My writing blog. I'm very new to actually posting so please be nice, I beg. She/Her not a small child reading slasher smut I promise pls don't block me ๐ญ started out as a blog where I could be a pussy, now I'm trying to do something with it. I run my blog entirely on mobile, so if it looks like shit I'm sorry. I really struggle with motivation to write ๐
The LuZo daughters when they're older (20 and 19 maybe?). Zoro took Kuinas eye and Ace is a crybaby sweetheart whose punches can devastate small towns.
I think Kuina goes a bad route for a while before finding herself and Ace does her best to let her explore on her own but would probably disobey luffy and zoro to go "get her back". Im not sure how luzo would deal w a situation like that but its fun to think about.
Kuinas wounds still fresh here, but I dont think itd effect her and zoros relationship at all. she appreciates he wouldnt hold back and treats her as an equal. But Kuina also has a lot of antisocial habits and miscommunication with others.
Ace would become some sort of freedom fighter on accident, very much a do gooder without intending to be like luffy. shes selfish but has a lot of wisdom. shes a fast learner, sociable, and easily makes friends. the rocky relationship w her sister is most important to her tho.
Grelle Sutcliff x me. Based on actual events. Suggestive fluff. Screencap edit by @sincerelyminn
Loved... to Death!
Grelle and I are winding down from the ball, tucked away in our cozy room when we hear the whisper of a note sliding beneath the door. The reaper watches as I open it, her bright green eyes drifting from the letter, to rove over the sight of me in my nightdress, and back to the letter.
โWell, come on now, the suspense is killing me,โ she says, peeling off a strip of false lashes. โDo we have a secret admirer?โ
I chuckle, handing her the note, โYou do. They want me dead.โ
I'd only skimmed over it, but that glance was enough to get the gist. The anonymous sender was incensed at the idea of Grelle and I being together, insisting that she belonged to them, that she would kill me, and that I deserved that death.
โEh?โ Grelle grimaces, reading it through for herself. Perfectly plucked eyebrows slant and pinch as her gaze returns to me. โWell, somebody's knickers are in a twist. And they didn't even leave a name? Cowardly and a few sandwiches short of a picnic. Pay it no mind, darling.โ
I can't help but smile as she tosses the letter into the trash can beneath her vanity, takes my hand, and leads me to our bed. โTo think I would ever choose a nasty little wuss like that over you.โ
โAnd murder me too, don't forget that part.โ
โAh, yes,โ she grins, sharp teeth pressing to the crimson pillow of her lower lip as we climb into bed. โI suppose if I have to, I'll kill you with kisses. Or tickle you to deathโฆโ Her voice drops to a seductive purr as she walks her fingers down the curve of my waist. โOr, if you prefer la petit mort I've a craving for ginger.โ
I return her smile, and issue an unspoken challenge with a quirk of my eyebrows; oh?
She pounces, going for the throat.
Grelle is strong and ruthless, and the sudden onslaught of kisses and nibbles has me squealing. But rather than push her away, I find myself wrapping my arms around her, holding her close, inviting her attack. Inviting my beautiful death.
Grelle has always loved loudly, boisterously, with her entire heart. She grins at me as if to say hold on tight, my darling. And I do.
Knowing a fic author through AO3 is like attending someoneโs thesis presentation and politely clapping at the end, knowing a fic author through this hellsite is like going over to their house at 3AM to watch them eat mayonnaise out of a jar
Sometimes I look at a thesis presentation and I go โI know exactly how much mayonnaise you had to eat out of the jar at 3 am to pull this shit offโ
REPOSTED FROM MY OLD BLOG. L x Reader (reader has a pussy but no gendered pronouns are used.) NSFW. L wants to try sex, and who better to try it with than you. P in V. Cunnilingus. Friends to lovers. 3.7k words. MDNI.
BELONGING
You turn the page on the book youโre reading, balancing it between the edge of the diner booth table and the heel of your palm. Of course, youโre aware that L is staring at you; he often is.
Ordinarily itโs simply because he feels comfortable with you, because those wide saucer eyes need somewhere to focus and youโre a safe option. But today you could swear thereโs something unspoken and unfamiliar between you. For one, heโs more talkative than usual.
โTwo years, three months andโฆ a week? Is that right?โ he mutters to himself. โI believe so. Thatโs not exactly long in the grand scheme of things. But is it long enough?โ As usual, he crouches with his bare feet on the seat, thumbing his lower lip with one hand while the other rests on his knee.
Youโre used to the way L talks to himself when heโs working through something, so you donโt comment on his little monologue.
โDid you decide what to order yet?โ you ask, slotting a postcard from Tokyo between the pages of your book to hold your place.
โChocolate cream pie.โ Lโs eyes dart down to the makeshift bookmark. โAh, you kept it?โ
โOf course. I never throw out any of the postcards you send me from your trips.โ
The barest hint of a smile curves his lips as his gaze lifts back to you, wordlessly letting you know that your gesture means a lot to him. Over the years, you and L have grown close; comfortable in each other's company, often seeking each other out simply to be near to one another. Heโs the type of friend you can spend hours just sitting beside, watching raindrops slide down the windows, neither of you speaking, the silence between you as comforting as conversation.
L eases your anxieties and youโ at least you hopeโ ease his. Though earning that trust and camaraderie has been a slow process; one which has taken two yearsโฆ three months andโฆ a week.
