#Pay me no heed I am tired

[hummingjay]

Decommissioning a replika is not just because of work inefficiency. It exposes replikas to one of the most heinous crimes of the nation.

I was wondering why on earth you'd kill a replica because it degraded. It seems like degradation does two things: it impedes work efficiency and increases individuality. Hardly reasons to kill a worker, especially seeing how Gestalts already have varying levels of individuality and work efficiencies. So why decommission degrading replikas? I think there's two reasons: 1, degraded replikas can turn violent. The documents next to the Ara unit found in the Storch form vent outlines that stabilized replikas are docile, in contrast to a degraded replika.

Then here's the real bit: they attain access to amongst the most heavily guarded secrets the nation has: the lives of the neural map templates. Degraded replikas appear to get bits and pieces of their gestalt lives. Tiny memories that I suppose over time can be pieced together in some form of coherency. That alone is knowledge enough to kill a replika, and unless the gestalt was unconscious when brought into whatever facility was used to create the maps, then the memories in question include said facility. Not only are the degraded replikas unwillingly accessing nation secrets, they're accessing secrets that are national security risks. And if there’s one thing the nation loves it’s censorship.

So to keep things secret, degraded replikas are put down. Of course this is just one reason amongst the others, Kolibris bring the others with them, replikas can turn violent. But it just occurred to me that this could be another reason to end a replika.

[morose-melodies]

There’s been rumours of the winter forest that lurks behind your home. Apparently the mysterious clacking of a horses hooves came from a man with no head. Of course, you try to pay no heed to these rumours since they are no more than just that.

It isn’t until a snowstorm attacks your village that you feel the need to venture into that forest. You’re unprepared, and food is running out fast. The forest is the quickest way to the city, but the biggest problem is that you don’t own a horse. And none of your neighbours have anything to lend you to make the trek through the treacherous path easier.

So you pile on clothes, stacking your socks on, wearing more than three layers of tops and bottoms. You make sure your feet are snug are in your father’s old winter boots, before leaving the warmth of your home.

- You walk past the snow-laden trees that hover above you and seem to stalk your every movement. You tighten your grip on the handle of the bag that’s slung against your shoulder.

It feels like you’ve been walking for an eternity, your head’s starting to hurt from seeing nothing but trees and the occasional prints of deer hooves in the snow.

Determined to make it to the city in one piece, you take a break. Just to catch your breath. Then you’re back to walking again. You find a peaceful space to sit, somewhere where the trees hid an odd bench. It seems out of place but you ignore that.

Suddenly you hear hooves against the snow, so you look up and see a man on a horse. Clad in silver armour, and a matching helmet covering his face. Despite seeming like a knight, he’s secluded in the forest with nothing but his horse to keep him company. You get the chills from him and how he basks in the sliver of the moonlight that hadn’t been stolen by the tall trees.

Ignoring every alarm bell that rings in your head, you get up from your seat and frantically start to wave your arms to the man clad in armour, “excuse me! Sorry for bothering you but can you please give me a ride? My village has been-”

“What are you doing here?” The man speaks rudely cutting you off, his voice so deep, yet velvety almost.

You take a deep breath before continuing, your patience running thin from how long you’ve been walking for. “..Like I was saying, my village has been struck by a snowstorm, and the forest is the quickest way to get to the city. I am running out of food and my own village cannot provide me with anything, so I’ve had to resort to going through this stupid creepy forest. So, please, I beg of you to ride me through this path.”

“Why are you lurking in these forests without a hors-”

“Do you have to question everything!?” You broke, your fists clenching at your side. Your stomach turns when looking up at the man, you realise you shouldn’t have said that. “Sorry. It’s just- I don’t have a horse. If I did, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’ve been wandering through this path since the night was young, and now it has gone all dark and gloomy. I’m tired, cold, and everything hurts.”

The man sighs, and reaches his gloved hand out to you. Your eyes brighten at the sight and desperately take the hand to help you up his horse. “Thank you so much! I swear I’ll repay you for this.”

- Through the ride, you’ve learnt to call him “Capitano.” A title he said he was given long ago. You’ve also learnt that ‘Capitano’ isn’t very talkative, so you were the one doing the talking the whole time. Telling him of useless information like the average village gossip, travelers you’ve met, and your day-to-day life. But only one thing piqued his interest, the rumour of the ‘headless horseman’. He must just like creepy myths you thought.

Finally you reach the end of the path, and he helps you get down. You repeatedly thank him again. “Come with me to the city, I shall treat you to something for your generosity!”

“I cannot join you.” He replies flatly.

“Oh come on now! I’ll only steal you away for 10 minutes-”

Interrupting you once again, he unhooks his helmet and takes it off. Revealing.. nothing. No head, no face, nothing. Just an unattached neck. You took a step back from him, is he really a he? Is he anything? All you know is that he’s a monster.

“I suggest you leave, and never come back into this forest, lest you wish for your fate to end like mine.” You want to say his tone seems disappointed, but you don’t even know if he can feel anything. But nonetheless, taking his warning you run away and into the city.

You look behind yourself, only to see nothing there. Like he didn’t exist. Your throat starts to tighten, but once you step into the light that beams from the city, you calm down, and try to forget all about it.

- Thanks to a friend you found in the city, you were able to get back to your village without going through the forest again. But the ride back was still eerie, you felt like someone or.. something was following you. But every time you looked back, there was nothing.

It had been a while since you’d been to the city to restock all your essentials. A while since you met ‘Capitano’. Every time you hear a knock at your door, or the wind pass against your window, you feel bile rise in your throat. Luckily, it seems like you won’t have to leave again, at least not for a long time. Your village’s businesses are thriving more than ever after also getting restocked, and you’ve also finally started to get some sleep after that incident.

Today, your home feels cold and so do you. So you’ve lit your furnace, and are cosied up against it, on your sofa with your blanket wrapped up around you. You feel yourself about to fall asleep until you hear knocking at your front door. You groan at having to get up from the comfort your sofa, and mumble incoherent curses against your breath as you sluggishly walk to your door.

But when you open it, you see him again. Capitano. Except this time he doesn’t have his helmet on, and is leaned against the wall. His breaths are short and ragged. He seems, what you think is, frustrated.

“I could not stop thinking about you.”

- XOXO that one Pantalone anon <3 (A gift in light of Halloween.)

DO I EVEN NEED TO ADD TO THIS??? THIS IS SO GOOD TYY

well, the captain was so frustrated because he expected you to come back to the forest even though he told you not too.

what a hypocrite he was.

it was odd. he had spent much of his time expecting you to come and inadvertently began thinking of you, it had gotten to a point where all he thought about was you.

and when you didn't come back, as per his command, frustration began to bud inside of him.

because honestly, to see you once more was all he wanted.

that was not what he got though. not so soon anyway - before he saw you again, he allowed that frustration in him to build up for oh so long until he couldn't handle it anymore.

just this once, he reasoned, he wouldn't deny himself of what he wanted.

that's why he was at your front door that night, desperate to indulge himself with all the knowledge of you he could get.

after all, he had tried so hard to deny himself. he deserved this much.

and then he left that night. you would be alone once more, well, for a few weeks before he came back once more.

one thing capitano was was honest.

whatever he was feeling was frustrating.

it was frustrating. he would have a passing thought of you, then begin to wonder about you, and then soon enough all he could think of was you.

