No matter what you think of Monty's style of action, in the greater public sphere, RWBY is known and liked precisely for that and largely that alone, period. Only RWBY fans who are already invested in the show will mention story or characters - for the majority of people, i.e. future RWBY fans, the action is the main selling point, and DGS clearly can deliver on this.

Dillon himself is at least amicable with most of CRWBY and likely open to negotiate with them given prior work history. For any other media corporation, consulting the old IP holders of a defunct company is a minor formality at best or even a laughable waste of time. And if you want to bring up a certain almost 10-year-old letter and the person working with Dillon who wrote it, there are plenty in the comments section who would agree with me that it's not as big a dealbreaker as one might think, given the company the letter largely condemned is well dead and buried. I won't go further into that matter.

DGS is very community-oriented - they're very intimately familiar with 3D animation and produces creator-friendly content like the Goo Engine which helps future animators inspired by RWBY to make similar anime-style 3D content. Every single RWBY fan animator whose work we enjoyed benefits from this acquisition - all of whom can grow into future animators for the series, intimately familiar with its trademark action style.

DGS is probably the only genuine fan of RWBY that has a remote chance of acquiring the IP with the express motivation of using the IP creatively. This can be clearly seen in the steady improvement of their animation content over the years and desire to push the medium. All other candidates are corporations whose motivations with RWBY are, more likely than not, going to be entirely financial (not necessarily a bad or unhealthy thing, but it's a factor).

If RWBY stays under WB or given off to Crunchyroll? They have no stake in RWBY beyond pure business. They have no interest in what's best for RWBY or its growth, only how it will be most profitable or recoup the losses from RT. The only companies I can see being more creatively invested in RWBY are ArcSystem Works who implemented RWBY in Blazblue Cross Tag Battle, or Shaft that animated Ice Queendom, but those are both Japanese companies unlikely to go all-in on a foreign IP - especially given that these studios usually adapt other IPs, not buy them outright.

DGS is invested in RWBY. Their entire studio's style is built on RWBY-esque action animation. Acquiring RWBY more or less guarantees it'll become their main flagship series and their main investment, whereas with WB, Crunchyroll or other big platform, RWBY is nowhere near prolific enough to be much more than another shelf-filler in their library. At worst, Warner archives RWBY for eternity and at best, they only bring RWBY out for tie-ins and crossovers to prop up their larger DC properties. Why give RWBY the spotlight when they own the likes of Justice League and Looney Tunes?

DGS may not be the most plausible choice, but it's clear that unless some big company like ArcSystem Works or something throws their hat in the RWBY ring, DGS is far and away the people's favourite, even gaining approval from JJ Grelle (Tyrian's VA), who quite notably refused to reprise their role for Rooster Teeth.

DGS is still very much an indie studio which IMO RWBY has flourished the most under, the time period where it retained a certain unpolished energy that made you invested in watching it improve and grow. I don't want to watch a RWBY that uses its precious time under a new studio to just go by the numbers and coast by on its existing fanbase. I want to watch a RWBY that grows, innovates and takes risks, that impresses and draws new and old fans in the way it does for every single person that has watched the Red Trailer for the first time.

I think a lot of folks have a preconceived notion that RWBY has to continue on the exact same production value as V9 left off, but that never had to be the case. I think a return to a much more subdued production with smaller teams focusing on strong individual episodes over large overarching narratives will be healthy for RWBY and more easily invite new fans, which it sorely needs if it wants to stay afloat this time around.

Whether this means a continuation to V10 or a reboot I don't know, but I know I'd rather take a RWBY that a new studio respects and will produce in a way that fits their strengths and limits, over trying and overreaching themselves to make something work that even Rooster Teeth failed to, or over no RWBY at all.

That's the crux of it: the worse alternative is no RWBY at all. CRWBY and especially us as a fandom are in no position to be picky when that's the alternative. There's no such thing as a perfect deal, but this is about as sweet as they come. If the only hurdle is WB's refusal to sell, then that's on Warner. If the only hurdle is affording the IP, I, many others and no doubt other associates Dillon Goo Studios knows are likely to help them meet that price.