โThat's how long it's been since we met, isn't it?โ You ask, picking up your water to take a sip. โThat's what you're thinking about.โ
โYes.โ He picks up the sugar shaker and pours about a fifth of its contents into his teacup. โYou should know, I'm debating whether to ask you if you would be willing to have sex with me.โ
He doesn't even flinch when you splutter into your glass. Surely you heard wrong. โHuh?โ
โIt's something I'm considering,โ he says, stirring the sugar into his tea, pincering the teaspoon with his thumb and forefinger and watching it intensely as he speaks. In all the years you've known him, you've never seen him grasp anything with his whole hand. โI've felt the urge and lately it's become quite persistent. And if I were to explore that avenue I would want it to be with someone I trust. That really only leaves Watari, which is out of the question, a handful of colleagues, which isโฆ a little better but hmโฆ no. Or you. And I'll admit, I have a significant desire for it to be you.โ
The world stops spinning for a moment, your racing heart drowns out your thoughts. โHuh?โ
โDon't worry. I haven't decided if I'll ask you yet.โ
โUh huh.โ
He looks up with genuine concern in his eyes. โAm I making you uncomfortable?โ
โNo! Noโฆ it's justโฆ I didn't expect it.โ
โWell that makes two of us,โ he says, sipping the tea with an audible slurp. โA lot happened in Tokyo, as youโre aware. It gave me a lot to consider, andโฆ if Iโm honest, brought home the fleeting nature of life.โ He takes another sip and then stares directly into your eyes. โI think I will ask you.โ
โ...okayโฆโ
โWill you have sex with me?โ
โYes.โ Your face heats as his dark eyes continue watching you, his expression completely neutral. You have to admit, in the two years, three months, and a week since you met him you've wondered about it, but it wasn't until he asked that you realized just how badly you want him. โYes I will.โ
โThank you.โ He lowers his gaze to the menu in front of him, worrying his lips with the tip of his thumb. โMaybe I want strawberry shortcake instead of chocolate cream. Hmโฆ thatโs a conundrum.โ
โYou could get both?โ you suggest with a playful smile, trying to relieve a little of the tension youโre feeling. โYou successfully cracked the Kira case, and got home safely. We should celebrate.โ
His wide eyes dart to you for a moment, shock registering over his face as he considers it. โYes, youโre right. Both. One for now and one for after we're done. That sounds like it could be nice.โ
โYou want to.. umโฆdo it tonight?โ
โYes. I was thinking we could after we're finished here. Is that alright?โ
You nod, still a little thrown off kilter by this sudden turn of events. But is it really all that sudden? Youโve felt something more than friendship toward L for a while now, and heโs comfortable around you, he likes to spend time with you; youโre soothing to him in a way, just as he is to you.
And, to be frank, Lโs handsome. And completely unaware of it which only makes him hotter.
However, you canโt help but question whether it will change things between you. Will your friendship suffer for the sake of one night?
โI promise I wonโt be weird about it,โ L says, his gaze fixed on you once more. He always has had a way of figuring out exactly what youโre thinking, almost as if he can read your mind. But no, heโs just that smart and that good at reading people. โWe can go right back to being friends afterward if we wish. Communication is key. And of course, if youโre in any way uncomfortable or hesitantโโ
โIโm not. I want this.โ Your sudden admission makes his eyes widen and your heart skip. Yes, you want it. You want him. Bad.
***
Itโs a little after eight when Lโs car drops you both off at a hotel.
โI figured a neutral place would work best for us,โ he explains as you step into the elevator beside him and the porter presses the button for the top floor suite. โThat way either of us can simply leave ifโฆโ he trails off, staring straight ahead for a moment before his gaze turns back to you. โIโm sure weโll haveโฆ Itโll beโฆ hmโฆ is fun the right word? It sounds wrong.โ
The air between you grows heavy as you stand side-by-side, the porterโs presence holding you back from saying everything you want to. An overwhelming need to reassure L, to make sure he knows that you want him to feel good in every conceivable way, from physical pleasure to comfort and safety, fills you, but the words sit behind a dam at the back of your throat.
When you glance over at L, heโs watching you, his wide eyes studying your facial expressions. And then he side-steps closer to you, the back of his hand nudging yours; such a simple and casual gesture that lets you know heโs there.
โFun, yeah,โ you say.
โOkay, so if you start laughing it means Iโm doing well. Understood.โ
He delivers the line so flatly it makes you splutter, drawing the attention of the porter. And just like that he sets you at ease; L, your strange, brilliant, enigmatic friend.
Your friend who takes you to the penthouse suite with every intention of fucking you but who first gives you a tour, opening the fully stocked refrigerator and telling you to help yourself.
โI asked them to provide refreshments. Sex burns calories and it seemed polite to make sure your energy reserves were replenished,โ he says, pushing aside a plate of chocolate eclairs to place his strawberry shortcake from the diner into the fridge. He then takes you to the bathroom, instructs you on how to turn on the shower and adjust the heat. Then demonstrates the functions of the TVs remote control and the numbers to dial for room service as displayed on the phone by the bedside. And thenโ
"Lโฆ are you nervous?โ
โAh, is it obvious?โ
โA little. But it's okay,โ you say, gently taking his hand in yours. โI kinda am too.โ
โIโmโฆ struggling with the issue of initiation,โ he says flatly, glancing down at your joined hands. โIf you wouldnโt mindโฆ taking the lead.โ
โOkay,โ you say, stepping toward him. โHow about we start with kissing?โ
โKissing? Yes. Weโll try that.โ
Your heart thrums as you lean in and L mirrors your movement, the space between you shrinking by tentative inches. Lโs eyes remain wide open as you close the gap and allow your lips to touch his, an almost painful dart of excitement shooting through you at the sensation.
He inhales sharply, draws back, and then leans in once again.
His lips are stiff at first, but warm, and still taste faintly of chocolate cake. The first few moments consist of you kissing L, and him standing frozen like a deer in the headlights. Fearing heโs not into it you pull back, only for him to close the gap again instantly, this time his lips seeking yours. Only the very tips of his fingers rest on your shoulders, as though he isnโt quite sure what to do with his hands. His kiss is soft and shallow; little butterfly kisses which cause a giddy, tingling sensation to bubble in your chest.
His tongue shyly flicks against your lower lip, seeking affirmation and permission. And you grant it, winding your arms around his waist and pulling him closer, rewarded for your boldness with another low, approving groan.
His fingers cautiously slide up to your neck before coming to rest on your jaw. A quiet rumble of pleasure emerges from his throat as his confidence grows and his kiss deepens, and before long, L is kissing you like your lips contain the answers to every one of the worldโs mysteries. Those little sounds of pleasure hum against your lips. And when you open your eyes to check whether his are still wide, you find he's closed them, his dark eyelashes resting on his cheeks, his expression serene and lost in the sensation of your kiss.
โHmโฆโ he mutters as you break apart for air. โIโm enjoying this more than I thought I would.โ
โGood, me too.โ
โIโm aware how clinical this sounds but I have researched different ways to approach this, and the universal consensus from both reputable and anecdotal sources is that we will both enjoy it much more ifโฆ you areโฆ aroused.โ He looks up and away for a moment, tracing the lower ridge of his lip with his thumb as if trying to recall something. โIf youโreโฆwet.โ
โOh, well, yeahโโ
L draws closer, his breath warm as he whispers by your ear, โI want to get you wet.โ
The air catches in your lungs, a preemptive pulse of pleasure throbbing between your thighs as his lips begin to explore the sensitive skin of your neck. L has always had a way of putting things plainly.
