#of someone i want to be. something i should be. something to make me human and feeling and alive.

[grvait]

old art again!! this time a rough animation of sawyer and yarnaby 😎 (looks better if u click to view 😭)

im working on a short ppt animation rn. im thinking i should post it to my youtube channel, though im not sure if people here would see it. i think i can link videos on here?? idk

okay I'm gonna talk abt more chapter 4 stuff.. this time about prototype's previous identity.. ch4 spoilers and also a theory below..

hiding the solo yarnaby under here LOL

people theorized 1006 was elliot, which was recently disproven in the chapter 4 tape where poppy refers to elliot as her dad and wishes he were there. in the same tape she addresses prototype as a completely different person. also recall that elliot died in the 90s, meanwhile prototype met theo in 1989. so yeah, they aren't the same person

I've also seen people say rich is prototype, which cannot be true either. in a ch4 tape he speaks to one of the boys who eventually got turned into doey. the kid mentions his coworkers joking about him going missing. before the bbi, it would not make sense for this to be a common rumor at the company, which means this tape had to happen after harley was hired in 1990; at a time when the company would have a reason to silence people

prototype existed in 1989 at the minimum, but considering he says "it's always been about you and me" to poppy, he's likely the prototype of HER. she's elliots daughter, she died in the 60s, meaning prototype was probably created around that time as well.

this means that rich can't be the prototype because he was human long after prototype was made

if you want my take on who prototype truly is, i'd say his identity doesn't necessarily matter. i don't mean to say his origins aren't important, just that his name and specific role in the past probably doesn't mean anything in the long run. i've never believed he was elliot or rich, and maybe in the future i'll be proven wrong but for now i'll tell you the theory i've had since june of last year

elliot's daughter dies in the 60s. he divorced his wife in 1930, so his daughter is probably in her 30s when she dies. she gets sick or injured, maybe she's actively dying or already dead by the time elliot begins his research. he looks for ways to bring her back, but it doesn't work on the rats (as he mentioned a note in the 2nd chapter)

so what does he do? he tries it on something bigger as he said he would: a human. of course he's not going to try this experimental method on his own daughter, even if she's already dead, so he finds someone else to use it on. we know that elliot wasn't evil or anything, so it's unlikely he killed anybody to use for the experiment. considering the orphanage isn't open yet (it opened in the 70s, not the 60s), prototype probably wasn't an orphan child either. if i run with my simple version of the theory, elliot may have dug up a body in a graveyard and used that. maybe a fresh one, who knows. he tried it, it worked, then he revived his daughter with the same method.

this is likely what harley wanted to know about in the chapter 3 tape (the "i learn something new about you every day" one), and also what prototype is asking harley to figure out in the ch4 tape they're both in. in that case, sawyer never actually figured out how to revive people with the poppy substance. sure, he can transfer people into the toys, but he can't bring anybody back to life

more reason to believe prototype and poppy are of the same "batch" is because it seems they are the only two who don't need food. it's outright stated about him in the ch1 trailer, and insinuated with her saying the "toys will starve otherwise" when she's talking about how nasty them eating humans is. she refers to them, not herself. her and prototype are probably the only 2 who were ever brought back from the dead, which circles back around to his monologue and gives meaning to the "it's always been about you and me, poppy. what we are". when i heard him say that i felt like my theory was lowk confirmed 😭😭

no guarantee this is right, but it's been my guess for a long time

[shiranuieditorial]

Professional editor here 🙋🏽 piping in to say that that sentence is 100% grammatically correct, but it could use a pair of em dashes (if following U.S. English standards) or en dashes (if following U.K. English standards) to break up that interior monologue or emphasised exclamation (whichever one you intended it to be) as an interjection/interruption inserted within the main sentence. It would help your readers’ clarity and understanding, and therefore, boost their enjoyment levels too!

So, yeah, it still stands that English’s grammar sphere is extremely flexible, twistable, stretchable, flammable, combustible, slice-and-diceable, and however the fuck else you wanna abuse it to your selfish satisfaction! You just gotta make sure your overall creation is still readable, parseable, legible, decipherable, understandable, and therefore, enjoyable—you know?

Unique author voices are completely different from grammatical errors and linguistic inaccuracies. The former is to be cherished! Treasured! Praised! Uplifted! Celebrated until the end of time! Meanwhile, the latter is to be reduced to a minimum, because we don’t need them if they don’t serve a very intentional purpose. A trained eye will be able to distinguish this without problem, which is indeed why human editors like me and my friends aren’t that easily replaced by AI—thank you very much!—but this elephantine task certainly takes on a differently flavoured toll when an author self-edits their own writing, especially if they don’t have years of specialised knowledge and training in the art of editing. (And trust me, it is a wholly different and just as serious of a skillset as the writing part itself.)

Now, whether or not you plan to work with a trusted professional editor later on is up to you to decide (I mean, it’s obviously recommended, but the choice is still in your hands; and even if you do hire editors, the final choice to accept or reject their suggestions is also still in your hands), but here are a few things to keep in mind during your self-editing rounds:

Trust yourself, first and foremost! You’re the one who understands your story best. If something strongly resonates with you, keep it in. At the very least, it’d add a touch of you and your humanity to your creation, if nothing else.

Having your own unique voice is a good thing. You should want more of it, and no one should ever try to kill it off of you—not even yourself. Stay authentic to yourself, explore whatever interests you, and keep honing your storytelling voice(s) through practice, practice, practice—no matter how you think it “stands out against” or “blends in with” or “doesn’t hold a candle to” or “bastardises” other people’s creations you’ve interacted with. Your voice is solely yours, and that is so, so valuable.

If you heavily suspect something contains a technical error, check with reputable sources, like some bigwig dictionary’s example sentences section, or whichever style guide you’ve chosen as your patron saint, or various editor(ial)s’ blog posts and articles, or Q&A/AMA sessions with editors or linguists, or you could try your luck and slide into their DMs if you have a particular someone you admire, or whatever combination of those options you fancy the most.

If you’ve heard or read someone irl (including yourself) say those words or that phrase/sentence/monologue before, then it’s probably fine, dude.

For hearing folks: Say it aloud. Use various text-to-speech settings to read it aloud to you. Have your friend or relative read it aloud. Does anything feel wonky, somehow? Does anything need a sprinkle of pizzazz to liven up the dead air? Do these words fit the mood you’re currently feeling during this scene? Did your companion stutter at any point?

Let your writs marinate alone for as long as you can afford to. Forget about it. Then, come back to it with a fresh perspective—not one of an author’s nor an editor’s, but pretend you are a reader who is reading some anonymous writer’s work with the intention of simply sinking into the read and enjoying whatever is served.

The world isn’t divided into “grammatically correct” and “grammatically incorrect”. There are many other variables to composing, writing, editing, proofreading, and speaking. If you have the time and headspace to learn about them, do so. Finding the proper terminologies to describe your ideas and experiences will benefit you with great satisfaction.

Punctuation marks, symbols, spacings, margins, line breaks, paragraph breaks, scene breaks, chapter breaks, placements, pacing, etc. are difficult and time-consuming for us copy editors too. Don’t beat yourself up for struggling with these technical details, but also, don’t be so afraid of them that you omit them entirely from your writs. Instead, shift your energy and attention to creating and maintaining your very own author’s style sheet, which you can then pass on to your editor to upgrade and tidy up for you as you kick back and relax, but it can certainly help ease your own writing process if you’ve sketched up your own guide for yourself.

Editing any piece of work—fiction or non-fiction or any hybrid of them—should always prioritise the author’s original vision and goals above all else. Don’t treat it like grading schoolwork with checks and crosses and /100 scores. There is no right and wrong to the art of writing. Why did you start writing in the first place? What do you want to explore and express in your crafts? What do you want your readers to get from your story? How do you want them to feel about your characters? What message are you trying to tell, and why is it important? Do you want to impress people more with your substance or your style? Linguistic unorthodoxy be damned; if your quirky choice gets the point across with all the right vibes and nuances ticked off, then go for it!

Remember that language is constantly evolving… as it should! What was once regarded as “incorrect” a century ago could easily be the norm nowadays. If you’ve decided to become the progenitor of a new trend, then you better own up to it! Be unapologetically compelling.

Remember that there is always a solution/answer to your confusion/curiosity. Even if you don’t find what you’re looking for right now, there’s still hope. Either you’ll find clarity when you least expect it, or you’ll create homemade organic closure for yourself, one way or another. The possibilities are endless. What matters most is to trust the process and never give up on yourself!

one of my worst writing sins is abusing my power to create compound words. i cannot write the sentence "The sun shone as bright as honey that afternoon." no. that's boring. "The sun was honey-bright that afternoon" however? yes. that sentence is dope as fuck. i do not care if "honey-bright" is a word in the english dictionary. i do not care if the sentence is grammatically correct. i will not change. i will not correct my erred ways. the laws of the english language are mine.

[thebramblewood]

Who knew window shopping could lead to so many revelations?

Previous / Next

All credit to @moonwoodhollow for Exerzierplatz, where you can find the bookstore, and @its-opheliasgarden for Umbra Boulevard, where you can find the antique shop, both of which are only one small part of these incredible builds!

Caleb: You’ve grown awfully comfortable with her.

Helena: First of all, you have no room to judge. [mockingly] Oh, she’s my sister and I loathe her! But I’m too much of a coward to move out.

Caleb: I’ve certainly never uttered those-

Helena: Secondly, being angry is exhausting. Holding an eternal grudge requires too much energy. And she can be fun — in her own way.

Caleb: You mean the way that’s fun until it isn’t? Not long ago, she had you on the verge of murder. Your memory can’t be that short.

Helena: We have our differences. But she respects my limits now.

Caleb: She’s being careful, but I know her too well to believe it’s for anyone’s benefit but her own. She’s only biding her time until you let your guard down.

Helena: God, you’re cynical.

Caleb: I’m realistic. For a long time, I held out hope she would turn back into the Lilith I knew. But there’s a point of no return, and she’s far past it. I just think you should tread carefully.

-

Helena: Why do you really stay? Is she holding something over you? Are you a masochist?

Caleb: I’ve told you. It’s complicated.

Helena: Have you ever even tried to leave?

Caleb: Helena-

Helena: Who’s Morgyn?

Caleb: [uncomfortably abrupt silent]

Helena: I heard that name in your head just now, not for the first time. I didn’t want to pry, but it must be someone who means a lot to you.

Caleb: Meant.

Helena: Did you have a falling out or-

Caleb: [flatly] They’re dead.

