Almsworth-worm - Normal Person Do Not Read My Mind.

vampire curled up at your front door whimpering like a kicked stray puppy begging to come inside where it’s warm and cozy because it’s so so cold

if i was a fictional character woukd you guys write fucked up angst fanfic about me yes or no

They had lived their life rather interestingly. Other people took the Laws of this world for granted. Those people saw no interest in making a change, they simply existed, making no impact on the world around them. They hated that.

They looked at the beliefs of the people, and they saw so many holes and flaws and problems.

They did not endeavour to fix these things. They took advantage of them, and made a good living. They turned lead into gold, water into wine, death into life.

It was the last, they reflect, that caused this to occur.

Their body shifts and twist beneath them. They broke the Laws, and now they face the consequences. They remember how this is meant to go. They will die, or they will be found innocent and emptied out, left to wander the world as a hollow shell of themselves.

A single word rings out in their mind.

‘No.’

Things are wrong. Things are broken and denied and unfulfilled. They continue to twist and shift. It hurts now, the fire of agony racing through their mind. This is unnatural, and it should not be.

Yet, in defiance of the Laws, it is.

They are torn apart and put back together. Claws and chitin and shell and bone and meat are grown and crushed, their flesh buckling and shaping in the same way as clay is worked by a potter.

They lose their mind halfway through this. All that is left is bestial aggression and animal instincts and emotion. They are so full of sadness and anger and regret and they do not know why.

They know only one thing - they have been found guilty.

Voices permeate the trees around them. They think as best they can.

These people are not guilty and yet they are.

This is unfair. They grow angrier and angrier.

They decide.

Claws extended, flesh warping, eyes wide, and mouth agape, they lurch towards the voices.

Objective (i.e. highly subjective) best part of going to the club is getting to roll whatever absurd random encounter table fate cooked up for it.

'Butch who dances with you thrice and leaves with a kiss upon the hand' encounter happens within a solid three minutes of the 'sudden pull up contest' and 'impressively coherent singalong' and I would have it no other way.

She never wanted anything before.

She lived her life for other people, always doing what they wanted her to. They told her to do things, maybe to get a job done, or go somewhere, or to say something - and she would.

She was good at taking care of herself.

She met all of her medical needs. She ate to remain living, never taking any enjoyment in the act. She was alive, but even she could see that there was a difference between being alive and actually having a life.

She kept it up for a while.

Some people - those with common sense and yet no understanding - would disparage her for this:

‘How terrible must it be to live without living? How could she do this to herself? Did she not see what it was doing to her?’

But other people exist, and some of those people have care, and empathy, and understanding, and a capacity for love.

Her miss is one of those people. She took one look at her, and knew exactly what she had to do.

She did not demand that she fix herself, that she take the fractured parts of the person she could have been and form a facsimile of enjoyment and emotion. She did not ask her to magic away her flaws and change her personality and act as if nothing was ever wrong with her.

Instead, she took all of her broken mechanisms and functions and twisted them towards her own self-serving altruism.

She made her wear the clothes she loved but was too scared and indecisive to wear.

She made her go to the places she wanted to experience but wouldn’t dare go otherwise.

She made her accept her own desires and made her realise other people could love her, things she knew before but would never act on for fear of pushing people away.

At the end, she lay on her miss’ bed, looking all pretty in her new dress, tired from night after night of new things, and with a smile on her face.

And her miss made her do one more thing. One last step. She made her step out of this body of meat and bone which she had always hated but had never been able to leave, and step into a better one.

One made of ceramic and metal. One with lovely joints and perfect mechanisms. One which doesn’t need so much taking care of.

One which she can, finally, admit that she wants and loves.

you can’t jokingly post about kinky shit on tumblr because you say smth like “haha wouldn’t it be hot if you…tried to launch internet explorer…but it wouldn’t load :D”

and then you’ll get one thousand robot girls in the notes going “mmngngnnghhhngn”

i sleep diagonally so i wake up to a dutch angle view of my ceiling symbolising my descent into madness

he's such a little freak i love him

you are NOT my “passenger princess” get off your phone we are Under attack!!!!!!!! you are my gunner; man the weapons and defend our vehicle with your life!!!

What if we were both each other's pet and we looked after each other and sometimes we were both animals at once and we snuggled and had matching collars