'one was a salted'

archifist  asked:

I was listening to One Salt Sea and I had a question: Can Toby adjust the blood of selkies? (honestly I have tons of questions about selkies in Toby's world, but this one is most pressing currently)


anonymous asked:

One truckload of salt, delivery for the reylo void. Please sign here:

I’m gonna sign it the way my great-aunt always told us to sign for jury duty when we were kids: “Real sloppy and crooked so they’ll think you’re an alcoholic and they won’t bother you.”*

(*true story. She was nuts but wonderful. Kept a gun in her bra and believed in UFOs.)

The stiffness leaves his body in increments.  A flick of his index finger here.  An almost-blink there.  An irritated twitch around his mouth with the urge to sneeze (when had he needed smelling salts and which one of these fuckers shoved them up his nose?).

Coordination returns even slower, so that when he’s free from the petrifying qualities of the snake lady’s bite the first step he takes sends him face first into the water.  Sewer water.  As if his day couldn’t get any worse.

But he is a solider.  He’s used to having disgusting somethings caked into his uniform and clumped in his hair.  He’s been trampled by larger daemons and lived to tell the tale.  Grimy water with questionable shit in it was no big deal.

… He shouldn’t have used that word choice.

“Where’s Noctis?”  That is the big deal, because he sees his clothes but no Prince in them.


“Oh you have got to be joking.”  Of course his day could get worse.  He was Nyx fucking Ulric.  It was practically fated that any shit day would get ten times worse, maybe with the Astrals watching from overhead and sharing a few cosmic laughs at his expense.

Scratch that maybe.  Make it most certainly, because there, crawling out from the sopping pile of clothing, was a cat.  A very wet, shivery cat slinking its unsteady way to plonk at his feet and stare up at him with wide eyes.

Eyes like sapphires.



why do ppl mock The Indie Girl Voice™ so much when The Pop Punk Guy Voice™ is one of the worst and most grating singing styles ever

honestly there are two kinds of people who make history posts on this blue hellsite, and they’re all either



“okay so unlike you basic bitches who can’t read, i’ve been doing some actual research so guess what? i, a 20-something in my first year of college, am now the only and leading expert on my chosen topic. yall better listen to me bc i’m right and you’re wrong, you uneducated babies. my interpretation of the source material is now absolute truth and yours is stupid and yall should be happy that i’m even telling you this, you worthless slime people, so fuck off. i despise my audience”

I miss you.

Here I am, lying in my one-place-and-a-half bed, in the very place where you used to throw yourself to snuggle in, and I miss you.
The intensity that permeated your look when it touched me, the softness of your hair, the tenderness of your cuddles, the warmth of your skin against mine, the comfort of your presence, I miss everything.

It is so unfair. You are the person who has approached the most closely the frail little organ that is my heart, and here we are again strangers. It is even worse than being strangers, if we had simply returned back to this stage, there would remain hope, the electrifying excitement of having the opportunity to know each other, to discover each other, to marvel at each other of what we were, the visceral excitement of bonding to a new soul.
We’re not even strangers anymore. Even our eyes are fleeing each other as we both die of wanting to make them cross again.

I miss you.

You had to realize that we did not want the same thing for this utopia to end. It was too good to be true, you were too beautiful to be mine.
And here we are, both of us wishing deeply to reach the contraries of our mutual desires.
You, to love me with a flame of love that you do not have, in order to keep by your side the soul mate you found in me.
Me, to be able to forget that it is this flame of love that I have for you which gnaws me, in order to be able to meet again your almond eyes without feeling my world collapsing, in order to have the strength to keep you by my side, to have the strength to love you with that profound friendship you have for me.

I miss you.

We are but the sad spectators of a morbid scene, where we can only look helplessly at our plans to empty their blood by liters. The hope was extinguished in my hands when I tried to hold it to you and you did not know how to grasp it.
Love has given way to disarray, happiness has given way to loneliness, romance has given way to nostalgia, your kisses on my cheeks have given way to the erratic furrows of my tears, and you, you have given way to a gaping hole in the middle of my most secular hopes.

I miss you.

I wish I could hug you again, I would like to have the naivety to believe that you loved me, I would like to have the carelessness not to fear the nature of your feelings. I wish I could no longer be afraid to eternally continue to seek for you through all the people I meet. I wish I could not be terrified that I will never find someone else like you, someone who would have the same laugh, the same look, the same dimples in the corner of the mouth, the same hair, the same Way to kiss, the same way to get angry, the same tastes for music. I wish I could feel able to love something else than what you are.
I wish I could no longer feel a piece of me collapse every time I remember that you are now part of the past and that there is no possible future with you.
I wish that the thought of you leaves me a different taste than the bitter one of the salted pearls that flow on my cheeks.

I miss you.

—  are-you-ok-no-fck-off, The original text is in French and is on my tumblr here