#patience on a monument

[bettsfic]

director’s commentary on patience on a monument if possible :)

i can't believe it's been six years.

i was really going through it when i wrote that fic. i remember writing it to deal with the feelings i had about my own jaime at the time, who caused all sorts of drama and mayhem in my life. although he wasn't harboring any secret feelings for me and was very devoted to his equivalent cersei, who in this case was also a very good friend of mine. but because life isn't fanfic, i ended up having a breakdown and getting a lot of therapy and i eventually cut ties with both of them.

so this fic was very personal to me and i wrote it purely for my own purposes, but i was decently happy with it as its own story. i don't like the ending, but i remember needing to post it and move on because it was the beginning of the semester and i was teaching 2 classes for the first time and overwhelmed with all the work i had to do.

braime is always going to be one of my top ships of all time. i can see myself writing more for them if the fandom ever revives, like if grrm finally publishes the next book. or if i ever buckle down and read the series, i guess. (i tried to but it just didn't keep my attention.)

i'm so happy to have been asked about this fic though, considering how long it's been and the fact i was never really in the got fandom. i remember when i posted it, it didn't get much traffic at first (and i knew it wouldn't) but eventually it seemed to find its audience. i looked at it just now for the first time in years and was very surprised to find it had over 1k kudos.

thank you so much for the ask! it was fun to return to this fic.

#patience on a monument

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

John Roddam Spencer Stanhope [English. 1829 - 1908] Patience on a Monument, Smiling at Grief. Exh. 1884

#english #john roddam spencer stanhope #patience on a monument smiling at grief #patience on a monument #europe #european art #oil painting #fine ass friday #europa #england #wales #northern isles #ireland #spain #france #germany #greece #meditteranean #albania #croatia #ukraine #john roddam spencer #1800s

[echoes-lost]

Mistakes have been made...

I wanted to make a Barbie dress cake for my niece and the recipe I found used a pyrex measuring cup to get the right shape. So clever I thought. Pyrex is oven safe I thought. Well I guess my measuring cup wasn't.

And the toddler is interrogating me and telling me I should buy a Spidey measuring cup next time.

#i am a monument to patience

[dark-black-dahlia]

The Photographer Leonardo Sens Waited 3 Years To Take This Fantastic Shot In Rio De Janeiro, Brazil

#leonardo sens #rio de janeiro #brazil #christ the redeemer #perfect shot #patience #moon #night #right place right time #photography #perfection #monument

[i-mybrunettelady]

❛ is it really you? ❜ for siona please? <3 [echowilds]

Siona has some brother drama so let's go for the less obvious one - aka El and Siona interacting in fic for the first time ever :>

--- The Grove, 1335 AE

It's hard to find solitary corners in the Grove in daylight, especially when you're a Warden captain. People bustle around, drink, train, chat and saplings run amok as saplings are wont to do, it's in their nature (as much as other races' children confound her, Siona does understand that they will run amok as much as newly awoken saplings do.) And it's been one of those days where she just wants to listen to the world exist, live, breathe, so she does, from the safety of her terrace.

She almost doesn't hear footsteps in the grass, but the voice accompanying them makes it stark clear who it is. "Siona," Elandrin says, in a very strange tone. If she didn't know better, she'd call it amicable. As amicable as he can manage, anyway.

Still, he's done nothing wrong yet. She doesn't own the terrace and he has the right to be here as much as she does. Siona looks him over and supresses a frown at his all red homegrown outfit. "Elandrin," she says politely, joining her fingers in front of her. Unease radiates off him, though she can't possibly fathom why.

"Have you come to seek me out or are you here by accident?" she asks. He looks at her beneath his dark blue hair and his lip curls upwards in a half-sneer.

"If I was here by accident you wouldn't even know it," he says, squinting. "Obviously I'm here with a purpose, Siona."

"You weren't going to start the conversation so I had to," she replies, not unkindly. Elandrin's sneer breaks and he closes his eyes and mumbles out a fucking shit before he takes a deep breath. When he opens his eyes again, he's less agitated, but still defensive.

Some habits are hard to break, Siona thinks. She empathizes, even. Elandrin leans his hands on the balcony and Siona takes a moment to observe the very open cut of his skirt and the flash of the giant, fresh scar on his thigh.

"It's been ten years since Cadeyrn," he begins, as gracefully as Dyole tackling her to the ground is. Since you slit his throat, she wants to add, but doesn't. A faint, dull thud echoes in her chest and disappears.

"And you're still wearing red," Siona says, firmly.

"I'm the last one standing in our little fight," he shrugs. It angered her, years ago, his irreverence. But now all it does is mildly annoy; El isn't changing anytime soon. "But, he was your brother. He meant something to you, whatever that may be."

"Your point, Elandrin?" she digs her nails into her palms. "Why do you keep stating the obvious?"

El's grip on the railing tightens. He determinedly stares at a point in the distance. "Because I know what it's like now!" His voice cracks a little and he sneers at that, running a hand through his hair. "That's why I do it! Are you happy now, Siona?!"

"Your understanding won't bring Cadeyrn back," Siona whispers. "Nor do I want it. But I am grateful you brought Trahearne back, though I know it's largely for your own sake and not for mine."

"It won't," he agrees. "He--" opens his mouth to speak again, but decides against it. "I don't even want Cadeyrn back. If Gixx didn't hold expulsion over my head, I'd even give you my notes so you can attempt resurrection yourself. You're a necromancer, after all. This isn't really about Cadeyrn, though. This is about what his death left behind."

"So you're not remorseful over it?" Siona cautiously asks. El watches her for a long moment, as if thinking how to word his response.

"No," he says, not breaking eye contact. "I'm not."

"Then, brother, there's nothing to try and salvage," Siona declares, crossing her arms over her chest. Was she truly expecting a yes from Elandrin, of all people?

"Suppose not," he shrugs. "I'm not even trying to salvage it. I just want you to---" He looks around, as if air would fill in the gaps for him. It doesn't. "Nevermind. Experiment failed."

"Is this really you, Elandrin, actually trying to build bridges with people? You, who rejects everyone on principle?"

"That was... It's not..." He waves his hands around, frowning. "You know what? Go fuck yourself, Siona. You're impossible to talk to." He lets go of the railing and turns his back to her, but a a low laughter resonates alongside a rustle of leaves.

"Not my fault you and words have split up," she quips, a lot gentler than she should.

"They're awful lovers, you understand," he straightens his back, looking at her over his shoulder. "And I don't tolerate bad sex. I'll let you know if they ever get better, though. Highly doubtful."

#gw2 #inspo birb has come to town #elandrin aien #siona nightthorn #gw2 sylvari #gw2 writing #listen el's dialogue is always so funny to write #he's always on the verge of bitch slapping either himself or someone else #and look at him try and have an adult conversation #but as much as i tease him it's taken monumental effort for him to get to this point #he's not half as angry as he would've been #it's a huge ass improvement!! #also siona's patience >>> #i hope el didn't overshadow her here even tho its HER pov #anyway i rambled a bit enjoy the salads

[itspileofgoodthings]

and the old widow goes to the stone every day! but I don’t—I just sit here and wait, grieving for the living

#like patience on a monument smiling at grief #my favorite line from ivy

[cosmojjong]

nowadays i really don't have any patience

#i notice i get annoyed with anyone or anything no matter how much i love them #i don't have any patience left in me rn #i am struggling with eating and with finding some balance i don't know what i am doing with my life #i am very irritable and get disappointed with anything #this goes for real life and kibum too #i refuse to listen to people who think that not everything is political #everything you do is political every step you take in society is political #kibum collaborating with mc donalds is a monumental fck up #and i am annoyed by people who can only focus on the contract and its clauses #YOU'RE MISSING THE POINT ppl are dying #fans have every right to be upset at his choices considering he does curate his collaborations and he #built his image on growth and understanding and inclusiveness #so he has to be real about it #also idgaf what people say the internet CAN change things and be the voice that can't be silenced #palestinians need us and safety and justice will always come to me first so #i have so much to say becausr #why can't ppl just accept that he's in the wrong instead of appealing to silly stuff like contracts or #to 'you don't understand he's of a different culture' #oh please come on this is all over the news and social media #what does it tell you about someone's values if they'd rather try to explain a collaboration with a company encouraging the iof #than actually care for the people of palestine? #don't piss me off seriously

[doeidawn]

☁︎ — having a lot of thoughts about Price's thighs; f!reader, nsfw 18+ (MDNI)

John Price was a man of simple pleasures. It came with the lifestyle of a soldier—he had to learn to appreciate the small victories. And he knew how to wait until reward found its way to him.

He was a man with the patience of a saint and the resolve of a warrior. Never was it more apparent to you than moments like these: sat in his lap squirming and whining while he leaned back against the headboard, puffing on a cigar and just watching you.

"Please," you whine, almost unsure of what exactly you wanted by this point. Your hands brace against his chest, fingers splayed against the coarse hair and calloused skin that covers firm muscle. Your hips drag your cunt up and down the length of his thigh in a pattern so sporadic neither of you can sense a rhythm to it.

You weren't sure how long you'd spent rutting against him. Your thighs burned and your knees were sore but the throbbing need in your cunt was too strong to stop now.

The heat and wetness that pooled between your legs ached, beyond desperate for any other type of friction. But John couldn't seem to care less; couldn't bother to interrupt the show you were putting on for him. His lips wrap around the end of his cigar as his eyes rake over every detail of your body for the hundredth time tonight. Seeing the way his eyes devoured you only made you wish that much more that he'd actually do it. One thing was certain—he reveled in this.

