#and am also unwilling to

[sugar-salt-n-spice]

does roach actually have antennas on his helmet or is that something artists have taken creative liberties with and added themselves?

[inkskinned]

you were raised in comparison.

it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.

you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.

you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.

what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.

it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.

you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.

you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?

a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.

you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.

it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.

something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.

[werewolves-are-real]

Time Travel Temeraire snippet

At first, Laurence assumes he's dead.

It's a natural conclusion. He remembers dying, after all.

He and Tenzing were at a function hosted by Wellesley. They were mostly there to support the dragons. Temeraire had long abandoned them to quarrel with Perscitia in the courtyard, with half a dozen ferals watching like it were a jousting match. Wellesley had laid out his grounds to allow room for dragons and men to mingle, but a good portion of the guests retreated inside to avoid the raised voices of the dragons.

Laurence wonders how Temeraire felt about that, later. About not seeing.

He was stabbed. He barely remembers it – just a quick pulse of pain in his chest, looking down. Red blooming over his coat.

Then he was on the floor. People screamed. Tenzing appeared, grappling with a tall and finely-dressed man; he used a dinner-knife to punch a hole in the stranger's throat, in a fantastic spray of blood, and dropped the body at once to kneel by Laurence's side.

He remembers Wellesley barking orders – bandages, water, a hot knife. Have to cauterize it, he'd shouted. Keep pressure -

But Tenzing never spoke. Just pressed down on Laurence's chest, over the wound, without particular panic. Laurence still remembers the grim resignation on his face; Tenzing knew what was coming. Laurence was glad to have him there when he died.

Then Laurence woke up.

The world sways in a familiar way, a rhythmic motion that Laurence registers on a soul-deep level. He's on a ship. But why? Where is Tenzing, Temeraire? Why would they put him on a ship?

“I think the fever's breaking,” says a voice. A naval doctor, disheveled and salt-stained, with long scars down his bared arms. “Oh, and awake too!”

“Well thank Christ,” says another man. One Laurence recognizes.

It's Captain Gerry Stuart – but he looks different, younger than the last time Laurence saw him, with smooth skin and dark curly hair.

Gerry died two years ago.

“Well, Lieutenant! You gave us a scare – how are you feeling?” Gerry asks.

“It's Admiral,” Laurence corrects rather than all the other things he does not dare ask. He hates the title foisted upon him; but it's at least more comprehensible than Lieutenant, and he clings to that rather than demand where did you come from.

Stuart throws back his head to cackle, though the concern doesn't leave his face. “Still perhaps a bit feverish, I think!”

“That might be the laudanum,” says the doctor, also amused. “Why don't you sleep a bit more, Lieutenant?”

“But where is Temeraire? Or Tenzing?”

“I can only assume you had some very vivid dreams,” Stuart chuckles. “You were babbling and babbling for Temeraire – isn't that a ship?”

“Perhaps the flagship of his fleet,” suggests the doctor, and Stuart laughs again. “Get some rest, Mr. Laurence. Holler if you need me.”

They both exit the sick-berth. Laurence stares blankly at the door.

What?

Laurence pats his chest. No wound. He looks down, startled by the pale thinness of his fingers, his youth-soft skin.

Well; not soft. Callouses cover his hands. But even these patterns are different – hard skin in places where he would hold a sword, or pulls ropes. His hands should be more wrinkled, yes; but these callouses faded years ago.

“Where am I?” he asks when the doctor returns. “And what is the year?”

“The year? 1793. You don't remember?”

1793. Laurence was 19 in 1793. A lieutenant for two years, on the Shorewise.

The doctor narrows his eyes. “What's my name, lad?”

Laurence swallows. His stomach churns; for the life of him he can't remember.

The doctor rushes off to retrieve the captain.

_____________________________

Laurence is diagnosed with brain fever, and partial amnesia. Gerry is horribly guilty about laughing, earlier; Laurence could not care less. He is given strict orders to stay on bed-rest for another week, in hope his strength will recover – and his mind.

Laurence doesn't think he'll have any issues working – he's forgotten many of the people around him, true, but he may never forget the way to run a ship. He's far more concerned with learning what happened.

From all appearances, it is indeed 1793. France is undergoing riots, and declared war against Britain in February. Temeraire has not hatched. Napoleon is probably a corporal or general himself, at this point. If he exists at all. God knows, perhaps Laurence is only mad.

But he doesn't feel mad. His memories are too vivid to be mere fever-dreams. A man cannot dream up twenty years of life!

But neither can a man go back to his youth, and live it all again.

I have a dragon, he thinks of saying. There is no war, because I captured Napoleon – an unknown man who makes himself emperor.

Mad. It sounds mad even to Laurence himself. But to imagine that Temeraire was a fever-ridden dream... Tenzing and Granby and China, all of it...