"i refuse to deny myself of you," he told you and he hoped you didn't mind, because he could not for the life of him stay away, not when he felt so drawn to you.

"you said you'd repay me? is that correct?"

you nodded and capitano took a step toward you and reached forward, towards your face.

his finger twitched before the cool metal of his armored glove grazed your cheek. his hand lingered for a moment.

"i'd like to know everything there is to know of you, that's how you will repay me."

A/N: THE END IS SO LAZY SORRY

[sodapopseagull]

Hello! Welcome to my Tumblr!

This is my semi-secret corner of the internet where I can go bananas about my interests. I am full of feelings and I never shut up. Currently brainrotting over Gale Dekarios, bloodweave, and a handful of other Gale ships!

I draw and also do a bit of writing! Happily indulging in the former, trying my best with the latter- fic links are below, and I've got a handful of WIPs that I'm pretty excited about.

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Some tags that may be of interest:

MY ART TAG // MY WRITING TAG

PERSONAL TAG // ASK REPLIES

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Links to my fics ⬇

Hold Person - (Bloodweave // E // 28k words) - Astarion has a complicated relationship with physical touch. It brings up a wellspring of memories best left forgotten, and he doesn't even know if he could enjoy it anymore should he ever let anyone close enough to try... or five times Astarion sees Gale being held and has a lot of difficult feelings about it + the one time he does it himself and knows exactly how he feels about it.

With Silver Tongue - (Bloodweave // M // 11k words) - Astarion decides to pay a visit to Waterdeep (and his favorite wizard), only to intercept Gale just as he is about to embark on a mysterious journey into the Sword Mountains. Done for a fic exchange! Features silver dragon Gale, a whole lot of pining, and a non-linear timeline!

Double Date - (Bloodweave // T // 5.7k words) - It's the night of the Rivington Public Library's annual fundraiser dinner, and though Astarion has come to enjoy his new, quiet life as a librarian, tonight has proven rather challenging... and it's all Gale's fault. Done for a fic exchange! Features miscommunication, some light emotional hurt/comfort, and snowy smooches!

I'm Smitten, Kitten - (Bloodweave // M // 12.8k words) - Astarion is the deeply under-appreciated social media manager for ProFang Ascension, an online media company, where he is constantly trying to put out the fires started by his terrible boss. Fortunately for him, his dear friend Shadowheart has just the thing to help him decompress- a voucher for the sleepy little cat café she works at. --- Or, a slow-paced, laid-back, extremely fluffy first meeting between an Astarion who is trying really hard to have a bad time, and a very tired Gale who will ensure that does not happen.

At Last - (Bloodweave// T // 4.7k words) - The orb is stabilized and Gale gets to have a big ugly cry as a treat. Please heed the tags and proceed with caution- there is some non-graphic rumination on Gale's mission from Mystra/Elminster.

Song of Rest - (The Dark Urge/Gale // T // 3k words) - Gale aches, and the Dark Urge has a means of alleviating it, if only for a little while. Pining and ruminating on the similarities between their plights from the POV of my human Dark Urge bard, Paris.

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You may know me as SamOnCD-ROM on Twitter and Bluesky! I am also quietly lurking in a few BG3-related Discords 💜

[affi-taffi-too]

The Desire

when the night has settled but my mind has not, i take tentative hold of a lantern and sought the insalubrious, damp corners of my head and through them take a slow, inquisitive tread. i brush off cobwebs, chase out mice exorcise them with lines of salt and rice. lament the relics catching rot i haven't the heart to rid of the lot. i scrape off the algae, clog the leaks try to forage for whatever reeks. it's never the same, the radix of the must one night it's remorse, the other it's lust. often i find, when i have delved in far too deep my undead thoughts and desires, piled in a heap. breathless, i peer like a pitiful slave at the obscure silhouette of what i crave. it wanes closer, clad in fine lace sighs mournfully and gently cups my face "child, do not seek me out," i hear it groan "when the time comes, i will claim what i own." impatient, i clasp at its warmth and plead "I beg of you, make it stop, pay me heed." a jagged smile and the answer returned: "be good, be kind; i am the mercy earned." turned away, i lie bitter on my sheets awaiting sleep, counting heartbeats and as the morning light hits my tired eyes i find no choice but to mind its advice. tis a cruel world, you; be hunted or hunt as such, it is easy to deduce what i want. the core of my desires, etched on every breath kind, forbidden, impending death.

[youremyheaven]

What nakshatras or dominants do u think really give good advices or are good listeners?

I have lunar placements and yes somehow it gets tiring.

If someone comes to me with their problems, i need to know if what they need is comfort or solution or maybe both. I can give it but they need to listen carefully, i don’t need them to heed my advice but they need to reflect for themselves and try to corporate their own solution to what i gave them. (Maybe my earth stellium also affects how i deal with others’ emotions)

If it’s motivation they need i am willing to give it to them. But if it’s ranking COMFORT, SOLUTION, MOTIVATION, i’d rank comfort last. But if they only need an ear, then it depends if my attention span can do it. Haha.

Good advice= Jupiter

Idk if you're Indian but Katrina Kaif, Punarvasu Sun is often called "life coach" jokingly because she always talks like a self help guru lmao and I think it's soooo Jupiter of her

Jupiter naks are veryyy preachy and lowkey prophetic. They're always dispensing wisdom like their lives depend on it and it can be annoying because they seem so self-righteous 🤣🤣

Good listener= Mars

Given the soldierly nature of Mars, paying attention to what is said is innately part of their nature. They do be listening even if they don't know what to say in response 🫣🤭

I personally think Lunars feel depleted listening to other people's shit and have a very low threshold for it but it could also just be the Lunars ik lmao 😂

[jaskefer]

Obsessed with the idea of Extraordinary Things being a back and forth between Jaskier and Radovid, with Jaskier trying to draw him out in the first verse, and Radovid finally answering him in the second.

Cause like, with Radovid, Jaskier meets someone who he can't fully read properly. He knows there's something under the front of a drunken, bumbling prince, but he doesn't know him well enough yet to be certain as to what.

So, he tests the waters a bit. throws out a line to see if Radovid will take it—and he does. A little bit. But it's so interesting to me, because it doesn't just feel like Jaskier is trying to nail down Radovid's truth in this verse; it feels like he's injecting elements of his own mask into it, as well.

"Keep your words on ice, your gaze lights the fire. They say 'keep on playing nice,' but I have no desire. Why waste our words when lips were made for extraordinary things? It's not a want, it's a need, it is paying no heed to what others say to sing."

This is Jaskier's read of Radovid as he knows him so far: a man hiding more complex wants beneath the veneer of a drunken party boy. But it's also Jaskier admitting that he knows this about Radovid because he wears the exact same mask himself.

Much like how Jaskier and Ciri speak through Geralt and Yennefer in order to process their own feelings about them later in the season, Jaskier sings through himself in order to comprehend who Radovid is. Jaskier is using the performative persona he's crafted for himself in an attempt to coax Radovid out of his.

All of it leads into the main intention of this song: "The greatest songs are made up of unspoken words of love. Of them, I've had enough. with you, I am enough." I am tired of having to put up a front. I want to be understood. I think you understand me. Prove me right.

