#it's just that they literally don't have work for me to do when the other person returns 🤷‍♀️

[omgthatdress]

Sooooo ummmmmmm this is something that's probably going to piss a lot of people off, but I feel like I really need to say it.

If you get a message from an account claiming to be a Palestinian fundraiser, it is a bot. It is a scam. You need to report & delete the message and encourage others to do the same.

I know because I get messages on this account DAILY. I have a very high follower count and I'm pretty active and I interact with my followers a lot, and apparently that all adds up to one big bot magnet.

Bots following and messaging this account was a MASSIVE problem before Tumblr fixed its new account policies. I used to spend literally hours blocking and reporting the hundreds of bots that I would get following me each day.

I learned a lot about bots and how to identify them. The easiest way is with no avatar, "untitled" in the blog description (BTW if your avatar is still set to default PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD change it because you run a substantial risk of being accidentally blocked & reported as a bot).

One of the dead give aways of a bot was what I call "word salad" names. Three seemingly random words strung together making no sense, always adjective, adjective or noun, noun. If you reported a lot of these bots, you'd notice the same words kept showing up.

Nowadays, I am bombarded with fundraiser requests and sometimes, they don't even bother to hide the fact that they're a bot. The avatar is default, the blog title is "untitled," and the blog name is a classic randomly-generated word salad.

However MOST of the requests I get come from at least semi-legit looking accounts. There are pictures, a name, a story. Never mind that I've gotten that message three times from different accounts.

Sometimes, they claim to be vetted, but the whole vetting system essentially adds up to "trust me bro." There is no way of guaranteeing that this account isn't just lying about being vetted, claiming to be vetted by a false person, or are using the identity of a real Palestinian to scam people.

Previously, I've seen a lot of people getting attacked for raising questions about these fundraisers and getting attacked for being racist or for harming Palestinian families in danger, like Tumblr isn't a website famous for its scams and the words "The Arkh Project" "All or Nothing" or "Miss Officer and Mr. Truffles" mean nothing to you.

I personally have been scammed by people claiming to be charities on Tumblr before, specifically, The Leelah Project which used the name of a trans teenager who died by suicide to swindle people out of their money.

Luckily, there are actual, respected charities out there you can give money to if you want to help the cause:

Palestinian Children's Relief Fund

Palestine Red Crescent Society

United Nations Relief Works Agency

Islamic Relief

World Central Kitchen

Médecins Sans Frontièrs

One of the hardest things to accept about the situation in Palestine is that realistically, there is very little that your average outsider can do to change it. However, these large, well-respected and trustworthy charities are out there doing the hard work to keep people alive, and should be where the donation money is going

These scam bots feed on people's naïvety and need to believe that they are making a difference, and even worse, feed on the fear that by ignoring them, it somehow makes you a racist doing direct harm to a refugee family, when in fact they are using the suffering of Palestinians to take away money from those in need.

As far as fundraisers that don't send out random asks for donations, I honestly don't know. You'll have to do the work yourself and approach with much caution.

Be careful out there.

[always-just-red]

Hii! I've seen some Pregnancy scenario with LaD's men, but I have this HC-- personally for Sylus. That when fem!reader got pregnant, he didn't really understand how the Pregnancy hormones work, until he experienced one and he got confused how he should act or react because it's feels like he's walking on landime, one wrong move/word, she'd throwing tantrum or being sulky at him

I've heard from my Friend who got pregnant before, when she craving something and her Husband showing any form that he can't fulfill what she's craves, she felt her heart broken, and she'd sulk and acted as if he just cheated on her. The problem is, she always craved something that didn't even exist at that moment😂, she's craving certain type of Mango while it's not even that Mango season, so nobody selling it. He literally being desperate to negotiate with her cravings

So... Can I request a scenario smiliar like that? It doesn't have to be mango, or any foods. Just... how Pregnancy hormones or Cravings could make Sylus got frustated lol

Aaaaa anon this is adorable, thank you! We love making Sylus suffer in cute and harmless ways. He's always asking for trouble, so let's give him some! 😌💅

Something Sweet

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus knows how to get what he wants. Getting what you want might be a little more tricky...

Genre: fluff!

Warnings/Additional tags: female!reader, IMPLIED pregnant!reader (pregnancy not actually mentioned or described- just hormones being hormones ✌), established relationship, canon pet names, a lil bit of roleplay because Sylus refuses to leave his Mystic Adventure era

| Word count: 2.1k | Masterlist |

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Sy, d’you know what I’m craving right now?”

“Always, sweetie.” Sylus doesn’t look up from his book. “Not now, though. I’m tired.”

Morning sunlight streams through the gaps in your living room curtains, casting pale yellow shapes over the floor. A shard of it has been inching over the sofa towards Sylus, the sharp edge now grazing the side of his face. He shifts, ever so slightly, away from its touch. His eyes are open but heavy.

“No,” you scold, leaning forwards to swat at him with your book. “That’s not what I meant, you narcissist.”

He chuckles with his usual low timbre— his gaze still not lifting— and the sound is deeper for how close he is to sleep. He wants to give in to it, you can tell. When he turns a page, the movement is languid, soft. You’re losing him.

“Sy,” you say again, then with more of a whine: “Sylus.”

His eyes flutter closed as he draws in a deep breath. His hand raises, his fingers stretching to pull his reading glasses from his face. They’re set down on the arm of the chair beside him, along with the book, and he turns to you with a smile. “What are you craving, sweetie?”

You rest your book on your stomach. Your legs are stretched out over Sylus’s lap, and his hand finds one of your feet, massaging an ache from it as you begin your speech. “Do you remember that café we used to go to? The one we found when it started raining in the park that day? We didn’t think it was open, but then the owner knocked on the window and said we could—”

“Yeah?” His hand moves to your other foot.

“Well, they make these—”

“Macarons.”

“You remember?”

His smile widens like he remembers vividly. “Kitten, how could I forget? I’m still jealous of that sweet little treat. You’ve never made that face for me, and believe me—” he wiggles one of your toes— “I’ve tried.”

That had been one of the only times you’d truly caught him off-guard, back when your feelings for one another were unnamed and uncharted. The rain had been drumming against the café window, and you’d heaved Sylus’s damp coat from your shoulders— giggled at the raised eyebrow and the sarcastic ‘…thanks’ he’d given in turn. One hot drink later, you were lifting a pastel pink macaron to your lips, taking a delicate bite and failing to stifle a tiny, almost euphoric moan.

You remember realising yourself: blushing profusely and expecting some remark, some ridicule, but none ever came. Sylus’s eyes were wide, dark, fixed upon your still parted mouth.

After a few of the longest seconds of your life, he’d dragged the plate with the rest of the macarons away from you and muttered something about how you had better not do that again.

“They’re still the sweetest things I’ve ever tasted,” you tease now, just as you’d wrestled him for that plate back then, set on eating every last macaron.

He makes a hmph as he idly runs a finger over the part of your foot he knows is ticklish. His expression is distinctly grumpy, but it falters as you laugh and try to writhe away from him.

You’re quickly out of breath. “Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

He glances up at you and you smile sweetly, head tilting. “Please?”

His coat on a rainy day. The entire plate of macarons in the end; he’s never been very good at denying you anything. For the first time since you’d stirred him from his book, however, he appears genuinely regretful. “You’re forgetting something, sweetie,” he murmurs gently. “Why did we stop going to that café, hmm?”

You shrug.

“It closed, kitten,” he sighs. “Months ago.”

“What?”

Not only did you already know that— you actually visited the café on its final day. The owner was telling you stories: he was moving somewhere warmer, closer to family, and he needed all the funds he could get. Sylus had snuck an obscene amount of money into the man’s tip jar whilst you acted as a distraction. You both had fond memories of that place; it was nice to make one more.   

It's all coming back to you and you’re struck by a wave of nostalgia. You want to go back there. You can’t go back there. It doesn’t exist anymore, and you’ll never taste sweetness like that again.

Your mouth has gone dry.

“Sweetie?” Sylus prompts, because he notices you’re far away. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” your voice wobbles, “I just really wanted… I mean, I really needed one of those—”

“… Macarons?” he finishes for you.

You burst into tears, and one day, you’ll tally this as another time you took the man by surprise. His face drops instantly— lost, for a moment— before he slides your legs from his lap, allowing him to lean closer. “No, no, no,” he coos, “don’t cry, kitten, please. I didn’t mean to… well, I didn’t realise…”

He doesn’t know what to say, and he always knows what to say. He set you off with a single word and now he’s stuttering like sentences are all possible landmines. He tries his luck again, putting a foot forward: “Listen to me. I’ll go to the store. Would that be alright? Or perhaps there’s another café that could—”

You explode: sobbing even more viscerally. Your whole body shakes with it.

Sylus has frozen. He watches on helplessly as you cry, blabbering about the macarons you can’t have and the café you can’t return to. Across the room, even Mephisto has hunched down on his perch, though he issues a few, spirited squawks, maybe in solidarity with your breakdown, or maybe in protest of it.

It’s like a catalyst. You cry more: burying your face in your hands because what the hell is wrong with you? It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal, so why do you feel sick? And then there’s Sylus— your Sylus, devoted and adoring— and here you are, punishing him for something beyond his control.

You look up from your hands, desperate to apologise, but he’s gone. More shards of sunlight paint his empty seat and catch all that’s left of him: a few crow feathers, glistening like onyx. Mephisto is gone too, and the room is quiet, save for you snivelling and feeling sorry for yourself.

