#yes i am angry about this. so very very angry

[omegaweiss01]

(MavuiTano Romantasy AU)

Mavuika was nervous.

She hadn't been truthful the entire time they were together, and honestly, it was ironic that the legendary Dragon Slayer, Thrain, even entered a relationship with her to begin with. Mavuika was a Dragonborn: specifically a wyrm who took the form of a human woman simply because she fell in love with a human man. Now, several months into their relationship, she worried that coming clean would ruin everything.

It took a lot to muster up the courage to confront him about it, and she hated interrupting his training, but it had to be said; otherwise, she felt she would only continue to live a lie. However, upon seeing him spar with a fellow soldier, she couldn’t help but watch him, captivated by the swift, fluid movements he made with each swing of his sword. They were calculated, precise; unbeknownst to the soldier he was sparring with, Thrain was also honing his skills with ice magic as well. Mavuika could see the frost form briefly on his and his opponent's blades, but it melted away just as quickly as it formed.

Mavuika gulped. It was no wonder Thrain took down the evil Death Tyrant, Ronova in one fell swoop.

Thrain disarmed his opponent and knocked him to the ground, aiming his sword at his sparring partner's throat. "Disappointing. You're much more capable than that," he scolded, relinquishing his blade and sheathing it. He held a hand out and helped his opponent up, who looked dejected that they had disappointed their beloved Commander so badly. Thrain then offered him a few kinder words to cheer him up and sent him on his way.

Thrain noticed Mavuika standing there, a worried look on her face. Without any explanation to his men, he went to her, a sense of anxiety bubbling in his gut. "Is everything alright?" He asked.

Mavuika gazed up at him. "Oh, no...everything is fine but..." she sighed, averting her gaze. "Can I...talk to you in private?"

Thrain turned to glance back at his men and silently signal to them that he'd be back. They gave him a collective nod and he turned back around to quietly guide Mavuika back through the stony castle walls. He kept a stoic expression, but deep down, he was worried for many things. Had Mavuika finally figured out his identity as the legendary Dragon Slayer? Did she want to call off everything because of it? And, if it really was that, would she be angry with him enough to send a legion of dragons to slaughter him and his people? He couldn’t defend his people against an entire legion. Ronova was just one dragon, after all, and he killed her in her lair.

The two finally reached a garden on the far end of the castle walls, far from the ears of any nosy maids or soldiers. Thrain took Mavuika's hand. "What ails you?" He asked softly.

Mavuika swallowed the lump forming in her throat. "So...um...would..would you still love me if I were a wyrm?"

Thrain raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, confused. Mavuika blushed, embarrassed. "N-not like an earthworm! I mean...the type of dragon. A wyrm. Because I...I am one...."

It had dawned on him, at that very moment, that Mavuika knew all along that he was the legendary slayer of her kin, and yet...

He laughed.

"Oh, my dear, I swear I'm not laughing at you. I've known this all along. Is this what had you worried?" He inquired.

His hold on her hand did not falter. Mavuika noted this and nodded silently. Thrain embraced her, still chuckling heartily. "Of course. As I said before, I've known your draconic origins all along, so the answer you seek is a resounding yes."

Mavuika finally embraced him back, feeling the weight lift off her shoulders. But then, the thought occurred to her: how did he know? She pulled away briefly. "I thought my form was flawless," she murmured.

Thrain kissed her. "Being subtle isn't your strong suit, dear," he whispered softly.

Mavuika huffed. "What's that supposed to mean?" She questioned, sounding slightly offended.

Thrain couldn't help but be amused by her reaction. "When you trusted me enough to take me to your home, it occurred to me then when I saw your cave full of riches beyond mortal comprehension that you were a dragon. But then, the idea was solidified when you cursed at a thief on the street in Dragontongue-"

Mavuika pulled away and waved her hands, embarrassed even further. "Okay, okay, I get it!" She was blushing, her face nearly as crimson as her long, wavy hair.

Thrain never once let go of her hand. He brought it up his face and kissed it gently. Mavuika smiled, elated that the air had been cleared between them; that he was willing to accept her for who-and what-she is.

But then his next question made her smile falter.

"How did you know I was the legendary Dragon Slayer?"

Mavuika pulled her hand away, averting her gaze. "I was there when you slayed Ronova. She um...she was going to eat me right when you came along...she and I had a bet, and I lost. The price was my life," she explained. "Wyrms are often the prey to dragons, as they're the bigger and more intelligent ones of all of dragonkind. That said, I lost...but you saved me."

Thrain cupped her face in his hands. There was obvious discomfort in her eyes. Mavuika met his gaze. "You were injured though. Ronova almost killed you."

Thrain remembered that night vividly. Ronova had terrorized his people for eons until he had honed his skills enough to track her down and slay her. She was the strongest opponent he had ever faced, and despite being wounded badly, he still managed to deliver the finishing blow. He hardly noticed the smaller, wingless wyrm huddled in a dark corner of the cave. He always wondered how he survived that night. "You saved me, didn't you?" His question was more of a confirmation, as he had just realized it himself.

Mavuika nodded. "I was scared of you, but I couldn't exactly let you die, either, so I assumed the form you see now and uh...bit you. My fangs injection venom," she pulled her lips back to show him her slightly elongated fangs. "But the venom I injected also has healing properties if I allow it. I learned that night that the ice magic in your body really does not like wyrm venom."

Thrain touched his neck, where he had a barely visible bite scar. "Ronova's claws cut deep; I bled out pretty quickly. I vaguely remember being in pain...but then, nothing. I awoke sometime later in the village down the mountain," he sighed, his gaze shifting toward her. "They said my wounds had been healing for several days by the time I was brought in."

"Three days and nights. You were running a horrendous fever from the reaction between your ice magic and my venom, and for a while you were thrashing about in agony too. I had no idea how to ease your suffering, and even contemplated putting you out of your misery, but...I suppose, I just wanted to even the score, but then you were all I was ever thinking about after, so..."

Thrain nodded. "You had been following me for quite some time before I finally decided to invite you to walk with me," he added, as if remembering that very moment fondly. "How awkward you were. It was...cute."

Mavuika waved her hands, embarrassed once more. "I'm far from cute in my dragon form!"

Thrain hugged her once more, kissing her forehead. "Love, I think I would find any form you took cute, be you earthworm or not," he assured. Mavuika buried her face in his chest, hiding her embarrassment. "You're the cute one..." she argued quietly.

He chuckled. "I love you," he murmured in her ear.

Mavuika inhaled deeply, taking in his scent. She exhaled slowly, lifting her gaze to meet his once more. "I love you too," she murmured back.

In the next moment, they shared a kiss that felt very different from the others. It held more passion, more promise; like a silent pledge to one another for the rest of eternity. Dragons and humans mingling was taboo in some areas of the world, but neither cared at this point. To Mavuika, Thrain was her fated mate, and Dragonborn only ever mate with one other being for the rest of their long lives. She acknowledged his humanity, his mortality, and with her kiss, she pledged to die alongside him should he go before her.

Thrain, the mighty, legendary Dragon Slayer, Duke of a small patch of territory at the base of The Great Tree of Teyvat, pledged to love this woman for the rest of his days. He would have no other, and he swore to cut down any who dared threaten her. He was certain, however, that he wouldn't need to do much.

Mavuika was a wyrm, after all.

(God, I'm so sorry if this is horribly written. I am not confident in my writing skills at all. But hey...MavuiTano, anyone?)

"Sorry, I didn’t make myself clear. I wasn’t asking ‘Would you still love me if I were a worm?’ What I meant to say is ‘Would you still love me if I were a WYRM.’ ...Because I am." "What?"

[mihanisms]

unraveled.

— caleb is a wolf, wild and angry and needing to devour everything in his path, but for you? he folds his ears back and cages his teeth behind bitten lips.

— puppy play, use of "ma'am / mistress" as a title, edging, mindbreak, footjob, dry humping, body worship. mean-ish femdom tease reader / manipulative forced sub caleb kinda but you are both #CRAZY so it does not matter. this is very different from what i usually write about i triiiieeeeed 💔

Never could you have imagined your childhood best friend—your Caleb—reduced to this. Bent low, rutting against your foot, eyes glistening with unshed tears as he clings to you like a man drowning. His breath hitches, every exhale a shaky plea and every syllable strung tight with desperation.

"Ma’am, please," he whines, voice frayed at the edges. "Mercy, just a little- I’m-"

He’s been begging for so long now, left to suffer under the slow, unbearable grind of your foot against his cock. The flimsy grey shorts he wears do nothing to hide the outline of his length and how it throbs beneath your touch. There’s a dark, wet patch on the fabric where his precum is seeping through, proof of just how far you’ve pushed him.

He swallows hard, throat working against the sob lodged inside. "I’ll be good," he tries. "The best puppy there is. Just-" A shudder rolls through him, knocking the breath from his lungs. "Please?"

Shame burns high on Caleb’s cheeks, but his body betrays him. His thighs are quivering, his hips twitching—helpless, needy and grinding forward like he has no control over himself. He’s trembling, panting through parted lips, desperate sounds spilling free before he can even think to swallow them down.