โIโve read that neck kisses help,โ he mutters, his words muffled against your skin. โAs well as stimulating your breasts and your clitoris with my fingersโฆ and my tongue. The thought of that appeals to me. I would like to try it.โ
โHahโฆ of course. Youโre already doingโฆ doing a good jobโฆโ you breathe out as he continues to kiss your throat, his unruly black hair tickling your jaw and shoulder, his fingers ever-so-gently mapping the curve of your cheeks.
After a moment he pulls back, studying your face before his gaze drops to your lips. โReally? Interesting. Iโd thought it would be harder; pun not intended but it deserves to be recognized nevertheless. I do have an erection simply from kissing you. But while our genitals seem to already reached near optimal physical states for sex to occur, I would still like to continue, as planned, with exploration and cunnilingus if youโre happy to proceedโโ His words are cut off as you return his gesture, kissing the firm column of his neck, your tongue sliding up the deep groove of muscle traversing its length. โOh! Ohโฆโ
โThat good?โ
He nods. โExtremely so-hoh.โ
Heโs so responsive to your touch, his breath catching in his throat, his fingers trembling against your upper arms. You very quickly become proficient at pulling gasps and breathy moans from him, every inch of him so incredibly sensitive. A choked groan emerges from him as your hands wander down to the hem of his shirt, your fingers caressing the warm, supple skin of his abdomen and the coarse trail of hair leading down to his waistband.
You break away from kissing his neck long enough to pull his shirt up over his head, your hands coming to rest in the subtle curve of his waist. He follows your lead, tugging at your top, breath heavy, hands clumsy and eager. The moment your skin is exposed he tilts his hips toward you, back arching so he can press his body to yours. Hungry for the comfort of your touch, your skin against his, your warmth, your softness. He soaks it in, his lips finding yours once more.
When he slips down his jeans without pulling away from your lips, his cock prods at you through his boxers, just as eager as the rest of him, and unmistakably large.
And he's so hungry for you, so keen to experience it all. The moment you unclasp your bra and toss it aside, his mouth is on your breasts, deep groans telegraphing his pleasure. He kisses them so softly, so carefully you find yourself arching up against his mouth, silently demanding more. Maddeningly gentle. Deliciously sweet.
Together, you shed off the rest of your clothes and stumble toward the bed. Sitting on the edge of the mattress while he bends down with you, unwilling to take his mouth off you for even a second. Your hands trace the lean shape of his body, his pale skin pebbling at your touch.
His kisses trail down your chest, your belly, your hips, his lips leaving tingles of pleasure in their wake. Slender fingers part your thighs as he crouches between them, his breath warm against your pussy. A quiet hum of contemplation rolls from his throat and he touches his fingertip to your clit. Those wide eyes gaze at you, somehow filled with both knowledge and innocence, and an unspoken question you hear loud and clearโฆ
Is this right?
โYesโฆโ itโs all you can choke out before he sticks out his tongue and licks.
The sudden shock of pleasure pulls a gasp from you. His tongue is slippery, soft, warm, and hesitant at first until he gets the taste for you and a switch flips. If some part of you had worried that he wouldn't like the taste, you're dead wrong. L devours you, his tongue slipping between your pussy lips, dragging along your slit, circling and lapping at your clit. His groans reverberate through you, his face buried eagerly between your thighs, hands greedily keeping them apart, feathery black hair tickling your skin.
Perhaps it shouldn't come as a surprise heโs good with his mouthโ you've watched him tie cherry stalks with his tongue after allโ but the fervent hunger, his insatiable desire to taste you, that you didn't expect.
And apparently, neither did he. He pulls back briefly, his ashen cheeks for once a little pinker, his eyelids heavy and unable to tear their gaze from your pussy.
โThisโฆ might actually be better than cake.โ
You laugh, despite your frustration at the loss of his touch. โDon't stopโฆโ
โOh! Rightโฆโ he leans in, placing a slow, open mouthed kiss on your clit, his tongue so soft and gentle you find yourself arching your back, rocking your hips against his mouth, desperate for more pressure.
Dark eyes flick up to you, and you can tell he's pleased, he enjoys your reactions. Just as he enjoys it when you run your hands through his hair, stopping at the back of his head, gently holding him against you. He reads your body language perfectly, picking up the pace, increasing the pressure, licking you with renewed fervor, driving you closerโฆ closerโฆ
โMmhhhโฆ hmmmโฆโ he murmurs, fingers digging slightly deeper into the plush of your thighs when they start to tremble. Every breath huffs from his nose as he refuses to let up, his lips forming a tight seal around your clit as he licks and licks. The wet, sucking sound of his mouth against your tender flesh makes it all the better; so lewd, so utterly primal.
And when you cum, his eyes shoot back up to you, his expression a mix of shock and wonder at the sensation of your pussy pulsing beneath his lips. He doesnโt let up until you tell him to, and even then heโs slow to do so, sighing softly as he tenderly and affectionately kisses your throbbing clit.
When he rocks back on his heels, still crouched, heโs hazy-eyed, flushed, breathless. A creamy bead of pre-cum trickles from the tip of his cock as he licks his lips. โI enjoyed that far more than I expected I would. If you asked me to do it again, I doubt Iโd hesitate.โ
You nod, heat tingling beneath the surface of your skin. โYouโre good at it.โ
โAh! Good.โ He glances down at his weeping cock. โAre you still happy to continue?โ
โGod, yes.โ
โOh, weโre at the petnames stage already? Iโm flattered.โ He pauses, staring directly into your eyes. โThat was an attempt at a joke, I believe Iโm deflecting a little, trying to mask my nerves with humor.โ
Oh Lโฆ you canโt help but feel so hopelessly endeared to him. This sweet, strange, wonderful man who just ate your pussy like it was his first meal in years, and yet still feels nervous when really youโre already completely satisfied.
โHow about if I take the lead? You can just lie back andโฆ feelโฆโ you offer.
He contemplates it for a moment, tapping his thumb against his cupidโs bow. โYes. I think I would like that. And you can have extra cake later for doing all the hard work. That was another attempt at humor.โ
โCake and sex? Win win.โ You pat the bed beside you. โCome on, weโll take it nice and easy. Iโll stop when you say when.โ
โIโm very glad I asked you to share this with me,โ he says as he climbs onto the bed and lies back, one hand resting on his stomach, the other still worrying his lips. โI feelโฆ safe. Comfortable. Thereโs a sense of belonging here with you which makes this all far more pleasant andโฆ a little less terrifying.โ
โThereโs no need to be scared,โ you say softly, kissing the fingers resting on his lips as you straddle him.
