My fandoms

Multi-fandom blog, Sappy bisexual mess, happily in a relationship, I'm on this site way too much so there's always something new here

[augustarambles]

Sometimes the rats in my brain come together and start yelling “YEARNING” and in trying to appease them I ask “FOR WHAT” but they are too small so all they can say is “YEARNING” which is a very big word for such a tiny creature, even collectively

[mandyseley]

I loved this visual so much I had to doodle it.

ratratratratrat

[degeneracygenerator]

this is the post of all time to me

[vixvigil]

it’s never a normal temperature anymore it’s always some fucking bullshit

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

[gauntletqueen]

IT FUCKIN YURI DAAAAAAAAAAAY

[gauntletqueen]

GMORNING GIRLIES IT'S YURI DAY AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[caesxr]

‘beyond the scope of this paper’ is a dear friend to me. I Am Not Fucking Talking About That

[somestorythoughts]

"Look I can stay on track or this paper can be three times as long, your choice."

[noodles-and-tea]

Hangin’ around

[lobtwo]

And you get a web and you get a web

[expressions-of-nature]

Blue Flower Field, Japan by Daniel Korzhonov

[narwhalsarefalling]

[narwhalsarefalling]

[inkskinned]

she is a princess and you are a dragon. she will be married tonight. do not keep standing outside of her room like that, go inside. go get her. that is what proper dragons do.

not that you have ever been a good or proper dragon. when you hatched out of your egg, your eggtooth was too smooth. the other dragons were rough with you, put little holes in your wings.

you were not bold. you were odd. you liked rippling water and the shine of chitin when bugs scuttle and of course the movement of the stars. those were all acceptable interests albeit maybe not traditional. perhaps you had inherited these through some great-great-uncle or something. certainly a dragon may be wise, or clever, if they are not bold.

yes, you have been a great deal of a puzzle to the other dragons. your body is smaller and rather more soft than it ought to be. so speed should have been yours, perhaps - your mother said it would be like fighting a shadow. if a dragon is not aggressive, it may instead be cruel, sly; a backstab. but alas your scales - so iridescent that they almost shine like the moon at night, a glow from within - you are not a shadow, you are a beacon like the flash of a knight's blade. your father has said at least you would make a fine egglayer, a nice mate to a good male. a dragon like you may still be a good mother perhaps; and that is a fine thing to be; although of course it would have been better if you'd been a trove-hoarder instead.

what a dragon must not be is kind.

you have watched her now for six moons. what a good and proper dragon would do is to go inside and to snatch her. a very proper dragon would have kidnapped her many times over, but you will be the delight of your brood to princess-snatch even at all. when you catch her in your jaws and bring her home, they will love you, then. they don't think you're capable of it, but you are, because you're a proper dragon. you can show them that. if you go in, now, right now.

you are rather too glossy to hide in the shadows, so instead you have learned how to appear flat and round, a puddle of light. (how your siblings would mock you! a dragon should be matte, to blend with the night). you dapple your flank with mud. you perch in odd angles atop of trees, scuttle like the bugs you love - hither, tither, frantic.

what you must not do is fly with your wings full-out. alight, you will be limned by the moon's corona. you will be a beacon. you must remember this when (not if) you snatch her.

____

you found her because of the lake. this lake in particular was your favorite - nestled deep in the woods, between two mountains. it is very quiet; there is nothing to horde there so no other dragon bothers you. a gentle waterfall spills over into a deep cove, and there are many mossy caves you've spent your afternoons napping in. while it is not proper for a dragon to prefer such things, you like to lay in rolling tenure just under the water. you have become excellent at holding your breath, can do it for hours. it is the easiest way to appear as a patch of sunlight.

she was not sunlight. she was the night's joy. the dark press of water. her face at first concealed by many diaphanous layers. her breathing quick and quiet.

she had pulled them back to drink from her water flask. and there she had been: a princess. your first very-real princess. right there, only the reach of a single talon from you. if you had simply lunged then, you would have been able to take her easily, in one single movement.

but you did not take her.

she had startled you a bit; you'd been daydreaming about music, which you'd just discovered, and rather liked. you'd heard it from a little house while you snuck in and stole their sheep.

