#no seriously though if you've found this blog

[cyanideseedsfanfiction]

A sneaky sneak peek...

This blog has not been advertised as of my writing this post. And it won't be advertised until after I've finished the fic and started uploading it! And yet, if you're reading this before the fic release, you've found it anyways... Congrats! Absolutely peak performance on your part! By jove! You deserve a treat!

Can you keep a secret? If so...

Stay tuned...

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The battle with Adam had been unexpectedly brutal. Bleeding, broken, and bested, Alastor had no choice but to retreat.

He'd have to find a safe place to heal. He had many retreats, and had only to choose which suited his needs best. In the meantime, he was slinking through an alley like a rat. As he surveyed his surroundings to ensure the area was still abandoned (it wouldn't do to let others see him in such an injured state), he found himself coming to an unplanned halt. He felt like he was being watched. Red eyes scattered in the surrounding brickwork aimed themselves at him slowly.

The red eyes were supposed to be a normal feature of Hell. They were formed from the scattered energies of fallen sinners, or so he'd heard some people say. Just a mere background feature, like lichen on a wall. Yet these ones felt different. It was as if they held prophecy in their slitted gazes…

It was then that Alastor felt the feeling of being watched intensify to a petrifying degree.

Something approached...

#teaser #no seriously though if you've found this blog #excellent fucking job #I'm not advertising this fic because I'm not sure when I'll finish it actually #But also I've been having a rather good go at it #so yeah absolutely fucking amazing sleuthing on your part!! #unless you're looking back on this from after I've released the fic so lol thanks for enjoying this blog!! #Can you keep a secret...? #cyanide seeds

[transboykirito]

just realised i’ve been in the sao fandom on here for around four years now :’)

i mean this genuinely, with all my heart, the sao fandom and the incredible people i’ve met through it were the highlight of my teenage years. the people i’m still meeting now are so wonderful, coming on here and talking with you all is one of my favourite parts of my day

i love you all immeasurably <3

#personal #and like next month i get to meet one of the msot amazing people in the world irl for the first time after we met on here four years ago #like yeah i met the man who ruined my life but also <3 i met so many incredible people <3 #people who are like family to me and people who got me through so much and hugged me (through the internet) when i needed it #i hope i can give them a hug irl too. and next month i get to for one of them. #like my teenage years were NOT FUN and i got into the sao fandom during a really hard time in my life #and then things got worse. they got so so much worse. BUT. this fandom and series were like a life raft for me through that time #and in this fandom i found a fiance but we don't talk about him anymore and i found a boyfriend but we broke up too #and i found my best friend in the entire world who i'm about to actually meet irl so soon it feels fake???? #and i found a guy who i still love like a brother though i doubt that sentiment is still returned #and i have so many amazing people here now who i love talking to seriously. like those 4 people are from The Old Blog but. #seriously if you've ever sent me a nice dm or a nice ask or liked a post or reblogged a post or left a nice tag or anything i love you sdkjf #yall are great. seriously. i love yall.

[ms-demeanor]

since twitter has become actively hostile to its users, so they came to tumblr, and reddit has become actively hostile to its users, so they came to tumblr, what do we do now that tumblr is becoming (more) actively hostile to its users? i’ve been here for over a decade so i know tumblr users are the type to cling on despite everything and revel in undoing every change, but i’m so tired of the way this website breaks the way it fundamentally works in order to appeal to new users. the twitterfication of the site seems so much worse than when people jumped ship after the porn ban, and even then, only small communities (and twitter) cropped up as solutions. you might not be the person to ask for a definitive answer, but i figured a tech blog might be interested in considering - what do we do when there’s nowhere left to go?

Okay so, I mean this very seriously: how has tumblr meaningfully become like twitter?

I don't personally find the sidebar view obnoxious and it seems to me like just another layout change that's pretty typical to tumblr. New users are getting signed up with a bit more emphasis on algorithmic feeds, but that is still very easy to change (MUCH easier than on any other social platform) and the algorithm has been there for everyone for quite a while, we just typically don't notice it because a lot of long-term tumblr users don't go into the "for you" feed.

I don't think that tumblr *has* fundamentally broken the way that it works to appeal to new users. My dash now is still very much like my dash in 2019, and still very much like my dash in 2018 (though much less pornographic). Reblogs are still reblogs, likes are still likes. Replies, for all that they seem like they've been around forever, are new and good and I think they work well. I'm irritated that the notes menu doesn't have a "view all" option but I think that's a worthwhile tradeoff for an easy way to see tags.

I *do not* understand why tumblr has broken linking back to previous reblogs but I don't think that's out of an effort to act like twitter; it is a bizarre choice that I dislike and don't understand but I also don't think that it has fundamentally changed the way the site works and i mean you've been around long enough that I'm sure you've had the same experience I have of going into the notes of a post and randomly clicking until you found a version that you wanted to reblog without a bunch of bullshit at the bottom. Tumblr has always kind of sucked, this change DOES suck but it doesn't suck in a way that is particularly novel or insurmountable. (For instance, I think this change sucks MUCH LESS than when they made posts with links invisible to the search, that is something that is genuinely bad that has been long lasting but doesn't get brought up much in lists of the ways that tumblr has gone wrong)

Tumblr *is* changing, but I think it is changing more incrementally and less terribly than other parts of the internet. I also hate the floating clown, the login walls, the dash-only view for blogs (you can't archive it and I HATE that), and - to an extent - the new lightbox on mobile. And I dislike that less than I thought I would but I don't think it's a fundamental change that necessarily impacts my interactions with the site - it *adds* a feature that I don't care for but it doesn't *break* anything that I require to have a good time on tumblr - in that way I think of it very much like Live. People hate Live so much and I find that perplexing because it is so easy to simply ignore it.

But that's not really your question; that's just some stuff I want people to think about because as much as tumblr has changed in the last two years it is nowhere near as fucked up as the recent things that twitter and reddit have pulled.

So, as to your question: where do we go?

Well. Not to be an extremely old person on the internet, but damned if I don't miss email lists. And forums. God I miss forums. Neither of those things has all the bonuses of platforms like twitter or reddit or tumblr or facebook, but they were great ways to hang out with people you liked on the internet.

The internet is changing. I can feel it, you can feel it, I'm pretty sure we're all like cattle in a field lifting our noses and hearing some distant rumbling and becoming slowly aware that it's almost time to run. There's a coming stampede and it isn't here yet but you know it's on its way. You're not imagining that, that's how things feel right now and there are a shitload of things contributing to it.

Things like SESTA/FOSTA and KOSA (which has not passed yet but is a big red flag waving on the horizon) have been eroding away the way that users on various platforms can function. Some platforms have consolidated in ways that harm users; some new platforms have popped up and shaken up the map of the internet; some platforms are being torn apart brick by brick by owners who don't care about the users. It kind of seems like people are actually looking up and realizing that advertising is A) bad and B) doesn't actually work and I think we're running straight toward another advertising-based crash like we saw in 2017. It feels like all the desperate things that tumblr is doing is just rearranging deck chairs on the titanic as the internet as a whole starts to sink into the ocean.

Honestly, I don't think it's that bad. I think it *feels* bad, but I think we're looking at a slow whimpering death of the platforms, not a bang. I think tumblr is going to hang on at least for a few years and I think it's going to end up like livejournal and myspace, which both still exist as websites that are recognizable as updated versions of the sites they were in 2004-2010. The thing that I think would really, honestly hurt tumblr in a fundamental way is if it moved to a more algorithmic and data-sales based model of advertising, and I think that's still pretty distant. I think Automattic is aware that killing the chronological feed would be the one unforgivable sin that would cause a mass exodus and a final crash, and I think when we see that, when we can't just scroll through the feed and see what our friends did that day in order of when they did it, that's when the party is over here.

But that's still not answering your question.

So, where do we go? What do we do? Well, for now, I'd say it's a good time to get contact info for your friends across various platforms. Get email addresses, get phone numbers.

Now is also the time for you to set up a personal website. NeoCities is currently the best place to do this, though it takes a lot more effort than just starting a blog on tumblr. I think that various oldschool blogging sites like Wordpress and Blogger/Blogspot/whatever the hell the google one is are a better place to have your emergency backup than a more platform-y platform if you aren't up to doing something with NeoCities.

