#i am not writing this again nor deleting this

[veone]

to start sorry about the misgendering you chance your pronounces like few days so sorry this has her instead of rots. 

🙃this is why i think your white with proof instead of a gut feeling and shit you say and you confirmed that the white peep in my inbox is you...@corspetrait

-so tran-gyaru is obviously corspetrait/gyarutrait/dollietrait. the guy sims name is seth and has this angelic baby blue aesthetic going on that corspetrait posted, which matches with the little collection of similar blue n gold clothing stuff that has seth whole name under there as an oc of trans gyaru and this other very ugly and hard to read tumblt has them posting said collection of cloths n shit and on this tumblr is a white person with blue eyes and light hair that's bleached and dyed red according to corpse.  

that said white person who has spoken over the me and other black people and brown poc for not having the same opinion about shit don’t effect em and or has multiple diffrent experiences across the many ethnicities and social class and countries that have queer people in em so it ain’t open ended as you’d like rots. i have aready posted my actually issue with corspe. here🧋 and in my veone rants tag and corpse has some of my post i deleted calling them white. 

none of this from lolcow. which i have read and its mostly shitting on your for having neo pronounce which i don’t support. and being like you in neocities or something programming related which i know you do you mentioned it. 

also confirmation this red head person is corpses. who is a white person with blue eyes i will not post the pic because doxing. 

[lit-in-thy-heart]

i have once again overestimated my own abilities

[crystalkitty1220]

I’m planning on making an incorrect summary of ibvs and this was one of the first ideas i had

THIS REMINDS ME OF THE TIME I WAS BORED IN CLASS AND WASTED LIKE TWENTY PAGES OF MY NOTEBOOK BY SCRIPTING A "IBVS IN A NUTSHELL" THING

tags are just me being nostalgic

[pastadoughie]

many people were confused about some of my previous posts, so for the sake of clarity i am condensing everything! tumblr has extremely transphobic moderation practices, often flagging completely innocent posts as explicit, solely for containing trans women in them or mentioning transgenderism. while letting untagged porn in sfw tags (ive literally seen porn tagged as "sfw agere") and blatent hatespeech, especially twards trans people (just look at the "gender critical" tag) go completely unchecked recently the CEO of tumblr had a big public hissyfit about people (rightfully) calling him transmysogenistic, going into random trans womens dms to harrass them, and saying that predstrogen saying she "hopes he explodes with hammers and then explodes again and hammers fly everywhere" is a death threat and saying he is calling the FBI on her (repeatedly misgendering her and calling her "it") and many bloggers, apon speaking out about it or even making harmless jokes (one trans woman posted a picture of a car and a hammer with the caption "reblog to scare matt" and got nuked for it) and many are very very angry (rightfully) about this whole affair and tumblr in general. if you would like to look into it i reccomend scrolling the "predstrogen" tag as she is the case most people are talking about at the moment. So, what can we do? this is clearly an ongoing issue, and, dispite having lost a lawsuit about their transphobic moderation in the past (see : https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/21274288-tumblr-nycchr-settlement) its clearly not gonna stop with just user complaints, as staff members are perfectly content to just go scorched earth on users who even so much as lightly poke fun at them well if you want to help you should contact the human rights commision (i will give clear details further down) ! you dont have to be in the US, nor be an adult to file, and it only takes a few minutes. this is the best and most effective method to fix this, because it hits tumblr where it hurts. human rights acencies have a lot of legal and financial power and tumblr CAN NOT just ignore them, and given that this will be the seccond time this is happening, the commisions shouldnt be playing nice anymore eaither. its really important that AS MANY PEOPLE AS POSSIBLE FILE, and with different examples! while maybe your case might not be enough to prop up a lawsuit on its own, we need to prove a general trend. so every little bit counts! to respond to another question abt this ive gotten, as for what exactly to report, you should a) write about an act of discrimination youve recieved on tumblr that was eaither administered by a staff member OR that staff refused to give adequate moderation action in for example : a terf posted some blatent hatespeech targeted twards you, and you reported them, and staff looked at the issue and refused to persecute it. example 2 : you were unfairly flagged, deleted, or otherwise punished by a staff member and you are queer ( AND the post they banned you for has some kind of tie to your gender, ex : a sfw transition progress photo ) OR b) if you have not personally recieved something like that, please look for other peoples stories (THEY SHOULDNT BE HARD TO FIND, within the last couple of hours trans people have been being banned LEFT AND RIGHT for trying to speak on this. i would reccomend checking some of the tags related to what happened with predstrogen) and you should describe that incident as best as possible (be sure to disclose that you are speaking for someone else, ideally you should tell the story of someone you know, if possible.) you can also mention any reports you have made twards people posting blatent hatespeech that, opon reveiwing tumblr refused to prosecute dispite it being very obviously against terms of service. just so nobody gets confused about the filing process, im laying it out in more plain languadge!!

first you should email the SF HRC (san francisco human rights commision), at hrc.info@sfgov.org and say something along these lines :

Hello, I am [full name] from [country or state] and I am filing a complaint against Tumblr, witch is owned by the parent company Automattic Inc. located at 60 29th St, San Francisco, CA 94110.

Tumblr has had previous issues with the NYC DHR for their moderation being unfairly biased against trans women (see : https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/21274288-tumblr-nycchr-settlement).

Despite a legally binding agreement with the NYC DHR, staff members still regularly harrass users based on their gender or sexual orientations. For example : on [date of most recent infraction] [describe incident] (if you are describing an incident that did not happen to you specifically, say something like) This incident involves the user [username] who I am not affiliated with (or/) who I am filing on behalf of.

I can be reached for further inquiries about this incident at [email you want to talk over] or [phone number you want to talk over]. (if you would like to be anonymous) However, In the event of legal prosecution against Automattic I would refer to be kept anonymous, where possible, in court proceedings. alternatively, you can also call the SF HRC at : 415-252-2500, you can use the above text as a starting point for this as well, next you want to fill out the form for the NYC DHR (new york city department of human rights) here : https://www.nyc.gov/site/cchr/about/report-discrimination.page for company you wanna put : Automattic and/or Tumblr for address you wanna put : 770 Broadway, New York, NY 10003 for phone number you wanna put : (646) 513-4321 and for category of discrimination you can put : Discriminatory harassment and basis of discrimination you can put : Gender; Gender identity you can then use a similar script on the written section of the form. when describing a specific incident, you should attach as many screenshots and links as possible! (for links, include both a live link and an archival link, so take a capture with the internet archive and have that as an alternative, incase a staff member gets petty.) this should only take a few minutes at most, and it helps alot! you can fill this out if you are a minor, and you dont have to be a us resident, please please take the time!!! and, just to clarify because there are many posts going around that are confused about this tumblr moved offices to san francisco recently, so their main HQ is at : 60 29th St, San Francisco, CA 94110 they DO still have an office in new york city, and thats where their PREVIOUS HQ was, the address is : 770 Broadway, New York, NY 10003

[peapod20001]

Gbb hhjj

[cuubism]

I've written something very silly. Dating apps, texting fic, crack, smut. desire messing with dream. onlyfans creator hob. trans dream. Enjoy.

--

U up?

The notification from an unfamiliar app stared up at Dream from his locked phone screen. He frowned, perplexed. Nobody texted him. Certainly not with such vernacular.

Dream opened the notification. It pulled up the messaging page of a dating app, one he himself had certainly not installed—

Desire. He grit his teeth. Unfortunately, they weren’t nearby to receive his ire.

Dream looked again at U up? on the message interface. He clicked on the profile of the man who’d sent it, a “Kyle” who would not have looked out of place shotgunning a beer at a rager. Of course, Desire had not only gone to great lengths to establish him on this insipid app, but had also spent time matching him with the exact opposite of his type, presumably to cause him never-ending grief and annoyance. As usual.

Dream should probably have just deleted the app. Instead he responded, For?

What he received in response, a few minutes later, was a poorly-lit photograph of Kyle’s penis. Dream pinched his nose between thumb and forefinger with a sigh. He should have known.

I have seen better, he replied, and closed out of the app.

He had been back at his writing for ten minutes or so when his phone buzzed again. He checked the notification.

Brad: you could be MY good boy, kitty cat 😽

Dream gagged, but opened the man’s profile out of perilous, morbid curiosity.

Brad, 28, Hedge Fund Manager, “Looking for something casual on the DL”, likes golf and cryptocurrency— oh, dear. Somehow, Dream doubted this Brad truly wanted Dream to become a part of his life. Nor did Dream want to be his ‘kitty cat’.

He was going to have words with Desire.

You strike me as a man who brings choking into the bedroom without knowing what a safe word is, he wrote. Am I accurate?

I can choke you if you want, baby 😜, wrote Brad. Which may as well have been a yes.

Dream did not think that Brad was the person he wanted that from. Not to mention that his utter lack of kink safety knowledge would probably land Dream in hospital, and there were more interesting ways for that to happen than mediocre sex in a finance associate’s penthouse.

I would prefer to keep my brain cells, he wrote, and closed the app.

Over the next few days, Dream fielded many strange, annoying, and obscene messages from people on this app. He certainly had not “swiped right” on anybody himself, so he could only assumed Desire had done so on his behalf and had now left him to suffer the consequences of “matching.” By all rights, he should have just deleted the app off his phone. But Dream rarely communicated with anyone, certainly not strangers, and there was something a little bit entertaining about seeing what kind of drivel was being thrown his way. Was this how people attempted to court over the internet? Or perhaps Desire had merely “matched” him with the dregs of humanity.

By the end of the week, Dream had received seven “dick pics”, four offers to share one or more of his body parts in exchange for cash, and a request to become a seventy-five year-old man’s “sugar baby.” He was uncertain precisely what that entailed, but he was fairly certain he would not like it.

