Curate, connect, and discover
Does paper classify as a stick?
If you stab a cereal box are you a serial killer?
Oof is just the opposite of off.
You know how in the Russian accent they replace w with v.
Example: instead of water it pronounced vater
So does that mean that vodka's pronounced wodka?
If you put wood mulch around your tree and it's the same type of wood as your tree, are you covering it with it's dead family members?
Random thought- but just- Modern au Ace pretending to not be able to open a jar- and so he goes to Sabo- who I'm picturing has an at home desk job, right?- who's currently on call in some sort of meeting- like catching up or some shit, nothing too important, which Ace 100% knew when deciding this- and just hands him the jar while Sabos talking to his co-workers and Sabo, not thinking and honestly more focused on what he's talking about, just absentmindedly grabs the jar and opens it-
now, just cause Ace could've done it himself does not mean that that jar was easy to open- so now Sabos blinking at his boyfriend while Ace is laughing and honestly a little stunned and his co-workers- like- Dragon, Koala, etc- are just blinking at the fact that a hand just popped onto the screen, gave Sabo a jar of like pickles or something, and without missing a beat Sabo opened it and handed it back like it was nothing
Ik it's random- but it just popped into my head randomly so I had to share-
"you are what you eat" I think we should also do the opposite, "you eat what you are"
What if humans were like cats and couldn't tell the aliens were different from us. Because cats can't tell the difference between us and them, the cats just think we are weird cats. So what if we are like them and just think that aliens are that one weird roommate.
"You're here to look at the werewolves?!" the lady at the counter looks baffled out of her mind. You're already petrified, having had to develop all the courage you possessed to even walk up to her and say that. It's not like your intention to adopt a werewolf was lacking, it was just that your confidence in your own self was diminishing with the stunned look on the receptionist's face.
You nod, swallowing down the panicky overthinking in your brain, clutching your bag strap tighter for help. The lady still looks like she hasn't heard you right.
"Y-you want a werewolf pup?" she asks, face paling ever so slightly.
"It's cub, not pup," you automatically correct, before flushing a bit in embarrassment. You were a journalist, after all. Grammar was your first priority over everything else.
"Why?" she asks, almost incredulously.
"Is it wrong to want to serve society?" you raise an eyebrow at her continued surprise, feeling your sarcasm come out. You weren't eager to delve into the real reason behind your trip with a stranger.
"I-well-alright then, I suppose, I'll show you to the werewolf pup- I mean, cubs' den," the lady says with uncertainty, getting up from her seat behind the counter. Her flat heels click irregularly on the tiled floor as she keeps glancing back at you when you follow her, as if concerned that you'd magically disappear.
"Here it is," she nods, stopping in front of a two-way mirror that offered a view into a room that's big enough to house an elephant.
You really have to give credit to the orphanage management, because for all the fear that humans possess concerning werewolves, they certainly did their best to recreate the little canines' natural environment for maximum comfort. Two large dark faux trees are in two corners, and the false roots made of plaster of paris cover the floor, creating an uneven ground for the cubs to climb and run over. A large rocky outcrop sheds a corner of the room, where blankets that look like leaves and soft mattresses that look like rocks make a sleeping area for the cubs.
"We're not trying to treat them like animals," the receptionist says quickly, seeing your surprised expression, "It's just that, most of them come fresh from the forest, when their parents are killed by illegal werewolf hunters. So when we try to introduce them to human environments, they resist and struggle. It's more comfortable for them to be in this man-made natural environment."
You nod again, understanding the concept. Werewolf hunting has been made illegal decades ago, ever since humans and werewolves struck the bond that decreed that neither species would harm each other. But that doesn't stop certain people of the ancient beliefs from venturing out and hunting them down.
There's about 8 cubs around the room. 2 are cuddled up in a corner, sleeping with their arms tightly around each other. They look like perfectly normal humans, perhaps 5 years old, one in a dress and the other in a shirt and shorts.