I do wanna stress, despite my optimism, I'm not asking to stake all our hopes on DGS as the saviour of RWBY, god no - the last thing I want is a weirdo Monty 2.0 cult and I doubt Dillon would want that either. I'm not saying the RWBY they'd make will be perfect or be equitable for everyone either - some compromises must be made and professionally speaking, whoever owns RWBY next has no legal obligation to make V10 or bring back anyone from CRWBY. Any such action is solely on the graces of the new IP holder and at the end of the day, I think whatever creates a healthier, longer-lasting future for RWBY should take priority over our sentiment or attachment.

But as things stand right now, if DGS isn't just farming Twitter likes and is honest-to-god serious about acquiring RWBY, and no better candidate presents themselves, this is about the best option we have right now, and I myself will be ready to help and contribute in whatever little way I can. Because I know the very real alternative is either a complete gamble on yet another faceless media subsidiary, or watching RWBY rot behind a vault for the next decade or more.

[homestuckreplay]

TITLE DROP MOMENT !!!!

(pages 82 + 307)

Today's page HIT, because there's nothing I love more than when stories have patterns and structures, and getting the Rose/Act 2 equivalent of the title card in act 1 is a great example of that. The flash animations aren't beat for beat identical, but they hit almost all the same moments - main character gazing at the sky despite obstruction (beaglepuss, blinding rain), view of what they see in the sky, slow zoom out as main character gets smaller and smaller, exterior shot of character's house.

Rose's flash feels a little more complex and detailed with its storm and meteorite effects and increased shading on the clouds and house, which is probably the author getting more confident with the medium. John gets to see the 'Homestuck' pixel clouds in the sky - which I do think are literally there, because they're not depicted as a computer interface the way every other abstraction is - while Rose doesn't. It could be obscured by clouds, but as the word has been so specifically and uniquely associated with John (despite Rose also being stuck at home) I think that's something that's specifically above his house, just for him.

Wind skims the voids keeping neighbors apart, as if grazing the hollow of a cut reed, or say, a plundered mailbox. A familiar note is produced. It's the one Desolation plays to keep its instrument in tune. (p.82)

Somewhere a zealous god threads these strings between the clouds and the earth, preparing for a symphony it fears impossible to play. And so it threads on, and on, delaying the raise of the conductor's baton. (p.307)

The music imagery in these descriptions and in the act titles is very compelling, especially combined with John and Rose both being gifted musicians. If I'm not mistaken, a piano can be made with reeds that are struck when the keys are pressed, while a violin has strings - so their paragraphs refer to their chosen instruments.

They also fit together really nicely. From Wikipedia:

In some choral works, the conductor may signal to a pianist or organist to play a note or chord so that the choir members can determine their starting notes. Then the conductor gives one or more preparatory beats to commence the music...The beat of the music is typically indicated with the conductor's right hand, with or without a baton.

So the 'note desolation plays' is the one the pianist plays to determine starting notes, and the 'raise of the conductor's baton' is the preparatory beat. John, the piano player, is coded as Desolation, not just someone who is experiencing depression but is actually embodying it, while I think there's an argument for Rose as either the conductor or the zealous god threading the strings? I'm interested in if there will be a moment that feels like the currently delayed 'raise of the conductor's baton' for the story, because if it wasn't the meteor impact at the end of act 1, then what could it be?

I also can't wait for an act 3 equivalent of this. If John successfully convinces TG to be Rose's server player, maybe TG will get his own atmospheric musings and role to play in the symphony. Then again, as far as we know he's not a talented instrumentalist, he's a shitty rapper, so maybe the vibe will be completely different. (As for GG in act 4, I think they play the harmonica).

what does it mean when the characters gaze up at the sky

Rose and John both have misattributed quotes on their pages - Rose's claims to be Charles Barkley, but is actually T.S. Eliot (easy mistake). Both their quotes have strong nature imagery - John's mentions wind and flame, Rose's, plants and rain - and both quotes relate to life/death or proliferation/destruction dichotomies, as well as intense emotions - John's mentions passion and Rose's, desire. Could be some Themes being snuck in here.

There's also a lot of Themes in John and Rose gazing up at their respective skies. It feels like them fully comprehending their situations for the first time, a moment of clarity where they're literally opening their eyes, and seeing a world much bigger and fuller than the ones inside their house. The sky is a vast expanse of unknowns, something not easily traversable by humans without mechanical aids, it's where the gods and the heavens are rumored to be and, for some people, the place they'd like their souls to go after death. Gazing open eyed into the weight of all that at once while the end of the world looms overhead is definitely powerful.

