#Slitting Cutter

[pisshandkerchief]

I have work in two hours and after last night I literally wanted to kill myself so. wish me luck

[muntitled]

Hangman

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!reader

Summary: What's a broke girl to do when her university bills keep piling up and a sadistic Salesman offers to take all her problems away? All at one tiny little price.

Warning: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Kidnapping, SociallyAnxious!Reader, Blindfolds, Stalking, Knives, Blood, Stockholm Syndrome, Mentions of Suicide, Restraints, Anxiety, Smut (+18) mdni, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Erotophonophilia, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Dacryphillia, Sadomasochism, Oral Sex (m!rec), Deepthroating, Blood Kink

A/N: I'm not responsible for the media you consume

You hadn't initially intended on slitting your own wrist. That idea was birthed almost vicariously in the moment. If he hadn't stopped you, your corpse would have been found laying on a park bench, covered in its own wet blood that would have been dripping from its open wrist like a faucet. Surely his proposition would be better than that.

With your vision obstructed by a heavy blindfold, your hearing is ten times more prominent. You hear the sound of your own breathing, as if your body was taunting you with all the life it still begrudgingly held inside it. You also heard heavy yet elegant footsteps cross a marble floor. Then you hear the scratch of a vinyl as the very sounds of an orchestra bleeds into the atmosphere.

"Hello," said the Man in the gray suit who had accosted you in the park. You remember the way in which he had sat beside you.

No one had ever sat beside you. Not even any of your peers that roamed the university. Everything about your countenance was so worried and severe. You wore your money problems on your sleeves and that evidently warded off any chance of a social life you had hoped to have.

The moon was shining particularly bright and the stars were twinkling little spectators to your silent meltdown on the park bench. Your eyes had been reading and re-reading the email sent to you by the university. An urgent email amongst a sea of urgent emails begging you to 'please just pay them'.

"Don't slit your wrist," he had said, "Not before you've given yourself a chance to win at life first."

You had looked up at him with bloodshot eyes from all that crying over potentially getting kicked out of university. He hadn't melted at your expression, in fact he only smiled softly. "We ought to play a game-"

"I wasn't going to slit my wrist."

"You were just holding that boxcutter for fun, then?" He curled up an eyebrow, leading both of your gazes down to the pocket box cutter that sat in your lap, the blade extended.

"I'm not in the mood to play a game."

"Not even at the cost of your university fees?" Your eyes snapped up to him then. He sat a healthy distance away from you. The space between you both was filled with possibilities so endless it was becoming uncomfortable to breathe. "How much do you owe them now?"

"That's none of your business," you were on the verge of gathering your things. Your boxcutter and your pride.

Perhaps you could kill yourself somewhere else, preferably without a man accosting you about the embarrassing state of your funds.

"I could pay for your university fees, you know," His words morphed into an anchor, keeping your butt firmly planted to the park bench. A midnight runner passed by you two. An evening breeze blew through your scalp and the goosebumps descended.

"Of course, you'd have to win first."

Anyone could see the conflict warring within your irses.

"This is how people get sex trafficked," you'd said, "Absolutely no thank you," How utterly in control you had been! A girl with a firm head on her shoulders.

He only laughed then. He laughed and laughed, so much so he had to politely clear his throat.

"You were about to kill yourself. Don't pretend to have any self preservation now," his words had struck a cord deep within the inner workings of your soul. Your face heated as you hid yourself, tucking your chin against your chest. You did suddenly feel remarkably silly and so incredibly juvenile.

"Don't worry," he had said with an almost lopsided grin, "It's your lack of self preservation that I find so incredibly intriguing, hence I'm asking for one game."

It was only one game.

One game and if you were lucky enough to win, you might coast through the rest of university stress-free. Like a normal 20 year old with normal 20 year old problems. Boyfriends. Clubbing. Whatever else all those girls did when they huddled together in their magnificent little groups. You could be a part of them. For once you had to give yourself the opportunity of feeling like a member of society.

"Are these restraints a necessary element of our game?"

As you sit in this room- a room he had brought you too- blindfolded- you tell yourself that you are giving yourself a chance to be a normal 20 year old. That's why you were currently restrained to a leather chair. The restraints held your wrists to the armrests and your and your ankles to the feet of the chair. This led to the slight and uncomfortable spreading of your legs- a dangerously vulnerable position to be in when you were wearing nothing but a university jumper and a pleated skirt.

You quickly find out that you didn't like to be restrained.

Your chest rises and falls a little higher with every sharp intake of your breath as you will yourself into calmness. Freaking out now seemed completely silly.

Almost as silly as letting a stranger bring you to his hidden location.

Had you no sense of self preservation at all?

Were you a walking piece of meat, waiting for the first predator to sink its teeth into you?

Has that predator finally arrived?

"The restraints are unfortunately a necessary element.” He says, softly, “The human body tends to get jittery when it's met with unforeseen stimuli, and I don't want you running out on me."

That lets the panic solidify itself even more in your bones. This man walked as if he was a perfectly stand up guy and that helped in your decision of letting him bring you here.

Nothing seemed particularly wrong with him at first glance.

His face has all the workings of a perfectly normal man. He looked like he was in possession of a cushy, stable job with pensions and benefits. A salesman.

He looked like he attended his kids soccer matches on the weekends.

He looked married to a beautiful woman who looks good in mom jeans and baked brownies for her Wednesday night book club.

He looked so painfully normal.

But the panic is rising, the more that ‘danse macabre’ fills the room.

"C-Could you at least play something else," You are fidgeting now and it causes him to raise a brow. "Danse macabre is just," you attempt to swallow but your tongue is completely dry, "-incredibly unnerving, right now."

You try to massage your wrists in the restraints and you breathe through your nostrils as a phantom pain shoots through your legs. The need to move was eating you alive.

"You know your classical music," The man regarded you with slight intrigue as he folded the piece of material he had once used to obstruct your vision. He places it on a tiny coffee table before you. "Interesting for a kid your age. Do you know the story behind it?"

"Of course, I do, why do you think I'm nervous?" You had his full attention now. You were almost drowning in it as he lowered himself to a leather chair directly opposite you.

You had never had anyone listen to you as intently as he does. No one bothered to hear what you had to say. The voices in your head were your only audience…

Now you have someone seated before you, so lax as he urges you to, “Go on, explain why it makes you so nervous.” It was completely addicting.

“W-Well,” you swallowed the air again. “Danse macabre quite literally means dance of death,” he sits back in his chair, his fingers tapping against his mouth.

“Why?” he asks in deeply monotony, as if you had captured him as much as he, evidently captured hou. Like you weren't the only one in restraints.

Your brows furrowed “Is this quiz apart of the game-”

“No. I just want to hear you talk.” He says as he reaches over the side of his chair uncovering a sleek black briefcase veneered in expensive leather. He assures you with a single nod of his head that he's listening as he clocks open the briefcase.

“Well,” your eyes are on the whiteboard he pulls out, “Camille wrote this symphony all dark and depressing because it's supposed to sound like it's being played by death himself,”

The suited man smiles down at his busy hands as he lays your boxcutter on the coffee table beside the whiteboard. “I-It tells us that death is the great equalizer. It doesn't matter if you have money or you're about to be kicked out of university for insufficient funds-” he cracks a small smile at that, pulling out a whiteboard marker in the process, “the dance of death is inevitable for us all. Money can't buy you out of it.” You shake your head, “It's real medieval shit.”

You watch him smile again. It's devastatingly attractive which immediately raises the alarms in your own head. This man has restrained you in a chair, in an undisclosed location. For all you knew, death was very well the thing waiting for you at the end of all this.

But he wouldn't stop you from killing yourself, only to kill you himself, would he?

You'd heard about serial killers being raging narcissists. You would virtually be a lousy victim, having already wanted to die.

That thought calms you somewhat.

“We're going to play ‘Hangman’,” he turns the board to reveal a simple drawing of a gallow and a man hanging from it.

“Are you familiar with it?”

“Of course,” you nod your head, your nerves level somewhat at the sight of the little stick figure.

Just guess a letter to a mystery before the Hangman is drawn. These were children's games.

“For every word you get right, a semester of your studies is paid in full.” He smiles, warmly, watching the awe blossom across your face. “You'll get your degree and become the psychologist you've always wanted to be.”

Your brows furrow, “H-How did you know I-”

“Of course there's a penalty to the game,” you watch him erase the little stick figure, as he draws the little lines corresponding with the amount of letters in the mystery word. “If you don't guess the correct words in time,” Time stands still. “Well… The word get carved into your skin.”

You had never been a cautious individual. When your mother would fret and nag about your safety, you would roll your eyes. Everyone else always had self preservation for you. Why would you need it? Bad things rarely happen to boring people. The news coverage worthy stuff? You?

But here you were, fucking drowning in the Bad stuff.