"Those are the twins- Toby and Thalia. They're the youngest in the group," the receptionist says, following your gaze.
"Who's that adventurous one on the tree?" you ask, a mirthful smile playing on your lips as you watch one elder cub jump and grab one of the lower-hanging branches, swinging himself up with difficulty.
"That's Alex. He's always been like that. I'm afraid his story is a bit tragic. He's been kicked out of 5 foster homes already," the receptionist says, expression softening. You can empathise with her. Even if humans feared werewolves, it didn't nullify the natural sympathy and compassion that welled up in every being's heart.
"Oh no, he's wolfing out," the receptionist suddenly says in a panic, looking into the room with concern.
You look in and realise that one of the cubs is lying on the floor, curled up in foetal position, shaking and crying. The others are around him, trying to see if they can help, offering him leaves or rocks.
"I need to get the vet," the receptionist says hurriedly, rushing down the corridor, and you really have to appreciate her for being able to run at such speed in heels. You look back into the room, and see the kid struggling, the first signs of grey fur blossoming over his scalp. He's in pain, hands shuddering, face shining with a sheen of sweat, breath coming out in short, rapid gasps. Your heart wrenches as you see the poor boy turning into a werewolf so painfully, and instinctively, you walk around to the door, yank it open, and rush to the cub.
The others make way for you in surprise. Most of them are below the age of 9, but one of them is 13.
"Who are you?" she asks, standing in your way, doubt and suspicion making her voice caustic.
"I'm here to help," you raise your hands in surrender, "Your friend there needs help."
"He has all the help he needs with us," the girl says firmly, folding her arms, glaring up at you with intensity and fierceness.
You sigh in frustration, pinching the bridge of your nose. You were never great at handling kids, having always been overly blunt and awkward. Handling werewolf children seemed out of your territory. You're starting to really doubt if you could handle adopting a werewolf cub seeing your inability to even talk to one normally without getting annoyed.
"He's in pain, isn't he? What are you doing to help him?" you ask dryly, putting your hands on your knees to bend down to her level.
"Whatever it is, it's better than what you humans tend to do," the girl hisses, "All you do is kill our parents and then leave us here to grow up alone and disloved."
"Unloved," you correct instinctively, before realising your mistake and feeling like an idiot. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to correct you-" you try to say quickly, but the girl looks like she's going to burst into indignant tears.
"You're so mean!" she cries, "You humans are so rude and mean to us! What have we ever done to you?"
You wince, wishing you could take back your words and approach this situation more tactfully. But you can see the young cub still struggling behind the girl, and your heart chides your brain mentally for being an idiot.
"Look, sweetheart," you sigh, kneeling down, deciding to be honest, "I have nothing against you. I came here so I could bring one of you home and make that special little cub the most cherished child on the planet. I'm not here to harm you, or be mean. I'm terribly sorry for reprimanding you earlier, but if I don't help your friend now, he could be in serious trouble. Please?"
The girl looks uncertain, and she probably didn't understand half the words you said, but she moves aside, and you sigh in relief as you quickly get up and rush over to the shaking boy.
"Okay sweetheart, listen to me," you say, pulling the shaking cub the straight way up. He's so thin and small as he's wolfing out, he fits in your lap. You sit cross-legged on the forest floor of the room, pulling him properly into your lap and cradling him in your arms. His ragged, warm breath hits your neck as you hug him close, trying to give him comfort.
"Listen to me, can you hear me? I'm here to help. Can you hear me, darling? Just nod, can you understand me?" you whisper softly away from his ear, so that his sensitive werewolf hearing wouldn't magnify your voice a hundred times.
He nods softly, whimpering as the fur covers his arms and his bones start melding and changing.
"Alright, so, can you tell me three things that you can see?" you whisper.
He shakes his head, wincing and shivering as his shoes fall off, claws growing from his small toenails.