Helena: Oh. I’m sorry. [softly] Caleb, were you in love with them?

Caleb: Something like that.

Helena: What happened? Don’t tell me Lilith-

Caleb: [insistently] It had nothing to do with her. They were a spellcaster, a very powerful one. They wielded influence. They had detractors. One of those detractors killed them.

Helena: Oh my god. That’s awful. Could you tell me what they were like sometime — when you’re ready?

Caleb: [faintly] I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Helena: Caleb, look! I haven’t used one of these since I was a kid. Do you think they’ve got film for it?

-

Caleb: Come on. Don’t waste it on a picture that won’t even turn out.

Helena: What’s the deal with that anyway? I saw something about silver online, but-

Caleb: Anything you read on the Internet is conjecture and myth.

Helena: Is it because we don’t have souls?

Caleb: [bemused] What does that even mean? Do you feel as though you’ve lost yours?

Helena: Yes. No. I don’t know. I guess I feel the same�� mostly.

Caleb: Countess Flores has a theory that we innately shroud our physical selves in images, just as we veil human minds, that we could appear if we willed it. But that remains pure hypothesis as far as I know.

Helena: I think I’ve attempted enough desperate selfies to safely debunk that one. You know, I wonder… [trails off distractedly]

Caleb: Helena?

Helena: Maybe it’s not such a bad thing. I used to want to capture every moment, but now the pictures make it impossible to forget.

Caleb: We both know it’s not the pictures that keep the memories alive.

[beneathsilverstars]

what does the party think of loop being a different siffrin. like why theyre here. likee do they think loop is a siffrin who.. succeeded? a siffrin who died?

[context: Dagger Ending AU]

Ooh yes. Here's everyone's theories from the first week or two, and what Loop had to say about them!

They've all discussed their theories together (though with some details omitted when Bonnie's there), and they have varying opinions on each other's, but they mostly stick to arguing their own if just because they have a clandestine bet going on. Maybe a little gauche, but sometimes you need to lighten the mood by acting the same way you do for sillier topics.

Bonnie's theory: Siffrin asked the stars for a friend.

Bonnie's story is inspired by some fairytales they were told when they were younger. Those fairytales were inspired by stories from the forgotten island, so Bonnie's version here actually brings it closer to the originals again! Though of course, with a Vaugardian twist.

Bonnie says: Siffrin was worried about being left alone, so since he really likes the stars for some reason, he asked the stars to be his friend forever. So one of the stars came down to be with him! But obviously a dot of light wouldn't make a very good friend, so they had to Change to be a person — and a dot of light that isn't a person yet wouldn't know how to Change right yet, so they just cheated and copied Siffrin. But it's impossible to Change to be exactly like another person, you can only ever be a new version of yourself, so that's why Loop isn't the exact same as Siffrin.

Bonnie: I know you don't want to explain to us why there's two of you, and why you're not a— you're... more different than people can normally be, but if I tell you my thee-ry, will you at least just say if I'm right? Loop: Hm... Probably not. Loop: But you should tell me anyway! [Bonnie explains their theory.] Loop: Aw! That's a very cute story~ [Loop's smile becomes more forced.] Loop: That is all I am, aren't I? A star friend for pooor little Siffrin, so he doesn't have to be all alone? Bonnie: I knew it!!! Bonnie: Do you miss being a normal star, up in the sky? [Loop takes a deep breath.] Loop: I miss a lot of things. But I asked to be here. Bonnie: Oh! Did you ask for a friend, too? It would make sense for the stars to pick you to send, if you were lonely too. Loop: ... I did! You're very good at this. Bonnie: Of course I am!!! Loop: You know, you should tell your story to stardust. I think they'll like it better than I do. [Bonnie runs off to tell Siffrin about it, and then to tell the other adults that Loop said they were totally right.]

Isabeau's theory: Loop is a sadness made out of Siffrin's self-hatred and loneliness.

There's stories about people finding "their" sadness that mirrors them exactly, including both fiction that uses it as a metaphor for inner battles, and folktales that claim to be true. Isabeau used to not believe the folktales at all, because they vary so wildly, and surely one single person's emotions couldn't be strong enough to make a sadness as sapient as some of the stories claim — no sadnesses are that clever, not even the big powerful ones that are made out of so many people's emotions that they aren't even vaguely human-shaped.

But, now, well... If it is possible, it's hard to find any negative emotions stronger than the reasons someone tried to kill themself. And it's undeniable that Loop seems to be closer to a sadness in physiology than they are to any living creature.

Plus, there could very well be some other factor that pushed Loop into full personhood! Some of the stories include the sadness feeding on its originator until the person wastes away and the sadness takes their place, which is far-fetched, but so is this whole situation. Or, animating a statue kind of involves putting a bit of yourself into it — your craft energy, your intentions — so perhaps Siffrin had put a lot of themself into Loop, in a way that isn't possible with something nonliving. It would explain the craft exhaustion, too, if Siffrin had fueled Loop's becoming in some way or another.

Isabeau: Bonnie said you said they were right. That you're a star sent to be Sif's friend. Loop: I'm sure they did. Isabeau: ... But it's not true, right? [Loop looks away.] Loop: ... I didn't actually tell them it was. I didn't lie to them. Just... parts of it. Isabeau: Parts of it were true? Isabeau: Which parts? Loop: ... What do you think? Isabeau: Well, it would depend on exactly how they worded it, wouldn't it? They keep changing their mind on the details. Loop: What do you think, then? Isabeau: About… Loop: Me. Isabeau: Right. [Isabeau makes a face.] Isabeau: I... don't know that it would do any good to tell you. Loop: Wow, that bad, huh? Now I have to hear it. Isabeau: Just, promise you won't take it the wrong way? [Loop squints at him.] Loop: I'll take it whatever way I want. Isabeau: Alright, fair enough. Alright. But, whether or not my theory is true, that doesn't change how I think about you, okay? You're a person, and you're our friend, and I'm glad you're here with us. Loop: Just get on with it, Fighter. Isabeau: Yeah, yeah, alright. Isabeau: It’s... I think you might be a sadness? [Loop gasps dramatically.] Loop: Ooooh, how could you~? Isabeau: There would definitely have to be more to it. You are a person, and you're stable, Sif's moods don't affect you any more than they do the rest of us. But... you're not human. You don't need to sleep, you can't eat, you're just... not made out of living stuff? But you're not artificial either, you're not an inanimate thing that's been crafted to move. You're alive! And there's only one sort of... being... that I know of, that's alive but not living. And, well... Sif...... Loop: ... They were so very, very sad. Isabeau: Yeah. Loop: Well! It does make sense! Loop: Of course you'd go for the depressing, realistic answer! Loop: You're entirely wrong, of course, but... Loop: I... [Loop looks down at their hands.] [They move their hands up, to grip their arms.] Isabeau: Sorry. I knew you wouldn't like it. I swear it really, really doesn't matter, okay? However you... got here... you're here now, and you're you, and we're glad of it. Loop: ... Isabeau: I'll go see if Bonbon needs any help with dinner.

Mirabelle's theory: Siffrin killed himself, and he both got brought back to life and lived on as a ghost.

To be exact, he successfully(-ish?) committed suicide when he said he was going to go take a nap in the meadow. She thinks it's an earlier attempt rather than the one Odile saw because: Siffrin had originally told Isabeau he wanted to talk again with someone he'd spoken to the day before — which could only have happened earlier in the day, because Siffrin was never left alone later — and while that could be a lie it also explains how Siffrin knew that Loop was at the favor tree at all; Odile mentioned how confident and unflinching he was about it, which could be explained by having done it before; and everyone agrees that the recent changes in Siffrin started, though more subtly, after the nap in particular.

Siffrin not dying from his late afternoon attempt isn't necessarily as much of a factor — Vaugardian ghost lore includes stories of people being haunted by earlier versions of themselves that they’d Changed away from, so there’s precedence for living people having ghosts. Of course this means there are other major Changes besides death (or deciding to die) that can create a ghost, but the other ways Siffrin has changed don't seem quite dramatic enough in the right way to have been the catalyst. In fact, it’s strange than Loop seems to be the more Changed of the two! But perhaps pre-Dormont Siffrin actually was more like Loop and just hid it better, or perhaps Siffrin used to be more like Loop at an earlier point in their life, and had somewhat Changed but not enough to be happy with themself. Either way, any of Loop's traits that post-Dormont Siffrin doesn't seem to share much at all would be parts of themself that pre-Dormont Siffrin "killed".

Mirabelle: Loop... You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but... Are you a ghost? Loop: You know, stardust guessed the same thing! And I told them... Well, I don't remember anymore. Something about the Favor Tree being my grave? Loop: Anyway, you could sort of say that! Except, how could I be his ghost when he didn't actually die? You made sure of that. Mirabelle: Well... I thought maybe... Mirabelle: Maybe Siffrin did kill themself? Before that? And you're the parts of Siffrin that they killed, but you stayed because... because you still had things to get done, or Siffrin still needed you, or… or something like that...? Loop: HA! Loop: Yeah, something like that!!! [Loop laughs hysterically for a bit, then suddenly stops.] Loop: ... Go away, Housemaiden. [Mirabelle leaves to fetch Siffrin.] [While she's gone, Loop leaves the camp.] [Siffrin finds them and brings them back several hours later.]

Odile's theory: Siffrin wished for a companion.

The final loop through the house didn't include either of the forgotten language books on wish craft, but it did include discussion of the impossibility of time craft, and the diary where a lonely person wished for a copy of themself. Odile initially dismissed the diary as creative fiction, but it was still fresh on her mind when she met Loop later that day!

During the next couple days in Dormont, she asked Euphrasie about how she crafted Mirabelle's blessing, because she loves cutting-edge craft. The conversation turned to the King's impossible time craft, and Euphrasie said she thinks he probably used wish craft. She explained that she doesn't know much because it's hard to find anything more than brief mentions of it, but she's confident it's real. She's pretty sure you need to do very particular things in order to use it, though — not any old wish will do — and she doesn't know what those things are. But it's probably the only way the King could have gotten the power to stop time, and there's a chance that the people of Vaugarde’s wishes for salvation contributed to his defeat (but she's not sure because who knows if anyone actually wished the right away).

