#And I don’t get compensated and often other than a few people don’t even get feedback on them

[maikaartwork]

Artists, let’s talk about Instagram commission scammers

There’s been a huge rise in commission scammers recently, mostly on Instagram. A lot of new artists don’t know what to look out for, so I figured this might help people.

How they begin

Usually the scammer will write to you asking about a commission. Something deceptively cute - mostly I encounter asks about pet portraits, with one or two photos sent. They’ll probably try to sell you a sweet little story, like “It’s for my son’s birthday”. They will insist that they love your artwork and style, even though they don’t follow you or never liked a single piece of your art.

What to look out for:

Their profiles will either be private, empty, or filled with very generic stuff, dating at most a few years back.

Their language will be very simple, rushed or downright bad. They might use weird emojis that nobody ever uses. They will probably send impatient “??” when you don’t answer immediately. They’re in a crunch - lots of people to scam, you know. 

They’ll give you absolutely no guidelines. No hints on style, contents aside from (usually) the pet and often a name written on the artwork, no theme. Anything you draw will be perfect. Full artistic freedom. In reality they don’t really care for this part.

They’ll offer you a ridiculous amount of money. Usually 100 or 300 USD (EDIT: I know it might not be a lot for some work. What I mean here - way higher than your asking price, 100 and 300 are standard rates they give). They’ll often put in a phrase like “I am willing to compensate you financially” and “I want the best you can draw”, peppered with vague praise. It will most likely sound way too good to be true. That’s because it is.

Where the scam actually happens

If you agree, they will ask you for a payment method. They’ll try to get to this part as soon as possible. 

Usually, they’ll insist on PayPal. And not just any PayPal. They’ll always insist on sending you a transfer immediately. None of that PayPal Invoice stuff (although some do have methods for that, too). They’ll really, REALLY want to get your PayPal email address and name for the transfer - that’s what they’re after. If you insist on any other method, they’ll just circle back to the transfer “for easiest method”. If you do provide them with the info, most likely you’ll soon get a scam email. It most likely be a message with a link that will ultimately lead to bleeding you dry. Never, and I mean NEVER click on any emails or links you get from them. It’s like with any other scam emails you can ever get.

A few things can happen here:

They overpay you and ask for the difference to be wired back. Usually it will go to a different account and you’ll never see that money again. 

They’ll overpay you “for shipping costs” and ask you to forward the difference to their shipping company. Just like before, you’ll never see that money again.

The actual owner of the account (yes, they most likely use stolen accounts to wire from) will realize there’s been something sketchy going on and request a refund via official channels. Your account will be charged with fees and/or you get in trouble for fraudulent transactions. 

You will transfer the money from your PayPal credit to your bank account and they will make a shitstorm when they want their money back, making your life a living hell. They will call you a scammer, a thief, make wild claims, wearing you down and forcing you into wiring money “back” - aka to their final destination account. 

Never, EVER wire money to anyone. This is not how it’s supposed to go. Use PayPal Invoice for secure exchanges where the client needs to provide you with their email, not the other way around.

You can find more info on that method HERE.

What to do when you encounter a scammer:

Ask the right questions: inquire about the style, which artwork of yours they like, as much details as you can. They won’t supply you with any good answers.

Don’t let the rush of the exchange, their praise and the promise of insanely good money to get to you. That’s how they operate, that’s how they make you lose vigilance. 

Don’t engage them. As soon as you realize it might be a scam, block them. The sense of urgency they create with their rushed exchange, and pressure they put on you will sooner or later get to you and you might do something that you’ll regret later.

Never wire money to anyone. Never give out your personal data. Never provide your email, name, address or credit card info. 

Don’t be deceived by receiving a payment, if you somehow agree to go along with it. Just because it’s there now doesn’t mean it can’t be withdrawn. 

Here is a very standard example of such an exchange. I realized it’s a scam pretty fast and went along with it, because I wanted good screenshots for you guys, so I tried going very “by the book” with it. 

Please share this post, make it reach as many artists as possible. Let young or inexperienced artists know that this is going on. So many people have no idea that this is a thing. Let’s help each other out. If you think I missed any relevant info, do add it as an rb!

Also, if you know other scam methods that you think should be shared, consider rb-ing this post with them below. Having a master post of scam protection would AWESOME to have in the art community.

[jahayla-parker]

So will we be getting any Freddy fics before the series comes out? ❤️

Ignore my comments/venting in the tags unless actually interested

It’s hard to say, probably not. I’m working on some, but I have literally dozens of other requests I’m working on simultaneously. So with some Freddy fics clearly already coming and scheduled, I don’t think it would be fair to add more of his prior to other ones that have been waiting.

That being said, I just finished my un-proofread/unedited draft of a Kaz x Reader angst fic I plan on sharing soon.

🤗

[milksnake-tea]

taboo.

"I'm addicted to you, don't you know that you're toxic?"

rollo flamme x gn!reader

contains: spoilers for twst's new event (kinda?), rollo (/j), tension, implied enemies to lovers, pining, mention of alcohol (no one is drinking, it's figurative language),

word count: 1k+

note: dedicated to @crysangria as compensation for him actually sleeping 💀💀 no banner because rollo doesn't deserve one <33 (/j, i'll make him one if he's popular enough)

i cant believe im reviving for yassified claude frollo of all people

edit: yall im crying but i should probably say that this was written pre-genocide rollo HAHSHS

---

You were, without a doubt, the worst person to walk the earth.

Heaven knows how you managed to find your way to Noble Bell, and only the Lord could tell how you hadn’t been kicked out yet. You were the opposite of what the college stood for. When students brooded, you joked. When authority put its foot down, you laughed - that stupid, stupid laugh of yours that tormented Rollo’s mind like the plague.

You were worse than that Malleus Draconia. You were a witch, a threat.

“Man, you look pissed.”

Rollo glared at you, unamused as you waltzed into his office as though you owned the place. Honestly, he has no idea where you get that confidence of yours. You’ve always been this way, from the moment you stepped into Noble Bell as a freshman and still during your third year, practically radiating with an ego.