As such, I like that this page came out by itself, and I get to sit with it for a day. Page 82 was quickly followed up by 'Leave a surprise for the mailman' which, firstly, we all need to respect our mail carriers, but secondly is a huge tone shift. That's not bad in itself but I'm glad for the comic to let itself be earnest for a moment before that happens.

I haven't double checked, but this might be our first zoom out on Rose's house, and it's even wilder than I imagined? Entire floors held up on stilts, windows as wide as the walls, a giant waterfall in the basement, three or four different wings plus the observatory tower, and a fucking platform with no safety rails leading across the rocky cliffs? This place is not safe for kids and it definitely isn't up to any kind of code. No wonder Rose expected John to walk across such a narrow bridge to retrieve his dad's PDA. She literally does that every day on the way to school. Also, her mom doesn't have a car despite living in a rural area, and the mausoleum is SO far from the house. What, is someone scared of being haunted by the ghost of a dead cat?

[deepdreamnights]

A friendly wizard and style reference.

Midjourney has just released both the version 6 of its niji anime engine and the first version of its "style reference" tool.

Functionally this is a variation of the image prompting system (explained here), in which breaks a submitted image down into the 'token language' the AI uses internally and uses that as a supplement to a text prompt. "Style Reference" (or 'sref') lets you do this with up to three images, only with only the tokens associated with 'style' being drawn upon.

This is not to be confused with style transfer, a much older and very different AI art process.

But what is a style in this context? And how does it affect generation?

Prompt: a blue axolotl-anthro wizard in a red-and-yellow swirl-pattern robe, holding a sheleighleigh made of purple wood and a potion full of glowing green energy drink. A blue-and-green ladybug familiar stands near his feet, white background, fullbody image

Settings: --niji 6, --style raw --s 50 --seed 1762468963

Here, I've tested the same seed and prompt with a number of reference images.

My semiorganized ramblings under the fold

The first thing I note is that style reference affects the gen so much that same-seed/different style ref comparisons are kind of pointless. Way too much of pose, composition and content changes for it to matter, so for future style ref tests, I'm probably going to drop the seeds.

The second thing I note is that there are certain limitations. You need to change up your prompt for things like photography, and the system interprets styles using its own criteria, not ours. If image prompting misinterprets something, so will style ref, but perhaps not in the same way.

This is notable for the one prompted with a scan from the Nuremberg Chronicle (first row). It recognizes that its a woodcut and emulates that general vibe nicely, but MJ is highly tuned for aesthetics, and emulating real world jank and clumsiness is a weak area. This is literally the first printed (european at least) book with illustrations. Every example thereafter is building on that skillset, so the dataset for woodcuts is going to be largely of a higher apparent quality.

In short, with Midjourney, additional prompt work is needed to replicate the look of early jank or intentionally 'ugly' art styles, and even as recent as v6 I've had no luck with things like midcentury Hanna-Barbereesque cheap TV animation styles or shitty 1990s CGI.

Style reference can help, I've gotten some pretty good cheap 80s-90s TV animation looking stuff from v6 niji and style ref in my early tests:

Color observations: Absent specific requests in the prompt, SREF will stick pretty close to the palette and lighting conditions of the referenced image. With such instructions, you get blending, so the one referencing the okapi fakemon (second row from bottom), for instance, has a lot of colors the reference image doesn't have, but they're in similar in vibrancy and saturation.

One limitation, however, is it doesn't apply to the aspects of the gen that come from any image prompts, so it will always blend the style of the style reference with the style aspects inherited from the image prompt, and that is very strong compared to the style ref.

Using the dog as the image prompt, and the TFTM reformatting as the style prompt, and the text prompt: "a cute older yorkie dog sitting on a bedspread", we get the image on the left. Dropping the image prompt weight to .25 gets us the center option, and removing the image prompt entirely produces the one on the right.

I expect this will be patched eventually, or general image prompting may fall out of favor compared to a combination of style ref and the upcoming character reference option, which will be the same thing, but will only reference the tokens associated with the character in the reference image. Depending on how that works that will have a lot of uses.

Stay tuned for more experiments. There's some good potential for freaky, unexplored aesthetics with combinations of multiple style refs and text prompts.