#i need tumblr as a respite from that too

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

At my office today in my nation’s capital, and the stress levels are high enough that I am seriously contemplating paying the $100 on Cameo to have Craig Parker read me the Haldir quote that he never got to say in the movies:

The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater. Some there are among us who sing that the shadow will draw back, and peace shall come again. Yet I do not believe that the world about us will ever again be as it was of old, or the light of the Sun as it was aforetime.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Shit is scary. Things are changed in ways that aren’t always good and that can’t always be mended. But love and goodness are still there, perhaps even more so now that they’re needed more than ever. The future will always be different than the past, but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

[rifari2037]

Always???

Just because there's a fanart of Zutara with Fire Nation culture, doesn't mean Zutara with Water Tribe culture never existed at all.

In one fanart, Zuko and Katara share cultures. Katara tries spicy Fire Nation food. Then, Zuko wears a parka and experiencing life in the pole.

Katara has to wear FN clothing!

Zutara shipper once made Zutara's wedding with Southern Water Tribe culture in South Pole. I don't see 'Katara has to wear Fire Nation clothing' there.

Zuko doesn't have to make an effort with her culture!

The same Zutara shipper made a fanart of Zuko joins Water Tribe hunting culture with his father-in-law and brother-in-law. He uses a parka, water tribe braids, and a water tribe spear.

This is one of my favourite Zutara SWT fanart. Zuko tries to learn Katara's culture, but it's turn out Gran-grand pranks him!

And there's no need to worry about Katara's heritage because there are also Zutara and steambabies fanarts with Water Tribe culture.

Look! Zuko is playing snowballs with steambaby. So adorable! What's the 'Katara has to wear FN clothing' thing?? I don't see it here, except for the fire symbol on Zuko's parka, that's all.

Also there are a lot, literally a lot of Zutara in Water Tribe clothing fanarts. I can't put them all, but, here some of them.

Oh, Netflix ATLA also gave us Zutara Water Tribe crumbs!! 😍😍

Zutara fanarts are very diverse, they usually wear red and blue, sometimes FN or SWT clothes, or sometimes Earth Kingdom clothes, or sometimes Painted Lady and Blue Spirit clothes.

So, 'Katara has to wear FN clothing' is ridiculous comment. Please, at least do a little research first before commenting.

Ship what you want but surely a relationship should be balance with both wanting to learn about the other's heritage.

Exactly!

But, to be able to learn and accept other cultures as part of ourselves, at least there is no culture that clash with our own principles, right?

For example, when someone have a vegan culture, meanwhile hunting animals, eating meat, and making clothes from fur are his gf's cultures, how can he blend in with that? Would he comfortable with all those??

Also, if he learns and accept most of his gf's culture - comfortable or not - then wouldn't he disrespect his own cultures and principles? So, how to make the relationship balance?

*hmm, well, I'm just saying. It's not like I take an example from canon

The good news is that Zuko's culture does not clash with Katara's. Their cultures are different, but them learn each other's culture will not disrespect their own principles (not like the example above).

He could hunting the animals, eats meat, wears parka, and wouldn't mind with the pelts. All fine!

Sokka [in the Fire Nation city] : Come on, Aang, everyone here eats meat. Even the meat! 

Bruh, even in canon Zuko willingly pretending to be water bender and using water bending move (he learns the move from Katara), so what are you complaining about?? 😭😭

[strawwritesfic]

Kelvin!Spock x Female!Human!Reader: Mr. Right

Summary: When one door closes, another opens—perhaps the door you were meant to enter all along.

Warnings/Tags: Starship Enterprise; post-Star Trek Beyond; friends to lovers; breakup; almost kiss; counselor!reader; Star Trek: The Original Series references; Star Trek: The Next Generation references

Relationships: Spock/Reader; Spock & Nyota Uhura; past!Spock/Nyota Uhura; past!Kevin Riley/Reader

Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Requester: @lovemesomeescapism

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Notes: For once, this is not a repost for this challenge…technically. I did write a response to the prompt "Mr. Right" ages ago, but when I was reposting, I decided that the Now You See Me one shot I wrote really wasn't worth keeping. Someone on Tumblr asked me for a Spock one shot, so I slipped him in as a replacement.

It's been a really long time since I finished something new. I realize that I am rusty. This is actually several drafts into attempts to write this one shot. For the first time ever, I actually cannibalized previous drafts while trying to get the meandering dialogue and point back on track. It still doesn't feel quite "right" to me, but it's probably going to take some time before I get back in the swing of things, and I'm ready to let this one go.

Mr. Right

Throughout Terra's history, human beings had sought the comfort of white noise. Quiet droning sounds proved beneficial for many aspects of mental health in the species. As a counselor on board the U.S.S. Enterprise, you'd recommended listening to white noise to dozens of fellow crewmates and patients alike. The best way to do this in the deep space you'd all been exploring for nearly five years was to turn everything in one's quarters down until the low hum of the ship's warp drive became audible. Many of those crewmates and patients reported back to you with decreased stress levels, improved mood, and a distinct uptick in ability to concentrate. Almost all of them said they got better sleep.

Now you learned that every single one of them had lied to you.

You'd spent the better part of the evening-adjacent hours lying face-down on your sofa, trying and failing to take a nap. The scratchy, standard-issue pillow beneath your face was soaked with tears. Your chest ached. Worst of all, any attempt on your part to get your mind off what upset you just ended with you crying harder. All the while, that awful rumble went on and on and on and on relentlessly, allowing you no respite long enough to drift off and forget your current predicament.

A chime cut through your misery. You paused without so much as lifting your head. As of three hours prior, you were officially off duty for the day. Nothing required you to answer the door unless an order came down from a superior officer, and they would call first. Probably it was only Uhura coming by to check on you. Having been through her own breakup during this voyage, surely she would understand when you didn't let her inside.

The chime sounded again, and with it came a surge of possibilities flooding your mind. What if your visitor was dealing with a crisis? Cases of PTSD had been on the rise since the events on Altamid. You could hardly ignore that in favor of your own small, personal crisis. Off duty or not, your role as a ship's counselor would not allow you to wallow in self-pity when someone might need your help.

As your boots hit the floor, you pressed one sleeve of your rumpled blue uniform to the corner of each eye. The gesture wouldn't do much to disguise what you'd been doing over the course of your time off, but you felt a little steadier afterward. Breathing deeply in and out helped too—until you hiccuped. But you could prepare yourself no more. Squaring your shoulders, you stood, walked over to the door leading to the corridor, and opened it.

Just outside stood the familiar, lanky figure of the ship's science officer. The second you spotted him, you wiped your sleeve across your face with greater urgency.

"You're not one of my patients," you said, "or Uhura."

"A very astute observation, Lieutenant [L Name]," Spock replied.

A long moment elapsed during which the two of you stared at one another. Several fellow crewmates in various uniform colors threw curious looks at his back as they passed by on their ways to wherever they were headed. Your friend, meanwhile, allowed a single dark eyebrow to drift toward his hairline. He clearly had no intention of moving on.

"What are you doing here?" you sighed at last.

The wayward eyebrow rejoined its brother. "Lieutenant Commander Uhura informed me that you left your office this afternoon in distress. I note that her assessment was an accurate one. If anything, you appear to be in more distress now than she described to me then."

You couldn't lie to Spock, not when you looked the way you looked after a crying jag like the one you'd just had. So you didn't bother to try. "Fine. I'm in distress. But really, Spock, it's not the kind of distress you can help with. I'm sure Captain Kirk will need you on a landing party any minute now, so if you'll excuse me—"

"Lieutenant Commander Uhura also informed me of the cause of your distress."

"Of course she did." Sometimes you wished your two friends were a little lighter on the "amicable" part of "amicable exes." "Let me guess: You came by to tell me that you told me so."

"As a Vulcan, I have no reason to rub my correct prediction in your face, if you will forgive the Terra colloquial."

You let out a wet laugh despite yourself. "You're pardoned."

"What I have done is stopped by the mess hall. If I am not much mistaken, ice cream is a traditional consolation food in these types of situations."

He produced from behind his back a number of different colored tapes. So startled were you that you found yourself unable to say anything. Never in a million years would you have imagined Spock of all people standing in front of you and offering you junk food of all things. Your silence went on for so long that he had to prompt you to speak:

"Was I incorrect in my understanding of how to handle Terran breakups?"

"No," you said, then, "I just didn't want you to find out about the breakup until I could pull myself together."

"I surmised as much, given that Lieutenant Commander Uhura found out about your circumstances before I did, although you and I are closer friends. It would have been more logical for you to contact me for assistance than her."

Vulcans as a whole were difficult to read. Even factoring in your education and training, as well as your friendship with Spock that had gone on for several years now, you could only guess his feelings the majority of the time. Not so then. Something about his tone made him sound hurt. Maybe you could chalk that up to projecting your own feelings onto him, but you couldn't risk that assumption.

"It's just that you warned me against dating Kevin," you explained. "As ship's counselor, I should have seen the end coming a kiloparsec away."

"Perhaps. But one might also say that your extensive proximity to the crew's emotions might cause some loss in objectivity on your part."

"So you're not here to make me feel worse?"

"I came for consolation purposes. That is all."

"Well, all right, then."

You stepped away from the doorway. Spock followed you in. He paused only long enough to press the button to close the door before he came to join you in your sitting room. A crate sat on the floor along his path, and he looked at you questioningly as he walked by it.

"Those are Kevin's things," you said.

"Expedient," he observed.

Normally, you might have tried to go for a little more decorum around him, but that day you didn't have the energy to do more than flop back onto your couch. At least you were upright. Spock, on the other hand, claimed a dignified perch at the end of your chair. The two of you certainly made an odd pair.

"He had so many hair products!" you burst out when the awkward silence turned unbearable. "I should have known we wouldn't work out. Who brings that much hair spray into deep space?"

"Humanity can hardly be expected to iron out all its flaws when you all cling so hard to your baser emotions."

"Do you mean Kevin's desire to look nice, or my need to be in a relationship?"

Spock blinked, then smoothly said, "In this case, I refer to your former beau's preoccupation with personal grooming."

"Right. Either way, I'm about ready to get rid of all my own baser emotions. Not feeling them would be a blessing." You got back to your feet and thrust one hand in Spock's direction. "Ice cream tape, please."

He offered one to you.

"Spock," you said warningly.

"I do not believe that heartbreak is an excuse to overeat. I only brought so many because I was unsure which flavor you would select."

The glare you leveled at him seemed to make him think better of lecturing you on the dangers of gluttony—as well it should have. This was the same glare that you gave Dr. McCoy when you were tired of listening to him. Unlike with Dr. McCoy, you smiled once Spock dropped the rest of the tapes into your outstretched hand.

"Thank you." You headed for your in-quarters food producer, then turned your head to ask over your shoulder, "What flavor do you want?"

"I do not require ice cream."

"Come on, Spock. If you're going to spend the evening commiserating with me, you have to have some ice cream, too. That's a critical part of the Terran breakup process."

One corner of his mouth twitched. "I'll have pistachio, then."

You fed the yellow-green tape into the slot. A quiet beeping noise covered the hum of the warp drive as the computer worked. While you waited, you flipped through the remainder of the flavors until you found the one you wanted.

"I don't think it would be a good idea for you to give up emotions," Spock said.

"Huh?" Frowning at him, you replaced his tape with yours. "Aren't you the guy that's been talking about doing the Kolinahr when we get back to Earth?"

"That's different. I am a Vulcan."

"Half Vulcan."

"Vulcan enough."

A shriller beep put an end to this potentially sticky subject. The ice creams were ready. You dumped the rest of the tapes in a basket next to the food producer, picked up the bowls, and brought them back to the living room. Spock took his with a grateful nod, though he waited until you sat down again before taking a bite.

"Maybe I'd be a better counselor if I didn't have emotions," you mused. "If I wasn't blinded by my own feelings, I could help the crew more with theirs. I shouldn't have the same problems as they do after all the studying I've done."

"While that may indeed make sense, it is hardly realistic. Besides, if you did not have your human emotions, you would no longer be the [Name] that I know, and I believe that I would miss her."

You couldn't help but smile around the spoon in your mouth. Popping that out, you said, "I bet you say that to all the Terrans you like."

"Hardly. In fact, that captain may benefit from an hour or two without his usual emotions."

"I appreciate you saying that, Spock."

"I am only speaking the truth. I have no intention of bolstering your ego artificially, even if doing so is a part of the Terran breakup process."

"I know." You slowly lowered your spoon back to the bowl, staring off into space. Something was dawning on you—something that might have dawned on you sooner had you not been so enthralled with your own feelings. "You know what else I appreciate? You coming here to help me today. Not every first officer would go out of their way for a ship's counselor like that."

Spock fixed you with an unblinking gaze as he said, "You mean a great deal more to me than most ship's counselors mean to their first officers."

"I don't care what Captain Kirk says. You sure know how to make a woman blush."

"I have had some practice with the activity."

"Remind me to thank Uhura later."

"Thank her for what?" Spock asked.