“Sylus?” you call out into the empty morning.

It isn’t his fault, not really. You wouldn’t want to be around you, either.

…

Something brushes over your cheek, and your tired eyes open.

The sun has ebbed back behind the curtains and the ceiling light has taken its place, casting artificial highlights over everything in reach: the coffee table, the closed-up flowers at its centre and a mug of tea that’s gone cold. Sylus is in front of you too, backlit and soft like a daydream, and he—

He left you.

“Sy?” you whisper warily, because the context is coming back to you slowly, piece by piece.

“Hey,” he coaxes, voice as honeyed as whatever’s turned the air sweet.

You blink, rubbing sleep from your eyes and relishing the warmth of his hand on your face. Then you slap his shoulder. “Hey, really? That’s all you’ve got— hey?”

He’s kneeling for you— on the floor, beside the couch— so you can meet his eyes. He settles his chin thoughtfully on the edge of the seat, his nose almost touching yours. “What would you prefer, sweetie?” His lips are close to yours too. “Good evening, my beloved? Greetings, my queen?”

“How about sorry?” you snap, because he isn’t cute and he isn’t charming.

He pouts. “Why sorry?”

“Because you left, Sylus!” You sit up straighter, and your phone tumbles out of your lap. Its screen is still lit-up from a few hours ago, showcasing a very one-sided conversation and a rant you never actually sent, because it’s still in the text box.

You vaguely recall writing it, so you try to snatch the phone from Sylus’s hand as he plucks it from the floor. He’s more alert than you. More co-ordinated. He keeps it out of your grasp as he reads the unsent message, an eyebrow raising.

It was a lot of things— colourful, creative— not entirely tasteful. “My, my, your highness,” he tuts, “so this is the treatment your valiant knight receives for undertaking your quest?”

“You’re not valiant,” you rebuke, and you manage to wrestle your phone from him. “You’re—”

“A heartless prick,” he finishes casually, quoting your message with a chuckle. He takes your free hand and kisses the back of it, refusing to let you pull away. “And whose fault is that, I wonder?”

“You can have your heart back.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with it, sweetie. With me, too. Now—” he sits back on his knees— “would you please ask me about my quest?”

The analogy is lost on you. You sit fully up, looking down at him. “What quest, oh valiant knight?”

His lips form a smirk; he just loves when you play along. “Close your eyes.”

You do— whether you’re queen or not. You hear him shifting aside, and then there’s a snap of his fingers. The air changes, warping like thick, liquid smoke, and you know he’s using his Evol. “Open,” he commands.

And there on the coffee table, freshly teleported, is a plate of macarons the colour of cherry blossoms. As if anticipating the comparison, Sylus pulls a handful of pink petals from his pocket and blows them up into the air so they can spiral down on the scene. He watches them. Then you. “Ta-da,” he proclaims, his tone dry but full of humour.

You’re prone to hyperbole nowadays, but this is without a doubt the best thing you have ever seen.

“Sylus,” you gasp in disbelief, “how did you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says; the story isn’t for today, and he’s very, very tired. A few weeks from now he’ll tell you about how he tracked down the contact information of the owner of the old café. How he spent an hour on the phone bargaining for a certain macaron recipe, and several more hours in the kitchen, trying to get them perfect. “Now, they might not be exactly the same, sweetie. But I did try to—”

You surge forwards, capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s so impulsive— so reckless— that you almost tumble down from the couch, but he catches you, steadies you, and your hand is gripping the soft of his hair as he kisses you back. Slowly, his mouth not leaving yours, he lifts you back into your seat.

“Easy, sweetie.” His voice is low as he pulls away, and though he turns his face from you, you can make out the blush on his cheeks. He settles back into his kneeling position on the floor. “I have one more surprise for you. Do try to control yourself.”

He retrieves a small, complete flower from his pocket, albeit one a little dreary from its journey. Sylus smiles triumphantly as he holds it out to you, and he was right; you do want to throw yourself at him. Instead, you take the flower and lean forwards, tucking it behind his ear before he can protest. He’d tilted closer to help you, and he sits back with an exasperated tsk when you’re done.

“It suits you,” you grin.

He yawns. “Everything does.”

You don’t want to get into trouble, so you shimmy to the very edge of your seat and carefully— showing tremendous restraint— reach out to take his face in your hands. “You’re amazing, Sy. Thank you for doing all of this for me, but…”

“But…?”

“I missed you. I like macarons, yeah,” you smile, “but I’d much rather have you.”

This time, he can’t hide his face and the way it goes pink, like the blossom behind his ear. His cheeks are warm beneath your palms. “You couldn’t have said that before I spent the whole day—”

His voice is strangled as you keel towards him— slow and deliberate— to thread your arms around him and pull him into a hug. He tenses for a moment, then wraps his arms around you too: holding you tightly, keeping you from falling any further. You can feel his hand stroking your back and he hums as you give him a gentle squeeze.

“Such a lovely moment, kitten,” he muses, your head on his shoulder. “I do hope it’s sincere, and not— say— an excuse for someone to get her paws on the macarons behind me.”

There’s another moment of quiet.

“Don’t be silly, Sy,” you retort, but your mouth is full, your cheeks are stuffed, and not a single word of it is intelligible.

[hemipenal-system]

If I consent to a man breaking my jaw and ripping out my nails, the man who agrees to do it is a bad person. An extreme example but it should drive the point home, no?

Doesn't matter if I consent to being choked. Whoever WANTS to choke someone out to get off is a bad person.

Whoever wants to pretend to be raping or abusing someone to get off is a bad person.

"an extreme example but it should drive the point home, no"

no?? if you know the risks and accept them and give unhindered, clear and informed consent, then no, there's actually nothing wrong with someone doing that stuff to you. because, and viewers at home can say it with me, THAT IS HOW CONSENT WORKS

but y'know, what we're *actually* gonna look at here is the assumption that the person doing that to you is a man. maybe y'all would stop seeing kink as an inherent expression of patriarchy if you internalized the fact that not every man is dominant and not every woman is submissive. also, you know, that there are gay people.

but no, because that would require you to actually deconstruct the ideas you have in your head about how every man has to be an aggressor and how testosterone makes people violent and how every man secretly wants to do this kind of thing to every vulnerable, weak woman, the implication being of course that any woman who engages in this kind of thing by choice has something wrong with her

which is fully just misogyny but thats a tangent from the actual point here

"Doesn't matter if I consent to being choked. Whoever WANTS to choke someone out to get off is a bad person."

furthermore, i think you should also deconstruct this idea that kink spaces are all dominants who want to hurt their submissives, when in reality it's a dominant doing those things because they know their sub likes it just as much if not more of the time.

let's look at that "doesn't matter if i consent to being choked" line. um. yes it does?? knowing your risks and giving informed consent is literally the entire thing here. you do know that there are safe* ways to choke someone that are legitimately taught to people in an attempt to minimize permanent harm from that sort of thing, right? when you see things like "don't use thin metal handcuffs on your partner" and "keep safety shears within arm's reach when doing ropeplay" and "drink gatorade and go pee after sex" you know those are all things people do to reduce risk, right?

(* no form of breathplay is 100% safe! know the risks and do research on how to minimize them before you play!!!)

"Whoever wants to pretend to be raping or abusing someone to get off is a bad person."

hey look at that key word i italicized in that quote for your ease of reading! it's all pretend! because, once again, viewers at home say it with me, THAT IS HOW CONSENT WORKS

there's no actual rape or abuse happening if you have proper consent and safe word setups in place. the key to this whole thing, which is why any of this stuff is actually possible to do ethically, is the fact that, at any time for any reason at all, either the dominant or the submissive can stop the scene. literally all kink is, is an ongoing, revokable agreement between at least two people to do things that might not be ethical irl.

(before y'all toss another strawman at this, yes there are people who break consent rules, and yes they get tossed out of kink spaces for it)

kink is fucking theater. when hamlet stabs polonius, you don't accuse hamlet's actor of being a murderer. this is morally the exact same thing as going to the theater and watching people talk in iambic pentameter and stab each other.

there's also kinks that have basically negligible risk of temporary or permanent harm, just so you know, but of course you're not going to mention those ones. you know, because you're a weirdo who just wants to police what people do in the bedroom

[merakiui]

I’ve seen bits and pieces about your take on yandere Trey but i need to hear more of your thoughts on him. Your interpretation of yandere Trey seems so different from all the other interpretations I’ve seen of him… like you said he was the scariest yandere at one point, and then the post about chenya riddle and Trey — I need to know

*cracks knuckles* >:) here are my thoughts!!

He's definitely one of the scariest twst yans (to me)! Trey's character is so fascinating because, compared to some of the more powerful/influential characters, he seems like Some Guy. What's so frightening about Trey is that he doesn't have to use violence or threats. Rather, it's the way he can twist his words to keep you constantly questioning yourself and your reality. He has the perfect boy-next-door sort of charm that lulls you into that false sense of security, and you'll never truly know the extent of his manipulations because of how flawlessly he can gaslight you. And everyone else will think you're crazy because Trey's not like that. He's gentle and helpful, everyone's big brother! Maybe you're the crazy one... (Are you??)

His UM is quite literally just a more sophisticated, magical version of gaslighting (lol). ^^;;;; the way that can be used against you and you might not even know. Trey plays it off as a parlor trick in book one when he changes the flavor of food to suit everyone's preferences, but it's seen to be quite formidable against Riddle's magic. If a UM can overwrite the very overpowered Riddle's magic....... even if only for a few minutes,,, that's no mere parlor trick.