Now, knowing that wish craft could be real… it’s strange to think that Siffrin might know about something basically unheard of. But they did know about the orrery in the house, and caring about stars is basically unheard of, too! And… Loop says they’re a star… and the King has stars on his armor….. And it’s risky to use one guess as evidence for another, but that could be three instances where the shape or knowledge of stars appeared alongside the use or knowledge of wish craft. And Siffrin spoke to Loop at the Favor Tree, and supposedly that’s where they spoke the day before too, and a Favor Tree is a place where you ask for something you want.

Siffrin’s craft exhaustion could be a point for or against; on one hand, making a copy of yourself must be powerful craft, but on the other hand, wish craft was what allowed the King to perform craft so strenuous that it should’ve instantly killed him. Plus, Siffrin’s exhaustion didn’t hit till at least a full day after they went to the Favor Tree alone the first time. So Odile doesn’t know enough to call that factor either way.

And why would Siffrin try to kill themself shortly after their wish came true? Was it just not everything they hoped it would be? Siffrin and Loop fight a lot, but they obviously care for each other a lot, too… But maybe even getting something they really wanted could make a depressed person feel worse, if it doesn't help as much as they hoped it would, and they decide that means they’re hopeless.

Odile decided on this theory by day three. There are other mysteries that aren’t as neatly explained by it, like the ease with which Siffrin navigated the house, but perhaps they’d made a second wish? Or perhaps that was the influence of the Vaugardian wishes that Euphrasie talked about? And over the following weeks, Siffrin’s behavior has only gotten stranger, in worrying, unexplainable ways. Odile is finding many different pieces to an unknown number of puzzles… but she’s fairly certain she’s got a good start on the Loop corner.

Loop: Well, Researcher? Everyone else has told me their theories on what and how and why I am. What's yours? Odile: I was wondering when you’d ask. My best theory is that Siffrin made a wish — for a friend who wouldn’t leave him, or someone who understood what he felt, or something along those lines — and your existence was the answer. Loop: … Loop: Same story as the Kid, huh? Odile: You did say that they got parts of it right. Loop: It just seems a bit unrealistic for you, Researcher~ Stardust wished for a friend and one just fell out of the sky? Odile: Your entire existence is unrealistic, Loop. But if a craft has the power to freeze an entire country in time, surely it also has the power to create life. Or split it, perhaps. Loop: … But the king used time craft. What does that have to do with wish craft? Odile: The Head Housemaiden of Dormont believes wish craft is what gave him the power to stop time. Loop. W- How does she know about wish craft?? Odile: How do you, Loop? Loop: The— It’s— [Odile waits patiently.] Loop: The book! The, the diary, in that room, with the— the thing for the stars. It talked about wish craft. Odile: Ah, of course. The diary of a person who felt lonely and misunderstood, so they used wish craft to make a copy of themself. The diary you’ve never seen, because you… branched off, let’s say, the day before we fought through the House. Loop: Stardust told me about it! Odile: Of course. You know, they remember a surprising amount about the House? It's been several weeks, and you'd think between the traumatic injury the day before and the fevers afterwards, even the average person would consider it all a bit of a blur. But they still remember details that the others have forgotten, about conversations it seemed they were barely paying attention to. Even one or two things that I don't remember at all. [Loop breathes shallowly.] Loop: W— What are you implying? Odile: Nothing in particular. However shaky the wish craft theory seems, I'm even less sure about everything else. Loop: Well, you should be! Because there is nothing else! [Odile sighs.] Odile: I'm sorry, I know you don't want us knowing about these things. You and Siffrin both. But he's... not doing well. [Loop looks away.] Odile: And frankly, I don't think you are, either. But we can't help if we don't know what the problem is! It's your choice not to tell us, but I'm not going to stop trying to figure it out. Loop: It doesn't matter! The other things. He has you now, all four of you. You're helping. They'll be okay. Odile: What about you, Loop? Loop: ... I'm helping too. I'm trying. I'm here to help them. Odile: Loop... [Odile is about to say something, but stops. She takes a deep breath before continuing.] Odile: It would help a great deal if you and he could be more open with us. Loop: ... Odile: Can I take this as confirmation of my theory, at least? Loop: ... Not quite. Odile: But I'm close. [Loop doesn't claim otherwise.]

[just-wrting]

Think I Like You

Title: Think I Like You

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Half Mink!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Master List

Summary: You try to figure out why Zoro won’t take you seriously even if the answer isn’t what you expect.

A/N: I’m not dead! I’m just all over the place with a lot of stuff. I sleep a lot which I can’t tell if it’s a sleep issue or a depression issue, but I’m always tired. I still work full time but also do school part time now. Plus I’ve still got a boyfriend! But he wanted to end this weekend on 1062 which means Zoro brainrot for me.

You stretch and roll over, burying your face into your pillow. Ever since you changed where you nap, you've started sleeping so much better. Something about being more comfortable or something like that. The actual reason doesn't really matter. You're just happy you're sleeping better.

"You owe me for this."

"I don't owe you shit. Not my fault you nap in my spot." You reach up and pat his cheek. "What do I need to do for you to be quiet?"

"I already told you, you owe me."

You open your eyes just a little. "What could I possibly owe you? I don't like to drink, I don't keep money, not to mention I can't even tell if you're the type of man to be swayed by physical charms. What could I possibly offer you, Roronoa?"

"For starters, you can start referring to me by my name like everyone else does." He looks pissed. "You should fight me."

"You didn't take me seriously last time, Moss Head. Why would I bother trying again?"

He pulls on your ear. "I said like everyone else, not like how that idiot says my name."

You ignore him and bury your nose in his stomach. Dinner has been started, and if you don't ignore it you'll end up going to the kitchen early. It's less that Sanji minds seeing you, it's more of the fact that you struggle to suppress the urge to knock shit off the counter and dip your fingers in the sauces. Such is the life of someone like you.

You let yourself doze a little. You can still hear what's going on, but just like every common house cat, you ignore it. What you can't ignore is the gentle scratching behind your ears. As far as you remember, no one has done this since you were a kid. You don't hate the feeling, but you start to feel flustered over it. Ever since you left home, you've made sure affection comes at your own terms so you haven't had this in years.

There's no point in asking him to stop. You're clearly fond enough of him to nap on him, what's the big deal about getting ear scratches? Besides, he's the type to get embarrassed and loud if you point out you're awake. That's not something you feel like dealing with right now. You're too touch starved to complain.

Despite the comfortable conditions, you don't actually fall asleep. You spend the next forty-ish minutes pretending to sleep, waiting for dinner to be done. The time passes by relatively quickly, though you're sore afterwards. You couldn't bring yourself to even twitch, worried that he'd stop.

The dinner call goes off, and you pretend to wake up. You have no clue why you're acting, but it was too late to stop twenty minutes ago. Standing up, you stretch halfheartedly. At first, he doesn't say anything. It's only once he catches up to you that he starts asking questions.

"What's the deal with the noise you make?"

Raising an eyebrow, you look at him. "I don't snore, so I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm not stupid, I can tell you aren't snoring. The other noise, the one that's relaxing. I can usually feel it when you're laying directly on me."

"What do you mean? The other noise?" You pause to think it over before it clicks. "We aren't talking about that."

You know what he's referring to. It's not like it's something you can control, but it's still embarrassing. Of all people to be you around, it's been Zoro. No one on the crew has judged you for being what you are, it's just embarrassing to be a mix. Your mother's human, and your dad's a mink. You look decently human, just with a few quirks.

"What do you mean, we aren't talking about it? We're talking about it right now."

Your face starts to heat up. "I mean I don't want to tell you."

His eyes narrow in suspicion. "Why not? Is it supposed to be embarrassing or something?"

"If I say yes, will you drop it?"

"Yeah, sure."

His face instantly relaxes. If you could smack him, you would. The last time you tried, it hurt. So you put your hand on his shoulder and give him a push. The only thing it does is cause his other shoulder to hit the doorframe, but you use it to march past him.

You take your seat, leaning back against the armrest of the booth seat. Kicking your feet up on the space next to you, you watch the crew carefully. Everyone is smiling and in a good mood, so you don't have anything to worry about. You don't ever admit it, but you care about them even if it's difficult to show.

Zoro picks up your legs and lays them in his lap. Since it doesn't seem to bother him, you're tempted to just sit normally. You have no idea what's going on in that head of his, and you doubt he does either. However, you actually do enjoy touching him, so you'll stay like this for now.

There's more commotion as Sanji brings out the plates. The one you're most interested in is a large tuna fillet that gets set in the middle of the table. You can't stop staring at it, the tender flesh a beautiful golden color. It's hard to tell if it smells better than it looks or looks better than it smells. Sanji has never failed to impress you with his dishes, so you can't wait to sink your teeth in.

Before you can even start to load your plate, Sanji sets a small plate in front it you. It contains a disk of packed rice, some avocado slices, and chunks of fish. You're assuming it's more of the tuna. Whatever it is, it was made specifically for you.

You don't mind the special dishes. You'll try almost everything, and unlike Luffy, you'll eat it slow enough to give a review. Everything tastes good so you don't get the point, but it probably makes Sanji feel better to have honest reviews and not just someone who loves food fawning over his cooking. Though if you're not careful, you worry that he'll start having write an essay about it.

"And for you, a special tune tartare! If you like it, I'll make it again for everyone some time."

You nod. "Yeah, I'll let you know. I always do. Not that you've ever made a bad dish."

You can't stop the tip of your tail from flicking back and forth in mild annoyance. By the time you get halfway through the tartare, all of the fillet is gone. It's not like it's the biggest deal, you just wish you could've had some of that too. It's not fair that since you got a special tuna dish, that you don't get the other one.

"If you tell me what that noise was, I'll share," Zoro teases while pointing at you with a bite of tuna. "I bet you can't resist answering now."

"I'm a cat. I was making a normal noise that cats make. Consider it a compliment."

You lean forward and take the bite of tuna. It's flakey and melts on your tongue with a slightly sticky glaze that has hints of honey and garlic. You lick your lips savoring the balance of flavors. None of them are overwhelming, but it's hard to gauge in just one bite what you think about it.

"You can't just," Zoro stutters. "You can't just take the food off of my chopsticks. Get your own!"

You grab his wrist and lick the glaze off of the chopsticks. It feels like there's another flavor there that you can't quite tell what it is. It's some sort of herby flavor, that while you enjoy, you can't pin down.

"Here!" Zoro doesn't look at you as he shoves his plate towards you. "Just take it since I don't want your germs."

You want to tease him, but you'll leave him alone. It's better to leave it in front of other people since Robin's insinuations are becoming too much. For now you'll just eat the food. Later, you'll tease him.