Maybe you were reading the signs wrong. Maybe you were just desperate. If he had to ask, you had to be wrong. But you took a deep breath anyway, and said, "Helping me realize that maybe the guy I've been looking for this whole time has been my best friend all along."

How could it have taken you this long to work it out? No one else spent as much time with you as Spock did, not outside of your office hours. It didn't matter if you were in the mess hall asking for a round of Fizzbin after dinner or you wanted a quiet night in your quarters. He always seemed to be there. You felt comfortable around him. Maybe you didn't always understand Spock; maybe Spock didn't always understand. But you didn't enjoy anyone's company the way you did his. And you had to wonder when your eyes met just then if he felt the same way, and if this coming-to-see-you-with-ice-cream thing was his way of showing you that.

"Well," he moistened his lips before going on, "I certainly feel that our relationship is founded more steadily upon mutual interests and desires than it is upon a passion for hair products."

You leaned forward. "You know, that sort of relationship sounds really appealing right about now."

"It does?" Spock shifted closer to you.

"I think it's about time that I dated someone whose first thought in the morning isn't beating me to the sonic shower, don't you?"

By that time, you both had come so close that it wouldn't have taken much more movement on either of your parts to touch lips. Your heart gave a painful leap inside your chest. Was this too much too fast? Even if you had just realized you'd had a thing for Spock for a while now, you had only just broken up with your last boyfriend that morning. Treating Spock as a rebound was the last thing you wanted to do. He didn't seem to mind, though. His mouth drew closer and closer to yours until you could feel his breath on your face.

The communicator in your room chirped. You jumped. Spock paused before sitting back up in his chair. Then you rose wordlessly, stepped over to the panel, cleared your throat, and pushed the button.

"[L Name]," you said.

"[Name]?" Uhura did not remark on how breathless you sounded, thankfully. "I need to talk to Spock."

"It's for you," you said unnecessarily. Spock had already reset his face into its typical blank mask and made his way to the communicator himself.

"Spock here. What is it, Lieutenant Commander?"

"Captain Kirk needs you on the bridge. We have a situation up here."

"What kind of a situation?"

"There's a former United States President floating outside the ship. He says he needs our help."

"I will be there right away."

A second chirp signaled that communications between your room and the bridge had ceased. Spock turned back to you.

"My presence is needed on the bridge," he said.

"So I heard."

"I apologize. I believe we were in the middle of something."

"It's all right."

He didn't move.

"Spock, go. Don't you want to know why a deceased historical figure has asked for the Enterprise's help?"

"I'd prefer to stay here," Spock said. "But you are correct. I must leave. Will you still be here later tonight?"

"Yeah." You surprised yourself with the eagerness of your answer. "Yeah, I will. I promise I won't run off with any other lieutenants while you're away. I'll save the rest of the ice cream. We can share it when you get back."

There it was: The slight curl to Spock's mouth that told you that you weren't making up the mutual attraction between you both after all. "To use another Terran phrase, it's a date."

He hesitated another moment longer before he quickly exited your quarter. You grinned as the door slid shut behind him and the white noise returned full force. As you sunk into your couch and pillow this time, you found you didn't mind the hum as much. In fact, the sound did exactly what it was supposed to do: Relax you. Kevin and his excuses from that morning felt farther away than your own home planet. Maybe you owed him a thank you, too, because if you were still with him, you wouldn't have slept as well as you did that night knowing that Spock would be back soon.

[aayakashii]

touch starved

small fic after I saw @berrygoodjob hc about Alan being touch starved...... couldnt stop thinking about it afterwards. This might have a part 2 if I get more ideas, but we'll see.

Gender neutral MC mostly (mention of a skirt). English isn't my 1st language so I'm sorry for any mistakes!

Also, I usually post on ao3 so this is my first time posting a fic on tumblr, if the formatting is wonky, I'm sorry!!

Edit: changed it to 2nd person pov to match the future chapters.

Part 2 here, part 3 here

"Captain?" you knocked gently on the hardwood door right on front of you. It looked sturdy and way too thick for a normal bedroom door, but then again, this is the room of a ghoul.

You wiped the sweat of your palms on your skirt, afraid you'd somehow smudge Professor Dante's careful handwriting as you clenched the papers against your chest.

You hated doing this. Not necessarily presenting another batch of mission papers, no. Even if a mission puts your neck on the line, there are some ghouls you could trust in a heartbeat, like most of the boys from Frostheim and Jabberwock.

What you hated is being right there. In that exact place.

You hated being in Vagastrom.

"Captain? Alan, are you there?" you knocked again, a bit more forcefully this time, since maybe he just didn't hear you behind the door.

The smell of musk and sweat was everywhere in that place, suffocating you, making your heart race with anxiety and fear for your safety.

There were men everywhere, wherever you looked. Scary, burly, big, probably-loose-with-their-morals men who followed you, hungrily, with their eyes, whenever you strode inside the garage and into the dorm rooms.

They wouldn't come near you, though. They knew messing with you was messing with not only their captain, but the captains of other houses and Darkwick itself. Being cursed an honor student had its perks.

What you dreaded, in fact, was seeing Vagastrom's vice-captain. The cunning, untrustworthy, venomous, undeserving of his position as vice-captain, Kurosagi Leo. You shivered thinking about his lifeless eyes and smile filled with hidden intentions – he was the true reason why you despised being in Vagastrom.

The door opened right before you lifted your hand to knock a third time as your anxiety peaked as you thought about Leo.

"What are you doing here?" the man in front of you gasped in surprise upon seeing you before him.

"I told you to send me a message before coming to Vagastrom if you ever needed to talk... You're not supposed to walk alone around here" the Vagastrom Captain sighed after lightly scolding you "Come, you can enter."

Alan was different, though.

You followed behind him, staring at his broad back, while his right hand massaged his left shoulder. His room smelled like eucalyptus, a welcome respite, and you breathed in deeply the comforting scent while he turned around and looked at you.

Alan was nothing like Leo.

People would talk and talk about his past, about how he was a scary deliquent who might have killed someone; about how he must be terrifyingly powerful if he controlled all of those delinquents on his own for so long; about how his stigma is made for destruction and pain; but every single day, all you could see were the way his eyes were kind and gentle as he looked at you.

"Are you okay?" he said, stuffing his hands inside the pockets of his pants, shoulders stiff as ever "No one messed with you?"

"No, no," you shook your head, smiling to prove you were in one piece. "Everyone always leaves me alone in here. You don't need to worry. They know I work with the ghouls, so I guess that's all the protection I need. The only threat here is Leo, but he only threatens my mental health, to be fair." you said, laughing humorlessly.

Alan winced and looked apologetic at your comment.

"... Sorry. I still gotta learn to control him."

You shook your head once again.

"It's not your fault, Alan. You're a great captain." you smiled. "Speaking of being a captain, Professor Dante asked me to deliver these papers to you. It's a bureaucratic mission though, no outside work. Apparently, there are some student records missing, something in regards to personal information being omitted by some students."

Alan gently grabbed the papers from your hands, surveying the information as he sat down on the couch in the middle of his room.

He sighed deeply after scanning all the papers, rubbing his temples in a manner he probably have picked up from Frostheim's vice-captain, and slumped against the back cushion.

"Um... Is everything okay, Alan?" you asked, sitting beside him.

"... Yes. Just... a bit tired." he murmured.

You hummed in thought, surveying his face as he stared blankly at the ceiling. The dark circles under his eyes were very obvious under the fluorescent lights.

"Have you been sleeping properly? Resting?" you asked, tilting your head, trying to make eye contact with his reddened and tired eyes.

"Can't. Work has been piling up."

"You know you won't be able to work well if you're burnt out, don't you? Even ghouls need to rest, no matter how strong they are."

"..."

The extremely stoic man stayed silent, avoiding your gaze at all costs. For someone everyone called scary, he could act like a kid who had been caught with their hand inside a cookie jar at moments.

You sighed.

Your hand moved on its own before you could even register what you were doing. You felt the unexpected silk of his hair against your fingertips as you patted his head to comfort him, much like he had done to yourself many times previously.

Except, instead of gladly accepting it like you usually do, Alan flinched and scooted away from you and your hand, staring at your face, mouth agape and eyes wide in shock.

"I'm sorry!" you said, not sure of what you had done wrong, while shutting your eyes and putting your hands up like you were a bank robber who just had been caught by the police. "I was just! I didnt... I mean... I'm sorry!"

"Ghhh-!"

You tentatively opened your eyes, hands still up, after hearing Alan emit what could only be described as a choking sound.

The Vagastrom Captain, Alan Mido, one of the scariest men in Darkwick Academy, had one of his hands covering his face as he stared wide-eyed at you.

And he was beet red.

"I- I'm- Uh-" he gasped, struggling to form a coherent sentence, settling on just clearing his throat awkwardly.

Your head raced, a million miles per hour, as you saw him look away from your eyes, trying to put distance between the both of you on the sofa and get into terms with his own sudden embarrassment.

'Huh... I thought his stigma only worked on his hands? Maybe my enhancement ability makes it work wherever I touch? Is that why he's so worried? But he wasn't even moving when I patted his head, maybe he was just caught off guard by me touching... touching his hair... Oh...'

Alan tried to recompose himself, still looking everywhere, but your direction. His cheeks still flushed red, while he scrunched his eyebrows in what appeared to be confusion, as if he wasn't understanding his own reaction as well.

'Oh. He's... incredibly touch starved, isn't he?' The thought dropped into your mind, like a single coin dropping into a fountain. Drip. And you were fully unable to shake it off, to grab it from the depths of your thoughts and chuck it away before your mind could lead you to places you were pretty sure you shouldn't go.

It made sense despite it all, you figured. People barely approached Alan, as he was seen as a God by his house-mates and as a criminal by those outside Vagastrom.

He was incredibly hard to approach, his quiet personality making it hard to talk to him and his stoicism making it hard to figure out what he could be thinking.

Yet, there he was, like an open book. His red cheeks, stuttering words and wandering eyes saying exactly what he was thinking – what he wanted from you.

Before you could talk again or act on any more impulses, Alan forced a few dry coughs and cleaned his throat again, picking up the papers once again as he got up fast from his seat. His face gradually went back to his usual color, and so did his stoic expression.

"Well, I will get to work on this as soon as I finish my job at the garage. Thanks for the delivery." he shook the papers way too eagerly. "Will message you once we can start working. Please close the door once you leave."

Alan strode away fast, still avoiding any and all eye contact, and quickly left you alone in his room. You stared at the diligently closed hardwood door that seemed to create an ocean of distance between him and yourself, barely forming a coherent thought.

Outside, a little Like Dove peered inside the small windows near the ceiling, daring you to start creating scenarios in your head.

You shook your head, trying to get rid of any speculations of your own. Creating scenarios was a job for the you before sleep, the one who had time to feel anxious and overthink your daily situations.

And if your phone beeping was any signal, right now you had other ghouls to assist.

[myfandomrealitea]

honestly, I’m really happy that you made that “we need to be allowed to be free from politics in fandom” post. And I’m really happy that it made some people angry.

Because you’re right. I’m a living example- I’m a person who just feels so much guilt if they don’t participate in this ritual of self-sacrifice in the way of helping others. And I feel like tumblr activism has come to a point where it’s not even about helping each other or mutual aid, it’s about guilt-tripping people and saying “well, you wouldn’t want to be Mr evil terrible guy, right? Right? So signal boost this! Or else you’re literally an evil transphobic homophobic racist Zionist fascist bigot”

we all have to be selfish sometimes. We have to. Selfishness is inherently neutral and we need it to survive. I’m a real example of what happens when a person tries to live a life without selfishness- guess what, I’m the worlds biggest doormat and I’m basically miserable because I’m too afraid to tell people that I just can’t do it anymore.

I’m a person who needs help right now. I’m a person who needs assistance right now. But I don’t think any of them really care. They just want someone to make into their strawman. The world isn’t black and white like that, though

The majority of Tumblr activism isn't about helping other people.

Its about giving people an outlet for their own emotions, and showing other people you're not a bad person. I have no doubt a lot of the people falling victim to this actually believe they're helping, and likely have good intentions, but realistically I see so many people just using "activism" to lash out at others and moral grandstand.

Weaponizing activism blatantly defeats the purpose of activism. There's no standard to the people who need help, and just because someone can't necessarily be an extreme activist doesn't void them from being the recipient of it.

I hope you get the help and respite you need and if I can help you or facilitate finding people to help you I'm happy to. I can also gather some resources for self-help and methods to reduce stress if those are beneficial.

And remember:

Fandom is not inherently political.

The point of activism is to make change, not to get notes on a post.

Those with broken legs cannot run. Don't cripple yourself trying to help others.

[aclassitag]

Announcing Krem Week!

#kremweek2024 — 22-28 July 2024

background art credit: @xfreischutz [link to original post]

*text prompt list under the readmore

This year will mark 10 years since the release of Dragon Age: Inquisition! In celebration of that anniversary and the game that gave us our first trans character, here is a prompt list - and dates - for any who would like to participate! All sorts of creative content is accepted so long as they are not A/I generated. (See examples below)

*If you want to portray Maevaris Tilani instead, that is also fine!