Perhaps the horror stems from how very easy it is to fall into the trap. Trey isn't a yandere you approach with fear because there's nothing about him that would give you valid reason to stay away. It's understandable for someone like the tweels or even Vil because they have that air of intimidation about them, but Trey is so sweet and kind. He couldn't hurt a fly. He's so easy to approach.

Trey is not very combative either. If you come to him with an issue (perhaps an attempt to call out his behaviors) he'll smooth things over in such a way that you come out of that conversation wondering what you were even trying to talk to him about. He understands where you're coming from, he knows you're just stressed, everything will sort itself out, let's all just calm down, etc etc., all while over tea and some freshly baked pastries.

Also,,, gaslighting is such an effective and dangerous form of emotional abuse because of how successful it can be. When it's happening, it doesn't seem very damaging and, rather, it can feel as if everything Trey is telling you is correct. After all, why are you getting so worked up? You must be exaggerating these feelings of yours! It sounds so logical coming from his mouth, and why would Trey have any reason to lie to you? You're so wrapped around his finger and you don't even know it. Your world is so closed off, crafted by the things he tells you. You may think you have control, but at the end of the day it's Trey who keeps you hooked on his line like you're nothing more than an impressionable fish.

Omg and the infantilization....... he tells you it's just a habit of his from looking after his younger siblings, and he plays it off so casually and jokingly every time. You begin to wonder if it really is just a bad habit of his. But then there should be no reason for him to treat you like you can't do things you're fully capable of doing. You ask yourself 'what if' all the time. What if you don't have Trey there to help? What if you truly can't do that thing? What if Trey was right?

You're not a child; you're not codependent. But you always feel this way around Trey, and that's a snare that's difficult to shake. Especially when Trey so smoothly hammers that narrative into your head.

[sapphicmsmarvel]

Az: Paranormal Scaries

quite literally thought of this while maladaptive daydreaming of azriel while watching paranormal caught on camera literally 20 minutes ago so…..

Modern Az! actually doesn’t like scary things.

Your boyfriend was, affectionately, a wuss.

You loved anything that went bump in the night. You loved watching Ghost Hunters, Ghost Adventures, etc.

Your current marathoning show was Paranormal Caught On Camera.

You always set up a cozy environment when you indulged in one of your hobbies. Fuzzy blankets, full water bottle, your phone fully charged, pillows, no “big lights” on.

And of course, your boyfriend of 2 years, Azriel.

Azriel typically tried to avoid watching anything involving “true” paranormal things. But he knew how much you loved it so he sat through it.

His arms around you, your legs intertwined. You were against his chest. You were absentmindedly tracing his tattoos as you watched your show.

Then you felt him get goosebumps. At first you thought it was from you tracing, so you began rubbing his arms and then ended up just holding his hands.

Then another clip popped up and it was a “cryptid” walking through the snow. Then you felt his heart beating out of his chest, and his goosebumps rising up again.

“Az?”

“Hm?” He hummed from your head.

“I mean this with all the love in my heart.”

“Okay…?”

“Are you scared of this show?”

His silence answered you. You reached out and paused it, purposefully on just one of the paranormal researchers faces so he wasn’t staring at something possibly scary to him.

You sat up and turned to face him.

“Honey?”

He swallowed. “I don’t like not knowing answers.” He looked away from you

Your silence egged him on. Listening to him spill something he clearly wasn’t proud to admit.

“You know, none of us know if these videos are fabricated or if they’re real. And if they’re real….we don't know how these things exist or…” He trailed off. He swallowed again. “Obviously I can’t know everything and I know that. But it wigs me out baby.”

“Honey.” You said, not making fun of him (for once). “We don’t have to watch it.”

“No no, exposure therapy is good.” He said, you snorted. His therapist has been working with him on exposure therapy with things that scare him such as seeing his mom again and other blood family. “And you love it, and I love you.”

“We can do something else.” You rolled your eyes playfully.

“No no, I can do this. I just need…” He didn’t have to say it.

“I’ll protect you.” You declared, puffing out your chest. He laughed, his head swinging back.

“My brave warrior.” He said, love gleaming in his eyes and shining in his voice.

So you settled back into your boyfriends chest, and hit play.

You held his hand through the rest of the night.

But, not like that’s a hardship.

[measuredingold]

more cuddling with noah, but written properly 🥲 very short so i’m not considering this a fic so no word count and will probably tag this as a headcanon <3 anyways enjoy

cw/tw: fluff fluff fluff that’s literally it

A sigh from the top of the stairs breaks you out of your doom scrolling, eyes looking up from your phone to find Noah already staring at you.

His brows were furrowed and lips set in a deep frown, and the bags under his eyes made it clear he's been up a lot longer than you realized. Your eyes drop to your phone again to check the time, finding yourself frowning that it's well into the evening, and this is your first time seeing Noah since breakfast.

You look up. "Hi baby."

He sighs again before trudging down the steps, and you can practically see the heaviness of whatever is on his mind weighing on him. You shift on the couch to get in a much more comfortable position, back pressed into the cushions, and your arms opening once Noah gets closer to you. He gently falls onto you with a groan before wrapping his arms around your middle the best he can.

"Hi." He mumbles, face burying against the crook of your neck. One of your hands immediately finds a way to his hair, fingers carding through it while the other rests on his back.

"What's up?"

You feel his body slowly start to melt into yours, burrowing himself closer to you. You shiver at the feeling of his hands sliding up under your shirt, cool to the touch.

"Can't get this one part right." His voice is muffled against your neck and you can barely understand him, but don't bother moving him. You know this is the first time all day he's been semi-relaxed. "Pissing me off."

"Take a break, honey."

"I am." Noah groans. "Right now. Gimme like... 10 minutes, then I'll head back up."

You laugh softly, scratching at his scalp gently before smoothing down his hair. "You need a much longer break than that. How long have you been at it?"

"Uh..." It takes much longer for him to respond, brain probably fried from staring at his screen for so long. "Sometime this morning?"

"I figured that much. You were working before I even got up."

"Needed to get a head start on it." He yawns loudly then and tries to snuggle his body closer to yours, fingers digging into the skin at your sides.

"You can work on it tomorrow." You can't stop the frown forming on your lips, hand running up and down his back. "When was the last time you ate something?"

"...This morning."

"Noah."

"I knooow." It comes out as a whine and you can't help but laugh again, turning your head to press a kiss to the side of his head. "I forgot. Too caught up in the song. I didn't realize how much time had passed until like, 30 minutes ago."

"Want me to make you something? Or takeout?"

Another long moment of silence follows your question, and you think briefly that maybe he had already fallen asleep, the exhaustion catching up to him. Eventually you hear him make a noise and wiggle his body closer to yours, nose pressing against the base of your neck.

"...Takeout?"

"We can do that. Chinese?" Noah nods against you. "Want me to order it now?"

"In a second." He sighs out and you can't help but shiver at the feeling of his breath against your neck. "I just wanna lay here for a while longer."

You practically melt at his words and your hand drops from his hair to wrap your arms around him fully. You wish it was under better circumstances, but you loved whenever he was in one of these moods. Where he needed to be as close to you as possible, practically needing to live in your skin to feel somewhat sane. You squeeze him to your chest, feeling him try to wiggle his way closer to you.

"Whatever you want, my love."

He practically purrs at that and your face flushes when you feel the brush of his lips against your skin.

"Thank you." He murmurs in response before relaxing against your chest again, letting out a deep sigh you think he's been holding in.

You don't say anything, just squeeze him tighter to you as you both lay there in silence, basking in the comfort of each other.

[ghouldtime]

Ghost'ed

Been thinking about literal Ghost! Ghost. Maybe it's playing too many ghost hunting games or watching too many shows but I cannot stop thinking about it. You also cannot convince me this man wouldn't be a restless spirit. His entire life is troubled and I don't see him going down in a peaceful way or leaving until he feels the job is done - and likely ending up trapped as a result

I wrote this at work so sorry in advance for any typos or slip ups!

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Ghost hunting wasn’t exactly what most people would list in "Top ten relaxing hobbies" - but it's not like you were most people. You were simply you. The same you who thought spending your time speculating about spooky specters was one of the best ways to pass by those few stretches of free time that could be all too fleeting in the hellscape known as adulthood.

The stares that followed you when you announced paranormal investigation as a hobby was something you knew all too well. After all, telling someone you’re a ghost hunter only stood as a slightly more socially acceptable version of telling them you believed in bigfoot (you did, but that’s beside the point). The dozens of cheesy TV shows certainly popularized it but they did little to help with the perception of it.

When the face of popular ghost hunting media was full of grown men who screamed like a squirrel high on helium at every little thump of a house settling, it did little to help what people automatically thought of when they heard of your unique hobby. Plenty still turned their noses up, scoffed slightly as they rolled their eyes and sneered, “Aren’t you too old to be doing that?” 

Or worse. They gave a tight-lipped smile, nodded, and crinkled their eyes as they said, "Oh, interesting." While the tension in their body told of holding back laughter or wanting to bolt right on out of there, far far away from you.

Quite frankly, you didn't care what they said anymore as it was your life to live, not theirs. You’d seen enough to know without a fraction of a doubt that there was more beyond the veil of life itself, hiding just out of sight. The hundreds of hours you spent wandering dark hallways and dilapidated ruins with nothing but your flashlight and ghost box proved otherwise. At least it proved it to you.