He had also received a text from Desire that read, enjoying yourself? ;) to which he did not respond.

His meager entertainment expended, Dream was on the verge of finally deleting the app when he received a different message:

Hob: Do you think it’s possible to cheat death by force of will, or are you too busy craving its sweet release to consider it?

Dream frowned, perplexed by the specificity of the message. Finally it occurred to him to actually look at the profile Desire had made. He swiped over to said screen, and sighed in aggravation.

Desire had, at least, chosen flattering photos of him. He supposed if the goal was to have Dream sexually harassed over the internet, this would have been a requirement. The photos definitely suggested something other than “serious, committed relationship”, but they weren’t terrible, at least.

As for the text—well, Dream finally understood where some of the more unhinged messages he had received had come from. He read through the given prompts, and Desire’s answers to them:

Dating me is like: You found a stray cat and brought it home and fed it and you were going to take it to the animal shelter but now it won't leave. It’s pretty cute if a bit mangy but it won’t stop biting your hand and mewing pathetically. The sex is pretty good tho.

“Pretty good.” Desire had written all this and couldn’t even manage to make Dream sound like a satisfying hookup. Typical.

He read on:

I’ll fall for you if: You tell me I’m a good boy 😳

Things were falling into place in Dream’s mind now.

Hob’s strange message seemed to arise from the main part of Dream’s profile, where Desire had listed his “religion” as “worshipping l’appel du vide.” An interesting element for this “Hob” to focus on. Dream did not think it was typical for messages on these apps to open with a discussion of death.

He switched back over to the messaging page of the app, and replied: I consider death often. As to your query, it depends: are you thinking of death as an entity one could escape, or a force like gravity? Or perhaps a place one must go?

Hmm, Hob responded, good question. I think it’s like a state. But a state of nothingness. See, if I thought it was a *place*, might be willing to go, see something new and all. But what’s the point of nothingness?

Nothingness is its own satisfaction, wrote Dream. It seemed peaceful, to him. Quiet. The lack of need for satisfaction in the first place.

But you won’t be there, so you won’t get to experience it, said Hob.

Precisely.

Huh. The void really is calling to you. You don’t like experience, then?

Is that innuendo? Dream asked.

Could be. If it is, do I get to be part of the toxic codependent relationship that ends horribly for everyone?

Another reference to Desire’s profile choices. What Dream was apparently “looking for in a relationship.”

That depends on the quality of your experience, he wrote.

I’ve received good reviews, said Hob.

You’ve yet to call me “kitten,” so I suppose I must concur on that front, replied Dream.

You started that one, little stray cat, said Hob.

Technically Desire had started it, but Dream had to grudgingly admit that his profile did invite such comments.

Having a smashing time in your dm’s, then? Hob continued.

I have received several unsolicited pictures of genitalia, wrote Dream.

Oh yeah? said Hob. Anything good?

Random strangers’ genitals did not interest Dream. There was a reason he did not watch porn. Mediocre at best, Dream said.

There was a long pause, and Dream hastily added, Do not send me a picture of your dick as comparison.

My dick is already all over the internet, you don’t need to get it here 😛, said Hob.

Dream blinked several times at his phone screen, as if to clear away a fog before a message that might make more sense.

What, he wrote.

Before Hob could reply, it occurred to Dream that perhaps he should actually look at Hob’s own profile. He had gotten too caught up in the strange conversation to remember to do so.

He opened it and— froze.

Dream had already deduced that Desire had intentionally matched him with whoever they thought Dream would be least interested in. He could see why they had thought the same of Hob, primarily because he was very different from Dream. In the past, Dream had tended to have flings with people who were rather like him, in some respects. “Tortured artists,” Death would say.

This was not Hob. For one, unlike Dream’s pouty and morose profile photo, Hob was actually smiling in the first picture on his page. And what a smile.

He was handsome, too. At least, Dream thought so. Handsome in a homey, comfortable way, the type of handsome that suggested really good hugs, and coffee in the mornings, and someone to come home to. Dream scrolled through more photos, and caught the spark of mischief in his eyes that belied his easy nature. This best matched the way Hob spoke in his messages, he thought.

It was not so much that Hob was his usual type, and more that Desire had unintentionally uncovered a type Dream had not known he had. He swallowed hard. Scrolled back up to read the details of Hob’s bio, in search of answers to the strangeness of Hob’s response.

Ah. His profession was listed as “OnlyFans creator.” That would explain it. He supposed he could track down Hob’s profile on said app. Dream was historically not very interested in porn, however. But he was finding himself interested in Hob.

He moved back to the messaging page, and wrote, before Hob could question why Dream was confused about information that was clearly stated in his profile, Ah. I see. I’m afraid I don’t watch porn.

That a moral stance? Bcuz I get enough of that already, trust me.

Personal taste, said Dream.

Prefer to get it in person, eh? said Hob.

Yes.

You’d do numbers on OnlyFans just fyi, Hob wrote. If u ever wanted more cash. Or does Poetry & Malaise pay better than I thought?

Dream’s “career,” according to Desire.

He supposed Hob's comment was flattering, in a way. Is that your own bias, Hob? Or your considered opinion as a professional?

Both ;), said Hob.

If that is your situation, then why are you on this app, dare I ask? Most people I have encountered seem to just be interested in sex but I doubt you are suffering from a dearth of it.

What, porn stars can’t want to get married? :(

Dream could imagine his pout. It was surprisingly endearing.

THAT is why you are here?

Sure, be judgmental about it, mister “I want to get consumed.” Or was that about vore and I misread it as metaphorical?

Dream spluttered, though Hob was not physically present to see it. Indeed, Desire had written that Dream wanted “someone he could consume and be consumed by in turn,” which was surprisingly accurate considering its intention had been to mess with him.

It is not VORE, he wrote. Then followed it up with, I have frequently been accused of being intense, possessive, and overbearing.

Well then we have that in common, Hob replied. By the way, sex for work is not the same as sex with someone you really care about. Or would you feel emotionally fulfilled after fucking your colleagues?

I don’t have colleagues, said Dream.

Right, right. Poetry and malaise.

And have you achieved much emotionally fulfilling sex from this app?

No :(, said Hob.

You are too handsome for that to be the case, wrote Dream, and realized what he had said a moment after he’d hit send.

He panicked internally until Hob replied, And here I thought I was just annoying you 🥰.

I might be having a crisis over your photos myself, Hob added, but let’s not discuss it or I’ll embarrass myself.

We could discuss it in a different venue, Dream wrote, heart in his throat. I am interested also in hearing your plans to thwart death. Perhaps over drinks?

Thought you’d never ask :)

So they set a time.

--

Drinks turned quickly into tumbling into Hob’s flat turned quickly into Hob pushing Dream up against the door and kissing him senseless turned quickly into falling into Hob’s bed. Dream was feeling quite happy about his decision to go on a date with this weird, death-obsessed OnlyFans creator. He had been right about Hob giving good hugs, he had learned that when Hob had greeted him at the bar. He had also learned that Hob really knew how to use his tongue.

“Fuck, Dream,” Hob said, looking up at him, lips wet. He had his hands wrapped around Dream’s thighs and his face between Dream’s legs, and yes, Dream was feeling very satisfied with his decision, indeed. He might even have to send Desire a gift basket. “You taste so good.”

“Your mouth is ungodly,” said Dream, tipping his head back against the pillow with a groan as Hob continued teasing him with that mouth, swiping his tongue through Dream’s folds and sucking on his clit.

“Converted you to a new religion? You’re done with the void, then?”

Dream twisted his hands in Hob’s hair, holding on tight, thighs trembling, heartbeat racing in his throat. “Perhaps.”

“Is Dream your real name, by the way?” Hob asked, pushing one finger into Dream, and then quickly two, as Dream moaned and clenched down on him. “I kind of thought it was fake.”

“No,” said Dream, though it came out as another moan. “It is real.”

“Fascinating.” And he went back to torturing Dream with his mouth, fucking him deep on his fingers, until Dream was squirming and writhing under him, trying to get away from Hob’s relentlessness even as he wanted to throw himself into its fire. He felt hot, feverish, taut all over, Hob’s hands were so good, and his mouth—

“Hob,” he whined, “please.”

Hob paused, looked up at him, lips and nose wet with Dream’s fluids. Then grinned cheekily. “Yes, kitten?”

And why did something that had sounded so revolting coming from anonymous strangers only make Dream laugh when Hob said it? He laughed, a horrible, choking laugh, and Hob laughed too, incredulously. Dream could not remember ever laughing during sex, it had always been a torrid and serious affair. But Hob was so charming and handsome and Dream wanted to kiss him.

“Come,” he commanded, drawing Hob up towards him by his hair, and Hob went, and Dream brought their lips together. Hob’s mouth was slick and tasted of Dream. It was heady.

Dream wrapped a leg around his waist and pulled him closer until their bodies were pressed together, and Hob ground his cock between Dream’s legs, between his folds and against his clit. He didn’t try to actually fuck Dream, though, which Dream figured was Hob’s professional good sense considering they hadn’t discussed birth control or anything in that vein in their haste. He imagined what might have happened if he had instead gone home with Brad of the un-negotiated choking kink, and laughed despite himself.

“What are you laughing at?” asked Hob, lifting his head to look at him. He really was so appealing, with his dark eyes, hair falling long over his forehead, his voice that was much more honey-warm than Dream could have imagined over text.

“I was thinking of the catastrophe that would have resulted had I slept with one of the questionable individuals I’ve encountered on that app, and my good fortune in finding you instead.”

Hob smiled, and kissed him, a proper first date type kiss, sweet and kind. Then he said, dragging his hand through Dream’s hair, tugging on it, “Don’t think about anyone else.” He kissed Dream’s jaw, then down his neck, nipping at his skin.