Laurence doesn't share his turmoil with anyone – not even with Gerry, who checks on him fretfully. After a week the doctor declares him well enough, physically. He's paired always with another lieutenant for the first few days on duty, and his shipmates watch him carefully for signs of permanent debilitation; but aside from a moment or two of hesitance, Laurence competently resumes his duties. The oversight lessens.

Laurence thinks about writing letters.

He thinks about writing to Tharkay's late father, who ought to still be alive, inquiring after his son. He thinks of writing to Prince Mianning, asking about the health of Lung Tien Qian. He thinks of writing to young Midshipman Granby, his unwed brother, his dead father...

Not all of them would reply. But he could ask questions. Could verify the truth of things. Unless this, instead, is the delusion.

Is he in 1793, imagining the future? Is he in the future, imagining the past? Or maybe he is already dead, and this is the reality of hell. He came here burning with fever, and now he burns with fear. Surely that is it's own form of torture.

Laurence is ironically given the task of tutoring the midshipman and lieutenant-hopefuls more than any other duty as the weeks pass; his crewmates still look askance, and the more eager of the midshipman become protective. Laurence remains perfectly capable of command; it is only that he can't help but be absent-minded, sometimes, staring at all the crewmen that pass him like they are nothing but moving paintings. Images of a world that no longer matters.

One evening the midshipmen drag him away to a meal with the other officers. It's a noisy crowd; Laurence would find the friendly bustle comforting in another life.

One of the senior officers, Lieutenant Moore, waves him down as Laurence enters. Evidently they used to be friends, given his notably concerned behavior of late. Laurence can't remember the man, and has a sneaking suspicion he died too soon to make a lasting impression.Moore jostles him when Laurence sits at the long table. “Will! Did you get any letters with the last batch?”

A patrolling gunboat brought a satchel of letters just this morning. “I did not,” Laurence says. He's grateful for the fact. He'd found a few pieces of correspondence in his quarters that he dutifully sent on; he cannot imagine writing a letter now, in this confused state.

“Then you've had no news! Robespierre has gone mad. Madder than before, I suppose.”

“Robespierre?” asks Laurence blankly.

Lieutenant Moore double-takes, as does everyone else around them. “Good lord, Will, please tell me you remember Robespierre?”

Right... Robespierre's reign was brief, but this is when he led France. Some of the things the papers published...

Well, at least Laurence has a well-worn excuse for his ignorance. He plays up his malady: “Yes. I think I recall he was... French?”

Groans of horror mixed with amusement echo around the table. “...Well you aren't wrong,” says Moore, looking pained. “He has styled himself the 'President' of their Assembly, which is some stupid way of being king; the French are all mad about removing and adding words right now. I don't know how they expect anyone to hold a conversation.”

“We should... probably educate Mr. Laurence about the war at some point,” some midshipman mutters. Laurence doesn't recall his name.

Moore sighs again. “Anyway. Robespierre is a tyrant, of course. But he's elected someone else to rule France! Barely more than a boy, too.”

Laurence frowns; he doesn't remember what Moore's talking about. “Why would he do that? Did they capture one of the Bourbons?” Declaring himself regent of a child-prince would at least make sense.

“Well, at least you remember them. No; it is some nobody, a young soldier. Not even French! I cannot fathom it.”

It feels like Laurence has been dunked in ice.

For a moment he can't respond. “What was his name? The soldier.”

“Napoleon Bonaparte. He has been chosen as head of their new heresy, the 'Cult of the Supreme Being,' they're calling it; and now de facto head of the government, too. Must be a priest? I don't know, nothing the French are doing makes sense. I expect his little group will be as short-lived as everything else about these riots.”

But Laurence doesn't think so. “...Excuse me; I'm feeling a bit poorly,” he says, rising on wavering legs.

“Yes, you look it! Go on, we'll tell you about the war later...”

Laurence flees.

[murderous-coffeebean]

Touch

Some Vetvimes for y'all~

Discworld © Terry Pratchett / art © Murderous-Coffeebean (tumblr & dA)

[mmmleckerlecker]

The Magic of Christmas

Summary: Santa grants you the gift of a full year in the North Pole with him. What you don’t realize is that YOU will end up being the true gift of Christmas.

Contents: m/?; fatal vore; willing pred; unwilling prey; size-difference; betrayal; painless digestion; long-term; a little bit of soul vore?

Wordcount: 2,398

* * * * * * * * * *

It’s the night of Christmas Eve, and you’re already curled up, fast asleep in bed. Until suddenly you are awoken by someone gently shaking your shoulder. You blink your eyes open and are startled to find someone standing above you. You gasp and sit up. The stranger in your room is dressed all in red and sports a great white beard. As you come to, you realize you’re looking at the man himself.

“Santa Claus!” you blurt. “What are you doing here?”

