I Love How On Tumblr, "media Literacy" Has Become "Um, Just Because Someone Writes About This Doesn't

Btw, I am in the process of making a more detailed survey for this.

Speaking of, tempted to make a community myself, but since I have a variety of unconnected works, I have no idea what that would be a community for. Kind of reminds me of the idea I had to try and get myself posting again, mainly making like, a sort of dating sim kind of group of characters to play around with.

Y'all want me to make object head people for you to kiss? SFUIHSFU

It's so sweet that Veyra can already tell the connection those two have, lowkey calling them out by saying they can share a bed if they want lol. I feel the found family growing, and I can't wait to learn more about Veyra. Plus see Lira and Jesse's relationship develop more. I wonder how they'll realize their feelings.

I'm all caught up now. So glad I found this story, it's awesome and you're doing a great job with it! The descriptions in these latest chapters were so good.

Chapter 6 - Hope.

“Good. Now, try to follow my exact footsteps.”

Veyra didn’t wait for a response. She turned sharply and slipped deeper into the alleyways, her steps quick and deliberate. The path she led them down was a maze—twisting turns, tight corners, low-hanging wires. The girls followed close behind, hearts pounding, stepping where she stepped, careful to leave only one trail in the mud.

The neon glow behind them faded with every turn, replaced by dim streetlights barely clinging to life. Eventually, they reached a part of town untouched by the usual buzz—no ads, no corporate banners. Just shadows, whispers, and the occasional flicker of a broken sign.

Clusters of people were gathered around makeshift tables, voices low, eyes sharp. Every conversation seemed to stop and start again with passing glances. It wasn’t chaos. It was control.

Lira and Jesse kept their eyes fixed on Veyra as they followed, her stride unbroken as they passed table after table. Some were groups of men, others women, all casting glances that cut sharper than the silence.

Each group radiated the same quiet tension—alert, wary. They recognized the newcomers, not from introductions, but from whispers and headlines. Two women whose defiance spoke louder in one night than the entire movement had in months.

“Don’t mind them, dears,” Veyra called back, her voice smooth and disarming. “They’re just admiring your passion—and the power of your voices.”

Lira met a few gazes head-on, pride swelling in her chest. For once, the attention didn’t feel like a threat. But Jesse shrank instinctively behind her, trying to disappear into Lira’s shadow. Her pinky tapped out its familiar rhythm against her thigh, each step syncing with the pulse.

tap… tap… tap-tap… tap…

Finally, after what felt like an hour in Jesse’s skin, Veyra stopped at a heavy metal door set into the back wall.

“This is where you’re welcome to stay.” She motioned to the door with a tilt of her head.

Lira stepped forward, pressing her palm against the cool steel and giving it a push. To her surprise, it opened easily.

Inside, the room glowed with flickering candlelight. Two beds sat side by side, neatly made, as if they’d been expecting them all along.

“This is… much cozier than the apartment,” Jesse murmured, eyes scanning the warm shadows. Then she looked back at Veyra, nerves creeping back into her voice. “And if we don’t agree to join… what then?”

Veyra’s gaze dropped. “Then I’m afraid you won’t be welcome here. You’d both be on your own… in a city that wants you dead.”

Lira grabbed Jesse’s hand, squeezing it softly as they locked eyes—a silent conversation worth a million words passing between them.

Veyra smiled at the bond they shared, whether or not they realized it.

Just as the silence stretched too long, Jesse finally spoke. “Then I guess our best shot at seeing this city reformed is with you.”

“Oh good,” Veyra giggled, clapping her hands together with sudden warmth. “I didn’t want to send you out of here after what you’ve been through today. Now, make yourselves at home and relax. You can use one bed or two—your choice.”

Veyra slipped out, the door shutting softly behind her, leaving Jesse and Lira in a welcome silence.

“So… this is our life now, huh?” Lira said, giving Jesse’s hand another gentle squeeze.

“Yeah. Really living the dream,” Jesse chuckled, a small smile forming at the corners of her mouth.

“What do you wanna do first?” Lira asked, voice somewhere between caution and wonder.

“I could go for a nap…” Jesse yawned, pulling off her jacket and tossing it onto a hook.

She padded over to the bed, peeled off her shirt, and flopped under the covers with a sigh of relief.

Lira smiled as she watched her, a light blush creeping up her cheeks. Eventually, she rolled her eyes and joined her, flopping onto the other bed with a quiet huff of contentment.

If the Ghost Punch characters got a large sum of money (how much is up to you to interpret) how would they most want to spend it?

Oo fun question!

I cannot stress enough that everyone else would use part of their sum to get Shay a new phone. Several phone chargers. External batteries. The works.

At no point in this endeavor would it even OCCUR to Shay to get HERSELF a new phone.

BUT here we go

Shay - probably a new gaming console Max - a really fancy laptop Duncan - new figurines and books Gideon - swords Jo - a fancy tea set that she has been eyeing for ages Arlo - espresso machine

Thanks for the ask!

Oooo omg this is so interesting! Your descriptions are so vivid and beautiful. I was entranced the whole time. I could just picture the world in my head, and the ending had me so intrigued. Also, this is one of my favorite types of plots as a trans man.

Some fantasy thing I am fiddling with

She made the decision that from this day forward, she would no longer be Astrid, a peasant girl of unremarkable stock with no discernible direction. Now she’d go by Aegir, the name of her cousin who had passed from the sweating sickness many moons ago. Father’s work as a farrier kept him busy with the horses, mules, and donkeys of traders, merchants, and lower-tier nobles that kept their manors and homes close to Lykkested, the capital of Álfarune the northernmost province of the kingdom of Upplond, and the family’s name had spread far enough for those to know his high-quality work. Whilst Mother worked to help the village women watch the children and brew the mead and dark, stout ale that the village had become known for. All the while, Astrid desired to join King Ragnar’s court as a page and then a knight—a path forbidden to her.