"Okay, okay, never mind. I've heard that your hearing is very good. Can you tell me three things that you can hear?" you ask, changing your tactic the second he stops responding.
He's hesitant, but he slowly whispers, "I can hear your breathing. I...I can hear everyone else's heartbeats. I...I can hear...the wind outside the window..."
"Okay, keep going. Don't think about what's happening to your body, just listen. Tune into everything that's going on outside," you say in the hopes of distracting him.
"There's people outside. Two people...are running here...They're still far...the tiles are loud...the human babies are wailing...everything's so loud all of a sudden..." he whines, covering his rapidly enlarging ears.
"It's alright, focus on the soft voices, sweetheart. Focus on our heartbeats. Listen to your friends' heartbeats. Isn't it calming?" you whisper, cradling him closer. He sniffles, fully covered in fur now, yet he doesn't look like a typical werewolf.
"I-It is," he hiccups, snout snuggling into your soft shirt for comfort, "They're regular. They're...nice."
"Then focus on those. They're periodic, 72 beats per minute. Time your breathing with that. One breath in every..um, 15 beats. Can you do that for me?" you say, hugging his head closer and ignoring the in-house vet and receptionist who've just rushed into the room and look as shell-shocked as if you yourself had become a werewolf.
He nods, and you count slowly for him. Gradually, he shifts from listening to his friends' heartbeats to listening to your words. His breathing evens out as the transformation completes.
You'd expected a wolf cub, at the very least. But the little creature whom you're holding in your arms is nothing more than a puppy. He's almost asleep, comfortable in your arms, tired after his first transformation.
You look up at the other children in confusion, not bothering to question the vet. "Are all of you like this in werewolf form?" you ask slowly, not wanting to startle them. The cub in your arms is a little grey puppy. Yes, he has wolfish characteristics. But if anyone had seen this little adorable fluff-ball on the streets, they wouldn't hesitate in petting his head and feeding him treats.
"Of course," Alex nods.
"I thought...werewolves were, you know, werewolves," you frown a bit.
"That's a very outdated notion," the vet speaks up, catching everyone's gaze, "Due to intermingling of werewolves with humans and other species, the original characteristics of werewolves are quite lost."
"So you're telling me that people are afraid of these cute little babies?" you raise an eyebrow, still hugging the boy in your lap close to you.
The vet and the receptionist hesitate. They're clearly not used to such an abnormal response, and you sigh in annoyance, facing the cubs instead.
"So none of you become ravenous or blood-hungry on full moons?" you ask carefully.
"Never," the eldest girl scoffs, "We don't even always turn on full moons. All the mixing of bloods has really messed up our schedules."
"Ma'am, you can give Lucius to us now-"
"No."
The receptionist falters, hands retracting as she offered to take the boy from you. "I'm sorry?"
"I said 'no'," you repeat, a firm look on your face, "I'm keeping him. I'm adopting Lucius."
"Oh, alright then. Should we begin with the-"
"I'm not finished," you interrupt, having no idea where your sudden burst of confidence has come from, although you have a lurking suspicion that it has come from your renewed determination to improve the lives of innocent werewolves.
"I'm keeping Lucius. And Toby. And Thalia. And Alex. And all the others," you say, the glare in your eyes daring her to challenge you.
She looks mind-blown, to say the least, as if her most outrageous dream had come alive before her eyes. The vet looks...concerned for your health.
You almost worry that she's going to stop you, when she suddenly gives a small smile.
"Alright, Ma'am. Shall we begin with the formalities?"
__________________________________________________________
"Mom, mom, mom," Lucius is all but yanking your short burgundy hair, desperate to get your attention.
"If the house is not burning to pieces, I don't want to be woken up," you groan, covering your face with the pillow as you try to fall back asleep.
"Mom, come on, please please pleaseeee, just wake up," Fariah whines, begging you and shaking you.