—-

"You're still not taking me seriously, Roronoa. Why did you want to fight if you won't take me seriously?"

You lunge, hand reaching for his throat. He blocks it with his arm, causing your claws to dig into his skin. Using his arm as leverage, you pull yourself closer to him, swinging your sword at his side. His parry is effortless, and he looks bored. It's so aggravating that he won't take you seriously in a simple sparring match. Perhaps he'd take you more seriously if you actually tried to kill him.

You disengage before leaping over him. This time, you swing your sword at his neck as he turn around. It's once more blocked, and he smirks. You're just barely faster than him as he takes a halfhearted swing at your sword arm with his other arm. You catch the flat of the blade with your knuckles, steeling your arm against the shock wave of the blow.

Kicking your leg out in front of you, you aim for his knees, intending to bring him down. Despite the grip on his sword, he catches your ankle in his hand and pulls your leg to the side. You let your body pivot with the movement, twisting until your leg is behind you. You yank your foot forward as hard as you can, pulling him into your back.

He's quick to let your ankle go and grab your shoulder to steady himself. In a fluid motion, you swing your arm and grab your dagger. You flick it in your fingers and thrust towards his ribs. His hand trails down your arm to your wrist and pins it behind your back. He gives it a squeeze trying to get you to drop the dagger.

"Are you actually trying to kill him?" Nami tells from the side. "Are you stupid?"

You roll your eyes, sweeping your leg behind you and hooking Zoro's. Despite your efforts, you can't get him off balance, only causing him to take a step back. By now you're getting pissed off. You aren't a bad swordsman, it's just that this jerk is ridiculously smart in battle. This is probably the only time he'll use his brain all day.

You jerk your head back, hitting his jaw. The sound of the impact makes you regret it, knowing you'll feel like shit later. You manage to free yourself as he loosens his grip, and you elbow him as you twist back around. The only reason you're still going is because he won't take it seriously. It's like he finds it funny that he's able to fend you off so easily.

You rush towards him, tossing your weapons to the ground. Digging your claws into his shoulders, you use your momentum to knock him over. It only works because he's too busy rubbing his jaw to notice you in time. The two of you tumble to the deck, and you lean in as close as you can.

"Why won't you take me seriously? Is this just a game?"

Faster than you can blink, he's able to flip and pin you under him. He's even more smug than the last time you sparred, and you can't tell if you want to smack him or if you should kiss him. Not that you could smack him, he's got your hands above your head. While kissing him would let you win, you're not willing to fight that dirty in a friendly match.

"You're a brute, Zoro. You can't just manhandle the other crewmates just because you feel like it." Sanji pulls him off you. "If you were in the mood to fight I would've taken the offer."

You tune out their fight as Chopper checks your head and shoulder. You're a bit sore now, but you'll be fine in a few hours. Nothing keeps you down for long, even if it's usually just you going against the doctor's orders. The only thing actually bothering you is the fact that for a moment you thought he was going to answer your question. Though the fact you thought about kissing him is also an issue.

It's not difficult to figure out why you thought that way. Your parents made sure that you knew to find someone strong enough to protect you in case of something happening, even if you knew how to take care of yourself. That, and he's easy on the eyes. Even if he's an idiot half of the time, that doesn't matter. Your parents never said to find a smart man, just a strong one. Everything else was your choice.

Chopper hands you a damp towel, and you use to clean under your claws. Tiny spots of blood rest under them, probably from when you grabbed Zoro. If the pinprick wounds bothered him, he doesn't show it. He's too busy trying to shove Sanji off the boat. As long as you stay dry, it doesn't matter if they end up overboard. They can both swim.

After a few minutes, Nami separates them. You watch her glare at the men before you stalk off to take another nap. The sun is just starting to dip below the water, so finding a nice patch of sun to lick your figurative wounds isn't possible. You'll have to settle for sulking in some weird spot. Perhaps it's time to torment the fish in the tank once more.

Lounging on the sofa is probably the second best place to nap. The sound of the tank constantly humming while you watch the fish swim in tempting circles puts you at ease. You stretch out fully, let your arm and tail hang off the edge. The tip of your tails twitches slightly as you trace the movement of a particularly large bass. That should be tomorrow's lunch, perhaps in a stew. Even though it hasn't been long since you had food, your mouth starts to water at the idea of seafood stew.

"He really doesn't take you seriously, does he?"

You recognize Robin before she even speaks. Her stride is longer than Nami's with her steps being lighter than everyone else's. Not to mention she smells floral. It's never overpowering, but it allows you to pick her out from the crew.

"I guess not. Maybe I should've gone for his other eye."

She laughs, sitting down next to you. You aren't opposed to the company, especially if it's Robin. There something about her that puts you at ease.

"I don't think he'd like that," she muses. "What did he say to you?"

You scoff. "He didn't say anything. Bet he's too proud to take me seriously, like the jerk he is."

Robin smiles knowingly. "I'm sure he has his reasons. Maybe you should talk to him, just the two of you. I'm sure he'd tell you when no one else is around."

You frown. "What is he? A shy school boy? There's only one reason for not taking me seriously in a fight, and it would be him not thinking I'm even worth it. No point in having him tell me that in private, he can just keep it to himself."

She reaches out her hand, gently brushing your hair from your eyes. "Then what do you think about him?"

"I think he's an idiot who swapped out his brain for more muscles."

"Let me rephrase that. What feelings do you have about him?" There's a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "At least figure that out."

You shift so you can place your head in her lap. "I guess he's fine most of the time. I don't know why I enjoy his company, I just do. He's never really pushed me on anything, just sort of letting me do my own thing. Not to mention he's comfortable. As much as I hate admitting it, I suppose I like being around him."

She continues to brush your hair with her fingers silently. It's one of those tactics of hers. She'll stay quiet until you keep talking.

"What do you want me to say? He's nice enough to me, I can respect him as vice-captain, and he's decent looking. Everything else I think about him is my little secret." You're starting to get irritated talking about him. "Actually, I think I'll go talk to him now. I'll drag that answer out of him if I have to."

Robin looks at you with worry as you sit up. "Perhaps this is just a misunderstanding. What are you going to do if his answer isn't what you expect?"

"I'll deal with it when it happens," you say with a shrug. "It's not like it'll be anything surprising."

You take your time wandering around the ship. It's not hard to tell where he is, you'd rather put it off for a little bit longer. This weird feeling in your chest has been bothering you a lot lately. It can't be ignored anymore, but that doesn't mean you're one hundred percent ready to admit it.

Thankfully, he's exactly where you knew he was. You won't tell him that you enjoy finding him when he's working out. Something about him being shirtless is nice. Not that he usually bothers with wearing a shirt, so you can usually just stare whenever you want. Maybe he just likes the attention, and you'll gladly give it to him.

As soon as he leans back on the bench, you sit on his lap and stretch out over his torso. You rest your chin on your hand, pressing your palm on his chest. Watching as he sets the barbell back on the stand, you wait for him to start talking. It would be fine with you if he kept working out, but he seems opposed to the idea.

"Is bothering me amusing to you?"

You tilt your head slightly. "You're not cute when you're mad, so no. I was just hoping we could talk."

"You don't have to sit on me to talk."

"That's just personal preference. Besides, you tend to avoid talking about certain things and this keeps you from leaving." you say with a Cheshire grin. "I enjoy your touch, so this is ideal for me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Zoro looks away from you. “You keep saying weird stuff.”

You don’t even blink as you respond, “I enjoy your touch. That’s what that means. I’ll even be nice and tell you the answer to your question from earlier. As a cat, I sometimes purr when I feel comfortable and content. Though some cats purr when scared.”

“So you’re scared of me? Is that what that means?”

“No. The only thing particularly scary about you is the fact that you’re an idiot.” Your ears twitch. “But since I answered your questions, you can answer mine. Why don’t you fight me seriously?”

He looks at you for just a moment, before looking at the ceiling. It’s like he’s embarrassed by the answer and is hoping you’ll forget about it. However, you’ve already made up your mind about what you want. You’re just waiting to see what he’ll do.

“I-,” Zoro cuts himself off to hide behind his hand. “I could hurt you really bad. That would be bad.”

Your tail swishes on the ground in mild irritation. “So you think I’m incapable of defending myself. That would explain the times you’ve interrupted my fights.”

“It’s not that!” He sits up, wrapping an arm around your waist to make sure you don’t tumble to the ground. “I don’t want you to get hurt if I’m around. It’s my job to make sure you’re safe.”

You’re nose to nose with him now. Even at this distance, he can’t seem to make eye contact. You can smell the liquor from dinner on his breath. It would be so easy to close the gap and kiss him, but for some reason the thought makes you nervous. You’re usually close to him, so why is this time different?

“Why should you keep me safe?” you mumble. “Do you save me out of obligation for the crew? If so, aren’t there better people on the crew to swoop in and save?”

“Does it matter why?” The way that his lips almost touch yours as he speaks makes you flustered.

You close your eyes. “Yes. I don’t want to get my hopes up if you think of me as nothing more than a burden of a crew-mate. Just be honest with me for once, Zoro.”

You don’t regret the soft begging tone as you say his name. You regret not saying his name in that almost pathetic tone sooner. The way that he kisses you makes your head spin. Even though he’s holding you close, you have to wrap your arms around his neck to make yourself feel more steady.

Zoro kisses you like he’s been wanting to for months. His hold on your waist makes it impossible to move, and the way that his hand grips yours hair makes you moan. You can barely breathe as his tongue explores your mouth, your grip on reality slipping as his fingers dig into thigh.

Even when he pulls away to let you breathe, you find yourself lost in the way he touches you. Sloppy kisses trail down your jaw and neck, coming to an end with his teeth on your collarbone. The way that his fingernails scrape gently against your scalp as he tugs lightly on your hair causes you to expose more of your chest to him as you lean into his palm.

You’ve never felt like this before. Hot, heavy, and breathless all while being lightheaded. You wouldn’t have it in you to resist him if he wanted more. In fact, the pathetic words of begging him to ravish you weigh heavy on your tongue. Yet he just continues to press kisses along every inch of skin exposed to him, ignoring how hard you’re panting as little moans escape you. He’s oblivious to everything but the act of kissing you.

Zoro only pauses after you tug his hair harshly. You didn’t mean to, you couldn’t help the reaction to him biting down on the side of your neck. You couldn’t even help the strangled groan that leaves you as he leaves a mark. For some reason, your body is shaking like you have some sort of withdrawal.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice rough and low.