"Anything," he chokes out. "I’ll give anything, take anything—just, please."

Oh, you know that. You know how much he’ll endure, how much he’ll let you bend him before he breaks. He would lose himself for you. He would trade his dignity, his sanity, just for the promise of more. If only you’d let him. If only you’d be generous. If only-

But you wait.

You watch.

Every second stretches, thick and unbearable, and you see him fraying at the seams. His breath hitches and his fingers twitch, clawing at nothing. His muscles are locked up, fighting the desperate urge to reach, to take, to claim. But he wouldn’t. Not without your approval.

Caleb’s body moves before his mind catches up, swaying forward, drawn to you like a moth to a flame, aching for the warmth he knows only you can grant him. But just before he crosses that line—just before he dares, you move first.

Your reach for him, your fingers delicately tracing the outline of his jaw. He goes rigid, a sharp gasp caught in his lungs. And then, like instinct, like worship—he nuzzles into your touch, breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

"You’re shaking," you murmur, thumbing over his flushed cheek. A slow, amused smile tugs at your lips. "Are you really this desperate, Caleb?"

His head jerks in a frantic nod, a strangled noise rising from his throat. His pupils are blown wide and his breath comes in short, uneven bursts. "I am, yes, I am-”

Your fingers drift lower, ghosting down his throat, his adam’s apple bobbing beneath your touch. His pulse is hammering under his skin and his body burning up, melting into every bit of contact like he’d fall apart without it. And he would fall apart without it.

But then—

You pull away.

His reaction is instant. He jerks forward before he can stop himself, a strangled whimper escaping before he can bite it back. But he stops himself right before he touches you, instinct warring with obedience. He knows better than to take without being given.

And that control—his restraint, more than anything, is what keeps you entertained. The sight of the Colonel, wrecked and on the verge of breaking, sends a thrill curling through your body. Yet you only hum, sighing as if you were bored, as if his suffering wasn’t the most intoxicating sight you’ve ever witnessed.

The heat simmering in you darkens, twisting into something deeper, something dangerous for the both of you. A morbid curiosity forms: just how far could you push him before he snaps?

"So…" you muse, tilting your head, feigning thoughtfulness. "You’ll take whatever I give you?"

"Anything, ma’am," he replies without hesitation.

Amused, you chuckle softly, tilting your head as if considering it. Here he is, hanging off your every word, completely at your mercy, willing to do anything for just a sliver of your attention. And just when his breath catches, just when he’s right on the edge of breaking-

You lean in.

Leaning closer, you drink in the sight of him—the unraveling need, the way his chest rises and falls in shallow bursts. You draw a gasp from his throat as your breath ghosts over his skin, his lashes fluttering, lips parting on instinct.

"Reward?" your voice is velvet and steel, soothing and binding him all at once. "And what, exactly, does my good boy think he deserves?"

He stills. You see the moment the question sinks in, the way his mind races to find the right answer, the answer that will please you most. His whole body locks up, his hips stopping, his movements going rigid with obedience. "I want- Please let me- Please let me get off to you, Ma’am- Please, please, I- I've been so good, haven’t I?"

To punctuate the plea, he shifts closer, tilting his head slightly to bare his throat, showing you the claim you left on his shoulder earlier. On his skin is a deep red hickey, an unspoken declaration of ownership. A mark of your control. Of what he lets you, and only you do to him. 

Your breath catches, your grip on his chin tightening. Your playful edge dulls into something sharper, something darker—something that twists in your gut, matching the raw, helpless hunger gripping his body.

"And how," you murmur, thumb tracing his lower lip, "does my puppy want to get off?"

His breath stutters.

He knows you know what he wants, knows you’re forcing him to say it. Knows you won’t make this easy for him.

Frustration flashes in his eyes, but he swallows it down, schooling his features into something softer, something needier. Something he knows you won’t be able to resist. A few more pathetic gasps spill past his lips, each one measured to push you closer to giving him what he’s been begging for. His voice trembles, perfectly frayed at the edges, knowing that this will be the undoing for you both.

"Please, I want- I want to rub myself against my mistress’s panties…?"

The hesitation in his words is deliberate, the breathy edge to his voice sharpened just enough to slice through your restraint. He tilts his head just a tad more, the mark on his neck like an offering, his lashes fluttering to give off the look of being lost in submission. 

He’s waiting. Waiting for you to give in.

Yet it’s only thick, unbearable silence that stretches between you once more, suffocating his patience.

His cock twitches at the suspension, a sharp pulse of need that sends heat curling down his spine. Every second you make him wait is agony, his body screaming at him to move. His instincts beg him to take, to claim, to fucking have you.

But he doesn’t.

He kneels. He obeys. He waits.

And fuck, if he weren’t so well-trained, he would’ve already had you under him. Would’ve already-

But he doesn’t. He stays still. He bows his head, pressing his forehead to your knee like a supplicant at an altar, forcing himself into the shape you’ve carved him into.

He chooses to be good.

And that is the thrill of it all.

Entertained, your fingers drift along his jaw, barely there. He exhales sharply, his whole body shuddering under your touch. “Hm… is that really what you want, puppy?”

"Yes," he whines��too fast, too eager, and too fucking wrecked to care.

You drag it out, humming, letting the tension coil tighter. “Or, is that what you think I want to hear?”

He stills. And for the briefest second, you see it—the flicker of a dangerous, untamed wolf.

And then just as quickly, he swallows it down. Shoves it away. Forces himself to be what you’ve trained him to be. To what he’s trained himself to be.

But you see it.

And you want it.

So you smile—slow, sharp—and lean in again. Close enough that he freezes. Close enough that your breath grazes his lips, close enough that his whole body locks in anticipation-

And then, you pull away.

The sound he makes is devastating. A raw, half-snarl, half-plea, his fingers digging into his thighs, fighting not to just break.

You coo at his display, your voice syrupy-sweet. “Such a good boy,” you purr, watching him shiver from the praise and restraint. “Holding yourself back so well.”

He clenches his jaw, his shoulders wound as tight as a bowstring. He knows you’re toying with him. Knows you want him to snap.

And god, he wants to. If only he were to tear through the last fraying threads of control. To devour you whole.

But before he can spiral further, you give him relief. He chokes on a gasp as your foot presses down harder against his cock, the pressure forcing his back to arch, his body keeling over and his chin dropping onto your knee. Any words he tries to form dissolve into moans, ragged and broken, as you slip your foot beneath his waistband, rubbing him through his boxers.

His fingers dig harshly into his thighs, blunt nails leaving half-moon crescents in his skin. But it’s the only thing keeping him from losing himself completely. His breath is shallow and unsteady, his whole body trembling, every fiber of him clenched, drawn so tight you can almost hear the tension hum.

You press again, and a strangled sob is torn from his throat as he lurches forward, too overwhelmed to keep himself upright. His forehead presses into your thigh, letting out short, desperate gasps against your skin. The scent of his need clings to the air, thick and intoxicating, and you inhale slowly, savoring the way he crumbles beneath you.

“Oh, look at you,” you murmur, amusement laced with control. “Just falling apart.”

“Poor puppy.” You shift your foot, just enough to make him jolt, to draw out a broken whimper. His thighs clench, his hips jerking helplessly into the teasing press of your sole. You watch his face contort, his jaw tightening, failing to hold onto the last scraps of his composure. As if he isn’t already beyond salvation.

“You’re drooling, Caleb.” Your voice is almost pitying, as if you don’t revel in the way his resolve is splintering.

It’s unbearable. You’re unbearable.

And you know it.

He lets out an unintelligible sound, and your foot presses down harder, sending him keening. His body jerks and ruts into the pressure, his boxers damp and clinging to his cock.

He’s panting, his whole body trembling, and yet still—still, he waits for you to let him fall.

“Please, Ma’am,” he chokes out, voice cracked and thin. His fists clench, the last of his restraint hanging by a thread. “I can’t- I need-”

You tilt his head back with a slow tug of his hair, drinking in the sight of him—his glassy, ruined eyes, the flush burning up his throat, the raw, hopeless hunger etched into his face.

And then you sigh. Soft. Dismissive.

Caleb flinches.

“Hm. And here I thought you were my good boy.” Your nails scrape lightly against his scalp, a ghost of affection before your grip tightens, forcing his head still. “But look at you. Making such a mess. Being so sloppy.”

Panic quickly overtakes his dazed expression. “No, no, I-” His throat bobs as he swallows, hard. “I am good, I swear, I-”

“Are you?” Your voice is measured, cool, watching the way he twists in the silence, watching how his desperation coils tighter at the lingering disappointment in your tone.

He hates this.

Hates when you doubt him.

Hates being anything less than perfect for you

His lips part, searching, pleading. “Please,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “Please let me prove it.”

And that’s what you were waiting for. That’s why you let him dangle, why you let him crack without letting him shatter.

Because now, he’s exactly where you want him.

Desperate. Submissive. Willing to do anything.

And that—that is what you wanted.