but you knew the sound of fear, of being followed. you'd been chased too many times, you knew what it looked like. the rapid jolt of fear.

you smelled her then; cinnamon and onyx, and perhaps that was what had blinded you. perhaps your mouth was just watering. whatever the case, you waited until she had fled back into the forest; and then you waited a bit longer. in her wake, a garrison of men, their hands rough.

oh. so they were not knights. they were just men chasing a young woman through the woods. perhaps they did not even know a real princess had been running from them. well, that was a relief. you are not good at fighting with knights, who have swords instead of cudgels. these were just men, so you rose from the water in the quiet way you'd learned from the fish. they did not hear you coming.

and besides. proper dragons do violence so well.

___

once you had smelled her you could find her, although such things have always been easier for you than for the others. you spend a great deal of time studying things - it allows you to analyze them. you have tried to explain to the other dragons that sometimes it is best to slow down, but of course no dragon should be slow.

at first you did not understand the confusion of the people's umwelt. they relied so much on their communication (only words and actions!) and what they could see with their eyes. you and the other dragons did not use these as much; but you liked prying out the little sonic differences between hello that means "i like you" and hello that means "i don't like you."

so it took you a while to learn that you were responsible for what had happened to her. men had gone missing, and even bad men going missing makes a big fuss. (you know that if it had been girls missing, it would be okay. many proper dragons steal girls because it will not bring a knight to their door). for a while she had been trapped on the palace grounds. it was determined that it was no longer safe for her to be just a princess, she must undergo some human transformation and become a wife.

even so. you had gone looking for her (only to study, of course, so you may know how to snatch her best). but that night you saw her descending from the window of a castle, quick and agile, moving like a whisper, clad almost entirely in black. you could see her quite well of course, although you were not seeing her; but instead her heat and her smell and her sound and all the other sensory noise all humans give off.

you followed her, keeping yourself in a cloud so you appeared as if mist. she stole off into the woods. you were interested in that, and watched her scuttle - although of course you could have taken her then, you wanted to study your prey as best as you could. she did not seem to do much in the woods, only run around cry into her little hands.

she appeared to be looking for something. she did not get far that first night; scurried back to her bed. over and over this happened - she would run as far as she could, only to go back again. it seemed rather boring to you, but of course you had been free your whole life.

and then one night - finally, she arrived at the lake. she sank to her knees then, her hands pressing into the water. her head tilted to the sky. her dark hair spilling in a caught breath behind her.

this is how you heard her voice for the first time. when she came again the next night, she did so more quickly, more assured. straight to the lake, as if it had called her.

she had skipped a pebble over the surface of the water. this action was dangerous, because it almost hit the sail of your wing. you had structured yourself very finely to look like a rockslide.

"three months." her voice was like her: it was deep and smooth and dark, a low violin string. "they want me to marry that bastard in three months."

and then she cried into her hands again, and the sound of it almost broke you.

you followed her maybe more than a proper dragon should, after this. more than just back to the castle and her bed. you hid along her daily walks and watched her in the throne room and saw her out riding horses. she was good with dogs and nice to her people and very much a proper princess, although you had heard it said a proper princess ought not to slip out at night and run around barefoot through the woods.

you discovered she is terrible with directions. you have often had to make a path more clear so she could get home again. she cannot hunt better than an egg; you have had to kill fish and push them subtly up to the shore.

but she appears to love the lake as much as you do. you have seen her read by candlelight (how foolish. the entire woods saw her each time). you have seen her build little paper boats to float along the surface. you have seen her strip her many layers and dive in, have seen her lay with her belly to the sky, floating like she is suspended by the hands of darkness itself.

oh. so she loves the stars, as well, then.

__

you must go in. she will be married tonight. that is a human thing, but you have since learned what it has meant. she will go to somewhere else, and you will not see her again, maybe ever. and then how will you be a proper dragon? go!

you have made yourself in the form of a gargoyle, hiding in the white stone. you can see into her room; and the tapestries that seem unlike her. everything in her room is very bright, which is bad for a proper dragon. there are many knights in the hallways and in their rooms, and their smell is itchy and repugnant to you.

her dress is white, which does not seem like her. you have only seen her wear black. she is sitting at some kind of desk, and she is crying again. she smells of cinnamon still, but moreso of grief. you can feel the heartbreak in her as if it was inside of you.

you cannot watch her cry anymore. you have watched too often without moving. that is shameful.

you nose the door open. you can move quiet, because you are not very big. she is within a cave of you, then a wingtip, and then she is standing up, looking into your eyes.