Proving it to others was a horse of another color. Skeptics who spit their criticism loud enough to deafen even the most positive prevalent of voices in the community were a dime a dozen. Unfortunately, their existence was as certain as the sky is blue. Skepticism was apart of human nature, after all. They would always exist as long as the day and night kept up their eternal dance.

Convincing them was a fruitless effort. You'd sooner be able to convince hippos to fly than you'd convince them of the truth you knew. Trying to get everyone to agree, to acknowledge the paranormal, was hopeless and something you certainly weren't going to waste your life on no matter what they called your or what they said.

As far as you were concerned, being paid to sit in the dark alone and find evidence of life beyond the grimy waters of death itself was a pretty sweet gig. The naysayers could seethe in their own jealousy all they wanted because at the end of the day, you’re getting paid to do what you love. That they never could take away from you.

They'd never be able to have the same thrill that you did as you took on another case, ready to see even more of what the phantasmal realm had to offer.

Anticipation, nervousness, and excitement rolled together in a palpable energy you hid beneath a calmer exterior every time you took a job. There always would be that wonder there, the question of what exactly you might find dangling just out of reach, the hope that maybe, just maybe you might see even more than you already have. Another chance to investigate meant yet another night spent lurking in the shadows, tirelessly trying to find more evidence of the great world beyond the grave and its inhabitants. Tonight certainly would be no different.

An older couple quite reluctantly booked an appointment for a standard investigation after mysterious things that they really could not explain, no matter how they went about it, happened time and time again. They'd tried to ignore it, they said, but it only got worse.

Footsteps that echoed through the house at first in a gentle patter had become confident strides. When they went to look, no one was there. Doors that used to slowly creak open, as if blown by the wind, instead started to rattle the frame with force as they opened or slammed in the middle of the night. The husband looked particularly miffed when he groused about the TV going on at odd hours of the night, while his wife seemed more concerned about the possibility of someone having broken in and the fact that it kept doubling in intensity as time went on. The list went on and on about their complaints ranging from things being moved around to always finding a light turned on in a room in the middle of the night. There most certainly was something going on if all of what they were saying was true.

The glaring parade of red flags that easily would send others running for the hills lured you in. Like a dog with a scent, you weren't going to drop the trail, oh no. You were there to sink your teeth and claws in and not let go. Come hell, heaven, or high water - nothing would stopping you.

True to your title, you were a paranormal investigator which warranted a lot more work and professionalism than the standard ghost hunters you saw on TV who couldn't tell the difference between a gust of wind and a ghost. Your job was to research, conduct a proper paranormal investigation, and provide your evidence - or lack of, if it was truly devoid of haunting. But here hardly sounded like it.

Taking your time and reassuring them that you were, indeed, a professional, you went over all the usual questions with them: when did this start, how old is your house, any history of deaths in it, have you acquired any new items recently, do you have any items that were second hand or antique, any family heirlooms in the house, was it in any particular location, etc etc.

Every angle had to be considered, especially the mundane. Plenty of times, people just had a poorly constructed house, deeply held superstitions, and a touch of paranoia to make for a perfect combination of nothing happening at all. That didn’t seem to be the case here, however. While none of their answers pointed in a clear direction of what it might be, it still all pointed to signs of something unworldly happening. But that's what you were there for. To determine if there actually was a ghost, why it was there, and maybe who it was (if things went well and it felt like cooperating). 

You bid them a good night as they headed off with family friends in a beat up convertible, chattering away without a care in the world as if they didn’t have a paranormal parasite problem. At least they were going to go enjoy their night by having an evening out instead of breathing down your neck like some of those who hired you. Locking the door, you trudged in with your gear and began the initial inspection with practiced ease.

A haunting in a house as young and modern as theirs was quite unusual. Open, airy rooms completed with white, sleek, almost eye-hurtingly clean interiors made up the entirety of the house. Even as night crawled higher and higher into the sky, pulling its dark cloak over the land, the house stayed bright. Nothing about it said haunted or caught your eye. The scariest thing there was likely the heating bill. 

As far as your research showed, there hadn't been a death in it or on the land. The owners also seemed quite appalled at the idea of antiques (go figure) so that went right out the window, too. Normally there might be some stashed somewhere that they weren't thinking about, like the attic, but this house didn’t even have that. No basement, no attic, no creepy graveyard in the back; it was a normal, suburban house that shouldn’t have anything going on.

Perusing the house at a leisurely pace, you browsed each and every room with a thorough consciousness of finding something, anything, that could possibly have started it. Yet you turned up empty handed. Everything was as pure and alabaster as the marble countertops and the expensive sleek metal furniture. 

Oh well, not every job would be easy. And not every haunted house was obligated to look run-down and rustic. Some ghosts just had more upper class tastes - or were unfortunate enough to be stuck in an eyesore like this. Maybe a ghost would add some actual personality to their home...

Seeing as they'd said there wasn't exactly a rhyme or reason as to where things would happen, you decided a central room was your best bet. The living room was open enough for everything and an easy place any spirits could find. It had plenty of room for your equipment and the open layout meant you had a great vantage point for the whole house.

Preparing your gear came as naturally as breathing to you, the tasks you've done dozens of times over were a matter of habit. Moving through the motions was your second nature as you worked, not batting an eye as you checked batteries and strategically stationed your gear. It only took a matter of minutes to have your cameras, light system, motion activated interactable objects, ghost box, and the rest of your fancy gadgets set up all around the room.

Placed on the coffee table was your heaviest piece of equipment - your modified spirit box that you had made some special adjustments to just to make sure your results were as accurate as possible. The broken antenna and attached amp weren't standard, nor were the noise reducers, but they stood as a testament to why you were a professional and why you kept getting called out to different places. You knew how to get results and tuned every tiny thing to your needs. There was no room for error or doubt alike in an already uncertain field.

Double checking everything was ready to go once more once more, you plunged the room into somewhat true darkness as you drew the curtains shut and pressed the button on the spirit box, causing it to crackle to life. Speeding through the static of radio stations, it scanned the many frequencies in a blur, far too fast for any natural noise to come through. The whirring of it evened out into a constant, muffled background noise that you’d spent countless hours listening to. Its familiar hum lulled you into a relaxed state, your heart as steady as your calm breaths despite the slight buzz of familiar adrenaline you always felt when you first started. A small beep signaled the successful activation of the digital thermometer as you walked around in a slow, even pace, checking all around. 

Taking a deep breath, you began as you always had. In a confident, but even tone you called out, “Is there anyone with me right now?”

....

........

Silence.

The static of the spirit box continued to filter through in its usual constant churning hum of white noise. Typical. Many supernatural beings wouldn't want to interact, especially not at first. You don't blame them. If a stranger barged into your house and demanded if you were there, pestering you with questions as threw their belongings around, you'd not want to answer them either. That wasn’t even considering that many were so unused to people hearing them or trying to talk to them, not at them. They didn't exactly register on the same frequency that humans did most of the time.

Walking around the room, your boots echoed on the tile flooring. Your footsteps ricocheted off of the high ceilings, amplified by the lofty ceiling and wonderful acoustics this house apparently had. Keeping your attention ever shifting, you kept alert for signs of anything happening. Looking too long in the dark and expecting things to happen would only yield false results and cause paranoia. You knew far better than to do that. 

Nothing lit up, nothing beeped, nothing changed. There was conclusively nothing happening for the first few, long minutes as everything kept at an unwavering constant. Visiting each room, you rechecked their temperatures and tried to find anything amiss or out of place. Yet all seemed well, still, and normal.

Only when you crossed the hallway back into the living room after a quick visit to the bedrooms did your hair stand on end. A chill ran down your spine, the once warm air now holding the barest bite of cold on the edge. Holding up the thermometer, you narrowed your eyes at the steady decrease. While it wasn't quite freezing, it kept dropping and dropping. Numbers ticked lower and lower, your hair stood further on end as a small shiver ran through you as the chill dipped lower and lower. Bingo. First sign of activity of the night. It wasn’t much but it was plenty to know that something was happening here.

Despite the crisp chill, nothing else shifted in the room. Silence prevailed behind the distant drone of your equipment; mainly the comforting, steady typical static of the spirit box. Even the appliances seemed to have gone quiet, exchanging their usual low thrumming rhythm for a break that suspended them in a noiseless limbo.

Your shifting movements echoed far louder than you would have liked as you paced around the room, looking for something new, anything. An actual tangible reaction you could record would be just what you needed but so far, the haunt was holding out.  “What is your name?” You asked, keeping your voice as steady as you can as you tried to switch it up. 

Continual feedback from the spirit box sounded as steady as can be. Still, there was no voice trying to get through it. The fabricated noise reigned supreme as it did its job, whirring away. Pressing your lips into a thin line, the smallest hint of a frown tugged at your lips as disappointment flickered through you. Okay, that's fine. It usually took a few tries anyways. 

A faint, sparkling crackle escaped from it as you heard one, tiny word in a rumbling timbre. One, single word that halted you mid step, your head snapping towards the machine. 

“Ghost.”

Doing a double take, a grin split across your face as your heart jumped with joy. A response! A true, actual response. Not that it exactly answered your question but it meant something was listening.

There was something here!

Nearly tripping over your own feet, you scampered over to your beloved machine. Your eyes fixated on the glowing orange screen, gleaming with glee. 