"I'm not playing,” You begin to try and twist your wrist out of the restraints as your panicked eyes zero in on the blade seated on the desk. “I'm not fucking playing-”

“I'm afraid that isn't an option. What's your first letter?”

Despite the soundproof padding stylishly plastered against the sleek black walls you still scream "HELP-Oh my god- HELP”

He walks over towards you in large strides, clamping his hands in your skull and pulling your head back. He's much closer now. Closer than he had been at the park. His eyes are sparkling with intensity and a manic sort of quality that escaped you on your first meeting. Where were these eyes when you were still on that park bench, still able to choose to run far, far away to the nearest police station.

Where were these wild eyes then?

“Look at how scared you've gotten...” He laughs, in your face, “A scared, terrified little Doll-”

“Please let me go-”

“I'm not the one keeping you restrained here.” He lifts his hands as if he were completely crime-free, “You decided to play this game out of your own volition. You're restraining yourself, Doll”

“Jesus, that doesn't even make sense-” you cry, “HELP-”

He pulls a tighter grip around your hair, silencing your cries as a wince bleeds out of your instead..

“You don't wanna do that,” he says, staring deep into your glassy irses, “I have a thing for little girls with pretty tears-”

“Please don't hurt me-” you didn't wanna be a newspaper girl. You didn't want to be a nobody-turned-somebody because her death was so grisly it graced the front pages of a newspaper. That isn't the way your story was supposed to go and so you plead with the humanity inside him. You search for it under all that black ink filling his almond eyes.

Nothing.

They're absolutely black.

“Guess a letter, Doll."

You steal your nerves. Your shoulders slump.

“E-Every word has a vowel in it right?” his eyes flutter shut as he presses his lips against the side of your face. He seems like he's transforming into a completely different person right before your very eyes and it set you alight with fear.

Fear and something else.

“That's it, now we're getting somewhere,”

“I'll go with ‘A’,” a tense, mortifying silence stretches between you too. He begrudgingly removes his hand from your hair, patting down your head like the child he regressed you to as he strolled to the white board.

“Correct.”

He writes the letter ‘a’ twice on the little lines. The first one of the second line and the second one on the fourth line and almost with your brain slotting into place you raise your head. you wipe a stray tear on your shoulder before saying, “I-I- know what the word is.”

He raises his eyebrow. “Already?” Intuition was a scary thing. It was like a last resort, leaving you clamouring for hope.

“Care to share,”

“Is there an ‘r’” you look up at him. “I need to be sure.” Your legs are fidgeting in anxiety. Your fingernails dig into the leather under the armrest.

He is quiet as he draws an ‘r’ over the second last line.

“Macabre. The word is ‘macabre.’”

A slow almost predatory grin stretches across his face.

“How much did you say tuition was?”

Your heart stammers in its chest.

For those few moments you don't think about death. You don't think about blood. All you think about is that outstanding amount as you murmur a quiet, “₩3,893,852.”

You had it memorized.

The number that haunted your every waking hour, bleed from your lips like a prayer.

You watch as he lowers the white board marker to uncover a phone in his back pocket. He taps a few buttons and in a matter of moments- he turns his screen towards you.

What a remarkable day this had turned out to be.

“How do you know my banking details?,” you ask, squinting your eye at the screen, “Who are yo-”

“That round was too easy.” He moves to sit back down, “Here's your next word,” your heart falls when he only draws three lines underneath the gallow.

Three letter words could be the easiest or the most difficult when it comes to a game like this.

“A?’” you ask through wet lashes. Your only option was to hammer through the list of vowels.

“Ooh-” he pouts, before drawing a Hangman's head. “Try again.”

“E?”

He's silent as he draws a stick for The Hangman's body. The panic kickstarts once more.

“Shit-”

“That's not a letter?” He jests, “One more non-word and you're Disqualified, Doll.” His knee is bouncing up and down. As if everything in him was anticipating the end of the game. Your nerves are drowing in anxiety.

“I-”

“You can't just name every vowel under the sun, Doll. You don't have very many options remaining.” He draws the stick figures first arm.

4 chances left.

“O?” Your breath catches in your lungs. You watch as he throws his head back to lift his hips slightly, as if adjusting his pants. It almost immediately lowers your gaze to the prominent bulge there. Fuck. Not only was he anticipating your loss, he was getting off to the thought of it.

“Well done.” He writes ‘o’ in the second line. Right between the middle and end lines.

“Uh- ‘c’”

He adds another appendage to the stick figure. “3 more chances remaining.” He says, standing up. His arm jitters as he picks up the boxcutter in.

“G-” you ask through tears. He kneels in front of you, his eyes are almost as desperate as yours.

“You are the most fun I've had in years,” he admits, before turning to draw another appendage.

“Guess again, Doll,” the boxcutter extends and you cry.

“You don't have to do this,” You plead and he only sighs as he places his forehead against yours.

“You are such a brave little girl, you know that-”

“Oh my god-”

“2 more guesses.”

“‘T?” You squeak out so quietly, as your eyes squeeze shut.

He presses his lips to your right cheek and you melt. The fear all disappears and it's just you and him. Even on his knees, he's so large, so towering. It sets you alight with incomparable need.

“Well done, Doll- I'm so proud of you, " he sighs, “One more word, baby.”

“P- wait, No!" the sound barely makes it out of your mouth and looks down at you, chest rising and falling.

You hold your breath, eyes wide and wet and it makes him so fucking hard.

“Y- my answer is ‘Y’.” He exhibited all the signs of a sadist. Of course his word for you word be-

“That's my answer. “Toy”

A tense silence bleeds as he brings the boxcutter into your field of vision, and you're once again writhing in your seat. “Please- please no-”

“Fuck I'm gonna need to cum-” He admits gravely. Even more grave, even more harrowing, you're squirming in your seat. Lust balling deep within your cut. You're terrified but so utterly turned on.

Is masochism a symptom of loneliness?

“Please-”

He presses the blade to your leg and you both watch as he sinks the tip down onto your skin. For all those moments, you revel in the pain. The blade breaks skin and you cry out as droplets of blood grows pregnant along your thigh. Danse macabre crescendos and tears fall. As he swipes his finger along the drop of crimson.

“D-Did I not get it right?"

“”You got it right,” he admits, undoing the buttons of his blazer as he stands to his heavy feet once more. The menacing shadow of a God. He's humongous and you crane your neck back to look at him.

“my little winner-” he mumbles, planting a heavy hand on your head as his other hand rubs over his erection.

“I-If I got it right,” you mumble through your sniffles, “Th-Then why did you cut me?”

He looks down at you. The hand planted on your head moves down to the side of your face as he unzips his pants. Your heart is banging out of its cage as he lowers his pants just enough to have his hand slipping into his boxers.

He watches the blood smudged across your thigh.

“I just-” he curses as he uncovers his fully erect cock, leaking precum,“I just wanted to see your blood.” he admits gravely before bringing his cupped hand to your lips.

'Spit.’ He commands.

You're unable to look away. The precum beading the head of his cock slides down the thick veins along the length of it- all the way to the base. You want him in your mouth. Inside you. The need and the pain is an avalanche of contradictions.

He makes you feel so scared, so wanted.

“Don't make me ask again.” He says darkly, tilting your head up to look deep into his eyes.

His fingers prod at your lips and your mouth falls open as his hand delves inside. “Tongue out.” He whispers hoarsely, cursing once again when you roll your tongue out. Somehow incredibly obedient.

“You're gonna be a good girl for me, Doll?” He asks, bringing the tip of his cock to your lips. You nod cautiously, feeling yourself descend into a state of mind you'd never been at before. You feel so pliant with his hand still on your cheek as he guides his cock into your mouth. You feel completely reckless. Someone like you who spends her time studying and worrying. Right now you were made to feel completely empty.

“That's it-” he coos, looking so utterly pained as his cock slides against your tongue, “That's my Doll,” he thrusts in and out of your mouth and you just sit there. Quite literally a doll. You let him use you, feeling more useful now than you've ever felt in all your years of living. There is beauty in submission that has a wet spot forming along your panties. You writhe as he begins to fuck your throat, drawing out a moan from him in the process.

“Shit- you're such a good girl-” there's fire in his eyes as he thrusts in and out. His hands move to the back of your head, forcing you down deeper on his cock. The sounds of your struggle -the gagging- it has his cocm twitching in your mouth

“Fuck-” he grunts, breathing so heavily as you begin to writhe in your seat, needing air.

“I knew you were special, Doll- I knew you were so far beyond self preservation- it borders pathetic” the saltiness of his precum trickle down your throat and you attempt to stomp your feet as your cries vibrate around his cock.

“Look at your hips moving baby,” he says, “You like this as much as I do. You're on my side. Even if you think you aren't.” Your hips are circling as if you're searching for friction along the chair as he groans. “Tell me you're on my side.”