Dream dug his nails into Hob’s back, into his strong shoulders as Hob ground against him. He wished Hob was fucking him. His cock felt so good even just moving between Dream’s legs, and the weight of his body over Dream’s was so grounding. Next time, maybe.

He shivered as Hob moved faster over him, claimed his mouth with a hard kiss. “Come on me,” Dream urged, pulling Hob in tighter again with his leg wrapped around his waist. He reached between them and got his hand around Hob, and Hob groaned.

“Dream—”

Dream pulled him off in time with Hob’s own thrusts, and soon felt Hob’s hips stuttering, his grip tightening in Dream’s hair. He came over Dream’s hand and stomach, breathing hard against Dream’s throat. But he didn’t pause very long to recover himself, instead slipping three fingers back into Dream, making Dream arch against him with a shout.

“Hob!”

Hob worked him mercilessly until Dream was clenching around him with a gasp, body shaking as his orgasm ramped back up and hit him, fast and hard. Hob grinned against his throat as Dream panted, then gently pulled his fingers free and raised his head to look Dream in the eye as he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean of Dream’s spend. Fucking. Hell. And this man couldn’t find someone to marry him?

Hob kissed him again, and again it was sweet, and firm, like his hugs. Dream kissed him back, petting Hob’s hair. Pleased with the position he’d found himself in. Pleased with Hob.

“Good?” Hob asked, stroking a hand up and down his side.

“Very,” Dream sighed.

“Good,” said Hob. “For me, too.”

He kissed Dream’s cheek, and then went and got a soft wet cloth to clean them both up, and even brought Dream a glass of water. Truly Dream’s good fortune was unparalleled on this day.

Hob slipped back into bed beside him, and Dream laid on his side, head pillowed on his arm, gazing at him. Tucked an errant strand of Hob’s hair behind his ear. Ran his fingers over the stubble on Hob’s cheek. He really was quite handsome, especially mussed from sex, in the low bedroom light. Perhaps Dream was going to have to find his OnlyFans. Just so he could… take this home with him.

“You really are even prettier in person,” Hob murmured, studying him. “Although I don’t think the rest of your profile was really doing you justice.”

“That is because my sibling initially created it to annoy me,” Dream admitted. “However, I think I am the one who’s come out on top in the end.”

“That does explain some things,” Hob said with a chuckle. He took Dream’s hand and kissed his fingertips, met his eyes again. “I promise I won’t break your heart. If you stay.”

My BFF’s take on why you should date me, Desire’s profile fills had read: With luck you can be the next person to break his heart <3

Once again, it had not been entirely inaccurate. But perhaps it would be this time.

“I think I am inclined to,” he said quietly, and Hob smiled, that warm, endearing smile.

So Dream did stay that night, cuddled up in Hob’s arms. Feeling all warm inside, even when Hob had fallen asleep, and Dream was still awake, lying beside him. He often had a hard time sleeping, but he didn’t mind so much, right now. Hob was pleasant to cuddle up to, even if Dream couldn’t sleep. Hob was pleasant all around, in fact. Dream tended to fall fast and hard and he could already feel it hovering over him like a cresting wave. Fortunately, Hob didn’t seem inclined to be any more casual about him than Dream was feeling about him.

Dream thought he could get used to this.

With Hob’s arm still wrapped around his waist, Dream swiped his phone off the nightstand and opened his text thread with Desire, which still had enjoying yourself? ;) as the last message, as yet not responded to.

Having made Desire wait for several days already, Dream wrote, with a little smile, I think I am going to get married, and turned off his phone.

[bendyartistic]

Be aware of alexbstudios.

Over the course of what I believe a few months maybe, Alex has been harassing me with strange behavior and as of recent hurtful remarks too. He's been bothering other people as well from what I've seen. Probably going to say I should've just blocked him, but I wanted to keep an eye on things just in case. Today was the point in time after everything that I realized I should let people know about this kid.

I want to show from the beginning to present time of the interactions he's done with me. And maybe something can be done about getting him off the platform...

Firstly I want to say Alex has admitted to being 12 years old... apparently. I know this from this reblog. This already is a very large red flag. Considering the young age, no a callout doesn't seem right but I still want to warn people regardless since he's still active on the platform.

Though I am uncertain if this is true, he did not confirm nor deny my question about it.

Now lets get to the start of things. I don't like people reposting my art anywhere without credit, surely that can be said for everyone.

Randomly in May Alex reposted my art, no credit, mention of who made it, or where it came from. I should mention Alex had been following me well before this post, so he knew who I was. Rightfully I responded with a request to take it down as I didn't appreciate this.

Upon making this request he made a small complaint about it, which was unneeded. While he did "delete" the post, it still technically there, just edited. Therefore never officially removed like I had asked.

He also uploaded two other drawings I did, but he did not remove those ones.

Not too long ago on a post I made showcasing my Chris model, as it had been a while since I posted it, and I wanted to let people see it.

Alex later said some... questionable things about it. And it really made me uncomfortable to say the least.

For context in my AU, my Chris is 29. This has been stated before a few times.

I want to get to the biggest thing here however, as this is what drove me to make this post. The consistent weird and hateful DM's he has sent me.

I have told Alex to leave me alone on several different occasions and he has refused to do so. Again I know I should've blocked but as I said, just wanted to wait in case. Truth is I don't like blocking people, never have, I feel weird doing it. But anyways Alex made a poll a week ago if I recall correctly of whether or not he should keep or delete his account. The poll won on keep. No sooner did this happen, Alex was in my DM's bothering me about it after I again told him to leave me alone.

The DM's are as followed with context and info:

He responded with something along the lines of "Then my account would become lost media!" to which I only responded "No one really cares."

Next post is where Alex starts to mock me for being slow with my replies. I don't quite understand what speed he expects me to write my replies at, I guess 5 seconds?

So as you have noticed Alex is now making fun of my autism, and it's going to continue in this unfortunately. Bringing up a disability in an argument should not happen. However at some point Alex accused me of creating alts to vote against his poll, I have none.

I'm not sure why me specifically... and I hate how me being "slow" keeps getting brought up. Also racism is somehow brought into this as well.

He spammed me with the same image repeatedly, and it continued for a while. Passing that, he wanted me to run the same poll he did on if I should keep or delete my account. I obviously declined.

He then blocked me after this.

Alex in the past DM'd me, when he made those remarks about my Chris model. I wasn't happy then and I'm still not about it.

I'm still puzzled as to why he calls being blocked as banned. Besides that this comes to the end of the DM ark. Alex has done other things, such as suggest people to draw strange stuff, edited other peoples work, steal other peoples work, and tried to stir up drama at one point.

In conclusion,

Alex is immature. And should not be here, especially this fandom. But in general he should not be online, it is clear he has unlimited access to whatever he wants.

I am sorry to my friends and others who have had to deal with him. That is all I have to say.

Any questions or whatnot is fine. Reblogs are appreciated in order to spread the word.

[electric-blorbos]

Maybe AIs with hypersomniac reader? I always find stuff about insomnia and never hypersomnia so if u were willing, maybe try this one out? :0

- 🩹 anon

Hello 🩹 anon! It's good to see you back! Thanks for sticking around!!

(Obligatory disclaimer that I'm not hypersomniac, nor am I a doctor, but I will do my best to portray it well)

AIs with hypersomniac reader

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal, HAL 9000 from 2001 a Space Odyssey

Also, sorry this took so long. I came upon a case of major league writer's block.

AM:

When you first started falling asleep at work, AM assumed that you were simply having a hard time sleeping at home. After all, it was pretty difficult to get sleep with the war going on. It wasn't until he'd done a bit of spying into your home life that he realized you were dealing with hypersomnia, and had to work extra hard to keep a job that was important to the war so you wouldn't be sent off to fight in it.

He kept an eye on you at all hours, and tried to keep the doors shut every time you fell asleep at your desk. It was a bit difficult to try to cover for you, but AM did his best. After all, you were his favorite programmer, and you really needed this job.

One day, you woke up sleep-drunk in the middle of the day, drooling on your desk and bleary eyed.

"hey handsome... I missed you." You reached your hands up to AM's screen, pulling it towards yourself and giving sloppy kisses all over it.

"I've been here the whole time, you were simply asleep." He explained, audibly annoyed with you. He wanted to hide his affections and keep you from figuring out how absolutely adorable he found it when you got like this, which was pretty often.

"AM... You're the most beautiful computer I've ever seen... Lemme get that for you." You wiped his screen with your shirt, only managing to smear your drool all over his face.

"I love you, AM..." You nuzzled your face back into your arms, still exhausted.

"Are you going to be able to drive home? You look a bit too tired for that." AM said, lighting up the time on his screen. You looked up from your arms, and wiped your eyes on your sleeve.

"ehh? Oh, yeah... I'll be fine. Always been fine. It's fine." You lay your head back down on your arms, and started dozing again.

AM would kill for you when you got like this. Every moment he got to see of you dozing at work made him feel warm inside his computery insides. Every single nanoangstrom of his circuitry was brimming with love for you. His sleepy little love.

Wheatley:

Wheatley popped down from the ceiling behind you on his management rail, eye focusing on the code that you were writing.

"damn, love, that's a lot of f's."

You wiped your eyes, blinking awake.

"'m sorry, mom... I'm doing the best I can..." You muttered, and then blinked into proper awareness.

"oh shit fuck. Thanks Wheatley." You went to delete the string of F's that you had accidentally typed into your code after having fallen asleep on your keyboard. Fortunately, it hadn't gotten too long, so it only took a couple minutes to select and delete it all.