“W-what’s your name?” You repeat a bit louder unable to hide the excited tremble in your voice or hands, figuring the ghost likely didn't hear you right. 

Static white noise continued for a few seconds, the little x in the corner flashed once, twice, before it lit up solidly. 

“Ghost.”

The smile you held dropped only for a fraction of a second before you cleared your throat. Well, maybe your slight stutter and excitement got in the way. You did talk fast when excited, after all. Taking a deep breath, undeterred as can be, you repeated in a far steadier voice, “What is your name?”

This time you made sure to enunciate every single syllable, speaking clear and confidently into the air. 

One flashing X glowed in the corner of the screen. Another flash. A third. Fourth. Fifth.

Yet again, the deep voice came a bit louder and rougher this time. A thick Mancunian accent that barely picked up through the filter didn't dull the single word you were trying to avoid, “Ghost.”

Okay. Your brows furrowed deeper, your nose wrinkling slightly as your heart sank. The minor disappointment couldn't be kept off of your face as you really had hoped to hear something else. Approach one clearly isn't working. 

Maybe he didn't speak English. Or maybe he wasn't sure that he was dead. Whatever. There was a ghost and he was answering, that's what mattered, you reminded yourself forcefully until the smile came back to your face and the smallest bit of a headache dissipated. Focus on that. Not on the slight annoyance you felt and the agitated twitch of your fingers.

Exhaling, you pursed your lips. Your grip retightened on your flashlight as you racked through questions in your mind, trying to find something that it would have to answer differently too. 

“Can you do something?”

Hopeful, your eyes trailed around the room, praying that maybe the ghost would do something like interact with the many objects scattered about, or even the motion sensors. 

Nothing happened for a few long moments, silence once again prevailing in the otherwise empty house.

Orange light flashed from the spirit box as the X lit up again, only for a second before the dreaded word repeated itself. 

“Ghost.”

Before you could ask what that even meant, or curse it out for that matter, the spirit box and your flashlight shut off, plunging you into true darkness. The flashlight nearly flew from your hands in surprise as you flinched instinctually, your heart leaping into your throat. Frantically flickering the button of your trusty tool did nothing as you desperately tried to turn on your one source of light with the only way you knew how - only to be met with the continual sight of empty, non-shining bulbs. 

Curses spilled from your lips in all the languages you knew as you fumbled for a battery pack, only to find them missing. What? But you swore that they were right there -- ugh, nevermind. This just wasn't going to be your night.

The initial panic subsided as the chill left the air, the residual regular warmth of the house sinking into the room as if blown in by a lazy breeze. Your hair still stood on end as you walked around with cautious, hesitant steps, having given up on the flashlight. There wasn't coming back from that.

It's only when you approached the spirit box, trying to turn it on to no avail, that you realized what he meant. You asked him to do something and he obliged.

He ghosted you. 

God fucking damn it. 

As you glared at the air in frustration, threw your hands up and personally cursed the fiend, you could've sworn you heard a resonating chuckle behind you as breath brushed against the nape of your neck in a way that sent shivers down your spine for a whole new reason.

[rs-hawk]

So just saw your post about not voting for trump. Good post. He's not a white nationalist though. Real white nationalists respect indigenous people. Place for every race and all that. He's just the run of the mill politician who says what he thinks will give him the most voters. Anyway, you'd probably be better treated by a white nationalist government lol.

This has been sitting in my ask box for like a month but just... Damn. This is wild.

You're telling me that I, a queer mixed Indigenous AFAB person who technically can be considered disabled, am respected by... White Supremacists? White Supremacists want me dead. I live in Texas. I come in contact with White Supremacists literally on a near daily basis.

They are the first ones to throw slurs at me. They are the first to say I should go back to my own country (and then say Reservation when I say that this is my country). They are the first ones to literally throw things at me at my day job. I have had people who I know for a fact are literally, LITERALLY, in the KKK, come into my job and ask why someone like me is working up front in a public establishment.

Again, I am mixed race. White Supremacists often either hate me off the bat because they know I'm mixed or see me as a minority and me simply existing in the same space as them is an affront. However, when they think I'm full White (as I am Italian and have been told I pass as Italian), and then find out I'm mixed it's so much worse. They take it as I lied to them. I had one customer at work a few years ago that we kind of flirted, and he was talking about taking me out when my job slowed down. I mentioned something off handedly about turquoise jewelry a few visits later, and he asked if I was "Indian". When I said yes, a total 180. He started accusing me of lying to him, saying I wanted to taint his blood line, blah blah blah.

Here's what you need to understand, sticking up for White Supremacists is just as fucked as being one. White Supremacists don't respect Indigenous Peoples. They want us gone. They want us somewhere they never have to see us. Reservations are not something we got out of respect. We have Reservations because we were forced to and it was all we were allowed. This is my ancestral land, and they still think I should be forced to live in another state because the government decided over a century ago (as the Nation I'm registered with was one of the last to be forced onto a Reservation) because they want to live here, in America, on traditional land, without wanting to see us.

White Supremacists don't respect us or any minorities. They want us out of their face. "A place for all races" just means out of their face or in what they consider in our place. A White Supremacist government is what created Reservations in the first place. A White Supremacist government is what forced my great grandmother's grandfather to be born on the side of the road during the march to the Reservation.

I am a firm believer that America is a Melting Pot. I am mixed race. I am proud of every aspect of who I am. I can list every ethnicity/race I am as I and my family are firm believers in knowing where you come from. As a child, my mom would quiz me on what I was and what side of my family it came from. It is important to know who and what you are. I have no issue with people being proud of who they are. There is no issue with wanting to only date/marry inside your culture imo. I don't have a problem with that. What is a problem is that White Supremacists (which is what I was calling Trump in my previous post) don't do that. They think they are better than other races. They don't want to even interact with other races. They. Are. Racist. And so is Trump. He called on the Proud Boys, a known White Supremacist group. Be serious.

[ryescapades]

can i request narumi x gojo like reader (like extremely overpowered and yk gojo stuff 😝) because ur dazai fics are just mwah! could they be and captain and they're vc is like suguru :>

thank you !!!!

limitless | kaiju no. 8

characters: narumi gen x gn gojo!reader

contents: sniper!reader, attempt at humor, fluff, some OCs, a lot of made up plots bcs this fic wouldn't exist otherwise (feels like i was world building ngl), reader's division number is not mentioned, narumi appears like in the second half of this, hint of rivals(?) + idiots to lovers

a/n: i hope i did your req justice, tqsm nonnie! lmk if you're satisfied with this or not (bcs im kinda not) almost made reader and their vc become a doomed yaoi couple just like satosugu 2k wc

"ehhh, another mission?"

your vice-captain, akira rolls her eyes at your grumble. "yes, another mission, captain. the higher-ups have requested for us to be there as soon as we possibly can, for the location is said to be in an uptown city of tokyo, a few hours from our base, so we ought to dispatch early," she explains.

"blegh, i bet the old man shinomiya is laughing at me right about now. we literally just returned from a mission like two days ago, akira! he sure loves working us to the bone!" you complain as your hand continues to work, cleaning the glass lens of your sniper rifle's scope.

akira throws a flat look. "maybe because we're the only unit in the defense force that specializes in kaiju intelligence? dummy," she says pointedly, causing you to wave her off. "nah, semantics."

she sighs, shaking her head. "in any case, we need to get ready now. we have to dispatch in about half an hour," your vice-captain's words go into one ear and out the other as your mind drifts away, thinking of how you can possibly sneak away to buy some nice treats while in tokyo.

hm, preferably those ringo apple-custard pies... your mouth waters at the thought.

less than five hours later, you find yourself strutting in the hallways of the ariake base, with akira following close behind.

"how many times do i have to remind you to tell me first if you wanted to make a detour mid-way," akira pinches the bridge of her nose, and you pout slightly. "i didn't even take that long, mind you!" you argue, though the way you dust off the sweet pastry crumbs off your lips doesn't really give the impression that you sound apologetic at all about it.

"captain, you keep forgetting that we have a meeting to get to. you should try to be more considerate towards others' time, you know?" she chastises, making you shrug dismissively. "you're too uptight about everything, akira. loosen up,"

already used to your petty remarks, akira crosses her arms and narrows her eyes at you. "what was that? you wanna take this outside, y/n?" the way she drags the syllables of your name daringly has you smirking, eyes glinting dangerously as you flex your hands. "oh yeah? and what if i say yes?"

what both of you don't realize is that you've walked far enough to reach general shinomiya's office, the sound of the double doors opening snapping off the tense rope that connects your challenging gazes together.

the two of you straighten up awkwardly, whistling a mindless tune and fixing your uniform respectively to pretend like you weren't about to start a scuffle just a second ago.

hasegawa, the one who had opened the doors raises an eyebrow curiously when he sees you and your vice-captain. "seems like they're already here, general shinomiya." he announces over his shoulder before giving a respective nod and taking his leave.

as you enter the office, general shinomiya gives you a long, pointed look. "you're late." your nose scrunches at the comment, "only by fifteen minutes. chill out, old man."

"what they mean to say is—" akira immediately speaks up, frustrated at your lack of manners, but shinomiya isao raises a hand with a shake of his head to interject. "never mind that. we have more pressing matters at hand,"

as he drones on and on about the details of the mission, you're barely listening to any of them when one particular statement catches your attention.