He pulls your mouth off his cock and you breathe in deeply. You're coughing as droplets of spit run down your mouth. Spit and tears. Your face shows it all.

Your voice is hoarse. “I'm on your-”

“F-Fuck- I'm gonna cum-" He brings his cock back to your lips, “All over that pretty fucking face- fuck,” your tears fall as he strokes cock, emptying cock over you face. You keep your eyes shut, letting the sound of his pleasure-filled groans shoot straight to your puffy clit.

“I'm not letting you go,” his thumb moves over the cum coating your face. He moves his thumb past your lips, letting the cum seep into your mouth. Saltiness and need.

He needed you.

“You're not?” You ask petulantly, sucking on his thumb like you've regressed right before him.

“I'm not.” He confirms, “My little winner.”

© to @muntitled on tumblr; do not repost

[wokealqaeda]

Nevada Tan / Natsumi Tsuji's drawings.

Nevada-tan is the name commonly used to describe an 11-year-old Japanese schoolgirl who was charged with murdering her classmate Satomi Mitarai. The murder occurred on June 1, 2004 at an elementary school in Sasebo, Japan and involved the slitting of Mitarai's throat and arms with a box cutter. It has come to be known as the "Sasebo Slashing". Natsumi Tsuji has since become an Internet meme cartoon character.

[mourningsbane]

oh, god. did tanglefern try to do a sort of c-section on honeyspring when things went south? that slit on their belly looks a lot like a classical incision to me, and tanglefern's greatest mistake...this might be completely wrong so feel free to disregard!! obsessed with this blog right now, honeyspring what happened to you....

She was just so sick, and it was all so sudden. What else was there to be done? Nobody knows what struck Honeyspring ill so swiftly or with such brutal lethality, not even Tanglefern (but he is also a liar).

Desecration;

He wedged the cutter just under the skin, and pried the walls of her womb apart, glistening with watery wetness and slick with blood. Fluids sunk into the dirt flooring of the medicine den, reeking of disease, but Tanglefern pushed forward. He was not gentle, but he did not have to be. They knew that when she took that last heaving breath not even an hour ago, she was gone.

There was no patient to be gentle for, just a cooling corpse.

And so he ripped and tore until he could wrap his mouth around each little neck, a total of three. When he felt no more of the doomed litter, he stopped and took the time to finally glance at the little bodies sitting at his paws, sticky like honey.

He looked, and saw with rising despair, that they didn't look like kits at all. He could hear the rain pounding outside through the ringing in his ears, a thundering roar.

As he stared at those things that were not quite kits, those vague lumps of wet fur and teeth, Flaildrizzle wailed. Distantly, some raw part of him, carved open like the body before him, realizes it was all for nothing.

[fraternum-momentum]

when a pretty boy in black at the crossroads tells me to slit my throat with a box cutter 🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡

[moreausposts]

[Mentioned suicide, TSC spoilers]

I'm never gonna stop thinking about the fact that Jean told Kevin "you didn't have to slit my throat on your way out." Just— FUCK. Kevin made him promise he'd stay alive, made a 15 maybe 16 year old Jean swear after every day of being tortured in a cult he never asked to join that he wouldn't try again to kill himself again (slitting his wrists with a box cutter being his attempted method by the way), only to leave him anyway. Kevin killed Jean on his way out. He took the only glimpse of light he had at the end of the tunnel. He was the only safe person in Evermore and he LEFT HIM, even worse he TRICKED HIM INTO HELPING HIM LEAVE. He killed everything Jean was still holding onto.

And yet Jean still can't hate him. They're both out now and Jean still can't hate the boy he's loved since he was 14. He still holds onto the magnet Kevin gave him that he's probably long since forgotten about, even if it's broken into a thousand pieces now. He won't let anyone bad mouth him, even if they're on opposite sides of the country now. When he calls Wymack in a panic at his worst moment yet, after finding out his sister died, he asks about Kevin. Kevin will always be the only light he's ever had, even if he closed that door on his way out.

I'm sorry, I really thought TSC was going to make me want Jean to end up with Jeremy but I can't stop thinking about the KevJean reconciliation that I need DESPERATELY. Nora, please, if you find it in your heart to be nice to my boy just once, let them be happy together.

[eternalsa2z]

Counter-Culture / Fight the Man

My boyfriend and I were always different. I was a tatted-up doll who broke the mold of pretty, pink, plastic trophy wives. A rockstar, counter-culture queen who needed an equal anti-establishment king. In many ways Rocky was the perfect fit. A punk metalhead who loved guy-liner and was secure enough in his masculinity to wear pink. We bonded over being different and unique.

However the longer we were together, the more my thinking changed. Could we really be alternative icons if we were presenting the same styles? Did our shared nonconformist looks actually make us standard and boring?

I couldn't stand the thought of being a poser. So I talked with Rocky about it. We agreed that it didn't make sense for me to become a cookie-cutter bimbo trophy doll - even in an ironic sense it was too traditionalist. But if my bf rocked an alternative look, became the very thing society said he was supposed to be attracted to, then that would be the biggest middle finger to norms. Fighting the man by fighting his own manhood.

A few months later and I'll admit, my 'girlfriend' really went deep into the role. Plastic tits, fake platinum blonde extensions, doll-like makeup and filler so no one would recognize the old Rocky. The mental training was amazing - sometimes I wondered if 'Diamond' really still believed in our cause with the way she babbled and giggled about inane material things. She fought the man and her inner feminine Barbie doll won.

Our relationship sure has changed. I now wear the pants, at least compared to the skimpy slit dresses that Diamond wears. I have to do most of the thinking for both of us when Rocky used to be such a smart alternative thinker. But as I see the two of us together, I realize we are perfect. Because nothing says 'fuck you' to the standard heteronormative patriarchy like a female-led relationship with a trans lesbian barbie doll wife. Or as my girlfriend likes to say - 'It's, like, totes metal!'

[sacredlyhis]

۶ৎ ·˚ There's nothing you could ask of me that i couldn't handle. You want me to slit your name into my skin? My cutter is already in my hands. You want me to lose sleep for you? I'm already caffeinated. I don't care about trivial things anymore. I'll do whatever it takes to get closer and closer to you until we're woven together.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 21

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: have a wonderful day!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The gate bell buzzes and you rush from the kitchen to answer, the porcelain clinking as you leave it in the sink. You flit into the hall and to the entryway. As you pull the door open, you sense a shadow and turn to see Laufeyson at the top of the stairs. He watches but does not speak. You waver before you find the strength to continue on.

You shut the door gently and try to breathe through your rattling nerves. You don't understand what's going on. The words Laufeyson said still don't make sense to you. He can't mean what you think. You have to be overthinking. Yet the tickle of his touch remains on your skin and fuels your doubts.

How can you say no to him? If you do, he might say the same...

You repress a shudder as you reach the gate and hold the button to roll it back. Ronan steers through in his truck, pulling in just behind Laufeyson's flashy ivory car. You let the gate close and approach the truck bed as the carpenter climbs out.

"Miss," he opens the rear door to grab his bag, "you look nice, special occasion?"

You look down at yourself and wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt. It's sunny but it isn't the weather that has you fired up. You force a smile that makes your cheeks twitch.

"Uh, no, they're just...new," you sway as you push your hands behind you, "erm, so I guess... you should get started."

"I should," he checks his watch, a thick leather band with a tarnish face, "I hate to get in the way of your work. Or ruin your fancy clothes."

"Oh, uh, it's not... I'll bring you some water," you offer.

"Hmm," he hums as he shuts the door, "you're too kind for your own good. Nice to see you doing something for yourself for a change."

"I..." you swallow the truth. "Thanks."

"Not that you didn't look good before," he insists.

"Well, I..." you murmur, looking away bashfully.

"I'm talking a lot," he chuckles, "you know where I'll be."

He turns and stalks off towards the house. You blow out a breath as your eyes are drawn to the front door. Mr. Laufeyson stands in the frame, again observing you, his gaze narrowed to slits. He reminds you of a snake in coil about to strike.

The door shuts before you can reach it. You enter and he's gone. It's like some game. You return to the kitchen to finish tidying up the porcelain from tea. You set it away in the glass cabinet and fill a fresh jug of water. As you place it on the patio, Frigga pops her head up from the roses, a healthy bouquet in hand as she snips the stems with a pair of cutters.

"These will be nice in the dining room," she suggests as she shows the white petals, "Maybe a few for the study?"

"Uh, yeah," you plunk down the pitcher and glass. "Did you need any water? This is for the carpenter."

"Oh, he's here?" She says, "I didn't see him. Perhaps I can ask him about the flower boxes."

"Yeah, uh, maybe," you agree, "I'll be, er, upstairs working. Got a lot to catch up on from yesterday."

