#so don’t expect consistency

[traumawhomst]

So Vampires, I won’t lie I love a platonic yandere vampire sire so much.

(1,250 words)

He sees you at your minimum wage job and at first just brushes you off as just another boring human. Then he notices the colors on your bracelet, school colors for a very expensive and exclusive school, a few (human) businesses partners he knew sent their children to that school and none of them worked for minimum wage on their free time. Between the bracelet, the callouses on your hands, and the way your eyes seemed dark and sunken, he knew everything. He left without much thought, telling himself that he didn’t care about some random human and their poor tragic life.

He told himself it was just curiosity when he looked up the current class list, (you can find anything with enough time and money) and found your name. Even in just the school photos you stuck out like a sore thumb, a wildflower in an otherwise perfectly manicured garden. A little further digging revealed you were an amazing student, even if your grades weren’t always perfect. You clearly had talent and a strong work ethic.

It’s just curiosity that makes him dig further, finding your admissions essay, in his office, finding himself smiling at some points, quietly charmed by your choice of words and styling of your essay. It had been a risk that had clearly paid off. He liked those willing to take risks, reminded him of himself when he was younger.

He might as well look further, finding your freelance writing which he poured over in chronological order a growing sense of pride in your progress over the years. Finding your work made him stumble upon your personal life.

Family, but not close, which seemed to be the theme for everyone in it. Did they know about your accomplishments? Did they even care?

He’s not very surprised when he follows you home and sees you living in a studio in an apartment with paper walls, living on a diet of instant noodles and whatever soda was cheapest for that week. How could you study living like this? You seemed to only ever work or study, taking every shift you could just to make enough to afford something a little filling than instant noodles. Surely you’re not at your best, he can’t help but wonder what you could produce given proper resources.

His colleagues laugh when he defends it all as just curiosity, and he decides to approach you in person to finally get over this little, inquiry to rest.

But you look so tired when you smile at him, you’re trying so hard to maintain the smile and he’s wondering when the last time you smiled and he realizes then, as he nods along to your explanation about whatever item he picked up, that he hadn’t seen you smile once in a week of watching you.

He could smell your blood and did his best to hide the scrunching of his nose. Wildly anemic and deficient in every vitamin and mineral that a human needed to stay upright. It set him on edge, wondering about the strain on your body it must have. Humans were so fragile already, how long could you live like this?

The thought of you dying sent a bolt of panic through him. You were young, talented, and hardworking you deserved time to flourish and grow.

It would take a few months for all the necessary paperwork to be complete and in that time he slowly builds a sort of friendship with you.

On your end an older man, (whose eye color you could never remember) started to come in at least once a week. He was sweet in a way you hadn’t expected, happy to talk about any book he or you had brought. That’s when you really noticed him, when he came in holding your favorite book. He hadn’t read it yet, and was happy to hear your small preview and talk about the major themes in it. He always managed to come in when it was slow and for some reason no one ever approached you when you two talked.

He’d said he owned a bookstore, (more than one you imagined from the amount of first editions he causally walked around with) but was visiting here for business. He told you that when you refused to take one of his very expensive first edition he tried to give you. He only relented when you explained that your apartment was rather damp and you knew that it would only degrade the book over time. Next week he showed up with the newest edition, and refused to leave with it. Really you’re doing him a favor, he’d love to hear your thoughts on it.

He wasn’t scary either, he always had this air about him that was calming. Something that made you relax and trust him, and in the few months you met him he’d never done anything make you doubt your trust in him.

He’d brought you a book to read with an immortal character in it, and asked what you’d ever take the chance if offered. The thought of being stuck in your life forever or any life really made you sick to your stomach. No you’d rather accept that your life would be finite and told him you thought life would be meaningless if you were immortal.

And for the first time, something new quickly twitch across his face. Anger? Disappointment? After months of friendly banter and discussion it was almost a slap in the face of the reality of it all. You didn’t know him, or his motives. The look only lasts a moment, before shifting to his pleasant neutral again, but you still saw it. You pretended for the rest of the conversation until he leaves. You request to a new work schedule when you finished for the day.

He on the other hand was practically spinning about it. He should have been ready for this sort of answer, but he wasn’t. He’d had the conversation played a million times in his head, and you always agreed on it being a gift. He rationalized that you simply couldn’t understand it, given time you could be persuaded to see differently.

He showed up, ready to talk with you only to find out (through a heavy layer of compulsion) that you’d changed your hours to avoid Him. Time to move forward with the plan it seemed.

He found you one late night as you walked to your apartment and something about him made the hairs on the back of your neck stand-up.

He offered to walk you home, and you finally put your foot down and told him to leave you alone, as politely as you could muster. But you couldn’t seem to actually speak any of the words. What were you trying to say again?

He happily chatters on about how excited he is to show you your home, one arm around you steering you to some place you didn’t recognize. But every time you tried to say something you’d forget a little more of what was going on.