"do your surveillance for at least two days before you clean up and come back to report. i'll send in narumi as well for some extra hands."

like a puppy hearing the sound of kibble food being poured in its bowl, your head perks up in interest.

seems like this mission won't end up being a bore, after all.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

"akira... i'm bored,"

you can almost hear your second-in-command's teeth gritting against each other. "that's the sixth time you've said that, captain." she says, her voice crackling through your earpiece. "wait, really? maybe i should say it another time—"

"please, don't." she interrupts with a huff. "you don't know how many nights i've spent wondering how your impatient ass got this job,"

you're about to counter when a new voice chimes in through the comms, "they're good at this job, that's why." a smile grows on your face at the statement. "ren, of course! this is why you're everyone's favorite," you cheekily say.

your operations leader snickers at the quiet but still audible vomiting noises akira is making. "i'm flattered, captain. but i do agree with vice-captain akira. given how our division is all about stealth and patience, it is quite the surprise someone like you sits at the top," ren muses.

you click your tongue, the small 'tch' sound only providing more amusement for your two subordinates. "you deserve a headlock for that, ren."

be that as it may, you are indeed good at your job. appointed as the captain of a special intelligence unit for the defense force, your division is tasked to undertake any job that requires kaiju surveillance, where you discreetly observe and study the behaviors of these monsters, especially the new species before subjugating them once your task is completed.

where do you think all those official kaiju encyclopedia books and websites get their information from?

your missions are all basically just field trips, to be frank. you command officers who are specifically trained in stealth and espionage, with your sharp sniping skills second to none in the defense force.

your beloved vice-captain, the talented officer that she is, unluckily holds the job of patrolling the perimeter and taking care of any kaiju that happens to stumble upon where your sniping port is set up. can't have the sniper getting jumped now, can we?

pulling your eyes away from the scope, you mindlessly tap away on the side of your sniper gun. "anyways, how's captain narumi doing?" you ask.

the division has very few recruits every year, due to the fact that not everyone can master the perfect form of stealth and spying when it comes to such untamed creatures. with the unit being the only unique one, your officers are often dispatched at various locations at the same time.

thus, the subjugation after the observation is usually carried out with the help of other divisions. and that's where narumi comes in.

or rather, he actually does come in. like, legit.

"worried about me?" the man himself steps into the empty room of the desolated building you're currently positioned at, his bayonet held close to his side. your brows quirk in amusement at the question, "yes, actually. i was worried your... extravagant method of killing kaiju is going to get us spotted sometime soon,"

narumi feels his blood thrums in his ears. he doesn't know what it is about you, but every time the two of you interact, he just gets frustrated and bothered. how are you so... infuriating?

"excuse me? i know perfectly well how you handle your operations, thank you very much!" he exclaims.

"oh? is that so, akira?" you inquire into your earpiece, wanting to poke fun at the first division captain further. he tenses slightly as he's reminded of his recent kills.

a big tease just as you are, akira hums, "well, i certainly heard him gloating with the other officers after his first kill earlier. he was probably doing his usual egosurfing... and the second kill was obscenely loud too. and then there's the—"

"okay, i think they get it now, vice-captain." narumi cuts her off in a snap, crimson hues dusting his cheeks. you smirk, about to make another retort when ren's voice intervenes you.

"emergency, captain! there's a kaiju about less than two kilometers away from the town!" your pupils flare in alarm just as akira voices out her surprise, "wait, what? there shouldn't be any of them so close to the human settlement. is it a stray?"

without focusing on ren and akira's discussion, you sling your sniper over your shoulder and go to head out of the building, "i'm going after it," you announce.

as you walk past narumi, he grabs your arm to stop you. electric sparks jolt underneath the material of your suits and into your skin, though neither of you seems bothered enough to acknowledge it. "there could be more than just that one. i'm coming with you," he insists, unaware that he's leaning into your space to get his point across.

what is it with him and needing to be closer to you? narumi can never figure out the answer to that even if he was aware of it in the first place.

you didn't expect him to suddenly be all up in your face like that, so your hand automatically shoots out towards him, a palm splaying over his chest to hold him back. realizing how weirdly intimate the touch is, you move to pull away but your hand unconsciously lingers, dragging itself down the metal chestplate of his suit before finally retreating in a matter of seconds.

the loss of contact nearly burns you from the inside out, and you hate admitting that it's not in a bad way. not at all, not ever. something about narumi gen just flares you up deliciously, and you're more than happy and willing to crash into this man's blazing inferno.

perhaps you're just as hopeless as he is in that regard.

with a shrug, you throw a sanguine grin at him over your shoulder, "even if you weren't here, narumi, i can handle them just fine. this is my forte, and i'm the strongest one here." shivers run down the back of his spine, the knowing glimmer in your eyes almost making him visibly and audibly swallow.

he doesn't doubt that sentiment. not at all.

narumi knows how strong and skilled you are. if ashiro mina is known with her extremely explosive power, you're known with your hawk's eye trait. you're good at predicting just exactly where the kaiju's core is supposed to be, courtesy of the years of meticulously studying the monsters.

'how am i different to ashiro? hm, let's see... to put it simply, ashiro is the type to spam her high-damaged gun. like a reaaally offensive dps, you see. while i prefer to go with that one shot one kill style,' you'd often say. as a chronic gamer himself, he understood that crystal clear.

as the two of you exit the building and make a beeline towards the direction of the town, a few kaiju that you had surveyed just a few minutes ago turn their heads in attention when they hear your rapid footsteps.

your annoyance rises when they start advancing towards you, all feral eyed and inhumane. "sorry but i really don't have time to waste on small fries like you," you mutter as you take out your handgun.

the next thing narumi knows, their cores are precisely struck with your bullets, including the kaiju whose humongous tail almost swiped at you two from your common blind spot, one which he could've taken down. with his RT-0001 retina, he was less than one second away from taking that one out!

"oh, would you look at that! i saved your ass, narumi! aren't i the best?" you boast, causing his imaginative feathers to ruffle. the respond he's about to give doesn't get to come out, as you manage to irritate him even more.

"by the way, don't you think you should slip in some more trainings everyday? you play enough games as it is. at this rate, you're gonna get weaker than me, you know?" you remark before swiftly skipping away, your tongue sticking out in jest and leaving narumi to deal with his own agitation.

you're literally a menace in narumi's eyes, but his curiosity is boundless. as he moves to follow after your tracks, he keeps asking himself why he just cannot seem to stop wanting to get know you more.

nah i'd win, *dies immediately after*

ps i love when gojo made that digimon ref in s2 he's such a nerd pls. also there's like one hidden ow2 ref in there somewhere. like using pharah and widowmaker in regards to the difference between ashiro and reader

taglist: @maruflix @iamjellyfish @ouiouimochi @yueliie @justwinginglife @lumiambrose @minasfwoopyponytail @17020 (i hateee it when the tags are not working :c )

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[genericpuff]

In other news, I've lost my glasses. I've misplaced them before, but never to this extent that I haven't been able to find them at home, at work, or in our car. So... yeah, that's a huge bummer, unless they turn up somewhere random where I didn't think to look before (but that would just beg the question of why they'd be in such a random location in the first place) I'm gonna have to replace them.

I need to get my prescription updated anyways so this time around I'm gonna just do the appointment, get my prescription and measurements, and then order some new ones online from like, Zenni or something (I've heard good things about them and their prices are DEFINITELY more reasonable). I just really liked the frames that I had, so I'm really hoping I can find the same ones again or something similar; and honestly even if I do go with a cheaper place like Zenni, I need transition lenses for my light sensitivity so it's always gonna be pricey no matter who I buy them from 😭

Unfortunately there seems to be a high volume of appointments rn (probably because it's the school season, idk) so the place I usually go to is booked up until December. Then when I called another place to check their booking schedule, they told me they could get me in next Monday at 4... which just so happens to land at the tail end of a 3 hour shift that I have to do at my second job, a job that I literally only work 3-6 hours a week for 💀 Sooo the odds of that are kind of astounding (and incredibly frustrating) but apparently cancellations are relatively common so they have me on a waitlist, and worst case, if I don't get called in sooner on account of a cancellation, I only have to wait until mid October, about a month away. Still a pain, but better than waiting until frigging December LOL Like man I just need to replace my glasses, why is this so frustrating 💀

[reyreadersblog]

ALRIGHT Y'ALL MADE ME DO IT!!!

My unpopular tig/tgg opinions!!

FIRST!

These are MY opinions and i'm allowed to have my own thoughts on certian things, just as you are, okay..? Just wanna..get this out of way, i know everyone is respectful in this fandombut still.

1. this is something that should NOT be an upopular opinion. AVERY IS THE MAIN CHARACTER FOR A REASON. okay? She is a girlboss, and she needs more appretiation, cus literally search up tig on tt rn. Everybody and their cat named Stewie is talking about Grayson and Jameson? WHAT ABOUT MY MG AVERY? And if you see any post about her, it's probably a hate vid about how Avery should've kept the money...SHUT UP. Read what she said carefully..."no one deserves that kind of power.." and then think about it deeply.