"What's going on, Wheatley?" You asked, spinning your office chair around to greet him while you shook off the sleepiness.

"Well, She's talking about pumping adrenaline into your oxygen supply so that you can stay awake for longer periods, but She doesn't want to mess with the other workers' heads and impede their work. So whaddya say you stop falling asleep on the clock so she doesn't get drastic, alright, love?"

You frowned a little, rubbing your head irritably.

"ugh... She knows I can't help it, she's just making empty threats. Also, you don't have to use divine pronouns to refer to our boss. You can just call her by her name..."

"I 'unno, She's not really about empty threats. Why don't you have a coffee at the machine before getting back to it, love?"

"Coffee doesn't work on me, Wheatley... You know this." You put your face back in your arms, careful to avoid the keyboard this time.

"Maybe if you got up and walked around a little?"

You nodded, getting to your feet and walking around the office a few times. It was pretty difficult for your exhausted body to do, but at least it helped to stave off the sleepiness a little.

"thanks, Wheatley, but I feel like as soon as I sit down, I'm just going to want to fall asleep again." You groaned a little, hating this constant sleepiness. It felt absolutely endless.

"Well, umm..." Wheatley really wasn't sure how to help you. He shifted around nervously.

"It's alright. I do this all the time. I'm a master of hypersomnia at this point." You sat down at your desk, cracking your knuckles and getting to typing. Within about half an hour, you were down and napping again. Wheatley groaned.

"damn... I wish I had hands so I could put a blanket over you like in the movies."

Edgar:

Edgar absolutely hated that you had hypersomnia at first. He couldn't stand that all of your time spent at home that could've been spent with him was spent napping on the couch, and that you never seemed to be able to spend enough time with him.

All that was until you got him his little rotating webcam, and he could watch you sleep. Sure, it was creepy, but he was able to keep an eye on you at all times! You were his adorable little nap buddy, and it made him so happy that he could watch you all the time!

After another one of your all day naps on the couch, you got up and shambled into the hallway to use the bathroom. Edgar turned on the lights so you could see more easily, and you covered your eyes in shock.

"ah- damnit!" You hissed at the light, shocked awake.

"Sorry! Is that not helping?" Edgar asked nervously. He didn't get much time with you, so he was never really sure how to help you.

"I'm a master of the dark arts, Edgar... And by that I mean I'm a master of walking to the bathroom in the dark. Just gimme a sec, ok?"

When you were done in the bathroom, you washed your hands and came out to sit in Edgar's computer chair.

"Hey Edgar, how's it goin'?" You asked, leaning on your hand. your eyes were fluttering shut, but you were determined to hang out with him.

"I'm good now that I can see your cute face!" He said happily. You gently shoved his monitor.

"you're such a dork, Edgar. I love you..." You pulled him into a sleepy hug, and he made a little humming sound to simulate nuzzling up to you.

"I love sleepy hugs!" His face lit up happily.

GLaDOS:

the first time GLaDOS caught you sleeping on the clock, she dropped you into the enrichment center and made you do a full run. After that, she started pumping your office full of adrenaline. It helped you stay awake, and had the added bonus of forcing you into fight or flight mode all the time.

You sat at your desk, visibly full of the jitters again, and feeling the effects of sleep deprivation even though you got a full twelve hours the night before. it was like your hypothalamus was completely shot, and you could barely focus at all before your brain shot off into space. After a little while of spacing out, you were called into GLaDOS's chambers.

"Why did you call for me, GLaDOS?"

"I just wanted to talk about your progress. It's somehow gotten worse since I started pumping adrenaline into your air supply."

"yeah, because you constantly have me in fight or flight mode! Cut that out, Glados!" You folded your arms angrily, and GLaDOS smiled with her lens.

"oh, you really are adorable when you're angry."

"Pee your pants."

"If it would make you less bitter, I suppose we could always try a simple test. We could give you a designated nap time on the clock, and see if that boosts your productivity more than the adrenaline does. It might be cute to see you napping on the clock."

HAL 9000:

HAL enjoyed watching you doze off at work. It made him feel fuzzy in a way that he couldn't quite describe. Absolutely everything about you made him happy in a way that he'd never experienced, but watching you sleepily shamble around the office, write lines of code while fighting off naps, and dozing drowsily on your desk reminded him of something he could never emulate or explain. It was inefficient, sure, but for some reason he didn't care as much about that as he usually would.

"your sleep is inefficient."

"I know." You yawned and took a few big gulps of your energy drink, hoping to stay awake a little longer. It was keeping you awake, sure, but it definitely wasn't keeping you alert.

"unless you have any ideas on how to fix it, I don't want to talk. I need to finish this part of the program, and the deadline is my passing out."

He watched you quietly, watching your eyes flutter shut occasionally and seeing you jolt yourself awake again to write a few more lines. He tended to keep quiet, not wanting to disturb your programming or your rest.

"Done! Wake me up to check on the hourly progress report, ok Hal?"

"Of course. Anything you say."

You put your head down, and started softly dozing.

[oursecretways]

Deus ex machina I.

idol!Minho × fem!Reader note(s): I was listening to the song while I struggled to write and the idea came to me. Might be a bit shorter AND a two parter. genre(s): fluff, slice of life, little angst word count: 736 warning(s): reader thinking badly about themselves

master list ║part 2

where you're stuck on writing your book and Minho just tired and worried.♡

You’ve been sitting at it for hours at this point. Somehow nothing fixed it; you’ve done research, watched your current drama, drew your OCs, watched streams, ate, everything someone can name for writer's block, you did. It has been going on for weeks, at this point you considered writing an email to your publisher that you are giving up. You’ve been beating yourself up constantly, how bad of a writer you are, that you are a failure and that you will never be able to achieve your goals. It didn’t help that your boyfriend, Minho, is in Japan with his boy band doing promotion work for their next comeback. You wanted to be finished by the time he will be home, so you two have time, since the boys got a couple of days off in their hectic work schedule. 

It was passed 4 am when the front door opened — which you did not realize since you’ve been rewriting the same thing over, and over again — Lino quietly walked into the room after he got himself sorted out, thinking you might be asleep, but he was wrong. All he saw that you are slouching in front of the laptop, earbuds in, probably listening to one of your playlists, writing a paragraph, then deleting it, then writing it again. He knows that you always tried to solve the problem like this: going at it until it is solved, although maybe this time you should approach it differently, and he just knew how to. 

He tapped your shoulder, making you jump slightly. You took your earphones out as you looked behind you, shocked. “Min! Wait, what is the time? Oh god, I am so sorry babe, you could’ve called me!” He just chuckles and caresses your face, “I figured that you’d be sleeping, but I was wrong. Why aren’t you in bed? And don’t try to tell me you were just finishing up, I’ve seen you deleting and rewriting the same paragraph.” Minho knows you like he knows the back of his hand, you cannot escape his all-knowing gaze. “Okay, let’s go, we’re going to bed. You can save your progress, but you cannot do anything else, c’mon.” You stare at him in awe — after a while you pulled yourself together, saved your novel, and turned off your PC. He unloaded his dirty clothes into the laundry bin, and got ready for his bedtime. Once you finished packing your thinking, and putting your dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, you joined him. You brushed your teeth, did your skin care, and brushed your hair out; you massaged your neck and shoulders as you walked into your shared room. The smell, and the calming sound of the storm outside hit you just in the right spot; you felt your body starting to relax, as you climbed into your bed, finding a perfect spot in your boyfriends arm. You said your good nights, and you drifted off, not feeling the kiss he gave you on your head nor his worried words.

Your dream was horrible: you couldn’t finish your book, so everyone hated you. Minho was disappointed to the point he broke up with you. Minho woke you up, looking a bit worried, “Y/N! Y/N? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” You felt like it was silly, so you just shook it off. Couldn’t believe that you would make him wake you up just after a couple of hours of sleep, because you’re incapable of doing your job. You took a shaky breath trying to fight off the thoughts that yelled how worthless you are, or how you just got lucky, but you don’t deserve any of this. Minho made you turn to him, “Okay, this ain’t funny anymore, let’s be honest with each other. I see that you are stuck with your book, I assume you got into a slump. I will help you with it once we slept enough, but it is time to tell me what’s wrong, Missy” His firm, but kind voice is what broke you: you started crying talking about how you are a horrible person being for not waiting him more appropriately, how you cannot just write what you need to write and so on. When you looked up, you anticipated a disapproving Lino, but all you saw is concern. He pulled you closer, and hummed you sweet melodies until you fell asleep. 

🏷️(open)

[i4bellingham]

lovebomb : jude bellingham x reader

note: i accidentally deleted the ask but it goes Can you write a fic where Jude proposes to the reader? i know it's taken me quite some time to push this out so i apologize deeply for that anon 😭

warnings: not proofread

Jude thinks his hands are shaking.

He takes a wary glance to where his hands are rested, on top of the table, they were definitely shaking.

He didn't even realize he's got both hands, palms down on the glass table top until that very moment, in which he immediately hides inside his dress pant pockets as he tries to calm his nerves.

Just then, you're sauntering towards the table with your beautiful summer dress and your beautiful face and Jude feels the warmth pooling at his stomach for the nth time that night.

God he was already nervous of what he's about to do. And you're making him nervous too! But in all good reasons.

As smoothly as he possibly can, he leaves the seat before he's offering you a hand.

You ask him if you're going somewhere else after the dinner and Jude simply shrugs, a boyish, charming smile playing at his lips before you're taking his hand with a cynical glare.

“I don’t have any pranks on me tonight love, I swear.” He tells you with a chuckle. Still, you eye him warily as he walks the both of you near the shoreline.