โRest assured I do feel safe with you. Butโฆ I do feel a little exposed laid out flat like this. It isnโt a natural position for me to be in. Would you mind if Iโฆโ He experimentally bends his legs, raising his knees so his thighs are flush with your ass. โIs this okay?โ
It means you have to keep your weight forward, your hands braced on the pillow either side of his head and your chest flush with his. But it also means your faces are close; close enough to kiss, close enough that you can take his hand in yours, interlocking your fingers together on the pillow. โItโs more than okay.โ
โThis. This is nice,โ he whispers,โ the tip of his nose grazing against yours. โI feel good. Safe. Thank you.โ
You treat him so tenderly he shivers as you kiss his lips, his jaw, then down his neck to his chest. His breath catches as your lips graze his nipple, and his hips jut upward against you. The moment the head of his cock nudges your pussy his eyes widen and his lips part.
โCertainlyโฆ very wet. And warm.โ His other hand darts down to hold your hip, subtly urging you downward.
The tip of his cock feels almost impossibly fat against your entrance. You kiss your way back up his throat to look him in the eyes. โYes?โ
โYes!โ He quivers, nodding to reaffirm his consent, eyes wide, lips open around his heavy breaths. โContinue. I want toโฆ feelโฆ ohโฆโ He freezes the moment you lower yourself onto him and feels your wet heat consume him. โOhโฆ you areโฆ extremely warm. Soft. Hohโฆ wetโฆโ
You kiss him softly, smiling that his usual eloquence has been reduced to a quiet stream of grunts and adjectives. His grip on your hand tightens the moment you rock your hips.
โAh! Itโsโฆ itโs goodโฆโ he murmurs, his lips once again seeking yours, though even their deftness is lacking. His kiss is soft and uncoordinated, his moans muffled against your lips, his breaths catching in his throat before he can properly exhale.
And he feels good for you too. Not just the intoxicating stretch, or the way the pair of you slowly grind your hips together, faces so close youโre sharing the same air. For those few minutes there was never any Kira case, never any fear he would become nothing more than a name on a neverending list of victims. He isnโt even just a beloved friend youโre doing this with once so he can know what it feels like. Heโs simply Lโฆ your Lโฆ and youโre together, right where you belong.
His eyes close and he inhales sharply, his cock throbbing inside you as he lifts his head and buries it in the crook of your neck, curling up as much as he can with your weight on top of him.
โGyaโฆ shhhโฆ ah! Ah!โ He groans and hisses against your shoulder, his orgasm causing him to tremble. โD-donโtโฆโ he gasps. โDonโt stop. Not yet. Stay with me. Please.โ
โOkay,โ you assure him, kissing him softly once more. โIโll stay.โ
And you do. You stay with him in bed for hours, kissing, experimenting, hiding from the world together. You stay with him and eat cake after that. And you stay with him in the hotel bed watching raindrops slide down the windowpane while he curls up in your arms and reiterates the simple truthโฆ
SFW. You awaken to a familiar presence in your room.
Awakening
Your home is shrouded in absolute darkness when a familiar presence flushes you from the sanctuary of sleep. You jolt awake, heart racing, searching the shadows that surround your bed.
Terror, familiar and dreadful, an instinct coded into your DNA, the reason why the hairs on the back of your neck bristle when you are alone, the sudden burst of terror you feel sometimes when you climb a dark staircase. It's the reflexive fear of being pursued by a predator.
โPennywise?โ you ask the darkness.
And it answers, โOhโฆ ohoho yes. Yes, here I amโฆโ
It's a warm summer night, but your blood cools at the sound of the thing giggling somewhere close by. Beneath your bed, on the ceiling above, the closet, the doorwayโ you can't pinpoint it. The sound seems to come from every direction all at once. You half wonder if you're still dreaming.
You swallow around the barrier in your throat, try to force yourself to breatheโฆ
โCome out then,โ you say, hoping the wavering in your voice isn't quite so obvious as it sounds to your ears. โLet me see you.โ
A whisper of breath at the nape of your neck straightens your spine.
There shouldn't be enough space between your bed's headboard and your back, but you feel it there, close.
And little by little, all that instinctive fear dissolves. You know that monster. It's yours.
โYou were sleeping so soundly, all tucked up nice and safe in your bed,โ Pennywise says, the sing-songy lilt of its voice accompanying the tickle of gloved fingers trailing down your back. โMmhโฆ I scared youโฆโ
โA little.โ
It mutters something so softly to itself, something that sounds like โtasty.โ
โPoor thing,โ it sighs aloud, โbut you know there's no need to be afraid of your silly olโ Pennywise.โ
โNo?โ
โNever. Why, I could never hurt you. Oh no no no.โ
You want to believe it, but try as you might, instinct begs you to reconsider. Your beating, pleading heart pounds against your ribs: fight, or flee, but for God's sake, don't you dare fall for it. Run. Run! RUN!
But on that night, just like all the others, you turn toward the monster at your back and you welcome it as yours.
I could just be setting myself up for a bad time, but maybe writing some headcanons would be easier than me trying to post fics and hurting my own feelings. If anyone has any suggestions for what kind of stuff you'd want to read I'd like to hear them.
Iโm going to probably paint/draw this segment from the fic now that Iโm done with it as well!!
Hereโs the snippet for those curious! [Told from Brookโs POV]
I took up the role he had left behind the day after. There came with it no ceremony, nor some grand handoff, and it only dawned upon me in the following stagnant week what my new normal and my new title would spell for me.
It had been Madaisuki to first use the loathsome thing on me, the poor boy having been a wreck since the send-off.
His usual boisterous nature had been subdued into something so meek, I, at times, regretfully forgot that he was even there. Like two mirrors of the same specter, the shells of what were once vibrant young men had wilted into recluses. No more outside games, not during the first week at least, their noise being replaced by a silence I had never known the crew for. No games, for who was to play with them? No more laughter, for who was to laugh with them? Instead, they cooped up indoors for the most part, being spotted now only huddled amongst Johnโs feet on most days, or the next most tolerant man.
For hours, they would sit sheltered and chittering like doves, clinging to themselves and whomever they chose to wordlessly share that I was still was breaking apart. Somedays, when passing by a store room, or a crack in the library door, I could hear them weepโ the cries muffled by one another's shoulders, and by the countless others who had the same idea.
The Mizutas were simply the youngest, the most confused and perhaps the most unsteady, but they were not the only ones to feel the wake Yorki had left behind.