2. I DO NOT WANT TIG TO TURN INTO A TV SERIES (or even a movie). i can't name all the reasons 'cus then the the list would be endless. First of all, i know, I JUST KNOW, they'll choose the worst cast ever. And even if they find the most accurate cast for the Hawthorne brother i will still be dissapointed, because the images of them i have in my head...THEY'LL NEVER TOP EM. second of all, they will leave out important moments, just as simple as it sounds, and trust me they will, just like they do with most of the live adaptations of books. Third of all, SHIP WARS!!! I phisically can't with ship war, like I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF EM IN THE PAST WHEN THE BOOKS WERE STILL COMING OUT. And just the thought of Averygrayson shipper saying "yeah Avery and jameson were endgame in the books but they might change it in the movie..." GIVES ME NIGHTMARES. and overall, not everything needs a live adaptation yk? sometimes things just have to stay the way they are.

3. ...this is a bit contrevertial.and i don't want to sound like a hater since i've said this a multiple times before but Rohan's pov was my least favourite in the grandest games. Purely bcs whatever Savannah and Rohan had going on...don't get me wrong, i like Savannah (even tho she did and said some fucked up things) and Rohan, SEPERATLY. But them being together...idk man, they were too..."booktokish" for my liking, yk? and i do love banter and teasing, but they were like basic "i like you but i like winning more" "couple". Not to mention they were so random...like where did they come from? I remember when we first saw Sav and Rohan having the same symbols on their cards i was very excited, i expected a different dynamic between them...PLUS THE WHOLE GAME THEY JUST WANTED TO FUCK💀

4. Hating Alisa Ortega and loving Grayson Hawthorne is CRAZYYY, and i'm saying this bcs they're pretty similar in different ways. And the thing is people are mad at Alisa for "saying mean words to Libby" (she was literally doing her job, you would understand if you were at her place) MEANWHILE GRAYSON LITERALLY THREATENED A HEIRESS! (sayin this as a Gray stan) *sigh* y'all are something else🤦🏻‍♀️.

5. Ohh...this one is risky...BUT CAN Y'ALL STOP ACTING LIKE JAMESON IS BLAMELESS?? all i see is Grayson slander, AND I UNDERSTAND, he fucked up, but saying "Jameson was so much better than Grayson" is a lie, at least for me. (He was better for Avery tho) he fs made mistakes that fandoms chooses to ignore. Like lets not act like treating Avery like a toy wasn't wrong. Lets not act like him blaming Grayson for everything wasn't wrong. Let's not act like him reminding Grayson of Emily's death wasn't wrong. And i know that later on both him and Grayson had a great character development, but still, i've never seen anyone talk about this.

6. This isn't about tig. But LIKING JLBS WORK AND BEING HER FAN DOESN'T MEAN YOU'RE GLAZING HER💀 (talking about an argument i had a while ago...) like is it so hard for your brain to understand that it's called having an opinion. Idc if it's JLB or any other author, okay? Like i've read almost every Jlb's books and i love them, AND i also publicly talk about how much iblove her work, does that mean i'm glazing her? UHM NO WTF💀.

7. LET. PEOPLE. HAVE. PREFRENCE. (I'm talking about ships btw) . Someone prefers LyraGray over Averyjameson, and that's okay. Someone loves Averyjameson the most, and that's also okay, someone likes Libbynash more then Xandermax, AND THAT IS ALSO OKAY.

I'll probably do part 2, i have more to say i'm just really tired rn.

Also it's not proof read so sorry if there are many mistakes.

[chocolatepot]

Pisses me off that Tumblr is crying about Dead White Boy Detectives getting cancelled without addressing Gaiman's crimes

Well, first off, you're entitled to your emotional reaction to something. I completely understand being angry at posts you see on social media.

However, you may be expecting a lot more sympathy than you're actually going to get from me, because I also think people are allowed to express sadness about what all of this means for the fictional projects that are important to them without saying in the same post that Neil Gaiman is a sexual predator. If the individuals that you're mad at (because let's be honest with each other here, anon, the entirety of Tumblr does not have one unified response to this - I don't even give a shit about DBD and haven't this whole time) are genuinely not at all fussed about the revelations regarding Neil Gaiman, then yes, they're bad people and we should all be pissed at them.

But I've seen way too many people assume that because someone didn't say X in the one post they happened to see, that someone doesn't care about X and probably has an actively terrible opinion on X, and that just isn't how it works. (This is the "so you hate waffles?" phenomenon.) It would be so lovely if we could intuit everything about other people from a passing remark, but we can't.

I know it's cringe to acknowledge this, but fiction means a lot to people. Fiction keeps people alive - I've seen so many fans say that they literally avoided suicide because they told themselves they needed to see the next installment/season of a series they love. This isn't me saying "you have to cheer for renewal of everything or else you're trying to make people kill themselves," because that would be stupid, but it's always worth considering when people seem to care about something you don't think they should care about that much that ... they have a life that has nothing to do with you, they're three-dimensional humans who are capable of thinking about multiple issues, and the tiny snapshot impression you get from a single post is not their whole personality. It costs nothing to be charitable.

[fuck-customers]

I love you I love you I love you I love you. I understand you are in constant pain. I understand recovery is not linear. I understand that some days you will not be as capable as others. and I am ok with that. I will never be upset because you are unable to help as much as before. there's no shame in that and I never want to make you feel bad about inhabiting your body. I know a body can be a difficult thing to have. but. if I come in to help. and you don't WARN ME about needing to put more effort into helping you move. it will actually physically hurt me. so I'm trained in how to help other bodies move, right. I could hypothetically get you into bed and/or into dry/clean clothes with you as dead-weight. I have done this before with people who are fully paralyzed (or heck I have given literal post-mortem care if you want to know what actual dead weight is like) but the way I hold MY WEIGHT and move my body CHANGES depending on how much weight I'm going to actually move. if I already know you. and I know that 90% of the time I can provide light support to help you roll to the wall so I can change your brief. I'm less likely to do things like: get the bed up to a height that lets me stand with my back straight (because it takes too long and there are literally 20 other people I have to help within the next 2 hours or I can be tried for neglect). and if I'm already bending down and expecting to just give you a push as you do most of the rolling, and then I realize (halfway through the roll) that you are not just not helping BUT ACTIVELY RESITING because you're in pain. it will ruin my back for the rest of the day if not the rest of the week. and there's no reason not to just tell me it's a day you need more help. That's a decent part of WHY I asked how your day was. yes, it's mostly because I'm polite and I genuinely care about how you feel, but ALSO it would be a great time for you to be like "Oh, actually my hip's really been bad, and everyone keeps making me roll on it". then I can change my approach, I can ask what exactly hurts and try to come up with a way to help avoid more pain. I'm not going to belittle or question or shame you for having an off day, I promise. I might even have a different technique that keeps you off your hip altogether. I want to help you. I'm not working this job because it's the easiest way to make money. I find genuine joy in being a part of your life and helping people in the way ive been trained. I enjoy your stories and insights. I consider you a "work" friend more than my actual co-workers. but this job is wearing on my body, and when you don't warn me about how much I'm going to need to use my body. I hurt myself AND I run the risk of hurting you more. please just let me know before, please.

Posted by admin Rodney

[suzukiblu]

Question. How would you go about writing from a mad scientists point of view? Or how would you write a point of view of a character who writes in logs or records their work aloud?

No matter the narrator, I just about always start with the character's base personality, so when you say "mad" scientist, the immediate question for me is are we talking, like, cackling lunacy or cold logic or neurotic obsession? Because I'd approach all of those personality types differently, obviously. So like, using those archtypes as examples:

The cackling lunacy would be very hard to follow and jumping all over the place and their logs/recordings would be very self-referential and full of delusions and hallucinations and just be INCREDIBLY difficult for other people to understand, but still following their own internal logic. It doesn't make sense to anyone else, but it makes sense to THEM. Their notes literally just sound the same way they talk all the time.

The cold logic would be stripped-down and short and full of cross-referencing notes and references to previous experiments or other people's work, and trying to minimize the effects of their personal opinions on the data. Their opinions show in glimpses based on WHAT experiments they're running and what data they find important and how they approach their work, but they don't express them outwardly unless they can back them up with Results(tm). Their notes code-switch to more formal and precise language than they'd typically use in daily conversation, and more clinical and neutral tones/terms, plus a lack of bothering with the kind of put-on social niceties that make talking to other people a less annoying process for them.

The neurotic obsession would be VERY stream of consciousness, weaving in and out of topics and going off on tangents and struggling to concentrate on the nitty-gritty details or things that just don't interest them like their obsession does. Literally just writing down/recording their thoughts without a filter or focus and having to catch themselves and go back to previous parts of the experiment, and possibly need to stop and course-correct or just correct MISTAKES at least two or three times a log, and possibly inadvertently contradicting themself sometimes without actually noticing. Everything is about the obsession, and everything is bent AROUND the obsession and made to fit or relate to it. Their notes just sound the exact same way as their infodumps do when no one interrupts or stops them and just lets them talk their ears off.

So yeah, those are some starting points for my best immediate advice, but I would say above all else, the personality is ALWAYS what most matters, and especially the internal logic the person taking the notes operates on. Also, the additional motive of the question of it these are PERSONAL notes, or if they're notes that the character intends to publish or edit FOR publishing, or if they're notes that another character is supposed to transcribe later? The perceived audience in the character's head is always gonna influence what they do/don't mention or do, whether intentionally or not.

Hopefully that's helpful, feel free to follow up if you've got more questions or want some clarification on anything I said!

[authorred]

Bloodborne | Li Shen/Zayne x reader | Love and Deepspace

➺ Preface: You visit Zayne a lot at Akso hospital, as it seems to be his second home at this point. Whilst waiting for Zayne outside of his office, Dr. Greyson, a friend of Zayne, sees you and strikes up a conversation with you about your evol, and the potential it could bring to the healthcare field. Unfortunately, you are not that much of a philanthropist.

