Our Lady of the Blind Faith — Emil Melmoth, 2022
AnasAbdin
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

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shark vs the universe
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

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Acquired Stardust
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izzy's playlists!
styofa doing anything

@theartofmadeline
YOU ARE THE REASON
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

Kaledo Art
cherry valley forever

Love Begins
todays bird

oozey mess
hello vonnie
Misplaced Lens Cap
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@alexandergrint
Our Lady of the Blind Faith — Emil Melmoth, 2022
RABBOT + text posts
When You Look at Dr. Grace
(part 1) part 2/2
Rabbot head-cannon — leaving notes for each other.
Okay so I was thinking, because of the nature of their shifts, Robby and Jack probably rely on text or leaving each other notes to communicate, especially when their sleep schedules are exact opposites. For things not as urgent, they probably prefer the analog way of writing things down.
For Jack, I’m picturing him writing on post-it notes and sticking them on the fridge, on their bedroom door, etc., for Robby to find when he wakes up. He probably has a stack of post-its on his night stand to write things down before he heads off for his shift.
For Robby though, he’s grabbing whatever pieces of paper he could find to scribble on, not caring what shapes or form they are in, as long as he can get the messages across. He would be putting pieces of tape on them so that he can slap these notes on random surfaces in their home for Jack to come across, a gift of pleasant surprises.
Please enjoy the notes situation I pictured in my head haha. 🫶🏼 They are so precious!!!
another day, another lie (a sequel to this video inspired by @alethialia's tags)
Nicole Kidman as Satine in Moulin Rouge! (2001)
TUESDAY AGAIN NO PROBLEM
Project Hail Mary (2026) dir. Phil Lord & Chris Miller
hello rabbot nation
guess who's back at it again
Follow up to this blurb :) Cross posted on ao3
"You don't have an alpha?"
“…No?” Robby’s head tilts. He lets out a little laugh. “I would’ve told you if I did, you’re like my best friend.”
Someone across the table makes a wounded noise.
Jack’s heart sinks. “Oh.”
He should think of an excuse to leave, but everything is hitting him all at once and he just jumps ungracefully from the table, ignoring the clattering glasses and his friends calls in favor of bolting out of the restaurant.
By the time Jack makes it home, he's heaving. He clips every wall and piece of furniture between him and his bedroom, distracted by the painful tightness in his chest.
Of course, Robby doesn't want him. What can Jack offer that Robby can't provide himself? Idiot.
Everything rushes toward him at once. Every instance of Robby refusing his clothing or turning down physical contact. Jack stupidly thought he wanted to take things slow. Idiot.
He collapses on his bed with a pitiful whine, only to land on a soft lump hidden under his duvet. Jack is already certain of what it is, and shame eats at him. He reaches under the bedding and pulls out Robby's zip-up. It had been left behind after what Jack thought was a lovely romantic dinner at home, when he called Robby to let him know, he'd said to keep it and he'd collect it the next time he came over.
At the time, Jack thought it was his omega's subtle way of giving him something with his scent, but now he realizes it was an accident made by his friend.
And Jack has been sleeping with it like a creep.
Another pathetic noise rings from his throat. The worst part is that even after Robby made it clear, publicly, that he doesn't want Jack, he still finds comfort in the soft vanilla scent of Robby. It's twisted with Jack's own cedarwood in a disturbing fantasy that Jack deluded himself into thinking could be real.
He curls around the jacket and lets hot tears stream down his face onto the fabric. In the morning, he'll get himself together and apologize for the misunderstanding, but for now, he sobs against the last grasp of his dream mate.
"Jack!" Rapid, thundering knocks echo against the door. "Jack! Open the door! I need to talk to you!"
Jack's gut contracts as if someone has sunk their claws in and ripped him open. So much for licking his wounds and delaying the inevitable.
He trudges over to the front door and keeps his eyes cast to the ground as he opens it. Even the sight of Robby's beat-up sneakers is too much to bear.