Skinny but strong, a girl on the cusp of womanhood who lacked the curves that defined her gender at this age. Much for the better, in her opinion. Astrid wore a close-fitting under-tunic against her lean chest, with another tunic over it to hide even further. A sharp, chilly wind, smelled of brine and distant adventures, whipped off the Rømskog Sea that ruffled her reddish-brown hair—cropped short beneath the pointed ears of her people, and she even pierced the left tip with a sharp needle and kept an iron ring it, a boyish fashion and something her parents were against but did not stop their strong-willed girl.

That day, with her mind made up, Astrid—now Aegir—announced that she was her lost cousin, at least to those who did not personally know her or her family, who did not pass away but only took some time to heal from the sweating sickness. Arming herself with an iron short-sword shoved into a sheepskin sheath gave her the look of a young boy just before the age of training and education.

Despite the chill of fall on the back of the strong wind, the warming sun still proclaimed itself as summer, even if late in the season. Astrid sat on the low stone wall that surrounded her father’s tiny parcel of land, his hammer still going, even this late in the day. The land of the Álfarune was as breathtakingly beautiful and hauntingly dangerous as its people, that she felt herself proud to come from. From the sapphire-colored, icy waters to the jagged granite peaks, worn smooth by countless ages of wind and snow, that pierced the sky and were called the Backbone of the World. To the deep woods, filled with both the mundane and the magical. Their ancient trees, gnarled from the ages, twisted like arthritic fingers; their shadows cast long on those who sought to be under the shelter of their leaves. Just past the outskirts of the hamlet were fields full of ripening barley, millet, and other hardy crops that could survive and grow in the brief summers, a familiar sight that acted as a balm to soothe the anxiety in her stomach. And even now, it helped bolster her decision to leave the hamlet for Blomma Castle, and under the darkness of nighttime.

After the successful escape from her parents’ hut as they slept, Astrid took a deep breath of the sweet summer night air—honeysuckle, juniper berries, and the ever-present damp earth—a deep, cleaning breath, the first of many as she pursued her dreams, which did not include an arraigned marriage to Jozef. Her slightly-upturned nose crinkled in disgust at the mere thought of it. With no time to waste, she took off toward the western road; the ocean was a shimmering silver under the full moon. Leaving the village required careful steps; a bit of luck, and no patrolling guards or their echoing steps behind her, as she escaped from the outskirts.

The worn leather of her fur-fringed satchel creaked as Astrid adjusted the strap, its weight a familiar ache across her chest. A night-hawk cried overhead; its sharp call sliced through the subdued hum of the wind that rustled through tall sea-grasses. A shiver, born of the chilly wind and of apprehension, traced its path down her spine; she was young, undeniably so, and despite looking like a boy, was very much a tempting target in these lands, however safe they might be.

High in the inky sky, the moon, a pearl about to dip below the horizon, cast long shadows like darkened fingers. Between the trees, a faint, flickering light shone through—a tiny, defiant flame against the vast, dark forest. The crisp night air allowed the aroma of wood-smoke to linger, which mingled with the rich, savory aroma of roasting meat; her stomach growled, a low rumble against the evening. Who, she wondered, was cooking at this late hour?

****

@fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk @leahnardo-da-veggie

@aalinaaaaaa @an-indecisive-nerd @write-with-will @the-ellia-west @carb0n-m0n0xide

@inadequatecowboy @kitkins13 @watermeezer @shepardstales @bardic-tales

@dyrewrites @moremysteries

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LISTEN UP MOTHER FUCKERS

SEE THIS WEBSITE? 

ITS CALLED WOLFRAM ALPHA

THIS IS THE BEST GODDAMN WEBSITE FOR ACADEMIC SHIT. FUCK GOOGLE. 

THIS MOTHERFUCKER WILL LET YOU SEARCH “HOSPITAL BEDS IN CHAD VS. IRAN” 

AND IT GIVES YOU A STRAIGHT GODDAMN ANSWER 

MAYBE YOU’RE NOT INTERESTED IN DOCTORNESS OF THIRD WORLD COUNTRIES COOL SHIT 

HAVING TROUBLE WITH MATH?

HOLY SHIT

OR MAYBE YOU WANNA DICK AROUND

WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT

the more girls you add to a story the more yuri situations you're able to produce.... something to consider

Speaking of, tempted to make a community myself, but since I have a variety of unconnected works, I have no idea what that would be a community for. Kind of reminds me of the idea I had to try and get myself posting again, mainly making like, a sort of dating sim kind of group of characters to play around with.

Y'all want me to make object head people for you to kiss? SFUIHSFU

Yes, yes, I love this dynamic so much! I love both when it's incredibly sweet, and also when it causes a character's downfall.

My favorite relationship dynamic in fiction is a worshipper and their God. Not a literal God, but their God. The only thing in the whole world that matters to them. I will live for you, I would die for you, I would kill for you. My only moral compass is You. You can do no wrong in my eyes and I will never stray from your side. I was born to meet you and to love you. You are the only being I pray to. Your life isn’t just my passion, it’s my religion. You don’t think you’re anything special but you don’t see what I see. You don’t see that you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel this way. You don’t understand how beautiful you are to me and I will devote my entire life to making you understand and accept it.

Omg y'all are cooking with your responses. /pos

Hey, I made a survey for the recent writing project I am working on. If you want, feel free to fill it out. The questions may feel a bit random at times, but I promise they are relevant. And may have something to do with kissable object head people.

Google Docs

Dating Game Satisfaction Survey

For a writing project of mine, I was curious how people felt about the dating options in games that let you romance the characters. Let me b

Minors please do not interact