“What do you want now?” he asked harshly, sparing you from the lecture this time.

You smiled mockingly, raising your hands in faux surrender. “Easy now, Prez. I don’t want to be here either.”

Then why do you come by so often? The question is buried in the back of Rollo’s mind, a lingering curiosity that he refuses to acknowledge. Instead, he opts for a colder approach, tearing his eyes away from your smirk and to the papers you waved around carelessly.

“Headmaster sent them.” You slap the papers down on his desk, ignoring whatever paperwork he was already doing. Rollo glowers at you, but once again, bites his tongue. “It’s the list for the students attending next week’s masquerade.”

“I can see that,” Rollo muttered, having the audacity to roll his eyes. You scoff.

“Well, I’m sorry for trying to help.”

“Right.” Rollo straightened out the papers, his lip curling as he read the name at the top of the list. Night Raven College, the school of Malleus Draconia. Right, that was another headache that was approaching… Although Draconia would surely prove to be interesting- one way or another.

“Damn, how’d they get Draconia on there? I heard the guy basically lives in his dormitory.”

Rollo nearly screams as you speak right next to his ear, draping yourself over his chair to peer over his shoulder at the list. You reach over him, tracing the names of each person attending and muttering to yourself under your breath. It’s one of the few moments where you’re serious - for as unorthodox as you could be, even you had your dignity when it came to not embarrassing yourself in front of the headmaster.

Meanwhile, Rollo is split - torn between logic and emotion.

He wants to snap at you, to scold you for invading his personal space without asking. He wants to shove you off his chair and dismiss you from his office. He wants to treat you like he would any other student who dared to blatantly disrespect his authority like this, to remind you of just who he was.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, his body betrays him. He shivers at your voice, your breath grazing just the shell of his ear, burning it a bright red. Your presence at his shoulder is somehow comforting, despite how desperately he wishes it wasn’t. Something is clamping down on his chest, a lead weight that restricts his airflow as he struggles to breathe.

This is the power you held over him, and he was damn sure you knew it.

“Are you even listening to me?” Your annoyed tone snaps him out of his stupor. Rollo looks like a deer caught in headlights, but he quickly composes himself (praying that you didn’t notice).

“I doubt you have anything to say that’s worth listening to.” His voice is detached and blunt, and yet he practically forces out the reply. Your eyes narrow, and he freezes as he meets your glare.

Your eyes are captivating, a swirling inferno of anger that he can’t help but find intoxicating. Somewhere in the back of his befuddled mind, he is afraid, but like a moth to a flame, he can’t look away. It’s a taboo beauty that he can’t help but indulge himself, if just for a moment.

“What did you just say?” you say slowly, the suppressed anger in your voice igniting something alien within him. Rollo swallows thickly.

“...You heard me.” The reply is small, almost fearful, but he manages to stand his ground. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“God, you’re so full of yourself,” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“And you’re insufferable,” Rollo murmurs, almost as though he was trying to convince himself. You snorted, leaning in until your noses brushed.

“You like me insufferable.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and yet it’s enough to steal Rollo’s own.

He knows you’re right. He knows it as a concrete fact, despite his efforts to deny it. He knows, but God, does he hate it. He hates the way his heart betrays him, tapping away like a deranged dancer in his chest. He hates how badly he wants to agree, how brightly burned he is, but he loves it. 

He's addicted to your fire, a divine yet forbidden liquor that's always just out of reach.

Rollo's mouth gapes open like a fish, mouthing nonsensical words that even he finds to be nonsense. Only you can do this to him, to rid him of his words, to leave him speechless before you like a fool.

And yet, as he stares into hellfire itself, he still somehow finds himself indignant.

"Don't flatter yourself," he finally mutters, hastily jerking his flushed face away from yours. He hears you laugh, a sound that's sure to replay in his head for the next few hours- no, days.

You straighten off of his chair, that infuriating smile still etched onto your lips. He wonders how they'd feel against his own.

“Whatever you say, Prez,” you say easily, as if nothing had happened. Rollo wishes he could do the same, but alas, you’ve been given front-row seats to his turmoil. He can practically hear the condescension in your eyes when he sees your knowing look.

“Get out,” he snaps, pinching his nose as you snicker. “Now.”

[sorendeimos]

In the quiet hours of the night... his mind is deafening.

How I perceive Severus Snape, part 2 | part 1

Notes: Go into this understanding that to Me, Severus is deeply flawed and broke and trauma filled. There are parts of him I see as soft and squishy, covered by hate to keep Them from bruising. If you don’t like that, do not read this. Otherwise, enjoy.

TW: Mentions of alcohol abuse, drug abuse, sex, physical and emotional abuse, poor mental health, death, manipulation Please do not read if you cannot handle these topics. This part is a lot lighter than part one, though it still has a few sore spots.

Positive Attributes

𖤐 studious and driven, severus is someone to have on your side when you need information. He likely already knows what you need and where to find it. 𖤐 severus is attentive, noticing things you likely didn’t. This often leads to him giving support before needed or compensating for things ahead of time. 𖤐 severus is quite witty and funny, he’s often cracking jokes, but his deadpan tone often makes Them fall flat. 𖤐 severus is incredibly thoughtful, especially when giving gifts. He observes people constantly, and his gifts to others on holidays or birthdays are often times things that are so touching, it's staggering.

𖤐 moments of bliss 𖤐

Negative Attributes

𖤐 severus is so incredibly stubborn. Once he has an idea to do something, well, he will not give up, even if doing it causes him personal harm. 𖤐 severus doesn’t sleep well, so he is constantly grumpy and snappish. 𖤐 severus has terrible social skills and a carefully black tone and expression. This often leads to him coming off angry, mean, or spiteful. 𖤐 severus wears his distaste plainly. It’s clear if he hates you. 𖤐 compliments are earned, to him, so you doing well or being kind to him often doesn’t come with thanks or praise, which can make him seem standoffish. 𖤐 insults are his way of expressing love and care.