He smiles at you. His eyes are as twinkly and his cheeks are as rosy as all the stories say. He’s also much, much bigger than you ever expected. You wonder how he even fits down all those chimneys.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you since you were a small child,” he explains, his voice warm and rumbling. “Not once have you been on my naughty list, and each year I’ve admired your kindness, thoughtfulness, and your ability to bring joy to other people’s lives. It’s because of this that I want to give you a very special gift this year.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you ask, “What is it?”

You’ve always known Santa to be real, even when all your friends grew up and stopped believing in him. And now, to not only get to meet him but to receive such high praise from him… it’s a dream come true.

“As a gift for your enduring generosity,” Santa begins, “I’d like to invite you to spend the next year with me in the North Pole.”

Your jaw drops. You’re so honored by the offer that it takes several stuttering attempts to say, “Yes! I mean, yes please!”

Santa lets out a quiet chuckle, each set of, “ho ho ho,” like music to your ears.

“Come,” he says, holding out a mittened hand. “Let’s go.”

You spend the rest of the night at his side, flying over the earth in his sleigh. You expect to be terrified by the height and speed, but you’re not. You’re exhilarated. There are even several times you stop at a house and Santa returns carrying carrots. He hands them to you and lets you feed the reindeer.

When you’re not feeding reindeer or waiting for Santa as he drops off gifts, the two of you are engaged in conversation. A lot of it is asking questions about the North Pole. Very often, Santa’s only response is, “You’ll see.”

As you talk, you can’t help but notice the faint scent of sugar cookies that emanates from him and the way he has a habit of dotingly rubbing his impressively round belly (like a bowl full of jelly). You don’t think too much of it, however. He’s Santa Claus and he’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

At the end of the night, you land in the North Pole and are greeted by hordes of cheerful elves. They’re smiling and laughing as they show you around Santa’s Village before guiding you to your new room where you promptly crawl into your marshmallow soft bed and fall asleep.

The next year goes by like a dream. All the elves make sure to meet your every need. Taking you on sleigh rides, inviting you to snowball fights, teaching you to ice skate, and then always making sure to bring you some cookies and hot chocolate after every meal.

Living in Santa’s village is like living Christmas every day and you couldn’t be happier.

There’s only one small thing that nags at you. And it’s Santa himself.

You see him quite regularly, and every interaction with him is as magical as the last. But as the year goes by, you notice that he starts to lose some of his… glow. The twinkle in his eye grows dim, the rosiness in his cheeks fades away, he loses his distinctive sugar cookie scent, and even his round belly grows smaller and smaller until there’s almost nothing left.

You’re too polite to comment on someone’s appearance, but you also don’t understand how this could be happening. Everything about the North Pole is invigorating and full of life. The longer you live here, the more you feel its influence. You can even see it when you look in the mirror. Each day, your reflection glows a little more brightly, so how could Santa be losing his own glow?

In the last few weeks leading up to Christmas, you truly begin to worry for Santa. At this point, if it weren’t for the beard and red suit, you wouldn’t even be able to tell he’s Santa at all. It’s like all the magic has gone out of him. But whenever you ask if he’s okay, he simply chuckles, pats your head, and assures you not to worry. But you do worry. You even ask the elves about it in hushed tones, but they just laugh and dismiss your concerns.

On the night of Christmas Eve, Santa’s workshop is a whirl of activity as everyone makes last minute preparations for the Big Night, yet Santa looks as un-Santa-like as ever. Still, no one seems concerned about this, least of all Santa. And amidst all the other hustle and bustle, the elves still manage to find time to prepare the grandest feast you have ever seen. Turkey and ham and potatoes and gravy and green beans and cookies and ice cream and cakes and pie.

In the final hour before Santa’s departure, everyone sits down to eat. You’re at the head of the table while Santa sits all the way across from you at the other end. Every dish you try is the tastiest thing you’ve ever eaten. Even more so than all you’ve had in the last year (and you’ve had a lot of good food in the past year.) You can’t help yourself as you try each dish at the table, going back for seconds and then going back for thirds on all you favorites.

The only thing that puts a damper on your spirit is that Santa himself doesn’t really touch his food. But the elves don’t seem perturbed. They’re all feasting away. And when Santa catches you watching him, he smiles that same warm smile at you, a ghost of a twinkle in his eye.

After that, you’re too embarrassed to be caught looking at him again. You put your head down and pretend nothing is amiss. It’s only when you’ve eaten so much you feel like you’re going to burst does the feast end.

As soon as it’s over, the elves swarm about, cleaning up the table. Meanwhile, you hang back, trying to stay out of the way and nervously waiting as Santa makes a few last minute adjustments before his trip. You know your year in the North Pole is nearly up. You know the time to say goodbye is fast approaching. Something tells you that you’ll never see this place again, and the very thought of it fills you with a terrible, aching sadness.

