An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Here to add my own variety of Tristan fics to the very important collection of Tristan fics ❤️

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Here to add my own variety of Tristan fics to the very important collection of Tristan fics ❤️

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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The fatigue (2022), oil on canvas by Mihail Zablodski
They all used to say I was the luckiest.
I was so pretty. My boyfriend was this super sweet, sensitive, popular guy. I got good grades without having to spend all my time studying. My parents weren't anybody special in town but they had enough money that we never had to really worry about paying the bills.
I was lucky. I was lucky. I was.
My parents died the same night that I did. They had the funeral while I was still dead too. My aunt from out of town arranged it after they found my body later on, in the fridge. I don't... remember much. I'm kind of glad. I don't think I want to remember that night. But everything else, even from before then, feels different too.
I don't think they told my aunt that I'm not dead anymore? Did anyone tell her?
How do you tell someone that?
My boyfriend's trying to be supportive. I'm not making it easy, I know. I'm not trying hard enough to get back to who I used to be.
There were times before I died when I would sit in front of the mirror and it felt like a stranger was looking back at me. Everything was just so hollow. I thought I wanted to die. But it would always pass. Usually my mom or someone would come and get me and drag me back, and I'd be myself again. That lucky girl.
Who the hell was she?
I didn't want to die. Dying was awful. I just didn't want to keep living like that. That girl. She had to die.
That can't be right. My life was good. I miss my parents so much, I'm not relieved that they're gone? Only a monster would feel that way.
I'm so hungry. All the time. But it's different. It's not like when my mom would put me on a diet, or when I'd stare into the mirror, or when I'd watch my boyfriend inhale a double cheeseburger and choke on my dry salad (dressing has too many calories). That kind of hunger was like trying to swallow past a weed that was rooted in my stomach.
This feels like that weed is finally gone and I could eat and eat. Like I might finally know what it's like to be full.
But nothing fills it. Definitely not the salads, but I don't want the double cheeseburger either. I just don't know what it could be.
That's a lie.
There's definitely something wrong with me. I wish it felt more like it was wrong with me, and not like something clicking into place. I know what I want but if I do go get it, what then? What if I get caught? Even if I don't, it's not like I can keep going that way.
Maybe it's just... once. Maybe it's a resurrection thing. So much freaky stuff happens in this town and no one ever seems to know how it all works, right? Who's to say? It could just be a one time deal, and then I'll be satisfied, and no one will ever have to know.
Oh god. I don't think I'm ever going back to normal. Normal people don't sneak out to the cemetery in the dead of night and dig up their parents graves and... and...
It had to be them, though. For the first time I think, anyway. So that I could keep a part of them. So that I could still be with them in a way. So that I could sink my teeth into them and rip them apart and carve out what was inside because that needed to happen.
I loved my parents. I did. I do. I'm not a monster. I'm not.
My boyfriend's got this friend. He's a little different. Eccentric. His family's rich, I think? He lives just on the edge of town. My boyfriend has so many friends, but I was always a bit surprised with this guy. He's... well he's really gay? Like rich theater goth guy gay? That sounds bad, but I mean. A guy like my boyfriend, friends with a man like that?
It was just surprising. My boyfriend doesn't exactly speak kindly about him behind his back.
But he knows lots of things about this town and the freaky shit that happens, so it actually does make sense. We usually go to him when there's some problem we don't know how to solve. I'm sure my boyfriend talked to him after I died.
He's been watching me lately.
I mean ordinarily I'd be flattered. He's like every high school girl's moody gothic antihero crush until he opens his mouth, and I was not immune to Edward Cullen in my day. In fact I was sort of notorious for always dating guys who turned out to be gay.
But like. Again, he's really gay, and I haven't exactly been bringing my A game to the personal hygiene routine, so I doubt he's looking at me for those reasons.
Oh god oh god he asked about... he knows about... that...?
I panicked! I just -- told him all of it?
Oh fuck he's going to tell the cops and they're going to put me away and then everyone will know me as the fucking ghoul who ate her parents corpses oh god baby jesus mother of mercy why did I ADMIT IT???
He... didn't tell anyone?
Something's wrong. He's being weirdly cool about all of this. There's no possible way that he doesn't have a problem with it. I'm eating human corpses. Everyone would have a problem with that unless they're fucked up.
He might be fucked up actually. Now that I'm thinking about it.
Not that I can exactly throw stones.
Is it wrong that I'm glad he's being nice about it? This shouldn't be allowed, right? I should probably warn someone that he's being nice about it, but how could I explain?
And... I don't want to get him into trouble. Everything's been so difficult. There's no one I can talk to. But he's so easy to talk to, and even though I wait and wait for him to tell me it's wrong, he just... doesn't.
What kind of monster is he?
Oh he's a vampire.
He's a vampire?!?
No friggin' way.
So my parents are on vacation for a couple of weeks, which means that I am going up (literally up, they live just up the hill like a block from us) once a day to look after their cats.
They have 2 cats. Both very raggedy and now elderly former feral boys, both gingers. There is not a single braincell between the pair of them.
Wash (full government name Washburn) thinks all humans are friend shaped. Sherpa (Full name Stop Climbing That Get Down From There What Are You A Sherpa) is terrified of every human on the planet except my parents.
So, whenever I go up and let myself in, I hear the scrabble of claws on the hardwood floor. Wash then runs full speed into my shins demanding attention, and Sherpa ramps off the whatever he was perched on, a wall, another wall, and scrambles up the stairs to hide under the bed upstairs. Note that he has seen me regularly for 9 years now.
My mom texted me the other day to ask 'Did u see both of them'
Me; 'Wash is clinging to my pants and refusing to let me leave and Sherpa was on top of the fridge again somehow. He's upstairs hiding now.'
Mom; 'that cat is 14 years old HOW IS HE STILL CLIMBING THE FRIDGE HE KNOWS HE IS NOT ALLOWED UP THERE. ANARCHY AS SOON AS WE LEAVE UGH'
We all agree, right?
AI to write your novel is wrong
A bargain with a demon to write your novel is okay
Only if you specify in the contract that the demon can't use chat-GPT
I've been thinking about this - and why asking the demon is also a bad idea
Tartini was a composer and violin teacher and no one respected him, he was generally broke, and he started having weird dreams in which the devil asked him to teach him violin
despite being catholic tartini agreed - although everything told him this was a bad idea
so he taught the devil violin in his dreams and when he had taught him everything he knew the devil offered him payment, he played an original composition in his dream
Tartini woke up weeping and struggled to write it down
we have a historical version of "couldn't remember the greatest song in the world, this is just its tribute", and the song he wrote down made him "Sonata in G Minor, aka the devil's trill" it's usually played by 2 violinists because it's evil difficult,
now imagine you make a deal with the devil to write your novel, he writes it but only lets you read it in a dream and you have to transcribe it from memory the next day.... 150k of the best prose and plot you've ever seen in your life and you have to remember it
chatgpt is evil, but that's just mean
That's every novel. That happens to me any time I manage to get more than four hours' sleep at once.