Warm, and naught a cloud hanging above, not as a day should be without a sun. Silent, I stood distant to the wheel that I was guiding, hands stuck to the worn wood in the grooves both he and our men left behind. It was my own warmth that I was feeling as I rubbed my thumb along the divots, but part of me, some desperate, sappy piece knew it must simply have been him, having just put me in charge of his job as he went to take one of his numerous breaks. He would be right back, bringing me a pint, and himself a tankard so full it was almost always to spill upon himself and the floorboards below. He would laugh then, and I would bristle, and he would laugh harder. I wished I could yell at him again, and perhaps I could play nicer. Glancing to the floorboards, part of me wished to touch them, hopefully to feel the cling of where beer still stained, to smell his choice of liquor. To have any of his presence.
โBrook.โ My name came spilling halfway and timid from Madaisuki's lips as he approached me from up the stairs, and I could hear the way he stifled it back down with a gentle sniffle. โC-Captain.โ The footfalls stopped briefly at the top of the stairs, and the side of my skull burnt from where he lay his gaze.
I did not answer at first, my brain not recognizing the word as my own. Instead, I continued facing ahead, my subconscious awaiting the gentle, warm reply that always greeted our men. The sound of boots beside me, the shove of his heft upon my ribs and waist, all of the space he took up and in. But, there was no one but us that stood upon the helm that day, as it had been for the past few. There was no other man but I, and again, Madaisuki, with a tremble to his meak tone, spoke to me.
โCaptainโโ I did not offer an immediate acknowledgement, for my throat had begun to close to better swallow back my stomach.
I paused only my motions, letting out a heavy exhale as to show him in a silent gesture that I was indeed ready for what was to follow. I was a liar.
Careful steps, as if I were to vanish if he came too fast, treaded closer in the silence I gave him. Creeping, tender, carefulโ a sniffle. Soon, I could feel him behind me, the odd displacement of air burning the sides of my coat before his hands finally stopped hovering and settled gingerly around my hanging coattails. They were usually not so bold, Mizutas, or any man, for my clothing was not to be touched by anyone under my authority, or even above it depending on the day.
However, I did not bend nor wane, and no sound could come from me as the weight of his skull softly leaned itself against my spine. His thumbs rubbed over the caffoy fabric of my coat briefly before settling on simply clutching, holding me as a child would a parent. Was Iโ had we not been in some way just that? This did not help my composure, my brain still flipping the word he used over and over, enough to make myself sea-sick. A tremor began in my wrist, and I prayed my nerves would not show to him.
โDo...โ A sniffle cracked through his voice, making him unable to continue without swallowing. โ...do you think they made it?โ
It was the same voice he had used around Yorki; an uncertain, airy, childish innocence, as if I somehow could change the answer he feared so greatly. As if I could change the worry that bit at everyone so loudly, so terribly loudly, that it almost deafened me.
As if I knew if my Yorki's heart still beat.
Swallowing sick back through my teeth, I did not flinch as I wanted to, I did not sob as I needed to, instead simply engaging in an audible and heavy deglutition. Madaisuki did not move much, and I could feel him do the same as I through the back of my jacketโs fabric. A sniffle, a sound to hold back his own tears.
My body was present, and pieces of my mind stood, however, in a strange regard, there was a disconnect. As if I could separate mind from body from heart, these sections having begun to split once he had. It was disorienting, numbing, and uncomfortable. That lost piece stared off at the sea blankly now, closing my throat in abject silence as it watched the way the tides danced.
Far off, over the bow, that tide roared and glowed in the sun, glittering as if satin with pearls and diamonds sewn upon its rippling undulating fabric. Teals and cerulean, endless and vast, oh, so terribly vastโ it stretched on forever. Past any scrutinizing, longing eyes of any sailor, and in that maybe it offeredโ that unseen land and far off horizonโ I prayed it still rocked the ship that I had once called home with love. With a mothers tenderness, gently rocking the cradle that made my Yorki's wooden, rotting bedโ oh seas, may that casket have been dirigible.
The image of that pale sheet rippled along with the waves, creeping like the rot it carried and the mystery of what lay beneath it. With the sound of the flag that audibly fluttered and creaked above me, the movement of this terrible phantom display came to me in greater detail. Cyans and the alabaster foam of the waves mixed with that horrid linen, that all encompassing wake of salt water becoming a droning buzz in my heating ears. A waking nightmare of flashing pictures, overlayed over things I should be comforted by, but the memory of him now had been tainted in odd ways, and I had not realized how long I had been suffering in shuttering silence until Maidasuki spoke up.
โC-C-Captain...โ It was almost inaudible over my own quickening heart rate, and I suddenly realized how warm my lower back had become. โ...Captain.โ
Anger blistered quite suddenly, that word becoming grating so quickly, it was as if a switch had gone off. For nary a discernible reason, it now triggered a violence I knew to be irrational even then, but it was almost blinding. Gripping the steering wheel as to control my form, I twisted my neck around finally with an audible pop. Ginger hair met my eyes, the curls waning and oil that usually kept them up lacking. Madaisuki faced the floor in an odd slant and although I could not see him at that moment, the way his head shook meant he must be still crying. With another gross, strangled sob, the man trying so desperately to hold it in, he must have felt my ribs move, for he looked up at me then, meeting my gaze.
Whatever devil contorted my heart must have also warped my expressions, for those shimmering brown eyes, almost red from the sheer amount of salt, widened with a horror I had never seen upon him. Whatever tenderness and joy that warmed his face for Yorki had been shipped off with him, reserved for him alone perhaps or, maybe I had done something wrong. Fear clouded those eyes and he quickly lowered his brows. He looked at me as if I had struck him, and I might have in a way I had not meant to.
I realized suddenly the warmth had begun to get cold, and looking past his fearful face, the cause sat cooling. Through two layers of clothing, a patch of tears stained, making my already umber coat somehow even darker. Vexation dispelled itself as suddenly as it had come, flying out like a bat into the night and leaving me in a suddenly vacant stupor.
My eyes fell downward with my heart, my face rippling back at me in odd intervals. Another puddle, one that was actively growing for the rivers that ran from his face still flowed strong, if not stronger, but not for the same reason it had been. Frozen and stiff, his hands, trembling still, did not let go of my coat. Knuckles almost white, they in fact tightened, as did the grip his upper lip had over his lower.
Like a child, Madaisuki was, or perhaps, I was simply too old. Old and cruel, bitter and vicious over a name I realized we both mourned. The poor thing had, I realized in my sudden and brief clarity, not been crying for my answer, but dolent for my lack therefore of. Captain and Yorki, they came hand in hand, and that repetitive mantra that he wailed outโ it was never for me.