"it's you." her hand on your jaw is warm. "i thought i was imagining you, you know. i turned around that day. i saw what you did to those men. i have been looking for you since. i told everyone that i had an angel to protect me. they locked me in here anyway."

you are not an angel, you are a dragon. you have to keep your wings locked tight or you would explode the walls of this place. it makes you feel big, suddenly. you are not used to that sensation. you do not like to be locked in a tower. you believe maybe the princess does not like to be locked in a tower either.

you take her in your jaws. she is very small, and does not resist you. although you are not a strong flyer, you must take off in a single push. any other movement would be too slow. you must also hold your breath so you do not smell her, the clove and cinnamon and little bird of hope. your mouth would water and you would drop her.

against the full moon, you do the thing that is impossible. you stretch yourself out all the way, a bold and beaming arrow, and you fly. you can hear them cry about you now, loudly. a banner that would strike pride even into your father: dragon. dragon. dragon.

on the eve of her wedding, you snatch the princess from her tower.

an arrow whisks for you, and then dozens, and then hundreds. you are not afraid of pain. you have learned long ago how to fly with holes in your wings. you hold her very gently still, and you push past the smell of your blood.

in the night you are a star. someone somewhere could look up and see you and make a wish.

there will be another lake, you decide. you can find another lake. somewhere very, very far from here. however long you must fly, however long you must hold your breath: you will take her home, because you are a proper dragon.

___

sometimes they come for her, your treasure. you have built her a little castle here, deep in the forests off the map. and of course for you: a silver round lake like the shift of her iris. you bring her books and she brings you bugs to study. you let her saddle you, and together you ride through the clouds and fog banks. she is a shadow on your back; a warm and velvet thing. she makes you music and lives the way she should; free in the night like a promise.

but they do come. you have stolen a real princess, and they do not want her to be a princess. they want to make her into a brood mother, or into bait, or into prey. they always look into the caves first; into the places proper dragons stay. they are real knights, not just men with sticks. they are loud and their smell still makes you itch.

but she has made you brave now, and cunning. if a dragon is not big, it should be cunning. and since you are a proper dragon, and since your treasure is your most precious thing, you lay in wait.

let them come. you will let the light drip off of you, and then you will pour through them.

afterwards, your princess will tell you a story around the fire. she will patch your wounds as she did that first time. she will sing to you.

and in that moment, neither of you will be a title nor a story. she will just be herself, and you will just be you.

[corantus]

locked the fuck in get my money up

[skoomabong]

[geniusbee]

these are getting weird

[blueiscoool]

Caligulas Ring

A 2,000-year-old sapphire ring, often attributed to Roman Emperor Caligula, features a delicate portrait engraved into the stone, widely believed to be his fourth and final wife, Caesonia. Crafting a ring from a single piece of sapphire was an immense technical feat in antiquity.

The Ring:

The Material: It is a hololith, meaning the entire ring (both the stone and the band) was carved out of a single piece of sky-blue sapphire.

The Engraving: The bezel features the profile of a woman, which historians and gem collectors associate with Caligula's empress, Milonia Caesonia.

Current Status: The ring is part of the legendary Marlborough Gems collection. It previously surfaced at an auction through the royal jewelers Wartski.

Provenience & Skepticism: While popular tradition links the ring to Caligula's extravagant reign (37–41 AD), many historians note that it is extremely difficult to verify ancient provenance. The earliest documented history of the ring traces back only to the 17th-century collection of Thomas Howard, the Earl of Arundel. Some art historians debate its ancient origins, suggesting it may have been crafted during the Renaissance.

[captain-price-returns]

[knilolas]

[curioscurio]

My favorite Star Trek Captains as Troubled Bird Memes

[iconuk01]

Might I be so bold as to add one?

[thefingerfuckingfemalefury]

I feel like Jonathan Archer is basically the Bird Rights Twitter account as a person XD

[vo-kopen]

Riker, after experiencing Archer’s crew in the holodeck again: man, it took those old scientists a long time to get here.