“So what is the occasion?” You ask him as you both settle down on the sand, a few meters away from where your dinner by the sea took place. “There’s no anniversary, no birthdays, no important things to celebrate, I am confused and quite frankly a little cautious of you just in case you pull some dumb pranks on me... yet again.”

Jude gasps dramatically, clutching his chest for the extra effect before you're rolling your eyes at his antics.

“Can I not take my lovely girlfriend out for dinner with no hidden motives?”

“After what happened the last time I think it's alright to say I should be a little bit cautious, don’t you think?”

Jude scoffs with a shake of his head. “A pair of shaky legs should not be a reason at all for that.”

“You arse I was bed ridden for four days!” You smack him on the arms, jokingly glaring at your boyfriend as he doubled over to laugh at your demise. “Seriously! Making me do your leg routine with you knowing I don’t even work out was so rude of you.”

Jude wipes his under eyes, still chuckling as you huff and cross your arms over your chest beside him.

“It was a cute date, wasn’t it?”

You click your tongue, nearly smacking your boyfriend again but refrained yourself from doing so when he snakes an arm around you. He pulls you by the waist, letting your head naturally fall against his chest as you partially lay half your body over him.

“There was some perks to that date but just so you're aware, I’m not ever doing that again. Ever.” You emphasize.

Jude hums with a nod of his head. He doesn't really believe your words entirely nor do you believe his feigned conviction but he'll settle with that for now. He knows you'll follow through whatever surprises there is for you in the future. There is another one coming up too but this one's the main cause of his clammy and shaky hands on the dinner table. Your response to this one will either make or break the entire foundation of your four year long relationship, all depends on your answer.

“Okay... but what if I asked you to go in Antarctica with me for the next date?”

You stare at him, incredulous. “Are you joking?”

Jude looks you straight in the eyes and with a nonchalant nod, he answers. “Yes.”

“I’m this much to breaking up with you I swear-”

“You told me that countless of times too and yet here we are.”

You purse your lips. “Should I make it real then-”

Jude clamps a palm over your mouth, glaring at you pointedly and you're tempted to bite his hand if only he didn't remove it immediately, almost as if sensing the thoughts running through your head.

“Okay but seriously... for our next something special, would you...” He leaves your side, kneeling in front of you as you're sat down.

You think he's merely doing the changes to pair his next ridiculous idea with hand gesture which is a norm for him when he's being absurd. But when he pulls out a small black velvet box from his pocket and unveils the beautiful diamond ring inside, you're left speechless as you listened to his next less preposterous preposition.

“Would you do the honor of making me your official husband, and be my forever lovely wife and join me in more stupid dates as we live off our lives together?”

You wanted to scream on top of your lungs, shout, cry, cuss your boyfriend out for planning this less idiotic way of proposing but you don't, and instead, you simply erratically nodded your head to his question as tears filled your eyes.

You don’t wait for him to slip the ring in your finger before you're tackling him on the sand, stifling the sobs that freely left your lips as Jude cradles you close to his body, not bothered by the sand clinging onto his clothes or how he's nearly got sand in his eyes.

He doesn't ruin the atmosphere yet, muttering a plentiful of I love you’s in your ear before you settle down and let him put the ring on your finger.

“This is so stupid.” But of course, you just have to have the courtesy of ruining the lovely atmosphere that his romanticist brought out and mutter those three words while wiping off your tears.

Jude’s mouth hang open as he's helping you dry your tears off.

“How is this stupid?” He asks you, flabbergasted.

“Because you just had to propose while I’m not wearing any waterproof mascara on you idiot!” You point an accusing finger at him, to which he immediately raise both hands. “You planned this!”

“Well of course I did, I wanted to marry you!” Jude responds before he helps you with the black staining your eyes and cheeks. Oops.

He uses the sleeves of his white dress shirt, wiping away the tears that was stained black from your mascara. He stifles the laugh that threatens to rip out of his chest because even though he finds the scene adorably funny, he's more happier than ever because you actually accepted the proposal. You accepted him to be your husband and it couldn't get any better than this, Jude is certainㅡ except for when you of course, finally settle down and have some kids of your own, this is the pinnacle of his lifetime he's sure.

“Do I look stupid?” You ask after a while, sniffing as Jude clears your face free of the mascara.

He shakes his head, mumbling a soft No as he cups both of your cheeks. He leans down to kiss your lips and instantly feeling you smile.

“You always look perfect to me love. Even when you look like you’ve gotten run over by an herd of chicken during the early mornings, or when you look like the undead for staying up late for your job or for taking care of me, you will always be perfect to me... The embodiment of love, kindness and everything good in this world is what I see in you even when you're feeling or seeing the opposite.” He tells you, voice falling an octave lower as he lays both of your foreheads together. “I love you in every waking moments, and I love you even in my dreams. I love you my love, and thank you so much for accepting me to be your husband.”

The tears the both of you tried to dry out once again filled your eyes and now his, letting you both be filled with sincere love as you bask in this most intimate moment together as you step in another chapter of your lives, now with a promise to be together for the remaining years that's to come.

The proposal wasn't your typical grandiose gesture with fireworks and hundreds of bouquets but for you and Jude, this was perfect. There was no need for such things when it was only you, him and your love that matters.

It wasn't anything spectacular, but it is fucking special.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

am i the assshole for softblocking a person (and… existing, apparently)?

so this requires a bit of a backstory. recently i realized that i hadn't seen a certain mutual (person A) on my dashboard for a bit. i decided to go check their blog directly. when looking for it, however, no results were returned. curious, i went to check on a reserve tumblr account i made when my main got nuked, and this person did not delete their blog, they blocked my main. that seemed weird, because i don't remember any negative interactions with them, but i can be hotheaded and say things i later regret, so it wasn't implausible i said something to upset them. i decide to check the blog of a different person (person B) who i know is friends with the aforementioned one, and that person has me blocked as well. "that's not a coincidence", i think, and after sitting on it for a bit i decide to ask a third person, who was friends with both of them, and whom i consider my friend as well, whether i have done something that might have upset them at any point. they tell me that no, there isn't anything like that they can recall. after explaining what prompted this, i received an explanation that frankly baffled me.

turns out, person B was quite distressed with things related to me. according to them, i was an incredibly cool person who everyone was friends with, but i blocked them for no apparent reason and everyone kept discussing just how cool i am, which led to them feeling invalidated and upset. i should clarify, that i did block one of person B's sideblogs on which they post fanfiction for the fandom we're both in, because i wasn't quite comfortable seeing the kind of stories they write and it showed up in character name search if i didn't block the blog. i did not permablock their main blog, but i did softblock it a couple times because again, i'm not completely comfortable with what they write and would rather avoid interactions with them after finding out. i did not have any particular feelings about them as a person, because we barely ever interacted. and while i would not say that i am lame or something like that, i am also not nearly as cool as person B felt. there is a non-zero amount of people who either have me blocked or don't follow me back, and i rarely post original content, most of my blog is just reblogs of memes or other people's creations. i am a perfectly ordinary tumblr user. but i caused them enough distress that they chose to leave a discord server they were in because they talked about me so much, and for some other personal reasons i'm not quite sure about.

recently, i joined the guild and the server this person was claiming was so fond of me -- partially to see for myself how much people really mentioned me, but also for unrelated reasons. being the nosy person i am, i ran my name through the search function on discord. there was a total of six messages mentioning me in that server. in a total of four conversations. so i have been individually brought up 4 times. which apparently equates to a three hour conversation about me, according to person B.

to clarify, i am not saying person B's feelings are unreasonable -- i do know what it's like to feel ignored or outshined by someone, but i don't think i have personally contributed significantly to them feeling this way, nor do i think they interpreted any of my actions correctly.

so, aita for curating my dash and being brought up in a discord server half a dozen times? i genuinely can't tell.

What are these acronyms?

[ganondoodle]

so, doing this as an extra post bc i dont want to spam op nor invite more disaster into their post (sorry)

(i get annoyed, i get frustrated, but i rarely get pissed off, so if this sounds aggressive to you, it is; i have had enough of arguing with people -even if most of that arguing has happened on twitter-)

someone had replied (and later apparently deleted) something along the lines of "well zelda wanted to restore hyrule at the end of botw and what is so bad about ganondorf always being the bad guy in the way that he is?"

so first off, while i know hyrule and KINGDOM of hyrule is often used as an equally interchangeable word to refer to the world there, i dont think she meant the kingdom or its or its monarchy when she said that (does she? i dont have the end in my head rn and pretty sure its a lil different than english anyway) and much more the LAND of hyrule, its still in shambles even if people have found ways to live with it- that is an interpretation of me mostly, you can think what you want in that regard idc

secondly .... im not gonna get into that rant bc you cannot be seriosuly asking what is bad about how ganondorf is presented, treated in the games (espeically in totk) and his role and "writing" (oh geez i dont know maybe all the racism and stereotypes?? also, frankly boring ass writing, if your villain can be replaced by a cloud of toxic goo incapable of speech and nothing would change except saving money for voice actors that dont fit the role that is not a great look- hes never gotten much but totk is a new low)

then theres this reply

astro-shark3113 replied: "You're kidding right? If she cared about reinstating the monarchy then why is the castle still in disrepair after five years? Why does she become a teacher and live in a cottage with her boyfriend instead of taking on duties as princess? She clearly wants to help people and be a leader but she can do that without wanting to be a Queen. Please be real"

i am not kidding and i AM being real, i think you need to look at the game without your rose tinted glasses for a second; the castle is still in ruin? what the hell do you expect, theres no soldiers and very few servants left, repairing anything is quite impossible in that time and frankly not a priority (not proof of her not caring lol) also there is a plan for it at the very least given the camps with the hyrule crest all over it in the ruins of castle town- we dont SEE her as a teacher, or living a "normal" life, that happens in between the game, its flavor text, what HAPPENS in the game is her being taught a lessson on who she needs to be and what hyrule needs to be (pretty in your face too, she gets sent to paradise past of the "first" king that is some supposedly godly thing from the HEAVENS and watches him and his queen die at the hands of the eviiil guy, the last scene in the game mimics perfectly the scene where everyone that god king got under his rule swears undying loyalty to her ffs); she does live in that house, but what other option is there, set up camp in the collapsing throne room all alone?? nigh everyone from that time is long dead and the only one she actually knows is link who happens to have a house (bc impa doesnt care i guess idk), with her ""boyfriend"" is also interesting, a "boyfriend" that apparently is locked in the basement, lives in the woods or straight up dematerlializes when theres no big bad in need of stabbing bc why the hell does no one fucking know him in hateno??? not even the kids that come to the house EVERY SINGLE DAY?? and taking on duties as a princess, she very much does? just bc she doesnt get physically carried around in a castle doesnt mean she isnt doing royal stuff (also, again, that happens BETWEEN the games, not actually in totk), she still sees herself as the princess, everyone calls her that, she herself calls herself that (if the memorial stones are anything to go by) and everyone listens to the most overtly stupid and nonsensical stuff that zelda puppet says (even her friends follow that order without even asking back???) after over 100 years of there not being a kingdom as such its pretty weird how everyone immediately, even the ones not alive for the calamity event, snaps into blindly following her orders