𖤐 severus as song lyrics 𖤐

Musical tastes

𖤐 severus never stuck to one genre or another. The music of her youth is that chosen from discard or discount bins. 𖤐 lots of the music severus holds dear is music that is a gift or a moment of perspective shifting.𖤐 her favourite music to brew to us, classical OR absolute rubbish noise music. It depends on what is brewing, delicate potions get the latter. 𖤐 severus owns multiple band tees, also usually discounted, all unknown.𖤐 severus gets a lot of Her love for classical music from ballet classes with Lily. Her favourite pieces spawn from duets they created or performed together and she still hums them to herself often.

𖤐 severus’s playlist 𖤐

Severus has a dynamic relationship with music, it’s typically all around him either playing in his head, him humming while working, or playing out loud while he brews. His tastes are varying, vast, unexpected and usually not the same day to day.

Severus’s clothing

𖤐 for a very long time, clothing meant absolutely nothing. Clothes were a means of covering herself and keeping warm or staying cool. It isn’t until years down the road, probably around 14 or 15, that style mattered. 𖤐 severus, after a day of ballet class, went into town with Lily to hunt down some new leotards and, on a dare, tried one on. It was tight, constricting. She loved it. Lily bought her the leotard and some tights. 𖤐 from that day forward, the pair of them would find and try on anything and everything, Lily gaining a love for baggy cargo pants and jeans, severus a love for dresses and skirts

𖤐 Pinterest outfits severus would wear 𖤐

╰⌲ teens

╰⌲ twenties

hobbies

𖤐 severus has very few hobbies and usually things that were found to be creepy or entirely unexpected 𖤐 they can draw, often doing flowers, bugs, or creatures in the margins of their textbooks and adding art to assignments. 𖤐 severus also does ballet with lily and has for years. The two of them have done duets, individual performances, and won awards. They practice during the school year in a neglected wing that the two of them transfigured. 𖤐 severus also paints, plays piano and violin, can sing, writes long-winded essays on long forgotten topics, and speaks four languages besides English. 𖤐 the languages: German, Latin, Korean, and French.

End Part Two

[kid-az]

All Tomorrows: Vanga-Vangog’s Clicker Hc’s

Specifically, I’m talking about these guys.

They’re a fanmade All Tomorrow’s species made by Vanga-Vangog, and are essentially the descendants of the Blind Folk. They are described as an agoraphobic species who live in dense cities completely without light, as such a thing isn’t useful when you don’t have any eyes.

Anyways I found them to be a very interesting and adorable people, simple in concept but very interesting in execution, so I’m going to make up some headcanons about them.

-Due to their agoraphobic nature and how important crops are for civilization, Farmer’s are heavily respected and idolized in many of their cultures, as they are brave enough to venture into the open plains with little fear of the endless void above them or whatever predators are outside. Often these farmers wear iconic, low brimmed tin hats designed specifically to better focus their echolocation.

-Focusing on farming more, the clickers generally grow various fungi and yam-like staple foods as their primary, non-meat based food sources, as well as some tree fruits and a wheat-like plant. Unlike humans, their animal husbandry involves the domestication of large, herbivorous crabs, cockroaches descended from the Hissing cockroaches, various species of herbivorous salamander descendants for slime and eggs, and a few species of non-sapient posthumans.

-There dog and cat equivalent is a terrestrial species descended from Olm’s, who had entirely lost their eyes like them but more than make up for it through a powerful strong sense of smell, taste, and electro sensitivity. They of course have various different breeds, from larger, longer-legged breeds used by farmers to herd posthumans and salamanders, to smaller breeds who hunt pests inside the cities, to even more aquatic breeds who help with fishing.

-Due to their dense cities, preference to tight spaces, lack of lights and the need to keep settlements more quiet to not overwhelm people and make them deaf, their ecological impact on their world was much lesser than that of modern humans and many other posthuman species, and most of their megafauna and and ancient forests still existed when they first contacted their posthuman brethren.

-Continuing on ecological impact, their world was one terraformed by the Star People before getting Qu’d, so there was very little existing fossil fuels in their world. Instead, their civilizations were powered via nuclear fission and later, fusion. They utilized this energy for power far before they invented their first nuclear weapons.

-They never invented tv screens, instead relying entirely on advanced radios broadcasting talk shows, news, and music. And yes, these radios had separate channels, which were indicated by symbols which functioned similarly to braille. Videogames were only a very recent concept introduced by other species. (Idk how videogames would work for an entirely eyeless species?)

-Other forms of entertainment involved strolling around enclose cave and night parks, appreciating forms of artwork such as sculptures, hollow casts and bas-reliefs, and of course concerts and operas. Also stuff like swimming, children games such as hide and seek + tag, and sports.

-Their cultures were in general more accepting of physically disabled people, (Aka folks with paralyzed/nonexistent limbs and the deaf.) and a lot of their architecture involves heavy use of ramps, elevators, and escalators, with very few stairs in…… “sight.”

-Clicker’s have head hair, but it’s almost never in front as it’d heavily disrupt their echolocation. They are unfortunately beardless, but compensate with their whiskers. Some folks even grow their whiskers to be 1 feet from each end!

-They would not be happy about being compared to a walking fungus zombie. /s

[cthulhusstepmom]

What Is and What Could Be

Down in the bayou it’s never silent. The air is filled with the shrill calls of a million marsh birds, underscored by the harmonies of cicadas, crickets, and whining mosquitos. With a tempo set by croaking bullfrogs and sluggishly churning water, urged along by hooting owls and supported by the bass tones of bellowing gators. The song of the swamp is a busy tune, not unlike the brassy jazz played by those that live there. And if you know how to listen just right, it can tell you no shortage of things. 