If you've got the ability to do so and a group of people who are interested in the same core subject, set up a forum. There's a decent amount of off-the-shelf forum software out there and a text-and-small-images forum isn't prohibitively expensive, but it's never going to be huge and you're never going to have the kind of spread and virality and random connections that you would on a platform with millions or billions of users.

If you can't set up a forum, setting up or joining a discord server for your friends is a decent enough option at the moment, and may be a very good option for people who are looking to keep their interactions more private.

But yeah i think right now is a great time for people to start setting up their own personal websites, to start visiting actual webpages again, to start bookmarking their friends' websites, and to start collecting contact info that isn't tied to platforms.

[edgeray]

“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME

and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?

Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!

---

Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt. 

You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.

You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.

If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes. 

‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them. 

You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here. 

Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.

Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be. 

The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead. 

Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.

Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage. 

Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly. 

You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it? 

You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form. 

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you. 

"Someone wants you." 

You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight." 

He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight." 

You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else." 

"They're not someone you or I can refuse." 

"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh. 

"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."

Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?

Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living. 

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.” 

And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking. 

“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting. 

“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both. 

Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.

You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.

“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you. 

Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken? 

“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself. 

There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch. 

Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end? 

Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face. 

It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them. 

“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face. 

Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily. 

“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount. 

“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh. 

You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client. 

The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers. 

You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk. 

They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation. 

Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice. 

“Sit.” 

Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own. 

Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin. 

As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?

It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave. 

You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly. 

Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin. 

The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson. 

“Doll.” 

Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you. 

However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by: 

"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds. 

The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.

“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger. 

They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make. 

You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge. 

You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste: 

They taste like sin. 

The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them. 

The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds. 

“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody. 

Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh. 

Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact. 

You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.

Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:

“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.  

Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips. 

“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you. 

Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle. 

Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?

The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf. 

Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips. 

“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting. 

“Yes.”

The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear. 

“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”

A short hum follows afterward. 

“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.” 

---

Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #guys I'm so tired it's 2AM rn #i have school tomorrow guys #i chose to finish this tonight despite the shit ton of homework I have to do #arlecchino brain rot does that to you #def worth it #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact arlecchino #genshin arlecchino #genshin fics #arlecchino smut #edgeray.writes #edgeray.blog

[bokunoherokomikuko]

Fellow redditors who are new to Tumblr are welcome here, and while there aren't any moderated rules like in subreddits, there is a sort of social decorum that's pretty easy to pick up on.

Some tips if you're new though: - First of all: If you're new, for all the that is sensible in the world, change your icon, make a bio (doesn't have to be grand, but a little blurb is good), and/or make a post stating that you are not a bot, even if your blog is otherwise empty. This site is often plagued by spam bots, and blank blogs with default icons are often blocked out of self preservation by users.

- Second of all: Go add "X-kit Rewritten" (or "New X-kit") to your browser extensions.

- THIRDLY: You can follow tags and specific users to curate the content you want to see on your dash. Blocking doesn't stop you from seeing someone's content but you can add terms, tags, and names to your Blacklist (found in blog specific settings) and shield yourself a bit that way. If you have one of the extensions mentioned above, you can also block specific posts.

- Commit to the bit; If there's a joke, a bit, a playing going on, contribute (if you want to)! Makes it more fun.

- Nothing dies here. There are still posts from 2008 circling around and still making laughs. Don't worry about when a post was made, if you like it, reblog it!

- Reblog things!! No seriously, if you like something, the upvote system here is to reblog it so other people can see it. Likes are more like your private stash of posts you've liked or seen already (you can make likes and follows private in settings). Reblogs do not need a caption, if you've got nothing to say, don't. Lurk all you want, make your blog reblogs only, it's okay!

- Want to say something but don't want too much attention? Reblog and type in the tags area instead of the caption area. Doing this is more talking to yourself and maybe a few followers in spirit. If people like what you had to say, they'll add your tags to a post, just be aware. If you don't want that, a basic courtesy for yourself is to tag your post #do not reblog OR #Do not screenshot caption

- Tumblr tags can have spaces in them! They're separated by commas.

- You can make sideblogs! Got multiple interests but don't want them all in one big blog soup? Create a side blog to curate what you post and reblog. Make sure to use tags if you want that extra bit of organization.

This isn't everything, we'd be here all day if I listed it all, but it's a good few tips. This is a safe place for new peeps trying to get their feet wet. Please enjoy yourselves, be safe, and have fun.

#reddit #reddit exodus #reddit migration #reddit blackout #reddit refugee #tumblr #tumblr tips #how to tumblr #tumblr 101 #tumblr etiquette #tumblr help #new to tumblr

[edensown]

BE KIND TO ME. ; perfect landing —

note ★ a little something to get me out there while i continue designing my account . an introduction to what my blog will mainly focus on : human readers ;)

cw ★ reader grew up religious, mostly second person point of view.

in which a human falls so low that their lord can no longer hear them; so they have to make do with what they have.

if there was any sound familiar to you , it was the kyrie.

"kyrie eleison," a cantor sang at every mass; lord have mercy. sang to remind people the steadfast love of God, to remind them of His mercy. it is also, indirectly or not, a plead. you've always thought of it as one; a plead to ensure that when push comes to shove, and death comes above to collect you— it is peaceful. you're not angry, or sad, you're just... at peace. that's what you've always wished for yourself, atleast. that's what you've always wished for during the kyrie.

"kyrie eleison," they sang, you closed your eyes.

"christé eleison," they sang, you swayed to the tone.

"kyrie eleison." they sang, and you wished.

lord, be merciful. lord, be kind to me.

all you remember is falling.

falling down, and down, and down— past the soils of the earth and each their layers, past the searing innercore, likely, because you felt yourself burning. whether the fire was burning inside of you, or just burning you, you don't know. you brace yourself. your breath is ragged. you're laced with sweat, rubble, and you reek of fear.

lord, be merciful. lord, be kind to me.

you wish again, but you don't know if the lord can hear you from so low.

you land.

it is not on rough terrain, thankfully, but it's not on soft terrain either. you're confident you're supposed to be dead right now, that was a painfully hard landing. you recoil, taking a fetal position as you groan in absolute agony because what in the world did you just land on?! your vision is blurry, and black splots take up half your vision—lord, be merciful. lord, be kind to me, lord, please; you beg incessantly.

you look at what you landed on.

recently waxed tiles...?

this is outrageous.

the demon prince stolas sat across you. the height difference was astronomical— you had been taught not to lie, under any circumstances, not even this one. the height difference was astronomical and astronomically attractive. you glance around, surveying your surroundings (his legitimate palace) and trying not to lose your mind because out of all the places you could've landed on, why did you, a human, have to land in hell?

he found you in a fetal position, comatose & dirtying his immaculate floors with your humanity. from afar, he thought you were an abandoned nestling, a little owlet discarded by its mother. he pitied you, mercy filling him (not really his favorite thing to be filled with, however anyone who saw you and had atleast a bit of heart left would be able to empathize) in a rush as he took ahold of your small body in his hands.

he dropped you as soon as he held you, feathers puffing up as he stiffened. your body fell with a thump. in stolas's mind, there was but one thing:

what the fuck did blitzø do?

"blitzø ! you're going to get me in deep, deep shit because of this — who are you to think that sending a human to my palace would be a good idea ? do you know how many employees I have?! they—"

"woah, woah, woah ! calm the fuck down , stolas , I didn't fuckin' do nothing alright ? I don't know why the fuck a human somehow landed on your balcony — but hey ! atleast your tiles aren't broken from the impact of their fall ! seriously though . I don't know what the hell you're talking about ."

"then who?!—" stolas groaned. "you know what ? nevermind. fine. just send the book over and I'll send them back home." he resolved, planning to end your time here as soon as possible, so that when you do arrive in hell next time, you arrive the way you're meant to. it would be an easy fix, after all. an outlandish situation, but nonetheless easy.