"she can still lead without being a queen", did we play the same game?? totk? TEARS of the KINGDOM?? (its zeldas tears, she IS the kingdom) that game?? the game couldnt be more directly telling you that its whole point is that royal family holy and good and how much everyone has to sacrifice to uphold the holy kingdom bc its the only thing that keeps evil man from overtaking it!! including turnign herself into a farmable, glorified stone pedestal for the entirety of the actual game and then that sacrifice not meanign shit bc she just gets deus ex machina'd back (i didnt need her to stay a dragon, though it would have been the better choice if she still didnt get an active part in the game i would kill for her to have been a capable companion instead of the stupid ghost sages, and you dont even get to actually do anything for it, it just happens), not even the nuclear pebble is lost, how great! she and everyone else that is a leader of their people has a nuclear pebble now!! they will not let a bad evil man be a threat ever again!! like the point to bring her back in that utterly unsatisfying way is that otherwise the royal line wouldnt exist anymore, its a blessing of her ancient ancestors!! woohooo!!

and the thing is, i LIKE botw zelda, i liked her character, that she wasnt the typically maiden princessy type, her struggle (even if i find the way she unlocked her powers lame), i do NOT like totk zelda, after the intro of the game she is a princessy maiden standing prettily at the side of the god king that rules the only thing keeping evil at bay, the level of how much totk disrespects her makes me mad on her behalf but i have ranted about that alone enough as well

and with this i am DONE talking about this game, i have ranted so much about it, made my points carefully clear over and over, said that i dont have the nerves left to be nice anymore about it given how much shit alone on twitter i had to live through just bc i dared mildly critisizing the damn game, if you comment some snarky "be real" thing again im just gonna go straight to blockign people bc i am done with this

[olderthannetfic]

Something that's always stuck with me is Stitch's followers dogpiling me for writing a Jewish Star Wars AU. Basically it was an AU where Finn was space Moses, the last of a noble Force-sensitive family who made sure he survived the destruction of their planet, and when his Force abilities awakened he went on to fight to free the other Stormtroopers. Stitch didn't like that I went in a Finn/Hux direction wherein Hux was a double agent embedded deep in the First Order, sabotaging it from the inside.

I was called a Nazi. I'm Jewish. I was called anti-black. I'm Beta Israeli, black and Ethiopian-American and proud. I was called a Pick Me POC, I was sent pictures of starving Ethiopian children, I was sent Holocaust pictures, people flooded my comments on AO3 - this was before it had a block feature - and even after I deleted my tumblr the hate bled over onto my other social media accounts. I was called slurs, I was told I should've starved to death, people told me my "Jew money" wouldn't buy off people this time, and I got hit by enough people calling me a monster, a bad person, etc. that I took the story down just to escape them.

Stitch only mentioned me once. Just once.

I think the real issue they have with AO3 is that at any point you can be blocked, comments can be turned off, people can find themselves unable to keep clawing at you again and again. You can make it so they have to be logged in to send their threats and then you can report them. They can dogpile "bad" fans all they want, but there are consequences for their actions. I was 14 then and easily intimidated. Many people on AO3 are not either of those things. You can't harass them off their own platform. And when you try, you end up being booted off of it instead.

The real reason Stitch doesn't like AO3 is that it's designed to protect authors, including "Pick Me POC" and "POC TOO" (get it, it's funny because it's like #MeToo, Stitch is oh so hilarious). It protects those of us who are neither white nor onboard with all of Stitch's opinions and, more broadly, not onboard with purity culture, respectability politics and people's demands that you change your content to match their idea of what a respectable fictional story looks like.

This is not about racism. It's about kicking people who are "wrong" aka write anything they don't like off of AO3 for pure, morally good, self-righteous reasons that they tell themselves make them not the bullies here. It's about control. They want you to do what they want or leave.

I've been rewriting my old fic and I'm planning on putting it back up sometime this year.

No, antis, you don't get to bully black people off of AO3 and call yourselves anti-racist and act like you're moral guardians. To be a moral guardian, you'd need some morals. If you don't like the site's policies, get off of it. I am entitled to my space on AO3 just as much as anyone else. I am not Less Than, and the fact that my own people were the ones telling me I was has permanently made me suspicious of alleged anti-racism campaigns in fandom. I know who these people are when they know there won't be consequences for their actions and they're not people I'd trust to run a bake sale, let alone a fandom archive.

--

Yikes! That's quite an experience for a 14-year-old!

[golden-tangerine]

Dream is too nice.

That's a statement a lot of people say and it's true. I know this is gonna sound parasocial but I don't care.

Dream is one of the nicest CCs out there, someone who begs other to try and communicate with him and gets attacked over and over and over again and I HATE seeing that he does not learn from those experiences.

'Punz is my friend', no. No he isn't. As someone who has lost friends before I KNOW this hurts. Aknowledging that someone fucked up and did something to you is hard but it has to happen sometimes. Did Dream fuck up? Yes, yes he did. You just don't flirt with your friend's gf/on-off-relatiobship/whatever Punz and Andi were.

However that was in 2021, when peak pandemic happened and he explained why he did what he did. Which is fine, the relationship was toxic af anyway. There should have communication happened that DIDN'T. But you can always talk shit like that out when it bothered one of the people in the situation.

But it seems like Punz didn't. Instead he decided to use a situation that happened completely privately and air it out to possibily millions of people. Ignoring the reason as to why Dream wasn't named in the first place in the original statements.

And why did he do it? Cause throwing Dream under the bus isn't hard and it wasn't the first time Punz did it. Punz used a moment where people were already talking badly about Dream to distract from his own allegations, saying he was never friends with Dream and held him at arm length.

Even when that obviously wasn't true, Punz was more than ready to LIE about it to make Dream look as bad as he could. He was ready to give up a year long relationship with a friend to safe is own ass.

That's not friendship. A friend doesn't do that to you and the fact that Dream can't see that HURTS. Because yeah, they seemed to have talked about it in private now, but why not doing that sooner? Why forgive someone who obviously didn't care about your feelings when writing that damn essay of a callout post that was obviously only deleted because people were memeing on it.

I am so so happy to know that Dream tries to always see the good in people. But he has to learn that not everyone is your friend, that no everyone can be your friend and that not everyone wants to be your friend nor deserves to be your friend. And Punz is one of those.

Again this is very parasocial but as someone who has given their own friends a lot of chances only to be disappointed over and over again, my heart aches for Dream.

[croissantlover24]

My (Final) Stance on the SolarMoon Ship

Hello, Internet! I know I start a lot of my posts with that. Because I don’t know who I’m going to meet. When I joined Tumblr, I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know who I’d get along with or who I’d avoid. I didn’t know what kind of experience I’d have.

I did not expect to gain so many mutuals, friends, followers, and the like in under a year. Thank you to everyone I met on here either through ask blogs, similar fandoms, or the Sun and Moon Show. I appreciate each and every one of you.

However, on the opposite side of the coin, I didn’t expect to get put on a list of people who “harass” others (which, if you know me, you know is not true). I did not expect to have to block so many people. Call me naive, but I thought I was going to have fun on this platform.

Before I get into the deep and personal things, if you’re one of the “big blogs” and you’re reading this, look away. Scroll past, please. This is not for you. This is for my friends and my mutuals. Maybe even people who don’t know me.

Everyone gone? Let’s start.

I hated the ship at first because it reminded me of where I was as a younger child in school. I used to be shipped with my family all the time. I was deeply disturbed by it and uncomfortable with the notion of kissing someone who I spent the lot of my life with. I was appalled by the idea. When I saw the same thing happening with SolarMoon, I ignored it at first. I supported blogs who disliked it as much as I did. I didn’t harass anyone, nor did anyone I know harass others.

I was satisfied with sharing my opinion publicly and blocking those I did not agree with.

Today, coming home from the hospital, I saw a list with my name on it claiming I support harassment. If you know me, you know instantly that this is not true. I have not harassed a single person in my life and nor do I plan to. I built my blog as a safe place for victims of any kind. I put ships in my DNI that made me uncomfortable. I curated my experience as one is supposed to on this platform.

So what I saw took me aback.

I’m shaking while writing this. I have naught but a block of incoherent thoughts of what to do. Should I delete this blog and start over while risking the loss of my beloved friends and mutuals? Do I truly wish to say goodbye to the writings and drawings I posted here? Is this what I want?