In a warm and humid tavern a group of adventurers sits around a table, glancing furtively this way and that, squirming slightly under the judgemental stare of the more naturalized citizens. Things don’t often change in the bayou, it’s a wild place, untamed. Civilization has tried to reach within before and without fail it’s been pushed back with prejudice, those that do live here are proud of it and somewhat by design they tend to be a rather insular folk. By and large this means they don’t take kindly to most strangers. Particularly strangers that show up asking questions .

And this crew had been asking plenty, beyond the glaring offense of very clearly not being from around this neck of the woods. 

They rolled into town a few days ago, talking like Galticans or similar enough to them, and by the look in their eyes: running from who knows what. They found rooms at one of the nicer inns, kept to themselves and tipped decent enough(it takes more than that to ingratiate yourselves to the folk of Agwé) before they started asking things. Innocuous at first. They wanted to know about the circus going on just out of town, who the mayor was(useless question) and who was really in charge(that one earned them some begrudging respect). Then they dug deeper, asked about other people. Powerful people. People who are none too fond of having their business nosed about. 

However, if there’s one thing the people of Agwé like more than being stalwartly unhelpful to those they dislike, it’s watching someone else be stalwartly unhelpful and commentating on it over Sunday brunch and mimosas. 

“I’ll tell you what, you go on over to that carnival a ways outta town and I reckon you’ll find who you’re looking for.” A greasy tabaxi offers between wiping tables, battered tail flicking back and forth with a hard to determine emotion. “I wouldn’t dawdle if I were you, it won’t be in town much longer.” The Tabaxi returns to his business with a glinting smile and a few gold pieces that were well worth the trouble. If city slickers wanna go poking beehives it’s not his business to stop them, especially if he’s compensated for handing them the stick. 

The carnival itself is in full swing when they arrive, flashing lights and smells both sweet and savory assaulting their senses from the get go. The operation is staffed by a motley crew of goblinoids, bullywugs, humans, kobolds, and anything else one could reasonably imagine; in the corner of her vision, the half elven leader of the group of adventurers even catches sight of what look to be a few pixies working the crowd though the tide of patrons sways and they’re obscured before she can be fully certain. 

Games line the thoroughfare all of which, from the looks of a surreptitious investigation, appear to be thoroughly if subtly rigged. Arching above the sea of people is an impressive ferris wheel, bedazzled with twinkling magical lights as it turns and turns. Near it, a calliope booms a cheery tune over the sounds of hawking carnival workers, screaming children, and laughing patrons. A map near the entrance advertises a hall of mirrors, a freak show, and hourly performances in the red and white striped big top including a magic show, fire dancing, beast taming, and a spectacle led by the carnival owner at noon and midnight. Perusing through the carnival, wandering and wondering just how they’re meant to find anyone here let alone the one man they seek, the party save one(a dragonborn with a hand harp strapped to his side) seems oblivious to an odd quirk of this particular carnival. There doesn’t seem to be any clowns.

Their hotheaded gnome companion is easily egged into a game of strength(taunted all the while by a colorful lizardfolk wearing the symbol of the carnival), black eyes glitter with excitement as their minotaur begs to go to the big top to see the beasts in the next show as the small pseudodragon on his shoulder makes similar pleading motions, a disinterested rabbitfolk quickly snatches her hands away from a passing purse under the stern reprimand of an androgynous human with subtly glowing eyes. They come to the conclusion that they should split, agreeing that they will meet at the big top in an hour for the Spectacular, all concluding that should be their best chance to get an audience with who they seek. 

As they go their separate ways(one pair to the big top, one pair to the freak show, one making her way down the alley of carnival games and the last picking his way towards the concessions) the party is pulled into the atmosphere of merriment and none of them perceive the very distinct feeling of predatory eyes locked on their every move.

The party never gets a chance to reconvene at the big top. 

Instead, throughout the hour each one meets a disparate misfortune. The half elven woman drops to her knees at the edge of the thoroughfare, clutching her head in pain as the hand reaching for a holy symbol falls limp.

Behind her, the human spins about in panic, muttering a few infernal words before a hand is clamped over their mouth and ether slowly calms their struggling limbs. 

At a dart game, the dragonborn reaches to claim his prize and suddenly finds himself somewhere else entirely with only a moment to scream before his mind is enveloped in darkness and he falls to the ground fast asleep. 

In the large circus tent, the harengon thief is escorted away from her thoroughly distracted friend by a mysterious tabaxi claiming to be security, receiving a sharp blow to the temple as they walk towards a ‘holding cell’. 

Within the hall of mirrors, a black and orange hand reaches forth and yanks the furs worn by the gnome; sending her careening through the glass-turned-portal. 

Last to go is the minotaur. Enamored by the performance, he couldn’t pass up a chance to speak with the beastmaster of the carnival: an old goblin with an easy smile and a worn wooden ocarina. The only moment of warning he had was a deep hoot behind him before the world went dark.

Some indeterminate time later the human is wrenched from unconsciousness by a familiar, if perpetually jarring, voice shouting within their mind. In swift order they endeavor to wake the others, attempting to take stock of the situation. Their surroundings are dark, what little light is present struggles to illuminate anything through heavy curtains drawn over wide windows. Beneath them is an opulent rug, the color of which is hard to discern in the low light, and under that are tight wooden floorboards that match the walls of this space. What they can see of the walls anyway; most of the space is taken by lavish hangings and shelves of kick knacks, the one closest to them holds a beat up silver cigarette case, a small wooden figure of a two headed vulture, a clockwork dragonfly, a crocheted doily, a hip flask, and a vial that looks to house a small lily pad floating in water amongst a few other things. The air is thick with the scent of quality tobacco and warm food and the ambience it creates might even be homey and welcoming in the right circumstances. Though now, tied securely to chairs with no idea how they got there, it seems rather daunting. 

Spatially, the room is quite large. Wide enough for six chairs with displeased adventurers to be lined up side by side with a foot or so of walking room on one side. It’s longer than it is wide, maybe twice over though it’s hard to tell; the windows are positioned opposite each other in the very center of each wall, what light that escapes the curtains quickly stifles in almost absolute darkness before it reveals any sign of a far wall, at least to disadvantaged human eyes. What does catch their gaze and take their breath away are a pair of glowing dull magenta dots in the darkness. No, that’s not quite right. Not dots. Eyes . 