And Radovid sees what Jaskier is doing. He comments on Jaskier's ability to see people for who they are and not who they pretend to be. But there's still more he wants to understand. This still feels like a game, in a way.

It's only after Radovid sees the brutality of Dijkstra and Philippa up close, watches them orchestrate the assassination of the queen and threaten to incriminate him if he doesn't fall in line, that he then grasps the vulnerability in Jaskier's lyrics. Jaskier is also caught between multiple conflicting desires, that of his loyalty to Geralt/Yen/Ciri, and that of his work as the Sandpiper & how said work is backed by his continued commitment to Redanian Intelligence. That internal conflict and the desire to escape it is also highlighted in the song's first verse ("they say keep on playing nice, but i have no desire"). Only after all of this, when true fear begins to take over and the game stops being fun, does Radovid truly begin to truly understand Jaskier.

And so, he seeks him out. And he responds.

“Drop the sweet disguise, your heart’s beating too loud. The fairytales and little lies can’t drown out all the sound.” You were right. I do understand you. I know what you really want, because we're the same. You can’t hide it behind a façade of a song and a story and a persona.

“Take this heart and break this heart for extraordinary things.” I don't know what will become of this, or us. I still don't fully know if we can trust each other. But no one has ever seen me in the way that you have.

It's not a want, it's a need. With you, I am enough.

[copiousloverofcopia]

omg i would kill for a Copia POV with him being desperate to get his prime mover pregnant.

Having him be all excited and ready to be a daddy 🥵

Well, let's just see what I may have here....

....oh here you go, some Copia POV ready to be a daddy!!!

Now We Wait

Also available HERE on AO3!

Definitely NSFW below the cut

In my many years on this Earth, there was only one thing I ever truly longed for—a family. I have lived a life most would consider privileged. Enjoying the spoils of the Ministry, with the best education the world had to offer, apprenticing under the most skilled of conjurers, scholars, and musicians, and finally the coveted position of Cardinal. A position I had I obtained through great personal perseverance.

All of it however, amounted to nothing—not really anyway. It is no secret that I was a lonely child, never knowing where I came from. Only that my parents were at one point devoted to the Ministry. Their lives, sacrificed in service to Lucifer. The thoughts of their conviction gave me strength, guiding me to push on—even though I might never know their names. 

Eventually it was not enough, my soul longing for more than what the Ministry could offer me. My days in the Abbey, spent mostly in solitude when I wasn’t balancing books and jumping to heed the old guy's every whim. I was left with a sense of emptiness, gnawing at my insides like the rats at their cage.

Then there was you, my bright and sweet sorella. Your smile, like a beacon of hope from the moment I first saw it. Calling out to me in my darkness and guiding me into your light. I knew it then, as you passed me by, the scent of your perfume lingering in the air. You were my vero amore.  

I wanted nothing more than to love you–to give you everything. I still struggle to comprehend how a creature, of such grace and beauty, could ever want anything from a tired old man such as myself. A man so lonely that he spent more time in the company of his rats than with the rest of the world. But you did.

Choosing to share with me the world seen through your eyes—and your love. Two things I will forever treasure. When I unexpectedly ascended to the miter, you were there by my side. Making me feel higher than even my title could bolster. We were the things that fairytales were made of. A story that felt too good to be true, but despite it all there was still something missing. 

Now as I sit in my office, a well-planned, quiet moment in between the next cycle of the tour, I can't get my mind off it. I have done the research. A shocking amount, if I am to be honest. Paying close attention to the signs that you’d be ready for me. And amore today is the day. 

“Cope, Aether said you wanted to see me?” you asked as you entered my office. Your veil flowing behind you as you walked through the doorway. Already that sweet smile on your face. My heart immediately began pounding, heavy in my chest and my palms sweating just at the sight of you. My hands, trembling in my lap as you got closer. 

“Si, come in, come amore.” I beamed, motioning for you to take a seat on the old black leather chaise. Praying that you didn't notice the shaking. I rose from my desk to greet you, and it was clear from the look on your face you could tell I was nervous. 

“Everything alright?” you asked, crossing your legs and patting the spot beside you. 

“Of course, I am sorry, I am just a bit…ah…nervous.” I admitted, trying my best to pull it together. Hoping that once the words left my lips you wouldn’t laugh, run, or both. Praying to Lucifer that you had wanted it too. 

“Cope, I can’t imagine there's anything for you to be nervous about. Come here, you can tell me anything. What's going on?” you asked again. I knew I couldn’t stall for long, but as badly as I wanted this, I struggled to find the words to say. I sat down beside you on the chaise, my thigh pressing against yours. Getting as close to you as possible beside you before I confessed my innermost desires. 

“Well, you can’t be nervous about this.” you chuckled, your eyes falling on my lap. The bulge in my pants growing from being close to you. An obvious sign that I needed you, but today the urge was so much more.

“No, of course not.” I laughed, knowing full well you had spent too many moons beneath the sheets in my chambers to count. Not to mention a wealth of other locations within the Abbey. Both of us, covered in sweat and the glow of glorious sin. Your body, my altar of worship, and mine yours. There was nothing about each other that we didn't know. Nothing we hadn't done before, but it was still hard to tell you why I had asked you to meet with me.  

“My love just spit it out, I can tell you got something on your mind. Come on now, I can take it.” you laughed again. Pulling a smile from me, even though my nerves were fried. I placed my hand on your thigh, feeling that you too were shaky beneath it. Were you nervous too? Was there somewhere inside you that knew what I was thinking? I couldn't be sure. 

“I—I have been giving this a lot of thought lately cara.” I began, stumbling through the words like it was the first time I'd ever spoken, stopping as I felt you place your hand over mine. The way you stared back at me, your eyes filled with such happiness. So beautiful that I might lose myself in them before I'd finish my thought.

“Go on.” you urged, chewing on your bottom lip. Something that drove me absolutely mad with lust—wanting to taste those lips for myself.

“I am Papa now and well…" I began, watching your eyebrows raise up. Waiting for me to continue. "I want—I want us to have a baby.” There it was. I had finally said how I felt aloud. No denying it or pretending now. My words, hanging in the air between us for what felt like forever as I waited your reply. 

“A baby?” you asked, your smile falling and replaced with a more serious visage. I felt like I would crumble. Worried I had miss stepped, as I often do, and made you upset. Made you feel like I was pressuring you, but despite that I continued on, leaning over to kiss the crown of your head. Breathing you in a moment to ground myself before I answered. 

“Si amore…I want us to have a child. To be family. It is a thought that consumes my mind. It's been something that I've been thinking about since I met you, but I can no longer deny it. Is–is that something you want too?” I asked you, the words leaving me so fast I wondered if they had really been said. Then to my surprise you kissed me. Those sweet, soft lips pressed into mine. Like silk gliding against me. I closed my eyes, focusing on the feeling of you. My cock straining tightly against my pants–I wanted you so badly.

“Is this really what you want?" You asked, pulling back a moment to catch your breath, "This isn't something she's pushing for?” I knew who you meant. It was no secret Sister Imperator was concerned about the lineage of the dark papacy but she had nothing to do with this. 

"What she does or does not want cara…is of no concern to me." I told you, the smile returning to your face. Your eyes heavy as they traveled over my chest and back to my lap. Your mouth parted for breath, waiting for me. “I want this more than anything.” I hummed, pulling your lips back to mine. Sliding my tongue along yours. Slippery and wet as they danced together. 