"No worries at all, darling," she assures you.

You retreat and stumble to get your shoes off once more, mindful of the rules. That's the problem. Everyone is forgetting the rules. Ronan does the gazebo not the flower boxes, you don't wear your shoes in the house, and Loki-- Mr. Laufeyson is just your boss.

You rush up the stairs, nearly too at a time, and reach the top out of breath. You hurry into the library and close yourself up inside. It's just you. It strikes you how much you missed being alone. These last few weeks have felt so crowded. Constricted even.

You finally make yourself sit still. You find it hard not to wriggle in the seat as you watch the laptop screen load. It feels so long ago that you did this. It's all backwards and you don't like it. You like clear lines. You are separate from Mr. Laufeyson. You are below. You have your tasks and he has more important concerns.

You focus on balancing his bills. There are a lot of outstanding invoices. You're still learning how to keep it all organized. You feel a bit out of your depth with all the numbers but you excelled at math all those years before.

A subtle click barely registers but nestles in your ear. You squint at the screen as you watch a tutorial on Excel functions. You're still figuring that out too.

"The carpenter has been dealt with?" Mr. Laufeyson states as much as he asks.

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you confirm and pause the video. You glance behind him at the open door to his study.

"Very good," he says, "he will work faster without distraction."

You nod. You take his point. He is right. It might be better that the project is finished sooner than later. There's a big enough mess, the type you don't know how to clean up.

He strides around the library, perusing the shelves as if they are new to him. He feels along the spines of books and drags his fingers along the wood. You watch him, waiting. For what, you don't know.

"Don't let me distract you," he says without looking at you as he slides out a volume. "As you were."

Your eyes flick down obediently. You try to refocus but forget where you were. You open the ledger to make notes as you restart the video. You can sense him lurking around the room, closer and closer as his silhouette blurs the edge of your vision.

The narrator continues their instruction as you open the transcript to follow along. Mr. Laufeyson inches closer and closer, walking just behind your laptop, then around one side of your desk before doubling back. Again, he looms behind the screen and strolls along the other side. And at once, he's behind you.

You tense as you feel him watching over your head. You keep your hand moving as you take notes, writing down words you don't process. Your pulse thrums in your temples as you feel him leaning over you. His hands rest on your shoulders and he kneads them as you sit frozen.

He bends further and further until you feel his breath on your crown. He nuzzles your hair as his hands trail slowly across your shoulders. They close loosely around your neck as he exhales with a groan. Just like the one you heard earlier.

You gulp against his grip as your pen stills and you stare blankly at the screen, the narrator hazing to a drone and the colours fogging together. You drop the pen and drag your hand up to touch his. He tuts as he lowers his head next to yours, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks.

"I didn't say stop," he slithers as heat scalds over you.

You shiver and remove your hand from his, reaching for the pen instead. You pick it up, trembling as you try to read your own writing, your chin pressing to his knuckle as he tightens his hold on you. It's just scribbles, broken lines and squiggled waves.

"Notice too, you did not either," he whispers against the shell of your ear and draws away, all once releasing you. 

You gasp as he swiftly side steps and strides across the room. He retrieves the volume from the shelf and reclines across the chaise, lazily opening the pages with a sigh. You stare at him as he lingers, engrossing himself in the book as you forget all about the spreadsheets and negative balances.

👠

Mr. Laufeyson leaves without a word. A taunt in its own right. He’s toying with you impeccably. His every move, his every glance, even something as careless as breathing is a statement. He’s watching. He’s waiting. For something…

Your frustration boils over and you snap shut the lid of the laptop. You haven’t been able to focus since his intrusion. The weight of his hands on your throat remains even with him gone. At moments, it feels as if you are truly being strangled.

You get up and resign yourself to something less complicated. You near the door and stop to peek at the one attached to the study. It’s open still but you wouldn’t think to peer through it. Is he there still? Listening? Expecting something?

You go into the hall and descend, each step expecting Laufeyson to call you back, to reproach you for straying. You reach the bottom without obstacle and exhale. You hear noise in the kitchen and follow it.

Frigga is there, placing a rectangle tray on the counter. She is comfortable as she moves around lightly. She knows where everything is as she arranges her ingredients and tools. You admire her. You wish you had that confidence, especially now as you drown in uncertainty.

“Oh, darling, wonderful timing,” she praises as she looks up, “I thought to do some cooking before I go. I’m sure you know Loki is rather avoidant of doing so himself. Why don’t you join, hm?”

You blink and hesitate, glancing over your shoulder. It isn’t exactly work. 

“Don’t you fret for him, if he has issue, I will take it up with him,” she dismisses your unspoken doubts. “Come, come, I want to share with you my best recipes.”

“Okay,” you cross to her. She is undeniable, besides, you don’t think Laufeyson would be pleased to hear if you were to reject his mother. 

“Beer-marinated pork,” she announces, “roasted turnip and some hand-made bread, of course.”

You nod and twiddle your fingers. You’ve never had beer-marinated anything. Well, your culinary experience is lacking.

“Family recipes,” she explains, “adapted over the years. There was a time the bread was baked on rocks and the turnip would be roasted over embers. Imagine.”

She trills and spins around, gathering more supplies for her growing array. As she faces the counter again, she sighs.

“I much rather prefer the modern methods, of course. Not so tedious and Loki has ensured the best,” she goes to the stacked ovens embedded in the wall and sets the temperature, leaving the upper one to preheat. “A pity, such a nice kitchen and it’s barely used. That cook of his… she doesn’t know our recipes.”

You listen, too anxious to summon any sort of comment. She doesn’t seem to notice as she carries the conversation smoothly. 

“Do you cook? You must,” she answers her own question, “we will make enough for you to take home for your father. If he can’t stomach beer, I can make a sauce.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s okay–”

“I insist,” she overrides you, “it’s a labour of love for me. I love cooking. That is the one thing Sif– his ex-wife wasn’t fond of. She was always at the stable.”

You nod, trying to unravel the story from the stray threads. Little by little, you learn more of the woman who used to live here. In your head, she is sophisticated and splendid. And the way the speak of her, they seem to mourn her as much as you do your own mother.

“We will need onion and some spices, we’ll mix it in with the beer for our marinade,” she instructs, “a bowl…” she turns to take a silver bowl from the nested stack.

She puts it before you and directs you. She stands back as she lets you do it yourself. It’s nice to have the simple tasks set out one by one, even if it feels as if she’s judging your every move. You submerge the pork chops to marinate and she turns your attention to the turnip.

“Be careful chopping, turnips can be difficult,” she girds.

You shy away from the large knife and the hard rutabaga. It’s not easy to saw through as you rock the knife this way and that. You only get halfway through before the blade sticks immovably.

“Allow me,” she takes over and with a jerk, finishes the chop. The turnip splits in two as the knife meets the thick cutting board. “A bit of elbow grease…”

“Mother, what are you up to?” Laufeyson enters with a hand in one pocket.

“Oh, you know, dear, I can’t leave you without dinner.”

“I have a cook,” he counters.

“Mmm, yes, but nothing like a homemade meal,” she tisks.

He looks at you as he nears. You wipe your hands on a dish cloth and wring it tight. Frigga continues on unbothered, turning one half of the turnip on its flat side and chopping it into chunks.

“She’s helping,” she says, “please don’t take her from me.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he shrugs, his lips slightly curving.

“You were thinking it,” she huffs, “she can take some time to cook. Perhaps, she should do so regularly. It would save you money.” 

“But not time. She has other tasks.”

“You being the most onerous,” Frigga chirps as she transfers the chunks into the pan.

“Perhaps,” he does not look away from you as you twist the dish cloth to its limit. He slips his hand from his pocket and lets it brush up his shirt, “I am what you raised me to be.”

“I was saying to the darling earlier,” she ignores his snipe, “the next time you visit, you might bring her along.”

“Eh, next time…” Laufeyson swallows as his lips fall straight, “maybe…”

“You are going to visit, aren’t you?” Frigga whines, “you and your father, I don’t know why you just can’t get along.”

“I tried, mother, I did. You saw–” he stops himself, “it doesn’t matter.”

“It does. Very much. You’re family.”

“Are we? He’s disowned me more than he’s ever claimed me.”

“You’re too much alike, that’s your problem,” she chides, “and you’re both too stubborn to see it.”

“We will discuss this another time,” he says as he peeks at you again, “in private.”

“Should I…” you begin.

“Stay,” Frigga and her son command at the same time.

“I’m not sending her home empty-handed,” Frigga says, “so you will drive her home, yes? It will be too much to take on the bus.”

“Why, of course,” he accepts, “it would be my pleasure.”

“Mm, and the carpenter, he fixed the flower boxes already. A few loose nails,” she grins, “nice man, that one. I might recommend him to your father.”