He was kind enough to remove his clothes, although you suspect it was more for his sake—he couldn't have you staining a pair of his trousers, after all. It still wasn't enough to see the outline of his thick cock throbbing against his briefs, but every attempt you made to remove them was met with a scold and a small thwack of his palm meeting your ass.

He'd turn his head before billowing a small cloud of grey smoke from his lips. "Not yet, darling." His voice was such a soft rumble that it was almost easy to forget how aggravating his denial was.

You know he can feel how worked up you are. It'd be impossible not to when your slick painted his thigh, matting fine hair to his skin. But John got a kick out of this. He liked to watch you beg and whine and show him how much you needed him.

"Please just fuck me." All of your mounting impatience bubbled to the surface as you begged—pleaded—with him. "Please, John, I jus' wanna cum. Need you to fuck me."

His free hand would snake up your thigh, grabbing the pillowy flesh on your hip. "I know you do, baby." A reassuring squeeze followed his faux-compassion. "But you can cum for me like this, yeah?"

Of course you could, and he knew it. When he spoke to you like that—encouragement and expectation all wrapped into one—it was almost impossible not to. Even if you wanted more than just pathetic ruts against his thigh, the heat that gnawed at your core was growing increasingly harder to fight back against. You offer him a small nod and hum a quiet "mm-hmm" in reply, almost reluctant to admit to your desperation and give in to his game. Not that he couldn't tell.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, that's my girl."

He flexes his thigh, the muscles underneath going taut and firm as he shifts his leg just enough to press against your cunt. You can't stifle the moan that escapes your lips. The newfound pressure feels amazing; such a small difference yet so monumental when you were this sensitive.

He kneads the skin on your hip, fingers leaving small red imprints as they dig into you. "There you go. You like that?" The smoke curling around his lips as he takes another puff of his cigar makes him look as devilish as he sounds.

A roll of your hips takes your breath away, the air catching in your throat in a choked moan. Your eyes flutter as you meet his darkened gaze. "Mm-hmm," the affirmative sound rumbles in your throat.

Thwack. His palm meets the swell of your ass in a much sharper spank than before. The sudden sting makes you whine and buck against his thigh, hips jerking at the feel of the sudden stimulation. Your cunt throbs as heat blooms over your skin.

As comforting as he is domineering, he runs his hand gently over your flushed skin. "Use your words, darling." Your mind already felt like mush—too tired and desperate to cum—that the warm baritone of his voice was almost too much to bear.

"Yes, I like it." You finally manage to sputter. Nails rake over the hair dusting his chest when your hands search him out for support. "Feels so good."

He groans at that. "Yeah? Y'gonna cum for me?"

"Yeah," you mewl, burying your face in his neck. The combination of his musk and cigars hits you even harder, the scent filling your nostrils and making your head spin further into delirium. "I need it, John, I need it so fucking bad."

The pressure on your body only increases after that. His hand slides to your lower back for support to guide your rolling hips up and down his thigh. He keeps your pace steady, taking some of the work for himself as he watches you squirm.

"I know you do baby." He takes another drag from his cigar, planting a kiss on your shoulder after blowing the smoke away. "Christ, you're makin' a mess, leakin' all over me."

You whine into his stubbled skin, feeling his beard brush against your cheek as you nuzzle closer. You didn't have to feel his cock throbbing against your leg to know he was enjoying seeing you like this (and he probably couldn't stand to just watch for much longer).

"Cum for me like this and I promise I'll make it up to you." His hand gently tangles in the hair at the back of your head. Fingers interlace with the strands as he tugs just enough to pull your head back and meet your heavy-lidded gaze. "Give me a nice li'l show and I'll fuck you proper, fill you up good. But you need t' cum for me first, love."

A strained curse leaves your mouth as your hips buck wildly against his thigh. The friction of firm muscle and soft skin makes your cunt throb against him. Your lips find his in a messy fit of kisses. The taste of old tobacco coats your tongue and adds to the haze of sensations.

His grip loosens in your hair before his hand slides down the bare expanse of your back, resting at your waist as fingers curl to hold you firmly. His teeth tease and pull at your bottom lip, drawing a whine out from you between your heavy breaths.

You can feel his lips curl into a smile against your mouth. "That's it," he groans, leaving your panting mouth behind. "There you go, love, cum all over me. Show me how good it feels."

His encouragement is what sends you over the edge. The heat that had been building in your core spills over, making your body tense as waves of pleasure flow through you. His hand digs into your waist as you pant and moan against him, the sensation grounding you amidst the overwhelming feeling of relief.

A strong tobacco scent hits your nose. Fluttering your eyes open, your sweaty body goes lax against him. Lifting your hips, you can feel your slick string between his thigh and your cunt. You smile down at him, cupping his jaw in one of your hands.

Your fingers thread through his beard. Leaning in, your nose brushes over his before you plant a gentle kiss on his lips. "Gonna keep your promise?"

"Always do."

#clown writes #me when i want to write about other characters but the old man infests my brain #john price #captain john price #captain price #captain price x reader #price x reader #captain price smut #price smut #cod price #cod smut #cod x reader #call of duty #cod

[decolonize-the-left]

Sound familiar?

"After the First World War, the map of Europe was re-drawn and several new countries were formed. As a result of this, three million Germans found themselves now living in part of Czechoslovakia.

When Adolf Hitler came to power, he wanted to unite all Germans into one nation.

In September 1938 he turned his attention to the three million Germans living in part of Czechoslovakia called the Sudetenland. Sudeten Germans began protests and provoked violence from the Czech police. Hitler claimed that 300 Sudeten Germans had been killed. This was not actually the case, but Hitler used it as an excuse to place German troops along the Czech border.

Things that happened in September 1938:

Sept 7. On instructions from Hitler, Konrad Henlein broke off negotiations with the Czech government. Allegations of Czech police brutality at Moravská Ostrava were used as an excuse

Sept 7. A famously controversial editorial appeared in The Times which recommended giving Hitler what he wanted because "the advantages to Czechoslovakia of becoming a homogenous State might conceivably outweigh the obvious disadvantages of losing the Sudeten German districts of the borderland."

Sept 13. French Prime Minister Édouard Daladier asked Neville Chamberlain (leader of Czechoslovakia) to make the best deal he could with Hitler.

Sept 20. The Czechoslovak government rejected the Anglo-French proposal in a note explaining that acceptance would mean that Czechoslovakia would be put "sooner or later under the complete domination of Germany."

Sept 20. Hitler met with the Polish ambassador Józef Lipski and told him that Germany would support Poland in a conflict with Czechoslovakia over Teschen. Hitler also said he was considering shipping Europe's Jews to a colony (Israel, a colony for Europe's displaced Jewish population would be established in 1948) and expressed hope that Poland would cooperate with such a plan. Lipski replied that if Hitler could solve the Jewish question, the Poles would build a monument to him in Warsaw

September 26. In the Berlin Sportpalast, Hitler made a speech threatening Czechoslovakia with war. "My patience is exhausted", Hitler declared. "If Beneš does not want peace we will have to take matters into our own hands.

Sept 27th. The French government announced that France would not enter a war purely over Czechoslovakia. Neville Chamberlain gave a radio address saying, "However much we may sympathize with a small nation confronted by a big and powerful neighbor, we cannot in all circumstances undertake to involve the whole British Empire in a war simply on her account. If we have to fight it must be on larger issues than that

Sept 27. President Franklin Roosevelt writes to German Chancellor Adolf Hitler regarding the threat of war in Europe. The German chancellor had been threatening to invade the Sudetenland of Czechoslovakia and, in the letter, his second to Hitler in as many days, Roosevelt reiterated the need to find a peaceful resolution to the issue.

Sept 29. German Führer Adolf Hitler, British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, French Prime Minister Édouard Daladier and Italian Duce Benito Mussolini met in Munich to settle the Sudetenland crisis. Czechoslovakia was not invited, neither was the Soviet Union.

Sept 30. Munich Agreement: At 1 a.m., the four powers at Munich agreed that Czechoslovakia would cede the Sudetenland to Germany by October 10. The territorial integrity of the rest of Czechoslovakia was guaranteed by all signatories. Neville Chamberlain flew back to Britain and declared "peace for our time"

I think we all deeply need to reconsider what we were taught about WW2. The allies who "saved" everyone from Hitler's camps are also the Same People who allowed him to get so much power in the first place.

Closer looks at these histories show they had their own motives for allowing it just like Biden does today. FDR & Biden are actually mirroring each other really well considering they're separated by time and death. FDR was pleading and asking Hitler to please stop doing war until Pearl Harbor cuz they had a good relationship like that :) Yeah, so all he really did up to that point was play arms dealer for France and Britain because he didn't wanna jeopardize his relationship with Germany by Directly getting involved.

Yeah.

See what I said about it sounding familiar?

And can I remind y'all that Hitler didn't start by saying he hated Jewish people. No.

You know what his plan was at first? A "Greater Germany" that would unify Germans across the territories that Germany was forced to concede after WW1.

.....Y'all remember this image?

Fascists and dictators and warmongers come in all shapes, sizes and belief systems, but you can always recognize a Fascist Supremacist by the thinly veiled expansion genocide being done in the name of their people. And the guys who help them are always trying to gaslight you about how things are "It's not that bad"

All this to say: get the fuck up and make sure history doesn't keep repeating itself because it's starting to

Y'all are sitting there asking how the Holocaust could happen and Palestinians are asking why nobody is fucking doing anything.