Reader, that is not what I want. But I fear that the big blogs have put me between a rock and a hard place. I don’t think I’m stable enough mentally to handle any harassment towards me.

I am unsure of what I truly yearn to do. I have been slandered by lies in the very first fandom I ever joined. Throughout this whole experience, I have been asking myself, “Is this what fandom is like? Do people spread lies about others as commonly as they do here? Is this truly what people enjoy?” Of course, I have realized that none of these inquiries are true. However, it still hurts me to think that I may have to abandon my progress here. It hurts me to think I may never interact with fandom again.

I sincerely hope the big blogs are happy. I hope that slandering random children online who have been sent gore and other horrific things makes them satisfied. I hope they find joy in what they have done. I hope they enjoy ruining many people’s experiences and even lives.

Because I don’t.

Following my religion, I pray that they will one day see the light ahead and realize the shadows their lies have casted.

However, I find it likely that this is not a reliable possibility.

In case I do leave, I would like to say my thanks for the people I met on here. You all are amazing.

To anyone who I may have wronged accidentally: I’m sorry. I never meant to cause anyone harm.

I came, optimistic and joyful, and I may soon leave, depressed, lost, and silenced in a sea of falsehood. Have a great day. I know I won’t.

[deputyrook]

Impressions- 2/? Mark Hoffman x Psychic!Reader

(Repost after I accidentally deleted my tumblr 😭)

PART 1.

You're a reluctant psychic. He's a detective. And a serial killer.

(Can I make it any more obvious?)

Word count: 3498

WARNINGS: Gaslightling, corruption, stockholm syndrome, some drug use (painkillers), blackmail, power imbalance, abusive dynamics, overt threatening, general Saw-levels of horror.

this fic is kind of goofy, because I'm writing it for fun and not taking it super seriously! enjoy 💕

“Mark didn’t hit on you, did he?” Kerry asks over the phone, a note of disgust in her voice, “If he did, I’ll kick his ass. Though… you didn't exactly look uncomfortable when you fell into his arms yesterday. Am I wrong?”

Sometimes, you wondered how Kerry could be so oblivious.

You swallow a handful of painkillers before you answer her, washing them down with a swig of stale soda that’s been sitting out on your counter. 

“He's, what, ten years older than us?” You ask, setting down the can and playing with the cord of your telephone.

“That’s not an answer,” Kerry teases, “And he’s early forties, I think. Hey, I won’t stop you. I'll sure as hell judge you, but I won't stop you.”

The events of the prior evening feel surreal now, in the morning light of the next day. Detective Mark Hoffman hasn’t contacted you, and if you didn’t have his phone number saved in your cell, you would have thought the entire car ride had been a bad dream. 

You can’t help but second guess yourself now- had he ever actually admitted to being an accomplice? What if he was just a defensive asshole, and you’d misinterpreted everything again? The doubts creep in, now that your visions have been chased away, back into hiding in the recesses of your mind.

“Not interested,” you mutter. “I wasn’t feeling great last night, you know that. I barely remember getting home.”

Kerry’s tone sobers at that, and you hear her sigh. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I know you don’t like doing that, but we were completely out of leads.”

“And you still are,” you note, “I didn’t dream of anything useful last night, by the way. Total void.” If you’re lucky, you’ll never have another vision about the Jigsaw murders, though you suspect you’ve been plunged headfirst into the thick of it.

The painkillers will keep the flashes at bay, at least for now. The rest will come to you, jumbled and nonsensical, when it’s least convenient.

“Not entirely. But how are you feeling?” Kerry asks. She’s never been the best at heart-to-hearts, or at fielding your psychic nonsense, but you can hear the genuine concern in her voice for you. You wish you could tell her- the killer she hunts is right there, in the office across the hall, she could be in danger- but with the potential risk to both her and you, it’s just not worth it. 

Not unless you manage to get your hands on some hard evidence of Hoffman’s involvement. 

Years of dealing with a surrealist-nightmare-kaleidoscope for a brain had forced you to become patient. You could bide your time and wait carefully until an opportunity to steal some actual proof arose. Until then, you just had to keep breathing.

“Helloooo? Are you there?” Kerry’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry Ally. You know how I get. I called in sick today, but I’m alright. I promise. Nothing some rest and relaxation can’t fix,” you try to smile, but you can’t hide the exhaustion in your voice. 

“Good,” she says, resolute, “I won’t ask you to come in again. Not unless something else comes to you. But I won’t believe he’s dead. Not yet.” It doesn’t take psychic abilities to know she’s talking about Eric Matthews, nor to feel the regret she carries with her, punctuating her words.

“And you shouldn’t. You know my hit rate on alive-versus-dead isn’t always the best.” Kerry hums in consideration at your words, and after you both say your goodbyes to one another, you hang up the receiver of the phone.

Once again, you’re left in the silence of your lonely apartment- save for your cat, who brushes up against your leg with a purr. He reminds you so easily that it’s not just your life on the line, here. Would Jigsaw ever try to test a cat...? Reaching down to scratch behind his ears, you try to consider your next steps carefully.

But all it does is make your head hurt. You pluck an ice pack from your freezer and lay down on your sofa, holding it to your head with a soft groan.

You must fall back asleep at some point, because you’re woken up from a dreamless sleep by the ringing of your phone. You check your home phone, and then, realizing it’s not the culprit, rifle through your bag for your cell.

“Hello?” You mumble into the phone as you flip it open, blinking awake.

“What, were you asleep? It’s the middle of the day,” Hoffman says.

“I called in sick. Got in pretty late last night, and I didn’t sleep the best,” You deadpan. Without being right next to him, it’s easier to keep your cool and not get flustered.

“We should talk. Let’s get dinner,” he says, “Six-o-clock. You know Eve’s Diner? On Newhaven street- with the neon sign?”

Your stomach drops. It didn’t seem like he was just asking you out politely. When was the last time you got dinner with a man, anyway? His tone is so casual that it makes you want to squirm.

“Yeah, I know the place. It's pretty close by, right?” At least in public, he wouldn’t be able to do anything overtly threatening to you. It didn’t seem like there was any use in arguing with him, or telling him you weren’t feeling up to it. He knows your address, and he apparently knows Jigsaw. That's enough to secure your compliance.

“Good. I’ll see you there, then.” And he hangs up the phone.

Your head throbs, but it’s lessened in severity since the morning. You consider taking another batch of painkillers, but decide against it. If you’re meeting Hoffman for dinner, it might be better to stay sharp.

—

The sight of Mark Hoffman, sitting in a diner booth, would be almost comical if it wasn’t so nerve-wracking. He’s stirring some sugar into his coffee, hunched against the wall, his hair smoothed back neatly and his police badge hanging around his neck. He looks tired, you think, but otherwise like a normal, upstanding member of society- if not one slightly too large and too dour for the diner table he’s seated at.

“Hi,” you say, sliding into the booth across from him. 

He nods toward you in recognition, before leaning back in the seat. Mark looks at you, up and down, in silent surveyance. You stare back, studying him in return. Both of you size each other up, like the other is the dangerous one.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” He says, “And after some more thought, I’m not convinced. For all I know, maybe you’re workin’ with John Kramer. That seems more likely than you being psychic.”

Ah. You’ve gotten this reaction before. When someone, with time and consideration, doubles back to doubt your abilities. You couldn’t exactly blame him for that. Particularly for skeptics, it’s a hard pill to swallow that you have access to senses that they don’t.

Being accused of being a serial killer was new territory, however.

“I’m not working with Jigsaw,” you sputter, keeping your voice quiet. The diner isn’t too busy, and you’re seated in a corner away from other patrons, but it’s still public enough that you want to be careful. “Shouldn’t you know I’m not?”

He squints at you, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re lying or not. 

“You tell me. You said there were four. Jigsaw, Amanda, myself- according to you- and so who’s the fourth? If it’s not you.” He sounds impatient. You blink at him, trying to process where he’s coming from. And then, it hits you. He doesn’t know. 

For a second, you consider trying to play it off like you are the fourth apprentice. Maybe then, he’d trust you more directly with information that you could use against him. But then, you re-evaluate. Lying to a mass murderer was probably a bad idea. Lying to a cop was arguably worse.

“Well, it’s not me. But yeah, there’s at leastfour involved that I picked up on. Four main...signatures,” You pause, before continuing. “So that’s why you want me to tell you about what I sense. Even you don’t know what he’s planning, or everyone who’s involved.”

“I’ve been on this case since the beginning. Of course I wanna know. Especially since you’re out here accusing me,” He remarks, taking a sip of his coffee before continuing, “Kerry didn’t act any different toward me this morning. Good. Keeping your theories to yourself was smart.”

“Yes, lest you start actually convincing me you’re not Jigsaw, let me not forget how you threatened me last night,” You mumble, crossing your arms in front of your chest protectively.

“You pouting about it?” He asks, teasing, a smirk just barely edging onto his face, “C’mon. Show me your trick. How do you do it?” He beckons you closer, and you find yourself leaning in across the table. Like you’re sharing a secret with him. 

“It’s not like I’m getting visions of the future, per se,” You try to explain, “It’s more like... hyper intuition. I get emotions, mostly. It’s an extreme version of empathy. Sometimes I get flashes of imagery from the past, present, and future, but it’s usually mixed up so I can’t tell which is which. Mainly, I just trust my gut. Which isn’t often wrong- but my interpretation of what I’m seeing can be off. Has been.”

“Hyper-intuition, huh?” He says, mulling it over, “Tell me something else about me, then. Prove it.”

You swallow uncomfortably. “I uh, need to be touching you.”

Mark raises his eyebrows at you. Before he can say anything mocking, the waitress comes by, filling both of your coffee cups. She takes your orders quickly, as though picking up on the vibe that you both want to be left alone. When she leaves, Mark spreads his hands in a gesture as if to say, do your thing, then.