[thefingerfuckingfemalefury]

You might even say that it's been a long road

Getting from there to here

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

i've seen enough horror movies starring upper-middle-income white families stuck in spacious haunted mansions. gimme stories about millennials stuck in haunted studio apartments. consider the realism:

why is this protagonist staying in an obviously haunted building despite the glaring warning signs? because a week at a motel would send them spiraling into credit card debt, they'll take their chances with the vengeful spirits. why did they chose this apartment complex to begin with, despite the many many unexplained mysterious deaths that show up on the first page of a google search? hon some of us don't have the credit score to move away from high (paranormal) crime areas. how could i be so careless as to sign a soul-binding contract with a demonic entity? bitch they're called LANDLORDS

[inkskinned]

okay :)

i had gotten a dog, so the dog was a factor. dogs have to be the right size and shape. under 50 pounds. please see our restricted breeds list. he sleeps most of the time, a well-behaved menace. he's big because i'm single in the city and it gets dark here early - but i've had to trade that sense of safety for scrambling-for-housing.

cheerfully i report that i live in a hole! because humor, like vicks, soothes what-is-horrible. the windows are painted shut. the fridge sometimes just shuts off for no reason. there are only 2 working stove burners and they're not in the front. for some reason, rust is everywhere, no matter whether it makes sense for an area to rust. the door in the bathroom has a very badly-patched hole; white-yellow stark against the bad cherry vinyl.

okay. it's what i can afford. the pamphlet had said new england nepenthes(TM) apartments: a beautiful place to grow up. and yes, it's ground-floor, which isn't ideal. so we (my dog and i) have successfully secured the door with one of those big prybars that are 50 dollars. also i usually balance something heavy near any possible entrances - i want to be awake when they fall. you know, during the break-in.

for the first four months, i didn't notice. there had been so much to do in those four months. okay, our (okay, my, he doesn't pay rent) kitchen is literally four tiles wide and undivided from the other spaces. the dining room and office are also the living room (which is. also the kitchen). my bed is too big for the bedroom; i can either have it weirdly against the wall with a door (horrible) or i have to give up opening my closet all the way.

my mama raised me on martha stewart, so. it's quiet here, i love the location, and even if it's rundown, i can make it work. i buy peel-and-stick reusable wallpaper that has long lines to make it look like everything is taller. i move the plants around, trying to get them into the most sun. i put up shelves and hope that i'll have enough spackle later to cover up the worst mistakes i've made with the nail gun. and hey! the location. like the pamphlet said: a beautiful place to grow up.

it's in the middle of putting up our new wrought iron plant holders. i have adhd, time when i'm focused can pass ephemerally. oh shit, i realize. it's 9:30 in the evening. i am probably keeping people awake with all the drilling. fuck. my bad. i tilt an ear upstairs, waiting. nobody slamming the floor with a broom. nobody shouting. maybe quiet hours are at 10 and they're just waiting.

the holders are real wrought iron because my plants weigh a lot. i press the last one above my head, against the pilot holes. now i feel bad about the time. i should just wrap up this last one i'm attaching and then go to bed. if i wait, i'll forget in the morning. distracted, i look down to where i've left the screws on my desk (which is often also my dining room table and art station), and, as if the wall spat the screws out, the iron slips out of my grasp and cracks me hard against my nose before tumbling down to the floor.

fuck.

one of the worst things about living alone is when you get hurt. sparks jump in front of me. my eyes start tearing. fuck! i've broken my nose before, this feels like that. fuck fuck fuck. maybe it's not broken?

i have to hobble off the stool, trying to hold my nose while also not wanting to touch it. i do the first adult thing i can think of - call a bigger adult.

hey mama. i pant into the phone. no worries but how do i know if i broke my nose?