Laufeyson pokes his tongue out as he squints. He turns his gaze back on you. You miss when he barely looked at you, when he hardly even acknowledged your existence. And yet, you're just the same. You can't say a word.

“I haven’t dealt with him much,” he says pointedly, “that is the house manager’s concern.”

“Probably better off,” Frigga snickers, “she won’t drive him away.”

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: basking shark

I'm not feeling too motivated today, so, I'm going to discuss another animal that likes to take it easy: the basking shark. This shark decided it's not into that whole "hunt down prey and fight to live" thing and decided to become a filter feeder instead. It seems to have worked out too, as basking sharks can be found worldwide and are the second largest fish, surpassed only by the whale shark. There is only one extant species of basking shark, but a few extinct species have been discovered.

(image id: a basking shark seen from the side. It is a large, brown shark with a large head and pointed snout. Its mouth is closed)

Cetorhinus maximus is one of only 3 species of filter-feeding shark, the others being the whale shark and the awesomely-named megamouth shark. Basking sharks average 8 meters (26 ft) in length, but can reach up to 11 meters (36 ft). An average adult weighs around 4650 kg (5 tons). They have a typical shark body shape (which has led to them being mistaken for great white sharks), but the mouth anatomy is different. The mouth can open up to a meter wide and appears toothless, though it is actually filled with tiny, conical teeth that appear to serve no purpose in adults. The gill slits are longer than in most shark species and almost completely encircle the head. Like other filter-feeding fish, the basking shark's gills are also used to catch its food. It swims forward with its mouth open and as water passed over the gills, zooplankton and small invertebrates and fish will get caught in the gill rakers, from where they can be swallowed. The basking shark's favorite food is copepods of the order Calanoida, though they will also target other copepods. They can detect their prey with electroreception like other sharks. Because plankton is not known for being fast and adult basking sharks have no natural predators, they aren't known for being particularly speedy. A basking shark on the hunt moves at a blistering 3 km/hr (1.9mph). They can move in fast bursts of speed and occasionally can jump clear out of the water. It's not 100% clear why they breach, but it seems to have a few benefits. It can help dislodge parasites (which is a big issue for basking sharks. They are often covered with scars from lampreys and cookie-cutter sharks) and notably they breach more during mating season, so it may also be used for sexual display. Breaching and the resulting splash may also be used for long-distance communication and threat displays. I remember being a kid watching Shark Week and being told by the TV that great whites are the only shark species that breach and that was just not even remotely true. The basking shark has the lowest brain to body weight ratio of any shark.

(image id: a basing shark seen from the front with its mouth open. The mouth is very large and white on the inside. Its gill slits can be seen from the inside, looking like large slits in the side of the mouth)

(video: a basking shark leaping out of the water multiple times)

The name basking shark comes from their typical behavior. They swim slowly at the surface of the water while feeding, leading to sailors thinking they were basking in the sun. They were commonly called sunfish, but the name is no longer commonly used to avoid confusion with the ocean sunfish. While swimming at the surface, they sometimes spin around or swim belly-up. Basking sharks are migratory, traveling toward the poles in summer and toward the equator in winter. It was formerly believed that they hibernated over the winter, but it is now known that they spend their time in deep water. While migrating and in summer, basking sharks display social behavior. They will shoal in groups hundreds strong and can often be found in small groups of similarly-sized fish, usually of the same sex. Not much is known about basking shark mating. They are ovoviviparous, with eggs hatching internally and developing further inside the mother before the pups are born. Gestation is believed to take between 1 and 3 years and a few large pups are born at a time. Pregnant females are very rarely seen and they may spend their time in deep water. There is only a single reported example of a pregnant female being caught and it has 6 pups. The seemingly useless teeth may actually be used in utero, as the unborn pups likely feed on unfertilized eggs after their yolk sacs are consumed. This adaptation has been observed in other ovoviviparous sharks. While females have two ova, only the right one actually functions. The lifespan of basking sharks is estimated to be around 50 years.

(image id: a group of 14 basking sharks swimming in a circle, seed form above. It is believed that this is a mating display)

(image id: a juvenile basking shark seen from above. It can be distringuished from an adult by the snout, which is sharp and hooked)

Basking sharks are classified as endangered by the IUCN. They has historically been hunted for their meat, hides, fatty livers, and fins. While there is currently no commercial fishery of basking sharks, they are poached for their fins and have not recovered from overexploitation. Bycatch is an ongoing problem for the sharks. Multiple countries have enacted conservation efforts including legal protection and the enactment of protected areas where fishing is prohibited. Basking sharks pose no threat to humans. They also do not fear humans and have even been known to approach and swim around divers. Basking sharks also appear a lot in the pseudoscience of cryptozoology. I can go into why cryptozoology is a pseudoscience in more detail in another post, but its the study of alleged animals not recognized by science. Basking sharks show up a lot as globsters, unidentified corpses that wash up on beaches or are caught in fishing nets. Basking sharks are responsible for a lot of globsters due to the way their corpses decay. Large amounts of decay happen around the head, which can lead to the mandible bones hanging loose or detaching and the snout decaying to look like a small head on a neck. In addition, the claspers (reproductive organs) of male basking sharks are very large and can be mistaken for limbs. One likely example of this is the Stronsay beast of 1808. Described as a six-legged decaying sea serpent, it is likely that the legs were actually the jaw bones, fins, and claspers of a male basing shark. A more recent example is the Zuiyo-Maru plesiosaur (warning: picture below and it's gross). This carcass was pulled up by the Japanese fishing boat Zuiyō-Maru in 1977 and based on the pictures taken and the word of two Japanese scientists, was thought by some to be an example of a recently-deceased plesiosaur. While the carcass itself was thrown back overboard, some samples were taken for analysis and based on them and anatomical detains from the pictures, it was concluded that the carcass is actually a heavily-decayed basking shark. The "neck" of the carcass is the spine and brain case with the jaws having decayed and fallen off. Further anatomical details such as the presence of cartilage in the fins and body proportions support the carcass being a fin and do not support it being a plesiosaur.

(Image id: top: the Zuiyo-Maru carcass, a large, decomposed carcass hanging rom a hook. It appears to have a long neck and fins. Bottom: a diagram comparing the anatomical features of the carcass and a fresh basking shark)

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Chapter One of 🔦Rewind AU:

It's cloudy that day when you come in. The wind is chilled, nipping at your cheeks and ruffling your hair. Everything smells like rain and damp earth; the sidewalk lies cracked and broken in some places, slick with dead clumps of leaf litter; the buildings aren't much, most of them old, weathered, and chipped. But you aren't here for those places. You're here, coming up to the entrance of your job, an old thrift store/discount bargain mart for electronics, games, tech, and more: ReelTheatre.

Greeting you is your co-worker, someone who for all their chatter is quite nice. Their car is packed in front of the store, the old yellow thing holding large, dusty boxes. The moment they spot you, they light up, waving excitedly and planting their hands on their hips. "Reader, hey, buddy! Where ya been? Got some old stuff to sort through today! Wanna help me carry it in?"

You snort lightly, but walk over to them, stuffing your cold hands in your pockets for a moment. "Yeah, sure thing... It's a bit cold today, eh?" You squint your eyes at the sky overhead, sniffing lightly. "Rain will probably be here tonight." Your co-worker grins widely at you, laughing.

"Well, yeah! Wasn't hard that to guess, kiddo!" They laugh again, their small cackle, then start to open their car's trunk, tugging out some bags. They tilt their head towards the car, and you open the side door. You're quick to heave out the heavier box first, hefting it up, then stagger back to the front of the store. Your co-worker, who'd already entered and dropped off their bags, opens the door for you. "After you, my dear~!" they snicker, causing you to snort as you wander in. You're quick to set the box down on the counter closest to you, panting a little from weight. What the heck was in this, bricks?

"Thanks for donating some of your old tapes, Reader. Hopefully they'll be more interesting than the old country CDs," they say, and go out to drag in the other box. "See ya in a minute! Don't miss me~!" And then you're on your own, left to sort through the store's new stock.

The bags are filled mostly with old CDs and discount DVDs, with the occasional cassette tape or odd video game. That leaves you to sort through them, finding the ones in near-perfect condition, which your boss will probably set in the newer section, and setting apart the scratched ones or visibly used ones, probably to be sold rather cheaply. A few items might make it to the protected case, but otherwise, the rest can be given a price sticker and shoved into their shelf or basket, ready to be someone else's. Your co-worker takes them off your hands soon after, mumbling to themself about where they put the stickers, leaving you to handle the box that nearly popped your back.