These are related questions.

Get up and do something. Yeah it is crazy that you're going to work when a genocide is happening...so don't!!! So many people are scared of losing their comfort because of what MIGHT happen if it's for nothing, but I'm BEGGING y'all to ask yourselves what headlines you'd rather read about the 1930's-40's and make those real.

"Mob storms parliament, stops the Munich Agreement," "Citizens of (anywhere) create Organization to protect Jewish, Black, and Homosexual peers in opposition to state sponsored violence. Quote: These are my neighbors and Nazis can't have them." "Meet the University Students who chased Nazis off campus." "'We Couldn't Do Nothing' say arrested group of women who beat a Gestapo officer with a clothing iron." "'If they can't afford us, they can't afford war': How global strikes and the lack of scabs are changing the the future of war" "'I'm afraid to Sleep' American Nazis restless after serial arsonist publishes their addresses in the paper"

Germans literally tried to assassinate Hitler. Like several times. We need to step it up.

There are SO MANY things we can do if we can just agree that none of us will be doing them alone! You are NOT powerless to stop this war just because you aren't in Palestine!!!

#i just keep looking at back then and now and everything that led up to ww2 snd Hitler's ideologieies and its like... O H f u c k #ww2 #world history #world war #Nazis #decolstw #palestine #gaza #germany #czechoslovakia #colonization #settler colonialism #leftist #neo colonialism #direct action #biden #capitalism #free palestine

[sweet-as-an-angel]

The Type of Yandere König Is

Warnings: 18+, Toxic Behaviour, Manipulative Behaviour, Gaslighting, Possessiveness, Implied Smut, Non-Explicit Implications of Smut, Toys Mentioned, Degradation, Slut-Shaming, Submissive König, Dominant König, Aftercare, Petnames, Profanity, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

SFW

Insanely loyal and loving – wolfishly puppyish in his temperament.

For you, and only you, he shows his soft side; acts of domesticity and kindness are his love language.

Though, he tells you he loves you on a nigh-hourly basis.

“I just can’t seem to stop saying it – I love you !”

He knows you better than you know yourself, and he uses this knowledge to his advantage.

He’ll all but read your mind through subtle physical cues – changes in posture, a shift in the atmosphere, the dilation of your pupils – to do for you what you haven’t even thought of doing yet.

Passing you your drink, cooking you a meal, performing your chores for you – anything you can possibly think of doing or needing, König handles it before you can.

Of course this insatiable need to perform is rooted in love. But it runs much deeper than that.

König needs you – so utterly and unequivocally that it frightens him. And the thought of you leaving and taking his heart with you is infinitely more terrifying to him than having to put his life on the line and indulge in his occupation whenever he’s taken off leave.

König wants you to see that you need him as much as he does you, that you should (and will be) dependent on him not just for your happiness, but for your survival.

This desire to be all that you need becomes especially evident a good year into your relationship; when you trust König more than anyone – more than yourself – he takes that trust and runs with it.

He absolutely gaslights you into believing you’ve misplaced things, done things you haven’t done. While this is a good enough excuse to keep you in the house, he’s not above resorting to most outlandish tales to isolate you further, no matter how ludicrous his ‘reasoning’ may seem.

“You want to go out ? Now ?” he’ll say. “But–” he peeks behind the curtain, looks out the window, “Darling, it’s raining.”

“König, I can hear the sun shining, Köni; it’s not raining.”

And all to keep you dependent on him.

Whether or not you take to König’s lies is up to how much you love him, how well you believe you can live without him.

But just know that, if you ever try to leave him – when you are immune to his persuasion and elusion – König has made people disappear before. And he’ll do it again.

NSFW

This man will be anything you want him to be – it doesn’t matter how demeaning it is.

Whatever mood you’re in, he has something to cater to it.

Cat ears, maid outfit, gags, rope, nipple clamps, whips – you name it, he’s let you use it on him.

So long as you’re enjoying yourself, so is he. 

He literally can’t finish until you do. So for both love and sanity’s sake, he’s a very proficient lover.

Definitely a moaner when he’s subbing – his whines and whimpers are so pretty and breathless that you can hardly believe they come from such a behemoth of a military princess.

This paints König out as a rather submissive breed of boyfriend, which, to the untrained eye, would be a fair observation.

However, you know better. Much better.

But that doesn’t stop you from making ‘mistakes’; little slips of the tongue – or the hand – that make his blood simmer and his eyes narrow, a jagged anger building in the periphery of your day-to-day.

Building and building, a monument that could touch God with the faux patience this man grants you – “One last chance, Engel,” to hold back the monster clawing its way out of König’s body.

Making König jealous or angering him ensures you’re the target of his reprehensible rage for the stretch of night ahead.

And when König snaps, he gets dominant.

Everything you’ve used on him, he uses on you, too.

And he does so without mercy.

Every time he’s topping, he’s got you weeping, sobbing, screaming, begging for more and less at the same time – and more often than not absolutely speechless for the fact that your mind is completely empty by the time he’s halfway through with you.

Definitely degrades you. And he is not gentle with it at all.

“Stupid little whore – filthy fucking slut –” things of that nature.

Treats you as his personal cum dumpster; he just fills you and fills you until you look or sound as if you’re about to burst.

But alas, it matters little how much you tell König you “Can’t take anymore–” because he’ll always find a way to make you take more of him.

“Oh no, Sweetheart, you will take more,” he’ll tell you.

“After all, what good are you to me if you can’t handle my load ?”

The night usually ends with you being bruised and sore and swollen after your excursion with König; marks which hurt to the touch for days afterwards. A deterrent.

However, no matter how badly he roughs you up during your time together, he always makes sure to take care of you afterwards – of any needs, no matter how niche.

And as he’s tucking you into bed, your body unconscious, König hopes that nights like these remind you that you belong to him. And he to you.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

#yandere konig #yandere konig x reader #konig x reader #konig mw2 #yandere mw2 #yandere mw2 x reader #konig smut #mw2 #mw2 fanfic #mw2 x reader #yandere #mw2 smut #konig x you #konig x yn #konig x y/n #konig headcanons #konig call of duty #mw2 2022 #cod mw2 #cod mw2 fanfic

[shutupineedtothink]

I’m still s h o o k that people do not see exactly what’s going on with Moiraine throughout s2 and people are dragging her and dismissing her without an ounce of empathy for what she’s been through, so I’m bringing the full character analysis for y’all (and my own sanity). So this is a big ol in defense of Moiraine (and Lan) rant, so if that’s not your thing, scroll down now. Here we go.

I just… The AUDACITY some people have to look at Moiraine and be angry and pissed off at how she acts in S2. To not feel any sympathy and empathy for her and the monumental weight she’s under every goddamn day. There’s a reason we start with that bath scene in 2x01 – it shows you everything. How she’s just going through the motions. How she only lets herself cry when she’s alone in the water. How she literally curls into the fetal position and looks reproachfully devastated over her knees as she hugs them to her chest in a futile attempt at comfort. Not to mention the direct comparison/callback with the bath scene in 1x01, where she has both her power and Lan still, and now she’s lost her connection to both of them.

How is it not painfully obvious that every interaction she has after that bath scene is infused with a trauma response? Let’s tally up the devastation she’s been through. At the end of S1, she was 1. banished from the sisterhood of the white tower (they literally turned their backs on her), 2. was separated AGAIN from the love of her life fully expecting to never see her again, 3. was cut off from the other love of her life (that would be Lan, for the record) which is all the worse bc it’s her own fault for masking the bond, 4. was fully made to believe she’s been stilled from the one power aka an integral part of her being, AND 5. she’s “failed” her mission at the eye of the world – the one goal she’s had for the last 20 years, her life’s purpose – because instead of locking away the dark one she’s directly caused Rand to set Ishamael free.

You don’t think it's justified to be a little pissed off and standoffish after all of that? You don’t think the weight of that guilt, grief, pain, and loss is a reasonable cause to be distant, cold, harsh, having a little bit of a death wish? That’s TRAUMA, baby! She is absolutely wrecked, and it’s coming out in the worst way in her interactions with others (especially Lan because we’ve seen how they should be), but it’s absolutely not because she actively wants to hurt the people around her. In fact after almost every moment she lashes out at someone, we see an equally sad/grief-stricken/devastated moment from her and THAT’S the real emotion hiding underneath the anger. This woman needs therapy and understanding and patience, and does not deserve to be judged at the worst time of her life.

Ok fine, you say, but Lan IS patient and understanding with her! And she’s still an asshole to him! You’re right, Lan is absolutely trying his best and doing just about everything he can to be there for her in 2x01/2x02 (with a little help from Verin and Tomas). But 1. It’s STILL not about him, Moiraine is not obligated to respond in a certain way to her grief and pain that makes him feel better, and 2. This is Moiraine goddamn Damodred and even her trauma response is also a front to protect him, to push him away from her and what is now certainly a suicide mission to fight the dark without her powers.

This is SOOO important to really get Moiraine’s character — y’all gotta understand this: Moiraine truly loves only TWO people on the whole fucking planet: Siuan and Lan. They are also the only people who truly love her, unconditionally, with all of her flaws and imperfections. Please please ingrain that into your brain, especially for Lan, in this context. (Siuan is a whole other conversation I won’t get into at the moment.) Moiraine loves Lan, he loves her, deeply. That’s the foundation of everything they go through with each other in this season, despite what’s happening on the surface.