Swallowing, it ached for a moment, as if my throat caught upon something while looking at myself in his trembling eyes. Terror, it gripped him like a vice, and I, the cause. Before I could even speak, my lips parting and teeth unclenching, Madaisuki released himself from my clothes, somehow shrinking further upon himself.
โMadaisuki.โ
Gentle was not my usual nature.
Boisterous, pompous, sure, but not quite gentle by anyone's definition, including myself. But it was who I needed to be, it was who I needed to emulate, and with a shaky, heavy breath, I drew myself upward, relaxing what muscles I could. I could only pray my facial features conveyed what warmth my captain had once bathed me in, acting as a mirror, not a source.
With his fingertips grazing his wrists, he froze again, brows furrowing as if he expected some greater amercement than the venom I had already spat at him. Guilt gnawed at me something fierce, and it took all I could not to react with frustration, instead taking another breath. It was all I could do.
โI am not sureโฆ in regards to your questionโ It was an honest answer, and a loud one at that, the niveous space between each possibility hanging in the air as I continued. โBut knowing him... they will be fine. He has survived a lot worse, do you not remember?โ That part, I was unsure of.
Unlike the times he picked fights with men I knew he would need aid from, or creatures far vaster than I knew he to be able to ever dent, this was a fight I could not gauge nor see. It had been a fight that had raged within him for longer than I knew. Or, had it?
That had begun to weigh on me after his absence, growing louder and louder with every thought that rolled passed. What if I had known? If I had known all this time what he truthfully was ill from.
I... had known, hadn't I?
A cough here, a hack there, and I had simply brushed it off.
When had it even begun, that horrible cough, a thing I had begun disgustingly to call familiar?
A few months?
A year?
Had it been a year of that dreadful heaving? Of that tired look in his eyes, subduing his joy, and the way his crooked smile waning on the corners of his cheeks when he thought I could not see? How long had it been going on and how ignorant had I grown? When did I lose my ears to him, my eyes and my senses? Had piracy dulled my sword but naught a silver spoon? What had become of my senses, and of my mind, had he really taken them with him along with that plague? When did I lose myself to him, and, why had I believed him?
Instances of his queer behaviors, things I had brushed off out of sheer devotion came crawling back as signs of my lack therefore of. Weeds I had plucked away and thrown out when he told me they were, how long had they been poisonous blooms from some flower budding from his own being? How long had my plucking been bleeding him dry?
The smell of that iron stunk on my hands, and even as I had tried to wash it off, it seemed to only linger longer in a putrid, swamping guilt. Smearing upon my heart, smearing upon my mind, it filled my nose and lungs as an inescapable miasma. Guilt, I bathed and drowned in it.
Something suddenly fished my focus out of my own inken distress in a physical warmth. Suddenly, my body was thrown against the wheel in a soft bump, a pressure lightly compressing my waist. Madaisuki, sniffling and weeping once more clung to me just as a son would have, allowing his legs to go almost limp as he staggered. I too stumbled a bit, but steadied myself with one arm rooting against the wooden beam of the ship's support.
โI'm glad...โ The word that played on his tongue would have made us both fall further, so instead, he left the air dead, and I thanked him in an inaudible sigh for that. โI hope we can see him soon. I miss him...โ Silence again except for a sniffle the poor thing tried to hold in with a shutter.
I was not a gentle man, but I tried.
My free arm, almost instinctively, laid itself upon his curved, slouched back, hand finding purchase in between that mess of ginger. Oil met my palm, clumping and unpleasant, proof of his grooming habits slipping from him. It made me feel something terrible. Freezing was my knee-jerk reaction to most things, or attack, however in this case, I powered through this cowardice as no longer was I just Brook.
I was that young man's Captain. His guidance in place of where our usual sun sat. I was only the moon, and my rays were not as strong, but, I prayed the remanence of his warmth still flowed through me as I ran my fingers through his hair, lightly scratching what I could.
It seemed to comfort him fine, and he continued to sniffle for a bit, the flow becoming but a trickle as I silently watched over his heaving little body. I had once been 20, what had I been doing?
Commanding an army I should not have, in a place I never wish to see again. A hoary, terrible memory that now sits upon a shelf in a layer of dust, equal to a graveyard. It's not one I look upon often. My kingdom, a home, a prison, a lifetime ago.
I continued slow, odd circles upon his head until he shifted, stiffening up and turning his head skyward to meet me. Puffy and red were his eyes, and the corners of his mouth still pointed south, however, fear no longer lingered in his dappled gaze. Only a grief I knew he must see in my own face, for I felt it, Oh Seas, did I feel it.
โI should go check on Mararitosuki...โ He began, wiping his face with the side of his hand.
โIs he unwell?โ Cocking my head, I let my afro catch it upon my shoulder.
โO-Oh, he's just...โ Maddy trailed off, watching my movements with a nervous intensity, anxious clearly. โHe hasn't been very good alone recently.โ
It made sense. The twins were normally not apart, stuck together since we had first picked them up a few years ago, and far beyond that. Inseparable and indistinguishable, they were hopelessly identical, so to see one so upset, it alluded to a mirrored problem. However, I had to remind myself often, they were seperate people, even if they could finish one another's sentences with a frightening, almost otherworldly ease. They were both but grieving men.
With a bow, he excused himself graciously, exchanging a small bow and shaky smile, as if it could crumble at any minute. As he ran back down the stairs, still wiping his nose, I wondered if it had fallen by the first step, or the minute I had looked away. When would it? When he saw his brother perhaps? The mental image of past glimpses at the pair came to mind, fashioning a fuzzy picture of the man clutching to John, nervously awaiting the news he had sent Madaisuki out for.
Or perhaps he sat at the bar with Takanaka and Rio, stuck between the pair's conversations that seemed to linger on longer than they ever should. Such were affections, allowing someone to forget of any past punchlines to start anew, laughing just as loud as if it was the first. Maybe instead, they sat in silence, with nothing left to say between the trio.
As I stood with my back to the wheel, just as Madaisuki left me, I continued my thoughts upon my crew for longer than I often times let myself do.
Rio, John, Takanaka, Tabuchi, Doc, and that list grew. Soon, the names became so great, I gave up an attempt to list them, for I found myself forgetting and starting over. So many men, men I had perhaps not even spoken to in weeksโ in all my time upon my very own carrack. Men whose lives were in my hands now, men who had to rely upon me. Everyone was to rely upon me then.