Please read the guidelines!

If you have any questions, reply to this post and I will do my best to answer :)

Prompt list:

1 — Anniversary 2 — Euphoria / Expression 3 — Casual / Formal 4 — Family / Love 5 — Respite / Fight 6 — Play / Satiate 7 — (Free space!)

Guidelines:

Use the tag: #kremweek2024 (@ this blog is fine too) — If you want to portray Maevaris Tilani instead of Krem, that is also welcome! Please @ me so I can rb :) For non-Tumblr folks that somehow got here: You may post submissions, please link your socials. You may choose one of two prompts in a day or do both. You may also combine as many prompts as you want from any or all of the days into a single work, just mention it somewhere.

Types of content allowed:

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[freshpeachpulp]

warmth & respite

18+ mdni!!! • fluff, smut (oral/face-sitting receiver!Ellie)

———

Ellie’s had a difficult day, only you can give her what she needs.

1.5k words

———

a/n: hi i’m nai! please accept this as my offering to the tlou community. i’m not new to writing or tumblr but this is my first tlou work and my first time writing a full smut so pls be nice lol. if there’s anything you want to see me write my ask box is open :)

i hope you enjoy it and if you do pls reblog and follow, i rlly want to make moots on this side of tumblr, you all are so unhinged and gay (my kind of people!)

The door to your shared studio slams shut, you don’t need to guess who it is —you could tell by the sound of her footsteps approaching the door. But you look up anyways and watch a disgruntled Ellie throw her dripping backpack onto the ground, her face twisted into a scowl.

“Patrols have been fucking insufferable lately,” she groans bitterly to no one in particular, removing her gear from her backpack and thigh holster.

You set your novel down and prop yourself up on your elbow, watching her intently. You know when she’s like this all she needs is you to listen.

She’s soaking wet, making her muscular arms glisten, and her tight black jeans and tank top press against her body. You salivate looking at how the fabric of her jeans hug every curve.

“I keep getting assigned to train Evan,” she continues, still fixed on putting away her gear, “He thinks he knows Every. Fucking. Thing!” She slams her drawer shut with a groan.

“And he’s so fucking annoying. Keeps trying to ask me stupid questions cause I like girls, and of course we had to take the river trail today, so that dick had to make sure I got all fucking wet!”

She glances over at you for the first time, and her demeanor softens. “Hey you,” she exhales.

“Hey. Sorry about your day,” you respond back.

“I need a shower, I’ll be back,” she says, heading towards her bathroom, peeling off her top as she walks, making you revel in the sight of her wet back muscles.

——

She emerges from her bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body, her short hair damp and a little messy. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she softly rubs her hand along your leg, as if to remind herself you’re tangible and alive.

“Hey babe,” she says with all the gentleness she can muster, a soft smile on her face. Your eyes meet hers, and time stills. You’ll never grow used to her calling you that, no matter how many times she does. Warmth spreads through your stomach anytime her voice is this soft and raspy.

“Sorry I was …like that earlier. Just had a bad day.”

Wordlessly, you crawl behind her and wrap your arms around her bare shoulders, pressing soft kisses along her neck and cheek. Her skin is soft with a tinge of lemongrass from her soap.

“No need to apologize, my love,” you say, pressing your face against the curve of her neck, “I’m just happy you’re home safe.”

“Me too,” Ellie whispers, planting a kiss on your arm.

You two revel in this moment—in the relationship you’ve built, full of warmth and respite from the violent, cruel world you live in. You think of all the ways you want to make Ellie feel good.

You turn her face towards yours and press your lips against hers. Ellie’s lips are soft and she opens her mouth to let you take the lead for a little before she kisses you back with intensity. It makes you moan into her mouth and she takes that opportunity to plant open mouth kisses against your jaw and neck.

The sensation leaves you breathless but you gently push her back before you’re too far gone. “Wait— Ellie, I— I wanna— can I eat you out?”

She bites her lip, and a playful smile forms, “Can you?” before returning to your neck. A challenge. You make your lips meet hers again for a sloppy kiss and undo her towel; Ellie gasps into your mouth at the sensation of the cool air hitting her exposed skin. A string of saliva connects your mouths when you pull away and she’s flushed, the skin under her freckles a dusty rose.

You wrap your arms around her back and press your clothed chest against her bare breasts, it’s your turn to leave her breathless with open mouth kisses. “Mmmm you feel good, babe,” she purrs, her head tilted sideways from bliss. Ellie grips your shoulder and presses your head deeper in the crook of her neck.

Growing needier, Ellie rubs her chest against yours. The sensation of her bare nipples against the fabric of your top making her breaths more erratic. You lean down to take one in your mouth and she whines, gripping you tighter. “Ooh shit!”

Kissing the space between her breasts, you let your hands roam her body and her skin is hot to the touch. Liquid pools on the tips of your fingers when you reach down to touch her pussy, her swollen lips spreading with so much ease. She’s soaking wet and scorching hot, and the contact makes her jolt with pleasure.

Ellie watches, transfixed as you put those fingers in your mouth with unwavering eye contact. “Shit,” she grits, in this moment, something snaps— and you both know what’s about to happen.

Ellie shuffles off the bed and stands in front of your face. She loves being above you when you eat her out. You pause and marvel at her curves from her chiseled shoulders down to her hips, how her figure widens and narrows, then widens again. How her taut stomach leads to her most intimate spot that’s hovering right before your mouth. You scoot to the edge of the bed and Ellie props her leg on it to give you access.

Bound by the urge to be more intimate, you wrap your arm around Ellie’s thigh and pull your bodies closer. Looking up to meet her affectionate eyes you’re overwhelmed with a desire to savor her, to pleasure her. No one else has ever made you feel desire and warmth as searing and intense as she has.

Dragging your fingers from her belly button to her labia, you use your index and middle finger to open her lips, and a swollen sappy clit greets you. You take it into your mouth to suck—your lips between her lips and moan at the sensation that runs through your body.

Ellie’s mouth falls agape and her eyebrows contort in bliss, “Oh you good girl, oh fu— just like that!” She cradles the back of your head and rubs your scalp affectionately.

You grip the flesh of her ass and thighs tighter and swirl your tongue around her clit and suck on her folds. “Ugh just like that,” she rasps, her bottom lip stuck between her teeth, her hand gripping your hair a little tighter. You lick laps from her clit to her entrance and she bucks against your face.

She can get a little bossy when you fuck, you love when she tells you what to do, “Put your tongue inside,” she commands her voice raspy and breathy, she spreads her leg a little farther and pushes your face deeper in her pussy. You oblige, swirling your tongue around her swollen entrance before pushing inside. Ellie tilts her head back and releases a loud, guttural moan, so unfiltered and unafraid. You’re french kissing her pussy now, your lips pressing against and sucking her entrance to get your tongue as far inside.

Her juices are all over your lips and nose and cheeks, some beginning to drip down your jaw and chin.

“F-fuck, I need more,” Ellie gasps and with a swift motion she pushes you flat on the bed. She’s positioning her pussy on your face before you can ask questions, and she continues grinding into your mouth and nose. Your arms are awkwardly suspended in the air before you settle them on her waist.

You’re transfixed by her taste, her scent, her lascivious sounds filling the room, the sight of her head tilted back in bliss and her stomach flexing as she gyrates on your mouth. “Oh babe—oh babe!,” she moans, her face contorted and eyes completely glossy with pleasure.

She’s practically using your mouth and nose as she sloppily grinds her folds over them. Your mouth is growing sore but all you care about is getting her there, you stick your tongue back inside her, and she’s gone.

You grab her hips to help her ride through her orgasm. She releases a lascivious moan and bucks her hips one last time before she melts, her body limp and her chest heaving, her pussy sopping wet and throbbing. Creamy white sap oozes onto your lips and you lick it, savoring her taste.

You watch her stomach muscles flex as she lifts her leg to dismount you, and in this moment you realize just how dazed and aroused and transfixed you are. But content more than anything, that you could give the girl you love so much pleasure.

She collapses beside you and grabs your jaw, kissing you with tongue. “I needed that babe. I love you… so much” she says softly and licks her lips. She languidly wipes her thumb along your cheeks and puts it in her mouth.

You watch her and you both lay there motionless, placid from bliss, but it’s getting harder to see her clearly with the room growing darker. You peek out the window and the sun is setting in the summer sky, “Ugh, it’s getting late, I should head to Tipsy Bison and get you something to eat befor-“

Ellie grabs your arm and firmly pulls you back onto the bed in one graceful, effortless motion. She’s still laying there blissed out and it reminds you just how easily she can overpower you if she desires.

“I’d rather skip to dessert.”

———

a/n: in retrospect i don’t think this position would work unless ellie’s bed is really short…

i’ve read this over so many times i’m starting to hate it, so if there’s a mistake i apologize lmao. my goal is to not be so hard on myself and just write more lmao

[bluginkgo]

Ep 8 Thoughts and Details Part 1

Some thoughts and details I had while watching ep8, and some parallels I found. And yes, I had to split this into 2 parts because Tumblr said "fack you, you can only upload 30 images :P"

Spoilers, duh

Already starting strong, the song that plays through the radio is "Cyn's theme" if you will, that is heard all the way back in ep5 (time stamp about 2:34)

Ep8 showcasing the first teaser image that was released on Liam's channel. Quite bittersweet, in a good way.

Well, uh, Uzi is a true god now XD She's got the AS that was originally in Cyn as well, double powerful and double traumatized/damaged OC!

"A How-to guide of overcoming the existential dread evoked by murdering innocent sentient robots capable of emotion and independent thought. Real life JCJ engineer testimonies. Thought provoking analysis of life and the benefit of being the apex predator. Insanely philosophical advice such as, 'Get over it,' 'Shut up and keep working,' 'Do you want a job or not.'"

Bleh >:P The fact that the AS is still playful is something a bit silly to me, in a funny way. Despite it being the god of the universe- almost- it has a silly side to it.

The amount of times there were cuss words either almost said/implicated made me so happy and burst out laughing one too many times XD

I've seen some people mention how the reunion between Uzi and Nori was unsatisfactory. In my opinion? It was perfect. The awkward feeling of meeting someone you should have known your entire life, all the while trying to the world was perfectly translated here. The silliness that Uzi inherited from Nori shines here. But most of all, N's kindness shines through Uzi. I think if Uzi was still her angsty rebellious teen like she was back at the beginning of the series, she would have not had as nice of a reunion with Nori as she did now.

Omg, you have no idea how happy I was in this scene. The animation, VAs, the DETAIL- ALL OF IT was so amazing! N looks so silly and goober-y <:3 Another thing I took notice later on was the timing. It's not really stated how much time it took for Uzi to go from falling down the AS hole to being punted into space. But assuming about minutes, that implies N facking booked it. The moment he got tossed out of the cathedral with the keys, he absolutely booked it to the ship without evening thinking whether Uzi was alive or not. He needed to see the evidence for himself. He didn't give up on and assume that Uzi was gone.

Recently one of the animators posted the scenes they worked on, giving us a clearer view of expressions. The work done by Xoriak was amazing and really pushed the expressions on these characters to the limit. What used to be Uzi's anger, quickly melts into relief an sadness as she realizes that N didn't give up on her in this scene. While she sacrificed herself, N did not accept her possible death as the only answer. No, he chose to look for her, and he would have done the same with V had the elevator not been blocked off.

This made me happy too. N has grown so much from who he was in the pilot. He used to be the push over that made friends with rocks, that accepted any order from the higher ups and didn't dare question any rebuttals. Now? Now he's confident enough to even voice the fact that he was mad about what Uzi did.

Give me like- giv- give me a second- LKJD;OIADKNVKVNAKDJF;OIWAEJFANVKJASDJFAOIWEFNAKJSDBV For the longest time my hyperfixation has been BONKS. Evident enough with what I've drawn (looks back at the 4-5 bonk drawings I've made). The fact that I got to see them bonk in canon made my sad sorry soul ascend into the upper plane of existence XD Oh and "die man bit-"

I grew up watching Studio Ghibli, so to see this moment- of NUzi falling and holding hands, of course my brain said- YOYOYOYO LOOK LOOK THEY'RE SO CUTE-

The moment of respite, the hug, the tail wrap around and the quick release from Uzi's part after having a heart to heart- it was all so perfectly beautiful ;w; NOT TO MENTION THE MUSIC, as usual AJ DiSpirito absolutely delivered. I REQUIRE THAT MUSIC TO BE PLAYING LOUDLY IN MY EARS 24/7 PLEASE AND THANK YOU AJ.

"I owe you 1 spaceship" -N

Couple things:

It's funny how J just either gave the ship up without a fight, or N was so stupidly fast that J couldn't even do anything about him taking it XD

N is an absolute machine at speed drawing XD

"I'm FINE, and calm, and GO AWAY." J is the embodiment of the entire work force TwT Couldn't help but say "same, honey, same ;w;"

Excuse me while I just- ITS VVVVVVVVV SHE CAME BACK OH MY GOSH- passes out On a more serious note, I've seen plenty of people mention that if V came back, her sacrifice would be for nothing. I don't think so. V came such a long way and grew to be more kind and honest thanks to her interactions with N, Uzi, Lizzy, and even her "death." It shows, because she chose to side with Uzi and N, and they all fought together in an amazing dance.