You kiss him again, desperate to get as close as you can. Desperation courses through your body as you realize just how badly you’ve waited for this. You’ve spent months being almost attached to him so it makes sense, you just can’t figure out how you missed it. The long nights spent curled up in his lap, face buried in his neck has left you craving him so much.

You whine as he pulls away, unwilling to let this stop. It doesn’t even matter anymore how prideful you’ve been up until this. It’s so obvious how much you want him. Nothing could hide it anymore.

“Zoro.” You don’t even open your eyes. “Please.”

He gives your thigh a tight squeeze as you whimper. You can tell that what little restraint he has is fading with each whine of his name. Yet he’s able to pause and hold you close, breathing heavily into your ear. Eventually, he covers your mouth with his hand, stifling your words.

“Not like this,” Zoro says, his tone meaning he’s serious. “If you really want it, I want to make it special.”

“S-special?” You don’t know what that means. When was the last time someone told you that you were special? “How?”

“Just better than in the exercise room on the Sunny. You deserve to be treated better than that.”

You nod, and he lets his grip loosen. Despite the fact that nothing much happened, you feel drained. Maybe it’s because you really enjoy naps, but the exhaustion is hitting you hard. You don’t hide it, letting yourself go limp as Zoro picks you up.

“You can sleep in my bunk tonight. Not that it matters if I say you can as you usually show up anyway.”

You caress him jaw before giving his cheek a kiss. “Thank you, Zoro.”

The flush on his cheeks goes unnoticed by all beside you. Not that it matters, you don’t want to hide your feelings for him any longer. If he agrees to it, you’ll parade your feelings for the world to see.

[gangstalkerbarbie]

This being tumblr, for my own wellbeing I have to explicitly put forth that we disagree about the draft (I think a country that needs to draft should impose national service on all young adults without discrimination, I would have gone to war by now if my family had let me and I don't think that was my family's business).

Having said that: we probably agree that the thing is also that actually... they don't? Young women Don't intrinsically smell like that. No kind of human juvenile does. I was a teenage girl once and I raised my brothers and some of my cousins, I would know.

There is an oaty, warm, milky baby smell everyone has, especially concentrated around their hair whorl, but they grow out of it at puberty. If you've ever lived with an intact male or female animal and watched them go through puberty, you'll notice they lose the baby smell then too.

So at least we can rule out that he's a threat to literal children.

But like teenagers? Teenagers stink. There's not a special creamy buttery teenage smell for any sex of teenager, it's just that girls are pushed more to cover their hormonal teenager stink.

What do they cover it with? Perfume. Immoderate amounts of the stuff.

Due to the vagaries of culture (and how disgustingly normative just like outright pedophilia used to be in many places), a majority of little girl perfumes (so the ones you're supposed to grow out of around, say, 28) smell like buttery vanilla and suchlike. Edible sugary dainty fluffy smells, Shirley Temple kind of smells, aren't you just a sweet little thing, Daddy wants to eat you up.

These are the smells he's conditioned himself to find sexually irresistible. Again, adult women are often pressured not to wear them...

Not that he'll ever see this on a recycled post about him on a site he isn't remotely on, but I'm saying this for the benefit of the teens likely to find me from the Homestuck tag: they should prevent this guy from hanging out near high schools. He's both rapey and stupid, a combination routinely propagandised to girls as something you can and should want to have in your life, which you actually very much do not want remotely breathing near you.

Anybody talking about the smell of a woman in these sorts of terms is a fucking nutjob too. Everyone who is attracted to whatever sex enjoys that sex's pheromone stink, which is under no circumstances ever any kind of irresistible "fuck me" signal. Nobody consents to sex by existing. You always have control over your actions. "Not being able to resist" violating someone's bodily autonomy is always a choice and I unironically think that in a perfect world everybody who makes this choice should be chemically castrated.

This is why I don’t give a fuck when people say it’s mean for me to want all those with a Y chromosome to do forced military service and die in war. Because now they’re wasting all our resources to go on the internet and say pedophilic shit like this.

[littleakito]

HI HI HI HI HI. Angsty Dazai headcanons? Pretty please! With sprinkles on top even!

╰╮﹕★﹒ANGSTY LITTLE! DAZAI HEADCANNONS﹒🩹 TW WARNING.

AVERAGE DAZAI SHENANIGANS (suicide, sh, etc.), MENTIONS OF FORCED INJURY, EXTREME SELF LOATHING & SELF HATRED, DEHUMANIZATION. NOT TO BE READ WHEN REGRESSED (unless you like. hate yourself I guess? do what you want <3)

HEED THE WARNINGS.

୨୧ ：aah! finally getting to this hehehh.. I would have gotten to it sooner! but I need to be in an awfully specific mood to write angst.. tis odd! also! no cherry on top!!?!?! smh… /silly sprinkles are great though, sounds delicious mmmm..

1　 ﹒　Despising pain so much is quite a struggle when your brain has so much hatred towards yourself it begins to physically hurt, they say that once you grow hungry enough, you begin to eat your own heart. Dazai doesn’t have one of those, last he checked. So instead, his body begins to sacrifice his mindset for one of a much, much younger person.

It’s scary, even scarier when your anxiety is running rampant and rapid, coursing through your veins at an all time high. Vulnerability shouldn’t be such a scary thing, but when your most memorable experience with such is having your arms sliced open on a vivisection table, and tubes shoved down your throat, you begin to despise letting people see you as so.. small.

It’s even worse when you mentally feel so little, and the world around you begins to look like tall, scary faces, watching your every move.

2　 ﹒　Being oh so used to tainting all that he touches is rather tough, I feel as if he’s broken a pacifier before and had an absolute panic attack, god forbid someone allows him to hold a cup whilst he’s somewhat fuzzy, things will begin to blur the lines between sitting in Mori’s office, and being right in front of his caregiver.

3　 ﹒　When he betrayed the Port Mafia, he lost Chuuya. I wouldn’t entirely say that Chuuya was his “caregiver”, due to their oh so complicated relationship, but I would say that Chuuya was the closest thing he’s ever had to one. They’re both rotten, but that doesn’t entirely matter when you feel so sweet next to one another.

Whenever Dazai would begin to wish for him by his side, he would grow so much self hatred, how could he want something? How could he ever allow himself that treat of comfort, when he’s done nothing but be an awful, awful human being(? Is he even that, anymore?) towards both himself, and everyone around him.

He’s been biting and snapping at others for so long, that he’s begun to forget he, too, was bitten himself. That sorrow that taints him is a product of another person, who cherished him, yet only for his inability to feel cherished, and understand emotions in the first place, for that matter.

4　 ﹒　After time, if he ever began to feel even a little more comfortable in that state, he would begin to have extreme night terrors of his regression. He would begin to despise it, anything that brings him comfort should be banished, after-all. If he had a specific love for a certain toy or drink or stuffie, he would cry himself to sleep in a corner without it, all in punishment for existing in the first place.

If whatever god is out there created Dazai with the purpose of making a self loathing success of a black hole, destined to be hungry for love whilst tainting those around him, for all of eternity, they certainly are a master in their field.

୨୧ ：projected a lil too hard with my lil man methinks, anywho, I hope this is okay and at least partially in character! thank you sososo much for your request, ash! ‘twas fulfilling!

HEADER READS: “LITTLE DAZAI HEADCANNONS”

DNI BANNER READS “NSFW DNI” “HEY, DID YOU HEAR ME?” “CHILD SAFE BLOG”

[stiltsthegm]

Trace's Forum Post

By popular demand: the text version of Trace's forum rant that I recited on Eidolon EDM episode 0. I made this several months ago as a way to try and solidify her personality and voice in my head.

>If you want to go back to Earth so badly, why don't you just move in with a human? There's gotta be a bunch of 'em that'd love to have a dolphin roommate.

this post was written by a human. i have no idea what you get out of browsing a cetacean forum but whatever floats your boat i guess.

and before some asshole butts in goin 'why are you assuming theyre human they could be a manatee or something'

no. fuck no. only a human would be stupid enough to make that suggestion.

in the extremely unlikely event im wrong [which im not because im a genius], heres why thats a really bad idea and you should be embarrassed for even thinking it.

dolphin fans are maniacs. like we all make fun of horses here and their spindly-ass legs and how nothing about their body makes any sense and someone politely chuckling a mile away could startle them into throwing themselves off a cliff. but horse people have nothing on dolphin people. its a whole other fuckin level.

yeah sure lets play this scenario out, lets get all hypothetical. i move in with someone rich enough and weird enough to spend a completely absurd amount of money bringing me back from the moon and also constructing an aquarium for me inside their presumably giant apartment or mansion or whatever. do you know what happens to dolphins in this situation? like, historically? wild shit. dolphin people dont want to just be your friend. they want to make a spiritual connection, whatever the hell that means. theyll spend hours every day talking to you like youre a baby, assuming that if they do it enough, theyll one day wake up to you reciting a sonnet to them. theyll put drugs in your fish hoping to 'expand your mind' and form a 'psychic connection'. theyll do shit with electrodes. and if you somehow do not immediately try to get your smooth ass out of there, its fuckin over for you. youll become a shadow of your former self, doing flips on command and squeaking out the best approximation you can manage for 'i love you, janice' to get just one more treat.

ive seen that shit happen. its fucking bad.

so no, i will not be taking your advice. im gonna get rich and then ill use my own goddamn money to buy a ticket back and then create a sickass aquarium mansion with reefs. and if i really want some human companionship ill just dangle some grant money in front of some middle-aged marine biologists whose idea of a good day is proving that an abyssal sea cucumber hasnt gone extinct yet. they understand what im about more than any 'dolphin fan' and are just as depressed as me.

[forgetme-eternally-blissfully]

Reaction fics are a beloved trope of LOTCF fanfiction, but let me pose a challenge to the concept. Rather than a god deciding to show the audience Cales life as a punishment/gift for the future/to help them in some way, what if it was instead just a godly whim?

The reason they are there is incomprehensible. It doesn't make sense. The god either won't explain, or doesn't care to. The scenes they're shown are helpful in some ways, but not in others. Why are they here? How do they get out?

I'd like to see a reaction fic where the goal of the audience is to leave. They neither want nor need to see the deep, dark depths of their leader. And they will never, ever accept something without knowing the intentions behind it.

This is better if there's another driving force behind why they are desperate to leave. Someone is missing (Cale?), something is happening on the outside (something important, or they're getting signs- hints- figurative or literal writing on the walls from the previous participants in this game that don't spell a happy ending for what comes after this. Something is behind this, and that something doesn't truly care about them.