It doesn't seem very special, looking at its outside appearance. Some stained, yellowed corners, a few torn holes in the side, and some weird name written in marker on the top flap... You take out an box cutter, slitting through the aged tape, and cough a little at the sudden inhale of dust. But it's open-

And lying in the box, shiny and smelling of plastic, are VHS tapes. There's old marker titles drawn on the fronts, and looking throughly between all the tapes, their tape reels seem to be working, not a single film out of place or plastic piece broken. You let out a short hum, lifting up one of the labeled rectangles-

"Oooo! I can't believe you have all of these!"

"AH!" You jump at the sudden voice of your co-worker, who must have snuck up to the front while you were caught up in sorting through the tapes. They snicker a little, but subside. They curiously look through the box themself, making a pleased noise.

"I didn't know you were such a fan!" your co-worker excitedly cheers when they finish, soon plucking the tape from your hands and hurrying over to the old TV along the wall.

"Of... what? Old tapes?"

"No! The X-Men, duh! You have all of their tapes!" They stick their tongue out as they work, tapping away at the tape player, soon letting out a small "yes!" as they manage to open it up, quickly popping the tape in, and pressing the play button.

You pause, squinting at them, then at the TV, which crackles with static. "Huh... I don't... remember... having those..." A puzzled feeling washes over you, but it's soon swamped by your co-worker's gasp.

"You don't remember the X-Men?! Well, that won't do at all!" They hold a hand to their chest, dramatically gasping. "I can't let this stand! You are watching this! Trust me, it'll be great for you, you'll see~!" They laugh, moving out from behind the counter and heading towards the back. "I'll check on you in a bit!" And then they're gone, disappearing into the record section, humming a small tune as they go...

Leaving you up here, with nothing to do but restock the shelves and listen to the old tape play in the background...

Filing the movies and CDs and games away feels good, calming a part of your mind that likes order, making you feel just a bit less tired. It's satisfying in a way, knowing everything is in alphabetical order or grouped in its genre, clustered neat and tight together, not a case out of place. A small, tired grin peeks at the corners of your mouth, your shoulders relaxing just a fraction from their usual stiffness. The TV crackles lightly behind you, the voices fuzzy and the colors comforting. You're turning around, done with your task, when you hear something... off...

Silence.

Pure... still... silence.

You look up at the TV, feeling yourself freeze up.

Because the screen seems still, and the X-Men are all frozen. But it's not a normal pause, no. They are staring straight at the screen. And it feels almost like they're staring at... you...

"Reader! A little help over here, please!" calls your co-worker from deep in the store, sending you scurrying over to them, just in time to stop a heavy wooden record player from falling on top of them. "Th.. thanks, kiddo... phew... that... was so heavy... who the H*ll put a record player on the top shelf, huh, kit-cat?" they snort, making you crack a rare chuckle. They grin, then wander with you back to the front. You glance back over at the TV, which seems to be back to normal... but you still feel... watched...

"Hey... uh... did... did you notice anything... odd, with the TV?" you inquire, scratching lightly at your hand. The fingerless gloves tug slightly with the motion, but stay in place.

"Something odd, huh? Nope. Why?" they respond, looking over at you. Their eyes are warm, no sign of judgment or teasing. You shrink a little under their gaze, eyes shifting away to stare at the floor.

"Eh... nothing... I think the screen just paused for a minute..."

"Oh! You're probably not used to the TV then! What, never let a tape play while working?" At the shake of your head, they gasp, just as dramatic as before. "Well, that won't do at all! No wonder you're so grouchy all the time! You've never enjoyed the wonders of... animation!" You let out a small snort at that. "That's it! Pop in another one of these tapes when this one is done playing! I'll see you when you've realized how awesome they are!" They playfully stick their tongue out at you, causing you to snicker a little. Once they're gone, you turn back to the TV...

The screen seems to be paused again... but it couldn't be, as music kept playing... You take a step closer, eyes squinting... The music playing is soft, and so too is the quiet crackle of static in the background... The glass screen isn't cracked or broken, nor is the video glitching. Yet the characters keep staring, as though shocked or surprised to see something... With a nervous shrug, you head back to the shelves, rearranging what you can and tidying up. Soon afterwards, the video seems to play correctly again, because you can hear a conversation going on between the characters. As the minutes fly by, you look through the extra box, finding more X-Men tapes, potentially for a lost season... You tuck those away. You can always watch them another day.

It's almost a relief when the store opens, letting in the stray teen or tired adult or confused older folk, all of whom have stopped here to hopefully find something old and waiting, ready to be used once more. It's nice, every now and again, to see someone's eyes light up when they've found something they've been looking for for quite some time... You're quiet as you check people out, bagging their items and nodding to idle chatter, wishing them a good day as they leave. It's almost nice, not being so busy or loud all the time...

When it's time to leave, your co-worker is paused by the TV, staring at it quietly. "Hey, Reader, is the screen broken? I think your old VHS tape is stuck," they tell you. They wear a lightly confused expression, but not concerned. You glance at the screen- seeing the characters are staring out, yet still talking- then turn back to your co-worker.

"Um... I'll look at it tonight... let me grab it..." You mumble tiredly, approaching the tape player. As you open the tape player, you aren't sure why, but... the X-Men almost seemed... pleased... You glance at the clock, noting the time, and wish your co-worker a good night. "Night, Kevin... I'll see you later..."

The walk back home is quiet, but the weight of the tapes in your bag (and the metal keys in your hand) make you feel just a tad bit safer. It doesn't take long for you to reach the sidewalk leading to your home, but... you swear it still feels like something is watching you... You quicken your pace, almost running down the pavement to the door of your downtrodden home, slipping the key into the lock and twisting it back once you're inside, locking yourself in, and everything else out.

Once you're inside you start to feel better. Slipping into the shower for a quick rinse and washing off, cleaning your hair, and slipping into a comfy sweater on the couch feels relaxing, after feeling tense all day... You huff, thinking about it. Why were you so worried? What had set you off? You tried to think of the answer as you looked over the tapes, not finding any loose film or cracked parts. You were careful rewinding them, taking care not to break or tear the film.

Were you on edge because it was getting colder? Or that is was getting darker earlier? It just seemed so stupid now, but you still weren't sure why you'd felt that way today.

You pop in one of the tapes after a minute, letting it start playing as you head into the small kitchen to start reheating dinner. You hum softly while you work, listening to an odd conversation between the characters-

"I haven't seen 'em in a while, but I sure have missed 'em..."

"It's going to be okay! We'll see them soon!"

"Why, of course! I hear they'll be coming back quite soon, in fact-"

"Well, that means we'll be ready for them, right, team?"

"Got it, boss~! I wonder what they're up to now..."

"Well, mehybe dinner 's a good idea, eh? Gambit be cookin' somethin', an' it's almost done!"

You continue to hum as you take out your reheated rice, soft and buttery. Next to it is a container holding steaming sauce, with bits of shrimp and sausage and herbs mixed in. You pour a bit of each into a bowl, mixing it together thoroughly. The warm smell soothes you, smelling of cozy rooms and kind people and bright smiles and savory spice... You exit the kitchen, settling onto your worn couch, blowing on a spoonful of your dinner... and see the X-Men eating the exact same food, jambalaya, on the screen.

For a minute you feel that sense of unease crawl over you again-

But you push it down, breathing in deep, then start eating your food. The spicy yet hearty taste is flavorful on your tongue, a memory of something you can't remember still lingering in your senses, making you smile just a little...

"Well... ain't it nice ta have dinner together, as a family~?"

You finish your food after awhile, then return your dishes to the sink. You'll wash them tomorrow... but now... you could use some sleep... You settle onto the old couch, pulling your thin blankets over you and closing your eyes... the air is quiet, the room dark, save for the crackle of the static and the soft glow of the screen... You're quick to drift off, exhausted as usual...

[haunted-plush]

I swear to god I only meant for this to be a sketch

Tumblr likes to crunch the shit out of images so if you click on it it'll look much better

The New Not-Toy

I know the story doesn't make sense for the timeline, but let's just pretend it does for the sake of self indulgence okay

Nothing about that morning was particularly different from any other morning the toys had had for the past few years. Andy was at school or work most of the time these days, being a teenager, and the toys kinda just piddled around by themselves while he was gone.

But what they weren't expecting was the arrival of a newcomer, someone so late in the game after they'd all assumed he was too old to be getting new toys. But it seemed the money he was earning from his part time job was going towards something for himself, because late that morning he'd come into his room with a package.

Woody watched him from his place up on the shelf as he smiled and set it on the desk, wondering what could be inside as Andy got the box cutter and slit the tape. Opening the box, he pulled out another, slightly smaller box. Bubble wrap was wrapped around it, which Andy removed and put away for later.

The box was a lovely blue and lime green, reminding Woody a little of Buzz's color scheme. On it was displayed the face of some character he didn't recognize, some girl with long blue hair.

Andy opened the smaller box and there she was, an extremely articulate and fancy looking version of the girl on the box. Woody was surprised. He didn't think Andy would ever want to get himself any more new toys.