There were many moments in the episode that were a bit "slower" pace as many have put. That these moments took away from the intensity that was supposed to be in the episode. I don't think so. These moments are needed not just for the comedy part of it, but to give our brains to rest. To take a second, process the fighting we just saw, and be ready for more action. This is often used in Studio Ghibli movies, where after heavy action, it is followed by moments of quiet serenity to give you time to let the events sink in.

This, this right here TwT CRIES. These three have been together, hanging out, figuring out the eldritch mysteries- of course they'd pick up habits from each other. From N becoming more confident with himself and allowing himself to be mad at someone. To Uzi picking up on V's crawling on the ceiling habit. To V picking up Uzi's "bite me."

The amount of hand holding that was in this episode gave me enough serotonin for a life time. And the way that N always ended up wrapping his tail around Uzi, be it a hug or a cool pose. All of my NUzi hyperfixations are becoming canon and making me go FERAL.

Something that is interesting and always comes back to us, is the AS's interest and fixation on N. The way I have always seen it was Cyn was the reason for it. The AS tends to take something from the host and amplify it ten fold. For Uzi's case the perfect example was when she felt anxious or upset. Ep4 and ep7 are great examples of that. For Cyn's case it would seem that she got attached to N after she entered the mansion as a Solver host. The AS probably took that thought and amplified it to unhealthy amounts.

Oh.MY.GOD. THESE GOOBERS SEND HELP THEY'RE TRYING TO KILL ME WITH HOW CUTE THEY ARE. N first attempts to protect Uzi, and she says "nuh uh" and covers his hand instead. This. This right here. It's far too beautiful TwT

Great frame, but uh, how the fack are we able to see the AS symbol? XD Cause uh like, her face has a split for the nose section still and all of a sudden it just... went away? XD Don't get me wrong, the animation is TOP NOTCH in these last episodes, but silly little moments like this- where it's super tense and scary, but after a rewatch it just seems silly.

When I first saw this I figured "oh shit, it's ep7 all over again, they're gonna be obliterated." The demonic screams I let out were a bit embarrassing to say the least XD

This little shit. She's just playing with them, and she knows it. This entire fight was nothing more than a little game for her. Like a cat playing with a mouse before killing it.

In this scene you can actually hear the first notes of Eternal Dream, but in a super distorted way, much like it sounded in ep6 (timestamp about 15:30)

Alright, Ginkgo what now, why include this blurry frame of nothing? I really admire Cyn's VA. Fitzy has always done an amazing job at making my favorite character- Cyn- the creepy silly goober that she is. So of course I would have watched and unwillingly memorized laugh takes that Fitzy also shared. One of which was here (time stamp of about 0:47. The laughs are similar, and most likely reused from ep7 takes that never made it into ep7 but carried over to ep8. Just a fun little detail I noticed.

OMFG LMAO AAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHA THE WAY I BAWLED THE FIRST TIME I HEARD IT XD

Split second frame but I see it. I SEE IT V. SHE COVERED UP N'S CORE TwT Despite all of the comments she made, despite all of the things she did, she still cared for him. And the entire show, her entire character growth shows that. She didn't run in that moment- she could have much like she did from Cynessa mere seconds ago, but she stayed, and tried to protect N too.

OMG BAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHA YESSS UZI XD

The entire fighting scene between Uzi, Cynessa and J was so amazing. As usual, AJ DiSpirito did an AMAZING job with the songs, but more so the fact that Uzi is able to hold her own against J and Cynessa, that just amazes me. She has always been strong, but seeing it in battle made me appreciate it all that much more. Another thing about this episode, it seemed like the animators didn't particularly try to hide anything sneaky. All of the glitched sections (ex: Uzi's visor after she at the AS) were code that general population is unable to read/decipher- unless someone with an actual expertise tells me otherwise, I can only assume its code of her CPU functions- once again, remember, I know next to nothing about computers and that language TwT But the moments that were evident were these- they were even changed to BLUE. From the pilot time, everything was sneaky. I mean from the way the Murder Drones logo switched briefly into the AS symbol, to N's waking up having administration "CYN" written on his visor upon reboot. All of that was sneaky details put in for us to hunt down. This time around, it didn't feel much of like a hunt and more like silly easter eggs.

Wanna see the rest of it? Yeah, here's part 2 because Tumblr doesn't like more than 30 images per post TwT

[toomanydrafts]

Betrothed.

Be forewarned, this is quite an old fic and it’s my first time ever writing on Tumblr, or writing anything sort of like this. I really, really, want to delete it (because it’s so bad), but I can’t bring myself to do it. Summary: In which reader is from the north (house Glover), but is betrothed to Daemon, and is annoyed of the southron ladies at court, and gets very excited to see Cregan Stark when he visits from the North as it reminds her of home. Reader spends a great deal of time with Cregan, who is a very pleased guest, almost completely ignoring her betrothed. This prompts Daemon's jealousy, because who else can have you but him?

Notes: My first time on this app + first time writing Daemon; so yay! Big milestone. Saw some other stories on this app and got inspired. Idk how to write short stories, so it's is kinda long. The grammar in this is not great because I didn't really check it.

Warnings: swearing, canon-typical misogyny, Daemon Targaryen (man needs a whole warning, bffr)

In Deepwood Motte you detested late summer snows, they ate away the summer of your early childhood. You always envied Winterfell for the boiling water that runs through the castle walls; and rejoiced each time your house stayed as guests there. What you had envied most, as a babe, was warmth of the south. Now, however, that you had arrived in the southron lands, you missed those late summer snows terribly.

The south was unbearably hot, you'd have servants delivering you iced milk each day, and too often would you remind them to keep it unsweetened. The heat was not half as over bearing as the ladies of court and all their gossip. Back home, there was scarcely any gossip or other wasteful activities. You spent your youth being educated by the septa, learning the lady ways, and once you came of age, you spent your time putting those ways into practice.

The southron ladies always bragged of their luxuries, which were considered nonsensical in the north, their sweets and silks and careless grandeur. It was draining, sickening, even. Even ever modest Queen Alicent, soon to be your sister by law, would agree with the court ladies when they offered you a sweet as though it was an thing utterly unknown to your northern self, and on occasion would ask you to try a tart or cake she enjoyed.

The only person's company you could find peace in this blasted place was your betrothed, Daemon Targaryen. He was not overbearing, was not mocking of your northernness, but rather found common aspects in your values. Often, you two would walk together, and when there was a moment of respite from both of your busy schedules, he would take you to the skies on the back of Caraxes. You'd even visited Dragonstone, once, but most briefly.

Today was no different. The summer sun bore down over King's Landing, and despite the lush shade provided by the garden plants and sandy canopies that were stretched over head, you were hot. Despite the thick honey, you sipped on the iced milk gratefully, and made a mental reminder to gift the poor servants who fanned you generously later.

"These cakes are quite nice," one of the southron ladies said, sliding over a plate full of thick, layered cakes that smelt so strongly of sugar you might've smelt them when Daemon offered you a ride on Caraxes, leagues in the sky. You'd much rather be on Caraxes, with Daemon holding you close, leagues in the sky rather than here. You wished he would come and save you, but alas, you were stuck between a rock and several smothering southerners.

You smiled politely and took the smallest bite of one. "You're right, my lady, these are quite... tasty." You lick your lips, and are momentarily forlorn when there's nothing unsweet to remove the thick taste from your mouth.

Another southron lady seems to remember something, and rushes to finish her bite, fanning her hand in the air to invite our attention to her. "Have you heard?" She asks once she has swallowed, "lady [name], this would be of great interest to you, the good northfolk, like yourself, are coming to the Keep for a visit."

Despite the almost taunting way she says 'northfolk,' you find yourself intrigued. "Which house?" You ask, and your curiosity is not unheard. They seem to hold back snickers as another one of the ladies reply.

"The House Stark, and their party." She says, smugly, though you are lost as to why. It baffles you further how they regard the Starks, the wardens of the north, so casually. Did they not realise that every northern house beyond the neck swore their fealty to the Starks? The negative thoughts do not linger long, for you can't help but be excited at the thought of seeing Cregan Stark once more. In your childhood you had become acquainted with him, and his lord father offered your father a place on his table on several occasions, and later on he did the same.

You smile, widely, and ask, "do you know when they are to arrive?"

The southron ladies seem to look amongst each other for a moment, and it is Queen Alicent who replies from behind us. "They are to arrive on the morrow, Lady [Name]." You did not notice her arrival, and all seem to turn and stand to greet her.

"Queen Alicent," you exclaim, rising to bow to her. "I must excuse myself, I'm afraid I must prepare to see my fellow northfolk. I must catch you at court later, your grace." You give the ladies of court a small nod, before slipping away the way Alicent had came, glad to find respite from the suffocation of court.

-

The following morning you had dressed more northernly than you had in your entire stay here. You wore a gown with grey over white, with slim fur trimming, little enough that you wouldn't boil. It felt pleasant to be wearing northern colours once more, over the golds and silvers and silky things the south fashioned themselves in. You even found an old pin with the gauntlet of Glover on it, and wore it most proudly as you broke your fast with the court ladies. It was boring and tiresome, as it usually was, but you braved on without complaint and with a smile until, finally, the word came the Starks had arrived.

It took you little time to find yourself in the vast throne room, standing happily by Daemon, your sweet betrothed, awaiting Cregan Stark and his party. It had been nearly two years since you had last seen the Lord of Winterfell, never finding cause to visit before your betrothal, and finding it impossible to do so after.

"Eager, are we?" Daemon hums, noting your excitement. You do not make it difficult. You're practically jumping up and down in anticipation.

You look up at him with a small chuckle, "yes, I'm afraid so." You say, looking down the length of the throne room, a tad disappointed when there are no northerners marching down the hall. "Whilst the south has it's certain... qualities, it has been difficult not to miss the north."

Daemon only chuckles, seemingly amused by both your enthusiasm and desire not to offend any southerners by your distaste for their society.

When the Starks arrive, murmurs flutter around the hall for a moment, then spread madly like wildfire. They come down the hallway, proud and honourable as the Starks are, and bow down to their king and his new queen. There are compliments exchanged, and brief conversation, all the while you're teetering away, waiting for a moment to greet Cregan Stark; when it finally comes, it feels like you are back home.

"It is good of you to make the trip, Lord Stark," you smile as you speak, "not only for the court, but for myself. It may be selfish, but I've been missing the north terribly."

Cregan laughs, lightly so, at my comment. "And the north as been missing you, Lady Glover. Your house is morose without you, and Deepwood Motte emptier than ever. It is a shame you are not to return, you'd make a fine lady for the north."

You let out a laugh at his words, and speak, almost bashfully, "you are too kind, my lord. I am sure my family is doing fine with out me. I would love to return, alas, my place is in the south now."

Cregan lets out a long sigh, and rests a sympathetic touch on your arm. "Alas indeed, but if you ever feel inclined to visit, both Deepwood Motte and Winterfell would be more than glad to take you." He offers, and you smile warmly up at him. You have missed the north grievously, and it brings you deep comfort to speak with a northerner, and to see the direwolf of House Stark, the embodiment of the north, in plenty now.

"It would be good to have another northerner to keep me company, show me the ways of the south... if you would be so kind, my lady?" Cregan asks after a moment of respite, and you are to kind to decline, too glad to have another north soul to save you from the court ladies to say no.

So, you give him your prettiest smile and say, "of course, my lord. I'd be honoured."

-

Perhaps it was the way he spoke to you, how he called you a lady for the north, never of the north, the sly remarks he would make about the south, of how utterly glad and honoured he would be to take you in the north. Perhaps it was the light touches he placed on your arm, your back, and the way you returned them so innocently. Or, perhaps it was the fact that for the last two day's he had been in King's Landing you had utterly ignored him that made Cregan Stark not sit right with Daemon Targaryen.

More than once he'd clenched his fists and gritted his jaw and ignored the way you two laughed together, the obscene amount of time you spent together. How interested you had been in his gnarly, overgrown dog that slobbered after him everywhere he went. Daemon was left baffled, why would you want a dog when you could have a dragon? He couldn't understand your obsession with the Stark boy, and watching you ignore him and give into the flirtatious prick made him angrier than words could explain.

He didn't know how often his hand strained around his cup until his knuckles went white, or how often he took long sips of his wine to keep himself from saying something that would ruin your happiness. It was the only reason he put up with the ugly cunt as he flirted with you, took advantage of your innocence. He'd longed to kill him, but seeing you more content at court than ever before had prompted him not to.

His patience was wavering thin now, as the two of you sat together, ate together, practically glued at the hip as you laughed over something trivial. Jealousy burned in his stomach, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

And when the feasting was over, and it came time to dance, he wanted to slam his fist down when the bastard stood up before you. "Your hand, my lady?" He asked, with a gross smirk he was sure you'd perceive as a kind smile. "For a dance." He adds, and it is like a cruel taunt directed to him. Did the boy not know you were betrothed to him? That you were happy with a prince? That you didn't want a little lordling instead?