No one to assure them, "if you just watch his life, everything will be fine." Or when it is assured, the audience fights back. The god assured them, again, they just have to watch. Watch and understand. But they find ways to get out- they have to be dragged back, one by one, into that theater room. It should be fun to watch them analyze the manners of their leader or his backwards thinking, except it isn't. They keep fighting against it. Why are they fighting? Something that isn't human could never understand.

It's an idea I had based off our own manipulation. We write reaction fics for our own amusement. We want to force these characters into a box and make them react to Cale. We are a god that does this- not to help them, not to give a gift to them- it is for our amusement. It's fun to watch them react.

But isn't it out of character for them to not fight back? With biting words and violent actions? These characters don't simply allow themselves to be beaten into submission. Coerced into bowing their heads. We'd have to tie them to their chairs and make them sit and watch. And that's something I see in a lot of reaction fics too.

Usually the best way to keep these characters in place is via the Cale Method. Cale is injured and has to heal, it's a price he has to pay, he's being threatened, etc. It'd be cool if there was something else forcing them down like muzzled dogs. Just my thoughts though.

*anyone is free to run with the ideas from this or any idea built off of this (with no credit)

**but I'd love to be sent anything like it

[yesimwriting]

I need to see some one on one bestie and Armand interactions! I bet he finds her humanity endearing even if he acts like a dick about it !! We need them bonding over art

a/n love this sm, he's so secretly invested but also so deeply unchill <3

this is the painting i reference in this fic by name, seeing it isn't necessary for you to get the fic but it's one of my favorite paintings so i thought it'd be fun to add it here :)

also i'm not saying reader has perfectly recreated a famous painting lol, it's more about the vibes/aesthetic of the painting

----

Everything passes in threes. The careful tapping of your thumb's nail against the pointer finger of your opposite hand; the way that your eyes shift between the ground, the wall, and him; even the rhythm of your heart feels like a trinity.

You're not exactly nervous, but you are tense, rigid in a way that you never are in Louis's presence.

There's something about being the source of your uneasiness, of being able to witness his presence embedding itself into your mind that's almost grounding. It's as consuming as the sense of rejection your silence is forcing onto him.

Armand shifts slightly, his hand moving away from his lap and onto the couch's cushioning. The gesture is meant to remind you of your similarities. Mortals are more eased by the small, insignificant movements than they realize. They perceive the pointless shifting of others as evidence of life, as proof of an intrinsic likeness.

The movement seems to serve its purpose, because you relax your hands, ending your three-tap pattern before allowing your arms to fall to your side. "Not being able to offer you anything to drink really has me at a loss."

The response, though cloaked in your usual humor, feels much smaller than the way you usually are. He supposes you're not the only one to blame for your uncertainty. Louis suggested that you spend an evening alone with Armand to help the two of you argue less...and apparently, Louis had warned you to be on your best behavior just as much as he had warned Armand.

Instead of pointing out the fact that you've never struggled to socialize with Louis despite being limited in the same way, he decides to reciprocate what you're giving him. "You could offer me an alternative."

Your eyebrows begin to draw together, but something about the barely there parting of your lips implies something other than surprise. If you were someone else, Armand might consider your expression a byproduct of morbid curiosity.

Your gaze flits away from him and towards the hands innocently resting on your lap. You're quick to dismiss your line of thinking, your body straightening slightly as you look at him again. "I think blood donating's more a third date kinda thing."

The framing of the sentiment, though clearly an attempt at humor, digs at him more than it should. He pushes against his instincts before responding. "Third? I didn't realize you were so easy."

You press your lips together to keep from laughing. It's an expression he's seen directed at Louis several times before. "There's a reputation." You relax slightly, your shoulders easing as you exhale. "So, what do you want to do?"

The question is a careful thing, as if you're doing all you can to make sure that what you're asking doesn't remind him of how little alone time you've spent together. He's never seen you have to think about how to connect with Louis.

When he doesn't respond, you continue, "We could go out and get some air, or we could stay here and watch something..."

You lift your hand just enough to tap your fingertips against your knee. Armand's focus moves away from you and onto the rest of your apartment. He's been here before in a variety of contexts, and he can't remember it ever seeming this organized. There are no work-in-progress pieces taking up your dining room table or paint swatches and sketches covering the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Or uh--anything you want to--"

"You've mentioned having a studio space before."

The interruption surprises you, but you're quicker to recover your expressions than you used to be. Perhaps it's the constant awareness of the fact that you're thoughts are nowhere near as private as you once believed. You nod once. "Yeah, it's the room just past the kitchen."

He turns his head enough to look at you again. "Can I see it?"

Your breathing falters, the air in your lungs stalling so briefly it would have likely gone unnoticed if Armand had been any less determined to take in your reaction. You've mentioned your studio space without being prompted before, but always with a certain level of guardedness.

"Okay," and then, as if realizing the smallness of your response, you tack on a much more definitive, "Yeah, sure."

You're quick to commit to your promise, looking away from him before moving to stand. Armand follows, making a point to remain a full pace behind you as you move through your living room and past your kitchen. You lead him down a short hallway.

You don't stall until you're in front of a door. "I uh--" Your mind is wracked with a flighty nervousness. "Just keep in mind, everything in here's a work in progress."

There's a vulnerability pressed into the syllables that's nearly enough to soften you. So often, your existence feels like a force capable of rivaling the sun. Now, though, thinking about what you've created and how he might perceive these extensions of your being, you seem...reachable. Much less like the first few rays of sunlight bleeding over the horizon at daybreak, and more like a girl of your age.

This version of you must be closer to what Louis sees when he looks at you. Perhaps the instinct that encourages his companion to keep him away from you isn't entirely wrong.

"I understand." His voice is devoid of sentimentality.

You don't seem put off by his blankness. If anything, his limited interest makes it a little easier for you to reach for the door's brass handle. You push open the door. Armand enters the space first.

The room is what's expected--a space absolutely brimming with life. A large worktable covered in sketches and small canvases takes up most of the room's center. Shelves and cabinets line the room's back wall. There are several incomplete works throughout the space, a few paintings propped up against walls and more textured pieces resting against any available flat surfaces, but none draw his focus like what's sitting on your easel.

The painting is familiar in a way that practically makes something inside of him ache.

"It's oil instead of acrylic," your explanation is careful, almost shy. "I'm trying something. The drying between layers is almost impossible, but I like the blending."

Trying something. This isn't even your perferred medium and you've stumbled onto something sharp and moving. It's still unfinished, and he can already tell that the woman you've depicted reading by candlelight is reminiscent of a time outside of your own.

"It's familiar," the reaction feels like a confession. He presses his lips together, a part of him relieved by the fact that you're a few paces behind him. "The lighting--it's similar to Georges de La Tour."

"Really?" You're more enthusiastic than you want to be. "Magdalene with Two Flames was one of my reference photos."

Of course it was. Leave it to you to be capable of accurately mimicking your influences.

You walk forward, stopping once you've reached his side. "This is the first time that someone that doesn't particularly care about my feelings is seeing it, so you can be as honest as you want."

Armand has to work at keeping his expression neutral. It's not enough to be the gifted artist that's sensitive about their work, you also have to be gratingly humble.

He keeps his gaze focused on the painting as he speaks, "You'd be more tolerable if you were less talented." Your skin flushes, blood pulling itself up your neck. "I don't mean it as a compliment."

"I know." Armand can feel how much you mean the response. "I think that's why I liked hearing it."

Something uneasy settles in his chest. You smile at him, your eyes bright and teasing like the both of you are now in on some joke together. "Searching for punishment?"

You straighten slightly, head turning away from him and towards your painting. "Searching for honesty." You're focusing on your work, on separating yourself from personal sentiment. "Though, I guess, sometimes that's the same thing."

There's nothing shocking about your prioritization of honesty. Mortals like to think that candor means something to them, that having the reality of a situation presented to them openly makes things easier. Your kind is much more protected by their obliviousness than they realize, but he's willing to humor you. "It's familiar in other ways, as well."

You're slower to understand his implication than you usually are. Armand can't quite bring himself to fault you for it. You're detached from what he and Louis are.

He turns his head slightly, allowing himself to watch you from his peripheral vision. Louis is committed to shielding you, to masking their differences from you as best as he can. You're not used to being reminded of the eternity they're meant to have.

You blink, your eyebrows briefly pinching together. "Right," this is mumbled more to yourself than to him, "...Because you would have been around when things were like this." You sit with the reminder for another moment before finally turning towards him, "Would it be really lame if I asked what it was like?"

There's a carefulness to your curiosity, a hesitation behind your interest. Your restraint is primarily rooted in how little time the two of you have spent like this, but there's something else behind your uncertainty. Louis loves you the way one loves a childhood blanket that's at risk of becoming threadbare. He doesn't want to lose you to his nature, so he does what he can to pretend it doesn't exist. But you're nowhere near as uninterested in vampirism as Louis would like you to be.

Perhaps this is the only thing that Louis isn't willing to give you himself. "Not really lame." The corner of your mouth tugs itself upwards at the opening. "As I'm sure you know, it was a time of great, artistic flourishing..."

He stops, his mind latching onto aspects of his reminiscence with a vengeful sharpness. A gifted young artist desired by vampires for their beauty and talent.

His unexpected silence forces your thoughts away from curiosity and towards something much more akin to worry. "It was also a time of great brutality."

You're quiet for a stretch of time that feels much more significant than it is. "I'm sorry."

He isn't sure if the apology is an attempt at expressing generalized sympathy or if you're feeling guilty for asking the question in the first place, and he can't bring himself to examine your thoughts for clarity. It should bother him either way. Your presence is enough to agitate the part of himself still susceptible to this kind of vulnerability, he doesn't need to add to that--not so openly, not with you right next to him.

Your proximity is a source of discomfort that's much easier to focus on. You are, by far, the gentlest of his afflictions. For once, he permits himself to lean into the warmth of this uneasiness, his hand extending towards you. He keeps his attention focused on the painting as he takes your hand.

Your shock is enough to briefly amplify your thoughts as an anxious warmth begins to crawl up your neck. The initial surprise quickly fades into a dismissible mental static, leaving a marginal concern in its wake. He presses into your thoughts. You're slightly worried over his shift in demeanor, and you feel a little out of your element, but you're not uncomfortable.

When no other sudden movements pass, you drag your thumb along his knuckles. The heat of your skin amplifies the gesture's soothingness.