"i cannot send you back to earth." were the first words stolas told you. you didn't know whether or not you were hallucinating, considering there is no way a tall, skinny owl would be able to talk. nor were you supposed to be any where but earth; that is, until you arrived to heaven. like you were meant to. right. right?

no.

he can't even send you back to earth. a demon prince with a grimoire capable of sending demons to earth, where they don't belong, can't seem to send a human back to their home. that is so messed up, that is so crazy, you are about to cry. you don't even know his name , but you know his features. you know his capabilities, not through your own knowledge however— because he was kind enough to tell you himself. would he be kind enough to shelter you? or would that be below him?

"prince stolas..." you start, he cocks his head to your direction. "you say your grimoire can send hellspawn to earth, why can it not bring humans back to it?" you think aloud, raspy voice still hoarse from screaming the first few minutes you were falling down. he tilts his head, you don't know how else to describe his body expression but ... owl-like. "you are curious, I suppose all humans are. the answer is simple: you're resisting the spell." he told you. your eyes bulged.

no way would you reject a spell to get you outta here.

"it's not you that's rejecting it, really," he hears your thoughts now! can he hear thoughts? is that what demon princes can do? "it's you, but its more something in you. as if you're meant to do something here." his tone is still even. "I will admit, what I will offer is uncharacteristically risky of me— but i cant help but pity you. so, I will offer you my hospitality." he sipped tea as your jaw dropped—tears threatening to pour as you felt your lips quiver at even the mere thought of your situation.

"I know it's scary, infact i do not favor this situation myself, but you will be taken care of, and under the protection of a goetia— you're secure." he assured, trying to appear less Intimidating as you shivered in absolute horror. there was never a scripture in the Bible about this, not that you know of— you don't know anything.

you didn't know how popular you'd be here.

you didn't know what they had in store for you, either.

you didn't know anything.

lord, be merciful. lord, be kind to me.

— @edensown

#helluvaboss x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #blitzø x reader #blitzø #stolas x reader #helluva stolas #helluva boss stolas #hazbin x reader #hazbin alastor #moxxie x reader #millie x reader #striker x reader #hazbin charlie #vox x reader #fizzarolli x reader #helluva boss asmodeus #👀 #helluva boss #vaggie x reader

[undiscovered-horizon]

Hi, I read a few of your posts and I really liked your writing. May I ask a hcs/drabble/one shot of ONE PIECE with Shanks (and Mihawk if it’s possible) who are in a relationship with a woman who have her own crew and the woman flee away in their sleep, leaving them behind, with her crew after years of relationship? A bit angsty 🙊 and they never found her again, seeing her in newspapers or rumors only.

Thank you if you made it and sorry if It doesn’t suit your blog! Have a nice day <3

At first, he though he read the title wrong. But no matter how many times his eyes glided across the black ink, the newspaper headline said the exact same thing: BLACK TOOTH GRINS: A NEW SCOURGE?

There was a picture attached underneath the title. Part of him thought that maybe the familiarity in the woman’s face was just his longing; a product of a mind too lovesick to hold on to sanity. Alas, this time, too, his senses were not deceiving him.

It is your face. You're alive and well as it seems. Looking exactly the same as the day you had left.

The heartache comes back to him tenfold. Not it has ever left but the pain and anger are now suffocating. So many months have passed when he hasn't heard from you as though you've suddenly ceased to exist. No one has heard about you, no one has seen. How can a whole person just vanish? At some point, he told himself that maybe you've met your end. It was entirely possible.

But nothing has prepared him for this. To realize that he was abandoned by the one he loved.

The anguish slowly fades into numbness like a radio falls silent after piercing ears with static. Everything stands still as he recalls the day some part of him had died:

"Greatest swordsman in the world" is a quite hefty title to carry. It is also quite a hefty title to be overshadowed by. Wherever the two of you showed up, you'd always be perceived as a decoration to Mihawk rather than his partner. Like a pearly white Maltese carried by rich ladies in their purses. Having voiced your concerns, Mihawk knew that you feel in some way inferior to him. He just never thought it was that severe.

He was woken up that night, actually. The sky was still black and starry, morning long hours away. You were getting out of bed and your stirring woke him up. But he quickly went back to sleep when you whispered that you were just going to the bathroom. By all means, it was just another night. Like countless others you've spent together. Nothing unusual.

In the morning, everything was gone. All of your belongings had disappeared as though you had never been on his ship in the first place. Like a ghost he's grown to love had simply become bored of haunting him.

Only one thing, however, suggested that you were not a figment of imagination: a laconic note that vaguely explained the situation. In a few words, you told him that you're tired of being seen as an accessory to someone, a pair of gloves that will be out of season when snow thaws. Knowing that you're more than the Maltese in a purse, you ventured into the wide world to become an infamous name of your own.

Throughout many years, every day has he thought of that night and the morning that followed. What if he hadn't fallen asleep? Was he too calloused to notice how much you've been suffering? Was there something he could have done but decided not to for some reason?

The longer he thought about it, the more he came to the same, heart-wrenching conclusion - he was just abandoned in the middle of the night. Whether it was his hurt pride or respect towards your wishes, he's never gone on an escapade to find you.

As years went by and he hadn't heard from you or about you, Mihawk simply assumed that you'd died. It seemed the most probable. Part of him wanted to take the blame: if he had noticed your pain earlier, had he taken your worries seriously, you wouldn't have left and you wouldn't have died. It was his responsibility to protect you, to ensure that his beloved is safe and sound. Alas, he had failed. Quite utterly at that.

He grew bitter and vicious. What good is his swordsmanship if it failed that one time it could have mattered? What good is he if he was too blind and oblivious to ease your burden?

But all of those painful thoughts disappeared today.

Mihawk tears the newspaper and throws it away. He's grown almost used to the weight of bereavement on his shoulders but now he's absolved of it. One shouldn't grieve someone who is still alive. But contrary to his expectations, he doesn't feel better because of that. In fact, he feels a lot worse. Even if your death had been brought by your own choices, it is not your fault. Your death, however, hasn't occurred as of yet, so the time you've spent building infamy was just time you chose to leave him broken and aching.

He mourned you! Turned his grief and misery into a fury that burned entire towns. He became a shadow of the person he used to be. And for what? To learn that he was disposable to you? That his love for you was less important than your pride and ambitions?

Now that you've made it on the front page with an equally hefty title "A New Scourge", perhaps you're a danger big enough to be hunted down by none other but one of the Warlords. Was it not what you wanted? To be truly someone among pirates?

Oh, he will find you. Even if you told him not to look for you. Mihawk will find you and make you take responsibility for the damage you've done - for the man you've irreversibly changed for the worse; the heart you've forced to turn into stone.

Is it revenge or is it justice? No matter. It is right.

If the butterfly effect is true, Shanks, or rather his tendencies, would be the said butterfly that causes a tornado down the line. He's been known as a man with no commitment and certainly not a devout monogamist. It didn't matter that for a few years he's been exactly that - happily wrapped around the finger of one woman. Most of his men "respectfully" disregarded the relationship status as something temporary.

"Shanks thinks he's in love. Like a thousand times before her."

Which was probably why you've gone years being called a variation of "Shanks's girl". Whether they meant it or not, people around you made sure that you know you're disposable. A fling.

But you never were. Gods above! You never were.

Shanks thought it was quite obvious that he didn't consider you a fling. All the jokes and jabs at his previous love life were just that - meaningless jokes among friends. Even when you explicitly told him that they start to make you uncomfortable and that you want to be taken seriously, the pirate captain never quite took you as seriously as he probably should have. "They're just joking".

The jokes stopped one day and, seemingly, so did Shanks's humour altogether. All of your belongings were gone. You were gone. Nowhere to be found, disappeared like fog on a spring morning. The only thing he had from you was a note, hastily scribbled in the corner of a map lying on his desk as though you were too rushed to take your time to write a proper letter.

He's read that note every day for years. Naively hoping that one day he'll somehow be enlightened as to where you've gone. Maybe one of the letters is strangely pointing towards an island? Or maybe the fact that you've written your message in the North-East of the map was a sign? No matter how many asinine guesses he's made, all of them were wrong. You just... disappeared.