Your fingers ease, smoothing over his cheek, and the sheer relief in his expression sends a thrill to your core. You tilt your head, letting a slow, satisfied smile spread across your lips as you revel in the moment. His desperate need is palpable, and you want to draw it out, savor it.

“If you want to prove it,” you hum, dragging your foot away, “then show me.”

Caleb's eyes widen, a flash of excitement breaking through his haze of desperation. You lean back slightly, letting your foot slip off his cock, and that’s the only cue he needs—he scrambles off the floor, caging you between your arms as he shifts closer, pressing his body against yours.

You’re trapped beneath his figure, his weight pressing you into the mattress, yet the desire in his eyes doesn’t phase you. No, not one bit. Not when your hunger matches his, pulse for pulse, breath for breath.

A shudder rips through him as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, breath hot and uneven, tinged with reverence. His body is flush against yours, muscles trembling as he fights to pace himself, to stray from losing control the second he finally has you beneath him.

"Thank you," he whimpers, a prayer against your skin. His lips brush over your pulse, lingering just enough to make you shiver. "Thank you, Ma’am."

His shorts and boxers are discarded to a far corner of the room, leaving him bare against you, his cock pressed flush to the cool silk of your lingerie. Precum smears across the fabric, darkening it with every shallow grind of his hips. The friction is light, teasing—but even that has him shaking. His fingers fist the sheets, muscles locking as he bars himself from losing himself too quickly.

You feel his restraint in every shuddering breath, every stifled moan, the way he fights to take only what he’s given. His forehead rests against yours, your breaths mingling, desire spilling from his parted lips as he moves again, pressing himself against you.

"I-" His voice is wrecked, thick with pleasure and gratitude. His hips roll again, slow, deliberate, rubbing himself against the soft lace stretched over your cunt. He chases your heat like it’s the only thing keeping him sane, savoring every inch of contact. "Feels so good-"

Your fingers trace a slow path down his side, and he whimpers. Even with his body caging yours, it feels like you’re the one pulling the leash wrapped tight around his neck.

"Puppy…you like this, don’t you?" The question is smooth. Knowing.

His whole body jolts, rhythm faltering as another wave of pleasure wracks through him. The words spill from him instantly, raw and full of desire. "Yes, fuck- I do, Ma’am-" His grip on the sheets tighten, his knuckles turning white from the sheer effort of holding himself together, to not fuck into you, to not rip off your panties and sink into your tight heat.

A hot rush of tears gathers in his eyes, his mind spinning further into need. His body moves on its own, grinding deeper, chasing anything that will push him over the edge. His fingers dig into your waist, pulling you closer, as if that will save him.

His pupils are blown wide, the wildness in his gaze unmistakable. He’s right there, teetering, ready to break.

But you don’t move. You let him unravel, let him drown. Every shudder, every desperate twitch, every broken sound is for you. And he knows it.

"Ma’am," he whines, his voice cracking as his rhythm stutters. “I want to- I want to- Please let me-”

Your body responds, heat coiling tight as his breath hitches against you. "Good boy," you murmur, and the way he shudders at the praise sends a sharp pulse of desire straight to your core. “Hm…is my puppy gonna cum so fast?”

“I am,” he cries, a fervent mantra that spills from his lips, hips rocking in that shaky rhythm as he feels you overtake his senses. “Can- May I?”

You hum, dragging your nails down his back, feeling the way his muscles jerk beneath your touch. His breath hitches, a broken moan slipping free, his entire body locked tight with need.

"You may," you purr, your voice dripping with satisfaction. "If you can do it like a good boy—without making a mess."

A sob catches in his throat, his hips stuttering mid-grind as his mind scrambles to process the command. "I- I can, I will- fuck-" His fingers dig harder into your waist, his whole body trembling as he desperately chases his release without breaking the rules you've set.

Every motion is torturous, pleasure crackling through his nerves like a live wire. His cock throbs, aching as he ruts against the silk, the damp fabric dragging against his sensitive length in a way that has him pleading through the choked-off moans spilling past his lips.

"Ma’am, please, please-" His voice is thin, broken apart by desperate little hiccups of pleasure. "I‘m so close, fuck, so close, please-"

His entire face presses against yours, his damp lashes fluttering, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. His grip on the sheets is nearly murderous, his body thrumming with the promise of release.

And then—he breaks.

A strangled sob rips from his throat as his hips jerk forward, his cock pulsing against the silk, the sheer force of his orgasm wracking through him. His whole body tenses then trembles as he spills, soaking through the fabric, painting your lingerie with thick, hot spurts of cum. 

You decide to place a hand on the head of his cock, and he shatters all over again as you squeeze, hot tears flowing down his face as he’s sent careening into cloud 9. More cum shoots out of his cock, this time reaching your stomach and tits, your skin stained with his fluids.

His moans turn into soft whines, body twitching with aftershocks as he clings to you, burying his face against your neck, panting raggedly.

You let him catch his breath and settle for just a moment. Then—your fingers fist in his hair, yanking his head back to meet his bleary, wrecked gaze. He fucking yelps, his cheeks streaked with tears as he blubbers over his words.

“M-Miss, I- I-It’s hngh-! too- too good, I-I-” His voice is high, cracking between sobs as he trembles under your grasp. His body is still shuddering from the aftershocks, his cock still hard and throbbing against the soaked silk separating you.

You click your tongue, tilting your head as you drink in the flushed, ruined sight of him, struggling to piece himself together when you both know he's already fallen apart.

"Too good?" you echo, mock sympathy curling around the words. Your grip tightens, nails digging into his scalp just enough to make him wince. "You made such a mess. And here I was, thinking you could be good for me."

Caleb lets out a soft, broken whimper, the humiliation sparking something deeper in his dazed, pleasure-drunk mind. “I- I’m sorry, I…I can be good, I promise-  I-I’ll be better the next time-"

"Next time?" you repeat, your voice low and dangerous as you squeeze his cock again, enough to make him jolt, his body writhing from the overload of sensations. "Who says I'll let you have a next time?"

The words hang heavy between you, and Caleb’s eyes widen, a sob escaping him as he scrambles for your forgiveness. He shakes his head, pressing himself closer to you as if he can beg with his body as much as with his words. "No, no Miss- Please, I’m sorry! I’ll do better- I’ll be better, I can prove it to you-!"

Dread floods his already wrecked expression, his hands scrambling to grip at you—your wrists, your waist, anything he can reach as if holding onto you might keep you from slipping away. His words crumble into another sob as he buries his face against your neck, pressing frantic kisses to your skin between shaky pleas. "Please, Miss, I need you, I need to prove it to you, please don’t take it away from me-”

You tilt your head, watching him squirm beneath the weight of your words. Then, just as he opens his mouth to plead again, you drag your nails down his chest, slow and deliberate, making him shudder.

"Anything, huh?"

"Yes- Yes, Miss, anything," he gasps, nodding frantically. "Anything, anything- I’ll be your good boy, your good puppy. I’ll hold myself back, I will, I will-"

A slow, satisfied smirk tugs at your lips. Your grip in his hair tightens once more, pulling his head back further until his throat is bared to you, shaking and vulnerable.

"Then prove it, puppy," you purr, your breath ghosting over his skin. "Right now."

[cubur]

I’ve been seeing your art all around the internet and trying to find your page where you are active. I finally found your tumblr and was so happy until I saw the posts about your pet and how bad you are feeling. I just wanted to let you know that your art truly brings light into my life and even if you stop drawing it has forever impacted me. I wanted to say thank you and I hope you will return one day.

Hello！ Well, I probably haven't been around for 3 months. I've had the chance to read all the messages now… And I realize i've caused a lot of you to worry, so even though i can't answer each of you individually at this point, i thought you at least had the right to know what was going on.

Ok, when I lost my cat about 3 months ago, I lost many things along with it. I don't know if you guys noticed, but i'm not as active as i used to be. In fact, I can't even remember the last time i drew narusasu …it feels like i've forgotten how to. Honestly I never imagined this day would come… I mean… I don't know how this sounds to you guys, but i won't be able to be active on this account anymore even if i wanted to. I've been trying to hide it, but i've been having arguments with my family about my fan arts for the past year or so. No, not in the way you might think. It's just… maybe many of you won't understand, but my country is going through serious financial struggles, and unfortunately i no longer have the time to create art for free like i used to.

For over ten years, I've been making a living by drawing at my desk, creating things online, whether good or bad. But at some point it stopped making me happy, yes, and that's when I started drawing fanart. Believe or not, the sense of warmth and belonging I felt here was something i had never experienced anywhere else. Yes ofcourse I love Naruto and Sasuke, but the warmth I felt and the feeling of knowing that i wasn't alone was what truly brought me here. Some of you made me laugh, some of you made me cry, and some of you even made me really angry at times. But throughout my life, I've met very few people whom i truly felt close to, and one of them was someone i met thanks to this community. That's why I want to sincerely thank you all！If I've been fighting all this time, it's because I don't want to leave you all. But after a certain point, trying to manage both of my accounts actively caused me to spend extra energy mentally and even physically. So, in the end, I burned out.