"Alright, alright, you little tricksters, I'm awake," you laugh, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as Fariah pulls you up to sit on the bed.
"Mom, come on, we need to ask you something for our school project, " Toby says quickly, and Thalia smacks him upside the head.
"You dunce! You weren't supposed to tell Mom so quickly!" she hisses at him, feeling proud for having learnt a new way to call her twin a stupid person after reading some of your more lazily written articles.
"Thalia, I'm happy about the vocabulary expansion, but we agreed that your twin is not a dunce," you say strictly, raising an eyebrow. Thalia murmurs 'sorry' to Toby, who looks annoyed that she smacked him on the head. Even though the twins are both 13, Thalia's just an inch taller, and she wastes no opportunity in bullying her twin because of it.
"So, what do you need for your school project?" you ask, pulling up your legs to sit cross-legged on the bed.
"I don't need it," Lucius says haughtily, "The twins and Fariah need it."
Lucius has been on Cloud 9 ever since he turned 14 and he got to officially announce to the world that he was older than the others.
"Alright, alright," you laugh, "What do you need?"
"Well, Mom," Fariah starts, nervously twiddling her thumbs, "Our hearing is always a hundred times better than yours. And...we can never hear your heartbeat. So, we were wondering, why can we hear everyone's heartbeat but yours?"
You know that this is not a school project. That was just an excuse for your kids to ask you a question that had probably been gnawing at them for days now. You breathe out heavily, knowing you'd have to answer the question someday.
"I was stabbed once," you admit softly, pulling Toby close to you so he could hear more clearly, "I was in the forest, hiking, and I came across this...madman. Drunk. Raving. Blind as a bat with rage over something trivial. He had a knife, and before I could even attempt to get away, he stabbed me right in the heart."
"It was painful, yes. I couldn't feel anything, and I could sense the life draining out of me. The guy was probably going to stab me again, when someone else burst into the scene. He shoved the guy away and threw him off me. He sent the guy crying for his mama. I didn't even realise what had happened - the suddenness of it was too disorienting. I was on my knees, gasping for breath, when he saved me. I must have passed out, because when I woke up, I was in a cot, wound stitched up and bandaged. He had brought me to his home and healed me. I was forever indebted to him for saving my life. I had to spend some days in his home itself because I still didn't have the strength to walk on my own from all the blood loss. In those few days, I fell for him harder than I have fallen for any other person. He was the strongest and kindest person I had ever met, and he felt the same way. He shared his struggles with me, and I shared mine. We were madly in love, I'm afraid," you give a wry chuckle, "But...his solution to my heart was only temporary. I needed proper medical treatment if I were to live. I told him that I could get to the hospital on my own, that he'd get into trouble if he came with me. But he insisted, and he took me to the hospital as my heart literally failed. He was so scared that I wouldn't make it, and I was so scared that he'd get blamed for what happened to me. Unfortunately, only one of our fears came true," you smile sadly, cuddling Toby's back closer to you.
The cubs are quiet, wondering how this love story was related to your heartbeat. You realise that you'd deviated madly from the topic and quickly correct yourself, "So, I had to get a pacemaker and a whole lot of transplants and transfusions. It took me 5 months just to get out of bed without my heart being overexerted. The reason you can't hear my heartbeat is because the pacemaker is too low for your ears."
"Why did the guy you liked get blamed for what happened to you?" Lucius asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern.
"Nobody believed him," you shrug, giving a rue smile, "By the time I got out of the hospital, it was too late for me to help him in any way. No one even told me where he was, what happened to him, where they took him. All I know is that he was punished for no fault of his..."
It's been 10 years since it took place, yet your heart always burns in your chest as you recount it. The cubs look sad and confused, so you try to cheer them.
"But in a way, it also turned out to be a small blessing in disguise. Because after that, I decided to visit the orphanage to adopt certain children. And guess who God gave me?" you ask teasingly, grinning.
"Us!" Fariah declares happily, her innocent sweet 11 year old voice making you laugh.