Despite asking him not to look for you, Shanks couldn't help himself. Each village he has visited, he would ask about you. Has anyone seen you? Or heard about you? A few times he thought he had seen you in the crowd, only for the woman to turn out to be a stranger vaguely fitting your description. But this investigation, too, proved to be in vain. For better or worse, it seemed as though you had never existed in the first place.

To put things simply, Shanks had given up. If no one across the seas had seen you or heard about you, it seemed the most probable that you'd met your end. Somewhere far away, among unfamiliar waters and surrounded by strangers. Were you in pain? Were you afraid? Did you wish he could have been there? Or maybe you thought-

No. He shouldn't be thinking like that.

Shanks is locked in his cabin. If his crewmates believed he had an alcohol problem after you disappeared, their captain's state right now would be "alcohol catastrophe". He hasn't been sober since he saw the newspaper.

At first, he was excited, yes! You were alive and well! But then the realization set in: you've left in the middle of the night, asked him not to look for you and never once reached out to him. Telling him that you don't love him anymore would have hurt incomparably less.

He's sitting on the floor. His clothes reek but he doesn't care about that. A shaking hand has trouble lifting another bottle of strong alcohol. The front page of the newspaper with your face on it is lying in front of him. He's just blankly staring at it, letting tears fall down his cheeks.

Among the darkness of the room, there's just him, the bottle and the dull, unbearable ache in his chest.

Shanks wishes to find you. To ask what in the Hell you were thinking. Then ask what he can do to have you back with him. But beware, as whatever you demand he will do. Even if it costs him his other hand.

That is, if his liver won't kill him first.

#shanks x reader #mihawk x reader #shanks fanfiction #shanks imagine #shanks fanfic #mihawk fanfiction #mihawk fanfic #mihawk imagine #dracule mihawk #mihawk x you #mihawk one piece #mihawk opla #shanks #mihawk #shanks opla #shanks one piece #shanks x you #akagami no shanks #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #shanks x y/n #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanfic #opla imagine #opla fanfiction #opla fanfic #opla x reader #opla x you

[cheolsfae]

𓃭 Ateez as your best friend

Requested: Hell no 💚

Genre: fluff

Warning(s): Slight swearing, mentions of bodily fluid, mentions of gaslighting

Feed back and re-blogs are appreciated! 💚

𓃭 Seonghwa 𓃭

I hate to say it but the mom friend. Dude there is no way out of this for him. Every head cannon says it too:') But it's true!

Also talk about sassy!

He dishes plenty of it out and takes it all back like a goddamn champ!

When you need him though, he's there as quick as humanly possible.

You're ex is stirring up drama in your life? He's there to comfort you and maybe kick that person's ass.

𓃭 Hongjoong 𓃭

That one friend who gets uncomfortable when you give them a hug but it's okay cause its you.

Had a bad day? He's right there putting in his best effort to comfort you with that hug.

Make sure you let him know when you get home from hanging out with him or other friends! Otherwise, expect a search party of about 8 weird men on a man hunt for your ass!

𓃭 Yunho 𓃭

The one you squabble with because its fun

"I'm always right! What do you mean?"

"Once. You've been right once and it was about how long a hamster's lifespan is."

"Still right."

You guys were glued at the hip though.

Everywhere he went, there you were following him like a lost puppy and vice versa.

𓃭 Yeosang 𓃭

The friend you sit in comfortable silence with without it feeling weird

You guys could be at the dorms just chilling in silence doom scrolling on your phones

With the ever so occasional "...Look, it's you."

Late night drives were a thing too.

One of you guys would pick up the other and take off into the distance listening to music and just drive wherever the road took you guys.

𓃭 San 𓃭

The friend who makes you wonder what kind of relationship you really have with one another

Are you partners? Who knows? He's just as confused as you

One time, Jongho walked in on you guys completely tangled up in one another's arms.

Needless to say, from that point on he made sure to knock before going in

Never found without the other! "Are you seriously in the bathroom with him while he showers?" "Yeah! I'm just talking to him, it's not like I'm peeping"

𓃭 Mingi 𓃭

No filter. Says whatever is going on in his mind

"I pissed myself at practice today:'))"

But you give it back too so it's not too weird. "Well, at least you didn't shit yourself like last time. A win is a win."

Sending weird memes to one another is a constant thing. No context is ever provided but you get it and it works for you guys.

𓃭 Wooyoung 𓃭

Also makes you question what y'all are, though not as much

Expect forehead kisses, like a lot.

You're leaving his place? Forehead kiss. Going to sleep? Forehead kiss.

Just a very affectionate friend.

Drunk texts were a very common thing between the two of you and the other would have to go check up on the other ending in a sleep over.

𓃭 Jongho 𓃭

Teases you constantly!

Mimics your tone of voice when he finds your attitude funny

Absolutely does not feed into your delusions about that one person who has little to no interest in you.

"Okay, but they looked at me for 2.5 sec." "Doesn't mean they like you."

#ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez reactions #ateez headcanons #choi jongho #song mingi #jung wooyoung #choi san #kang yeosang #jeong yunho #kim hongjoong #park seonghwa #ateez

[gothhabiba]

hi i just saw some of ur posts on anti-psychiatry and then kept reading more on ur blog about what it is. for the most part i agree with what you've said about how capitalism uses psychiatry to designate people who are bad/abnormal and how it aligns itself w/ misogyny, racism, and so on. with that said i think i have some similar concerns/questions as another asker about what this means for those who do/would suffer even in a non-capitalist society, even if we didn't ascribe a specific label to X symptoms. if we are opposed to psychiatry, what are the options for people today who are suffering and want help? are you opposed to psychopharmaceuticals and therapy? i dont mean to ask this in a confrontational/accusatory way, i'm just new to this and genuinely curious

There are a few different parts to your question & so there are a few different angles to approach it from—

are you opposed to psychopharmaceuticals and therapy?

If this means "are anti-psych writers and activists opposed to individuals seeking treatment that they personally find helpful," then, no—a couple posts in my psychiatry tag do clarify this.

If it means "are there anti-psych critiques of psychopharmaceuticals and therapy," then, yes. Keep in mind that I'm not a neurobiologist or otherwise an expert on medications marketed as treatments for mental illnesses, but:

The evidence for the effectiveness of SSRIs in particular is sort of non-existent—even many psychiatrists who promote the biomedical model of mental illness doubt their efficacy, and refer to the "chemical imbalance" theory that enforces their usage as "an outmoded way of thinking" or "a kind of urban legend—never a theory seriously propounded by well-informed psychiatrists." But promoting SSRIs (and corresponding "serotonin deficiency" theory of depression, despite the fact that no solid evidence links depression to low serotonin) is very profitable for pharmaceutical companies. Despite the fact that direct-to-consumer advertisements are nominally regulated in the U.S., the FDA doesn't challenge these claims.

Other psychotropic drugs, such as "antipsychotics" or "antianxiety" medication, shouldn't really be called e.g. "antipsychotics" as if they specifically targeted the biological source of psychosis. No biological cause of any specific psychiatric diagnosis has been found (p. 851, section 5.1). In fact, rather than "act[ing] against neurochemical substrates of disorders or symptoms," these medications "produc[e] altered, drug induced states"—but despite the fact that they "produce global alterations in brain functioning," they are marketed as if they had "specific efficacy in reducing psychotic symptoms." Reactions to these medications that don't have to do with psychosis or anxiety (blunted affect, akathisia) are dismissed as "side effects," as though they don't arise from the same global alteration in brain function that produces the "desirable" antianxiety/antipsychotic effect. This doesn't mean "psychiatric medication turns you into a zombie so you shouldn't take it"—it means that these medications should be marketed honestly, as things that alter brain function as a whole, rather than marketed as if they target specific symptoms in a way that they cannot do, in accordance with a biomedical model of mental illness the accuracy of which has never been substantiated.

Psychiatrised people also point out that meds are used as a tool for furthering and maintaining psychiatrists' control: meds that patients are hesitant about or do not want are pushed on them, while patients who desire medication are "drug-seeking" or trying to take on the role of clinician or something and will routinely be denied care. Psychiatrised people who refuse medications are "noncompliant" and prone to psychiatric incarceration, re-incarceration, or continued/lengthened incarceration.