From the gasps coming from their left and right, some of the human’s more visually attuned party members have also perceived the eyes, and most likely the creature attached to them, whatever horrific beast it may be. 

Soon after they discover their predicament, the air is filled with the muffled noises of the carnivalé outside and underneath the muted cacophony the occasional grunt over a chorus of heavy breathing(the Thing on the other end of the room doesn’t move a single muscle, doesn’t even seem to breathe), a sliver of light falls upon the interior of the wagon. 

Creaaaaaaak. 

A door on the far side of the wagon opens. 

It takes a moment for the adventurers to get their bearing in the new light, when they do they first notice the creature connected to those dully shining eyes. 

A large bugbear stands against the far wall. He stands tall, the tips of his bat-like ears almost brushing the ceiling, limbs corded with lithe muscle, and a severe bearing that hints at confidence and ferocity. Running over his arms and up under his sleeves are large spots devoid of any of the dense brown fur that covers the rest of him, a closer look reveals thick rings of angry scar tissue, long healed but clearly agonizing once.

As the bugbear moves away from the opening door he reveals these new variables to their unfortunate situation. 

Stepping into the room with twin, thudding, clanks , a large fire genasi drags a pair of thick chains across the floor attached to weathered manacles that cover his forearms. The genasi is broad, with muscles that speak of hard labor and sheer physical power. His face is creased with deep laugh lines though the only smile on his lips at the moment is a malicious smirk as he reaches behind him to hold the door open. 

Lastly, a lizardfolk gentleman strolls through the door. He moves with the assured ease of a man who holds all the cards. Wearing a sharp purple suit, hand gripping the amethyst skull atop an ornate cane, the lizardfolk takes his time setting his top hat on a stand in the corner, breezing under the watchful eyes of the bugbear without a care for the sharp claws hovering near his snout. When he finally seats himself in a commanding armchair set front and center of the room, he casually fishes in his suit coat before withdrawing a sleek black cigarette holder and a cigarette from a mother of pearl case. It’s hardly in his hand for more than a second before the genasi at his shoulder provides a light at the tip of his finger before leaning with crossed arms on the back of the chair. As his back makes contact with the leather, a spidery hand covered in fur proffers a crystal tumbler of dark alcohol. 

After a long, weighted silence and a luxurious draw from the cigarette, he speaks. 

“What a do friends …”

[theboywithburninghands]

I’m back with more Funnybunny. I’m not sure how well I did with this one, since it kinda just… emerged. Like my last one. It discusses some heavy stuff, but there’s a big fat gross kiss at the end to compensate. Also, Kinger and Zooble cameo at the beginning.

T/W: Depression and discussions of/tasteless Jax jokes about s*icide

Strange Bedfellows

The Stage was empty in the morning. Caine was nowhere to be found. It would be eerily quiet in the tent were it not for Kinger’s mumbling. The oldest performer at the circus paced in a circle around the stage

Kinger: *nervous sing-song* Caine’s not here, Caine’s not here, Caine’s not here…~ We’re gonna miss doing the introooo, Caine’s not here…

*Zooble and Pomni enter from backstage. Zooble rolls their eyes*

Zooble: Ugh, I knew it. KINGER!

*Kinger yelps, flailing his hands around before relaxing a tiny bit*

Kinger: Zooble! New girl! I forgot you were there!

Pomni: Uh, we weren’t-

*Kinger hurries over to them, panting almost comically loud*

Kinger: Caine’s not here! I looked everywhere! *counting on his fingers* The tent, outside, the tent, my room, the basement, the tent- *he grabbed his head* But he’s nowhere! We’re gonna miss the intro and I don’t wanna break the ruuuules!

Zooble: *putting a claw to their forehead* %€$&$ €#£!$#, Kinger, it’s update day. Caine isn’t here because he’s getting a software update. He told us yesterday. And the day before that.

*Kinger suddenly stands up a lot straighter*

Kinger: Oh. So… no adventure today?

Pomni: R-Right. No adventure today.

Zooble: And you’re out here keeping me awake. Come on, Peepaw, let’s get you to bed.

*Zooble takes Kinger’s hand and walks him back towards the bedrooms*

Kinger: My name is Kinger, actually.

*The three of them head back into the hallway. Zooble pauses to look at Pomni*

Zooble: Hey, Pomni. Word of advice. Try and enjoy the quiet moments. They don’t happen all that often.

Kinger: And remember! If you’re quiet and you stay still, they won’t notice you as quickly!

Pomni: Uh… thanks guys. Enjoy your day off.

Pomni waved goodbye and sighed a bit. It wasn’t like she wanted to hang out with “the gang,” but… it beat being alone with her thoughts. She wasn’t quite sure where everyone had gone… unless literally EVERY OTHER PERSON was asleep. Which… was possible, admittedly. She chewed her lip a bit before going back to her room.

Pomni: Enjoy the quiet… *she sighs*

Being alone with her thoughts and no distractions, no way that could go wrong. Sure enough, not long after she shut the door, a creeping misery drooled into her belly. She was never getting out of here… no ifs, ands, or buts. If she didn’t go crazy and turn into one of those abstract creatures, she’d end up a paranoid wreck like Kinger, and everyone else would go crazy. There was no winning. Game over. You lose. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.

Pomni: I don’t care. *she lies out loud to herself.*

She flopped lifelessly onto her bed, staring at the wall. Maybe if she closed her eyes, she could convince her overcharged brain that it needed some rest. The dark only made her more aware of how much it hurt inside. God did it ever hurt… It wasn’t like a cut where the pain went away after a while. It was like a burn, it just kept on flaring up with new pain long after the initial damage. There was no point to anything… she was a jester forever, a fool for people to laugh at. Not even people… for FAKE people to laugh at. Less than zero.