Recently, every time I drew sns, i ended up arguing with my family, and it just made me feel like this was the place i should give up. Unfortunately, people can change when it comes to money and that's why I had to take a break.

If you ask where I am now and what I'm doing, i'm still doing one of the things i love, i mean drawing, but active and working on my other account, which is completely different from this one. I'm not planning on closing my account here yet, still have unfinished commissions, and just want to leave the door ajar in case i still have a chance to come back in the future. But still, if you were to ask my honest opinion, I would say don't get your hopes up too much…

No matter what, take care of yourselves guys！ Thank you��❤️

[thistlecatfics]

Omg nobody has asked for post Azkaban Sirius in therapy yet??? Well I am asking now!!

Haha no one asked because it’s a doozy!!! And I’ve been sitting on this for weeks, and I keep thinking about it and writing nothing. 

Here are some scattered thoughts (which obviously includes some discussion of suicidality and alcohol):

(also ugh sorry the formatting is getting messed up? oh well)

Safety

Assessing for suicidality which he’d probably feel super insulted by

EXCEPT also it’s nice to finally have a space to talk about those thoughts

My boy is definitely experiencing some SI, judged to be at low-to-moderate risk for attempting because of the protective factor (wants to live for Harry, will endure any suffering for Harry) mixed with the major risk factor (heavy substance use making impulsive behavior more likely) (and the fact that Grimmauld Place abounds with lethal means.)

He does not want to safety plan, and so we’d have to do some sneaky safety planning instead. 

Maybe he's self-harming too - I could imagine when he tries not to drink he ends up self-harming. Harm reduction around potential infection risk and monitoring for any escalation but also giving him so much nonjudgmental, non-freaking out support and understanding.

Alcohol (and other substances) 

Harm reduction - like please drink water, please eat, maybe no drinking before a certain time of day. What kind of deals can we make about that? Definitely no trying to tell him he CAN’T drink. That’s stupid, and he’d just stop going to therapy or just start lying. 

Psychoeducation - yes this is making your depression worse not better. This is the brain. This is alcohol. This is the impact. No, you are not special. Your brain reacts to alcohol just like everyone else’s, potentially with even more severe depressive impacts given we don’t know the long term implications of Azkaban. I’m not going to tell you to stop drinking but I’m also not going to join you in any fiction that this is making you feel better overall. 

Animal assisted therapy and getting the fuck out of the house

Buckbeak!!! Also other animals. Sirius is like the number one candidate for animal assisted therapy in my opinion. I have no specialized training in it, but I’d get some for him. 

Are there small ways he can leave the house? Balance safety and risk? What about even the roof? (Though obviously assess for suicidality in terms of encouraging rooftop jaunts.)

We’re working on finding small ways of accessing safety

Grounding in space and grounding in the body are both very unsafe!

If we’re going to engage in any form of grounding or mindfulness, I think it would be using the senses to notice Buckbeak (smell/sight/feel etc). 

If we can build some trust, I think somatic movement might help too though I can see him saying no to that at first. 

Using animagus form as a coping tool

Being a dog >>> killing yourself or drinking to the point of passing out. 

Sooo angry and resentful at the therapist - a safe place for those feelings

Depending on how much time we have, rupture and repair cycle with the therapist might be really healing.

He doesn’t have a lot of outlets for his anger (other than Snape’s occasional visits and depending on how you read his relationship with Remus potentially Remus too), and so being able to tolerate that anger in the therapeutic space would be really important – while also setting clear boundaries. (Personally, I welcome anger, but I have no tolerance for specific demeaning language or slurs directed at me. I’m not worried he’d do that, but I do think making that boundary clear can make it clear how much other behavior is ok in therapy. 

Harry as motivator

Motivator for living, motivator for participating in therapy

While he is stuck in the house, we are not doing any trauma processing. We’re just working on building some safety and coping skills and having a space to vent. We’re only getting into the past/family stuff if he wants to vent about something, but otherwise I’m not even prompting him to go in that direction at all. 

Maybeee we work on beliefs around usefulness and needing to be of service to justify his existence in the world! 

He’s going to believe James and Lily’s deaths were his fault, and I’m going to say they weren’t, and then I’m going to say we can disagree and that’s ok. 

Definitely the type of sessions where I need to lie down afterwards because of the sheer scale of unsaid but deeply felt pain.

[thevoidstaredback]

Danny and Damian never lost contact. They've been on good terms their whole lives, ignoring a period of 3 consecutive years where jealousy ran rampant between them. (Jason had been the one to put things right between the two, but they don't like all that alike, so how was he supposed to know they were siblings?)

Damian, texting Danny: The imbeciles are at it again

Danny: Who dropped the bomb this time?

Damian: Me

Danny: Really? What'd ya say?

Damian: I refuse to reveal my favorite sibling

Danny: *dwaaa gif* I'm your favorite sibling?! Dami!!! I'm honored!!!!

Damian: You can very quickly be demoted, dumbass

Danny: I felt that eye roll all the way over here

Danny: and watch your language!

Danny: Honestly, who taught you that

Damian: You did

Damian: And Todd

Danny: How is JJ?

Damian: Angry

Danny: Obviously. Besides that?

Damian: Still being affected by the Pit Rage

Danny: Figures

Danny: You can have fun with that

Danny: I ain't going near that

Danny: You ever gonna tell 'em about me?

Damian: Why would I? It's more entertaining to see them scrambling

Danny: Fair

Danny: When're you gonna visit next? Jazz misses you and Sam wants to talk about rich people problems

Damian: I don't know why you insist on staying in the Midwest. Come to Gotham and introduce yourself to everyone

Danny: And save you the travel expenses?

Danny: No offense, but Google Maps doesn't do Gotham any favors

Danny: Neither does Google Images

Danny: I would like to live my half life without lung cancer, thank you much

Damian: Coward

Danny: Yes I am!

DPXDC Prompt 13

One of the siblings joke about being Damian's favorite sibling. Damian informs them that they are wrong, so the family tries to guess his favorite sibling.

It's Danny. Not that they know that.

[arandomao3user]

"LOVE ME (FOR WHO I WAS)" UPDATE for the... The three people who follow me from Ao3 for that story I haven't updated in, like, three months but, people keep asking... So... Ramble time!

FIRST OFF: Addressing the Batcest shippers.

To those adding any part of the series to your JayTim collections, I'm not gonna judge you, but please do not expect JayTim it's... This is a story about brother's, they're brothers. Legally? No. By blood? No, no... But they call one another brothers and I understand very clearly how you can read it as JayTim/ Batcest, But trust I will never write batcest.

I also wanna make it clear that in this AU Jason is 19 and Tim is 15, that's four years, not including Tim being mentally unwell to even consent to anything involving a relationship, brother or not, from being tortured by the Joker and spending two years in an Asylum. In Arkham. So. Um. Y e a h ? Not... Not saying you can't, ignore the tags in the actual story posted on Ao3, I was being a particular level of b!#&%, and while I appreciate any fan content made, please don't send me any art, quotes, ANYTHING if you do interpret the story as JayTim/ Batcest/ Incest or whatever. Just... I can't, I'm sorry, I love you, but please, no. Feel free to share, but not with me, not because I don't love and appreciate EVERYTHING my readers do for me and the series, but because I am a sensitive snowflake who was adopted and has dealt with to much "Oh, so you date / could date your (insert family member via adoption)?" And while I know to separate fiction from reality, it still effects me mentally. Sorry, I love you, I'm sorry, I just can't personally.

Point is: You CAN interpret it as JayTim if you need, but know that was not the authors intent at all.

—

SECONDLY: TIKTOK!

I deleted it, I'm so sorry, I love all the fan content I've received and seen for this AU, I love the hate comments, but I did delete TikTok because I hate everyone there minus the Batfam artists and THE Joker Junior artist (/overdramatic)

—

ThIRDLY!!! Hate comments :D

This is a fanon AU. This... It is an AU. It is so canon divergent it might as well be an original story because it is FANON! It has bloody Joker Jr he didn't even appear in comics. Please don't look to me and get angry at me for "making fanon Tim Drake content" or whatever, yes, I have seen the hate comments. I also do not care because I love writing brotherly Tim and Jason. I love writing fanon Tim Drake. I love fanon and canon, but I have and will continue to state that the Joker Jr AU is JUST an AU. I do not advertise it as anything else but an alternate universe. It... It doesn't even have Cass in it. It's an AU.

—

FINALLY, WHAT ANYONE ACTUALLY CARES ABOUT: When will it be updated???

*Sharp inhale* Gonna be entirely honest with you, I lost all motivation to write this series and even when I open the document to begin writing the next chapter I wanna scream and bash my head into the keyboard and scream and cry.

Why? Well, I simply hate it. I love the AU, I love writing Jason and Tim, I love Stephanie in it and yet I am also disappointed in myself for how poorly I've handled the story so far. It's a mess and while I am so grateful for everyone who's added the playlist to their spotify, made TIKTOK'S AND ART!? GAve me over 20k hits on 5+1 JJ edition alone!? ToT

I am... So grateful, I cannot express my gratitude, but I also cannot lie and say I deserve it when everything I did was lazy and unmotivated. I think I lost my spark for this series after I finished 5+1 JJ edition, because I knew I could do better.