As for therapy: there are critiques of certain therapies (e.g. CBT, DBT) as unhelpful, status-quo-enforcing, forcing compliance, retraumatising &c. There are also critiques of therapy as representing a capitalist outsourcing of emotional closeness and emotional work away from community systems that people largely don't have in place; therapy as existing within a psychiatric system that constrains how therapists, however well-intentioned, are able to behave (e.g. mandatory reporting laws); psychotherapy forced on psychiatrised people as a matter of state control; therapists as being in a dangerous amount of power over psychiatrised people and being hailed as neutral despite the fact that their emotions and politics can and do get in the way of them being helpful. The wealth divide in terms of access to therapy is also commonly talked about; insurance (in the U.S.) or the NHS (in England) may only pay for pre-formulated group workbook types of therapy such as DBT, while more long-form, free-form, relationship-focused talk therapy may only be accessible to those who can pay 100-something an hour for it.

None of these critiques make it unethical or something for someone to get treatment that they find helpful. It's also worth noting that some of these critiques may be coming from "anti-psych" people who criticise the sources of psychiatric power, and some of them may come from people who think of themselves as advocating for reform of some of the most egregious effects of psychiatric power.

if we are opposed to psychiatry, what are the options for people today who are suffering and want help?

This looks like a few different things at a few different levels. At its most narrow and individual, it involves opting out of and resisting calls for psychiatrisation and involuntary institutionalisation of individuals—not calling the cops on people who are acting strange in public, breaking mandatory reporting laws and guidelines where we think them likely to cause harm. It involves sharing information—information about antipsychiatry critiques of psychiatric institutions, advice about how to manage therapists' and psychiatrists' egos, advice about which psychiatrists to avoid—so that people do not blame themselves if they find their encounters with psychiatry unhelpful or traumatising.

At the most broad, it's the same question as the question of how to build dual power and resist the power of capitalism writ large—building communal structures that present meaningful alternatives to psychiatry as an institution. I think there's much to be learned here from prison abolitionists and from popular movements that seek to protect people from deportation. You might also look into R. D. Laing's Kingsley Hall experiment.

what does this mean for those who would suffer even in a non-capitalist society, even if we didn't ascribe a specific label to X symptoms?

It means that people need access to honest, reliable information about what psychotropic medications do, and the right to chuse whether or not to take these medications without the threat of a psychiatrist pulling a lever that immediately restricts or removes their autonomy. It means that people need to be connected to each other in communities with planned, free resources that ensure that everyone, including severely disabled people whom no one particularly likes as individuals, has access to basic resources. It means that people need to be free to make their own choices regarding their minds and their health, even if other people may view those decisions as disastrous. There is simply no defensible way to revoke people's basic autonomy on the basis of "mental illness" (here I'm not talking about e.g. prison abolitionist rehabilitative justice types of things, which must restrict autonomy to be effective).

Also, I've mostly left the idea of who this would actually be untouched, since my central argument ("psychiatry as it currently exists is part of the biomedical arm of capitalism and the state, and the epistemologies it produces and employs and the power it exerts are thus in the service of capitalism and the state") doesn't really rest on delineating who would and wouldn't suffer from whatever mental differences they have regardless of what society they're in. But it's worth mentioning that the category of "people who are going to suffer (to whatever degree) no matter what" may be narrower than some would think—psychosis, for instance, is sometimes experienced very differently by people in societies that don't stigmatise it. I see people objecting to (their interpretations of) antipsych arguments with things along the lines of "well maybe depression and anxiety are caused by capitalism, but I'm schizophrenic so this doesn't apply to me"—as though hallucinations are perforce more physically "real," more "biological," more "extra-cultural" in nature than something like depression. But the point is that positing a specific neurobiological etiology for any psychiatric diagnosis is unsubstantiated, and that capitalist society affects how every "mental illness" is read and experienced (though no one is arguing that e.g. hallucinations wouldn't always exist in some form).

#psychiatry #long post / #mental illness #antipsych #antipsychiatry #Anonymous #questions #psychotropic drugs #ssris

[writingquestionsanswered]

hello, since I've started wanting to make a comic series on my own over a year ago, your blog has been of great help to me since I'm more of a drawer than a writer. Though I've come to realize that the medium of comics may not always work with the advice you usually give for the medium of books/novels. So I was wondering if you had any advice for writing comics, and if not, do you happen to know any blogs that do or that specialize in writing for comics?

Thank You!

Books for Writing Comics

I'm so glad you've found the blog to be helpful. While there's some advice that certainly works across formats, there's a lot that doesn't, too.

Unfortunately, I've never written comics so I can't tell you anything about how to write them. What I can do is tell you that when similar questions have come up in the past, people have recommended the following books:

Stan Lee's How to Write Comics Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art by Scott McCloud Making Comics by Scott McCloud Comics and Sequential Art by Will Eisner Alan Moore's Writing For Comics The Art of Comic Book Writing by Mark Kneece Writers on Comics Scriptwriting Words for Pictures by Brian Michael Bendis and Joe Quesada

Also, Comics Experience, Udemy, NYFA, and other sites offer comic writing classes and workshops.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[psychelis-new]

pick a pile: "Hidden meaning of your dreams (night)"

take a breath and choose the photo or number that calls you the most to read about possible hidden meanings hidden behind the dreams you may be experiencing at night. there are also other pacs on this matter, both on this blog and on my instagram, feel free to check them too if you need. I suggest you to always focus on one dream at time when taking this kind of pacs (at least mine). Do not make it general, as different dreams can have different meanings.

don’t take the reading too seriously. only take what resonates with you and leave the rest. if you're not called by any pile, let this reading slid as it may not hold messages for you. if you're called by more than one pile, there may be messages in each of those piles. remember that is a general reading and some things may not resonate with you. energies can change and readings are based on present ones (as you read); you're always in charge of your life.

(photos found on unsplash)

- ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -

1 2 3 4 - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -

pile 1

This type of dreams may be just to give you company or entertainment. There's not always a huge hidden meaning behind them, they generally are giving you support and maybe help you unwind. They may also be for comfort. You may not always remember them and that's fine: seen that there's not a big hidden meaning behind, it's okay to forget them. You may even dream just to recover, like those dreams that help you sleep well and wake up kinda restored (but probably not remembering much of the plot). They may also be encouraging dreams at times, especially if you've been through rough days or something (even doubting yourself). You may also dream of love or something nice in general, something even funny or "impossible"/unlikely to happen but in a good way, stuff that feels normal in the dream but hard to happen irl (also cause of physics, eg.). You may dream about your manifestations too. Some of these dreams may be for guidance or support in your path though, they may help you realize some of the things you're stressing over on the daily are just unimportant stuff. Their reason is to bring you hope and tranquillity.

song: one of a kind | the gaia corporation

- ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -

pile 2

These are dreams you may have while napping too. They feel comforting. They may carry your ancestors' messages or something like that. They may also help you or guide you through something that happened in your past so to see it from a better perspective. And maybe even heal that. These type of dreams are supposed to help you open your eyes over a specific matter. They may hold signs or symbols for you to understand (through your intuition) or just the general message may bring some kind of support to analyze your "demons" or fears/insecurities. I think these dreams are supposed to bring you more balance in your life, or to suggest you how to take action. You may be dreaming of people no more in contact with you as well and they may give you some kind of message you may need to hear (either about you or the relationship you had with them, so to heal it or understand something about it). These dreams' meaning/reason is to bring you peace and balance inside first and foremost.

song: heaven sent | keyshia cole

- ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -

pile 3

I think there's the need to "read between the lines" here and an inability to see the core message. It may happen to dream about stuff you don't get at the moment, but they will get clearer in the future. It could be profetic dreams even, at least in a general sense. Or dreams about something you need to understand/realize within or messages from your counterpart. Maybe an explanation or clarification of sorts, but that is not as clear as you may want it to be as it may need a bit of an analysis while you're awake (my suggestion is still the one to not overstress too much about a message if you don't get it at first. Another occasion to receive it will come anyway). These dreams are in fact never to bring you anxiety but to calm your heart. Their reason is to help you understand and conquer any type of doubt you may carry within. They're supposed to help you let go of fears, not to give you more. They want to help you ground, so not overstress about them if you cannot grasp them (let your intuition guide you to the correct signs to analyze and when it says "enough", let go of it).