Once you accept that as fundamental truth, everything makes a whole lot more sense. She is a dick to him to push him away. Literally tells him he failed her to put the final nail in the coffin of driving him away, which is his worst nightmare. On the surface it seems egotistic at best, plain cruel at worst. But look underneath. Moiraine always has reasons 2, 3, 6 layers deep for everything she does.

With everyone else she’s mean to this season, namely her sister and her nephew, it’s born out of distrust (and the aforementioned trauma response). She can’t afford to trust anyone because anyone could be a dark friend. (And if they’re not a dark friend, then they become a liability and endangered.) Anything she lets slip could be used to hurt/control Rand and push them all one step closer to eternal darkness. Oh and when we see Barthanes’ true nature that turns out to be fucking justified, by the way. But I digress.

Right so why is she an asshole to Lan then? Because she doesn’t trust him? I don’t believe that for a second. These two have been on the same page, literally sharing the same headspace, for the last 20 years – she knows he’s the best person she’s ever met, the least likely to ever turn to the dark, ever. It’s an actual impossibility. So it’s not that she doesn’t trust him. She literally marvels at how courageous he must be to fight the dark with only a sword.

The true reason is: she does trust him, she does love him, and she KNOWS him. She knows that he will never leave her like this, in her darkest hour. He is both honor-bound to her (which he takes very seriously) and deeply cares for her. The problem is that now his life is in serious danger by staying with her. But there is no calmly explaining to him that he should return to the white tower for his own good and bond to another aes sedai who can actually channel, who can actually hold up her end of the partnership and protect him and heal him in return for his loyalty and sacrifice. Or better yet, find Nynaeve, who is not only ridiculously powerful and has probably the best chance of protecting him out of anyone, but who also loves him.

If Moiraine loves him and wants him safe, the ONLY option she has to protect him, the one good thing left in her life even if their bond is masked, is to drive him away. To make it so that he’ll stay far away from her of his own free will, and never come after her and her suicide mission to defeat the dark. Because she has already lost everything, she has no control over her fate anymore (if she ever had any to begin with), but the ONE thing she can still try to do is keep him safe. And hopefully, maybe he’ll be happy, one day. Her reasoning is directly confirmed for us in the last thing she says to him in 2x02 before she leaves: “Light protect you, al’Lan Mandragoran.” That was her goal all along, to protect him.

That’s the true reason she’s Like That to him. It’s all out of her love for him, and a desperate desire not to drag him down with her when she’s sure she’s destined to die on this mission. Is her strategy misguided? On the one hand yes, because she does need people to help her and she needs to trust someone, as he points out. On the other hand, she’s absolutely fucking right because look what happened with the Fade fight at the end of 2x01. Both her and Lan would have died without Verin and Tomas, and it would have been because she couldn’t channel. He is factually, logically, physically better off without her as long as she’s “stilled.”

This is why it makes sense how Lan eventually responds the way he does. He initially sees right through what she’s trying to do, he literally says he won’t let her push him away. He knows her too, better than anyone, including Siuan at this point. But he isn’t expecting her to go as far as she does, and it shakes him to his core. She tells him he failed her, has his worst fears confirmed, and then hears the words “we were never equals” and hears that she thinks she’s better than him, when she means the exact opposite. Tomas tells him to really listen but he can’t, in that moment.

But then he gets some distance, and some perspective thanks to Ihvon and Maksim, and he remembers: he loves her. He believes in her and he knows her and he knows what she’s doing to push him away (although maybe not why, when it comes to protecting him, because he doesn’t see himself as someone who needs protecting). Even better, he realizes that her situation is actually not what she thinks, that she’s shielded not stilled, and he can do something about that.

I LOVE Lan in 2x07 because he’s got Moiraine’s number now, and he will not be swayed by any further attempts (rather weak attempts at this point) to lash out at him. He just takes all the shit she throws at him, and calmly asks her what he needs to know and tells her what she needs to hear (“hopefully everything we’ve lost” and “that’s what I thought” and “you need to trust someone, Moiraine”), and is truthful with her even if she is still putting on this act with him in her fear and grief. He isn’t having any of it, he sees straight through it to the fear and pain underneath. And he literally DECIDES they are going to be okay, and then he fucking. Follows. Through.

He is not a doormat to her rage, he is not her servant, he’s not going back to her with his tail between his legs. He SHOWS UP for her in her darkest hour, when NO ONE, not even Siuan, can see what’s going on with her. That’s a true friend, a true hero, and absolute king behavior.

In conclusion, Moiraine’s behavior in s2, while not cute, is totally justified given the trauma, circumstances and everything she’s dealing with (jfc the lack of sleep alone) and makes sense in light of her ultimate goal to protect the world, which includes protecting Lan. And Lan’s response, once he figures out what to do, is the absolute correct way to handle the situation and is not weakness at all but strength in the highest order.

I’m so glad we got the payoff of all that with their conversation in 2x08 and reconnecting the bond. It was so beautiful, so earned, and reminded us of the level they’re on with each other — which is a soul connection way beyond what any of us can imagine.

#well this kind of turned into a ‘why I love Moiraine and Lan so much’ post #I could literally analyze every conversation they had in this season for days #it’s so layered and so well done #not to mention the body language/facial expressions #like if you think Moiraine is just being a bitch this season you are’t paying attention #like at all #but seriously it’s the lack of empathy that kills me the most #do you people see what she’s been through??? #make this a learning opportunity bc god forbid something traumatic happens to anyone you love #and your response is to dismiss them if they react in a way that’s not ideal for you #Lan is teaching us all how to show up for the people we love #and I love him for that #wheel of time #the wheel of time #moiraine damodred #lan mandragoran #wot #wot on prime #moiraine and Lan #wot season 2 #wot s2

[ideas-4-stories]

One piece story idea where Buggy has had medical issues since he was a baby, but most of them went unknown, undiagnosed, or not caught early enough to "make a difference".

Buggy with an autoimmune disorder of some kind (leaning to fibromayalgia bc I love projecting on my baby blue blorbo, but also the overactive nerves would tie in nicely with his devil fruit)

Buggy with hypermobility at the very least, possible Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, but it's damn near impossible to properly diagnose due to his DF and the tech available by and large.

On the Oro Jackson, few genuinely believed when Buggy would say something hurt or felt wrong or when he was more foggy headed than usual. Shanks could always read him like an open book. Roger could hear the changes in his youngest's Voice. Crocus did the best he could, but his options were limited and his attention was split. It was Roger, Rayleigh and Shanks who were Buggy's main support system.

Roger absolutely cried the first time Buggy got injured in a big fight and casually relocated a joint with just a soft hiss. That alone had been jarring, but Buggy's response to Shanks' worried question of "are you okay, does it hurt-," left the captain biting back tears. How else is a father supposed to feel when his little boy simply rolls hod eyes and says "not much more than normal"

When Roger disbanded the crew, the plan was to leave the boys on Drum. It had good doctors, Buggy would get more support, and it was rarely an island under siege due to the medical renown it had. They of course did not tell the boys as such, and it was only through a series of wacky events that lead Kureha to meeting them and taking a liking to their sparks. Shanks wasn't the most interested in medicine but he learned some things, specifically first aid and some things to help Buggy. He actually found psychology pretty interesting when he had the patience and attention span to spare. Buggy on the other hand took to it all like a fish to water.

They were there for almost two years when the newspaper was delivered and both boys lost their SHIT when the headline announced the execution of their captain, their father. Kureha sent them off, arguably with more supplies than they needed, and gave them her Denden number to reach her if they needed anything at all. She couldn't go with them, but she refused to send them truly alone.

They have their fight in the plaza, but it doesn't end with a monumental break up. They meet back up the next day, and they bite the bullet together and talk.

They take some time to come to a decision moving forward.

They ultimately decide to go with the co-captain avenue but with careful misdirection and smoke and mirrors. To the world at large, they will seem completely independent and unrelated. In truth, they will be leveraging their independent skills to further themselves and each other. The brains and brawn, as it were.

It works out in their favor for a good deal of time until the cluster fuck that is marineford. Secrets are out, identities revealed, and Buggy is having 6395716 panic attacks stacked up like Legos.

He and Shanks roll with it as best they can, trying to salvage what they feasibly could.

Two years later, Cross Guild is formed and begins rolling. Buggy's crew knows of his illnesses/disabilities, but he has a strict set up to address them. It's on a need to know basis.

Crocodile and Mihawk just so happened to swirl in like a hurricane and never got the memo until there was an attack on the island.

Somehow, someway, Buggy got absolutely soaked in sea water, but he's still fighting, knives in hand, bobbing and weaving with a trail of blood in his wake. It's as he pivots to lunge that Mihawk catches sight of him suddenly paling, a minute flinch, but beyond that, Buggy doesn't react, instead throwing the knife, reaching down and making a strange move at his knee before he cringed, took a sharp inhale, and dove back into the fray.

Upon asking why, hours later in the meeting tent, the swordsman and mafioso present blink when Buggy shrugs and says "oh, my knee cap tried to dislocate. Couldn't disconnect with the sea water so I had to push it back by hand."

"Pardon?"

"Hm?" Buggy glances up from where he's brushing some dried remnants of the battle from his locks, one eye shut against the debris. "What?"

"What caused the injury? I did not see any attacks to your legs in the chaos."