Will I give the series a finale? If it's really, really wanted, sure, I can give one, but what I planned? I can't say I can give it anymore.

What do I wanna do? I want to completely rewrite the series, I want to better dive into each character, I wanna have Cassandra because, oh my gods, I have so many ideas— I want to give the AU my all and make it for ME, because "Love Me (For Who I Was)" wasn't for me in the way I wanted it to be.

Now, this feels pretty pointless, I think only a couple of you follow me for this AU or for my Ao3 at all, but I still felt the need to provide an explanation of sorts as to why I was pumping out chapters every few days and now there's... Nothing. Which, again, I apologize for because I know so many people fell in love with this series, but as an author I can't pretend I feel a passion for what I've made. It's messy, it feels offensive almost, and so I leave it to whoever read through all this:

Note: If I rewrite the series I will not post it until it's completed, I don't wanna feel any rush to get a chapter out, I don't wanna rush editing, I wanna be happy with it. Thank you for understanding and reading, and sorry for the grammar ❤💛💚💙💜🙏

[dandysworldhcs]

hi im obsessed with glisten and i feel like not enough people talk about him so go my glisten hcs . you get a whole rainbow of them because he's gayyyyy���️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

the ribbon on his back flaps like butterfly wings when he gets angry/excited/flustered even though it's removable

he cannot handle being told that he's not perfect even though it's true and nobody is perfect

he is very clingy but is afraid of showing that to people because he thinks it means that he's not capable of being independent

he dissociates in stressful situations and needs another person to help him out of it . he is obviously very upset about needing help

he is pangender/genderfluid [i am projecting] and he likes to dress very femininely sometimes despite mostly being a man

this one isnt a headcanon but twisted glisten's attack animation is him lunging forward in an attempt to give you a hug . i feel so bad for him and i screech whenever i get him on a floor

YES. PANGENDER GLISTEN. YOU GET IT !!! YOU UNDERSTAND !!! THATS A PANGENDER

[ssentimentals]

Helllluuuuu.

May I request 52. Fake death/Presumed dead with seungkwan? You can choose which of the two is presumed dead, but like they show up at the other's doorstep suddenly and the other person loses it (because they thought they had lost them forever, having realised they loved them too late) and it could be a confession scene or something too ♥️

I've enjoyed all your recent works btw 💜 you write so well

hellluuu honey! thank you so much for the kind words, glad that you're enjoying my works! and thank you for requesting, hopefully you'll like it! 💜

prompt: fake death/presumed dead

maybe you should've thought it through better. maybe showing up unnannounced at seungkwan's doorstep is not the most ideal way of letting him know that you're not dead. your legs took you here automatically, seungkwan's address memorized in your brain next to your home road because in some weird way this place is also your home - just like everything about seungkwan. too bad it took you faking your own death and disappearing for a month to realize that. you didn't know what to expect from seungkwan, but him opening the door, taking one look at you and then promptly shutting it right in your face was not it. 'um, seunkgwan? hello?'

you can't blame him. you have no idea how you would've reacted if places were switched, so. the door slowly opens again and this time doesn't close immediately. seungkwan stares at you in silence, moving to the side to let you in. he looks - horrible. 'did something...happen?' you question anxiously. a lot could've happened in one month.

seungkwan shuts the door after you loudly. 'you mean apart from my best friend dying?' he asks with a venom dripping from his voice. 'no, nothing else.'

you swallow. there's so much to say, so much to explain - you came here prepared to tell him everything, but now it all looks pointless. you can say so much, but will it make it better? will it turn back the time? you hesitantly take a step back. 'i'm sor-'

seungkwan chuckles. he rubs his face with his hands, exhaling loudly. 'did something happen?' he echoes your question back to you. 'yeah, a lot happened. for once, as i said, my best friend died. and then almost a month later i learn that apparently she's not dead from our boss. said boss also tells me that i am not allowed to see her ever again. interesting, right? very cool. so-'

'seungkwan,' you calll with a trembling voice. 'i'm sor-'

'so i start rising hell there, naturally. because what do you mean i can't see her? oh, have i already mentioned how during this whole month i learned that i love her? that she's the most important person in my life, that she is my everything, that without her life is not really life?'

you gasp. seungkwan's almost shouting at this point, not looking at you. he looks like he's going to break, like there's a tipping point somewhere there, like one more push and he'll fall. 'kwannie...'

'are you going to disappear again?' he demands, finally looking up at you. there are unshed tears in his eyes and it breaks your heart to see him like that. 'are you going to leave again?'

again. slowly you come closer to him, afraid of crossing the boundary but needing to be close. 'seungkwan-'

'because if yes then i'm not letting you,' he interrupts, angry. 'i will lock you up here, i will leave with you, i don't know, i will do something crazy but i will not let you leave me again. i will-'

'i love you too,' you interrupt him this time firmly, looking into his eyes. these words were sitting on the tip of your tongue for too long. seungkwan freezes and you smile gently. 'i love you too, boo seungkwan. life without you is not life for me, too.'

there's so much to talk about, to explain, to tell him. all of it can wait though, because being wrapped in his arms when he's holding you tight is more important. hugging him back as tight as you can, kissing him, letting tears flow freely - all of that is more important, at least for now.

a/n: i think this might've been the hardest topic to write? i'm very bad with anything death related, so hopefully this was up to your liking anonie, let me know <3 - nini

request your own here

my other seventeen work is here

[chzrrycherry]

Sleep tight

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Writing type : romance / a bit sad

Pairing : Leviathan x GN Reader (they)

Relationship with the reader : friends, crush on each other

Intimate level (0 = not intimate ; 10 = really intimate) : 2/10

Character(s) mentionned : Satan, Levi, Mammon and Asmo

Warning : Low self-esteem (Levi)

Type : fluff

   ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

A little surprised, Levi arrives in the living room, his D.D.D in hand.

"Guys ! Did you see the package I received this morning ? Akuzon announced that it was picked up by someone at home.

Without taking his eyes off his book, Satan responds.

- I saw that Mc left it in front of your bedroom door.

- Oh, are you talking about the small package ? Is it yours Levi ? ask Asmo, his eyes looking at the entrance.

- Yes ! Yes, that’s my package ! So Mc dropped it off at my door ? I didn’t see it... Levi looks carefully at his younger brother. Asmo's face hiding something. You seem to know why it's not there... Spit it out.

- Well... You're not going to be happy...

- Why ?! What did the normie do ?

- Mc ? Nothing. But you should ask Mammon...

- Damn it ! I should have thought of it !

Levi runs to Mammon’s room and barges in it. You are lying unconscious on the floor. Mammon stands in front of you, panicked.

- What was the content of your vial !? Mammon screams.

- Don't tell me they drank the vial !? What did you do !? No one should touch my package ! Levi screams too, angry.

In panic, Mammon begs Levi to forgive him and help you. The otaku doesn’t seem to panic. Actually, he's very calm about the situation, which worries Mammon even more.

- Sorry Levi ! I REALLY am ! I didn't know-

Levi leans over to examine the vial, completely empty. He sighs, exasperated and really upset.

- My precious vial ! You suck Mammon ! My poor vial ! It was a limited edition... I'm sure there won't be another edition like this of The Proud Princess Who Was Imprisoned By A Mad Witch And Also Has To Become A Sorcerer To Escape !

The elder is disconcerted by the nonchalant reaction of your state. He gets angry in turn, hands shaking.

- W-We don't care about that ! W-We must take care of MC !

Certain that a war will start between his elders, Asmo rushes into the Mammon's room curious to see what’s going on.

- Everything is- he stops, eyes wide open. Mc ! Why they is on the floor !?

Asmo kneels down to see if you're okay. He shakes your shoulders hoping for a movement from you.

- Honey, wake up ! It's not funny !

Mammon's crying like a child. Levi sighs and pushes Asmo to examine you.

- Hey ! Watch what you're doing ! he's complaining.

Mammon cries hot tears, grabbing his hand in yours.

- T-They is dead !? I'm criminal ! I killed Mc ! I-I'm so sorry Mc ! Please forgive me !

Furious, Levi strikes the arm of Mammon to silence him.

- Shut up Mammon ! It’s not this vial who could kill someone ! It’s intended for children. They should have added "to Mammon, the thief", he sighs, thinking about the money he spent for nothing. Mc isn't dead. They just fell into a deep sleep.

- Huh ? Sleep ? asks Asmo, looking at your peaceful face.

- Mc isn't dead !? Whaddya mean ?!

- The vial contains water cursed by witches, causing the person who drinks it to sleep instantly, Levi grabs Mammon’s shirt and shakes it violently. Do you have any idea how expensive it was ?! I’m going to make you pay a lot !

Mammon defends himself and grabs Levi’s sweater collar, shaking him too.

- But why did ya buy this !? Ya stupid ! Ya should have known we're gonna touch it !