song: love to dream | doja cat

- ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -

pile 4

These dreams may be there to give you some type of clarification or explanation about yourself or your path. Differently from pile 3, these dreams may be pretty clear or easy to understand. You may be even dreaming of someone (probably your Guide or someone like that, maybe your inner/future child too) showing you about a specific matter or you may be dreaming of specific situations. These dreams are there to help you see beyond what you may see or feel on the daily. They help you open your eyes (and heart) on something or some type of chance you weren't considering (or you simply were unable to see before). They are probably to ground you and balance you energetically, to give you stability, to help you take control over any specific annoyance or confusion you may be experiencing (despite the song you got, I feel it could be related to your career/studies, at least for most of you) and it seems you cannot overcome by yourself. Their reason is to give you guidance and help you see a way out of that, or a new way to envision things. These dreams may be related to the spiritual world and you may have pretty vivid dreams or experience astral projection too.

song: chances | backstreet boys

#pac #pick a pile #pick a card reading #pick a photo #pick a card readings #pick a picture #pick a card #pac tarot #pac reading #intuitive readings #psychic readings #clairs readings #free tarot reading #tarot readings #divination #dreams

[oneshlut]

Hey, I just found your blog through a Varian headcanon and I’m in love! Could I humbly request a platonic Jax x reader where it’s the readers “birthday” (they day they came to the digital circus) and reader gets a bit down? I hope your day/evening/night is well, and remember to brush your teeth!

A/N: daaawww, hurt/comfort, my favorite (besides angst of course).. thanksies for the reminder--and for requesting, yesyes! hope you like what i did with this as much as you liked the var hcs :D (also super refreshing to see more platonic requests,)

OMG SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG LMAO

Turning.. Something (Jax & Reader) [Headcanons]

Rules For Requesting

Characters I Will Write For

Masterlist

Summary: It's your anniversary of arriving at the circus, your "birthday"! Unfortunately, birthdays at the circus serve only colorful cake and existential dread. Jax becomes worried for the first time in his life. (hurt/comfort)

Ah, holiday blues. Commonly associated with Christmas, of course, but also birthdays occasionally. Whether it be the fear of growing older, spending your birthday alone, or even being stuck in a digital reality where you can't remember your birthday so instead you have a one year anniversary as a stand in for a birthday. Whatever the existential crisis may be, they sure do suck! At least you can relate to Pomni now.

Birthdays in the digital world work a little bit differently than in the "real" world. Caine tries to track the time, but inevitably fails. Instead of celebrating your arrival once a year, you celebrate it when Caine feels it's been long enough. So your birthday is about once in a blue moon. However, when that blue moon hits, all the existential dread you left about 4 months ago all comes back to you. And suddenly the friends you've made.. didn't really matter. Not in the grand scheme of things. And, not to you.

That's where the isolating came in.

For the next few days after your "birthday", you didn't come out of your room for even a second. Surprisingly, your room was probably less colorful than the rest of the circus. Still colorful enough to give you a headache, though. You didn't have the motivation to leave either, it would all be the same anyway. You weren't close to abstraction, but you were definitely going to get there if you kept things up.

This thought worried Jax. And Jax never gets worried. At first, he brushed the situation off with comedy. Like he always does. With everything. But then as he's walking around the circus, he notices even less of you.

Jax isn't a bold person, but he definitely could be. This was one of those scenarios, one where he would take things into his own hands. Knocking on your door, he stayed patient for you to answer. Normally, he'd just yell for you to open the door when he wanted to hang out, but this was.. a different occasion.

Okay. Everything's fine. It's just been 22 knocks and they still haven't answered the door. He's sure they're alright. Not.

Eventually, his thoughts that wracked his head overcame him. With droopy ears and a heavy heart, he took out the key to your room, opening it with a slightly obnoxious creak.

If even possible, the sight of you curled up in a ball in the corner of your room had caused his ears to fall even farther from where they were before. Immediately dropping his persona, he fell to the floor on his knees to comfort you. Being probably the most serious he's ever been, he set a hand on your shoulder with caution.

You, on the other hand, felt horrible. First the horrid "birthday" you just had, and now you were just burdening someone else dealing with the same existential crap with your own problems. If only Jax wasn't so damn caring, then.. then. ..Hm.

Seriously? Jax? Caring about you? That sure wasn't on your birthday bingo card. If anything, you would've expected him to just pull a ton of pranks on you and make you feel even worse. Instead he was comforting you. Making you feel better.

Almost immediately, tears started flowing. Jax was saddened by the sight at first, but gave a bittersweet grin when you had launched into his arms for more comfort. Giving you silent sushes, he laid careful strokes on your back, making sure not to do anything more to upset you.

Somehow, you felt that your next birthday might be a bit better with Jax around.

#headcanons #x reader #request please #x reader headcanons #fluff #x reader hcs #tooth rotting fluff #the amazing digital circus #tadc jax x reader #jax x reader hcs #jax x reader headcanons #jax x reader #tadc jax #jax #the amazing digital circus x reader #tadc x reader headcanons #tadc & reader #jax & reader #platonic fic #platonic #platonic hcs #x reader imagine #fanfic x reader #the amazing digital circus jax #jax the rabbit #hurt/comfort

[blinkysrewatchparty]

Welcome to Blinky's Rewatch Party!

Hello Nighthawks, Sniggles, and Latte Hattes! You've found the official tumblr page for Blinky's Rewatch Party--where we organize semi-regular watch parties of Nightmare Time 2 episodes as part of our campaign to both share our love of NMT and hopefully get our grubby little hands on Nightmare Time 3!

Current Rewatch Party Planning Polls: None Currently Active!

FAQ with all the basic info under the cut!

WHEN ARE THE REWATCH PARTIES?

The Rewatch Parties are every other Saturday, at two different times, so that as many people as possible can participate directly! The schedule for the current round of Rewatch Parties is:

HOW CAN I PARTICIPATE?

Here on Tumblr, we will be using the tag "Blinky's Rewatch Party." You can use the tag to liveblog your rewatch, or wait until the story is over to post any and all thoughts at once. If you can't make either of the chosen times, that's okay! The tag's not going anywhere; simply watch and post your thoughts whenever you can. And remember to check out the tag to see what other people are saying!

If the Tumblr tagging system isn't your ideal communal watching experience, that's cool too. We're set up on several other social media platforms that you are welcome to check out!

Also you can follow this blog! It's not super necessary, but it will make keeping up with any updates easier. Also, likes and ESPECIALLY reblogs of any and all posts are greatly appreciated--I don't really care about notes for notes' sake, but since the whole point is to keep people watching Nightmare Time, I'd love for the parties to reach as many people as possible!

WHAT OTHER SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORMS? HOW DO I FIND YOU THERE?

We'll be hosting the watch parties here on Tumblr, but also on Discord, YouTube, and Twitter.

The link to our discord is here: https://discord.gg/Mz2P65mt29! it's super chill and fun and there's a surprising amount of discussion and theorizing about Chumby.

We don't have a specific YouTube page (yet!)--we'll simply be hosting the watch parties in the comments sections of the Nightmare Time episodes themselves. This will have the added bonus of really showing increased interest in NMT, and getting us one step closer to our ultimate goal: MORE HATCHETFIELD!

The link to our twitter is here: https://twitter.com/BlinkysParty. We will be using the hashtag #BlinkysRewatchParty.

For more information on participating in the Rewatch Parties on various social medias, go here.

WHO RUNS THE WATCH PARTIES?

That would be me! Hello! My name is Brooke (she/her), and you may know me on here as @man-down-in-hatchet-town. I want these watch parties to be as positive an experience as possible, so please feel free to reach out to me on this page OR man-down with any thoughts, questions, or concerns. Unlike Hidgens, I promise I won't show you my résumé!

Our discord is also largely managed by the amazing @abarryswiftexit! They are super cool and friendly and the real hero of this whole endeavor.