He allows the silence to linger for another minute before breaking it, "What are you going to do with the painting once it's finished?"

The question seems to throw you more than the position that you're in. "I don't know, it doesn't really fit into the collection I'm working on." You pause, thinking through your answer. "Maybe I'll hold onto it...or send it to my mom. It seems like something she'd like."

Armand nods once. "Would you consider selling it to me?"

Your nervous warmth returns, blood shifting beneath your skin. "If you want it, you can just have it."

This is an argument that he knows you're familiar with. You're always resisting Louis's attempts at offering you anything you deem expensive, even if it's a payment for something you've made.

"You're an artist," he begins slowly, "You should be paid for your work."

You're not impressed by his logic. "Yeah, but we're friends."

"Are we?"

You weren't expecting an argument. "I think so."

There's a genuineness to your response that's almost hard to bare. Perhaps the financial argument could be reserved for another time, or maybe it'd be easier to gift you something instead. It's a strategy that Louis's used before. "Do you want to watch one of those shows you and Louis are always talking about?"

The question makes you grin. "Yeah." You turn away from the painting without letting go of his hand, pulling him towards the door. "I'm ruling out reality TV, because I don't want to lower your opinion on humanity any further."

"How kind."

You look back at him, smiling, "I'm very altruistic."

----

The television provides a comfortable background, the TV show you put on serving as both a source of sound and light. It also helps that this is a method of bonding you're familiar with.

As far as artistic merit, the show you were so excited to show him isn't exactly life changing, but he's experienced worse evenings than this one.

One of the main characters on the screen accidentally comes across an incriminating note that the audience learned about in the first episode. It's an incredibly predictable twist, but you're studying his reaction like there's something life changing about this revelation.

"This isn't realistic."

The comment makes you sigh. "It's not meant to be realistic, it's meant to be entertaining."

Armand instinctually turns his head towards you. The passive aggressive response he was ready to offer you feels a lot less significant now. You're close, closer than he's used to you being. Maybe there is something entertaining about this.

"It's inconceivable for this many things to be happening on the same street." The words leave him much slower than he meant for them to.

You don't notice his lap, your gaze briefly shifting away from him and onto the screen. "I'm sorry, supernatural being, are the events taking place on Wisteria Lane inconceivable to you?"

It's a relatively fair point, but he has no interest in letting you know that. "But it's not about the supernatural, it's about reality."

His phrasing seems to stand out to you. Instead of attempting to counter his response, you tilt your head slightly before relaxing against the couch's cushioning.

"I don't know," you whisper, the words soft in their distance. You ease further, your head shifting towards him until your temple is resting against his shoulder. The warmth of your skin burns through the thin layer of fabric dividing the two of you. He cannot bring himself to move. "You seem real to me."

He wouldn't put it past you to be able to speak him into existence. Armand turns his hand over carefully, his fingers intertwining themselves with yours.

----

chat does hand holding warrant a content warning

[themage9062]

I've never wanted someone in-universe to look at a character and go "what the fuck did they do to you" until now

(Minor dog-man spoilers but nothing that wasn't seen in a trailer until stated otherwise)

I'm pretty sure everyone's gone through the "I just thought of the concept of dogman for more than two seconds and have decided it's fucked up" phase but its destroying my mind at the moment

Now I know I'm not supposed to read too into it because George and Harold's writing is generally silly and unrealistic unless they're projecting but i'm going to do it anyways.

How does dogman even make noise?? Are the stiches attached by the top of his neck or the base?? Because that drastically changes his vocal range if it's one or the other. I'm assuming it's he's attached to officer knights body at the base of his neck so it makes sense that he can't speak.

Does he need physical therapy??? I'm pretty sure the human body isn't supposed to move like a dog's. We've all seen him move like he would if he was still normal but no matter how natural it feels we're bipedal and he's forcing his body to do quadruped. Would he have to curb his dog behaviors in order to not harm knight's body? (Note: In my eyes, he 100% doesn't see officer knights body as *his*, even though he controls it. It is one of the last things he has of him after all.)

But he does have moments where he just doesn't do that at all and walks and runs like a human should + whatever fighting style he uses. Is he doing these things off of muscle memory from officer knights body?? If so, what the hell happens if he wants to learn something new??

What does his diet look like? We've seen him eat dog food but I'm pretty sure that's not healthy in the long run for a human's body. I don't know anything about serious about biology, but dogs can't eat chocolate because of their stomach, no? So can he taste chocolate for the first time? Does he inherit Knight's allergies??

[Spoilers below the cut, but the general idea is questioning if he can be counted as sapient or not, so buh bye if you haven't watched it yet!]

Most importantly to me, because I really want to enjoy the Detey ship but there's always this question ringing in my head, did he get smart enough to be counted as sapient? The procedure was vague as George and Harold fumbled the specifics but there had to be some neural surgery from his brain to his body right??

It was cute and all, but his interactions with petey, especially after becoming his friend after he recently killed his best friend was a bit concerning in the mental department. I know most of this can be boiled down to "the middle schoolers aren't Shakespeare" but come on lemme overthink about this

I NEED ANSWERS THAT I WONT GET GAAAAAAAAAH

[gabbiecasso]

Sharing my recent journal entry about Neve Gallus and myself, so let me yap

One of the biggest reasons Neve means so much to me is because I see myself in her. I’ve always been logical and analytical, always trying to figure things out—why something works, why it doesn’t. That curiosity naturally led me to problem-solving, but it also made me intellectualize my emotions instead of just feeling them, even though I know I’m a deeply emotional person.

Neve’s struggle is not that she lacks emotions—it’s that she feels too much. She’s the kind of person who catches the smallest inconsistencies, pieces together the truth with precision, and always seems to know what’s really going on. Her logic is sharp, her deduction skills nearly unmatched. And yet, when it comes to her own emotions, she shuts them down. Not because she doesn’t understand them, but because she does. She knows that if she lets them take over, they might unravel everything she’s built—her discipline, her duty, her control. And god, do I feel the same way.

The way I see it, our logic isn’t just a tool—it’s a shield. We both intellectualize our emotions, treating them like puzzles to be solved rather than experiences to be felt. But emotions aren’t rational, and the more we try to categorize them, the more they slip through our grasp. So instead, we repress them.

But repression isn’t the same as control. Neve’s emotions don’t disappear—they linger beneath the surface, showing up in subtle ways. In the way she hesitates before making a choice that should be easy. In the way she avoids thinking about what comes next. In the way she convinces herself that as long as she keeps moving forward, she’ll be fine.

Her emotional logic is a paradox—she tries to rationalize feelings that, by nature, resist logic. And deep down, she knows she can’t keep running from them forever.

When my emotions rise and start clouding my judgment, I panic—not because I don’t understand them, but because I know myself. I know how deeply I can feel, but I don’t always know how far those feelings will take me. I think Neve is the same way. She’s confident in herself, but she doesn’t know her breaking point.

And maybe that’s why falling in love can feel so terrifying for someone deeply logical and analytical. You can study it, observe it, notice the smallest details, and even rationalize why a person makes you feel the way they do—but love isn’t something you can fully understand. It has to be felt. And for someone like Neve, who’s spent so long relying on logic, that’s exactly what makes it so daunting. She knows she has feelings for Rook, but acknowledging them isn’t the same as allowing herself to feel them. So she represses them, over and over again.

Man, human behavior and emotions have always been my favorite topics, so stumbling upon Neve’s character was such a treat. But honestly? Watching her struggle was like watching myself, LOL. Not to mention, we both share the same deep-seated need to be of service to others. The need to fulfill a duty, god. As someone who thrives on acts of service, I get it. When you want to be there for people, you start taking on everything yourself without even realizing it. Sometimes it’s so second nature that I don’t even notice I’ve gone out of my way to do something I swore I wouldn’t—like taking a route I hate just to make sure a friend gets home safe—until someone else points it out.

Learning to balance logic with emotion—understanding my feelings while also allowing myself to truly feel them—and balancing the need to be of service to others and to myself, it has been a lifelong journey.

It's exactly the reason why I draw.

I’ll remember Neve for a very long time. I don’t think I’ve ever come across a fictional character who mirrors me this well.

I don't follow zodiac signs religiously but me being a Capricorn (Sun) and Virgo (moon) is too much of a coincidence that explains my overly logical + overworked ass LOL

[leroiestmortvivelareine]

The results for the 'How could Riko have been salvaged' poll exceed expectations guys

So... to summarise... the best possible options for reforming our problem child are: (1) kindest man who ever lived and (2) heir to the eastern USA branch of the Yakuza. I love you all so much.

I honestly believed most people would say Riko was beyond all hope (I mean he never showed the remotest shred of human decency? ever?). Otherwise, no surprises with the winner. In Wymack we trust. I can't be sorry Riko's dead but I can't be sorry Wymack came to his funeral either. It's the closest that boy ever got.

But the Ichirou one!! We need fics, and we need them now! How would work, do you think? Riko realising that the grass isn't in fact greener on Ichirou's side of the fence? Or that the world is so much larger than Tetsuiji's little wasp factory? Or is it simply knowing that someone's in Riko's corner? Do they plot together about taking over from these horrible elders (as if an Ichirou warped by Kengo would ever share power), giving Riko yet another vain dream to chase? It shouldn't work, none of these things should work, and yet... I really want to explore a world where Ichirou was more like Aaron, and wanted his brother.

Despite my belief in the healing powers of prog metal, I would have picked the one where Tetsuji is sentimental enough about Kayleigh to establish a more equitable dynamic between Kevin and Riko. But I guess the general view is that nothing Tetsuji touches would ever lead to something good. (Fair.)

I bet Riko would blame Kevin being a temptress for driving him mad. No question which one Neil would pick. Jean would probably pick that too... although he'd take savage enjoyment in seeing the Raven!Neil one play out (feel sorry for Riko just thinking about it).

I didn't try changing who was alive/dead, but I was wondering if anyone would vote for Riko's mother surviving. Poor lady. I guess she had so little power she couldn't affect much... except she wanted both her children, that's something, isn't it? By aftg standards, that's everything.