You climbed over into my lap, and I could feel the heat of your core, hovering just above me. I drew in a sharp breath as you pressed yourself against the swell of my cock. 

“Oh Cope.” you mewled as you rubbed against me, my hands instinctively pulling away your veil. Your fingers, working to unbutton my shirt as I tried in vain to undo your bra. The damn thing giving me the greatest trouble it ever had, as if just to spite me.

"Fuck." I kissed under my breath. 

 “Here.” you laughed, undoing it for me and guiding my hands to your breasts. So soft and full. I could only imagine how they would change once you were pregnant. How your whole body would bloom with me inside you.

“I need you now.” I moaned, as you continued to grind against me. The heat of your cunt teasing me with each roll of your hips. My own rising from the cushion to meet you. Begging for you to let me inside. 

“Then take me.” you smirked. A command I was all too willing to obey. Working around you so that I might unzip my pants. Freeing my cock. The tip, red and already wet with need as I kissed you deeper. My thumb teasing at your nipple and my other hand slowly stroking my shaft. 

You didn't even bother to slip out of your panties. My favorite black lace ones you sometimes left for me to find in the bottom of my drawer. My cock twitched as I saw them, knowing that you’d be leaking into them for the rest of the day. Your cunt dripping with my seed. 

I watched as you touched the bud of your clit, drooling a bit as your eyes stayed intently on my cock, sliding up through my hand. 

“Get on amore, I need to be inside you.” I commanded, staring deeply into your eyes. Both of our mouths falling open as you allowed me inside you. My length, slowly pushing through your folds and gliding against your walls. Your body, so aroused and all because of me. 

I was in awe of the way you felt. So perfect for me, tight and wet. Molded as if you were made just for me. A perfect fit that had me biting into my lip to keep from release. A fact you noticed. Smirking at me as you watched me come undone. 

"I thought the whole point was for you to cum." You muttered, breathy and a hint of teasing in your tone.

"Not until I make you cum first." I vowed, holding your hips as you rode me. Lifting up to meet with your stride. Over and over, feeling your cunt squeezing all around me. The flood of tingling and warmth inside—Hell sent. 

"Oh, fuck Papa…make me cum." You moaned into my ear, grinding yourself down harder. I can't say what happened, all I know is that the next thing I knew I had you on your back. Legs pressed up towards your chest, one of my own on the floor for leverage, as I pounded away inside you. Pushing myself as far back into your cunt as I could—ready to cum against your open womb. 

I thrusted hard and deep. Your body, tugging against me with each pump of my hips. Your cunt, refusing to let go as I took you. I panted hard and the sweat beading up on my forehead and beginning to disturb my paints. 

My thoughts only on how incredible You looked as you writhed beneath me and how even more beautiful you'll look as you carry my child. 

"Farai di una madre così bella il mio amore. Dì che porterai in grembo mio figlio." I stuttered against your calf. Kissing and licking you there. The sweet salty taste of your skin, covered in sweat from our efforts. You buckled down, your insides bearing down all around me as you came. Moaning and shaking as the fluid gushing from between us and spilling onto the cushion below. 

"Yes Copia! Yes please! I want it too! I love you! You cried out. Your cunt clenching hard against me, already so close to cumming again. I wanted to keep going, to revel in this moment between us—but you felt too good. So warm and so soft around me. The minute I felt your walls squeeze again I lost it. Spilling my seed deep inside you.

"Ah! Ah! Amore, I love you too. You and I are one. Make me a father!" I called out, still thrusting into you. Hoping to pack all I could against your womb. Praying to Lucifer that not a drop of it goes to waste, so you'd conceive for me. 

The haze of our lust and love dissipated slowly into the afternoon. You, sleeping soundly on my chest, exhausted from our endeavor still laying on the chaise. The door unlocked and not a care in the world as to who might see us.  I kissed your forehead, rejoicing in the beginning of our future. 

"Cope," you began, still very much in and out of your slumber, "do you think it took?" You asked me, nuzzling your face against my chest. I smiled, trying to shush you back to sleep. You would need your rest for what was to come, then I whispered gently to answer you. 

"Si…but for now we wait." 

Notes:

vero amore- true love

Farai di una madre così bella il mio amore. Dì che porterai in grembo mio figlio. -You'll make such a beautiful mother my love. Say you'll carry my child.

[odakuram]

ヘイズアダー/Haze Adder (English Translation)

Music/Lyrics: Zekkai Video: Minazuki Vocal: Hatsune Miku

"I'm challenging this."

the part that took a while was finding time to format the translation for this post. here's the translation anon requested!

僕の世界の外側 転がる言葉 目もくれず蹴っ飛ばしてゆく 世界の外へと逃げ出したいの どうしたらいい？ あぁ… 

Paying no heed to the words  stumbling about in world outside mine, I kick it away I want to escape to that world beyond What should I do? Aah…

どうやら僕では届かぬらしい 疲れ切ったこの角で ずっとこのままいればいいのか そんなの喜びはしないよな 

Somehow, it doesn’t reach me These sharp edges have tired me out. Do I want things to be this way forever? There’s no joy in that.

いくら言ったって信じないだろ 今更愛だなんて 目を見て言えたもんなら 呆れてものも言えないね 

No matter how many times I say it, no one would believe me It’s too late for love If I can say that having seen it for myself, I can’t say a word when I’m disgusted by it!

いつだって駄目だって 僕から奪って去って 嫌だって逆らってるんだ 嫌え。嫌え。 誰だって嫌んなってそりゃやめたくなるよ 叩き落とさないで 

It always ends up a failure They steal and run away by me Then they go against me saying they hate it Detest it. Detest it. Everyone saying they hate this makes me want to stop Don’t strike me down

世界の外側転がる言葉 目もくれず蹴っ飛ばしてゆく あの日となにも変わらないの どうしてなんだ？ あぁ… 

Paying no heed to the words  stumbling about in the world outside, I kick it away Nothing’s changed since that day Why’s that so? Aah…

どうやらここでは嫌われたらしい 廃れ切ったこの角で ずっとこのままいればいいのか そんなの耐えられはしないよな 

Somehow, it seems that I am hated here These sharp edges render me out of fashion. Do I want things to be this way forever? That’s not something I can tolerate.

そんな言ったって聞いてないだろう 今更叫んだって  意味はないと分かってるから 好きなようにしていろよ 

Even if I said that, no one would listen, right? It’s too late to shout You know that it doesn’t mean anything So do whatever you want!

いつだって誰だって 端から嫌って刺して そうやって悦に入るんだ 黙れ！黙れ！ 僕だって僕だって泣きたくなるんだよ 答えを聞かせてくれ 

It always comes down to everyone hating and piercing from the side Then they gloat about it Shut up! Shut up! I find myself wanting to cry Let me hear what your answer is

いつだって駄目だって 僕から奪って去って いつだって誰だって 端から嫌って刺して 誰だってやんなってそりゃやめたくなるよ 叩き落とさないで 

It always ends up a failure They steal from me and run away It always comes down to everyone hating and piercing from the side Everyone saying to me not to do this makes me want to stop Don’t strike me down!