He didn’t really want it to do it this way, he told himself as he guides you in the deep state of compulsion you’re in. He wanted to win you over with the idea, to gladly accept his offer, to see it as the gift it was. But he could also admit to himself watching you try and fight the compulsion and fail, it was adorable to see the stubbornness that you had, it’d serve you well in your new life.

[saphira-approves]

Got new markers the other day, decided to try them out on our resident beloved girlboss

[1taliart]

Nestor after returning to his homeland after the Trojan war

Hello, yes. After a year without uploading and in, what I feel, one of the weirdest ‘fandom’ twists, I’ve gone from obsessing over 80s musicals about anthropomorphic cats and trains to being obsessed with ancient books and plays. What can I say, the duality of man. (not that the cats and trains are fully gone, they never will).

Anyways, this low effort meme I made way to late at night is my application form to my fellow mythology and epic cycle girlies.

[eve-will-perceive]

how i feel after changing my favourite f1 teams every other week

[synthetic-rust]

What they don’t tell you about autism is that it feels like you’re simultaneously one step outside of reality yet two steps too far into it at all times

[torchlitinthedesert]

In December 1964, Dusty Springfield toured to South Africa. She was horrified by apartheid, so her contract specified that she would only play to non-segregated audiences (the same tactic the Beatles had used in the American South earlier that year). It didn’t go well: South African officials came to her hotel pressuring her to sign a declaration that she would only play to segregated audiences, making veiled threats that it would be dangerous for her to go outside.

After several performances, she was deported. The South African government announced: “Miss Springfield was on two occasions warned, through her manager, to observe our South African way of life in regard to entertainment, and was informed that if she failed to do so she would have to leave the country. She chose to defy the Government and was accordingly allowed to remain in the country for a limited time only.”

The Beatles’ Ringo Starr was one of many to rush to her defence, saying “Good for Dusty. I would have done the same thing. It’s stupid to have segregated audiences, especially as the music came from the Negroes in the first place.”

“Negro” sounds dated now, but in 1964 it would be the most respectful term to use (it was Martin Luther King’s preferred wording). Beatle biographers tend to leave Ringo out of political discussion, so it’s interesting to see him weighing in - particularly the way he takes the opportunity to emphasise who created rock’n’roll.

Sharon Davis, Dusty: An intimate portrait of Dusty Springfield, 2008

[daincrediblegg]

Not gonna lie I do think tv peaked with stargate sg1

[turtle-trash]

More finalized design for my werewolf Mikey. Shout out to tmnt unleashed for causing the werewolf Mikey brain worms for eel, changed my life along with behind the darkness

Obligatory transcriptions of my writing bc I have terrible writing

"The mutagen in turtles system sorta fucked up the growing fur thing, so they grew fur on their shell"

"Limbs get wider near the paws on arms and legs" "kinda like in the show"

[rahabs]

I’m glad my expectations for Veilguard were low, especially from a writing perspective, because instead of anger now I only feel disappointment that even my already low bar wasn’t met.

[j-esbian]

i don’t even know if we caught walrusman adventurezone’s name but i absolutely adore this concept for a villain and henchperson duo. walruses eat shrimp and im imagining like. that’s literally what was happening and then they both got transformed

[himblebo]

God I fucking CALLED IT the other day I woke up and realized “oh I think I dreamed about M last night, her parents must be thinking of having a date night and asking me to babysit” and then this evening I got the text asking if I could watch her Saturday evening

[msue0027]

Why couldn’t I get into something normal, or at least something with consistent canon? Now I am digging into depths of Whoniverse (and we all know the canon doesn’t exist (it is what you want it to be (a bit like Schrödinger’s canon: it both exists and does not, and a bit like a Young Experiment, different when observed, and in 3 places at the same time))); and I am studying Arthurian legends – where every source gives you different facts. And I’m trying to make sense out of it. And create for those universes. It’s fun. And the greatest torture.

[seventh-district]

several days and 15 thousand words later, i am relieved to report that the suffocating urge to Write Something has been sated and no longer has me in a chokehold

[elongated-twink]

I think being autistic does actually make me inherently better at animal handling because I, too, have been yelled at for growling and biting when everyone ignored my previous warnings and didn’t set clear boundaries

[youronlybean]

I don’t use discord that much for personal reasons (sorry PR2 server I’ll come back one day I promise) so my knowledge for when anyone in private recording 1 is going to stream is extremely limited, but when I do know what time a stream is starting I have to do calculations for my timezone conversion, but I’ve become so obsessed with TOS Tuesdays that the process goes something like “okay if TOS starts at 3pm Austin Time and it’s 9pm here and Ze said he’d stream at 6 his time that’s like midnight for me :(”

[glutenfreeenchiladas]

Silly Units of Measurement Chart:

Truckload < Boatload < Buttload < Buttton < Crapload < Crapton < Shitload < Shitton < Fuckton < Metric Fuckton

No, I do not constructive criticism.