After pulling out all the extra pieces, like a long pole with a flag and a base, Andy popped them all into place and leaned over to set it all up so it looked nice. Woody watched as Andy fidgeted with the pose, getting it to look like the one on the box. He smiled and stood back, admiring his work. The brown box the package had arrived in was flattened and thrown away, and the nice box the new toy was in was also flattened, but put neatly in a drawer to be kept.

After Andy admired his work for a while, he took a few pictures with his phone. He smiled as he went over them, then looked back at where he'd put her on his desk. Then, turning out the light as we went, he left the room.

After a moment Woody stirred.

He leaned over from his perch on the shelf, surveying the room as everyone else began to move in their own respective places. He noticed Buzz approach him from behind, from his place on the other side of a stack of books on the same shelf. They both saw the girl begin to stretch, puffing her chest out as she pulled her arms way out to the side of her.

"Wonder who she is," Buzz said.

"Don't know," replied Woody, shaking his head a little.

"Didn't think we'd ever see a newcomer, to be honest." Buzz clapped him on the back.

"Well, we'd better go and be hospitable, yeah?"

And with that, he slid off the shelf and made his way to the desk, Woody quickly following after not being given the chance to answer.

They reached the top of the desk at about the same time, Woody being pulled up with the help of Buzz. The girl smiled at them as they approached.

"Well, uh," Woody wasn't sure how to go about it. He wasn't expecting to have to introduce himself to a new toy.

"Howdy. I'm Woody, and this here," he said, gesturing to his friend, who put a hand up in greeting.

"Is Buzz. I gotta say, I wasn't expecting to ever see a new toy in this room ever again. You sure do look fancy though!"

"Indeed," Buzz added.

"Very quality paint job, as well. Remarkable detail." Woody nodded in agreement as the girl giggled.

"It sure is funny being called a *toy*... I guess that's what I am though, aren't I? Just a toy for older kids, really." She popped her legs free from her base and stretched them a little.

"Oh, is it good to be out of that box... I'm Miku, by the way. Hatsune Miku. Specifically the Good Smile figma 2022 edition of the racing series."

"That sure is a mouthful, miss." Woody tipped his hat.

"Hats... hat-soon... oh gosh, I'm sorry."

"I believe she sad *Hatsune*, Woody."

"Thank you, mister Lightyear. I got it."

The new figure laughed a little, already amused at their antics.

"Miku is fine. And I'm glad I'll have some friends here, you don't always have anyone else to talk to when you're the kind of figure I am. Which is to say a very nice one, if I do say so myself. And I do. But a little pricey, also..."

"Oh yeah? What kind of pricey?" Woody cast a glance over at Buzz for his question, who shot back a "what?" type of look. Woody rolled his eyes.

"About the $90 kind."

Buzz whistled.

"Hey howdy hey..."

Miku laughed again.

"Although that's just a base price. I'm sure overseas shipping isn't kind to your wallet either."

"Overseas? Were you imported?" Woody tilted his head a bit.

"Yep, all the way from the sunrise kingdom. My home, Japan."

"You know, I *almost* went to Japan once."

"Oh? Why didn't you go?"

Woody and Buzz looked at each other.

"Long story, trust us." Woody nodded in agreement. Miku smiled at them.

"Well, we've got plenty of time to share stories now," she said, walking over to the edge of the desk and looking out at the room. She took in everything there was to see, all the toys milling around and all the other things strewn about.

"I think I'm gonna like it here," she said.

She looked back at Woody and Buzz.

"I think I'm gonna like it here just fine."

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for making my ex taking medication as a bargain chip for us to get back together?

This happened a while ago but I saw some posts about the right of someone to go unmedicated and now I feel bad and wonder if I was shitty 💊🧘‍♀️ mentions of death, pet endangering, pet death, untreated mental illness and if you call them a narcissist I will steal your left socks. Also not disclosing their diagnosis because you guys can't be normal about mentally ill people.

So me and J (about 25, I was 22 at the time. Name changed for privacy. Both of us is NB) had a extremely quick developing relationship where in 5 months we went from dating to living together. Don't judge me okay I was 20 when we met and I needed a place that wasn't my parents house. Sorry, this will need some context. J convinced me to drop college due to mental health and to move out of my roomies house for privacy reasons.

So three days before my 21th birthday, J lost her brother due to an accident, and we moved together anyway. One month after her brother passed her cat also passed away. That made the grief way worse and about 10 months into the relationship she tried to choke my cat because she peed in the wrong place. I told her I was going to leave her and in result she slitted open her arm with a box cutter.

Later she admitted to be hurting our two cats when I wasn't home by choking and almost drowning them.

By december of the same year I came out as aromantic and she was extremely shitty towards me from deceiving her because she thought I actually loved her but that was all a ruse. So we broke up for real this time but kept living together because well, it was unfortunately what we had and we couldn't move to our separate paths due to our income. That was january with until march/april more or less when she noticed i was pulling guys like no one and hooking up constantly (that was self harm but that doesn't justify it. In my defense I told her just because she would ask me repeatedly if I was hooking up with guys and always wanted to know where I was going). I also went back to college and started hanging out with other people that seemed to actually like me!

Keep in mind all this time she was unmedicated and when I tried to bring up she need therapy and medications she would shut me down, even before the break-up.

And then, by may she was crawling at my feet because she wanted me back. And I cared a lot about her. So I put in my conditions that unless she was medicated and on therapy by the end of july, I would never consider going back to her. And would you look at that, it actually worked because before june ended she was both medicated and on therapy and I said well you did your part, and went back to her, with her now.

Btw for all that matters I am 25 and broke up with her again from almost 2 years now but last time I talked, she was still on therapy and medicating herself, making a bitter remark on how "that's the only way people can stand her, that no one can stand her true self"

So, AITA for making my ex take care of her mental health before I considered going back to her?

What are these acronyms?

[banjomelodies]

Am I the only one who's generally not as excited for Skirk? I think she's really cool as a character, yeah, design wise? Oof.. People can complain impact me all they want but I need to rant about this.

Cool. Another girl wearing a dress that just barely wraps the full way around her boobs. Like full on one good movement away from flashing someone. I dont care if those black straps are supposed to be holding the dress up, that's a really stupid outfit for her character to wear. It's essentially Escoffier again. Hell they actually have the same shape of outfit. There's a reason why I'm really picky with female characters from Hoyoverse and this is honestly kinda why. They try too hard to waifu-fy them rather than make them visually interesting, but I honestly don't think her NPC outfit was any better either.

I definitely kinda like the space theme on her arms and legs, even though I think the stockings being the space theme was kinda a copout (if she's also wearing just gloves too that's honestly even worse. Her skin itself fading into the starry and galaxy look would be better). It makes me think of Voyager from R1999 actually, and I love Voyagers design. But her design just doesn't look right to me. She doesn't scream warrior. She screams space princess. And that just really doesn't fit what she's meant to be.

I don't hate fan service designs. There's definitely a way to make fan service designs work for the character and not completely ruin the idea. Lisa I think is a good example. Her double slitted skirt that shows her legs and stockings and her low cut blouse is a fan service design that DOES work. Her character is flirtatious. It makes sense for it to be there. ..Skirk is a warrior. She trained a Fatui harbinger. She was in the abyss. Why are her boobs barely cupped in the fabric of her clothes. Why does she have so many open weak spots. The legs and chest are not great places to leave wide open. I don't fully care about armor, if she's good at what she does, she can ditch the armor, that's fine to me, but the super short dress cloak thing doesn't work.

I get it !! It's an anime themed game !! I should EXPECT fanservice! But that doesn't mean I'm not allowed to complain about it when the fanservice doesn't work. Its the same with Mavuika. Yes, I absolutely do think her design is fanservice adjacent too. I mean, come on, super exaggerated jiggle physics and a tight leather body suit that perfectly accentuates the gigantic hole that shows her boobs.. You can tell. It's obvious they literally even made her drip marketing accentuate her boob window. ..But she's meant to be an archon of war. Her design doesn't. scream. warrior. Neither of these characters make me think of a warrior. It's the good old trick of "People won't like our female characters if they aren't sexually appealing." And after characters like Arlecchino and Clorinde, who do manage to look really badass without all of the random fanservice (ignoring Clorindes random "make the boob section stand out by making it white" situation), it feels like an insult.

I like hot women as much as the next guy. I like hot men too. But when every single character and design just ends up being the same generic "sexy" cookie cutter design, then yeah, I don't care for it anymore.

At this rate I'm just hoping the next nation has designs that aren't ridiculously done. If I see a woman out here with a mini-skirt and a blouse that's barely even cupping her boobs I'm going to lose it. If the CRYO ARCHON gets this design I'm going to lose it. You don't have to sexualize really powerful women in order for them to sell well in your game. If they're good characters they'll sell just fine that way.