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short comic about how pen randomly drops a ring that people theorize is his way of proposing to you ft. @laziloo's builder
Bad news: your kid is the neighborhood cryptid.
Good news: you can get that on a bumper sticker
ice water is awesome because you get more water in your water
you think youre out of water but then you check back in five minutes and woah! theres more water! the world is so beautiful
Grim is such a grumpy grandma. she growls in between each lick
locked in on levels previously unknown to man (writing fanfic on the treadmill)

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it's good that I will never be a dog breeder, bc I would make the elephant dog. long borzoi snout, chunky pitbull body, ears of a papillon
why aren't we doing this?
you 🫵 you can join the breeding project.
people are telling me that this already exists and is called an English Bull Terrier
THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER 2 ANNOUNCED
THE ALBATROSS IS BACK………. AND HES FUCKING PISSED
used to think it terribly silly (and kinda funny) when fantasy or sci-fi stories would have people refer to major recent historical events as The Flood or The Incident or The Revolution, and im sure historians fucking hate that because it's not helpful or descriptive, but we sure do be calling it The Pandemic
Hey. Why isn’t the moon landing a national holiday in the US. Isn’t that fucked up? Does anyone else think that’s absurd?
It was a huge milestone of scientific and technological advancement. (Plus, at the time, politically significant). Humanity went to space! We set foot on a celestial body that was not earth for the first time in human history! That’s a big deal! I’ve never thought about it before but now that I have, it’s ridiculous to me that that’s not part of our everyday lives and the public consciousness anymore. Why don’t we have a public holiday and a family barbecue about it. Why have I never seen the original broadcast of the moon landing? It should be all over the news every year!
It’s July 20th. That’s the day of the moon landing. Next year is going to be the 54th anniversary. I’m ordering astronaut shaped cookie cutters on Etsy and I’m going to have a goddamn potluck. You’re all invited.
Hey. Hey. Tumblr. Ides of March ppl. We can do this
Hell yeah moon holiday
Ooh coming up we should celebrate
PITCH: We call it Moon Day, and then every 7 years when it falls on a Monday, that's an even BIGGER deal and we call that Moon Day Monday and go absolutely apeshit about it (the next Moon Day Monday is in 2026 so we have a couple trial runs first)
MOON DAY MOON DAY MOON DAY
moon day is 20th July!!!
Scheduling this a day earlier to remind you all and myself about the Moon Day tomorow!
I scheduled this in 2025 to give you all a week to make Moon Day Monday preparations! I think I will order a little rocket cake or bake some moon phase cookies!
It's coming, cousins. ...This could be as big as March 15th if we made it that way...
Lindsey Graham getting confirmed as a sissy by the pre-transition sex worker he hired a decade ago isn’t something I planned to learn this fast but damn.

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Every time I'm forced by circumstance to hand-sew something, I remember a fairytale I once read. There are lead-up shenanigans as the humble protagonist helps small animals and meets the princess and all that, but in the climax, the princess rigs a contest for her hand by setting her own task: sew her a dress in a single night.
The noble suitors, who have never sewn a thing in their lives, sabotage themselves by their own ambitions: they choose difficult fabrics to work with and cut huge, elaborate patterns and select gems and pearls and beads to sew onto it, and snip such long bits of thread that they lose time detangling their stitches, and ultimately resort to pinning bits together as they run out of time, so that their offerings initially look beautiful and flashy, but when the princess tries them on they stick her with pin ends and fall apart as she moves.
The humble protagonist uses a very simple pattern without embellishments and sews using short lengths of thread (snipped off and threaded for him by little birds of course) which don't tangle and therefore save time. His dress is plain by contrast, but holds together and the princess is able to move freely in it, and so he wins the contest and her hand.
I particularly think about the bit about threading the needle with shorter lengths of thread, needing to tie off more often but avoiding tangles and thereby saving time.
I then ignore that piece of wisdom passed down through who knows how many years and proceed to cut the longest damn length of thread I can manage because I hate tying off beginning or ending knots and I will not subject myself to more of that even if it does mean more tangles along the way.
Few more before bed
the unholy drink cloaca strikes again