いつだって駄目だって 僕から嫌って刺して 嫌だって逆らってたんだ 笑え。笑え。 誰だって嫌んなってそりゃやめたくなるよ

It always ends up a failure I hated and pierced  Then I went against the flow saying I hated it Laugh about it. Laugh about it. Everyone saying they hate this makes me want to stop

いつだって誰だって 自分が特別で そうやって生きてきて���だ 抗え！抗え！ 僕だって君だって泣きたくなるんだね 答えに気が付いて

It always comes down to everyone living their life thinking that they’re special Challenge that! Challenge that! Me, you, we find ourselves wanting to cry Take notice of the answer.

[hunterwritesstuff]

"Mama's cooking!" Alastor and OC oneshot

So like, this is a comfort fic I made for myself bc I'm trying to repair my relationship with food/trying to get better with eating and I was doing great for almost two weeks, but then I slipped up and felt terrible. This is based off of my experiences and feelings duringmy time trying to improve my relationship with food. Everyone's experience is different. Some things may be OOC, but I don't care. I needed comfort and this is the product of that. Mind the TWs at the start, but if you read, I hope you enjoy!

Also, Ebony and Alastor aren't a romantic ship, rather a QPR one. Please respect that.

Fic is under the cut to be safe.

Tws: Eating troubles, zoning out, self-induced-shame, not being in-touch with reality, character being too tired to cook, and implied past abuse. Read carefully.

(Ebony's POV)

I laid there motionless on the couch, my eyes focused on nothing, my ears barely focused on the music coming from my headphones.

It’s just noise.

I feel my breathing begin to pick up. I missed my time to get breakfast again.

I feel the shame bubbling in my gut, but I don’t have the energy to react. Not now.

I barely notice people passing in and out of the room, whether they are Angel, Husk, Niffty, or Charlie, I pay them no heed, just give a hollow “have a good day”.

I can’t give more of a response than that. I feel hollow. I feel shameful. I feel tired. I feel hungry.

But I don’t have energy to get up. I don’t have energy to cook. I consider taking a nap, but I also don’t want to risk anything.

What would I risk? I don’t know. I live in constant paranoia that something will happen if I let my guard down for one second.

I could get up. I could do things. I just don’t have the motivation to.

Then I hear a familiar sound.

Click. Click. Click. 

Then I see a familiar fair of legs in front of me, wearing corduroy pinstripe pants.

“Alastor.” I say flatly. “What do you want?”

I’m still barely able to make out sounds due to how zoned out of everything I am, but I can tell he says something before walking off. 

Of course my platonic partner leaves me. I would too, if I could.

I hear something akin to pots and pans clattering, but assume he just sorted the pots and pans in the kitchen again due to habit.

That was about when I zoned out pretty much completely again.

About an hour later after stewing in my thoughts for that period of time, I get thrown back to reality by a familiar smell.

A smell that reminds me of singing in the kitchen, of a woman named [REDACTED], of a woman embracing me in a warm hug to tell me it’d be okay, of happier days, days where I was away from my family, of days where I went unharmed for a good period of time.

I find myself getting up off the couch and walking to the kitchen, slowly leaning in.

I hear him humming. Humming one of those old songs I would always hear in the kitchen.

Oh.

I was crying, now.

He must have heard me come in because I soon found him staring at me, wearing not his usual ear-to-ear smile, but a more…genuine one.

A patient smile.

A smaller one.

A pitying one.

No.

It wasn’t pity.

It was understanding.

If it was pity, I would have started to scream at him, yell at him how I did not need any person’s pity.

But I did not. 

We did not exchange any words, we did not say anything, we just exchanged a silent glance.

Then he gently grabbed my shoulder and led me to a table. I did not fight him. I did not understand why I did not fight him, but I did not.

He sat me down at a table and told me to wait a moment. I could hear better now, as I was more in-touch with reality, but it still sounded muffled.

I waited a few moments, and he came out with a bowl. It smelled amazing. It smelled like home.

Then I looked up and saw him smiling at me again.

It was a kind smile.

Not the kind that reached his ears, but just enough to be seen as kind, seen as patient, seen as understanding, seen as non-judgemental.

“Go ahead, dear. It’s all for you, no guilt, no judgment. Just so you can have something to eat without any fear.” He said softly.

“...What if the others come back and stare?” I ask, trying to not let my emotions leak into my voice.

“I told them to leave the hotel for a few hours. They understood. You have a while before anyone comes back. And if you’re still hungry after that first bowl, there’s more in the kitchen.” Alastor answered calmly.

I nod, slowly eating before my pace quickens. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Alastor wanted to say something, but he did not say it.

He did not want to hurt my feelings.

“...your mama’s cooking did always get me to eat.” I say softly, able to read Alastor’s mind.

“What can I say? Her jambalaya’s so good it nearly killed her!” He chuckled.

That felt weird to hear. He usually let out a full laugh. He did not usually chuckle. And the laugh was usually performative.

“Good enough to raise the dead for a bowl or two.” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

“And it sometimes did!” Alastor laughed.

I allow myself a chuckle. I can let down my walls around him.

“Thanks, Al.” I smile finally.

“No trouble, Ebony, my dear. Always here to help.” He smiled, returning to his usual smile. “No need to worry about judgment either, I know how hard this is for you.”

I smile, silently thanking him. 

“I think I’m gonna grab some more.”

[dianxiacantastemolecules]

Look at Me

Darling, to be perceived

Ain't that the biggest price you pay

For being able to see?

To taste the light that leaves from your skin

Oh! what a sin. Oh, what a sin!

I know how my face, what an awful visage

To behold, withhold,

In my eyes, a tragedy foretold

Worth putting on a blindfold

But the first time that you saw me

unknown, alone and underground

Some part of me began to break, escape

In search of the same melody

A melancholy of solace

…..

And when your soul melds into mine

Your giggles at the funeral, my knack for refusal

Too sweet, at times too much brine

In my laughter, see your humour shine

Won't you look at me baby?

Won't you look at me baby?

Won't you look at me baby?

Would you look at you, baby?

…..

Oh, to be loved, is to be seen

Yet, lover, I'd be

blind and beloved, to your Medusa

I'd become the screen, embracin’

The shadows you love to dwell in

I'd write this song

into the inside of your eyelids

Never to be seen again, Never to be heard

Never to exist outside, for anyone third

And I'd whisper into your ears, horny Hozier lines

Run away with you, from the Dinner and Diatribes

To roam around the woods we could end up dead inside

Watching Eros arise, all inhibition untied

……

If you find out one day, that I was the Mastermind

Thread of the fates that I intertwined

This perfect love story that I designed

Would you go back to change it all

Would you look at me babe?

Would you look at me baby

Would you look at me baby?

Would you look at me again?

…….

Oh but to love someone who bleeds in blue

I'm so sorry to have made one out of you

It's a curse, my love, an abomination

A calamity in the name of creation

Born of rage, forged by tears

Of solitude desire and despair

It's a wicked thing, Honey,

Don't heed its call

Don't feed it, it will devour

honey, it will devour

Best untamed, Better unnamed

Crawling up my spine, this art I call mine

It knows the worst of all my days

Only the worst of all my ways

Only the worst

Of all my ways

…..

And when the debt that is love has reached its filling

Every dead version of me, tired of its killing

When the kindness in me has reached its billing

Would you still look at me, babe?