YOUR ART IS SO COOL! WHO MADE IT?

I'm so glad you asked! Our awesome text graphics and unbelievable avatar are all by my wonderful fandom best buddy @its-short-for-jackalope. Seriously, guys, their art is so good and interesting, so be sure to check it all out and give his page a follow!

Thanks, Jack! 💜

AND THE BIG ONE: WHAT HAPPENED IN 2005 TO MAKE THE HATCHETFIELD TIMELINE SPLIT?

I actually don't know this one (though I have lots of thoughts and ideas, help)! But I do know that rewatching Nightmare Time will help us get the chance to find out. So let's get our Bliklotep on and do this thing!

#starkid #team starkid #hatchetfield #the guy who didn't like musicals #tgwdlm #paul matthews #emma perkins #ted spankoffski #black friday #linda monroe #lex foster #tom houston #becky barnes #wiggly #wiggog y'wrath #nightmare time #nightmare time 2 #npmd #nerdy prudes must die #steph lauter #pete spankoffski #grace chasity #max jagerman #ruth fleming #richie lipschitz #blinky #bliklotep #blinky's rewatch party

[chlorinatedpopsicle]

https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s10508-023-02717-0

In an online survey of 1124 heterosexual British men using a modified CDC National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey, 71% of men experienced some form of sexual victimization by a woman at least once during their lifetime.

If men would like male sexual victimization to be taken more seriously, maybe they should start by not responding to news about instances of male sexual victimization with jokes and/or "he's so lucky!!" comments. I'm sure you already know what I'm talking about, but here's a small example:

I don't know about you, but I never see women making “I got raped by a priest” jokes, “don't drop the soap” jokes, or “fellas, how would you react if you found her? [picture of unconscious or dead woman]” jokes, etc. I only ever see men and boys doing that, strangely enough. Until men and boys stop doing that all the fucking time, I'm gonna find it hard to sympathize with their plight.

The study examines how men may feel discouraged from speaking out about instances of sexual victimization because – as a result of male socialization and male gender expectations – they are afraid of showing any emotional weakness / vulnerability; men may see any display of emotional distress as emasculating. This is true. However, one has to ask: who are the ones who perpetuate these male gender expectations in the first place? Who are the ones pushing these ideas of masculine stoicism; the idea that men mustn't show weakness? In case you've been living under a rock, liberal women have been encouraging men to show more emotional vulnerability for decades now. Liberal women push the “men's mental health matters!!! male SA victims are valid!!!” stuff harder than anyone, even MRAs. Just as men are the ones making the rape jokes, these masculine gender expectations are taught and upheld almost entirely by men. They created the stigma all on their own.

Anyway, let's address the elephant in the room: 71% is a big number! I have to wonder, though, how many of the reported sexual victimization incidents were rape, and how many were things like unwanted sexual comments, groping, and leering. Those things are definitely distressing and even psychologically damaging, but nobody should deny that they are not on the same level as sexual assault – something experienced by a staggeringly high number of women and girls. Anyway, here it is:

As I expected, forced penetration (what I would consider rape) doesn't make up a whole lot of that percentage. If you want, you can scroll through some of the tags on my blog to see how statistics for female SA victims differ. Well, probably. Tumblr's tagging system is finicky.

I'm sorry, but I'd rather focus my concern on the things that men are doing. Like mass-scale sex trafficking and prostitution. And violent pornography. And spycam terrorism / voyeuristic porn / deepfake porn. And forced child marriage and bride kidnapping. And barring girls from going to school. And female genital mutilation. And forcing women to wear head-coverings and then brutally assaulting and arresting them if they don't comply. And constant femicides. And "honor" killings. And incestuous rape and sexual abuse at horrifying rates. And brutal domestic violence. And every war in the history of humanity (and all the violence that war entails). And committing over 90% of violent crimes. And raping the female patients in their care. And raping babies and corpses and animals like it's nobody's business. And other quirky male activities. Thanks for the ask!

#asks #mine

[fillthattank]

Hey there, congrats on the 2000 followers! I wanted to see if you were still taking submissions for the mini celebration you were having. If you are, could you do a story about these progress pictures?

Keep up with the great blog and here's to another 2k followers

He was already one of the bigger and stronger guys at the gym when I first saw him. Nice bic pecs, a defined mid-section, and arms that earned him many stares. I was one of those, I won't hide it: I wanted to be that big too, one day.

But when I talked to him, I soon found out he didn't care for all those envious - and sometimes lustful - stares. All he wanted was to grow bigger and get stronger.

"The bigger you get the more you want to grow," he said, when I pointed ou he was already massive. He was drinking a gigantic shake in the locker room, his abs already bloated. After giving me some more advice, he tilted back his head to chug the last of his shake, his belly inching forward ever so slightly.

"Damn, I'm so bloated," he laughed nervously, noticing my eyes staring at his belly.

"You always have this much?" I asked, still in awe.

"Lately, yes. Trying to bulk up, but it turns out you need a real lot to be in a surplus when you're my size."

He moaned and rubbed his belly with one hand, as he flexed his other arm. In every gym, you see guys with big bloats, but this was seriously big.

"But like, is it safe to let you belly get this big?"

"Yeah, it's kinda freaky how big it gets. But it's just a bloat. And I want that extra muscle so bad."

*

This was indeed a daily occurrence. He'd bloat himself crazy after each session. Earning himself plenty of stares, from terror to jealousy passing by fascination, sometimes freaking himself out by the size of his bloat. But for his efforts, he was rewarded with consistent strength and muscle gains.

One day, he turned up at the gym with an already bloated tank, stretching his shirt tight.

"Big lunch?" I asked

"Big dinner, really. I was still so bloated when I woke up," he said, slowly rubbing his huge round gut. "Fitting breakfast and lunch in there was rought. But I want those gains so bad."

He really was huge. I'd seen him leave the gym after some monster chugging sessions with a smaller bloat than this. Watching him pump iron with a belly that looked like it would explode if poked the wrong way was both fascinating and terrifying.

And yet, his workout done, I found him in the locker room, holding the same monster shake. His bloat hadn't gone down one bit, digestion being offset by the water he'd been drinking between sets.

"There's no way you've got room all that, right?" I let out.

"I'm gonna make it fit. Can't miss out on any gains."

He didn't so much chug the shake as brute-force it into his already overloaded belly. His neck muscles working hard, leaning back or to the side as his stomach was forced to stretch. I stood fascinated, both telling myself I might need to jump in if he hurt himself, and in awe of how a single belly could hold so much.

Once done, he opened his mouth to burp, but no sound came out. He was beyond maxed out. Way past his limit.

"I think I need a belly rub," he said.

His belly looked so full I was scared to touch it. But, no one had ever looked as desperately in need of belly rubs as ths guy had.

Just a slight touch and I straight away felt the insane pressure inside his huge belly. As if the huge volume of food and shake was pushing against my hand with all its strength. Just touching the belly seemed to provide a visible amount of relief

"I needed that," he said.

I tried moving my hands around a bit. Like any self-respecting gym bro, I'd overdone it with the shake or the cheat meals a few times, and had some experience, but this was no ordinary bloated belly. His already huge stomach was so overloaded it seemed like he had gone beyond his capacity, forcing it to stretch. There really wasn't much I could do, though it seemed

I offered to drive him home. And to stay with him for at least a bit, as it didn't feel right to leave someone alone with a gut this dangerously stuffed. We lied him down on his bed, his enormous belly taking up a freakish amount of space. Jutting out vertically from below his beefy pecs, and rising up high in the air before it even started to curve back down.

"You really do want those gains bad," I joked.

"Yeah," he replied. I got a chucke out of him. "So bad I almost burst."

Desite almost all the energy in his body being redirected to managing his gargantuan bloat, he mustered enough strength to flex one of his arms.

I ended up staying the night.

The next morning, his bloat no longer looked like it was at risk of bursting, but still stuck out from beyong his pecs by a few inches. Not surprising, as even big muscle guy like him couldn't digest that much in just one night.

What did surprise me was how hungry he was. Even with a bloat big enough to freak out a smaller guy, his belly was still grumbling in hunger, loud enough to wake both of us up. Begging for a gigantic breakfast that he immediately got up to make for himself.