"Oh, it just happens sometimes," Buggy says casually, as if this were knowledge the other two ought to know. "I'm used to it."

They are not sure what to do, nor how to respond. They let it rest for the time being but they do keep a closer eye on their chairman following this.

They learn Buggy is rather adept at working with and around his unusual burdens, either disconnecting a joint or alleviating pressure on it until it can be addressed, even chop-chopping the offending area back to the proper place. They catch sight, now that they know to look, of hints of braces, wraps, the way Buggy occasionally presses his iced drink to a knee, a wrist, on an ankle in movements familiar but exceedingly casual, never belying their true purpose.

It is then that the two dark haired men realize there is much more to their clown than they first assumed.

I agree that overactive nerves would tie nicely with his Devil Fruit. Buggy having medical issues that went unknown, undiagnosed, or wasn’t caught early enough would make sense after all if the HC that Buggy was with the Roger Pirates as a baby or even if he wasn’t with them during his infant stage. These are pirates, how are they supposed to know that they need to look for things that could be wrong with the two babies they now have?

I’m sure some of them have things that have went unknown and undiagnosed. Anyway, back to Buggy, I had to look up Ehlers Danlos Syndrome because I didn't know what it was. I agree that it would be nearly impossible to diagnose properly because of no good tech around, as well as the fact he is on a pirate crew, I assume for the most pirate crews they don't stick around island for very long. I HC that Buggy swallowed the Bara Bara Fruit when he was nine.

Poor Buggy, I want to think that more people on the crew understood that Buggy has problems but didn’t how they could help him. Because acting like Buggy was fragile would make Buggy become angry because kid doesn’t want to be treated like that.

Poor Roger, having to watch that without saying anything, with all the other times it happened. Then after he disbanded the crew. Leaving them on Drum Island is a good choice and it makes sense that they didn’t tell the boys (I feel like they don’t tell the boys many things that should of been talked about, but this might be a good thing they didn’t say anything about. But who knows)

I wonder what the series of wacky events were to the meeting between them and Kureha? To me, they seemed like it there in this AU.

I think anyone would lose their shit if they see someone, they really love is getting murdered in front of so many people. I feel that Kureha only let them go because she knew they would go anyway, and this way let’s her give Buggy and Shanks the supplies they need.

I believe that with all the stress and pain of losing someone they hold dear in their hearts. I think Buggy wasn’t in the right mind set nor was Shanks in a way. Anyway, Love that they came back around to talk about it. I think the smoke & mirrors co-captain route they have… or is it more like Buggy and Shanks are allies? They have their own crews, but they still have each.

Then Marineford happened, poor Buggy and Shanks. I hope in this AU that Ace lives, but it was never stated so I don't know.

The idea that Buggy's crew knows about his illnesses/disabilities makes me feel that his followers would say he so strong to overcome them or we just talking about Buggy's crew from East Blue. Then yeah, those folks definitely know about his illnesses/disabilities.

Mihawk and Crocodile coming in without any knowledge and it took a battle to find out. I can see Buggy is nonchalantly about it as Mihawk did a doubletake when he said ‘Pardon?’ Crocodile did a doubletake too, because with those two didn’t know.

Once Crocodile and Mihawk know about what’s going on with Buggy, they see that the signs were always there. It’s just they didn’t paid attention to those signs, but they are.

#one piece #roger pirates #buggy pirates #cross guild #buggy the clown #gol d. roger #red haired shanks #kureha #hawkeye mihawk #sir crocodie #buggy the bombastic clown #buggy the star clown #akagami no shanks #dracule mihawk #mr. 0 #buggy the flashy fool #buggy the genius jester #buggy #shanks #mihawk #crocodile #roger #ideas~4~stories says #ask

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

John Roddam Spencer Stanhope (English, 1829-1908) Patience on a Monument, Smiling at Grief, Exh. 1884

#john roddam spencer stanhope #english #patience of a monument #smiling at grief #art #1800s #english art #fine art #european art #classical art #europe #european #oil painting #fine arts #europa #island kingdom #england #allegorical art

[bucketsofmonsters]

Oliver

cw: under-negotiated kink, allusions to historical homophobia, blood drinking, biting, anal sex, handjobs, unprotected sex 

male vampire x male human

Word count: 6k

a/n: This is technically a prequel to Vows but can absolutely be read on its own as a oneshot, it’s the story of how Oliver came to stay with Rook

Vows Masterlist

Six hours. 

Six hours he’d been sitting outside this god-forsaken gate causing as much of a ruckus as he was humanly capable of causing. 

And for six hours he’d been ignored. 

He’d arrived at the sprawling mansion in the evening, a reasonable hour, set on talking to the man inside. 

He’d heard so many things about him. Good things, at least to Oliver. The people who’d said it hadn’t been quite as well-intentioned, 

They also told tales of blood-drinking and murder but he knew exactly how bad rumors could get about people with his inclination. He was willing to forgive a lot if it gave him a kindred soul. 

However, he was unsure if he could forgive six hours. 

He collapsed to the ground, drawing his knees up to his chest and clasping his hands under his thighs. 

He’d be fine. That’s what he always told himself. It didn’t feel particularly true right now but it didn’t matter. He would tell himself that anyway. 

He’d come with fairly high hopes, artificial or not. The gate had been locked with no way to signal to anyone inside that he was out here but he was a resourceful fellow. 

It only took a few minutes of waiting before his patience crumbled. 

It was fine. He’d just hop the fence. 

As he tried to wrap his hands around the metal bars of the gate, his hand had crumpled, unable to fit in the wide gap between the bars. 

He tried again on the next gap and once more, his hand was unable to pass through what looked like nothing but air. 

Maybe the rumors of dark forces residing in this home weren’t so unfounded. 

He refused to be deterred, grabbing a stick off the ground and jamming it through the gate. Still nothing, no way to get it through and try to pry it open. 

Fine then. He took about twenty steps back, giving himself a good start, and then ran full force at the gate. 

He slammed right into it, the gate not budging an inch. Oliver fared less well than the looming gate. His shoulder was sure to bruise. He just hoped that maybe it would bruise inside these walls. 

He did the only thing he could think of to do. He started to shout. The yelling began with pleas to be let inside and requests for help but after the first hour of yelling, as his throat began to hoarsen, his words became a bit more vulgar. 

The sun had long since set but he refused to go home, not after all this

Maybe he could annoy the people inside enough that someone would come out here and yell at him.

He could handle being rejected, but he should at least be able to plead his case first. 

And maybe dart inside while they were doing so. 

He just kept trying for as long as he could. 

For. 

Six.

Hours.

Surely even the strongest of wills would collapse in the cold night after no one had responded for so long, he couldn’t be blamed for this. 

He fell to the ground, despair overtaking him. Even drawn into himself, conserving his heat as best he could, he felt so much colder than before. 

He fell to his side, his cheek meeting wet dirt, leaves sticking to his face. 

This was his last hope, his only real chance. He’d been delusional, thinking there was somewhere that would be safe that didn’t require him smothering himself. 

He sniffled, not bothering to wipe at his nose as he wallowed on the ground. 

No. He wouldn’t let it end like this. Getting up seemed like a monumental task but shouting didn’t. Shouting he could do. It was like his baseline now. 

At this point, it was just vague cursing at the bastards inside more than a plea for help but shout he did. 

And then the gate swung open, right into his side. 

The man standing in the entryway looked sheepish, pulling the heavy gate back and away from Oliver. He looked like every cruel thing they’d said about him, with sharp, cold features, suspiciously perfectly tousled dark hair speckled with gray, and sickly pale skin. A pair of sharp fangs were revealed as he winced at the sight of Oliver being smacked with the gate.

Oliver sat up as quickly as he could, wiping at his face, trying to remove all the grime and dirt that had accumulated on his skin. He’d meant to look more appealing than this, or at least look more sane. But here he was, a grimy boy sitting in the mud after screaming his voice hoarse for six hours. 

“Didn’t mean to hit you,” he said with a grimace.

“I hate you,” Oliver chimed back, his voice cracking as he spoke. 

The man got even paler, if that was possible. “This may have been ill-advised.”

“You’re telling me.”

The man sighed, seeming upset over something, before kneeling down by Oliver’s side. 

“Not you,” he said quietly. “You’re fine, you haven’t done anything wrong. Come on, let's get you inside.”

He sat up with a huff, in absolutely no mood to go anywhere with this man. 

“You couldn’t have stopped a little sooner, could you?” His tone was light in a poorly practiced way, trying and failing to lift the mood of the conversation. 

“Why, was I annoying you?” he asked, still sitting in the mud. He was sure he had leaves and dirt in his hair but trying to pick them out felt less dignified than just leaving them be. 

“No, you just made me lose a bet.”

Oliver scrunched up his nose. The idea that this asshole had just been sitting inside betting on how long he’d wait out here angered him beyond belief. 

“Sorry I wasn’t weak-willed enough for you, I’ll only scream at you for a couple of hours next time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He held out his hand to help Oliver up. “I’m Rook.”

He stood on his own, giving Rook a suspicious look. “I don’t think I’m supposed to tell strange men my name. You’ll steal my soul or something.”

“If I wanted your soul so badly, I wouldn’t have taken six hours.”

Rook had apparently decided that they’d moved past the incident enough to joke about it. Oliver disagreed. 

Oliver stood across from him, arms crossed, unimpressed. All this time he’d been waiting to be let inside and now he wasn’t so sure he wanted to go.

Well, he did want to. He just didn’t want to give this man the satisfaction.