Won't you look at me, baby?

Won't you look at me, baby?

Won't you look at me, baby?

Why'd you look at me, baby?

……

When all is said and done,

Our undead youth, alive and returned

No plan left for us, but to ravish this skin

As close to ashes as it can come

When my ink has dried from years of treachery

No words left in me, no worship, no faith, no fury

Your secrets in my heart, are all that I now contain

Love in my skin, from your kisses that remain

When I am but an echo of what I used to be

all around us now, only ghosts of me

Remind me again, of our love story

Lover, could you be good to me?

Lover, be good to me.

At the edge of the storm, the ninth circle of hell

What little left of me, for which you really fell

What are we anymore, you could never tell

Would you still look at me, babe?

Won't you look at me, baby?

Won't you look at me, baby?

Won't you look at me, baby?

I hope you would.

[talldarkandroguesome]

11th of Evening Star, Morndas

The days seem to fall away like grains of sand in the wind. The cool nights are growing colder.

Today I awoke with the red light of the sky illuminating my room, yet by the time I rose from my desk for breakfast, not an hour later, the sound of rain drummed upon the windowpanes.

I realize I have not touched my journal in nearly two months time. And so much has happened in the interim.

Tel and I have begun our monthly meetings. The take three days of leave around the date that has been determined that they are the most fertile. The House has put in special requests to the Buoyant Armigers to ensure that Tel must be available during that time, except in cases of defense of the city or Temple in Vivec.

The Bretons continue to make spending our time during those three days together more difficult. Though I suppose I have gotten more used to the rhythm of their expectations of me. It changes hour to hour, day to day, and month to month, but I have gotten to know the sound of their approach and have come to some agreements with them about the way in which they are allowed to interfere with my affairs, regardless of the direction of the Council.

Within that space I continue with my training regiment with Luayl. My body has grown used to the exertion once more and it no longer tires me as it once did. Luayl still works on helping me with my dreams, as he says that it will help me to be able to focus better on life and the challenges ahead.

I will admit, the more we do it, the more I have begun to relax and open up to him. I know I should not. I cannot allow myself to fall back in love with him again. Yet there he is, stroking my hair or caressing my back so gently, kissing me so softly. And a part of me is unable to resist feeling back in that time when we did have a romance.

More and more nights now I am able to recall my dreams. Sometimes they are even peaceful. Or, at the least, not wholly horrible. Some of them persist in their terror and pain, however. The other night I dreamt that I had just taken a carriage to drop Sildras at the gates of Shad Astula. I was just putting my luggage in order when I saw through the window, a suspicious looking mer, pillaging the belongings of other carriages. I checked and the doors to mine were locked and I knocked on the roof and asked the driver to take me back home.

I received no answer from the driver and though I had just locked the cab, when this thief pulled on the handle of the door it opened. And try as I might to yell at him to leave, he seemed to pay me no heed, nor to even acknowledge my presence, as he tore open my luggage and began to pilfer my things.

Yet I knew, with perfect certainty, that if I were to touch him, he would notice me and he would surely end my life. And it would be permanent. A knock on the door to my room jarred me from that dream and it was the fetching Breton man reminding me that this was not an hour for me to release any seed and that I needed to wait for at least another 158 minutes before I would be able to do so.

My whole day was thrown off by that. I think being startled awake in the middle of those feelings and then having someone accuse me of things I was not doing was simply too much.

Luayl says that while it continues to be difficult to let go of blocking my dreams, it will ultimately pay off and allow me to live free from a fear of my own sleep. He seems to think that I need more sleep. I tell him that I feel perfectly content during the day, but he continues to urge me to slumber more. And I listen, sometimes, because I cannot break myself of feeling beholden to his instruction.

For my Nest, my Scuttlers have all officially become Spiderlings. I have called them that before, but they have all passed their first year of dedication, well, Ebony has not, but it was clear she was ready and the others desired her to join them in this, so I gave her an extra task to prove that she had gained the necessary skills to move forward. The next day, as she had completed the task to my satisfaction, a small challenge to test her ability to lie and seduce someone within town, I completed her elevation ceremony.

Tanur has been very impatient to start our next year's recruits. He had been disappointed it was not done at our Prince's Summoning Day, but I explained to him that there was a need for our Scuttlers to see that they were a part of something greater and to focus on their own accomplishments before we welcomed anyone new. Besides, those who decide on the Summoning Day that they want to join the Nest, are usually the type who will not last long term. They may be stirred by the time of year, many mer, knowing that it is the time of our Prince, may find themselves giving in to the temptations within Her sphere and indulging those sorts of behaviors. Yet as we move towards Gauntlet and the Old Life festivities, their desire wanes.

I do not want such followers. Those are the type who may enjoy whatever parties that Tanur throws in our Prince's name, but to someone who is truly meant to walk this path, they will want to be a part of this more than just during the time of year when it is already in the fore of one's mind.

To keep him satisfied, I have asked Tanur to select those candidates that he believes most promising and to arrange for intimate time spent together. He will access them both on how they are in his parties and what they seem to desire or wish to speak about without as many, or any, others around. Then he will have the information written down for my consideration.

He continues to press for a timeline and I have told him I will review his selections and then reach out to them on my own to see if they are truly the sort best for this Nest. By New Life, I will review and make my decisions.

I should like to have had longer, but Tanur is very impatient. I have not told him how many new Scuttlers I may accept. I have not decided that yet as it is. I do not wish for it to be many. One to three I think, based on how suitable they seem, if any of them are worthy at all.

As I told Zethith, I do not wish to expand too quickly, for it is too easy to lose control of what is happened in those cases. I need to make sure that everyone is satisfied, feels as though I am giving them enough attention and authority that they see me as a figure to follow, and that they all get along with one another.

The Spiderlings do seem excited about the idea that new people may join them, that the family would expand. And I do wish to reward that excitement, though I believe that Tanur has been saying too much about it to them. I have spoken with him about it and he has agreed to keep talk of recruitment more to a minimum now.

Zethith has also explained why they were so upset with me at the Summoning Day. Nests are supposed to be self governing, this I knew, but part of that is that the Widows and Weavers are not in so much contact that it would mean having one Nest compromised might potentially compromise another.

We had a long discussion of this and it does feel as though the Weavers are rather territorial. I suppose that makes sense, given what I know of Daedra and how in-fighting to raise in status is so common. I asked about my having control over what is essentially two Nests and they said that it was different because I had formed a new Nest and so it was a single Widow and a single Weaver involved.

That got me curious, so I asked how, maybe a century or two down the line, if I were to appoint a successor and had them take over the Harborage, what would happen. Zethith seemed to see that this mattered greatly to me and reminded me that they were my Weaver, no matter what happened. I asked if, given that I was handing over the title of the Harborage, if it meant that we would have a new Weaver for the new Widow and that they would be expected to remain distant from me and the Cathedral of Webs.

They smiled widely and asked if I was trying to keep some control over the Harboage, even if I were not to be running it.

I said that I knew that, given the long passage of time, I would likely have to at least feign death, or to pass on the Nest to another, even if just for a while. That I did not wish to give up the blessing and inheritance our Prince had offered me, just that there were logistics that must be worked out.