- The only person who's stupid here is you Mammon ! You shouldn't have touched my package ! Don’t you understand the concept of belonging !? Normies like you should be wary of otaku business like me !

The two begin to fight, forcing Satan to intervene by hearing noise.

- What the hell is going on here !? he sees you on the floor. Mc !

Satan runs towards you, really worried.

- They fell into a deep sleep because of the Levi's vial, stolen by Mammon, Asmo explains.

- Damn... It's your fault again Mammon ! Satan yells.

- W-What !? First it was just a bet between Mc and I ! Secondly Levi shouldn't leave his things near me ! And why buy this !? Bro, it's fuckin' weird !

- It was a decoration for a collection, something we don’t use ! But you know nothing about it, moron !

The war resumes between the elders then stops when Asmo takes up speaking.

- Since it's not dangerous... How long do the effects last ?

Asmo and Satan carry you to the bed of Mammon to lay you down. You seem to be sleeping soundly.

- The classic edition speaks about a couple of hours. But it’s a limited edition so... I don’t know...

- It could be more than simple hours ?! No way ! We have to find a solution ! says Mammon.

- There isn't cure ! In the anime, the princess ends up drinking the vial against her will to save her friend Laly and falls deeply asleep ! Nothing has woken her except- Levi stops, blushing like crazy.

- Spill the beans !

- So what ?! What's going on ?!

- Why did you stop talking ?

Levi says nothing more and tries at all costs to avoid the eyes of his brothers. He knows how to break the spell. He knows how to do it. But he would never dare.

- Levi ! Say something ! continue Asmo.

- I can't ! It's too embarassing !

- If Mc never wakes up, I promise to-

- Levi, you have to told us what we have to do to make they wake up, Satan says gently but firmly.

The person concerned then hides his face in his hands, red having become his new skin tone.

- Dammit ! The princess Shira... She's secretly in love with her best friend... Antos doesn’t know it but he also loves her since their childhood. He's so kind and gentle with her, he is- Anyway, I get lost ! It's the chosen one of her heart that allowed to awaken her... Are you understanding what I mean ?!

The three boys are silent. Do they understand what Levi is implying ? In any case, their cheeks are red.

- You mean... A kiss ? asks Satan.

- They just need a kiss from the person they love to wake up ? Asmo adds with a smile. It'll be simple ! I AM for sure the person Mc loves the most here~ ! I just have to kiss them and-

- You’re jokin' ?! At what time do ya think you're the person they loves the most ?! It’s me their favorite ! I’m their first man after all !

- Do I need to remind you who made them this sleeping right now ? Satan sighs. I don’t think you’re part of the equation, Mammon.

The three are quarrelling over who'll kiss you. At the same time, Levi is discreet. It’s not possible that you love him, right ? He’s just an otaku and nobody likes it. So he sits on the bed, next to you. No one will hear him speak to you. And you’ll never remember what he’s going to say...

- I'm sure it's not me you love the most, right Mc ? he asks sadly, his hand grabbing yours, caressing it softly. You surely prefer the eccentrics like Asmo or Mammon. Or maybe intelligent and curious people like Satan and Barbatos ? Maybe you even like charismatic, self-confident boys like Lucifer or Diavolo ? Or just nice and teasing boys like Beel and Belphie... It could even be Solomon, Simeon or...

A tear runs down his cheeks, his hand tighten yours. His heart tightens too. He’s not good enough for you, he knows it. So why can’t he suppress that feeling that makes his heart beat when he watches you smile, talk or laugh ?

- Mc... I-I don't know w-who you love... But me... I-I really like you... I-I mean, I-

Unconsciously, your hand holds his tighter. Levi's blushing like a mess, a bright glimmer of hope in him.

- I really like you... You're such an understanding, kind and amazing person ! How could I not fall under your spell ? You have me in your nets, Mc... I'd like to be your number one... Your player 2... It's sounds stupid I know...

Slowly your eyes open, you start to yawn.

- Look ! Mc is moving ! says Asmo, cutting short the argument.

- Mc !

- They is holding Levi’s hand...

Levi's looking at you, embarassed.

- This spell wasn't so powerful as it turns out... A kiss wasn't necessary, he says, blushing, but for the first time, his eyes don't avoid yours.

Your smile brings him down a little more. Your half closed eyes see only him.

- Your feelings just resonated with mine... It was apparently enough....

You hug him suddenly, feeling the need to have him against you.

- Mc ! Y-you're t-too c-close !

Your arms tighten around him.

- I like you too... I thought it was obvious, you chuckle.

- A-Absolutely not !

- You know... Next time, maybe, you could wake me up with a kiss..."

Levi’s cheeks are burning, almost on fire. These gestures, this request, his heart can't take it. After a few seconds, Mammon breaks this moment by coming to apologize to you, crying like a poor puppy who gets scolded. He and Levi are still fighting, one asking for money from the other. Satan and Asmo start laughing at your head annoyed to hear so much noise when you wake up. Finally, you won your bet against Mammon.

   ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Words : 1 520.

Gif created by me.

The image belongs to Solmare and the modifications of the visual was done by me.

[stereden]

Of AI, Chatgpt and fandom

So, I’m finally getting around to writing that post I mentioned on AI, Chatgpt and fandom, and in particular fanfiction. There have been a lot of very good posts on the topic that I encourage you to check out (here  ; here and here among many others)

I’ll preface this by saying that, as far as I know, my writing hasn’t yet been fed into an AI for an ending or alternate version. But I know it’s happening with other people’s fics, and I know it might happen to mine at some point. The very idea of it makes me sick, hence this post. The ‘you’ I’m addressing in this isn’t a specific person: it is targeted at anyone who is thinking about feeding my works into something like chatgpt, and anyone who might have already done so.

Let me be very, very clear right from the start: I do not consent to any of my works being fed into any AI, be they chatgpt or similar bullshit, just as I do not consent to anyone plagiarizing my fics, writing their own endings of my fics or trying to dictate what that ending should be. Anyone doing that with my fics is rudely invited to go sit on a cactus and never interact with me or my works ever again. I don’t give a fuck if you don’t plan on ever publishing that AI-generated shit you got about my work. Don’t fucking do it in the first place.

My problem is not just about my writing being used to train a computer program without my consent. That is part of my problem, obviously, but not the most important aspect of it in my eyes, and in the eyes of many other writers who have already spoken out about the problem - and by that, I mean fanfiction writers and professional, published writers.

My main issue is with the people using chatgpt to write endings or alternate versions of fanfics written by other people. 

By all means, if you want to use chatgpt for your own stories, I can’t stop you - I can and will judge you, because seriously, there are so many fics out there you can most probably find exactly what you’re looking for with some good tag filtering, and if not you can just do what the rest of us do, which is write your own. That’s how most of us got into fanfiction to begin with. Don’t use the dubious writing ability of a robot and its absolute lack of creativity that sees it cannibalize other people’s writing and frankenstein it back together. I would rather read a twelve-year old’s first ever fanfic, full of clichés and spelling mistakes, than anything written by an AI, because I know the twelve year old poured their heart and soul into it, put the time and effort into it, and that makes it so much better in my eyes.

But if you put someone else’s story into chatgpt or similar? You are dead to me and do not deserve the hard work fic writers put into their stories. Yes, even if you’re not planning on publishing the results.

Those are our stories. The ones we've put time, energy, effort in. That we've spent hours writing. Some of us have the whole plot planned out for the next thirty chapters. Some of us are making it up as we go along. Some of us are doing both. But it's still our stories. Writing them, finishing them, is our right and privilege. 

Chatgpt and similar computer programs have no clue what we have planned for the rest of the fic. They can make calculated guesses based on all the words you've just fed them and all the stories they’ve previously scrapped, but even if - and it is a big if - they do get the basic plot right, it still won't be exactly the same. It won't be the same quality, it won't be the same word choice, it won't be the exact same style.

It won't be written by us. It won't be the ending we planned or are still planning on.

You were reading that fic because you liked the plot, the characterisation, the writing style. Because you enjoyed the fruits of the efforts the writer put into it. 

And now you're asking a computer to plagiarize that same writer and ghost write you the ending? And, I'm guessing, the ending you want to see, or to rewrite the fic to your liking?

That is not okay. That is beyond not okay. I don't tolerate people trying to pass off my writing as their own. I have specifically told people they were not allowed to use certain original elements of my writing or of the plot I have come up with, because those are stories I am planning on writing myself, or background lore I have already planned for. I have told people off for trying to tell me which way my fics should go, which pairings I should write, how I write certain characters.

What makes you think I would tolerate you using chatgpt and alike to do the same? 

Because let me be clear. Using those is stealing. It’s stealing the time and effort we put into this, and selfishly feeding it all into a machine so it can spew out exactly what you want from it.

This is not you asking the writer of an abandoned fic if you could pick it up and write an ending for it. This is not you asking the writer of an on going fic if you can write a side story for it.

This is not you asking permission for anything from the writer of the fic. This is not you writing a heavily inspired fic, or even just copy pasting an entire fic into a new document and tweaking it to fit your personal desire. This is not even you writing anything.