30 minutes later, we have decided it hurt but if i don't have a black eye, the nose is fine. it was already out of alignment anyway. i say the whole sordid story to her, and then i add i just feel bad i lost track of time, it's weird none of my neighbors complained.

as soon as i hang up, i hear the upstairs neighbors, with their quiet feet and soft, muffled voices. i hear people to the right and left of me. i hear them murmuring to each other. someone watches bad tv, i can hear the reality show music-to-dramatic-shouting.

i put ice on my face. i google nose break again just to be sure. i ask my dog if he thinks i look ugly, he responds by putting his three paws into the air and asking for a tummy rub. as part of our nightly ritual, i examine and worry about his amputation, even though it's completely healed up. i still do the physical therapy exercises with him. just in case. just to keep him warmed up.

later in bed, i am reaching to turn on gentle rain for white noise before i realize - huh. i think this evening is the first time i've ever actually heard anyone.

you ever have a thought that gets inside of you? i mean, yeah. of course you do, i guess all thoughts are inside you. but once in a while, don't you get one of those haha funny! thoughts that turns. bad. you know, when you've watched a scary movie and close the laptop and think it's not likely there's a killer in there, but have i ever really checked that deeply in the kitchen sink?

i was always the type to check. just in case. to put my mind at ease.

the thought is there when i wake up, like i'd had it for a while: i never actually see anyone coming and going.

the apartment complex is 12 buildings, staggered like spokes on a clock. i live in 6, the furthest from the road. we are spaced unevenly, but when i first saw it, i thought huh. what a nice quiet community. the grass is green and there are never any leaves. i've never seen someone come mow it. there are cars here, plenty. when was the last time you counted which cars are in the communal lot?

isn't it weird how you're always able to snag that one last spot?

i keep weird hours, is all. i laugh at the thought of it. there was a post on tumblr once that asked how long would it take you to realize the building was entirely empty. but it can't be empty, right? at night, when i can see into other people's apartments, i catch sight of the thousand ways other people decorate. blue LED lights or tapestries or nice curtains. so it is silly to think about that post, when i know other people are here. this is someone else's home.

i mention it to my sister when she comes over to help me move the couch purposelessly around before we both decide it was better where i'd originally had it. nobody, like, lives here. i say. it's weird. i've been here for five months, and i don't see anyone.

she shrugs. maybe it's too expensive for the area, or not really advertised enough. maybe most people my age keeping my hours don't like to live in apartments. who is to say.

after that, the shadows start. my dog and i go on our nighttime walk, and then i see the apartments come to life. the flickered silhouettes of them. the flash of tvs and laptops. the gauzy shape of others just-far-enough i can't quite make out their form. they walk away from the windows if i get close enough.

they must not know how to do it right. every third day, the animations repeat.

oh, i get it. i think. i'm living in a horror novel.

i'm cuban. my culture can be superstitious, yes. but it also means that i have been taught to keep my head on a swivel. we do not fuck with this shit. we do not oujia board the spirits for fun. we do not make a joke about the killer. we do not ever tempt fate, her ears are open-and-listening.

my lease is for one year. it's been five months, that's not that much longer. i can't afford to break it (or to move) at the moment. and, again, the dog factor. and i do love the location.

but once it is obvious, it is so obvious. i try to pay my rent by check just the once, but when i swing by the rental office, the whole floor of the building is dark. there is no cheerful team of realtors, only a single dark panel over door. due to unexpected circumstances, we are currently operating elsewhere. i go online and pay there instead.

no one here hosts parties. the mail truck never seems to come to any of the other buildings. my dog doesn't like going near certain places. i discover a 5-foot radius where my phone will always hang up on the person i'm talking with, even if i have service.

i watch carefully, while also pretending i am not watching. i check my mail, waiting for the electricity bill that never comes calling. in the front hall, amazon packages come with names too smudged for me to ever quite read. sanchez, maybe. then, to the same apartment a week later: tawny reed. it's different again the third week. i stop looking, feeling like i'm prying.

i mention how quiet it is here during the day to one of my bosses, and then the upstairs neighbor appears. her alarm goes off when mine does, almost like an echo. when i change my song, it takes her a few days to keep up. i had said something offhand about how i'm the only one with a dog. then, upstairs - the little patter of dog paws.

at night, i start seeing people on my dog walking route. they pace, insubstantial, something black at the end of their lead. their waving arms always bent at right angles, like they are figuring out how to navigate being 3D. i always wave back, cheerfully. i keep my headphones in. they are over there in the mist that-does-not-belong, and i am over here in the light-that-flickers-on-and-off. i do not need to make a scene about this. there are many reasons people might dissolve into nothing. it is not any of my business.