"Jack," Robby gasps. "Wha..."
It's then that Jack realizes the thoroughly scented zip-up is still in his white-knuckle grip. He shoves the jacket forward, head hanging in shame. "Sorry."
Robby takes it with delicate fingers. From his peripheral, Jack can see him raise it to his nose. God, as if this wasn't humiliating enough. Jack forces his heavy feet to move, desperate to hide in a lump of his embarrassment. But Robby follows him.
"Jack?" He asks carefully. "Are you my alpha?"
"No," Jack chokes. "You don't have an alpha." The words are like acid.
There's a long, silent pause. For the first time ever, Jack wishes Robby would leave. Usually, he's clambering for any form of his attention, but right now, his presence hurts.
"Well, I thought I didn't, but then at dinner..." Robby comes closer. "When did we start courting?"
What? Robby was there. Jack crosses his arms, still looking at the floor. "In December, when I asked you to go to Radici's."
"But that was just dinner."
Jack looks up and is met with the deep crease forming between Robby's eyebrows.
"It's a nice restaurant," Jack argues.
"No, I know," Robby assures. "But inviting someone out to dinner... alphas do that all the time."
Jack's going to be sick. "Alphas ask you to dinner all the time?"
"Well..." Robby shuffles awkwardly on his feet. "Or like mini golf, or a walk in the park or something."
Jack blanches. "And you say yes?"
Robby shrinks in on himself. "Sometimes. But mostly no because I don't know them, so why would I want to hang out? And recently, I've always had plans with you."
That alleviates a bit of Jack's queasiness. "Those are dates, Mike."
Robby shakes his head. "How can they be dates? No one has ever offered me a courting gift."
"A courting gift?"
"You know, like, like this." He holds up the jacket. "I mean, not that I meant to, but you get it. Courting starts with a scented item. 'This omega is mine.'"
"Mine? Mikey, I don't want you to be mine. I want us to be each others."
Robby's face glows red, and Jack can feel the heat of his own face matching.
“I mean,” Jack clears his throat. “I’ve never met anyone that starts a courtship with clothing; that tends to come later.”
“That can’t be true,” Robby argues. “My bubbe taught me—“
“Your bubbe?” Jack interrupts. “Mike, how long has it been since she got courted?”
“Well…” Robby sighs and ducks his head. “I didn’t think you liked me.”
“What?” Jack steps back. “Am I doing something wrong?”
“No, I know we’re friends, or that we get along.” Robby pulls the jacket closer to his chest. “But I didn’t think I was someone you’d want to court.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to court you?” Jack can’t think of a single reason, and apparently neither can any of these other alphas pleading for Robby’s time.
“You’re…” Robby gestures around Jack’s frame. “Perfect. You could pick any omega in the whole world.”
“Okay,” Jack whispers. “Can I pick you?”
“You don’t want me.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Jack.” Robby holds a stern gaze that makes Jack’s hair stand on end. “Among everything else you know about me, it should now be obvious that I’m a naive idiot.”
“That’s not true. You didn’t know one thing—“
“A huge thing.”
“—and we got that cleared up. I know plenty about you, and I like it all.”
Robby takes a deep breath. “What about the fact that I’m bigger than you?”
Jack tilts his head with a frown. “Yeah? I’m aware.”
“Wouldn’t you rather be with a proper omega?”
“Proper? What? No. It’s, like, the main reason I wanted you.” Jack’s face is ablaze again. “Not the main reason, sorry. I just meant, you know, before. When we didn’t know each other, but I was still attracted to you.” Shut up! “Now I’m in it for your personality, and your intelligence. You’re a proper omega. I like that you’re bigger than me.”
Jack clamps his mouth shut before he can make this worse for himself.
Robby fails to hide his laughter. “Okay. Then why haven’t you offered me any clothes?”
Jack’s mouth is dry. “Huh?”
“I told you that’s how I was raised. Clothing means courting.” Robby approaches, leaving barely a foot of space between them. “Are we courting or what?”
Jack dashes back to his room and rummages through his closet. He tries to think of every sappy movie he’s ever seen; something soft like a sweater would be more traditional, but it’s starting to get hot out, so Robby won’t wear it often.
He lands on a rec team t-shirt. It’s old and worn to ideal comfort, and has the added benefit of ‘Abbot’ being written on the back.
When he presents it to Robby, he’s gifted the zip-up back. “Thank you.”