Anxiety had first crept, then scurried, and then bolted, latching upon my heart violently. Adrenaline spurted from my being as if in the throes of a wild animal, sputtering and thrashing. My hands found placement beneath the wooden bars that made up the helm, rubbing along them as the thoughts carried on their brutal and treacherous pace. A pack effort upon my already tender, weak heart, guilt had torn a hole into already. Blood in the water, stirring, churning; fear came next in a slithering fashion, repeating the numbers to me once more.
So many men, and so much to care for. Moneyโ no, we had Tabuchi, however, just how much could he do without income? Where would those beri come from now? Thievery and the ilk, or our usual performances? Could our men even stand at this point, could they still read their sheet music and practice their merry songs without a muse? Was that what he had been to us, our figurehead?
Without a steady plan of income, what of our meals, our wellbeing? Where was the nearest port? Had John kept up with such things since our time at the last docking? It would be understandable for the poor man to have it slip his mind, that landfall being forced and traumatic, however without it, we all would be in a peril that I could not manage. He was a smart man, he kept things tight, but that was no excuse, nor expectation in the current climate. Oh, what of our crew?
We already all were so damaged, so broken, and silent, could we even play once more as we had to make our keep? Could we fight in this stateโ could I? Who would guard my back now? Who was my mate?
Blood in the air, putrid and pungent, attracting guilt, who swooped down and perched upon my gutted heart as a raven would a carcass.
My Yorki, he had done it all. The stress of income, the fears of ports and of enemies, of health and survival. Everything that I felt now, as their leader, had been placed singularly on his shouldersโ or, had he placed it upon himself? He had asked me for brief aid, as I thought upon it, moments flooding back to me as I fished them from the cracks they had fallen between.
Small things and small tasks that became mindless to me, such as delivering reports from Takanaka when supplies got too low. Jotting down Tabuchi's complaints about an over expenditure, and the egency for certain medical supplies from Doc; all things came back to Yorki in the form of a small list. At times, oftentimes, I had to express to him these letters aloud for his lack of visual comprehension, but, I truthfully never thought much on these reports, for, they never seemingly affected me. They took so little time from me, being but easy busywork, and my days were often spent instead working on sharpening my skills in the creative field alone. I had always assumed My Captain, when he was not beside me, was simply doing what he often did beside meโ relaxing.
Slacking as I had called it to his face, visiting and yammering to the crew as he loved to do. Discussing frivolous things such as the weather perhaps, or meandering into Doc's office to discuss what he thought of new supplies. Speaking to Rio about the ship's paint colors and begging Takanaka for the first shot of the new liquor he must have requested be bought. But, never had I thought in full of what those interactions meant. What weight they carried. Why would I? I was so blind to my own vision of him, that I could not see the forest for the trees.
For all those times he had chosen to be by my side, sprawled across his back and nosing in whatever I was up to, it was not just boredom, but his choice of relaxation. I was his choice of peace, and, when I was not beside him, he was doing what I should have aided him in; being a good Captain.
Blood on the floorboards, seeping and familiar, its color belonged to us both, and the visage of him spawned a wretch made of wraith, boiling that crimson into a fine blistering heat that scalded my brain and tongue to numbness. I sank to my knees, back almost hitting the wheel as I crumpled into a folded kneel. I could hear the sea no longer, only the fumes of my own engine pumping and dying away, writhing so violently it felt as if the rest of my organs may tear along with my heart. What was left of it anyway, for it must still live, that sputtering visceral heat from it alone. I wished it could not, for my anger, you see, was towards no one but myself.
Fingers enraptured about my own tight curls, painfully finding root and beginning to pull to drag myself up by any aid I could. I could not touch the wooden floorboards, for they stunk of him, everything did. That voice, it rang to me, a crowing laugh and I briefly wished to face the sun to search for the cause, but, how could I face him nowโ when I was but this?
Sinking further, the culmination of my straining body finally began to bleed out of me in the form of hot, gross tears. They hit the floor with enough heat it must have burnt a hole in the wood. Flaming, from the core of my white-hot venom for nothing but myself and my blindness, oh, I wished my tears would take away my sight. It already was useless, my eyes, as was my brain, I thought, for how could I have ignored his pleas? How could I have left the man I loved to grieve his own funeral for so many months? He must have known, yet he still balanced it all, while I sat on my ass and wrote limericks about foolish ditherings that I no longer even cared for.
Pennywise x reader. No gendered pronouns or description given of reader. No explicit romance but Pennywise is clingy. SFW. Just casually petting your ancient eldritch horror. Written as a request for anon.
Pennywise doesnโt react, not at first as your palm glides up and down its back, and sinks into plush ruffles and stained silver silk.
The entity is there and not; solid yet soft, hollow like a balloon losing its firmness. Its body functions purely by its own will and endless hunger. There are no bones beneath the costume, no muscle or organs or fat. With enough willpower youโre fairly certain your hand would push right through it.
No matter how many times youโve touched it, your mind has to turn somersaults just to make even the slightest sense of it. And yet, itโs soft and so very warm.
Fascinating. Comforting.
Your hand travels up into its copper curls, your fingernails scratching its scalp, then trailing back down the nape of its neck. Up and down, back and forth, over and over again.
Youโre so preoccupied, you donโt notice the subtle slump of its shoulders or the curve of its back, arching into your touch. Not until it chuffs and turns its head to glare at you over its shoulder. โWhat are you doing?โ
What are you doing? You arenโt quite sure. Pennywise is ancient, malevolent, powerful beyond comprehension. And youโre petting it like a kitty.ย
โHow does it feel?โ you ask, and then, โDo you want me to stop?โ
It draws in a long breath that rattles at the back of its throat. Itโs a sound not unlike a growl, or perhaps a purr. โYou reek of contentment.โ
โYouโre avoiding the answer,โ you say, withdrawing your hand and letting it hover a few inches above its shoulder.
There arenโt manyโif anyโ Pennywise would tolerate the way it does you. Though perhaps tolerate is too weak a sentiment. Afterall, it seeks you out almost obsessively and clings to your side when it isnโt out seeking sustenance. And when it bares its teeth, its lip curls into a smile. You amuse it at the very least, though it often feels like delight. โOh-hoho, cheeky cheeky thing. Do you expect me to beg? To roll onto my back like a pitiful little puppydog and whine for bellyrubs?โย
โAre you offering?โ
The sudden weight of it sprawled face-down across your lap nearly knocks the wind from you.
