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As you know, Tumblr is removing all NSFW content tomorrow, and as much as we’ve had our fun joking about it, I think it’s a pretty serious issue that falls back to extreme corporate greed and a complete lack of understanding what the consumers want out of this site. 

So @i-am-a-fish have been talking about this log-out event, I think it’s important to express to the people that operate this site that what they’re doing is self-destructive and totally stupid. Some people have already left the site, and I can understand that fear, but there’s still a slim chance they’ll listen to what we have to say if we’re persistent and consistent. 

Tomorrow, please join us for the log-out event, keep from posting, browsing and liking things on this site, leave it barren, to show what things might come to if Tumblr HQ doesn’t begin to listen to their community. Dont fret, regardless I’ll be back on the 18th.

i-am-a-fish and I have a twitter too, so if we can’t post the things we want to on here, we will on twitter.

Pukicho!               

Everyone please do not log in tomorrow, it’s really important if we want to spread a message to Staff, Yahoo, Verizon, and the people who buy ads on their sites.

This ban is blatantly sexist, and it’s doing serious harm to innocent sex workers and NSFW artists who make a living off of their commissions.

Staff has always disappointed their user base, but this new policy is incredibly disrespectful. Pukicho and I are going to be using Twitter tomorrow until the 18th when the protest is over, and we’ll be regularly posting on Twitter from now on.

Ikenaga Yasunari

His website:

ho ho holy shit it’s almost christmas

Chen and Ink on Instagram / Society6

Star Cape / Northern Sky Dress

Fairytas on Etsy

She does the same, the second and third and fourth times, careful, wary, mindful of her mother’s lessons. Remembers the way her mother’s hands had chafed on her soft cheeks, rough with cooking and cleaning for her fisherman husband, the way her mother’s peat-dark eyes had been tense and harsh with the lesson.

“Mind me, Niahm. Never let them find your cloak.”

The way her mother’s mouth had curved, a sickle of dissatisfaction and relief and envy, as she had escaped into the waves.

So she minds her mother’s lesson, and she takes care with her cloak.

Would that she had taken as much care with her heart.

The fifth time, she wears the cloak to the girl’s door, clutched about her throat, dripping along the darkened lanes.

She enters the home, welcomed with soft kisses and gentle touches and kindling passion. She drapes the cloak, artful in her carelessness, across an old wooden chair, the one that creaks and tilts slightly if you don’t sit just right.

When she wakes, in the wee hours of the morning, even before her lover, the cloak still rests, supple and dappled by the sea, on the back of the chair.

She frowns into the softening dawn, dons the cloak, and returns to the sea.

And again, the sixth time. And the seventh.

The eighth time, she finally breaks, prickling and hurt with longing, gripping a handful of russet hair in her hand, firm with emphasis.

“Surely you know what I am,” she says to her lover, the cool froth of sea foam and the call of gulls curling around her voice.

“Of course,” her lover responds, soft and tender in the dawnlight, throat arched willingly, pale as the inner whorls of a shell. “You taste of the sea,” the girl whispers, reverently.

She shakes her lover’s head gently, fingers tangled still in russet locks. “Why?” she demands. “Why won’t you keep me?”

A long silence that waits and fills, like a tidepool, stretches between them. Cool as a current. Deep as the Channel.

Her lover’s eyes are dark and tender. “Must I trap you to keep you, my heart? Is that the shape of love that you desire?”

She sinks into the thought, struck and stymied, remembering her mother’s harsh hands, her cold eyes. Her hand eases into russet waves, caresses where her grip had punished. Her lips press cool and damp as the sea against the arching curve of her lover’s shoulder. “What shape of love will you give to me?”

The answer is easy, quick, certain. “Myself. Only myself, whenever you should wish it. Your cloak by the door, your body in my bed, and the freedom to go, whenever you must. As long as you wish.”

It’s not an answer a fisherman could ever give, nor would think to.