Zethith told me how pleased they were to see me finally thinking outside of the way of a mortal, that I was planning for the long term. They said that it would be entirely possible that we could appoint a new Widow and a Weaver who was selected by Zethith as being loyal to them, and that we could then remain overseeing things. That the Widow must be someone who would recognize my authority and that they would do the same of the Weaver. They would be like our proxies, though we would be making the decisions.

There was a sort of hunger in Zethith's eyes, in their tone, as they began to speak of various opportunities and options. I could see the web being spun, or perhaps more accurately, woven. They drug a claw down my throat, just a dangerous caress, not a threat, not really. They told me that they had known that our Prince had picked me for a good reason and that we were going to do exquisite things together. I felt a hunger grow in me, too. And though their touch, B'Cahn, their very existence, is a dangerous one, I felt drawn to them more. I craved their touch, a connection to them. I placed one hand on their cheek, another on their chest and told them that I hoped we had many opportunities to do exquisite things.

There was a thoughtful look that crossed their face, a little playful, and they wrapped their arms around me, pulling me close against them. I felt the webbed, scar-like texture of their skin as they kissed me. Their mouth tasted of nightshade and another bitter taste, like a poison I could not quite name. Yet I did not back way, but met their mouth with my own, hungry for what they might give to me.

I do not know what I might have expected of making such an offering to Mephala with one of His own Daedra who was assigned to me specifically. The poison of their saliva was clearly coursing through my body, for I felt like I was falling through the air, thought darkness, then at turns, as though I was being slowly wrapped in a cocoon of silk. I had visions throughout and know that I was given to pleasure multiple times. I watched Zethith drain pleasure after pleasure from my body. They seemed to enjoy themselves, though it was hard to tell by that point with all the strange visions and hallucinations.

I do not know how to commit to writing the things that I saw and felt. I do not know that I want to. It was a profoundly spiritual experience, do not mistake me, but one that I do not think was meant to be anywhere but in my mind at that moment. And while I do not expect that anyone, save for myself, shall ever read the contents of this tome, unless I have grown so beyond my Prince's favor that She has cast me into nothingness, I think this is a secret that is better kept even from myself. For the words that came to me, the face, the sensations, most of those are difficult to describe in words to begin with.

Should they fade from my memory, the impact they have had on me will not. And I must allow them to leave me if that is their desire.

Now, I must go and meet Sildras at the docks. He is almost finished his lessons before the winter break and I do not wish to make him wait out in the cold rain.

[dead-in-and-out]

Its becoming a trend that i come back to this account to rant but whatever this is like a fucked up digital diary anyway at this point.

Heed the tags if for some insane reason you wanna read this lmao 👍

I find it? Incredible for the lack of a better word how people just exist as fictives. Like okay yeah i am kinda bitter and jealous but thats not the point. I see people talk about like source detachment and whatever as their no1 issue and goal and like its important but also who fucking has time for that?

I dont know if its just me being adjusted or whatever but i dont spend my every waking moment thinking about how im a fictiveee and how weird this "strange new world is". Like yea its fucked fnaf is a game and it looks goofy as hell but???? I have bigger issues!! Wow!

Im sitting in bed fighting a headache that could be from stress or dehydration or the last remains of the fucking concussion ive been recovering from and im so mad and bitter. Im so tired of having to be here and live like this. This family despises me, my boss sucks, my pay is ass and i have people depend on me. The irony isnt lost to me, shit pay, shit workplace and a job bigger than i am, yeah i sometimes get lost in my head thinking about how nauseatingly similar this is to then, but i cant afford to dwell for long.

I need to get it together and get up every day and go to work and pretend that i dont want to bash my head against the counter and make jokes and smile at my coworkers. I dont Get to be tired of it all for longer than an hour at a time if im lucky. I dont get to be scared like i see so many people do.

I dont have the time to be cared for and listened to. If i break down then i wont be able to focus at best, function at all at worst. This fucking situation sucks, this disorder sucks and im so tired of people making it silly haha omg i am Not a magical person anymore how strange!! Wow!! Why cant we talk about the hard parts and coping? More than coping with physical changes some people may need adjustment to?

Idk im just really fucking salty tonight. Its almost 2am and i have to see a doctor tomorrow and maybe im not handling it well. Shrug. I dont like being the host and needing to be here and aware all the time but it beats the constant confusion and memory gaps that less common fronters have. Someone suggested i try to step down and let someone else handle work and our life for a bit but i dont really have a choice. Im the host because im the person best equipped to handle everything not because its a silly decision i made. Besides i dont want to stress anyone else out like i am stressed. I dont want to shove the responsibility on someone else like it was to me.

[wesdarvin]

No One Cares

By Wes Darvin

The security monitoring center office is silent except for the hum of the machines and the clicking of mice as the operators scroll through cameras on screen. They pay no heed to anything that isn't on the monitor or in their personal earbuds. They do not ask if I'm okay or even notice I am sobbing silently over my keyboard.

Noone cares

On screen, a man is carried from the back of the bus to a gurney. They place a sheet over his head. The ambulance departs and I write my incident report. My submitted report is filed away into the archives where no one will ever read it, because

No one cares

Afterward, I try once again to share my stories with the world. I've spent weeks working on this last piece, this story that's sure to get some sort of a response from the hundreds of thousands of people trafficking at all hours. At least mom once said "that's nice dear." I beg for someone to read what I've written, and before they've finished, they're discussing Otto's dragon war with someone else. So, I shuffle back into obscurity, invisible, ignored, alone because

No one cares

It's clear to me that I have nothing interesting to say. Years of pouring my heart and soul into my works have been met with, well, nothing, because it refuses to be met. You'd think that, through statistics alone, someone might correct a spelling mistake or a punctuation error. You'd think one single person would have something to say without me having to directly ask for it.

No. I'm tired of trying. It's not working, so I'm giving up. I'm throwing it all away. No one notices, and

No one cares

[5ummit]

#I agree with all of this #but I'm getting hung up on unimportant details again please forgive me #but if dead dove is a genre now then it should not need other tags to detail it #... right? or am I missing something?#because yeah it IS a warning signal saying you should really pay attention to the tags here #and not complain if you find the fic unappetising - you were warned that the fic meant what it said #but here's the thing I get unnecessarily hung up about #because how can it be a genre in and of itself and also be just a 'heed this warning' tag? #I mean... I guess it can work as a very generic umbrella genre? like horror/fantasy/drama etc #but you have no idea whether you're gonna get Tolkien-esque classic fantasy or grungy gritty dirty modern urban fantasy #not without reading the other tags #so I guess my question becomes - what do you put in the word genre? #because I am only able to wrap my brain around it in a 'this is probably not gonna be fluffy innocent harmless stuff' type of genre descrip #description #is that genre enough to call it a genre? #because okay - it will probably have dark themes; still doesn't tell me anything about what's actually in it #what kind of dark and which level of darkness and whether it's gonna be a bit dubcon because this author is #uncomfortable enough with that to want to tag it as dd:dne because they are just that innocent #or if it's gonna feature a serial kidnapper who cuts his victims into julienned pieces and it's described in great detail #like... it still feels like a way too open thing that cannot really work properly or give any useful information on its own? #am I just missing or misunderstanding something here? I have been awake way too long and am very tired so brain might be eeeh

Nope, you're not misunderstanding anything, you literally just described exactly how it works!