➺ Reader/MC has an evol of blood manipulation (of highest control). I've lowkey always wanted to write something like this ever since I knew Zayne was a cardiologist. It's literally perfect.

Warning(s): None

Akso Hospital is as usual when you visit: patients coming and going, some doctors and nurses scurry around to tend to their patients and perform other duties. You don't need to speak to Yvonne at this point to know where Zayne is, what he's doing, or when he's going to return. You're okay with waiting, as you two aren't able to see each other as much as you'd like to begin with.

You take a seat outside of his office and scroll on your phone, looking at the website of your favorite pastry shop. I wonder if he'd like the mint macarons. They're really sweet, though. I don't want to irritate his teeth. As you scroll, you feel the presence of someone standing in front of you, and your head turns up to see Dr. Greyson standing in front of you with a friendly smile. You don't often interact with him, as your focus is mostly on Zayne. "Doctor Greyson," you greet with a nod. "Can I help you?"

"Ah, not really," he replies with a short wave of his hand. "You're waiting for Doctor Zayne, I suppose?"

"Mhm," you nod. "Apparently he's in surgery right now. I can smell the blood--very tedious procedure apparently."

Greyson smiles at your comment, "I actually wanted to talk to you about that."

You shut your phone off and slide it in your pocket, "About what?"

"Your evol," he clarifies. He pushes up his glasses and shifts on his feet. "I heard from Doctor Zayne that you can sniff out a trail of blood from a mile away, as well as other feats."

"I guess," you reply with a shrug. "Is there a point to this, or are you trying to butter me up?"

"I know you're a Deepspace Hunter, and I don't mean to overstep, but have you ever thought about helping out here? In the Cardiac Department?"

A beat of silence passes as you process his words. Helping the hospital? In the cardiac department? With your evol? "Uhhhhh," you intelligently reply. "I don't quite understand."

Greyson laughs softly at your confusion, “You see, your ability to pick up certain things in the blood would be able to help us diagnose blood diseases and cancers so much earlier than average. I know you’re not a walking blood test, and it’s completely up to you. I just believe you would be a great addition for the cardiac department.”

“Ah, I see,” you hum softly after his explanation. He’s basically saying it would be beneficial to the hospital and to patients if you decided to help sniff/sense out blood cancers or other diseases. It would generally save resources, time, and money since you would be able to tell almost immediately. “I’m not exactly fit for a doctor’s role, or caregiver’s role, I think,” you say. “I appreciate that you believe me to be useful to the healthcare system, and I do understand how serious blood illnesses are, but, it’s just not for me.”

Greyson smiles and nods, “Of course. It was just a suggestion. I didn’t mean to pry or overstep.”

“Nah, you’re okay,” you shrug softly. “I understand why you would bring it up.”

“Besides, I think it would be cute if you and Doctor Zayne worked together like that,” he says. “It’s perfect, is it not? Your evol is blood, and he’s a cardiologist. It’s like it was meant to be, huh?”

“I suppose,” you reply with a shrug, idling twirling with your belt. “I don’t think the hospital would just let me on board like that—I imagine it takes time and a lot of studying. I don’t really have time or the want to do that.”

“I understand,” Greyson nods. “It was only a suggestion.”

~ You and Greyson talk for a bit until you notice Zayne walking down the corridor towards you two. He’s out of surgery and is clean and back in his usual doctor’s coat.

If you look closely, you can see his eyes shifting between you and Greyson. The very subtle downturn of his lips show some level of displeasure, no matter how low that level is. “I hope I’m not interrupting your conversation.”

“Ah, Doctor Zayne,” Greyson greets with a cheerful smile. “Not at all. I was just keeping Y/n company while you were in surgery.”

“So I see,” Zayne replies. His eyes then slide over to you, and his gaze softens ever so slightly. “Apologies for the wait. The surgery went on longer than I anticipated.”

“Nah, it’s okay. Time goes by quickly when you’re conversing with someone,” you wave off his apology.

“I’m glad Doctor Greyson served as a companion during your wait.” There’s a slight edge to his voice. It’s not exactly jealousy—more like. . . insecurity? Maybe?

“Yeah. Are you taking a break now?” You ask. “I wanted to try the pastry place down the road. It won’t take us that long.”

Zayne nods slightly, “That sounds good. Besides, I’ve been craving something sweet.”

~ “It seemed as if you and Doctor Greyson were having a good conversation,” Zayne says from your side. Both of you are walking down the street to the pastry place you mentioned before.

“Yeah,” you reply. “He was talking about how my evol would benefit the hospital. That I would save a lot of resources identifying and sniffing out certain blood diseases and such."

"Yes. Your ability to detect even the slightest imbalance in blood chemistry and composition would be highly beneficial to diagnosing blood cancers. Often times, patients don't realize anything's wrong until years later."

You subconsciously rub your nose, now acutely aware of all the scent trails to the people around you. "I imagine it can be frustrating," you reply.

"You don't have to do anything you don't wish to," he assures. "Just because you possess an ability that would be beneficial to a field doesn't mean you're obligated to use it as such. You're a good Deepspace Hunter, and you keep Linkon and us safe. I'd rather you on the battlefield than the OR."

You chuckle softly, lowering your hand back to your side. "Yeah, I know. I'm not the most philanthropic person to begin with. The failures of the healthcare system or people's diligence isn't my responsibility."

Zayne hums in agreement and continues to walk with you. The day is nice and clear with a cool breeze passing through. With the change of season, the leaves on the trees are beginning to turn into shades of yellow to deep red.

You look down at his hand as it continuously brushes against yours whilst you walk. With a small influx of your evol, you have more blood rush to your hand. Your skin flushes red and it becomes warmer. With hesitant but unyielding motivation, you grab his hand and can feel the chilliness in his skin. "You're cold," you comment, wrapping your smaller hand around his. "Don't you know patients hate cold hands, Doctor Zayne?"

Zayne glances down at you for a moment before back up to ensure y'all are walking in a straight line and a clear path. "I'm aware. It's unpleasant to be in a sterile environment like a hospital and then feel the coldness of a doctor's hands." His lips curve up ever so slightly, and he glances back down at you. "I suppose I'll have you rely on you to warm me up beforehand."

[tom-is-online]

not to be rude but ena and akito are. completely different in terms of personality and overall character😭 maybe someone likes akito but doesn’t fw ena’s personality or whatever. it’s fine

reacting to THIS POST

I don't know what you're reading, but I would never describe them as completely different. Sure, they ARE different characters, but if anything is similar about them, it is their personalities and the role they play in the story.

They are both very dedicated and passionate about their corresponding passions despite neither of them having "natural talent." Instead of giving up, they keep working hard to show themselves that they can follow the path they want to despite what others (Vivid Street (Arata) in Akitos's case and their dad in Ena's) around them have to say about it.

They're both very blunt whether they mean to be rude or not, but they both also care a lot about the people around them, especially their units and each other even if they don't show it in normal ways.

Their inferiority in their talents also brings the fact that both of them experience jealousy for people who show they have more talent which is shown in both of their focus events a lot

Neither of them is very academically gifted mostly through a lack of interest

And theres a lot more which im sure someone less tired than me would love to tell me in the notes :)

the 4komas even riff on them often acting very similar

+ Their BNW quotes literally mean the same thing

the whole thing with them both really like cheesecake and pancakes but hate carrots is also meant to be a nod to their similarities

people have a tendency to demonise Ena for being mean or violent or whatever people want to call her. but what Ena is usually criticised for Akito typically isn't (cough cough this fanbase has a history of being very male-biased which I hate)

Akito is also mean, he was a dick to everyone in his unit in the main story at some point and he often pulls pranks on the people in his school (Tsukasa) just to highlight a few easy things

AND FOR THE VIOLENT THING.

People have a tendency to highlight Ena scratching Akito when she was stressed out in middle school. and not to generalise. but. i am convinced you people are only children AND did not read the VBS main story

siblings fight, it's normal, especially in a household like the Shinonomes with the whole emotionally neglectful dad thing they got going on, i fought with my brother a lot as a kid and it happens. I'm not saying it's great and everyone should be attacking their siblings but the people who focus on Ena scratching Akito seem to magically forget.

AKITO PUNCHED TOYA HARD ENOUGH FOR HIM TO BE BRUISED IN THE MAIN STORY.

I've seen people make the argument that Akito can be excused cuz of the circumstances it happened being stressful and made him angry. But that clearly ignores what Ena was going through in middle school.

saying "Ena scratching Akito was a common occurrence but Akito only punched someone once" just does not feel like a good enough argument at all.

the last post gave a good argument on it so just go read that to lmao

I'll say it again. stop babying the male characters. if you're gonna excuse Akito punching Toya in the head and not excuse Ena when she was in MIDDLE SCHOOL then I don't know what to tell you

anyway.

i think a large part of their dynamic is carried by their similarities - they share a lot of the same key traits and they tend to but heads due to it but they do care about each other a lot in their own sibling way. I also just relate to them both a lot lmao

if someone wants to make a legitimate argument for how the Shinonomes are very different in personality, be my guest feel free to rb with what you think

but in my opinion at the VERY LEAST they share so much of their personalities and with how much Ena is demonised by some of this fandom it's a red flag to me to like Akito and hate Ena.

but yeah please rb with anything else u wanna add cuz I've definitely missed some stuff