Damn you Nora for making me cry over this monstrosity (again)

[blackfilmmakers]

I was a long time follower of @lunerabo. I haven’t been on tumblr for some time, but I came back to it a couple of days ago to check in. Imagine my surprise when I find that a creator I liked will never produce content again because they were driven to suicide over something trivial. I read through everything and they were an asshole about it and their conclusion was extreme, yes, but I read the whole thing. Almost everyone who reblogged that post after you was calling for their death. And when that was brought to your attention, you only showed how little you value human life. You have the way of someone who’s proud that they set that in motion and I think it’s only because you did it from behind a screen. Palestinians are being slaughtered in the streets and immigrant families are being ripped apart at the Mexican border yet your biggest problem is someone you will never meet thinking three words English speakers have been saying probably since those words were invented. And you let those words have so much agency over you that you instigated their suicide for it. You have a very narrow field of vision with which you view the world around you and I hope you expand it because this is the most chronically online behavior I’ve ever seen. Black person to black person, I’m not going to tell you what you should and shouldn’t be offended by. But being part of a marginalized group sadly means you aren’t judged as an individual, what you say and do reflects on your entire community. The only way to fight to see that changed is to show kindness, educate, and be educated, and you don’t reflect well on the community by acting like this. I pray, I really do, for you to find peace.

All this stuff happening, and yet you find yourself the time on tumblr.com and type up this mess 🤨

Anyways, all the more reason to get on racists’ backs more than ever. Every colonized persons will tell you this is a type of violence we’ve witnessed for decades. You do it towards Black people, you do it towards Palenstinians, you do it with those families forced to be separated(which makes it all the more weirder lune refers to themselves as a slur regarding Mexican/latine groups)

Lune herself said, as you claimed to have read through all that, that she would have simply ignored me had I explained how it was aave “nicely”, as she did with the other Black people that pointed out the misuse of aave. Because that’s what it always comes down to. Y’all don’t want to ever listen when we are as nice and polite as possible. The moment we show any emotion that doesn’t convert your happy tapdancing negro, y’all panick and resort to violence. So nah, this Black History Month, which is every Black History Month, we gonna get louder

Also we ain’t doing this “Black person to Black person” bit when your ass on anon. Whether you whiteknighting or lune herself, take that mess somewhere else

[letterstoalonewolf]

Back to the Light (Song Series)

​​ Jasper Hale x Reader

Summary: Jasper had spent a lifetime walking the tightrope between darkness and restraint, but something about her made the war inside him quiet. He shouldn't want her—shouldn't crave the warmth she so easily offered—but when she looked at him like that, like she saw the man beneath the monster, he didn't know if he had the strength to stay away.

Based on the song: Darkerside by David Kushner

───────────────────────────────

Been running too long, tryna catch my breath

There's a war up against my heart and head And there ain't always blood in a fight But you bring me back to the light…

Jasper had spent decades perfecting control. He had to—his nature demanded it. Every second, every breath, he kept himself wound tight, a soldier in a battle of restraint.

Then Y/N appeared, and all of it—the discipline, the practiced indifference—cracked.

She wasn’t supposed to feel like this, wasn’t supposed to make the venom in his throat burn for reasons that had nothing to do with hunger. She wasn’t supposed to make him forget himself entirely.

And yet, here she was.

He watched her from across the dimly lit bookstore, where she sat curled into a worn leather chair, lost in a book. Jasper knew he should leave. Distance was safety. And yet his feet moved before he could stop them, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

"That must be a good one," he said, voice smooth but hesitant, as if testing the weight of his own words.

Y/N startled slightly, looking up. When her eyes met his—soft, warm, human—something inside him shifted.

"It is," she said, marking her page. "But I think I’d put it down if it meant I got to talk to you instead."

Jasper tensed. He wasn’t used to this—to someone seeking him out without hesitation, without fear.

"You don’t even know me," he murmured, something dangerously close to longing slipping into his tone.

Y/N tilted her head, studying him. "Then tell me who you are.

Oh, why? (Oh, why?), oh, why? (Oh, why?)

Am I standing on the edge of my darker side? Oh, I (oh, I), oh, I (oh, I) I know it's so wrong, but it feels so right…

Jasper clenched his fists at his sides. He was a monster, a creature who had spent lifetimes bathing in blood, in war. And yet she looked at him like he wasn’t ruined. Like there was still something worth knowing beneath the damage.

"You should stay away from me," he said instead, his voice rough.

Y/N frowned. "You don’t seem dangerous to me."

A sharp, bitter chuckle escaped before he could stop it. "That’s because you don’t know what I’ve done."

He should leave. He had to leave. But she reached out, her fingers barely brushing his wrist, and suddenly all the air in the room felt thin, inconsequential.

The feeling was immediate. A shock—more than that, a recognition.

It stole the breath from his lungs.

Mates.

Jasper went rigid, staring at the point of contact like it had burned him. Y/N didn’t flinch. She just watched him, a quiet sort of curiosity in her gaze.

"Did you feel that?" she asked softly.

"Yes." The admission came before he could stop it.

Jasper had imagined this moment before. The moment he found her, the one person in existence designed to be his match, his equal. He had imagined relief, a sense of rightness.

Instead, he felt terror.

Because she wasn’t immortal. She wasn’t untouchable, unbreakable.

She was human.

And she was his.

*Oh, my (oh, my), oh, my (oh, my)

There's so many things I'm tempted by But you bring me back to the light…*

He took a step back, shaking his head. "No. This—I can’t—"

"Jasper," she said, his name a plea on her lips.

His chest tightened. It was too much. She was too much.

"You don’t understand what this means," he said. "What I am—what being near me will do to you."

"You think I don’t already know?" Y/N asked, and her voice wasn’t laced with fear, only certainty. "I’ve known there was something different about you since the first time we met. And I don’t care."

"You should."

"But I don’t," she whispered, stepping closer.

Jasper stood at the edge of something he couldn’t name, couldn’t fight. He had spent decades running from temptation, from anything that might pull him back into the abyss.

But Y/N wasn’t a weakness. She wasn’t the darkness calling him home.

She was the light.

And for the first time in his existence, Jasper wasn’t sure he had the strength to resist.

I'm spiraling in and out of control

There's a war no one sees inside my soul The Lord exposes the deepest lies You bring me back to the light…

His hand moved before his mind could catch up, fingers ghosting over her cheek. Her pulse jumped beneath his touch, but she didn’t pull away.

"I don’t deserve you," he murmured, almost to himself.

Y/N smiled, small and knowing. "I think that’s for me to decide."

He exhaled, slow and measured. Maybe she was right. Maybe the universe had given him this, had given her to him, because it believed there was still something worth saving inside him.

"Just once," he said, voice like gravel. "Let me pretend I deserve this."

Y/N’s breath hitched. "Jasper—"

He silenced her with his lips.

The moment they met hers, the war inside him stopped. The chaos, the torment, the guilt—it all fell away, drowned out by the quiet hum of something undeniable. Something holy.

She melted into him, fingers curling into his shirt, like she had been waiting just as long for this as he had.

And maybe she had.

Jasper knew there was no coming back from this, no pretending she wasn’t his.

But as she sighed into his touch, as her heartbeat fluttered against his chest, he realized something else.

Maybe he didn’t want to come back.

Maybe, for the first time, he had finally found home.

Yeah, you bring me back to the light.

[juh-wasnt-deactivated19691231]

tumblr note: this is a living document. Tap the original post header to see the most updated version.

a weary traveler’s guide to the poison bogs of tumblr

welcome to the land that cannot be killed in a way that matters. we have plenty of in-jokes, but this post isn’t about sightseeing: it’s about survival. there are many things to be wary of.

bots, nefarious

most of our evildoers appear to be automated. they spread lies and hate, but mostly they spread inflammatory language, with the goal of wasting your time and making you mad. often you’ll see that these blogs have no pfp, or they are Single Issue Bloggers, or they leave an inflammatory comment on everything they share. block and move on.

bots, annoying

i would classify the gazabots, pornbots, and thirst traps here. gaza is a real tragedy, but the bots sending spam aren’t helping. porn is wonderful, but the bots are scams. the thirst traps have little substance to them, but they must exist for some greater purpose—i think they metamorphose into full-fledged scams or maybe evildoers later in their lifecycle? block and move on.

terfs and other fascists, human

similar to the nefarious bots, but seemingly more human. this does not change their goals or my recommendations, though. they are not here with an open mind, and you cannot reason with fascism, because it has no root in reason. block and move on. do not engage.

morality

mos eisley cantina is our spiritual ancestor. this is the “lying, cheating, and stealing for fun are good and morally correct and you should do them always” website, at its extreme. there are folks who think you shouldn’t hold a food sharing program unless all of the food is stolen. BUT there are also folks who just think sharing is good. we really run the gamut here. trust your gut, you can ask questions once in a while, but don’t be surprised if a stranger bites your head off. understand that if something seems fishy, there’s a good chance it is, and you need to factor that into how much thought you give their statements and how much you care about the discussion.

on that note

yeah so tumblr is a very queer place (in spite of its management, as with everything else we do). there’s a lot of pro-queer stuff, there’s occasionally someone who thinks they’re pro-queer but would get mad at me for using the term “queer” for some reason (? block and move on, or point and laugh, dealer’s choice). if you are not some form of Not The Default, or if you just feel Too Normal, it’s okay. i am personally granting you permission to be here and to have fun. if someone has a problem with that, block and move on, or even just ignore it. a lot of people here are not good at conveying their points, a lot of people are angry, and we are famous for our piss-poor reading comprehension. don’t take it personally. they’re just Like That.

seriousness

most of tumblr ranges from neutral to deeply unserious. if someone’s discussing a heavy topic or making sense, they might be serious, we do have some of that, and sometimes there’s really good things to see here. but don’t expect a whole lot of Genuine Discourse and Thoughtful Discussion on average, unless you find your way into those circles. i tagged a post #christianity once and my notes were clogged with people having philosophical discussion about forgiving satan and it was weird.

argument

I once saw advice here that said, some people like arguing, and others don’t. If you like arguing, it’s super important to find other people who enjoy arguing, so that you can have your stimulating discussions with them, without totally burning out your friends who just want to get along. this really cleared up a lot of things for me, and i saw the light. (it turns out i don’t like arguing)

the bottom line

you’re here to have fun! so do that. our motto is “do whatever you want forever.” if you’re not having fun, take a step back to wonder why. you don’t have to post, or comment, or add tags, or even like the posts. you can just scroll if you want. if you like interaction, you can curate a blog (original posts and reblogs) that you like or that you think other people will like. my blog is mostly shitposting, cats, and advice, and sometimes computer things, but i moved most of that to my datacenter blog. you can send asks, you can receive asks (but don’t be disappointed if you never get any—most of us don’t. be the change you wish to see in the world!). understand that there is no Algorithm, and the only way to find something is to tag it and remember that tag later. godspeed mooncat.

further reading