Finally, Santa approaches, and you know it’s time to go.

“Come with me,” he murmurs once he draws near. “There’s one last gift I need to finish and I want you to be a part of it.”

You blink in confusion as he beckons you to follow. This is not what you’d expected, but you’re not going to argue. If Santa needs your help, after all he’s done for you, the least you can do is comply. Besides, if it means staying here a little bit longer, you’ll happily go along with it.

A little uncertainly, you follow him away from all the elves and into Santa’s private workshop. You’ve never been in here before, and you marvel at the wonders within. So many beautifully and masterfully crafted toys. You wonder how in the world you can help with one of these gifts. They all seem perfect already.

You hardly notice when Santa shuts the door quietly behind you. Your attention only returns to him when he puts his hands on your shoulders and turns you to face him.

You swallow as he looks you up and down with his icy blue eyes.

“Wh- what’s the gift you need help with?” you ask, thrown off by the intensity of his gaze.

Instead of answering, he merely smiles again and says, “I’m so very proud of you for all you’ve done to inhabit the spirit of Christmas. If it weren’t for people like you, Christmas wouldn’t be able to happen at all.”

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks. Your heart is soaring with elation. You don’t think you’ve ever received such high praise. “Of course,” you squeak. “You’re welcome.”

“Merry Christmas, my child,” he mutters before leaning down and planting a light kiss on your forehead. You feel a little electric shock go through you from the contact.

And then your insides shift and you freeze as things take an unexpected turn. The kiss turns into something so much more, and suddenly you feel your entire head being engulfed by Santa’s mouth.

It’s only when he begins to swallow you down that you realize something is very wrong. You start to panic. You struggle and kick and beg to be released, but none of it has any effect. You just feel more and more of your body sliding down Santa’s throat and being crammed into his stomach. By the time your feet join you inside, you’re sobbing and fighting for your life. But it’s all in vain. You’re trapped.

After several long minutes of trying to escape, you tire yourself out, curl into a ball, and resign yourself to your fate.

You can’t believe this is happening. After so much wonder and magic, you end up here, betrayed by Santa, someone you’ve loved and trusted your whole life. And you thought he loved you in return.

At least it doesn’t feel too bad in here. It’s actually quite soft and warm with a sugary sweet smell. You’re reminded of that first night you’d met Santa and the sugar cookie scent that had followed him. You’d almost forgotten about that. It had disappeared so long ago…

And then you’re surprised when you feel someone rubbing at you from outside and hear Santa’s voice.

“There you go,” his voice rumbles all around you. “Just relax in there.”

“Santa!” you call and push back where you feel his hand. “Please!”

But Santa doesn’t miss a beat. “Unfortunately, I can’t let you out, but you’re giving the greatest gift anyone can give.”

You go still. “What do you mean?”

You’re not sure if he can hear you, but still he goes on to explain. “You see, I can’t actually produce my own magic. Instead, all magic in this world resides in you, in humans. You attract it to you and absorb it. Only you all cannot sense it or control it. But I can.

“So every year, to keep the magic of Christmas going, I must take the magic from a single human who best inhabits the spirit of Christmas. The past year you’ve spent here has only strengthened the magic within you. I’m sorry to do this, but it’s the only way to rekindle my magic. I hope you understand.”

You kick out and very colorfully explain that you don’t understand, but now you’re sure he can’t hear you because you only receive a distracted pat in response. It’s then you realize there’s nothing else you can do. This is how it ends for you.

You can feel every little movement as Santa leaves his workshop and climbs into his sleigh. And then, for the next few hours, you feel him squeezing through chimneys and stacking presents beneath trees. He doesn’t acknowledge your squirms and occasional kicks beyond a distracted rub and a comforting word. So you’re surprised when you suddenly hear what sounds like him conversing with someone else.

You strain your ears and are able to make out what Santa’s saying, “So as a gift for your enduring generosity, I’d like to invite you to spend the next year with me in the North Pole.”

You go still. You know those words.

Then you hear a muffled reply from whoever Santa is talking to, and before you know it, Santa is back in his sleigh with his new human. For the rest of the night, you listen to the two of them chatting amicably. You even overhear Santa telling them that they can feed the reindeer. And every once in awhile, you can feel Santa lovingly caress you within his stomach. You have flashbacks to one year ago when you were on the outside and witnessed him doing the same.

Then everything clicks together. You’re not the first to end up here. And you certainly won’t be the last.

And so the night comes to a close. You feel Santa return to the North Pole and listen to him bid his new human goodnight before heading to bed himself. As you will yourself to sleep too, you wonder how long this is going to last…

You end up remaining inside Santa for far longer than you expect. From what you can tell, you’re in there for months. You never feel any pain, but you can tell your physical body is slowly being broken down and absorbed. It gets harder and harder to find the strength to move, but every time you do, you’re once more met with a comforting rub and a few soft words.