Pomni: Someone shoot me…

Jax: I got a squirt gun.

Pomni’s eyes flew open, finding her face just a few inches from Jax’s, who rested on the other side of the bed with a big, smarmy grin on his face.

Pomni: JAX-! *she jolts back, scrabbling on the bedsheets for something to grab but ultimately falling off the bed onto her butt*

Jax: Hey Pompom. Comfy bed you got here.

Pomni rose to her feet, hands curled into fists.

Pomni: What the #%!! are you-

Jax: Doing in your room? You left the door unlocked when you went out with Zooble. You gotta get better about that if you want privacy.

Pomni: Jax. I don’t… *tries to start talking, and stops* Can you… Can I… I just want to be alone okay?

Jax: So you can do… what?

Pomni: Sleep.

Jax: You weren’t sleeping.

Pomni: I was trying to.

Jax: Sounded more like you were feelin’ sorry for yourself.

Pomni: Sometimes I can do both, okay? Now get off my bed.

Jax gave an exaggerated stretch before snuggling deeper into Pomni’s pillow. The jester quaked with frustration before turning and stomping to her door. If Jax wanted to be an ass, she’d just go find somewhere else to mope.

Jax: So why do you want to get shot?

Pomni stopped in her tracks.

Pomni: Why do you think?

Jax: Why do I think? Could be for any reason. Maybe you read some of Gangle’s fanfiction. One chapter of that would have me reaching for the Clorox.

Pomni: *fake, derisive laughter* Ha ha ha, you’re sooo funny.

Jax: I’m just sayin’, Pompom, you-

Pomni: Don’t. Call me. POMPOM!

The ensuing silence was palpable. Pomni gave a small gasp and covered her mouth with one hand. She couldn’t remember the last time she had shouted at somebody like that. Sure, she had told off Jax before, but that shout came from somewhere dark and primal…

Jax: Yowza.

Pomni: …I… I didn’t mean to shout like that. I’m sorry… Are you okay?

Jax: *looks back and forth* Yeah? Are you?

Pomni: No.

Jax: Dumb question. Anyway, I’ve razzed you enough. I’ll let you be alone.

Jax hops down off the bed, tucking his hands behind his head and walking towards the door. A hand grabbed him by the back pocket of his overalls.

Jax: Uh-

Pomni: …I’m sorry. *she looks down at the floor*

Jax: It’s… fine?

Pomni: …Jax, I don’t want you to leave. I’m sorry.

Jax: You already said you’re sorry. Can you let go of my pants?

Pomni: I’m sorry, I didn’t… *she lets go* I’m sorry…

Jax: Pomni. What are you sorry for?

Pomni: I… I yelled at you, I-

Jax: I get yelled at all the time. It’s sorta my thing. *awkward smirk*

Pomni: Don’t go… I’m sorry.

Jax: Okay. Come on. You need to calm down.

Without warning, Jax puts his hands under Pomni’s armpits and hoists her up off her feet.

Pomni: Wh- HEY! Jax, what are you-?!

Jax: You’re in one of those… loops. I know how it works. Also, WOW, you weigh like six pounds.

He plopped her onto her bed. Pomni barely had time to register what just happened before Jax sat beside her.

Jax: Look, Pompom… Sorry. Pomni. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to be depressed. It’s okay to yell sometimes. But…

He sighed and thought a minute. A faint blush lit up his face.

Jax: You don’t… need to do all that by yourself. I don’t want you to hurt all alone.

Pomni: …Is that why you snuck here? You were worried about me?

The pink on Jax’s cheeks grew more pronounced as he crossed his arms.

Jax: Y-Yeah, whatever you want to believe.

Pomni took his hand, a tiny, grateful smile across her face. Jax tried his best to look uninterested, but it wasn’t a very convincing look. Pomni held his other hand and there was an electric silence as they looked at each other.

Pomni: I… don’t…

The invisible barrier fell down and their lips met. It was a kiss of both inexperience and pent-up emotion. Both the jester and the rabbit felt all their reservations melt away as they kissed each other. It didn’t matter if someone found out. It didn’t matter if one of them was going to die later… they wanted this. They NEEDED this.

Jax fell onto his back as Pomni climbed on top of him. There was a moment of hesitation before they began to kiss again. Tender but eager. Pomni let out a fluttery sigh from the very back of her throat as she felt Jax’s hand on the back of her head. Gentle, wordless encouragement…

At some point, the kiss broke and they laid apart from each other on opposite sides of the bed, flushed and panting.

Pomni: …Are you okay?

Jax: Y-Yeah. Better than okay.

Pomni: I think I am too. I’m… I…

Pomni blinked in surprise.

Pomni: …I’m tired.

Jax: That’s okay.

Pomni: …Will you stay with me?

Jax: Yeah. Course. Definitely.

Pomni could tell he was still processing what just happened. But it was okay. Maybe it wouldn’t be okay later… but for now it was okay. She rolled over and laid her head on his chest, holding his hand. She felt him squeeze it.

Moments later she fell asleep.

[f0point5]

what do you think’s the deal with a bunch of drivers and model girlfriends like sure they’re really hot but it’s almost the only exclusive job they have most if not all like is it the easiest to be with since they can technically get days off for race weekends or smth genuinely curious you think it might be a pr thing? or they’re just the ppl they meet most easily in their line of work

I think it’s 3 things.

1. Proximity - these are the girls they’re exposed to. When they’re in yachts, at premier nightclubs, at launch events, these are the pool of women they meet that aren’t the wives of the big wigs. For example, Charles has lived in Monaco all his life so he’s exposed to subset of people where he lives that aren’t that stereotype, and he dates them. Same with how they often end up with women connected to motorsport (eg Max and Daniel), because that’s who you find in the paddock lol.

2. Ego - Rich men like pretty baubles to show off, it feeds their ego. To a lot of men, even subconsciously, a girlfriend is a reflection of them, of their value, it feeds their ego to be with a woman other men want. And sportsmen have an ego like few others. I think this opinion is going to get me roasted but I stand on a modicum of experience with this.