“Come on in, it’s cold out here,” Rook said, not privy to Oliver’s internal struggle. He had a grand sort of voice, one that screamed he thought he was better than everyone. 

Oliver wanted to attack him. 

His eyebrows furrowed with a huff. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Come on, I’ll apologize inside. I can’t start groveling until I’ve rectified my mistake by letting you in.”

That sounded more like it.

“Alright, but if there’s no groveling I just might start screaming again.”

“Good, I think I might deserve it,” he said, quiet enough that Oliver was pretty sure he wasn’t meant to hear it. But he was good at hearing things, great at it even. He always thought he’d make a good spy if only he could keep his mouth shut for long enough. 

Oliver followed him inside, silently cursing the gates as he walked through them. 

The castle grew no less imposing as he got closer to it. The front doors were massive, looming things and Oliver decided he might honestly prefer the gates. At least with them he could see what was on the other side. 

The doors swung open, despite the fact that Oliver could see no one who’d opened them. He considered congratulating Rook on the cheap magic trick but was worried he might think he was being genuine. 

“I told you he’d wait,” a man's voice called as he stepped inside the doors, them swinging shut once more behind him. 

Rook went to take his jacket and Oliver made sure to get as much mud on him in the process as he possibly could. He winced but allowed it to happen as mud smeared down his perfectly fitted clothes. 

“How’d you know?” Rook responded, hanging the tattered, dirty jacket up with his arm fully extended, like he was half convinced it had fleas. 

“I would’ve,” the man responded. 

“Would’ve?” Oliver asked, turning to see an older man who looked decidedly less harsh and cold than Rook did. “So you didn’t make him wait outside for six hours.”

“He wasn’t trying to break in and cursing me out on my front lawn.”

“I only did that because you made me wait!”

“You tried to scale that fence after ten minutes.”

Okay, so maybe he should’ve waited longer before getting quite so antagonistic. Not that he’d ever admit it. 

Rook ushered Oliver into a nearby room, trying to send the older man away with a hushed, “You don’t need to be here, Petyr, I can handle this.”

“No, please,” Oliver called back. “Let him stay.”

As they both shuffled in and sat, Rook in the biggest chair sitting behind the desk and Petyr in one of the smaller chairs near Oliver, he scanned the room for weapons, just in case. He took note of a nearby letter opener, angling himself so he’d be ready to reach for it if he needed to. 

“So, may I have your name now?” Rook asked from behind the desk, handing some papers over to Petyr as he spoke. 

Oliver tried to read the papers as they passed but couldn’t quite manage it. “You may not.”

“Alright, that’s fine. There will be time for that. Well then, why are you here?”

“I don’t know, maybe I got curious. They say lots of things about you, you know. They say people come in and they don’t come out,” Oliver lowered his voice conspiratorily as he spoke. 

“And yet here you are.”

“Maybe I just don’t value my life,” he said with a shrug.

“Do you?”

“That’s none of your business,” he snapped. 

“You’re the one who brought it up,” Rook said, looking amused yet almost a little frightened of Oliver. 

Good. 

“I had a whole speech prepared you know,” he said, still scowling. 

Rook leaned back in his chair. “I’m listening.”

Oliver shifted back and forth, feeling inspected under Rook’s gaze. “Doesn’t really feel like the right time for a heartfelt speech.”

That got half a smile out of Rook, amusement shining in his eyes. “No, it doesn’t, does it? You can just pick a room, they’re mostly bedrooms and they’re almost all empty.”

“What?”

“That is what you wanted, isn’t it? To stay here?”

“But… you’re just going to let me? Don’t I have to grovel or something?”

“I think you’ll remember I’m the one who was supposed to be groveling here.”

“I do. And yet there you are, no groveling to be seen.”

Rook laughed and Oliver had half a mind to inform him that he was, in fact, not joking, but he was a little worried he might be pushing his luck. 

Rook stood and paced out of the room, looking behind him towards Oliver. “You coming?”

Oliver’s eyes darted between Petyr and Rook before deciding that he was willing to risk being alone with him and running to catch up with Rook. 

“Alright, pick a room.”

“Any room?”

He nodded. “Whichever you’d like. Now, I have to go speak with someone, have fun choosing one.”

There were seemingly endless doors, a whole castle's worth of rooms to choose from. But he was uninterested in them. Instead, he went in the direction Rook had gone, ears straining to try and figure out where he’d left to. 

When he approached the office from before, he heard muffled voices and decided quickly to sit on the ground and push his ear against the old wood. 

Rook’s voice echoed through the door clearly enough, having already started a conversation. 

“...a bit unpleasant. Bad attitude and absolutely no manners at all. And he’s not as cute as he thinks he is

Oliver scoffed quietly at the words, having half a mind to storm in there and show him just how bad his attitude could really be. He wasn’t even sure why he cared what this guy thought. In the short time he'd known him, all he’d been was rude, abrasive, and worst of all, he was apologetic about it. One second he was being an asshole and the next second he had that awful sorry look on his face that only served to make Oliver want to smack him. 

Despite all of this, he leaned against the door, fuming as he eavesdropped. “Worst of all,” Rook said, “he’s nosy.” As the words left his mouth, the steady wood Oliver had been leaning on fell out from under him, leaving him exposed and tumbling to the ground. 

Neither of the men seemed surprised by his sudden appearance and he couldn’t help but wonder how much of it was them putting on a show for him. He decided to believe it was most of it, for his own sanity. 

“Clearly I couldn’t pick any room,” he said from his less than dignified spot on the floor. 

Rook looked around at the small study. “I mean, if you want it that badly, you can sleep in here. The desk might be a bit uncomfortable but to each their own. 

“I don’t want it anymore. Not after you slandered me in here.”

“Are you really trying for the moral high ground? In your position?” Rook said, looking down at him still sprawled across the floor. 

Oliver jumped to his feet, brushing off his already filthy clothes. 

He stormed off, set on finding somewhere to clean himself where he could get away from these assholes. 

Picking a room was not nearly as exciting as Oliver had hoped. Almost every room in this place looked identical, similar layout and beds and sheets. All beautiful and expensive, but none interesting. 

He found some unfortunately empty baths but with no idea how to fill them, other than asking for help, he opted instead to dump a pitcher of water over his head, hoping it got most of his grime off. 

As he wandered, sopping wet and bored, he wasn’t checking the rooms anymore. Not really. Because the house had quieted down as the sun rose and Oliver had a more interesting target in mind. 

He threw open door after door, revealing boring room after boring room until behind one door, he found his less-than-gracious host. 

Rook looked up from where he was lying in his bed, decidedly more surprised at his sudden appearance this time, and Oliver felt himself puff up a little with pride.

“What are you doing here,” he asked as he evaluated Oliver in his doorway. 

“I mean, you did say any room.”

“Have you been entering every room in this house until you found mine so you could bother me?”

Oliver averted his gaze. “No.”

“Right. Just browsing then?”

“Exactly.”

Rook chuckled and Oliver could see his fangs poking out, a reminder of how dangerous this could be. “What do you think of this one?”

He was playing mind games, that much was obvious. And Oliver would not let him win. 

“I really like it. I think I’ll choose this one.”

It was a dangerous play, he knew that. Trying to aggravate him like this. 

He’d keep doing it anyway. 

“Right. Well, I guess I’ll have to go find another one,” Rook said, standing up from his comfortable spot on his lavish bed. 

Oliver reeled back. “What?”

Rook shuffled out of bed and past him in the doorway. “Goodnight, enjoy your room.”

And then, without so much as another word, he was gone and Oliver was left stupified.

He’d taken his room, did that mean he won? It didn’t feel like he’d won. In fact, it felt very much like he’d lost that particular interaction. 

He looked at the now empty room, signs of life scattered haphazardly around. The clothes he’d seen him in a few hours ago were folded neatly in a basket in the corner. 

Only then did he think about what Rook had been wearing. A loose-fitting silk shirt draped across his chest, the smooth fabric laying perfectly against his skin. It looked soft. Oliver pushed the unbidden thought violently from his mind. He shouldn’t be thinking like that. That was how you lost. 

The blankets were a mess, a dip in the mattress where Rook had been moments before

Oliver climbed in, set on sleeping in here. Anything else would be a sign of weakness, he was certain of that much. 

A woody smell overtook him at first, with notes of something sweet following behind. It was a pleasant combination and as he chased the smell, he found a mug with a mahogany liquid inside. 

As he got closer, taking a better sniff of the steam floating up from the mug, he noticed a sharp coppery smell undercutting the sweet, chocolatey scent. 

He grabbed the warm drink, taking a sip to confirm it to himself. He winced a little as the taste of blood and chocolate filled his mouth. 

He set it back down, filing the information away for later as he settled into the massive, lonely bed, feigning sleep for at least a few hours. 

When he was tired of pretending he would get any rest that night, he got up once more, set on finding something to do with himself. 

He settled upon what he was planning on doing the second he saw Rook, sitting peacefully at a table all alone. 

His peace was swiftly broken as Oliver barrelled in, saying, “Strange drink you had in your room last night.”

Rook paled to an impossibly lighter shade than he already was and Oliver took it as a sign to keep pushing. “I’m not one for pairing blood and chocolate but maybe it’s an acquired taste.”

“I forgot that was in there,” he said quietly and Oliver almost felt bad. Almost. 

“So you do drink blood?”