As the months go by, not only do you lose the strength to move (you’re not even sure if there’s anything left of your physical body to move), but you find it harder and harder to stay conscious of what’s going on outside your little prison. But you’re roused just enough when you hear Santa say one last sentence to someone on the outside.

“I have one last gift to finish, and I want you to be a part of it.”

What little remains of your consciousness flutters a bit as you recognize those words and realize it must have been a full year now. It’s time for you to be replaced.

And just as you have this thought, you feel everything slip away, and you’re met with a void of endless darkness. There’s quiet and freedom. At last, you find peace.

[lucaonthropy]

I spent both times writing and doodling this scene laughing my ass off tbh

[twpsyn-who]

Talking a little bit about 'boycotting Eurovision' under Keep Reading, feel free to scroll down if is not what you want to see.

The most used argument on the matter of banning Israel from Eurovision is the fact that Russia got banned from Eurovision, which is the worst argument anyone could bring.

Kindly reminder that Russia didn't get banned because of the war with Ukraine. Russia got banned because many countries has threatened to withdraw from the competition. Sadly, that's a big difference.

Yes, the countries has threatened to withdraw because they support Ukraine and see Russia as the party in the wrong. That was their reason. EBU's reason for banning Russian was because those countries threatened to withdraw, not because the war was bad and Russia must be stopped.

This situation isn't the same. Why? Because many countries support Israel in their genocide. Because this time around Palestine is the party in the wrong. Because we're taught to believe that Israel isn't in the wrong here.**

Boycotting Eurovision won't work. There are people out there who don't know the truth and want to watch Eurovision. There are people out there who don't care and will watch Eurovision regardless of the situation. There are people out there who, despite having the facts, still don't see Israel as the bad guy in this situation and will watch Eurovision. Sadly, boycotting won't work unless everyone does it.

The only way Israel will get banned, in my opinion, is by going through the same thing as Russia. If other countries threatened to withdraw- and not any countries, but the ones investing the most in Eurovision, then yes. That will get Israel banned.

Otherwise? The only thing we do is hurt artists that don't deserve it. Artists who use Eurovision as a way to get more exposure and experience. Artists who deserve to be heard.

Don't vote for Israel's entry. Don't stream their song either. Heck, turn off the TV when is their turn to perform.

**This whole situation (the war, not Eurovision) isn't only black and white. Civilians die daily because of this, all of them from both sides. Innocent people who has no fault. Let's not forget that

[vwritesaus]

meet sasha and kiyoshi, disaster duo

going off this poll, i've decided to share a snippet of my original work ft. the main protagonist and her boyfriend :> more under the cut!!

.

      Sasha sucks in a deep breath and steps in front of the couch. Immediately, her boyfriend’s eyes flick up from his phone screen to her face.

      ‘Kiyoshi.’

      ‘Yes, Sash?’

      With as much will as she can muster, Sasha says, ‘I need your help with something. Something only you can help me with.’

      ‘Sure!’ Kiyoshi declares, and his enthusiasm is enough to cause a small smile to tug at Sasha’s lips. ‘What is it?’

      That small smile quickly falls apart and dread fills every crevice of Sasha’s being. But she needs to do this. She has to. It’s the only way. It’s the worst idea she’s ever had.

      ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…’ She shakes her head, wincing at the words that come out of her mouth. ‘D’you wanna go to the gym… together?’

      The following silence is devastating. Sasha wants to dig a hole into the floor and crawl into it.

      Kiyoshi blinks at her, his mouth agape. ‘Huh?’

      Groaning into her palms, Sasha bites, ‘Please don’t make this more painful than it already is. Just say yes or no, dammit!’

      ‘Sasha…’ Peeking through her fingers, she sees Kiyoshi dump his phone onto the cushion next to him and hold his hands out to her, palms up. ‘As much as going to the gym together would make me very happy, I also know you.’

      There is no malice in his voice, just pure fact. He does know her, and she knows herself. Kiyoshi’s the sporty one, the gym rat, the muscle pig. Sasha is… not.

      ‘Which is exactly why I need you to motivate me to go. Who knows what can happen in the future?’

      ‘The future?’ Alarm is rife in his expression. ‘Babe, where are you going with this?’

      Sasha drops her hands from her face, her voice turning dry as she shoots Kiyoshi a weary look. ‘Well, y’know how it goes. All those YA novels. The trope is always the same: the protagonist didn’t know they were magic, and then all of a sudden they need to save the fucking world and they are very conveniently armed with MMA knowledge and are super fit and have amazing stamina and know how to hold their own in a spontaneous fight with otherworldly creatures. As you know, I am the complete opposite, so I better start training in case one of my future goddamn visions ends up being a plot to destroy the world and I’m somehow the only fucking person who can stop it.’