"How are you still hungry?" I asked.

"I don't know, I just am. My belly feels like it's empty."

The hunger only faded when his belly was back to being close to the size it had been last night. I was concerned, but he was now getting excited: with all this food, he was going to be able to put on even more muscle.

*

Rather than try and calm down after overloading his belly so much, he only increased his intake. His belly did not explode, but his strenth did. PR after PR was crushed. He was adding size at an insane pace.

All that weight wasn't muscle of course. A gigantic belly stuck out at all times. The constant overeating made it adapt. It kept getting bigger, of course, and it got sturdier. His belly no longer looked like a bloated six pack that would burst if poked the wrong way, but like a solid powerbelly, capable of digesting just about anything.

His abs were now gone from sight (though likely bigger and stronger than ever), but he didn't care. The giant belly wasn't just a tool to get bigger muscles, it was a point of pride in itself: just like he had the biggest guns, he also had the biggest gut. And he wanted both bigger.

#musclegut #male stuffing #male belly story #weight gain story #gainer story #stuffing story #belly story #dirty bulk #bloating story #story

[stcverogers]

TOP GUN FIC RECS 6!

top gun fics that i’ve been reading and obsessing with over recently

this is extremely important and i take this very seriously out of respect for the community. please do remember to read the rules for the respective blogs before interacting with or reading them.

F: fluff A: angst S: smut

𖥻 - series /multi part

masterlist

JAKE 'HANGMAN' SERESIN

F + A: jake seresin and the unfortunate hat situation by @sehnsuchts-trunken it's your first time in texas and you don't understand what the big fuss about hats is about.

F: never grow up by @andorskenobi you've fallen ill and the seresin boys play doctor.

F + A: signed away by @seresinhangmanjake at 19 years old, the last thing you want is to marry someone you don't love. however, a contract is a contract and you must see it through.

F: 7 years by @flaming-tgmcu jake's known you since he was 7 and he's loved you ever since.

F + S: birds away by @wombtotombx 𖥻 everyone who knew you and jake growing up were convinced that you'd end up together. you were perfect for one another. yet life and the navy had other plans.

F: tiktok troubles by @ultralightpoe jake misses date night and to get back at him, you pull tiktok pranks when he least suspects it.

F: sweet as candy by @halsteadsbradshaw with a callsign like haribo, it's no wonder you have a sweet tooth. jake knows this and this is the 4 times he brings you candy.

F + A: you again by @ereardon you're back in jake's life and he's determined not to let you go again.

F + A: bad habit by @seasonsbloom 𖥻 hangman was cocky. a complete asshole. you hated him, that was for sure.

F + A: glue song + part 2 + part 3 by @waklman the coffee you make isn't why jake is friends with you, though it is a good plus.

A: move on by @starlightstories jake left you hurt years ago and you've long moved on. it was time that he did too.

F + A: rule number one + rule number two by @ultralightpoe when you first met jake, he made the rule to not fall in love with him. you break it and he breaks you heart in the process.

F + A: nothing else matters by @sunnysidevans despite not being her biological father, jake had helped you raise evelyn ever since you found out you were pregnant with her.

F: dad jake blurb by @stargazing15

F + A: left at the alter by @tip-top-cloud-surfer 𖥻 you get left at the alter by your jerk of a fiance. luckily, jake is there for you, just like when you were younger.

F: the beanery by @callsign-peach when jake keeps coming into work with fancy thermos coffee every morning, his colleagues get jealous and want in on the nice roast too.

F + A: tell them by @sarahsmi13s 𖥻 jake's nearly loses his eldest son to a car accident and decides it is finally time to share his family with his work one.

F + A: i had to let go of you just to get a hold of myself by @gennyanydots 𖥻 jake thought that leaving everything behind would make it easier. instead he feels alone, his life consisting of nothing but his job that consumes him.

F: a little bit easier by @sunlitsunflowers jake is there to comfort you when you start to feel overwhelmed at the hard deck

F: marry that girl by @books-are-escapes jake always knew that you were the one he would marry and he finally made it happen

BRADLEY 'ROOSTER' BRADSHAW

F: baby, i'm yours by @almightyellie you're completely blind to bradley's very obious affections for you.

F: to the moon and back by @katsu28 a very special valentine's day for you and bradley

F + A: i will always love you by @amysteryspot with his parents gone and the closest thing he knew to love away, bradley wasn't expecting anyone to tap him out.

F + A: fawn by @sappy-seresin you've garnered rooster's interest working at the hard deck. your skittish behaviour leaves him worried and curious.

F: wedding day by @tip-top-cloud-surfer it's bradley's wedding day and he's brought to tears from seeing his bride

S: (christmas) baby please come home by @gretagerwigsmuse if bradley broke your agreement of only one gift each, surely he wouldn't mind if you broke it too.

F + S: the keeper + part 2 by @tulipsbymybed rooster is infatuated with the owner of the local bookshop.

F + A: homemade dynamite by @mothdruid you and rooster hadn't ended on good terms, now, you're both back at top gun.

F + A: endings and beginnings + part 2 by @tip-top-cloud-surfer rooster finally gets his chance at a family

F: just roommates by @risriswrites you and bradley were roommates, that's all.

F + A: terms of endearment by @ohtobeleah 𖥻 jake seresin was an instigator. as your brother-figure in life, he just wants you to be happy. this includes pushing you and rooster together.

F + A: something special by @helloheyhihowdyheya rooster cares for you more than he lets on, he just has a terrible way of showing it

F + A: what a look on you by @thewulf you secretly harbour feelings for bradley. when a friend from college comes visit and rooster seems far more enamored by her than you, you're hurt.

F: 5 times the Bronco was a third wheel by @thesewordsareallihavetogive there isn't many things bradley loves more than his bronco. you, maybe, but that's about it.

F + S: what's in a name? by @sometimesanalice bradley's favourite thing about you was the way you said his name

F + A: superstar + part 2 by @maggiedanikka bradley bradshaw was the poster boy for the americna navy. he was everything you weren't. why would he ever fall for the likes of someone like you?

F: daddy's little princess by @startrekfangirl2233-writes you come home to bradley playing dinosaurs and barbies with your two children

F: milk and toast and honey by @amysteryspot despite your bad experience with naval aviators, you have an affinity for one bradley bradshaw

F: romeo, romeo by @welcome-to-my-multiverse rooster is completely enamored by you and the dagger squad definitely shouldn't have left a drunk him alone with you.

ROBERT 'BOB' FLOYD

F: losing something and the other picks it up and calls after them by @callsignsaturn

F: afternoon bedrest by @jungle-angel bob returns home with an upset stomach. lucky for him, you're there to comfort him

F: he's all that by @withahappyrefrain bob's too nervous to approach the cute girl at the hard deck. his team mates decide that a makeover is just the confidence boost he needs

F: rodeo by @sarahsmi13s though you could perfectly hold your own, bob would always stand up for you.

F: surprise by @topgun-imagines bob proposed to his girl and no one the dagger squad had known

F: blind date gone...wrong? by @intricatechaosofyou you get stood up on a blind date. thankfully, bob is there to save you the embarrassment.

F: wanna buy you a drink by @anonymooseforever007 you surprise bob at the hard deck, but not without a little teasing first.

S: untouchable + part 2 by @idkwhylou as the only daughter of the captain, you were placed on a pedestal, deemed untouchable. bob was the only exception.

TOM 'ICEMAN' KAZANSKY

F: little reward by @dragon-kazansky to entice tom away from his computer, you promise him hugs and strawberries

BEAU 'CYCLONE' SIMPSON

F: super trouper + part 2 by @callsignmayhem you're sick and beau is ready to help you feel better, with the help of soup and mamma mia.

#claire’s fic recs #jake seresin x reader #bob floyd x reader #hangman x reader #top gun imagine #top gun fluff #top gun x reader #cyclone x you #beau simpson #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster smut #rooster x wife!reader #rooster x you #rooster angst #hangman au #top gun headcanons #top gun fanfiction #coyote machado #javy machado imagine #javy machado fic