Rook looked at him like he was an idiot. “Did you not know? I assumed…”

“I mean, they said you killed and ate people but they said a lot of stuff. About you and me. I know better than to believe everything they say about someone. The mug of blood was pretty damning though. Regardless, you haven’t eaten me yet so things could’ve gone worse.”

“No, I don’t kill people. Eat people?” He tilted his head as he considered it. “I suppose you could call it that. You could call me a monster for it if you wanted to, but they don’t tend to mind.”

He said it with a crooked smile, head resting on his hand like he was trying to look casual, but it was too stilted. There was a tension throughout him, a sense of worry behind the dangerous flirtation he was attempting. 

“Are you coming onto me?” he asked incredulously and Rook’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his chest. 

And then his head dropped to the table in front of him, a look of despair passing over him. 

“I swear I’m good at this,” he said as he lifted his head, his hair shifting from an intentionally fluffed mess to a true disaster, pieces sticking straight up awkwardly, held in place by whatever product he put in it. “I can flirt with most people, or at least figure out when they’re not interested, but god, you’re impossible.”

“I am not.”

“You are!” he said with a laugh. “I haven’t been able to have one decent interaction with you. Every time I try you ruin it.”

“I ruin it?” Oliver gasped, outraged. “Excuse you, I have done nothing wrong. You left me out in the cold, you insulted me, you keep playing these weird games.”

Rook looked at him sheepishly. “I swear I meant it in a fun way. Always in a fun way.”

“Well, I’m not having fun.”

Rook cocked his head to the side, looking Oliver up and down. “Aren’t you? One second I agree and I decide to stop but you keep pushing me right back into them. You’re furious when I play and indignant when I stop. What’s left for me to do?”

“Well, maybe you’re not playing right.”

“And how do you want to play,” Rook asked, his voice low as he leaned towards Oliver. 

No. Not that. It was too real when he did that. 

He turned heel and ran. Through the hallways, feet moving faster than his racing mind. 

He didn’t know if he was running to get away or to be chased. He doubted Rook did either. 

He went back to his room. Rook’s room. Someone’s room. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. 

Unfortunately, once he reached Rook’s room, he was alone with his thoughts, his least favorite place to be. 

Dozens of feelings washed over him in the silence, almost all of them unwanted. The anger he was fine with, the doubt acceptable. His want he could take or leave. The fondness that washed over him, the anxiety, those were unacceptable. 

A knock at the door pulled him from his mind and if it weren’t for the familiar voice that followed, he might have appreciated the distraction. 

“Can I come in?” Rook called. 

“I mean, it’s your room. Or… hold on, is that a vampire thing? I’ve heard that’s a vampire thing. If it’s a vampire thing then no, you’re forbidden from ever entering.”

Rook seemed lost. “It’s not a vampire thing. So I can come in?”

“Yeah. That’s what I said.”

“Right.” He stepped cautiously through the door. “I’m here to apologize.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes. It was a trap. It had to be. “No, you’re not.”

Rook held his hands up in surrender. “I am. I think I have handled this poorly. So, I’m sorry, and I’m here to say it’s in your hands now.”

“What?”

“I won’t push any longer. If you want anything to happen, to start anything, you must do it yourself. I’m done.”

Oliver felt his face fall and Rook watched him in quiet amusement. “Come now,” he said, moving to rest his hand on Oliver’s back and then seemly remembering what he’d just said and pulling away. “Is this not what you wanted?”

Oliver narrowed his eyes again. It was another game. Declaring that he’d play no more games with him was in itself a game. It was untenable. It was indefensible. It was a shocking relief. 

“Right,” Oliver said, scoffing. “I’m sure.”

“I mean it. I’m afraid I prioritized my fun over you feeling safe here. It’s in your hands now.”

Oliver stared, baffled, as Rook gave him a patient smile, stood up, and walked towards the door. His own bedroom door, one he’d given up to Oliver on a whim. 

“Wait,” he called, and Rook stopped, his hand inches away from the door handle. 

“Yes?”

“You drink blood.”

The confused look he’d gotten the last time he’d discussed this was nothing compared to the look of befuddlement and concern that crossed his face this time. 

“We had this conversation not moments ago, surely you can’t have forgotten already.”

Oliver scowled at him and Rook at least had the good sense to try and hide the smile the look pulled from him. “Who’s blood?”

“Petyr and Beatris’s mostly. You’ll meet her soon. Animals when I need some extra.”

“Do you want to drink mine?” Oliver asked, trying his best to look disinterested. 

“What are you asking?”

“I said,” he responded, raising his voice before Rook raised a hand to stop him. 

“No, what are you really asking.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes. “Not everyone speaks in riddles.”

A huff of laughter escaped Rook. “No, they most certainly don’t. You do, though.”

He decided to ignore that comment. “Does it hurt?”

“That’s not what you want to ask.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what I want to ask, just answer the question.”

“I don’t think I will. Do you want it to hurt?”

Oliver smiled. “Just a little.”

Rook paced over towards the bed, leaning down over him. 

“I can do that,” he said, his voice low. 

It would take a lot more than that to shut Oliver up. 

“How often do you need to drink?”

“Couple times a week. Do you always ask this many questions?”

“No. How often do you take from them?”

“As often as they’d like me to. Within reason. Sometimes you humans get greedy. Someone has to look out for you. 

Rook pushed forward again, moving to crawl over him before Oliver pulled back, hissing out a quiet, “Wait.”

He stopped immediately, concern overwriting everything else. “What? Are you alright?”

Oliver spoke softly, a horrible twinge of vulnerability present in his voice. “Is this really okay? Because the flirting is all well and good but sometimes… You’re just not going to freak out after, right? They always freak out after.”

Rook reached out, cupping his face in his hands and it took everything he had not to pull away, like the affection burned him. “You know you’re not the first man I’ve slept with, right?”

Oliver scoffed, his bravado falling back into place. “Right, of course. Silly of me to ask.” 

“Stop that, listen to me. You came here for a reason. They were right about me, I am a monster, but I take care of my own. No matter what. Besides, who would I be to judge you?”

Oliver laughed a sad little laugh. “Yeah, you’re right, you’re a real freak. Unlike me.”

“Be careful not to insult me too hard, what would that say about you?” Rook gave his hand a gentle squeeze but his words were still playful. Oliver appreciated it. Too much affection and he was afraid he might make a run for it again. 

“I’d rather have bad taste in men than whatever you’ve got going on.”

Rook rolled his eyes. “Are you trying to make me angry?”

“Yes.”

It came out much breathier than Oliver had meant it to but it certainly got Rook’s attention. 

“Which first?” The words were tense and Oliver could feel his ego inflate at how he was clearly affecting the man. 

Oliver tilted his head, at first in consideration and then to expose his neck. “Come on, show me just how much of a freak you are.”

Rook took his time, his hands rising to thread through Oliver’s hair and pull his head back as he moved beside him. 

Impatience began to well up in Oliver’s chest as Rook pressed a gentle kiss into his pulse point before burying his nose into his neck, still no sign of those fangs that Oliver couldn’t help but eye when he spoke. 

An impatient whine got him nothing other than a quick laugh, squirming as it pushed a puff of cold air against his neck. 

Rook held him in place as he shifted, not letting him move from the position he’d put Oliver in. 

And then, with no warning, he felt the sharp pain of two fangs piercing his skin. 

They were gone almost as soon as they had come, leaving two seeping holes in his neck. He relaxed as Rook lapped at them, the teasing long gone. All of Rook’s attention was now firmly directed on the warm liquid flowing out of him. 

It left him almost pleasantly numb, the feeling of his warmth leaving him and flooding into the other man almost calming. 

More than the pain, he began to feel cold. A numbness spread to the tips of his fingers as Rook pulled away from his neck. He flexed his fingers as they suddenly became fascinating to him, feeling cold and foreign to his woozy mind. 

He hadn’t even realized Rook had left until a bandage was being attached to his neck. 

Immediately his attention shifted to the other man. He was wearing altogether too many clothes, Oliver decided. They both were. 

He moved up to pull at Rook’s shirt, unbuttoning the first few buttons and beginning to impatiently tug it down his shoulders. 

Rook watched him, amusement shining in his eyes. He made no move to help Oliver’s attempt to undress them. 

“You did so well. You know, my favorite part,” Rook said, in that low voice that irritated Oliver endlessly, “is always the trust.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Can you just shut up,” he said as he crashed their lips together, promptly silencing Rook. 

He finished tugging off Rook’s shirt as they kissed, a familiar hint of copper invading his mouth as they did. 

He had to pry Rook’s arms away from his face in order to do so. They rose right back up moments after, his hands threaded into Oliver’s hair, holding him close. Even as the kiss ended he kept their faces pressed together, noses touching, a hint of a smile on his face. 

He pressed a kiss onto the tip of his nose and Oliver fought the urge to roll his eyes and the urge to smile simultaneously. 

And then Rook pulled away from him and instead of whining, like he so desperately wanted to, he took the opportunity to undress, making quick work of his clothes. 

When he turned back, Rook had a bottle of some sort of oil in his hands and Oliver snorted. “Someone came prepared.”

“It was my room,” he said as he tugged Oliver closer. “Now, any preferences?”

He looked up at Oliver expectantly and he quickly answered, “If you don’t fuck me soon, I’m going to bite you.”

Rook laughed as he coated his fingers in the oil. “I think we should leave the biting to me.”

As if. 

He pushed Oliver onto his back, looming over him as he sunk one finger inside of him. 