      Gasping for air, Sasha tries to catch her breath and curses her lungs for not being to do their job properly. It just hammers the truth of the matter right down to its core. Kiyoshi is frowning, deep in thought, but there’s something in his expression that flickers ever-so-slightly. She knows what’s up. He’s trying to keep his face neutral, and if her nerves weren’t so shot, she’d be doing the same.

      ‘Tell me I’m wrong,’ she says to him instead.

      ‘Sasha. My love.’

      It’s inevitable and Sasha cannot blame him for it. No longer able to keep his face straight, Kiyoshi crumbles and peals with laughter. Never mind that Sasha glares at him.

      ‘My love, I adore you, but you are thinking way too hard about this.’

      ‘I gotta be prepared, Kiyoshi!’ Sasha argues.

      ‘You are prepared!’ he counters. When all Sasha does is stare at him, question marks flying around her head, Kiyoshi puffs out his chest and states with confidence, ‘You have me! Ya think I’m gonna let ya fight alone should one break out? Girl, please. I’ll always have your back. Just say the word and I’ll come and one-two punch the living shit out of whoever tries to mess with you!’

      The whole scenario is emphasised with Kiyoshi’s signature grin, the one Sasha’s seen flashed at the opposing team during his volleyball matches, and with him flexing his biceps. The whole thing is hilarious, and Sasha would laugh if not for the overwhelming fondness that blooms across her whole chest. God, she got lucky with this guy.

      But there’s just one small problem with his proposal.

      She says gravely, ‘That’s sweet of you, darl, but I hate to break it to you... you don’t have MMA skills either.’

      Kiyoshi blinks. Sasha blinks back.

      ‘Guess we’re fucked then,’ he says.

      ‘Guess we are,’ she echoes.

      ‘Better go train then.’

      ‘Better go train.’

      Tapping a finger to his chin, Kiyoshi’s voice suddenly becomes pensive. ‘Say, wanna place a bet?’

      Not one to back down from a challenge, Sasha asks, ‘What kind of bet?’

      Dark eyes sparkle and Sasha’s hooked.

      ‘If you can survive two consecutive days training at the gym with whatever regime I throw at you to “prepare for the end of the world,’ Kiyoshi pitches, ‘I’ll do whatever you want for a week.’

      ‘A month,’ Sasha rebuts, smiling when Kiyoshi nods his head in agreement. Then she pauses. ‘And if I can’t?’

      She regrets the question the second it passes her lips for an evil-looking grin splits Kiyoshi’s cheeks.

      ‘Kiyoshi—’

      ‘If you can’t,’ he says, ‘you have to eat my famous stir-fry.’

      Horrified, Sasha splutters, ‘Kiyoshi—’

      ‘Broccoli and all. Every. Last. Bite.’

      ‘You fucking arsehole!’ she shouts. Seeing no other alternative that won’t end up with this conversation being a waste, Sasha throws her hands up in defeat. ‘Fine! Just you wait. I’ll fucking do it.’

Two days later

      She storms out of the living room, not wanting to give her boyfriend the satisfaction, but his delighted laughter follows her. It’s contagious, and she laughs quietly to herself. But her determination is stronger.

.

      ‘I gotta say, Sash. I’m very surprised,’ he says in awe.

.

Watching Sasha drop the weights on the floor with a deep groan, Kiyoshi’s mouth turns down at the corners.

      With her hands on her knees, huffing and puffing and wishing for a long, long shower, Sasha peers up at him through her eyelashes. Her hair is stuck to her forehead, disgustingly damp with sweat, and her arms are screaming at her, but she manages a smug grin.

      ‘What can I say?’ she wheezes. ‘I’d rather kill my arms and legs, hack a lung out and feel like death than put Satan in my mouth.’

      Kiyoshi laughs and smiles hugely at her. ‘I can see that! I’m super proud of you though.’

      He makes a heart with his hands to exemplify this, and Sasha barely manages to make one as well.

idk who else specifically is interested, but i'm tagging @alastairstom since you wanted to read ajksdas ♡

[altruistic-meme]

Updates in bookbinding:

BOOKPRESS!!! yes it's kind of bad bc it's 2 $5 cutting boards from walmart and some screw c-clamps but im EXCITED to have smth better than. a large stack of books piled on top of each other.

currently being pressed is Scared to Live (But I'm Scared to Die) by @major816 bc its what i managed to get to the printing stage first! I'm gonna be sewing tomorrow since I'm only working a half-day so wish me luck with that :')

and for printing stage... well...

let's say I've had quite a time figuring that out

something something my printer was only like $40 and among the things it lacks, including the ability to actually do printing on both sides automatically (I could cry)(actually I did cry), i have also learned it likes to do scaling when printing in booklet :) which is why I've been having such a difficult time with the huge margins and tiny fonts and printing 2789 signatures trying to fix the issue as you can see above :)

with Scared to Live, I did the typeset for it which meant I had a lot of ability to edit the original document in order to fix the issues presented by my printer, which meant ultimately there were only ~6-7 test prints to fix it.