It huffs and growls as it settles into place, then turns its head away from you to say, โyou may continue.โ
โOh, I may?โ you respond, biting back a smile as you resume your petting, your fingers spiraling along the ridges where its spine ought to be. โLike this?โ
โMhhโฆโ it sighs, burying its face in the valley between its folded arms. โFor now. We can try the bellyrubs later.โ
The reblog chain is one of the things that makes Tumblr unlike anywhere else. All the notes on reblogs are attributed to the original post, no matter which branch people actually liked or reblogged. We want to keep encouraging conversations, and give contributors the recognition they deserve.ย
Soon, you'll be able to like, reblog, or reply to any part of a reblog chain, and that note will go to that reblog's author. Each reblog will have its own counts, instead of one aggregated number from every version of the post. And yes, youโll be able to like multiple posts in one chain.
If a reblog doesn't add anything, the love flows up to the last person in the chain who did. Your post doesn't lose notes just because people spread it quietly.
Past notes will stay on the original post โ we're only changing what happens from here on out. Retroactively re-attributing all of them would be... a lot.
This is just the beginning. More changes are coming as we keep building this out โ stay tuned!
Not only will this ruin a core element of Tumblr, it will make it very difficult to tell where and when a post is getting traction. People are on this website because it isn't Twitter. Making it more like Twitter will turn people away.
The last thing this website needs is a culture of catty twitter-style quote-retweets. This will actively encourage more toxic users to interact with your posts because their traffic will be more difficult to track.
this actively sabotages the core benefit of tumblr over other platforms, the ability to have nuanced longform conversations. this change will make the website drastically worse
I just said this in the comments but the people need to know that a shitty decision is happening
"I do hope you realize how many artists or creators on this website love or need approval.
Imagine one week your post gets 2k likes 800 reblogs and 15 comments or something, as the ratio tends to be on here. Pretend that's average for your posts.
Imagine the next week, you post something, to find 50 likes, 5 reblogs, and 2 comments or whatever they're called.
Was this one worse? Did people just not find it?
You check, and nope. Reblog with someone you smiled at who said "OMG BLORBO FROM MY SHOWS!!!" Makes up for another 100 likes, 30 reblogs, and 5 comments, by account of most of the reblogs after that not adding anything and going right up to them.
The Death of the Digital Ecosystem: Why Decoupling Notes Destroys Tumblr
@changes (Edit: I already sent this to Tumblr Support under the feedback option. I encourage everyone to send feedback on how bad this feature actually is).
For years, the total note count on a post served as a universal metric of a piece of content's impact. Whether a user liked the original post or a reblog fifteen branches deep, that engagement flowed back to the source. This ensured that the original artist, writer, or editor received the full credit for the viral success of their work.
Under this new system, engagement is trapped within the specific reblog a user happens to see on their dashboard. If a massive, high-traffic blog reblogs a piece of art from a small creator, every like and reblog that occurs through that larger account stays with them. The original creator is left with a stagnant note count on their own dashboard while their work generates thousands of interactions for someone else.
Erasure of Creator Visibility
Instead of seeing one post with 10,000 notes, a creator may now have to hunt through dozens of different reblog chains to find where the conversation is actually happening.
If the notes no longer flow back to the original post, the creator loses the ability to see who is enjoying their work, what the tags say, and how the community is responding.
On a platform where engagement often dictates visibility, splitting that engagement into tiny, unlinked fractions makes it significantly harder for original works to gain momentum compared to the high-reach blogs that reblog them.
Incentivizing the "Big Blog" Monopoly
This system rewards accounts that have already established a large following at the direct expense of the smaller accounts that actually produce the content. It transforms reblogging from a method of sharing into a method of acquisition.
When a reblog functions as its own independent post with its own note count, the incentive to click through to the original source disappears. The platform is transitioning from a collaborative ecosystem into a standard social media feed where the person who posts the content lastโnot the person who made itโreaps the rewards.
Impact on Collaborative Conversations
Tumblrโs unique culture is built on the reblog chain: a chronological, evolving conversation. By allowing users to like or reblog "any part" of the chain as an independent entity, the platform is breaking the narrative thread.
If engagement is siloed into specific branches, the incentive to add to a conversation is replaced by an incentive to simply own a piece of the engagement. This change doesn't encourage conversation. It encourages the commodification of individual posts within a chain, making it harder for the original voice to ever be heard over the noise of the rebloggers.
The Disincentive to Create
Perhaps the most damaging aspect of this update is the psychological toll on the creative community. When the platform actively diverts credit and engagement away from the source, it destroys the motivation to share original work at all.
For many, the reward for posting is seeing how far their work travels. If that travel is now invisible or attributed to others, the labor of creating becomes thankless.
This system makes creators want to share nothing. If the platform is built to harvest a creator's effort for the benefit of curator blogs, the logical response is to stop providing the raw material. I am one leaning into this category. Without us creators, the curator blogs have nothing to curate.
By making it harder to protect and track one's own work, the platform is effectively telling creators that their presence is secondary to the conversations happening around their work: conversations they may no longer even be able to find.
Since posting fics on Tumblr is currently pointless and I don't get many hits on Ao3 anyway, I think I may just take this opportunity to indulge in the Pennywise x self insert/OC story idea that is plaguing my every waking moment
The reblog chain is one of the things that makes Tumblr unlike anywhere else. All the notes on reblogs are attributed to the original post, no matter which branch people actually liked or reblogged. We want to keep encouraging conversations, and give contributors the recognition they deserve.ย
Soon, you'll be able to like, reblog, or reply to any part of a reblog chain, and that note will go to that reblog's author. Each reblog will have its own counts, instead of one aggregated number from every version of the post. And yes, youโll be able to like multiple posts in one chain.
If a reblog doesn't add anything, the love flows up to the last person in the chain who did. Your post doesn't lose notes just because people spread it quietly.
Past notes will stay on the original post โ we're only changing what happens from here on out. Retroactively re-attributing all of them would be... a lot.
This is just the beginning. More changes are coming as we keep building this out โ stay tuned!
Itโs very clear that you all have strong feelings about Tumblr and about this change. We hear you. The passion people have for how Tumblr works is one of the things that makes this place special.
As this rolls out over the next few days and you explore it, weโll keep reading your replies and reblogs, so please keep sharing your questions, concerns, and ideas.
Your creativity has always been the heart of Tumblr, whether youโre the original poster or adding something brilliant in the reblogs,ย and nothing about this change is meant to limit that.
If youโd like to talk directly beyond the comments, leave a reply and weโll follow up with as many of you as we can. We want to work with you to make Tumblr better.
discoholicmusic
gamechangershow
stormborns