Even if it's fanfictions, we writers still have rights to our intellectual property, to the stories we write. There is a reason AO3 reacts quickly to any complaints of plagiarism or reposted fics. There is a reason mirror sites or apps of AO3 are taken down. There is a reason writers like @neil-gaiman, @seananmcguire @dduane and so many others will never read fanfictions of their own works and have to regularly remind their own fans to stop sending them headcanons or fanfics: because even if what we write is based on their work, it’s still our ideas and if they write something too similar to the ideas their fans sent them, there could be legal consequences. Plagiarism accusations. For similar ideas. Not even the exact same words. Ideas. Yes, even for fanworks.

There is the plagiarism issue, as I just mentioned, but there is also the respect issue. You obviously don’t respect my writing, if you’re so quick to feed it to an AI just because you’re not getting exactly what you want right this second. You obviously don’t respect me, as a person or as a writer either, if you’re willing to disregard all the time, effort and thought I put into my work.

Yes, sometimes fics are abandoned, and you really, really want to know how it would have ended. Sometimes, the writer fell out of the fandom, sometimes real life got busy, sometimes you never know. Sometimes they died, and we mourn their silence. Often, an explanation is never given. Sometimes they reappear years later, sometimes they don’t. It’s a fact of life, a fact of fandom.

I myself have stories I haven’t updated in years that I still have plans for, that I haven’t abandoned but that I just need time and inspiration to continue writing, and yes I know I have people who want to know what happens next. Some of these people are more polite about it than others. Some act like entitled spoiled brats and get their comments deleted because I’m not here to cater for them.

No amount of time passed since the last update makes it okay to use something like Chatgpt to finish their stories. At the very least, have the decency to respect the effort they put into it and write your own version, yourself, and keep it to yourself. 

Or, if they're available/if you're able to contact them, ask the writer for permission to write a continuation, or a fic based on their own, with proper credit given and a link back to the original! Or even ask them POLITELY how the fic would have ended! Some of them will happily tell you what they originally had planned, even if they are never going to finish the fic! A writer I follow actually did that just today - updated their fics to say ‘Hey, I might never finish this, but here’s what I had planned for it in case I never come back to this.”

But don’t use chatgpt, or any similar program. 

Because if you do, what is even the point of us writing anything in the first place? 

I have been writing fanfiction for a long time. Over fifteen years. I have dealt with a lot of different readers, some way worse than the majority of them, and even then I consider myself lucky when I see what some of my fellow writers had to deal with back on ffnet, and still have to deal with on AO3. I have built a community around my fics, with my readers, and I love it. I love fandom, despite the drama that always comes with it. I love my readers, too, love their enthusiasm when I post a new chapter, love seeing their reactions and getting yelled at in the discord for leaving them off on yet another cliffhanger.

But anyone who puts my writing in an AI? I don’t love you. You have no place in fandom, and especially not in the part of it that I have built.

You make me feel sick. You make me furious. You act like you are entitled to an ending, to a continuation, to getting exactly what you want… for what? Reading my fics? Maybe leaving a comment at some point (one that probably demanded an update, or that I write your specific pairing, or that I change this character to your specifications)?

Fuck. You.

I don’t write for you. Unless I’m specifically writing a gift for someone, I don’t write for anyone but me. 

I share it on AO3 because I’m proud of what I wrote, because I think other people might like it, because I like getting feedback and interacting with others in the fandom. That does not mean it becomes your property, or that you can do anything you want with it.

I don’t get paid for writing. You are not paying me to write. You do not get to tell me what to write, or what to do with my writing, or to do what you want with my writing.

I write because I love writing, because I have too many ideas in my head and need to get them out of it, and putting words on a page is the best way for me to do that.

I don't make any money from writing, and can't afford to be a full time writer. And even if I could, unless you were my publisher and I actually had a contract with you stating that I'm being paid to write something for you, you still wouldn't get to demand updates from me.

I’ve taken to straight out deleting comments that are demanding updates or asking if a fic is abandoned. Not only are these rude, they're actively detrimental to my mental health and make me want to work on the fics in question LESS.

You feeding my work into AI? The only thing you’re doing is making me want to share my writing even less than that.

So just don’t.

[expiredmedication]

Final note.

If anyone gets to forgive Tulip it’s me and my friends who worked on the doc (not the user dropped in this post though, fuck them lol) and who ran the sickoftulip blog (because apparently you people didn’t think logically about who was running the blog).

You don’t get to decide shit like this because you were not directly involved nor affected. I forgive Tulip because I can recognize how overwhelmed and angry I was which affected my thought process throughout the whole situation.

And I know some of you are going to take this the wrong way because what I’m saying does not fit into your narrative of Tulip so let me make this VERY CLEAR.

TULIP IS NOT THE DEVIL. TULIP IS A CHILD. Yes mistakes were made but that does not mean there isn’t room for growth. EVEN TULIP RECOGNIZES THIS AND APOLOGIZED FOR STUFF THAT HAPPENED DURING THE SITUATION, which includes the stress we went through when working on the doc.

We are traumatized teenagers who want to move past this bullshit. YOU on the other hand are grown ass adults who were not involved in this drama in the first place, only joining in to make fun of Tulip, act like YOU were victimized by Tulip (you weren’t), and then when we did something that didn’t line up with your idea of what we should do next (aka forgive Tulip), you shit talked us too. You are VILE. You have dehumanized a child. You should be ashamed of yourselves for this behavior. You are not interested in “spreading awareness” or helping ANYONE and you know it. You are only interested in bullying children and laughing about it like nobody is affected by it.

That is all I want to say. I won’t be talking about this again unless something else significant happens. I am a 16 year old with a life outside of the internet and I do not have the time nor energy to worry about year old bullshit like this.

I’m actually so fucking mad because why the hell is the creepypasta fandom so fucking stupid. For context I’ve been provided screenshots talking about sickoftulip (in the great 2025…) and how the blog created to spread the doc felt like a set up. You want the truth? I’ll give you the truth.

I wrote the doc. I was the individual by the name of Charlie in the doc. I was asked to help out because of petty drama and I accepted because the drama involved me and I was in a HORRIFIC MENTAL STATE due to circumstances out of my control and the influence of freaks around me who made me (and my friends by extension who ALSO HELPED ON THE DOC) believe the points brought up were valid in the way they were.

If it makes you feel any better, one of the “testimonies” in the doc was by a groomer (Claws / scourgethecat67 / 2000semocat). Did you know that? I bet not.

We made up with Tulip because guess what? We talked out our issues and realized it was fucking stupid. That was that. We deleted the doc, deleted the blog, and that was the end of it. I cannot believe some of you FREAKS are still talking about this doc like it’s relevant when the drama ended IN MAY OF 2024.

You’re all sick. Most of the people doing this are ADULTS. We are TEENAGERS.

I don’t want to talk about this after this post. This topic makes me sick to my stomach because of the state I was in while working on the doc. I’m still recovering, still healing, and seeing GROWN ASS ADULTS bring this shit up is actually sickening to me. Especially the ones who WERE NOT INVOLVED IN THE SLIGHTEST. You all joined in just to make fun of a teenager and thinking about that is repulsive.

Just stop. It’s over and done with, and we all have better things to do than linger on teen drama. Believe me, I didn’t want to talk about this again after all these months, but unfortunately, nothing ever goes the way I want.

[theirwolfbicanthrope]

See, regardless the intention with the new Nosferatu what I see over and over especially on Twitter with -no joke- over 400,000 likes are posts about how all this happened because Thomas was way too invested in getting a promoyion instead of staying home and fucking his wife

I mean, it's hard to have sex with your wife if you don't have a home. just saying.

Really, though, the victim blaming going on with these takes makes me so frustrated. Even IF we ignore that Orlok already knows Ellen and feels entitled to her, even IF we ignore that he is doggedly determined (now that she's married to someone else) to show up and reclaim her for good - Thomas. Had. No. Choice.

Not to rant at you, anon, just using your ask to go off on this narrative.

The thing is - Thomas is already in debt at the start. That it's to his friend doesn't matter to Thomas. Honestly it might make the debt seem even worse. He is indebted to Harding financially, he and Ellen are not off to the most secure start, he's already been away for a while due to the honeymoon - this actually is vitally important for them. He needs his job. He was already late - if he hadn't been so late or hadn't realized it, he likely would have stayed home longer. But he couldn't. Then when he's offered this big, lucrative deal, he can't refuse it. Knock commenting about 'if you close this sale, you're job is guaranteed' isn't just tempting him with success, it's also threatening him with failure.

What happens if Ellen relapses and they're destitute? What happens if Ellen is having her seizures again, the sleepwalking, the melancholy, what if it gets worse? Ellen of course is still in the sweet honeymoon phase and thinks that love will be enough to stave those things off because so far Thomas' mere presence and affection has worked. But the thing is, that high is going to come back down. It happens in even the most wholesome and genuine of relationships, and stress - especially financial stress - will not do them any favors. Will not do her and her mental health and her attempts to keep her bond with Orlok suppressed any good whatsoever. I mean, that's basically what is happening in the film. The more they struggle financially, the more desperate things get, the greater the fissures and cracks that form in their marriage, giving Orlok more opportunity to come in and use it against them. Which is quite literally what he does. Thomas staying home, refusing the job, etc., only changes the how and when.