Even In Another Time by @irregularcollapse however. well. she did the typeset herself and shared it and i have spent so much time staring at it bc it's so pretty and i adore it. however that meant I only had the pdf version and pdf is infamous for being basically uneditable. which has been fun.

outside of staring listless at my computer, I also got help from my dad, and then help from a family friend who does printing semi-professionally (among other things), and we Still Didn't Kniw What To Do. eventually I caved and got the adobe free trial and FINALLY I fixed the issue. So yay! EIAT is next to be printed, possibly tomorrow or over the weekend :)

now i need to find a place to recycle paper. bc I have So Much.

[khaoray]

@kdramaspace and @userdramas‘s YEAR IN REVIEW 2022 | Musically Yours

best osts of 2022

[irithnova]

I wish I wasn't shown this because it's even more fucking annoying than her first response

Meeru is absolutely backtracking and no I don't believe she's trying to be self critical for a second.

I quite literally explained to Meeru in my first response to her that Panda's behaviour is genuinely abusive and dangerous (for example, causing someone to relapse in their eating disorder). I even provided Meeru with a WHOLE LIST of the things Panda did which includes blatant racism, suicide baiting, victim blaming, and inappropriate behavior infront of and towards minors.

I then went on a provided Meeru with FOUR screenshots of Panda's behavior, one of the screenshots showing her saying that she wants Manchurians to be genocided. I then pointed out that Meeru's interest in Siberians and Northern Asians is purely orientalist because she has built her blog off of the back of Northern Asian and Siberian cultures, but when being told that her friend Panda is racist against Northern Asians and was even provided a screenshot as evidence for this, she STILL went on to call it "boring cancel culture".

In the first response I also said how MULTIPLE people tried to talk to Panda privately, and she did not listen. Her behaviour is not only dangerous but we have found out that Panda has been trying to control the narrative about what happened to people throughout the fandom and telling them absolute lies about what happened, concealing the extent of her abuse and bad behaviour and outright orchestrating a hate campaign against @/miyuecakes by not only spreading lies about her with 0 evidence throughout the fandom, but by sending her posse to harass her on tumblr.

How did Meeru respond upon being given a list of the things Panda did with four screenshots of ACTUAL evidence?

"Don't blame me for not reading all 80 pages!"

"My family is struggling!"

"I care about Siberians!"

"Why did this come out around Christmas!"

She's now backtracking saying that I can't blame her for not reading all 80 pages when

1) No one fucking forced her to release that post before reading the whole document and it's quite stupid of her to release that post despite apparently not reading it

2) Even if she didn't read the whole document? I provided her with screenshots of Panda's behavior and a list of the things she's done to hurt people.

Despite this, Meeru STILL called it purely cancel culture and dismissed the evidence I gave her!

Stop backtracking!

This post is backtracking central. Oh. So NOW you agree that Panda's behavior was harmful even though I literally told you what she did and gave you evidence in my response to you?

"Why are things being handled in public" bestie I don't think I need to keep explaining to you that multiple people have tried to talk to Panda about her dangerous behavior privately but she didn't listen. She shows 0 desire to change and IMMEDIATELY went to make other friends to lie to about the whole ordeal after she left. This post is a WARNING to people to avoid her.

When I said you were orientalist , I said it was because you were given literal evidence of Panda being racist to Northern Asians , yet you decided to carry on with the narrative that this is cancel culture and that we're overreacting. I didn't say jackshit about Putin girly. If you treat racism against Northern Asians like it's just a newspaper article for you to reblog rather than an actual material reality, and dismiss racism against a Northern Asian just because your friend did it, your so called interest in their cultures means nothing!

Meeru is now blaming ME for why she couldn't read the whole document because she was too busy "defending herself" against my "insults"😂 You lie almost as often Panda does. Again, no one forced you to post that post before finishing the whole document! Don't speak on shit you don't know about !

I have the right to insult someone who stands by an abuser and shits on the victims for speaking out! Thanks !

[fjordfolk]

thinking abt entering trojbertha for the breed special in may for shits n giggles but im also 😵‍💫 just thinking abt it

[recurring-polynya]

Despite absolutely despising the Disney Pinocchio film as a child (stories where characters were naughty caused me a great deal of anxiety), I watched Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio last night.