"Yes, of course," you agree, ever glad to indulge in his northernness. Daemon feels his nails dig roughly into his palms as he clenches his fist, and he doesn't care if he draws blood. All he can feel is horrible, terrible jealousy. You were his betrothed, his and his alone. Who did this winter cunt think he was?

He might've ripped off the bard's head for playing such a jovial tune. He watched as Cregan's hands gripped your waist and twirl you around the room. He reached for his goblet and tilted it it back into mouth, and when it emptied, he jerked over a serving girl and had her fill it to the brim. He'd drank overmuch already, but it was all he could do to not knock that poor boy to his feet like the dog he was.

His eyes remained fixed on you like a predator to prey. He watched as the bastard spun you into the crowd, as he lifted you by your waist, at the wide grin on flashing on your lips. Your pretty lips that were meant to be his, and his alone. He took another long sip from his cup. Through the gowns and the jewels he watched you with the ugly winter dog.

And, when Cregan Stark dipped his head down and whispered something to you, too close to your ear for his liking, making you through your head back in laughter, Daemon had enough. He stood up, his movements too sharp, sending his chair scraping behind him. He navigated his way through the heart of lords and ladies, past some drunken fool lifting a serving girl and spinning her in the air whilst the tray she carried clattered onto the ground.

Soon enough his hand found it's way to your shoulder, and held onto you a little too tight as he yanked you away from your dance with the winter boy. "You don't mind if I share a dance with my betrothed, do you, lordling?" He asked, his tone curt; he saw no reason to give this bastard any respect. Trying to steal his own betrothed from right under his nose. No, he would not have it.

His eyes seemed to squeeze with delight and his smirk widen as he watched Cregan's face twitch. "Of course, my prince," he says with a smile, and a short bout of laughter so fake Daemon might've puked. "I do hope you enjoy your time together." The winter dog says, and lift's up his betrothed's hand and gives it a disgusting kiss. The nerve.

"Thank you," you murmur, ever the sweetheart, as Cregan Stark finally takes his leave. You watch after him as he disappears into the crowd, as Daemon's grip on your shoulder holds you tight against him. Once the Stark boy is well and truely gone into the mass, he releases you momentarily.

When you dance again, it is him gripping your hips, it is him picking you up and twirling you around the room. Exactly the way it should be. "You seemed to be enjoying your time together," Daemon croons, looking down at your face with devilish eyes. There is anger in his voice, but it is swallowed up by his affection for you.

"Yes, I suppose I was." You say, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. "IT is nice to have a break from the southron ladies, to have a friend who doesn't mock my northernness."

Daemon's eyes narrow, and he lets out a short hum, his head tilting to a side as he watches you. "I think the little lordling wanted to be more than just your friend, sweet thing." He murmurs.

Your soft expression furrows into one of confusion, and you let out a slight scoff. It's almost amusing how disbelieving you are that pissy lord of the north took an interest in you. "Lord Cregan is merely a friend, I assure you," you say, ever innocent in your ways.

"Oh, my sweet thing, you can not be so naive. Surely you've seen the way that dog eyes you," he says, shaking his head, "it's disgusting, frankly."

You laugh nervously, your head swishing back and forth in denial. "He would never, he knows I am betrothed. I haven't shown any interest in him, regardless." You argue. It's almost frustrating how you jump to defend the boy's actions, but he can not blame you. The ladies of Westeros are often too sheltered, made to think every lord is a gentleman. Sure, you knew of whores and cunts, but Daemon found there was much your sweet, trusting nature kept from your grasp.

He runs a hand gently down your cheek and offers you a kind smile. "Oh, my princess, your betrothal only makes you want him more. Do you not see the strays that sniff under the tables for food just beyond their reach? It matters not if you'll have him or not, he wants you the same." He coos, tilting your chin up to look at him. "The mutt wants something nice to warm his tiny little cock, and what better than a prince's wife?"

"Even if what you say is true," you pause for a moment, perhaps you're contemplating the truth of his words, or uneasy by his vulgar language. With a weak smile but a firm gaze, you finish, "I would never entertain his desire."

Daemon smirks at that, "of course not." He says, proudly so. "Why walk a bitch when you can ride a dragon?"

[deong]

keep going ㅡ karina x fem!reader

word count: 1.08k words

pairing: ceo g!p karina x fem reader

warnings: dom karina, sub reader, smut, dry humping, riding, fingering, cursing

a/n: its been awhile since i last wrote smut so bare with me. this is also my first time posting on tumblr, hello :-)

A loud sigh can be heard from one of the offices in Yu Enterprises’

Karina sat diligently working on paperwork in her office, long after most of her employees had left for the night already.

A sense of frustration filled her as she reflected on the countless meetings she attended since she arrived this morning. Glancing at the clock, it was nearly 1 am. Realizing she would be coming home late. She attempted to call Y/N, her wife to inform her but she didn't answer her phone.

Feeling exhausted, resting her head on the desk for a moment seeking a brief respite. Suddenly, the sound of a loud beep emanated from her office phone, prompting her to lift her head.

"Excuse me, ma’am. Your wife is here to see you" her assistant informed.

Karina pressed the button to respond

"Send her in"

You walked into the office, donning a not too fancy mid-thigh black long-sleeve dress. "I received your message. I'm sorry I didn't pick up honey, but I brought you some food!" you said with a smile as you held the packed food high before placing it on the table.

Karina looked at you with a helpless expression, feeling utterly fatigued and longing for a moment of solace in your presence.

"Come here, you can sit on my lap until I'm done working with this"

Rolling her chair away from the desk. You obliged, smiling to yourself as you walked over and settled yourself on her lap. She wrapped an arm around your waist, holding it close like a seatbelt. While she glanced at her paperwork. A gentle kiss on your cheek affirmed her affection.

"I'm almost done," Karina assured. To which you just nodded understandingly.

"Take all the time you need, baby"

Karina continued working for the next half an hour or so, but suddenly her mind drifted elsewhere. By "elsewhere" meaning the sudden wetness she started to feel transferring to her wide-leg office pants.

Hands absentmindedly explored your body, caressing your thighs. She leaned back, whispering

"I can feel your wetness darling"

A statement that soon after came a chuckle from Karina. Slowly, she ventured deeper, asking "Do you want me to stop?" You shook your head, conveying her consent.

Messing around in your wife’s office is not a rare occurrence. It’s not like she doesn’t own the whole company building anyways but perhaps tonight would be a little different. As it’s not as isolated before.

Karina started to unzip your dress, watching as it fell revealing your bare shoulders and the loosened strap of your bra. Placing a soft kiss on your shoulder, her hand reached its intended destination.

Pressing her lips against your neck slowly, she savored the soft moans escaping your lips. Intertwining your hands in her hair.

"Your panties are so soaked, baby" she whispered, making you bite your bottom lip in response as she played with your wetness. Driving you insane.

“Stop teasing me already” you breathe as tried to get friction by humping her hand.

Moving your panties aside, she suddenly slipped two fingers inside eliciting a loud moan. "Shit," she exclaimed.

Her other hand then roamed your chest, finding your breasts. Multitasking, she planted wet kisses on your lips, all the while massaging your breast and rhythmically thrusting her fingers in and out of you. Each thrust caused your chest to rise and fall with pleasure. "I want you inside me," you moaned. Removing her fingers, you unbuckled her pants and pulled down her boxers.

"Sit on me." she instructed as you stood up, discarding your panties and slowly positioning yourself onto her member. A soft moan escaped her lips as you sat down. With a firm grip on your waist, Karina began bouncing your slight frame. Observing the made satisfying clap sound with each impact. "Fuck, baby." she groaned, tilting her head back and running her hand through your hair.

"You're so tight," Karina moaned as you continued to bounce. "Only for you." You whispered. One hand slipped beneath you, eagerly fondling your breasts. She then stood up, pulling out and putting away all the paperwork on the table.

Walking behind you, she observed as you assumed the position she wants: bending over the desk.

Grinning mischievously, she commented "You already know what to do," chuckling as a smirk formed on her face highlighting the mole below her lips.

She entered you, thrusting fervently. The room filled with your combined moans and the rhythmic clashing of your bodies against one another. Leaning down Karina planted kisses on your back and left a trail of hickeys.

"Faster" you groaned.

"My pleasure," she replied, gripping your shoulder and gradually increasing the pace. Your whimpering and moaning echoed through the office as you held onto the desk for support. She pulled out and instructed you, "Lie on your back."

Complying you settled on her desk.

Hooking your legs over her shoulders, she penetrated you once more. Relishing in your loud moans. Placing her hands on the desk, she thrust vigorously.

"Oh my fucking God! Don't stop!" your sweat-soaked bodies molding together. Inclining her head, she planted soft kisses on your lips while your tongues danced in a passionate frenzy. Your hand clutched her neck pulling her closer, while she felt her member repeatedly stimulate your sensitive spot, eliciting even more moans.

That was your sweet spot.

"Do you like that, princess?" she inquired. "Yes" you barely let out as you nodded. Lifting you up, she hooked her arms under your legs, your calves resting on her shoulders. Karina continued her intense thrusting, feeling your walls tighten. "I'm going to cum!"

"Me too!" she moaned. Pushing herself to the limit, she thrust harder and faster finally reaching her climax. "Fuck, Y/N I'm cumming!" she shouted as she released inside you, her muscles tightening.

After experiencing the bliss of your connection, you two remained in that position for a while. Both enjoying the afterglow. "Do you think your assistant heard us?" you wondered, your body twitching slightly as she slowly withdrew. "She probably left soon after you entered" she smiled at you.

You sat up, pulling her closer. Your radiant smiles filled the room. Embracing the tender moment, you gave your wife a peck.

"I'm hungry now," Karina playfully remarked with a pout, causing your laughter. "You're always hungry" as you both dressed. Settling on the couch in her office, you covered yourselves with a blanket, indulging in the meal you had brought along.

[gatheredfates]

Hi everyone and happy weekend! I'm drowning at work, but I wanted to put out a Compendium update—thank you to everyone who submitted! I don't think I missed anyone but, if I did, I'll update accordingly. ✨

As of 08/10, the following communities have been added to Sea's Community Compendium for XIV Creatives.

LARGE-SCALE COMMUNITY DISCORDS / SPACES

Final Fantasy XIV Ontario — This server was created to connect gamers in (or near) Ontario, Canada who love playing Final Fantasy XIV. Events include monthly map nights and irl meetups!

COMMUNITY FOCUSED / EVENT SPACES

Dragonhead — An open-world roleplay event for Ishgardians (and their neighbours).

Echelons of Etheirys — A community fostering political and court life roleplay in the world of Final Fantasy XIV, featuring regency-inspired tropes and themes; located on the North American data centre.

Buscarron's Druthers — A weekly roleplay community effort to encourage in-character, open-world engagement in the South Shroud and beyond.

The Bloodsands — Interested in combat RP? We have the place for you!

Lark's — An Ishgardian club for men.

The Regency — A gentleman's club.

Eorzean Museum Network — A network of free, player-run, venues; encouraging, supporting, and growing cultural venues and events anywhere in the FFXIV community.

Azure Moon Lounge — A welcome respite from the elements, the room is always cool and the drinks are plenty. Hosted by @rhela-xiv.

MISC

Compendium of Non-Weapon Held Objects — This is an ever-growing compendium of non-weapon held objects found in FFXIV for modders and gposers to reference. It includes a description of the object, the set/base/variant for adding it in Ktisis/Anamnesis/Brio, as well other technical information. This database is currently maintained by Nhaneh, Ainyan, and Pointyhats.

Have you thought about joining our Tumblr Community? You can find it here!

Want to submit? You can either fill out the google form here or send me an ask with the relevant information!

Is my space suitable for the Compendium? Most of the time, yes! Below the read more is some more information/stipulations. This is all publicly available on the document.

Below are the following things I do not accept on the Compendium:

Personal/Single-Character LFC ads. (Though these get posted to the SEAFLOOR Tumblr Community when I find them!)

Content intended for or can be used for bullying, harassment and OOC gossip. E.g. ‘Secrets’ blogs, receipts, callout posts, etc. This does not include IC tabloid blogs or other ventures used to generate roleplay.

Communities that do not have an RP/writing element (large-scale exempt).

Anything I find personally distasteful or goes against the spirit of this project.

Common-sense rule applies.

I want to put my community on the Compendium but we have an application process. Is this okay?

Yes! Just note somewhere in your application that's a requirement. The only thing that is mandatory for the Compendium is that you must be open to new members or have a public-facing/accessible facet. There's no point advertising a community if no one can join it in some way!

I want to put my Community on the compendium but I only have x number of members —

Also totally okay! People don't start with large communities. Activity is a must but, whether your server has two or two thousand members, if you're looking for new people to join, I'd love to help you find people.

I want to put my community/resource on the Compendium but I worry its too niche?

Okay, and? If your Eorzean Fishing Alliance has four members but you roleplay every second weekend, I still want to know about it. The same goes for resources; if it's relevant to the game, it'll be useful to someone.