"Yes, I got you little munchkins," you laugh, tickling her so she giggles and falls on the bed on your lap beside Toby.
"But how did his punishment lead to you deciding to adopt werewolves?" Thalia asks, tilting her head and cocking her ear up in the air to hear your answer better.
"Sweetheart," you smile softly, "Even though a human stabbed me and nearly stopped my heart forever, the one who really stole my heart was a werewolf."
When you adopted an orphaned werewolf cub, you expected to end up with a ravening blood-thirsty monster. Instead, you ended up with a fairly normal kid who occasionally becomes an adorable puppy.
Friendly reminder: If you don’t like someone, just pretend that they don’t exist. Don’t give a fuck. They’re not worth your time babe
Coraline is a masterfully made film, an amazing piece of art that i would never ever ever show to a child oh my god are you kidding me
I had a momentary idea for dialect in my story
I wonder if this would work in real life.
"Could I meet with you in one event?"
"What...? Don't you mean an hour?"
"Our? No, I mean an event. You know, when the sun has moved a bit, not... What do you mean our?"
"I mean... when the sun has moved an increment across the sky. There aren't any events planned today, if that is what you mean."
"No, no! I mean an event! When time has passed! Not... not when something major has happened!"
"Could I have a few moments of your time?"
"Sure! What do you need?"
"Could you tell me where... and the park is?"
"I need to go... I have something to do in a few minutes."
"M...min...minutes? What is a minute...?"
"*sighs in not having enough time to explain*"
"Could I meet with you at the second period?"
"What? Second period? That just happened. Are you okay? Do you need to go to the healer?"
"Gods, what was it you called it? When lunch happens."
"You want to go to lunch with me? Why didn't you say that?"
"No, I want to meet with you during that time, not eat with you! Gods, why are you so irritating?"
If you couldn't tell
Event = hour
Moment = minutes
Period = either sunrise, noon, sunset, or midnight (second period being noon)
One speaker is of the more cultured city folk, the other is from an isolated clan of people who are not as cultured. The second person vaguely knows that the other group has different words for time, hence why they understood that the other could have been talking about a major thing happening when they were talking about an event, but they obviously don't know specifics.
Yall ever think abt urself outside of your own perspective and go ew. Like that's gross af who the hell allowed that.
Do you ever imagine that all your favorite characters, who have absolutely no connection to each other, just chill in your head when you’re not actively thinking about them?
For me, it’s like: Leonardo from the 2003 iteration of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Sam Winchester from Supernatural, and Obi-Wan Kenobi from the Star Wars prequels all sitting at a table sipping tea. And yes, they’re totally aware they’re in my head:
Leonardo: [staring at the mug in front of him] Is it just me, or does everything feel... jittery today?
Sam: [rubbing his temples] Oh, it’s not just you. I think she’s had, like, three cups of coffee already this morning.
Obi-Wan: [raising an eyebrow] Three cups? Amateur. During the Clone Wars, I once drank six cups in one briefing just to stay awake while Anakin explained his ‘perfect’ plan to flank a droid battalion. It wasn’t perfect. I ended up digging us out of a crater for three hours.
Leonardo: [sighing] No wonder I’ve been feeling like I should be training non-stop. The energy in here is buzzing.
Sam: [grinning slightly] Hey, at least she’s somewhat productive when caffeinated. Sometimes it’s just doomscrolling and procrastination.
Obi-Wan: [calmly setting his cup down] Perhaps we should find a way to encourage her to hydrate. Tea, perhaps?
Sam: [shrugging] We can try, but she won’t listen to me about drinking water. Dean’s been yelling at her from somewhere in the subconscious for years.
Leonardo: Maybe if we say it’ll help her focus on writing, she’ll actually consider it.
Obi-Wan: [thoughtfully] A clever suggestion. But I suspect we may be at the mercy of her next coffee run regardless.