1) It also caused me a great deal of anxiety 2) I read that Guillermo del Toro made it because the Disney version also freaked him out as a child

That’s not the important part, the important part is that I am now obsessed with the four rabbit grim reapers who are voiced by Tim Blake Nelson:

At first, I was convinced that they must be a reference to the Black Rabbit of Inlé from Watership Down. I have never read or watched Watership Down. My relationship with Watership Down is that everyone I know irl who has read it was traumatized by it, and a lot of horror writers I like were inspired by it. I refuse to read it, thought, because Ursula K. LeGuin says it’s a shitty male power fantasy, and I always listen to Ursula.

I looked it up though and it turns out those rabbits are canonical to the book. What the fuck?? To be fair, I read the wikipedia synapsis of Pinocchio and Carlo Collodi was wilding. Wikipedia makes no mention of the rabbits, though, but I was able to find the part where they appear:

"Aren't you afraid of death?"

"Not a bit. I'd rather die than drink that awful medicine."

At that moment, the door of the room flew open and in came four Rabbits as black as ink, carrying a small black coffin on their shoulders.

"What do you want from me?" asked Pinocchio.

"We have come for you," said the largest Rabbit.

"For me? But I'm not dead yet!"

"No, not dead yet; but you will be in a few moments since you have refused to take the medicine which would have made you well."

"Oh, Fairy, my Fairy," the Marionette cried out, "give me that glass! Quick, please! I don't want to die! No, no, not yet--not yet!"

And holding the glass with his two hands, he swallowed the medicine at one gulp.

"Well," said the four Rabbits, "this time we have made the trip for nothing."

And turning on their heels, they marched solemnly out of the room, carrying their little black coffin and muttering and grumbling between their teeth.

In a twinkling, Pinocchio felt fine. With one leap he was out of bed and into his clothes.

The Fairy, seeing him run and jump around the room gay as a bird on wing, said to him:

"My medicine was good for you, after all, wasn't it?"

"Good indeed! It has given me new life."

"Why, then, did I have to beg you so hard to make you drink it?"

"I'm a boy, you see, and all boys hate medicine more than they do sickness."

"What a shame! Boys ought to know, after all, that medicine, taken in time, can save them from much pain and even from death."

"Next time I won't have to be begged so hard. I'll remember those black Rabbits with the black coffin on their shoulders and I'll take the glass and pouf!--down it will go!"

I found an illustration, too!!

Never in my life have I considered having some grim reaper rabbits stroll into my house in order to threaten my children into taking their medicine.

Anyway, thank you Guillermo del Toro, for never shying away from taking something weird as Hell and completely leaning into it. (I’m still incredibly pissed at Encanto for trying to turn 100 Years of Solitude into a feel-good family film)

[cinnamon-notes]

i have been ghosting my friends for idk a month??? and they have been doing the same??? except for when we meet in a workplace cuz somehow our jobs decided to cross over :)

[parameddic]

i had such a good and interesting characterisation thought re. TK in the context of replying to this ask but i don't remember what it was very clearly and so i'm just. sitting here. trying to trigger the same thought

[birdmenmanga]

excellent point!!

Prompt Week - 7 days, 14 simple prompts (2 per day). you know the drill. general is just going to be about the series at large, ship-focused is probably going to be takaeishi week electric boogaloo

Collaboration (Artswap) - Participants are paired up randomly in order to work on a single creation together. Traditionally it's a single illustration in which one person does the lines and the other does the colors, but you could also do other things like "one person scripts and colors a comic, and the other person does the linework" or "two writers pass a single google doc between them like a hot potato and they write alternating paragraphs" etc.

Podfic Challenge - A podfic is essentially an audiobook of a fanfiction. Either write and podfic a birdmen fanfiction, or ask for an author's permission to podfic (a portion of) a fic. You can get fancy, like adding sound effects or backing music, or just keep it simple and record something on your phone. Nice because it doesn't require you to create something in the traditional sense and is also a way to show appreciation to past fic writers. Not nice depending on how self-conscious you are about your voice.

Not My Medium Challenge - Create a fanwork in a medium you've never worked with extensively. For example, for myself, I'd consider illustrations, sequential art, meta essays, fanfiction, and music videos as mediums that I've worked in extensively, so I'd focus on other things such as meme compilations, music compositions, podfics, video essays, gifsets and edits, among infinite possibilities.

Draw A Comic Month - 4-week event with one week dedicated to scripting, storyboarding, linework, and colors/toning each. A comic can be as simple as a 2-panel comic to something as complex as a 30-page manga. This is one time where my comics advice is going to be ENTIRELY FREE OF CHARGE. I am going to sit in the birdmen discord at regular times throughout this event and do my best to make the comic of your dreams happen (guy who is obsessed with sequential art voice)

the collaboration is a COMMITMENT whereas the rest are things you can opt in and out at any moment. ok now go hog wild with the votes and let me know your bonus thoughts in the tags