How active does a community need to be?

If you find a community has not been active in about two/three months, send me a message and I'll take a look at it. Communities have ebbs and flows, especially event spaces that may take hiatuses depending on member interest/life events. I'm not strict in my implementation provided a space isn't dead. If a link or anything is broken, contact me asap!

I have [insert a question not stated here]?

No drama! Send me an ask or use the #Compendium channel in my Discord!

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

Happy holidays! I hope you have a good time with your family, friends, etc.

Thanks for writing about Hiccup, there are few tumblrs that write about him and I appreciate it <3

Castoff pt 4

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader

Words: 2,279

You have no pick nor savior so, in typical fashion, you use your words instead. It turns out that they can be just as sharp as any weapon.

Tags: Angst, fem!reader, heartbreak, villain reader, unresolved insecurity, anger, canon divergent, RTTE, Httyd 2, dark content, Angst, kidnapping, spiraling

<Previous

You caught someone in the eye, you were sure. At least somewhere under the brow. You hoped he went blind. 

Your eyelids fluttered as you struggled to stay awake, back in the hull, crusted blood marking a worn trail down your forehead.

You had your knife, still, which you clutched close to your middle at all times. You were sure they could wrench it from your hands if they really wanted.

Maybe it was the pity which kept them from taking it from you, or the fact that they remembered how difficult it was to get you here in the first place, lashing out like an animal, kicking and clawing as they threw you back into the cage. 

Maybe it was because they had scant time nor regard for anything else but their eager need to nurse their own wounds.

It meant very little, trapped back in the hull as you were.

You lived that moment over and over in your mind.

How you carried the burden of guilt on your shoulders, you wanted to beg and plead like you were kneeled before the altar of a broken God. You were ready to repent, and in that moment the smoke smelt like nothing more than forgiveness.

How at that time, you weren’t the one holding the knife. This time you were the beast at the sharp end of a masked figure’s staff. You were the one who begged and pleaded and writhed. How even before the mask figure could move, you knew the answer they would give, just as you knew the way flesh felt under knife.

Even the Vikings on Berk held honor, none willing to take a slave, none willing to turn an unwillful hand, none dishonorable enough to slay a man, none cowardly enough not to own up to it.

As a soft soul, you’d vowed albeit unconsciously to never draw a lick of blood.

You stared at the slowly shifting body of a small terror, chained and beaten and scarred so bad it could barely move, laid still and sad in its own waste.

It had driven you mad, constant whining and hacking filling the hours you should have spent sleeping with strife and restless shifting. Your neck ached from the hard floor even now, and you’d not a moment of respite to show for it.

You weren’t the dragon with the large yellow eyes. You weren’t the trapper, fallen to the knife.

You hated it; just as it was bound, so were you. You seemed to reflect each other, two sides of the same coin, neither the wielder, both the bearers of the sharp end of the knife, slaves to a much crueler fate.

It was a mockery.

And as a child, you’d kept a bird, wings torn and chest kicked in, picked up from the road and stowed away in a wooden box filled with hay. You had been too young to recognize that it had been long gone and so you took to it with the passion of a child bound to be disappointed.

You watched it all night, by the fire as its chest rose and fell gently, alone.

You fell asleep to an empty hearth and woke to a cold, still body.

When your friend, when a small Hiccup had come to you with his own bird, showed it to you, cradled and swaddled with all the fine cloth the son of a Chief could afford, when he had found success where you did not and whose hands healed when yours couldn’t.

You listened to his stories, you watched with a bitten tongue and a held breath as he cared for it, wrought with a sympathy and a grief you’d never voice. You hadn’t anything but sadness, then, and, in a way, a measure of happiness. You were happy for his success.

You had wondered for so many nights what you had done wrong.

You thought that made him greater.

You imagined it dead, run over by the wheel of a wagon, perhaps begging for scraps yet only facing the hard hearts and shoulders of Vikings who had better things to do than entertain the whims of a small bird, unfamiliar to the cold world, the only life it had known being wrapped warm as a fire and soft as fur.

Lost to the cruel grip of nature.

You glared at the man before you. 

You wanted to tell him to shovel his eyes out, to cut open his chest, to suffocate on his own spit and blood. You held your tongue.

Was there something cruel in that, too; leaving something so weak and frail to live when it begged for nothing but reprieve? To leave it alive, choking on its own spit and filth, driving you mad with anguish and irritation and then rage, until you had wanted nothing more than to have seen it tossed overboard?

Was that what everyone else knew when they looked at you with those eyes and blocked you off with sturdy shoulders, filled with unease and love and companionship, laid just outside your reach?

Eret grit his jaw.

You blinked away the heavy weights of sleep which held down your eyes as you slept, and though you had the urge, you did not rub your lids.

Instead, you laid still, turned away from the entrance. The light.

It smelt terribly.

As the hold once again filled with dragons, they kept to the far side of their cages, away from the small terror- the lizard, that was slowly but surely beginning to rot, torn apart by the desperate, fearful midnight scrabblings of a rat. Starving, just as you were, but freer than anything above or below deck.

By the sound of it, you knew exactly who. Eret wasn’t your only visitor. No, you got others. This one, he sounded like one of the kinder ones, the one who brought you your meals. Who kept you from starving. The others, they visited with nothing but sharp, metal-toed boots and fists burning with all the rage of a man trapped, ready and willing to rip and tear.

You were under no illusion that he had done it of his own free will, and yet he carried a sort of hope during the exchanges you shared, the passing of food between the bars and into your small jail, waiting as you turned your back, sighing with heavy emotion and moving with heavy steps.

You kept your breathing slow and shallow, rocking with the rest of the boat, rain and water pounding against wood as the ship was tossed around. It would soon get too violent for you to stay still, violent enough to make you sick.

He probably had a family back home. A wife and a child. Or a brother, maybe; a family, something to hold him in the delusion that what he was doing was right. That motivated him to try and rise above the others, that allowed him the belief he had the right to turn the other cheek as both dragons and Vikings alike were beaten and bruised and tortured by his hand. That he wasn’t nor would ever be as bad as the rest of them which, in your eyes, ultimately made him worse.

It made him selfish, more than anyone else on this vessel, who took and beat and robbed as they pleased.

He had a very unique helmet when most of the others on this ship did not; something that covered most of his face the same way Dagur’s helmet did, with horny curly enough to match any Jorgenson.

“It’s not like you have a due date, do you?” You coughed viciously, teeth violently catching on the tip of your tongue, causing you to wince.

“How we operate is no business of yours,” Eret grit his jaw, arms crossed, legs crossed. A line of sweat ran down the side of his face.

“You won’t be able to keep this expedition going forever,” You mumbled, voice raspier than ever before, “You need my help.”

“Tell me what you know.”

You laughed at him mockingly, though your stomach sank.

Would you succumb just as it had, or would you rise above it?

Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was desperation. Maybe you were tired of listening to the crew members above deck, maybe you had a death wish.

You gave in.

You started small.

“Rub it under the chin,” You looked up at him, a sharp, tense grimace on your face, “The spot where the jawbone turns to soft meat, scratch it with your fingernails.”

“You didn’t come up with that,” Eret glared.

“No, I didn’t,” You rasped. The rough uncured leather hide of your muzzle dug into your jaw, the flesh there searing and surely wet with puss after you’d made a very passionate effort to bite one of the crewmates in another escape attempt.

You didn’t need to say anything fancy; it didn’t take much convincing. It wouldn’t.

It made it very difficult to speak, keeping your jaw nearly stuck in place, “But I know it, and that makes me better than you. Just try it.”

You dared him with your eyes, both embodying the hypnotic gaze of a snake, and speaking the vying notes of a charmer.

You taunted, “You’re not still behind, are you?”

“We’ve gotten... Farther, with your help,” Eret conceded. 

Behind him, a green thunderdrum struggled, mouth bolted shut with a muzzle made of leather and metal not unlike your own, a set of chains binding its wings in the upwards position. 

There were three men on its back and two more on each size, wrestling it down as it struggled, trying and failing to scream.

They had no trouble, with all the room they needed to swarm the beast and pin it down, your small hull and a large pull-down metal door opened to reveal another, larger chamber.

“Is it enough?” 

“It has to be.”

“Are you willing to take that risk?” You learned to live with it; the stuffiness, the rattling, the pain, and as the nights grew colder and as the hold filled with the scraping and screaming of beasts, you slept sounder. 

Eret was silent.

“There's grass,” You started, picking at your fingernails, short and bloody, with your knife, “It grows plentifully deep in the islands on the southern end of the archipelago. It should be around here, wherever we are, too.”

“The dragons like it?” Eret asked stiffly.

Like picking bits and pieces off a corpse, like a scavenger picking over carrion, you took old phrases and sullied comforts and wove them together to make a convincing argument. You tempted and you beckoned.

Hiccup would say it was all about trust. You said the same, once upon a time. But you knew better now.

“Well enough to bow,” You smiled.

“Unshackle me.”

“What if I chained you up and dropped you in with the beasts?” Eret shot back, “Everything you have, I fought for. You’re still alive by my good graces and mine only.”

You were the smaller animal, but the frustration, the raw injustice drove you mad. Once again, you wanted to gouge his eyes out, you wanted to fight and struggle and scream, but you held off.

You hesitated, and looked away, a tenuous expression kept neural only through sheer force of will, the broiling in your gut and the foul words resting on your tongue making you want to do nothing but spit fire.

He would regret that.

“A Whispering Death,” You croaked, trying to suppress the vicious wrinkle of your nose, “Pull it’s top spine, press just under the point, really dig your fingers in.”

“Where are we now?” You asked.

“Someone is dead,” Eret ground out, fists shaking, “A man is dead because of you.”

He threw something on the floor, which clattered loudly in front of your dim cage.

You recognized it. A helmet.

“And?” You let out a short laugh.

“And? And?!”

“Let me out.”

“You don’t deserve that,” He spat.

“Don’t I?”  The irony was not lost on you. And so you laughed again, but much louder this time, with force enough to clutch at your stomach, to pull taut the your loosening muzzle.

You felt at your wrists, newly freed, and shook out your legs, donning a new pair of boots. Your clothing was still torn, ragged, stained, though you were certain you would be able to fix that soon.

You wore a helmet, weighty but fitting on your head, long and covering, secure, with large curly horns. It was patched and in parts covered in blood, thick and dried and congealing where there were dents. 

You knew now that what you once called kindness had just been a veil, a sweet lie to cover what everyone else already knew.

You were a cruel, evil person.

A liar, to hold things with delicate hands and whisper hopeful words when there was only one result, to follow teachings and old sayings that would never work for you again.

And the sweetest lie was the one you told yourself; the one that kept you from the truth and told you that you weren’t.

There was no forgiveness here. Not for you. 

Only condemnation.

You stretched your mouth open wide, worked your jaw where your muzzle had left a heavy mark, ignoring the desperate scrabbling and screeching of a dragon and the men behind you pulling, dragging it with fist and chain across splintered wood into a new cage.

You breathed in the fresh sea air, taking in the light of day for the first time in a long while.

And you reveled in it.

[thought--bubble]

Taking a little breaky break

This is just a heads up for my small little group of people on here. I have come to call my friends. I just wanted to let you all know that I'm going to be taking a much needed respite from tumblr and probably discord, too. I am feeling lost, sad,overwhelmed, and confused.

I know it sounds silly or whatnot, but all of this stuff is overwhelming and depressing, and I feel sick when I open this app at this point.

The best word to use, I guess, would be winded, maybe?

I joined Tumblr in Sept 23, and at first, it was really fun, a much needed escape from my daily never-ending list of crap to do.

I unfortunately learned how crazy this fandom can get early on and the hard way. I had hoped that that was just a one-off due to my newbie ignorance and took it as a lesson learned for myself.

But it's starting to feel like the drama never fucking stops. It just keeps going, and nice people, kind people, just get dragged and ridiculed for seemingly no reason. I will pathetically admit that I am a sensitive soul, and the things I've read and seen have seriously negatively affected me.

When people are catty regarding people they don't like or that don't like them, I can usually reconcile that to a particular degree. People are, in fact, people. Not everyone is going to vibe with everyone, and people will make jokes at others' expense, and it isn't exactly mature, but it happens.

That is what I expected when I heard this was coming. Some catty shit slinging between people who don't like each other.

But that isn't all this was, and I'm having a really hard time with that. I even thought, "Oh maybe some moderately rude jokes here and there where you know cultural differences and stuff could account for that" like I'm from the northeast and we can be harsh out here. So something that may be offensive to someone from another area may be looked at here just as a joke made in poor taste.

I know I myself have made jokes or whatnot, but you would think certain things would be off limits.

I thought I could combat the negative with positives. Silly jokes, little messages filled with love, but even that isn't working at this point.

My heart hurts, and my brain hurts.

And all this stuff has made me question myself. I had a block list a mile long for the longest time. Filled predominantly with people I had never spoken to because I was scared, nervous, I didn't want to accidentally interact with a post of someone who would be upset that I did, I unfollowed blogs I liked based on this same principle. I just desperately did not want to make someone mad or uncomfortable and find myself back in some weird mean anon tornado.