3. Timing - When you have a schedule like an F1 driver, it’s handy to have someone who has a flexible lifestyle. They don’t have to be with you all the time but they can be with you when you need them to be, and on short notice. Also, a girl who makes Instagram posts for a living is going to have more emotional and mental bandwidth to be a support system for a guy with a mentally taxing job. Not that being a model/influencer isn’t work but I don’t think it eats up your life like running a business, or your physical energy like a 9-5. I think these drivers don’t have a lot of time and they take up a lot of time, so it’s handy to have someone who give more of that than take.

I don’t think it’s PR but I think a lot if not most of these girls are financially compensated (not to mention the exposure). Not in a PR/professional way but I’m pretty sure the flights, living arrangements, vacations, etc., are all included. And that’s not a slight on them, I’ve been there lol trust me they deserve it the way they live on standby for these guys.

As I said, I’ve never dated an athlete but I have some tangential dating experience.

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

Them with a reader that loves to give them gifts

Characters: Eula/Ningguang x gn!reader

Warnings: none, just fluff

a/n: I’m back, I hope. I may be feeling like shit since it started to cool down a lot recently and I may or may not have caught a cold, but I’m alive. At the moment, at least.

This was requested by @froglovemushroom I know you originally asked for a female reader, but I only write for gendered readers if it's absolutely necessary for the scenario, so I hope you're okay with gn!reader.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Eula

It was fair to say that Eula wasn’t exactly used to receiving gifts. Getting one was a rare occasion during her “noble” upbringing, and she didn’t get any more frequently afterwards, when almost the whole city of Mondstadt saw her as a pariah simply for her last name.

So, whenever you were kind enough to gift her something, no matter if she had done anything to deserve it or not, she’d always make sure to treasure it, no matter its price or size.

While you and Eula had once again been engaged in one of your usual debates, your conversation almost immediately grinded to a halt when you noticed that the tie, she had been wearing around her neck had a striking similarity to the one you had gifted her just the day prior, causing you to immediately point it out.

“Oh, is that the tie I gifted you?”, you bluntly stated as if you hadn’t been in the middle of a conversation just seconds prior, causing the Lawrence to get lost for a few moments, only to finally notice what you were talking about when she looked down on her tie herself, the urge to get defensive suddenly arising in her.

“Yes, it is. You did gift it to me, so there shouldn’t be any problem with me actually wearing it”, she responded almost within an instant, only to be greeted by a smile of yours.

“No, no. There’s nothing wrong with it. It suits you”, you casually complimented her, suddenly increasing the effort Eula had to put into retaining her composure tenfold as she tried her best to stop her blood from rising to her cheeks.

“Of course, it does. I am a Lawrence after all. But don’t even think for a moment that your gifts would be able to bribe me and make me ignore your comments that are aimed to embarrass me in public”, she responded as a smile found its way onto her face, only for the two of you to return to doing what you had been doing before.

Ningguang

While Ningguang had often heard others mention how a gift from a special person was more valuable than gold, she had been quick to dismiss it, knowing well enough that gold generally used to sell for more than most things. And while she still agreed with her past self that the monetary compensation for selling gold was higher, she also began to understand what they might have been meaning when the two of you began to grow closer.

As the clock struck 2pm and Ningguang knew that she should return to doing her work, she still found herself leant back in her chair and inspecting the small wooden figure in her hand from different sides. While she possessed small statues made from world-renowned artists, which price was high enough to make normal working people’s heads get dizzy, the Tianquan still found herself enjoying having this one around her more than any others.

Maybe it was because of its small imperfections, or the way she felt as if her childhood self would have been happy at having gotten a gift like this, or maybe, it was because you made for her. And while the carved-out figure sticked out among all the other expensive items in her office, Ningguang still couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it.

But before Ningguang could spend even more of her valuable time staring at the piece of wood, she was interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on the door, only for your voice to sound from the other side, “Miss Ningguang? May I enter?”

“Yes, you may”, she responded in her usual tone before straightening her back and stuffing the figure in her drawer.

// Please consider liking/reblogging if you enjoyed this post

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Have random character references even though I don’t draw and I highly doubt most people care about the information 👍🏻😂

Abel - Dirty blonde hair, light blue eyes, chiseled and weathered face. Muscular but slim, a little shorter than the average Hylian man, very mild tan due to just being out in the sun so much. He mostly burns in the sunlight but he’s cooked himself enough that his skin is attempting to compensate. (Hopefully LoZ has magic skin cream to stave off skin cancer 👍🏻) Has a few scars, including one small one on his chin from being hit in battle. The rest are hidden. Used to keep his face clean shaven and his hair short in his early adulthood. Lost all concern for appearances after the Calamity, his hair is grown a little past his shoulders and he’s constantly got five o’clock shadow because he barely keeps up with shaving. Grew out a beard out of sheer neglect at the beginning but it eventually was itchy and annoying enough that he shaved it.

Was a Knight of Hyrule since he was a teenager. Met his wife on an assignment to Hateno Village. Was part of the entourage selected to go to Zora’s Domain for negotiations. Brought his son, Link, along. Eventually, his skill in battle, leadership, and handling political assignments earned him a position in the Royal guard. He became captain of the royal guard a year before the Calamity.

Tilieth - Light blonde curly hair, brown eyes, freckles, soft and rounded face. Petite build. Has three ear piercings on one ear and two on the other because when she was a teen she heard three piercings was good luck as it symbolizes the golden goddesses, but the third piercing hurt so much she opted out of the other ear and completely forgot to finish the set. Always kept her hair in knotted half up styles with braids until the Calamity. Her hair got caught in debris of demolished buildings and she cut it with a knife and she’s never worn it down since. It’s always in a bun, however messy it might be.