Ellen doesn't quite get it because based on what we know of her background and her father, she's never struggled to make ends meet, she's struggled with wealth and status being used against her. Of course she comes at this from the angle of 'being in a wealthy household didn't protect me', which Thomas can't understand. Neither can Ellen understand Thomas' perspective of being in debt to someone, worrying about failing to provide. I don't think it's simply that Thomas wants to make Ellen comfortable and have a life like she used to - he quite literally is worried that he cannot provide for her at all, especially if she gets sick (mentally or physically).

Like, Thomas in the 2024 movie isn't solely and completely driven by financial success - if you contrast him in the film with how Eggers originally wrote him in the 2016 script or how he's portrayed in the 2023 remake, this Thomas comes across to be more of the mindset that 'having financial success and being of similar standing to Ellen and Friedrich will make everything fine and I will be good enough to deserve her love and his friendship.' The driving factors are really that Thomas a) wants everything to be will for him and Ellen and b) wants to live up to the rigid societal standards of his gender. He's insecure, and he's overcompensating. Which isn't great but is a relatively normal character flaw, and certainly isn't one that is so inherently damning. His love and concern for Ellen still factor into things. He's not turning into a money-obsessed, toxic masculinity-minded asshole or something of the sort. That's why as soon as he's no longer naive to this darkness in the world - the things that Ellen has known of all along - his motivation shifts entirely to protecting Ellen. He understands now that unfortunately, in this rigged, supernatural game they're all trapped in, money means nothing. Money can't save Harding and his family, it certainly won't save Thomas and Ellen. But even IF he had known that all along - it wouldn't have made a difference.

Thomas and Ellen still need to live, Thomas would have to leave for work, and would have to take that job that sends him over to Transylvania. And if somehow they could circumvent that? Orlok still would find a way to separate them. Orlok would still come to Wisburg. Thomas is not the hero in this story, he's the damsel in distress, and unfortunately for him, while he gets to make it out alive, the actual hero who saves the day does not. Thomas loses his wife, but that is not his fault. It's not his fault he got assaulted, traumatized, left for dead, and it's not his fault he couldn't save Ellen. It's not his fault she died.

Ellen was doomed long before she met him, and that wasn't her fault, either.

anyway, all this to say - I'm glad I'm not on twitter. I'm glad I can block people with these takes.

[monkee-mobile]

Don’t you know that Tork is a wifebeater?

tags.

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — roll with me, henry.

MAY 12, 1956

Prom is so much bigger and so much louder than George had been expecting. 

Balloons and decorations are everywhere, the band is in full swing, and the whole country club is alive with dancing and movement. 

He finds himself drawn to the outskirts of the party, nursing a glass of water he’d gone to get five minutes ago as he runs a hand through his hair, straightening his suit and boutonniere. He keeps his eyes on Lorraine, and, as always, she’s lighting up the room with her dazzling smile, dancing with her friends in her beautiful blue dress that matches his tie. Even though it’s been months since they’d been going steady, he still finds himself wondering what in the world she’s doing with him, marveling at how out of everyone in the whole school she’d picked him. 

She meets his gaze and his heart stops for a moment when she raises her gloved, corsaged hand and waves to him, her gorgeous eyes sparkling in the lights.

He manages an awkward wave, pink dusting his cheeks, wondering if he’d be missed if he ducked into the bathroom and didn’t come out for an hour or so.  

‘George, buddy,’ Marty’s voice pops into his head again. It’s been happening more and more frequently lately, with the protagonists in his stories always managing to have a best friend who knows just what to say at just the right time. It’s some kind of narrative shadow, like a ghost creeping in through the pages, that he just can’t shake. ‘You’re not seriously gonna be a wallflower at your own prom, are ya?’ 

He can almost see him, too, leaning up against the wall like he’s the coolest guy in school. While George is in baby blue, Marty would be in pink, maybe, giving him one of those mysterious and oddly familiar smiles.  

“No,” he defends, weakly. “I needed a minute, that’s all. It’s hot in here and there’s so many people, I just…”

‘I thought we talked about this,’ Marty would respond, squeezing his shoulder. ‘You gotta stop freaking yourself out.’

“I have to stop what?” 

‘You gotta get out of your head, George,’ his inner Marty continues. ‘Look. You love that girl, right?’

“More than anything in the whole world,” George sighs. “No. In the whole universe.”

‘Right, okay. So, if you need a break, why don’t you tell her you’re overwhelmed and you need to get some air? And take her with you this time, got it?’ 

“But… she’s with her friends, I… I wouldn’t want to get in her way…”

‘George.’ Marty gives him a pointed look that reminds George way too much of his mother. ‘She came to the dance with you. She wants to be with you and she wants you to have a good time. She’s not gonna want you to be miserable.’  

“...Okay,” George acquiesces, sighing. “Okay, you’re right, as usual.”

‘Can I get that in writing?’

“What?”

‘Never mind. Now go on, get outta here.’ 

He almost can feel the playful shove forward Marty would give him, but when he looks back at the wall, there’s nobody there. 

Gently, he takes Lorraine’s hand, giving a smile to Helen and Margaret and asking them to excuse them a moment. The two girls giggle and gladly disappear into the crowd.

“...I think I need some air,” he tells her. “I-is that okay?”

“You know, I was just thinking the same thing,” Lorraine reaches up to cup his cheek, thumbing over his cheekbone and giving him her sweetest smile, the one she saves just for him. 

The two walk hand in hand out to the porch, closing the French doors behind them, and the relief George feels is overwhelming and immediate as he leans against the porch railing, looking up at the sky. 

“Are you okay?” Lorraine asks, rubbing his back. 

“I am now,” George returns, smiling. “I-I just… I know it sounds silly but I get overwhelmed, sometimes, in big crowds.”

“It doesn’t sound silly at all!” Lorraine exclaims, “I understand. Ever since… that night… I don’t really like small spaces, or feeling trapped... So I’m really glad you said what you did.” 

George is pretty convinced Marty was right; this has to be destiny, it just has to be. 

“Me too,” he agrees. “I’d much rather be out here with you.”

“I would, too.” After a moment, Lorraine continues. “You know… you can still hear the music pretty well.”

“That’s right, you can.” George extends his hand and Lorraine takes it.

Together, underneath the blanket of stars, they start to dance.

[sirenofthegreenbanks]

there are already so many posts about palestine, so im gonna make one about israel. the recent attack from the 7. october is the first genocidial attack on jews of this degree since the holocaust. i cant speak about other countries but in germany things are reverting back to nazi times, with david stars painted on front doors of jews and jewish synagogues and kindergartens being closed down or swept empty because the people are terrified. antisemites and the far-right extremist scene is emboldened and empowered by this attack. they look at everyone‘s reaction very closely and at least for my country, ppl are insanely silent about it, which is like a legitimation of their views and their actions. i want ppl to remember that! there should be more space in this anti-genocidial activism than there seems to be currently, one that includes jews. i dont find it funny at all that my timeline, if politics cross it, and that most posts, if i go to the tags, talk about the settler colonialism and the attempted genocide by israel on palestine, but not about the baked-in antisemitism and the degree of terror and severity this recent event has. there are gonna be long-lasting consequences on all sides and its not gonna be fun, there has to be a way to talk about all of it, all human lives lost, all genocides happening and attempted, without letting one fall under the bus because its easier and fits the narrative of the modern justice warrior. years ago they said that this is a fight of anti-colonialism and anti-genocide, not jews vs muslims, in the topic of israel and palestine, but by choosing to not mention one and focusing exclusively on the other now u make it into one. what im seeing currently is a lot of performative activism and one-sided focus that does not help anyone at all save for those profitting from this situation, which are the antisemites, the nazis and the far-right extremists, the hamas and everyone else in league with them. please think about this for a minute and be conscious of whom u are unintentionally aiding

[forbiddentaako]

ok im making the post bc my roomate confirmed i'm not being dramatic but its short and mostly me complaining

My enjoyment for nocturne season 2 was so severely held back by feeling like they did Olrox so dirty this season. Like I found his storyline and character in s1 to be extremely interesting and a great setup for season 2, but it feels like he was so pushed out of the narrative this season and lacked a lot of the subtext related to the themes around him that were present in s1. He just isn't having substantial moments that build on what was set up previously and I feel like the only context he really existed in this season was related to mizrak when his position in the erzebet/sekhmet storyline was also SO IMPORTANT/INTERESTING.

Like yes he had moments that were related to it but they didn't feel nearly as impactful as the s1 scenes, and overall Olrox simply didn't interact with other characters enough or even have interesting scenes on his own. Not to mention even in the scenes with him and Mizrak I felt like there really wasn't substantial progression or an arc building off of season 1 either, which overall made me feel disappointed at them not doing anything interesting with what they set up in the s1 ending. And that just made the s2 ending with him and mizrak in the last episode feel so insulting.