I tried to sus out who would be bothered by my presence and who wouldn't. I can't even know if my thoughts on who may or may not be upset by me were based on my paranoia or a perception i developed or was potentially affected by outside sources.

Now, i just don't know what the hell is going on.

Sorry for the word vomit. Just wanted to be honest. There are some of us out here who are just standing around with question marks over our heads.

Maybe it's because I wasn't here for a lot of that other weirdness. Maybe it's because of early events that shaped my experience on this app, but I for sure 100% need a break.

I'm an odd duck and love this app mostly because it's the only site I've seen where others actively fan-girl over my favorite Ewan character.

But right now, not even my love for Will can keep me on this app, and for those who know me, that's truly saying something.

This post is not meant to badmouth anyone at all. Honestly at this point I couldn't bad mouth anyone because I'm fucking lost on who anyone really is or how they really feel about things, dude I'm just plain lost.

Thank you to those who have been kind. My apologies to those I may have judged or assumed things about based on who the hell knows.

I hope that when I come back, I can open this app without yet another person that I like having a post of them being torn apart. Or a post of a story that I had heard being told in a completely different way and throwing me for a complete loop.

For now I am going to watch Will edits on TikTok and maybe read via Ao3.

Love and healing vibes to all.

[faeriekit]

Quiet Respite 🕸️❤️🦇

find the whole thing on Ao3 or read the previous updates here on tumblr

A DC x MCU fic inspired by Dark Matter, Cassandra Cain meets Peter Parker in an exploratory romance slash “mystery” fic. (If you’ve read a lot of these before, you pretty much can tell what’s going on in the background.) Features: Cass’s turn as POV character, use of sign language, the flimsiest timeline you’ve ever seen, teen romance, hurt/comfort, implied homelessness, fight scenes, Cass’s teen rebellion arc, Spider-Man villain arc?? (whoopsie), and a good deal of sneaking around. Updates on tumblr before ao3.

Previous updates are listed above, so if you don’t want to start off with ch 15 below, click on those. This is just to consolidate a big post into something slightly smaller. Anyway, enjoy the continuation of Peter’s trauma-induced depression arc.

🕸🕷🕸❤

The next day is dance class.

Baby Bat’s school will be waiting for him tomorrow, which means Peter will either go, or not go.

That’s a tomorrow problem. Today, Cass has dance.

She hovers her hand over Peter’s stomach. “Can I…touch?” She uses her voice to ask.

He lets her touch. She gently prods his ribs.

“They don’t hurt anymore,” Peter whispers as he signs, exhausted, but awake. “I ate. I slept. I healed.”

He heals quickly, then. Some creatures do. Cass nods.

“Okay.” Cass can sign that one without even looking at him. She rolls off of her bed. “We are going.”

Peter frowns. He’s confused. “We…?” he starts, but his hands fall before finishes his thought. He’s too tired.

Cass hums a doing chores song that Alfred likes. “Mmhmm,” she vocalizes in her throat, more thought than sound. She reaches underneath her Peter, and he barely even flails. So gentle with her.

“Wait, where are we—?” He squawks. If he’s signing, it’s at the wrong angle for Cass to see. “What?? Cass— Wait—“

Having his bare skin against her arms is kind of nice. He’s kind of squishy. Cass is hopeful that with more food, he might be even squishier. His body is a little too cold. He needs clothing.

Cass makes it over to the door. An almost-free hand wiggles enough to get Cass’s fluffy purple robe from the hook on back of it, and positioning Peter beneath it makes it fall neatly onto his face.

Peter makes a wounded noise. But he’s not hurt. Cass whistles Alfred’s cleaning tune and opens the door with a careful stretch and her toes.

Cass pokes her head through the door.

Cass looks left. Cass looks right.

“I don’t think anyone is here,” Peter murmurs, close to her ear. He’s looking where she’s looking but— right. Peter and the spider are the same. He can hear things Cass can only feel whispers of. She nods. She carries him down to Bigger Bird’s room.

Bigger Bird’s not here, but his pants are. Cass pulls open a drawer with her toes (new skill!), sticks Peter closer, and let him choose.

…And prods him to choose, when he doesn’t.

“Are we stealing?” Peter mumbles, upset. But he picks a pair of shiny, dark blue shorts. “Because I stopped that now.”

“No. Giving back. Later.”

“Oh. Well, then.”

Baby Bat’s shirts fit better. Cass walks them across the hall to Baby Bat’s room, stepping over the clutter and noise to get to his closet.

“It is a little weird how comfortable you are with going into other people’s closets,” Peter says under an exhausted sigh. Cass understands most of the sentence: the part that says This is weird. The rest is probably about the clothing.

“One child,” she accuses of him easily. “Normal.”

Peter barely looks at the shirts. He picks one off the closet without examining it. “Only child?”

“Mmhmm.” What’s the difference?

The door cracks open. Cass knows it’s going to be Baby Bat, so she doesn’t worry. Baby Bat likes Peter. He appears in the doorway, head-speakers half on and half off, computer under his arm. “Ca— Peter?!”

Peter’s head lolls in Baby Bat’s direction. Cass shifts to accommodate him. “…Hi,” says Peter.

“You’re in my house?” Baby Bat asks, confused. His eyebrows are pushed together. He doesn’t understand why they’re in his room, or in his room, together.

“…I have been? For a few days?” Peter asks, more confused than Baby Bat is. Cass hasn’t told him they were hiding him.

(To be fair, she thought it was obvious.)

“Shirt, please,” Cass rasps, and gestures to Peter, clad in only her purple robe and with his stuck-up hair.

Thankfully, signing: “Okay??” only takes one hand and a strong expression. Cass loves Baby Bat. She might kiss his hair on the way out.  

Cass wheels them out into the hallway, almost backs into a fancy art thing on a tiny table, and ferries Peter back into her room.

His dirty clothes and his metal skin are still on her floor. They’ll have to stay there until Alfred cleans her room tomorrow and the laundry goes away.

Peter. Stands. He holds the clothes. He doesn’t change.

That’s okay. Cass takes his choices from his hands and carefully guides him through the process. Sometimes just touching the body is enough to bring someone back to it. His arms go up. The shirt goes over his head. Cass touches each foot to guide his legs into the shorts.

His body is dressed, although he is without shoes. Cass fetches skinny little socks from her drawer, because his body is always too cold to her touch and loving people means giving heat and warmth.

Hm. Maybe he should have her jacket too.

Bigger Bat is fending for himself in doing job things. Bigger Bird is doing day work in his very far, very smelly city. Baby Bat already likes lying to Bigger Bat for fun.

All Cass has to do is take Peter into the car with her.

…With Alfred.

Cass is very gentle with Peter. He’s strong and he’s healed and she doesn’t have to be gentle, but Bigger Bat is always gentle with Cass even though he doesn’t have to be too. She takes Peter’s hand to walk him downstairs for fear that he won’t come after her if she doesn’t. They slip through the long halls and heavy doors of Cass’s new nest on socked feet.

Alfred is already at the door when Cass and Peter get there. When Cass puts herself between Alfred and Peter, it’s almost unconscious.

Alfred looks up.

Alfred looks down.

He does not look…surprised.

“I had thought Cass was hiding a cat,” Alfred signs, slowly and precisely, as he always does.

“P-e-t-e-r,” Cass fingerspells instead. She tries not to look sheepish. She is doing a good thing. She doesn’t have to be shy about it.

“Indeed. To the car?” Alfred signs, and speaks, in case Peter doesn’t understand ASL.

Peter doesn’t sign back; but still, he’s pliable. Cass guides him into the car, and he buckles himself in.

They go to dance.

Peter doesn’t dance, but that’s okay; Alfred is clear with his words and tone that say Leave him alone and Be nice at the same time, and all the same ballerinas who had watched Cass be tossed with envy are careful and quiet with him.

The music plays. A dozen feet fall on the same beat, and Cass dances.

Arms. Legs. Bend. Twirl. Dip, and bend. Turn. Angle her head, just so, so that Cass can watch Peter without breaking the line of perfectly organized dancers.

Peter watches, legs crossed, knees up to his chin.

The lessons end, and the ballerinas leave— kindly waving to Cass, to Peter, with shy shoulders and soft-spoken concern. They’re nice. Cass loves dance-partners. They mean as much to her as fight-partners ever could.

The ballerinas leave. The teacher, in her black leotard and taut leggings, leaves.

Cass doesn’t leave. The floors smell like wood and wax. There’s the smell of sweat and emotion in the air. The mirror is the only cool part of the humid, sweaty room. Cass, not Batgirl and yet in a black bodysuit, sits beside Peter.

Peter says nothing.

Cass says nothing.

…Cass holds out a hand.

Peter. Looks at it. He isn’t sure he wants to take it, she can tell— knows what it’s for, but doesn’t have the energy to do anything about the gesture.

“Please,” Cass asks. Animals that do not move are doomed to die.

Her spider sees the expression on her face. His own falters because of it.

His grip is hesitant, but Cass is certain. She hauls him to his feet and puts them in pose: their fingers entwined, his palms to her, her body to his, her cheek to his collarbone.

For a moment, they just breathe, in silent embrace.

And then Cass moves, and Peter moves with her, two minds and one body.

Peter only follows old memories at first; muscle memory works to keep his body upright, to bend and to hold her, to keep Cass steady and sure.

But Cass knows what’s going to happen before it happens; her spider is a creature of movement, just like her.

Slowly, as she spins, as he follows, his eyes soften. His practiced care becomes intentional. Then it becomes artistic, and Peter joins her in the music.

The girl who wears Batgirl’s skin and a spider boy dance in an empty studio, arm in arm, dancing to music she has heard in her dreams. Their footsteps are a whisper of an echo against the plaster walls and glass mirror around them. Cass can see their reflections when she’s angled to— in the sunset angling through the windows, they are little more than the shadows they pretend to be.

She isn’t surprised when Peter lifts her— she knows he knows she likes it— but the relief that Peter feels safe enough to play a little makes her laugh. Openly. Loudly.

Peter’s eyes go wide with awe.

Cass can’t help but adore him for it.

He slowly lets her down. He doesn’t let go of her.

It’s good that he doesn’t. She wants to (and she does) angle Peter’s head down, until she can press a kiss to his curls. She pulls him in close and he comes to her.

Tears find Cass’s shirt. She welcomes them as long as Peter needs to cry them.

“T-they’re,” Peter hiccups, too close to her to sign. “They’re gone. Everyone’s gone. My aunt, my friends, my…my team, my uncle.”

Cass knew some of that. Not the details. Her arms circle around him so she can pull him tighter. “I’m here,” Cass whispers.

There’s a sob against her chest. “What do I do? Where do I go from here? Everyone’s…”

“I’m here,” Cass whispers again, because it’s the truth. “Let me…help. Brothers help. Dad helps.”

“They’re not…” Peter grips her back— careful not to crush her, not like Cass had hurt him days before. “They’re your family. Not mine.”

Cass clicks her tongue. That can easily change. Once upon a time, the Bat hadn’t been her parent either. Now she has two-and-more brothers and parent and a purple friend and an Alfred. “Can share.” And then, because she means it: “Stupid.” She bonks her head down onto his. Peter’s laugh is watery, but it’s bright.

Cass carries Peter to the car this time. He almost smiles.

(Alfred does.)

“I hope you understand that this does require you to be at dinner, young Masters,” Alfred says, signing the gist to Cass as they go. Cass catches most of it, though his white gloves make it hard to tell where Alfred’s fingers are.

Cass sticks out her tongue. Peter splutters, wide-eyed.

(They trade the sight of pink tongues all the ride home.)

(Alfred pretends not to see them, but Cass catches his smile in the mirror at odd glances.) 

[fakeshibe]

the internet is so overtly hostile to kids and young people. commercialisation and profit margins killed off the places younger kids were safe and welcome to be in, creeps and those seeking to goad people towards extremism took over those spaces designated for teens.

There is no safe place. Every time i see a 14 year old on twitter, I see them being told to get off the platform. It’s not safe, it’s not for you. And that’s entirely correct, twitter is not a safe place for a 14 year old, but where is? Tumblr? not really. Club penguin? it’s dead. Community forums? not really a thing anymore. Discord? not without that teen being very aware of their safety and how to look after themselves, at which point they may as well have stuck to twitter.

Like it or not, it’s the job of every single one of us to make a space that is safe for teens. Doesn’t mean you have to be kid friendly, just means you need to take reasonable precautions that your not-kid-friendly content stays in your space, that they can’t accidentally come across it. Content warnings, censoring/spoilering posts, possibly avoiding the main tags for a thing if that topic is child friendly and your art is not. stuff like that. Like if young people are likely to search for stuff like lego, maybe don’t put your nsfw bionicle ship art into the general lego tag, stuff like that.

It’s your job to keep an eye out for your fellow humans. If you see a young person they you know displaying signs that they’re possibly being harassed/groomed/generally made uncomfortable/not doing well, make sure they have a safe person to speak to. You don’t have to be that safe person, you just need to make sure there’s someone who can listen to them.