Oliver sighed. He needed more but he loved it, the feeling of being filled for the first time after being empty. 

That contentedness did not last. Barely a minute passed before Oliver was whining for a second finger, one Rook gave him easily, slowly pushing inside him. 

He smiled down at Oliver, a sickeningly sweet look on his face. “You’re so eager,” he said, and if Oliver wasn’t certain it would slow down this already devastatingly slow process, he would’ve said something rude. 

Instead, he opted to ask, “Can you hurry up?”

“I’m not done,” he said.

Oliver pouted. “Come on. It’s no fun if it doesn’t hurt a little.”

Rook rolled his eyes but gave in, lining up with Oliver’s hole and slowly, torturously slowly, began to push in. 

He was slick with oil and thick and just too slow. It was going to drive Oliver crazy. 

So he took matters into his own hands. His legs wrapped around Rook’s hips, locking around them and pulling them flush with him, sighing as he was filled completely. 

Rook's hand rose to his jaw, forcing him to look him in the eye. “You are an impatient little thing, aren’t you,” he said as he rocked slowly back and forth. 

He was too careful with him. Oliver didn’t want careful. 

So instead he pulled him close, Rook’s cold chest lowering to rest against Oliver’s. 

And then, with this newfound closeness, Oliver bit him, his teeth digging into his shoulder. 

Rook hissed and snapped his hip again, twice as hard as before. “You little bastard.”

He pulled out and before Oliver had the chance to whine and complain and make him regret leaving, he was being spun around and pushed face-first into the mattress, Rook’s cock sliding inside him once again. 

He began to calm as Rook's pace got harsher. He was much more docile when he was getting what he wanted. 

Part of him worried he might be drooling, his dick getting just a little friction against the sheets with every sharp thrust. 

Rook’s hands were gripping his hips, almost hard enough to bruise. He could feel the man’s lost control and couldn’t help but grin, letting out soft moans at every punishing thrust. 

Rook groaned out, “Fuck, I’m gonna…” He was too far gone to finish his sentence and Oliver basked in it. 

Oliver lifted his hips up to meet his thrusts as best he could and while it may not have been the best effort he’d ever put forth, the sight alone seemed to be enough to push Rook over the edge, burying himself deep inside Oliver as he came. 

He winced a little as he pulled out, clearly sensitive, and Oliver laughed. 

“You’re so bad at this,” he drawled, his brain still left fuzzy. “I didn’t even come. Selfish man.”

Rook chuckled as he sat back against the headboard, pulling Oliver’s back flush with his chest, arms wrapping around him. He pressed a kiss to his neck, right on top of the bandage, and lazily wrapped his hand around Oliver’s dick. 

His hand, still slick from before, felt incredible against Oliver. He couldn’t help but wish he was still being filled, the cum slowly dripping onto him onto the now ruined sheets a reminder of how empty he felt. 

But Rook was in no rush and his steady, sure movements brought Oliver closer and closer. 

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had been this gentle with him. He wasn’t sure if anyone had ever been. It brought this horrible, queasy feeling to his stomach. 

As Rook pushed on, pumping Oliver with one hand while rubbing reassuring circles into his chest with the other, it all became too much. He bucked his hips up into Rook’s hand, letting out a whine that sounded pathetic, even to him. He threw his head back, cum spilling out of him and dripping down, over Rook’s hand and onto his sheets. Someone’s sheets. He still wasn’t sure. 

“Who’s room even is this?” he slurred out and he snuggled back into Rook’s embrace, uncaring as to the mess they found themselves in. 

He laughed. “Maybe we can share it.”

Oliver huffed as Rook’s clean hand rose to play with his hair, his mind beginning to drift off at the gentle touch. “I’m sure we can come up with some sort of arrangement.”

#terato #vampire #vampire x human #monster x human #vampire oc #vampire boyfriend #vampire bf #vows #I love their dynamic #Rook desperately wants people to think he’s a weird fucked up guy #Oliver is actually a weird fucked up guy and he does it Effortlessly #For the record it takes Oliver weeks to even tell Rook his name #It drives Rook crazy and Oliver thinks its hilarious #The Viv prequel will also come someday #Judging by how long this one took me I make no promises on when though

[helmarok]

ADMINS!

headcanons under the cut!

ROMEO:

Romeo was the Admin of Mischief. His people were known for their golden goat-like eyes. Romeo enjoyed playing games, doing pranks, and griefing. He loved to make challenges for his friends and followers.

Long ago, Romeo loved Fred and Xara and the three of them lived together. However, as the Admins' followers grew, Fred and Xara decided it would be best to build their own cities and live there instead of in their starting cabin. Romeo stayed in the cabin and built Romeoburg around it, half jokingly as a way to mock Fred and Xara for feeling so important they needed entire cities for themselves.

Moving away had drifted the three apart, and Fred and Xara would spend less and less time with Romeo. This made Romeo resentful, as he made an effort to keep them all together and the other two supposedly didn't have time for him. He began to feel abandoned. In a final effort to save their relationship, Romeo created his Ultimate Challenge, and when beaten, would open the doors to the cabin, to remind Fred and Xara of what once was. However, Fred and Xara said they didn't have time for things like that anymore, and Romeo finally snapped.

FRED:

Fred was the Admin of the Sky and Seas. He created his people, who are known for their strange blue eyes. When he was alive, his people would worship him in Ocean Monuments similar to the one Romeo lured Jesse to. In the First World, these monuments were above ground instead of underwater. After killing Fred, Romeo destroyed all of the monuments, so Fred's people stick to worshiping him on his home island, which Romeo also tried to destroy but it was protected by a powerful spell.

Fred was a kindhearted pacifist and believed Romeo could be saved, which led to his downfall. Fred cared greatly for his people and treated them as if they were his children. When there was drought, he would flap his wings and create rain. His religion values pacifism, selflessness and kindness to all living things. Fred's highest priestess is Binta, who has taken up the duty of sheltering and protecting those in the Underneath.

One of Fred's most notable creations is the Prismarine Colossus, which along with Guardians guarded his temples from mobs and pirates.

XARA:

Xara was the Admin of the Sun and Sands. Her people, who were all killed by Romeo, were known for their bright pink eyes. Sand temples were built to worship her.

Xara was kind, but did not have as much patience as Fred, and tried to convince him that Romeo was beyond saving and needed to be killed before he killed them both and destroyed the world. She also had different values from Fred, like believing in revenge and violence when necessary.

Worshippers of Xara valued strength, loyalty, and honor. They were hardworking people and most of them were warriors. The most devoted of followers would undergo the Star Trial, where they would kill a wither and gift the star to Xara as a sign of their devotion to her. This trial is why many desert structures have withers chiseled in the stone.

Romeo nearly killed Xara, but Fred jumped in and was stabbed instead. Romeo was so full of regret that he was unable to finish the job and instead just took away Xara's Admin powers and locked her away.

#ganon draws #minecraft #mcsm #minecraft story mode #mcsm romeo #mcsm fred #mcsm xara

[cosmicfunnies]

Navigating Through The Storm - An Update On My Journey

Hello , dear friends and followers,I hope this post finds you in moments of peace and pockets of joy, despite the complexities we all navigate through in our lives. It’s been a while since I've shared a detailed update with you, and I believe it’s important to keep the lines of communication open, honest, and heartfelt.

The past few years have been a rollercoaster, to say the least. I’ve encountered personal challenges that have significantly impacted my ability to create as freely and frequently as I used to, particularly with my comics and creative projects.Depression has been a relentless companion on this journey, making everyday tasks and creative endeavors much more difficult to navigate.

The weight of it often dims the vibrant colors of life, making even the simplest steps forward feel like monumental tasks.Adding to this, the financial strain of losing my full-time job two years ago has cast a long shadow over my life. The search for stable employment has been both exhausting and disheartening, leaving me to juggle financial uncertainty alongside my other challenges.

One of the most heart-wrenching aspects of these years has been witnessing the progression of my mom’s dementia. Her condition continues to deteriorate, and the emotional toll of watching a loved one fade away cannot be overstated. It's a type of pain that words can hardly capture.

Despite the darkness, there have been slivers of light and progress. I’ve been slowly, but surely, working on new things. The journey back to creativity isn’t a straightforward path; it’s filled with starts and stops, especially with chronic fatigue making every step feel like wading through molasses.

But I am moving, nonetheless.I’m in the process of relaunching my store, which is both exciting and daunting. It’s a tangible piece of my hope for the future, a hope that creativity will once again be a full-fledged beacon in my life.Moreover,

I've taken a significant step towards a brighter future by going back to college to pursue my bachelor's degree in graphic design. This decision is not just about career opportunities; it's about reigniting my passion and opening doors to new possibilities and dreams.

Yes, things are moving slowly, but they are moving. The creation of new comics and products is underway, though the pace might not be what I used to manage. This process is teaching me patience and the importance of being kind to myself, recognizing that progress, no matter how small, is still progress.

To you, my dear readers, your support and understanding mean the world to me. Knowing that you are there, even in silence, gives me strength. I am hopeful for what the future holds, for both my creative endeavors and personal growth.

Your patience and encouragement as I navigate this phase of my life are invaluable.As doors begin to crack open, and I peer through to the possibilities beyond, I am reminded that every step forward is a victory. And I am grateful for the chance to share this journey with you.

Jackie

#cosmic funnies #astronomy #space #science #blog update #coming soon #coming back #blog post #blogger #depression #financial #hardship #dementia #support #support me