“Thank you,” Robby says.
Then, in an act Jack can only assume is meant to test his will, Robby pulls his shirt off and changes into Jack’s offering right there in the hall.
He’s seen Robby shirtless before. In similar contexts when something unfortunate sullies his scrubs, but here in the dim light of Jack’s home is unlike anything he’s seen before.
Robby tosses Jack the shirt he wore to dinner. “You can keep that,” he says. “The other one isn’t that strong anymore.”
“Thank you,” Jack says again.
“No problem.” Robby rocks on his feet. “So, where are we going for our first date?”
“Uh.” Jack’s mind is black of anything other than omega, omega, omega. “Radici’s?”
something in me knows where I’m going something in me knows where I’m going something in me knows where I’m going something in me knows where I’m going
you get used to it, but it's tiring, because they need you to understand your own life as a series of goalposts. what college are you going to, what's your major going to be, whatcha gonna do with that, oh where will you settle down, when can i expect grandkids.
for the longest time my goals have been so blurry that they track into each other, their undefined edges slipping quietly back into the soft night. today i want to be a writer; tomorrow i will want to be a doctor, later i will wish i took that law school free ride. how the fuck do people just know what they want to do with their life?
where do you want to be in five years? i want to be alive; which is a huge step for me. ten years ago i would have said i want to be asleep and meant i hope that i'm dead by then.
but i want a yellow kitchen and a stand mixer. i want a garden and a fruit tree (cherry, if i can make that happen) and a big yard for my dogs to play in. i want to come home and read poetry out loud to someone and have them close their eyes to listen. i want a summer watergun fight. i want to make snowmen. i want to be the house to go to for halloween. i want my life to settle around me in a softness, for it to lay down gently. if i am very, very, very lucky, i want to travel; finally go someplace overseas.
of course i don't know what i want to be doing professionally. what i actually want to be doing is curling up beside my dog, settling in to read. i want to be making myself a cup of good coffee.
i can't answer the other questions. whenever people asked me what do you want to be when you grow up, i used to say i hope i'm happy.
i hope i'm still kind, five years from now. i hope i never get jaded and mean. i hope i have stayed in therapy. what do you picture yourself doing? when will you actually be an adult about this? why are you so afraid of being ambitious?
am i not ambitious? the other day i rearranged my furniture which doesn't quite fit into my apartment. i watered my plants. i'm going to try to propagate a cherry seed. my five year goal is to spend more time laughing. to lie down in a patch of sunwarm moss. to relax for a minute. to close my eyes and think oh thank god. this is why i stayed. this is finally it.
it's pretty easy to imagine that you are one of some fractional holdout against AI while everyone else has fallen into some misguided love affair with LLMs, and I am so happy to tell you that this is not the case.
the US public is deeply suspicious of AI's impacts on jobs and education. Kamala Harris and the Republican party are both polling better than AI. 8/10 gen zers are concerned about AI's impact on education and only 18% are positive about this technology. there is widespread, bipartisan grassroots organizing against data centers. 97% of Britons are against Grok's "undressing" technology. the majority of Americans are concerned about AI in arenas like self-driving vehicles and healthcare. Even polling data from companies centered on AI shows significant concern around generative technology. OpenAI isn't meeting internal growth bench posts. On top of all that, Musk and Altman are currently both making fools of themselves in a very public trial.
I wrote this to ground myself because within the last month my workplace and gym have become overrun by AI graphics, then I logged out of Tumblr and immediately discovered that my Chemistry professor has switched to transparently AI generated exam feedback
if infinite monkeys on typewriters will eventually write shakespeare then surely 100 million americans with pistols will eventually successfully assassinate the us president
Tony : For once I would like to be fucked by something that isn’t my life!
Bucky : Boy, do I have an offer for you.