If you see a kid doing something they really shouldn’t be, it’s on you to explain why they shouldn’t be doing that. Don’t berate them, don’t attack them for it. Explain, help them to understand why that’s concerning to you. We all know internet safety classes in schools are pretty rubbish, usually super outdated. I did a child safety course like two years ago that still included tips on building a safe myspace page. School isn’t going to teach kids about the immediate issues on todays internet, it’s on the community around them to guide them and look out for them.

Also playground humour is fine, just be aware when you’re joining in to not take it too far or make it weird. And bear in mind that even just by virtue of being a couple of years older than whatever young person you’re talking to, there’s a power imbalance in that conversation. Don’t encourage playground humour to the point of making it an entirely inappropriate topic. Your the one guiding this conversation, steer it in the right direction.

And if you see someone being weird towards any minor, wether you know them or not, call that shit out. Let it be known that someone is keeping an eye out, let that kid know that they’re welcome and they’re looked out for. Let that creep know that people see them, and people are very, very aware of what they’re doing. Make them feel unwelcome, run them out of your spaces, spread awareness of risky people. Keep your spaces safe.

This is all especially as important as IRL spaces become more hostile to potentially vulnerable young people. Queer teens especially are going to be looking for community and safety online more and more frequently. Make sure that the places they find will be a respite from the real world, not just a different set of threats to navigate.

Make sure young people feel safe on the internet, and make sure that those looking to take advantage of their presence, don’t.

Why am i writing all this? I’ve seen too many posts about people’s experiences as a young person online, and i talked to my brother the other day about him and his friend’s experiences and it’s terrifying that there’s really nowhere for young people to go. Also i’ve realised that i’m not doing enough to be part of the solution. so this is part of that, im gonna be far, far more aware of the issue and doing more to try and help.

[ghoulelegy]

A Ghoul's Sick Day

Summary :You wake up one morning feeling rather ill.

Pairing: Copia x Sick Reader

Words: 2222

Contains:

Comfort Gender-Neutral Reader Fluff Cuddling

Read A Ghoul's Sick Day on AO3 - If you prefer that.

Edit: so I am dumb and I couldn't figure out for the life of me how Tumblr works but credit goes out to @ghostussy for a major source of inspiration when it came to writing this fic. Please show them your love too <3

Meant to publish this earlier because I wrote this a while ago but editing my work took a whileeeeee - thank you for your patience <3

The blaring alarm pierced the sanctuary of sleep, yanking you from dreams that seemed to slip away like smoke. Clutching your head, you squinted at the digital numbers on your phone, plugged in to the outlet next to your bed, which is laying on your bedside table, struggling to make sense of their meaning through the haze of fatigue. Your bedroom remained dimly lit, the remnants of night clinging to the edges of the curtains. You'd called it an early night, seeking refuge in your dorm after an exhausting day of work.

Yet, as you pushed yourself to sit up, a realization dawned like a cold shower. A wave of nausea and fatigue had descended upon you the previous evening, rendering the simplest tasks a struggle. Your bones ached as though they'd been beaten, and your head throbbed with each heartbeat.

Fumbling for your glasses on the nightstand, you slid them onto your face, expecting the world to come into focus. Instead, you were met with a blur, the edges of your vision smudged and unfocused. Even the soft light filtering through the curtains felt like a searing stab, forcing you to squint and shield your eyes.

You sighed, propping yourself against the pillows, your thoughts tangled in a web of concerns. The day ahead promised a demanding schedule—classes, music practice, dinner duty, and library work. Your mind raced, thoughts colliding like stormy waves in the vast sea of responsibilities. A pang of dread nestled itself in your chest, coiling like a serpent. The urge to retreat back under the covers was strong, but the echoes of expectations and commitments held you captive.

As you stood, the room swayed slightly, the ground beneath your feet feeling more like a ship's deck in a storm. Each step required a conscious effort, as if gravity itself had conspired against you. With painstaking determination, you moved towards the bathroom mirror. A face stared back at you, the reflection drawn and weary. Dark circles marred the skin beneath your eyes, despite the early bedtime you put yourself through the day before.

A mental checklist formed, a reminder of all the tasks that lay ahead. But first, you needed to combat this relentless headache. You reached for the painkillers, hoping they'd provide a brief respite from the throbbing torment. The duo of pills slipped down your throat, followed by a quick gulp of water from your bottle - a bitter reminder of your body's protest against its own demands.

In your university attire - an oversized hoodie, worn black jeans, sneakers—you slung your backpack over your shoulder. The weight felt heavier today, each strap a reminder of the commitments you had to fulfill. You pushed open the door of your dorm, stepping into the common area of the ghouls, your fellow dorm mates. Laughter echoed, a stark contrast to the turmoil within you.

The hallway beckoned, a corridor of decisions and responsibilities. Yet, fate had its own plans, for as you turned the corner, you collided with none other than Copia, the enigmatic lead singer of the Ghost Project – and its frontman.

"Morning, Papa, I'm off for the day," you greeted him, though the words wavered slightly.

His dark eyes, framed by his unique presence, scanned you with concern. "Mio Dolce," he responded, his voice holding a touch of warmth and inquiry. "Sathanas, you don't look too good."

You smiled, the expression an attempt to reassure both him and you "I'm fine, papa," you claimed, though even behind the glasses, he could likely sense the discomfort that painted your features.

His eyebrow arched, skepticism lacing his gaze. "You sure about that?"

"Of course," you replied, your conviction wavering as his gaze held steady.

In the midst of your exchange, a notification chimed on your phone. The class you dreaded facing had been cancelled, granting you a temporary reprieve. Copia's lips curved into a faint smile. "Good. You can go rest. You seem like you need it."

You hesitated, your fingers toying with the strap of your backpack. Guilt whispered in your ear, reminding you of all that remained to be done. Yet, Copia's concern was genuine, his insight piercing through the facade you'd built.

“No, no, it’s okay, I’ll get some work done since I’m up I suppose”

His voice held a note of finality. "Try again. You don't look good."

This time, you nodded, surrendering to the truth you'd been reluctant to admit even to yourself. The unspoken weight of expectations, both your own and those of others, settled heavily on your shoulders.

"Fine" you replied.

"Good. Feel better soon, mio dolce"

"Thanks, Papa"

You head back to your room, and collapse on your bed. You haven’t bothered making it this morning. A wave of nausea enthralls your entire body once again, forcing you to bury your head into your soft pillow in an attempt to quench the sickness.

Your thoughts whirl, you feel guilty for resting. You just can't get your head to shut up. You were still rather new to the ministry, and rather terrified of disappointing any of the staff members, especially since they took you in. You see them as family.

"Ah fuck this shit. I'm fine" you talk to yourself, a habit you’ve picked up as a child and carried into your older years. You forcibly prop yourself up again and head off to the library to get some work done, and to return a book you had borrowed the week before – a book on mushroom spotting and fungi. Your head still throbs, but the painkillers eased the pain slightly.

As you approach the library, you’re struck with the sudden remembrance of a commitment - you need to do some sorting and book counting, an assignment given to you by the head librarian the day before. As a university student, you often found yourself curled up in the library researching on whatever topic intrigues you, or strange information that is needed for your coursework. The library at the ministry was quite smaller than the one on the University Campus, but it had some works that were a rarity, it was also much quieter, allowing you to focus more. The head librarian was none other than Sister Claire – one of the older Siblings. She’d allowed you to sometimes work as an assistant librarian when you weren’t too busy. It was nice work, flexible and allowed you to get some extra pocket money. She assigned you to finish stacking some books while she wasn’t there, she was gone for a couple of days. Trip or something.

A couple of hours of you stacking and organising books goes by. You notice more nausea every time you get up from a kneeling position and vice versa. You don't care.

As the early afternoon sun filtered through the windows, your fingers finally set the last book in place on the shelf. Despite the sense of accomplishment, weariness weighed heavily on your bones. Your head throbbed in an unrelenting rhythm, each pulse a reminder of your body's protests. The lyrics of 'Square Hammer' seemed to echo in your mind, a fitting soundtrack to your pounding headache. With a resigned sigh, you recognized that the painkillers had lost their battle against the relentless ache. You pressed a hand to your temple, a feeble attempt to quell the growing nausea that threatened to engulf you."

You open the door out of the library when you come face to face with Copia once more.

"What are you doing here, Mio Caro? Weren't you supposed to be resting?"

"Oh..uh I had to return a book" *it was technically the truth*

"Were you working here all morning?"

"No"

"I came in the ghouls' common room to check in on you just now. You weren't in your room. Swiss told me you were out for most of the morning" he sighs, as he places his thumb and index finger on his forehead.

"Please...rest" Copia continues "you look like you're going to collapse."

"What--no I'm not. You don't need to worry" *a wave of dizziness and nausea hit you right as you say that*

"You're taking the rest of the day off. That is an order" Copia says, a hint of sternness in his voice.

"...fine.."

"I'll call Sister to tell her that you're unwell, and you can spend the rest of the day with me. Resting.

"Y-you don't have to do that" you shuffle out those words, feeling guilty for taking up space.

"Nonsense, Tesoro."

He took you to your room, waiting for you outside your bathroom while you change into your fluffy pyjamas. You walk outside into your dorm, surprised to see him holding a one-metre-long stuffed shark in his arms.

"This is your favourite plushie right?" He asks, his eyes gently gliding over yours.

"Yeah. How did you know?" You let out a chuckle, before losing focus due to yet another wave of vertigo hitting you.

"You told me, Caro."

"Did I?" You choke out, surprised he remembers these little details about you.

"You remembered"

"Of course, I did, Caro. I care about you, you're one of our ghouls."

He leads you to his chambers, holding your arm in case you collapse, while you're holding your Blåhaj in your other arm.

"You don't think I'm weird or childish?" You ask.

"Nonsense. If it brings you comfort and you're not hurting anyone or yourself, why should I think you're weird?" he chuckles as he leads you in his chambers.

Immediately you were struck by the cocooning feeling of comfort, a gentle light dancing from the window onto the bed. There was a television facing the bed, next to the door you had just entered from. You notice yourself holding in a bit of a giggle as you notice Copia’s beloved tricycle.

"Bed or couch? What do you prefer?" He inquired.

"Umm.."

"Bed it is, it's more comfortable. Trust me on this, Caro"

He gently leads you on the king-sized bed, propping your head up with soft pillows and ploughing a blanket on top of you. You snuggle into a fetal position, holding your stuffed shark. He brings you a glass of water and some more painkillers.

Upon you taking the water and medicine you drop your Blåhaj.

"Nooo! Sharky!" you whine, grabby hands towards the shark.

"You named it Sharky? That's cute" he speaks, as he picks up the shark and gives it back to you.

"Do you want to watch a movie? Maybe something that brings you comfort?"

"Sure?"

He lets you pick a DVD of your choosing, before propping it into the DVD player. You pick your childhood favourite.

"Our technology is a bit ancient here" he chuckles "sorry about that”.

"It's fine, papa" you smile. In all honesty it brings you comfort and nostalgia for your childhood days, when your mother used to leave you at your grandparents when you were ill.

Papa takes a seat next to you, laptop on him, typing next to you, while you watch the movie. Every once in a while he'd ask if you're feeling okay still.

Halfway through the movie you feel your eyelids getting heavy. Copia takes away his laptop and removes your glasses.

"Shhh it's okay, rest."

"Mmmm" you find yourself snuggling into Copia for warmth, before waking up. "Oh shit sorry Papa" you say, a wave of embarrassment further reddening your already flushed face.

"It's alright, Caro, you can snuggle with me all you want" he says as you rest your head on his shoulder “bring it in”.

Copia's touch was a symphony of reassurance, his fingers gliding with feather-light grace over your skin. As his arm curved around your shoulders, his palm settled gently against your upper arm, creating a cocoon of security. You could feel the warmth of his touch seeping into your bones, a soothing balm that eased the ache that had settled there.

His thumb brushed against the fabric of your pyjamas, a delicate, almost absentminded gesture that sent ripples of comfort through your senses. With a tender grace, his fingers traced gentle patterns, a silent lullaby against the canvas of your arm. The pad of his thumb brushed over your skin in languid strokes, creating a hypnotic rhythm that synced with the steady beat of your heart.

As the Blåhaj plushie nestled between you, Copia's touch remained a constant, grounding force. His fingertips brushed against the curve of your shoulder, a gesture that held both tenderness and protection. It was a touch that defied words, offering solace and support in its simplicity.

With every inhalation, his chest rose and fell against your head, the sensation a soothing cadence that lulled you into a sense of calm. His arm around you created a haven—a space where vulnerability was not met with judgment.

"You'll feel better in no time" Copia whispered to you gently, his tone taking an almost fatherly whisper.

As the room bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, the tactile connection between you and Copia transcended the physical. It was an exchange of comfort, of trust, of emotions that words could scarcely capture. And within the cradle of his embrace, you found a haven of acceptance, where the language of touch spoke louder than any explanation ever could. You found yourself drifting into sleep once more.

“Good night, ti amo.”

~ Fin ~