the upstairs girl smokes. i see her with her (pomeranian? poodle?) little rat-rabbit-dog (? dog in the loosest sense of the word), her legs up on the stoop. she always goes inside when i show up to our building, after giving me one of those straight side-to-side waves. i can never quite make out her features. she won't be there when i leave for our walk, but she'll be there when we get back, no matter how long my walk takes. she watching me, her eyes dark. she sits there, smoking, wearing galaxy-print leggings. the little dog running near her. (sometimes the dog is not there, until i look again, and it is. i must have just missed it, or maybe it was hiding under one of the trim little bushes. not my concern, whatever it is.)

i know she smokes, i can see the red glow and smell it on the air after. but there are no places to dispose of the butts and she never leaves behind any litter. so she must be careful with them, which i appreciate. cigarettes are bad for the environment. i am in no place to judge someone for their vices anyway. during the day, sometimes i hear her dog (a corgi? a terrier?) whine, this thin, reedy sound, like someone gasping for breath. like someone buried alive. a howl like dread. sometimes it even sounds human; garbled and anxious, bow wow wow warping into help help help.

but i'm sure my dog whines when i'm gone, too. i will not report her for this, because it's not her fault. and i don't want to get her in trouble. after all, we all love our dogs so much.

when i write a request for maintenance to help me with ants, i get a bounce-back error. three days later, we wake up, and a sea of dead ant bodies litter my carpet. an inch deep, they float on each other's backs, a black blanket.

i vacuum them up. i feel bad about their little ant souls. i tell them i am sorry. i will light a candle. i tell myself - this is no different than calling an exterminator. to remove yourself from the process is an act of careful self-duplicity - we would have been killing the ants another way, and just anticipating someone else handle the transaction.

how do i call someone about this? i cannot break the lease because i think the others here are ghosts. or my other theory: maybe the whole thing is a carnivore, and i am in the belly, already beginning to rot.

we cannot afford to move, it's only been six months. the heat and the lights stay on. i never invite others over. it feels wrong. we are alone here, the way we should be alone here. this is our place, for me and my dog and the rest of us. we are supposed to be here. we are supposed to live here, in this little hole-in-the-ground apartment.

we are not under any form of threat, anyway. i light candles and say the prayers our father taught us. we keep our distance from the mist ones, and adopt their way of waving, side-to-side. it is starting to look less like a wave and more like beckoning. come on, come on. something keeps us locking our door. we put up more wrought iron, even after it hit us so hard-on-the-face, which wasn't fun, and was very mean. maybe we should take it down - except i know it was so much effort to put up. oh the tub leaks and the freezer has begin to lock while it's shut. our boss says we look pale these days. we blame insomnia. it's just that it's so quiet here, sometimes. we like to make ourselves go very-quiet too, like a mouse. and then we turn that horrible white-noise machine on. we are so strange; we push salt down the drains and into our doorways, which is a waste and a bad thing to do. we do not look into the electricity problem. we fix the lightbulb without complaint. we do not send in new notices to maintenance, even when the rust on the walls starts running. we get fabulosa and scrub everything. we do not make a fuss. when our neighbors that have-no-jaw open the door for us, we keep our eyes on our dog and say thank you! and make polite small-talk. when they garble their responses let your welcome out, (no throat but the sound's so loud?)-we say haha yeah and scoot by the cold spot. we help others get their groceries out of the car even though the bags smell rotten. we do not use the basement laundry room with the single pale yellow lightbulb, even though it is so friendly and warm and free; we drive elsewhere for that, which might be lazy of me. whenever we leave, we take our dog, even though he would be fine alone, surrounded by the strange creep of rust. we are kind, and not frenzied. isn't that strange? shouldn't we be frenzied? there have been so many odd things here, shouldn't we be reacting? instead we sit in our apartment and say, casually - oh, i'm fine. how fun! how interesting. are we waiting for something? if we're waiting, which of us is hiding and which of us is hunting? we count our days on the lease - six months left! we can grow to enjoy it here. it has its quirks, but hey. sometimes staying for the location is reason-enough.

and we love it here. it's a beautiful place to grow up.