[repeatcubed]

Febuwhump Day 8 - Bleeding Out

TW: Kidnapping, starving, mention of stabbing, blood, possible death

It had been three days at that point. Or four? It was hard to tell, hard to remember, hard to think. And now? Hard to move.

Escaping was easy. Far easier than she had ever anticipated. It was nearly three weeks she spent in that freak’s basement, sneaking around negative moods, trying to be as far from combative as possible so the man would go easy on her. She had never even been told his name, as if she would even want to associate something human with him.

Her memory had gone foggy, unable to recall exactly when or where she was when she was taken. It was a night spent drinking with friends, that much was clear, but it was the aftermath that confused her. No recollection of interacting with the man, being taken to a car. Just the musty embrace of his unfinished basement.

She had been zip tied to one of the three columns in that concrete room. No furniture, and the only appliance was a hot water tank. Being trapped in the clothes she had at the time - a fairly skimpy dress and heels - that thing probably saved her life. As if dying of the cold was better than where she sat.

It was cold, nearly freezing. Her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering, jaw tense and aching from the strain. At least the stars were beautiful. They were one of the few things she could force herself to focus on, anything other than the blood that seeped from her shirt.

How had she managed to survive for nearly a week? That was beyond her.

“Maybe there is a God.” Her voice was raw and felt foreign. It had been ages since she had spoken. The last thing she could remember saying was when she had screamed at the man when he slit open her side with a box cutter.

The woman had managed to rip away part of the dress from her midriff, still keeping herself covered while the rest of the fabric sat jammed into the wound. It was the best bandage she could manage. He had planned to let her bleed out in that basement.

But, he left the door unlocked. She got away.

Just to find out that his home was in the middle of the woods.

No food. No shelter. No idea where the road was. And gushing out blood with every step. She really was going to die-

“No!” She gasped out the word, fists grabbing at clumps of grass under her frail body. “No dying. I’m not dying, I-”

“Hello?” A voice called. It was faint, so fair away, but-

She stopped, going all but still in the grass. Was it a savior? No, it could be him. She couldn’t trust it. But what if they had a car? What if they could get help?

“Someone out here?” Closer now. It was definitely a male, but he sounded different. Older, gruff. So it wasn’t him.

She only had one shot.

“Help!” She screamed as loud as she could, trying and failing to push herself up from the ground. Stars covered her vision, electric shots of pain stabbing into her body. “Help me!”

Boots cracked against fallen leaves, getting closer, closer. She could see a light. It was getting harder to keep up, to keep her eyes open.

“Holy shit!” The man wheezed out, finally appearing from the trees. The light felt abrasive against her eyes when he shone it on her.

She barely had to strength to lift a hand, her eyes starting to droop.

“Help. Please.”

[skylarsblue]

»zenless zone zero«

Details of Belle's room, because I like her a lot and she deserves more attention.

[Desc: Belle's wooden desk. Featuring an industrial style lamp, a metal lock box under a standard black file box. There's a pair of white headphones with green detailing, and a clear plus(+) and minus(-) symbol for volume. A pencil holder that looks a bit like film, though it has numbers & letters. It holds a pair of scissors, a graphite pencil, an exacto blade/box cutter, a marker, and a mechanical pencils/pen. There's a scrap/sketch book in the center, brown and seemingly leather. There's a latch and band to keep it closed and it's covered in stamps, most notably one with a four leaf clover. On the wall are two post it notes, both with little doodles. This hints that she's creative. Either collecting stamps and stickers, which would align with the stickers all over her room and her pension for memory keeping (see the memory board the player can edit), and that she at least does small doodles, if not draw as a hobby.]

[Desc: Beside her orange box tv; which is inspired by vintage 70s/80s tube televisions with knobs/dials; is a game console on top of a VHS player. It's seemingly inspired by the Super Nintendo Entertainment System, based on it's shape. There are three game cartridges, one in the machine. The one in the console is half visible, but what we can see has a blue smiley face. The second cartridge with a visible sticker seems to be either a horror or "biohazard" type shooter game. Though that's my interpretation.]

[Desc: Beside her desk is a wall with pipes. On the lower pipe there are more post it notes with more small doodles, stuck to the pipe with small magnets. One features a small yellow star and three big question marks. Two features a figure running with their hands over their head, carrying a heart. Three has some illegible writing and an emoticon face. On the pipe above this one are VHS tape boxes. Most are in kanji I cannot read, but the ones I can are- (1) The Silence of the Butterflies (2) I'M NOT A BANGBOO (3) The Sixteenth Split. I like to imagine the first movie is maybe a reference to Silence of the Lambs, based on the title alone. Which, if it is, might mean Belle likes horror/psychological horror movies.]

[Desc: On the table beside her mini fridge is a hybrid music player. It plays records via a slit in the front, almost like a CD player. And there's a space for walkman tapes above that. The volume knob is notably loud, there are tiny numbers and Belle's set it to the second-to-last setting. There's a box of records beside it with two semi visible packages. The first one is in kanji I, again, cannot read. But my guess, based on the art, is some kind of alt style music. The one behind it has a barely visible animal mascot with vibrant blues & greens, and the sharp art style makes me think of electric rock or pop. Behind this is her night stand. On the nightstand is a blue "GameBoy" and a yellow mug that says 'LENMAN', which is also seen on a soda can in her room. Lemon soda, I would guess.]

[Desc: The wall beside Belle's (unmade) bed. There are five posters. One features art of a woman's face above the movie title; 'REVERSAL'. There is some silhouette art that vaguely looks like some ethereal monsters, followed by the movie tag line underneathe - "Night of the Ethereal Reversal". Might be a Night of the Living Dead reference. Which further makes me believe Belle likes horror movies. The second poster is covered by One & Three, which makes it pretty hard to know what it shows. What I can see is an unfinished title - "---- Slayer". There's eyes on some of the visible artwork and it looks vaguely like a record with scenes on it. The third poster features various Bangboos climbing away from a large, glowing, orange, Bangboo that seems to be "exploding" with energy, exposing its skeleton & heart. There's kanji I can't read, but under the kanji title is the word "THUNDER". And the words "BANGBOO POWER" are behind the artwork at the top. The fourth poster is one also seen downstairs in the Random Play store. The title is 'Coffee Mate'. Based on the style & energy of the artwork, my personal guess is that it's a romantic, slow paced anime film. The fifth & last poster is titles Ports Peak. The art is blue with a red chainsaw blade shape cutting through the middle, in the blade shape is the vague image of a man's side profile. Based on the blood splatter pattern & the chainsaw, this is likely a horror movie. The art makes me think of Evil Dead & Texas Chainsaw Massacre, personally.]

{Desc: Beside Belle's leather couch is a red electric guitar & an orange amp. On the couch is also one of her console controllers...which has no joy sticks, only a d pad, buttons, and bumpers. Also, she has stickers on her leather couch, clearly showing she gives no fucks.]

[Desc: On the floor, in a divot in the wall beside the small stairs that go up to her bed's raised platform is a skateboard & a framed poster. The skateboard features a green dinosaur/monster with it's mouth open. The bottom says FATE, likely the brand. The framed poster features two smiling tigers on the top & bottom of a logo, on a red & black striped background. Since she also has snowboard goggles in her room, I'm guessing she uses the skateboard when the weather is too warm for snow.]

[Desc: Next to Eous's charging station is a yellow dresser. On top of it is a boombox radio that has two mixtape spots. There's a small display with random colors that currently displays a pause symbol. It also has an antenna, which means it could be used as a standard FM/AM radio. Beside the boombox is a rabbit statue that Belle is using to hold a pair of black, green & blue snowboarding goggles. Small note, on Eous' coat is the words "Random Play - Staff", and his scarf has their name in small text.]

[Desc: At the end of Belle's bed is a pair of red shelves, and a pair of industrial metal & wood shelves. On the red shelves are three record sleeves. The small text on the albums is gibberish, but they're all made by 5AM Studios. The first and top one is black with white graffiti-bubble letters that say "3Z". R'n'B maybe? I've seen art like this for some R'N'B albums. Below it, the second album features some art of a Bangboo riding a cat through a ring of fire. Above the art is the word ZENLESS. The font & style give me, personally, some rock vibes. What subgenre of rock, I'm not sure. The last album is a art of a spider on a black & red ombre background, contrasting the spider, which features the same gradient in the opposite direction. The spider seems to feature the name of the band or album, but I can't tell what it says. I do know that this shit has to be a metal album. I'm like, 90% sure. On the industrial style shelves are some VHS tapes & a box. These tapes look like the type you buy for your own recordings, rather than ones with movies. Underneath that level is a technicolor piece of artwork in a frame. There's an illegible signature in the right bottom corner, meaning it's an autograph.]