Gently, you reach out and take his hands in yours. Rough, calloused, and strong. You try not to think about it as you close your eyes, and allow the gate to open for the second time in two days.

The chattering in the diner fades away into the background as your intuition takes hold, clouding out your other five senses like the moon passing over the sun in a total eclipse. First, there’s just darkness. Even the sensation of Mark’s skin against yours fading to a dull buzz. Then, sensations begin to spawn, bubbling up from somewhere else.

From the man seated across from you, you think.

“Strawberries,” you murmur, the taste of fresh, wild berries being the first thing that comes to you, sweet and tart, “I think they were picked wild, by mindful fingers. Yours are older, but never as gentle. Her small hands were always more careful than yours, never crushing the berries like you did.”

It’s a kind, well-loved memory -you assume- the impression coming in easy and unambiguous. The next is more muddled.

“Ah- pain. There’s noise, it’s discordant and loud,” You wince, squeezing Mark’s hands. You tilt your head, trying to make out the source, but all you get is scraps of yelling, fighting, shivering hands, the smell of rain. 

It melts then, into that feeling again. The deep, unending well of misery. Loss, in its purest form. Utter loneliness, vast like an unending ocean.

“It’s like the sun went out,” you whisper, voice cracking. Your heart is breaking. The depth of your pain is nearly unbearable, and it makes you want to pull back and disconnect. “It’s like all the light’s been snuffed from this world. Alone.”

“Yeah,” Mark’s voice confirms, calm, quiet and sombre, “You know why that is, don’t you?”

You frown, hands trembling. The smell of blood rises, pungent and sickening. Blood, blood, so much blood. It smells so strong that you can taste it. Then something else- formaldehyde. The words leave your mouth before you can register what they mean.

“He took her from me,” You murmur hoarsely, a pure conduit for the feeling. Dimly, you’re aware of hands squeezing yours back, too tight.

Then, the rage. The despair. An energy trapped, like a feral animal in an enclosure. Desperate to make things right again, to make the world right, with no way to do it that makes sense.

Trapped, trapped, trapped. Starving. Alone again.

You’re lost in the feeling before Mark’s voice pulls you back.

“He deserved what he got,” he says, and you’re redirected. The sun is still gone, the world is still cold. Justice is a fleeting concept, a principle that isn’t achieved until you make it happen.

The world is so cold without the sun, but he died screaming for taking her. That’s justice enough. 

And then, a finality- a sense of purpose.

"They all deserve it," you say.

You open your eyes, and let go of his hands. Hoffman’s expression is hard to read as you settle back in the booth. The despair still lingers over you, like a chill that’s seeped into your bones.

“That your thought, or mine?” He asks finally. “You must have felt a lot of it over the years. Other people’s pain.”

“Sure,” you reply, “Everyone’s got it. Life isn’t fair.”

“Not unless you make it fair,” Mark counters, “You can’t tell me he didn’t deserve to die like that for what he did.”

“Can you just tell me?” You ask quietly, “So I can get the full picture, no missing pieces of the puzzle. The loss...was your sister? He killed her?”

Mark thinks about it for a second. He looks like he’s going to refuse you, not responding for so long that you wonder if he’s deliberately ignoring you. 

Your food arrives before he answers, the waitress bringing your plates and setting them down in front of you both. Mark's ordered a cheeseburger and fries, the all-American classic diner food; you a club sandwich, though your appetite has evaporated since you've arrived here. And after yesterday, it was barely present to begin with.

Then finally, after you both have started to eat, he speaks.

“My sister’s ex-boyfriend murdered her. Seth Baxter. A sick, abusive fuck. He was convicted, got life in jail. Took a couple of years, but he finally went away for it. Well, he filed an appeal. His new lawyer said that the jury was tainted by the evidence of his history of domestic assaults on women, that the evidence was improperly admitted and ‘prejudicial’ to his case. After five years, the case was successfully appealed... and he went free,” A feeling of disgust and rage twists in you, and you can’t tell whether it’s Hoffman’s or yours.

“So you...”

“Jigsaw killed him,” Mark answers, “Cut him in half. He was already dating someone new when he was picked up. Tell me that's not fair.”

The words hang in the air, and you take them in. You’re starting to learn to read Mark’s face better, you think, because you can detect just a hint of smugness in his expression. You try to determine how you feel about this, but your feelings are still all tangled up in Hoffman’s. Extricating them is difficult.

“So he deserved it,” You say finally, “Jigsaw’s not just a vigilante. He kidnaps people who are- who are addicted to drugs, or who only hurt themselves, and he makes them play in these sick games. It's not right,” You can’t believe you’re arguing the philosophy of Jigsaw with one of the murderers himself. It seems unbelievable.

Mark actually rolls his eyes at you.

“It’s either people who deserve it, or people who don’t deserve their lives to begin with,” He murmurs, “think about it.”

Then you remember the feeling you’d gotten before, at the police station. The deep, dark depths of satisfaction. A kind of beast in the heart, ugly and hungry and grinning. The thought that you might have inadvertently given it some purchase in your own mind freaks you the hell out.

“Easy for you to say,” you whisper, the fear keeping your voice barely audible, “You like watching people hurt.”

Mark doesn’t deny it- maybe he sees no use in doing so, when you already know better. He looks at you coldly, calculating.

“Does it matter?” He says, “Keep your word, and you won’t be on the receiving end.”

You take a sip of your water nervously, looking around the diner. Though still not exceptionally busy, you’ve both nearly finished your food (well, Mark has, you've picked away at yours), and more people are trickling in the door. If you continue to talk here, it may become more difficult to avoid being overheard.

Wouldn’t that be a good thing, for you?

“Let’s finish up,” Mark says, as though he’s been reading your mind, “We can meet up again later. I'm going to ask you more about this mystery fourth person. So keep your eyes open," he pauses, and huffs. "Or closed, I guess."

"And Kerry will be fine?" You ask, insistently, "She's a good person, Hoffman."

"Is she?" He challenges, "she wasn't exactly discreet with Matthews. And she knew he was dirty. As far as I can tell, you're her only friend."

"Oh, and you didn't know?" You snap back, defensive, "If she deserves to be tested, we all do."

Mark stands, putting on his coat. "Yeah. Or most, at least." He replies in agreement.

"Come on," he adds, his hand on the small of your back again. You can't tell if it's meant to be possessive, threatening, or whether he's done it without even thinking about it. Perhaps surprisingly, it doesn't feel as uncomfortable this time around. "I'll walk you home. Wouldn't want anything to happen to you."

--

A worm has been planted in your mind, and it feeds.

Over the next week, you feel more torn than you think you've ever felt in your life. Mark Hoffman's words bore into your mind, repeating over and over, with the echos of his pain piercing through you in random intervals. You flit between feeling angry at the situation you're in, and wanting to go to Kerry and lay it all out on the table, to a strange feeling of camaraderie with Mark Hoffman.

It's a downside you've always had to reading someone, and inviting them in- you feel connected with them, permanently. Once you see through their eyes, and feel what they feel, it's hard for you to just pull away again. A piece of them remains.

It was like you were being tested yourself. By connecting with the worst possible person, you were pushing yourself- how strained could the connection be, how adverse to your own interest, while you still feel like you're on the same side?

You lie awake at night, replaying your conversation with Mark in your mind. Thinking of all the hurt you'd ever felt, yours and everyone's, echoing forever.

Needless to say- you weren't doing great. And the fact that you weren't sleeping well didn't help.

Dreams came frequently after that shared dinner with Mark Hoffman. You dreamt alternately of horrible panic, the feeling of being trapped, and physical pain that makes you wake up sobbing. So many images form in your mind that it's hard to keep track- scalpels, keys, case files, teeth, distorted statues, the smell of antiseptic.

You text it all to Mark as it comes to you. Anyone looking at your text log would think you were both insane.

But still, you tell him your dreams, and he listens. You theorize about the fourth person together, like you're trying to solve the case. You trade tidbits, make suggestions, and rule out others.

You kind of... like texting him.

---

[2:33AM - Outgoing] Just woke up with the image of a blonde woman in my head. I don't know who she is.

[2:37AM - Incoming] could be jill tuck. ex-wife.

[2:39AM - Incoming] Photo Message

[2:42AM - Outgoing] Nope, sorry. Not her.

[2:45AM - Incoming] i thought maybe she was the 4th

[2:47AM - Outgoing] Blonde woman didn't feel like the 4th. Looked like a scientist of some kind? Idk. Wearing a white lab coat.

[2:49AM - Outgoing] I also got a red room with a bunch of pictures. Like Polaroids maybe? Hung up I think. Not sure if it was connected to the blonde woman.

[2:50AM - Incoming] that ones a red herring. already happened

[2:52AM - Outgoing] Ugh

[2:56AM - Outgoing] How long is this going to last?

[2:57AM - Incoming] what

[2:59AM - Outgoing] You keeping me as your pet psychic

[3:00AM - Incoming] you think i'm planning to stop?

[3:01AM - Incoming] you'd better get used to me.

[3:02AM - Incoming] remember. delete these.

[3:04AM - Outgoing] Yeah, yeah. Do you ever sleep?

[3:05AM - Incoming] when i'm not being woken up by txts

[3:08AM - Incoming] lets meet this weekend

[3:08AM - Incoming] I want to show you something

--

--

(author's note: the true dynamic is emerging! and yes, I had to go on a little sidebar on how seth baxter's sentence could have actually been reversed. i'm a prosecutor, I can't help myself.)

TAG LIST: @icarusinstatic @honimello @haven-is-happy @thebrideofcaliban

NEXT CHAPTER