First of all, I don't know why people are so opposed to calling "dead dove" a genre. Here's the definition of genre straight from Mirriam-Webster Dictionary: "a category of artistic, musical, or literary composition characterized by a particular style, form, or content."

Is that not what dead dove is? I think we all agree that the term has inherent meaning and should only be applied to specific kinds of fic, which I would broadly define as "unapologetically problematic." Is that not a category of art characterized by a particular type of content?

Secondly, as you mentioned, just like horror, fantasy, drama, etc, a genre can be VERY broad and encompass a lot of different types of fic. That doesn't make it any less a genre or make it useless. What is does mean is that you will almost certainly need to add some other descriptors (tags) when trying to fully define where in the genre the work sits. Telling someone that a book is fantasy gives a vague idea of what you might find and if it might interest you, if you generally enjoy reading fantasy, but if you're trying to convince someone else to read it you should probably provide more details than that. But nobody says that "fantasy" as a term shouldn't exist and that it shouldn't be allowed to be called a genre; it's still a helpful way to categorize stories even if it's not perfectly descriptive on its own.

The same goes for dead dove. Telling someone that a fic is "dead dove" tells them something about what they might expect to find and if it might interest them. For some people, just knowing the genre may be enough because they're not picky or because they know they're not interested in that genre at all. Others will need more information. That's how genres work.

Thirdly, to address the tagging variability issues, people are always going to miscategorize and mistag fics. It happens with every tag. Categorizing fic is hard because in most cases there are no black and white answers. Everyone has different thresholds. That doesn't mean the tags/categories/genres shouldn't exist, or again, aren't helpful. The biggest issue with mistagging dead dove is really all of the misinformation being spread and disagreements on what it means. That's why it was important for me to make this post (and my follow-up post explaining how it's supposed to be used). The less misinformation, the less mistagging and the more useful the label will be.

Finally, I have to address the previous reblog as it keeps circulating with this post and it's driving me nuts because it's wrong on multiple counts. The bag in the Arrested Development "dead dove" bit was NOT originally just labelled "dove" and then relabeled! I'm not sure where they got that from but my best guess is they're mixing it up with the similar callback bit in season 4. ALSO "graphic food porn or feeding kink" aren't worthy of the dead dove label unless there's consent issues or some other problematic element involved as well, which I literally addressed in my post. Unusual kinks on their own aren't dead dove!!

So there's this post with a troubling number of notes going around insisting that "dead dove" is not a genre, it doesn't inherently have anything to do with darkfic, and that the tag could be applied to fics that are "100% fluffy where everyone's having a good time" if they happen to contain some abnormal (though entirely non-problematic) content like an unusual kink. The claim is that "dead dove: do not eat" is simply a "courtesy tag" that means "this is a very specific niche, mind the tags." And that's just... wrong.

I wrote up a whole rebuttal to this post since I can't stand misinformation and frankly OP was being kinda rude and judgey on top of their wrongness. But right after I posted my reply, OP turned off reblogs because, and I quote, “some fuckwad added some dumb shit onto this post and it is no longer educational” (the “fuckwad” being me and the “dumb shit” being proof that they were wrong). A couple people have asked me to make a rebloggable version of my response, which I've decided to do because this isn't the first time I've heard similar claims and I want to help set the record straight. However, I'm not linking the original post on the off chance this gains traction because OP did the right thing by turning off reblogs, preventing it from circulating further, and I don't want them to get hate for being unfortunately misinformed.

For those who don't know the history, "dead dove: do not eat" was originally proposed as a catchall "hydra trash party" alternative label for any fandom to warn that the content of a fic may be considered problematic or potentially upsetting and to read the tags carefully so you know what you're getting into and won't complain later. Specifically, DD:DNE was intended to convey that the Bad Things in the fic would likely be reveled in and not explicitly condemned by the narrative, which some people tend to get up in arms about, hence the need for the extra warning in addition to the tags. Don't believe me? Here's the original proposal (note DD:DNE can be found on a handful of fics dated before 2015 but this is when it really took off and became a Thing).

There are currently around 50,000 fics tagged as "dead dove: do not eat" on AO3 and close to 50% of those also include the rape/noncon warning (which of course is not the only type of "dead dove" but is one of the most popular and most consistently tagged). The normal percentage of noncon fics in any given fandom? Around 1-3%. That's a HUGE disparity. So don't tell me that dead dove is just a general "courtesy tag" and doesn't or shouldn't have dark connotations. Even the context of the original joke on Arrested Development has a dark undertone. Micheal Bluth casually finds an animal carcass in a bag in his refrigerator with the label "do not eat", as if eating it would be any sane person's first thought. The whole situation is kinda fucked up. And this fucked up vibe very much carries over into fandom usage too, as was intended.

The claim that dead dove has nothing to do with the content's genre and could just as easily be used to describe a 100% fluffy fic in which everyone's having a good time is straight up Wrong, or at the very least, severely warping the original meaning. Also, when someone these days says that they like/dislike "dead dove" most people in fandom automatically understand what that means because of the consistency of its usage over the years and the way language evolves. Whether you like it or not, "dead dove" IS a genre now and the term does carry a specific connotation. I do agree that DD:DNE should definitely still be used in conjunction with other tags, when applicable, to be explicit about the exact type of fucked up content you may find, but to say that the term is meaningless on its own is patently false and I'm tired of people who don't know what they're talking about pushing this narrative and causing even more confusion.

You want a generic term that also means "mind the tags" and doesn't have any inherently dark connotations? Just use good ol' "what it says on the tin" instead of trying to force dead dove to be something it's not.

[unoisveimved-un-proffesional]

Am I personally responsible for consoling and communicating with an old business partner and friend who was also a friend and business partner of my now dead friend and business partner?

Poor guy has had brain cancer too since he was born, and was real close to this person, mutual friend. And as the third wheel in their business endeavors and friendship, I feel like I shouldn’t just leave this poor guy hanging, I should like check up on him, but I don’t know how, and I don’t have any or lists or papers, I don’t have any ice breakers, don’t know if I should or shouldn’t talk about the death, and have no hobby plans or business plans to propose, I have nothing, no way to help. Again. How can I feel good about myself if I know there’s some people I can’t help? And that I can’t do anything right now immediately to work on a way I can help. It’s like I can’t help anybody anymore.

Don’t pay any heed, go back to your life, I was just reminded of some old connections and plans that, due to unfortunate circumstances, were dropped.

Maybe I’m just as much an old weathered, optimistic fool as those two. Well, I guess just a weathered optimistic fool. A weathered feels-too-personally-responsible-for-things-outside-their-own-control optimistic fool.

Maybe I’m just tired. I guess that’s just what happens when you live long enough. And long enough doesn’t even have to be long. Too bad I can’t stop living yet, no I have a lot more living ahead of me. That’s scary. But I’m fine.

[pocketdoesart]

Tried to do a glow-up thing...

Truthfully I wanna say I don’t see a difference - because I’ve been trying to art and it’s been so bad I don’t even have proof to show how bad it is (or I don’t have proof to show how not bad it is, but shhh!)...but there is probably improvement

I’m just in such an “i hate my art why do i bother,” self-denegration mood that I should just shaddup and post art without context

so here’s nearly 2 years difference? (maybe more like 1.5)