Tilieth was the only daughter of a blacksmith. She loved making things, most especially clothes. She wanted to make clothes for others as well and considered working in the local shop. After getting married she settled for homemaking and was happy with it, though she loved the idea of traveling and seeing everything the world had to offer. She still made clothes too, for family and friends. When Link was little, a bad illness swept through Hateno, and Til caught it. Her parents took care of her while Abel looked after Link and continued with his duties. Once Til recovered and Abel’s mission to the Donain was over, the family got to spend some time together again. Was in Hateno with Lyra and her father when the Calamity struck.

Link, the Hero of Power - Hyrule Warriors Link’s direct predecessor. Half-Sheikah (his dad) half-Hylian (his mom). Platinum blonde hair, red eyes, light brown skin. One of the tallest Links, but slender and stealthy. Always clean shaven. Wore his hair up in a bun.

Not much is known about this Hero by the War of Eras, except that he helped split Ganondorf’s soul to prevent the cycle from continuing. Lana knows a lot more about him than anyone else, though she doesn’t speak of it. Some things that were lost to history included his role in fighting a war against the Gerudo, and his eternal love for the future Gerudo Chief, Hemisi - Ganondorf’s daughter.

Princess Zelda - Also known as the Sacred Diplomat, she is the princess who helped split Ganondorf’s soul in the backstory to Hyrule Warriors. Wavy, shoulder length chocolate brown hair that she often wears in elaborate buns with braids. Somewhat pale complexion, cool skin tone with traditional emerald skin paint that she always wore on her face and neck and arms. Typically wore light blue gowns.

As Queen she unified Hyrule after a bloody war. She is known in history as one of the best of the royal line. She even managed to maintain a shaky neutrality with the Gerudo after the war’s end. She strengthened bonds with the Sheikah through her marriage to one of their own. She is the standard to which many queens are held to. But there is much to her diplomacy that was lost to history.

Chief Hemisi - Leader of the Gerudo after her father’s defeat. Chestnut skin, fiery red mid back length hair that she usually kept in a high bubble ponytail, amber eyes. Six feet tall, very muscular, though not quite to the degree of botw Gerudo women. She had more of a Hylian build, like the Gerudo of OoT. Her ears were pointed, and she had a special earring she always wore that had been given to her by her father. On her other ear she wore an earring decorated with a symbol of the triforce, as she inherited the Triforce of Power after helping defeat her father.

Lost her family to the war that broke out because of Ganondorf. Was in love with Link. Helped defeat her father and seal him away. Was not the same person afterward. Had a twin brother who had been groomed to inherit the throne of the Gerudo, and so she had focused on being a warrior. When her brother was killed in the war alongside her mother, her situation changed quickly. Became chief and helped maintain an uneasy peace between Hyrule and the Gerudo, but did not like or trust the Queen.

[waynes-multiverse]

Bad Reputation – Chapter 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Series Summary: In a world full of careless supes, powerful people, and corruption on all levels, Y/N’s the typical millennial, trying to make the world a better place one good deed at a time. As a civil rights lawyer in New York City, justice, kindness, and selflessness are her motto. Her patience is tested, however, when none other than America’s ass himself shows up on her doorstep and needs help.

Warnings: +18, strong language (please mind the fandom), angst + crack = crangst, violence & a few death threats, a budding forceful friendship?

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: I, uh... words... Okay. How to describe this? Maybe “opposites attract” meets “gun-point friendship to lovers”? This is still in the early days of writing, but I wanted to share this first chapter with you guys as a thank you since I’ve reached 500 followers yesterday and y’all know I can’t do one-shots or keep things short 😂 I appreciate every single one of you so much and I hope you enjoy this little series. It was a lot of fun to write and to play around with a new character (even one we don’t know much about & I wrote this after 3x04). Enjoy, loves! And no, for once this wasn’t inspired by T. Swift but by the Joan Jett song 🤘

Say a big thank you to my sweet @eevvvaa​ for encouraging me to post this months sooner than I normally would have 😉🖤

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

“And we’re done,” the EMT smiles kindly as she removes the needle from Y/N’s arm and carefully places a band-aid over the small puncture wound.

Y/N rolls down the sleeve of her hoodie and rises from the metal examination table, gathering the rest of her belongings. “Thanks, Amy. Have a good night.”

“Don’t forget: plenty of fluids and eat something. I don’t want you to faint again,” Amy reminds her with her infamous concerned brow as Y/N hops out of the back of the ambulance.

“Don’t worry. I have a box of macaroni and cheese waiting for me,” she grins in response, but honestly, it’s nothing to get jealous over. It tastes like the most generic shit ever and nothing like her grandma used to make it.

It’s Wednesday and almost midnight when she strolls home below 14th street into the Village. Street lamps and neon signs guide her way home, tourists and locals crossing paths on sidewalks. New York City is never quiet, especially after midnight, and especially with Vought HQ and all its superheroes nestled right in the heart of the city.

Every Wednesday, she donates blood after work. Hospitals are in dire need of it, not surprising with all the destruction around caused by reckless and careless supes – not that legal action could ever be pursued. She knows. Every second client of hers has been damaged or violated by a so-called hero, but barely a handful of them ever get any compensation for it.

Y/N’s not a superhero and never wanted to be one, even if Mother Theresa paid her a million bucks. Maybe that sort of power would only corrupt her like it seems to do with everybody else, you know?

In other words, Y/N’s simply a woman with a kind heart and a giving spirit. She grew up in suburban Connecticut with two warm-hearted parents and an admirable older brother. She doesn’t live lavishly, only buying what’s necessary and donating the rest. She’s still occupying the same apartment she’s lived in since she attended NYU. It’s a crappy place, hasn’t been renovated since the 80s, but she all too happily still calls it home. The world has become a sinister place ever since greed and corruption took over, but she’s far from willing to give up. If she can better the lives of a handful of people, that’s enough for her. So, she spends every ounce of her free time helping others. She helps organize protests, tutors kids for free at the local youth center, volunteers at homeless and animal shelters, and stops by the retirement home as often as she can to play bingo with old vets.

Y/N doesn’t care that there aren’t any days left for herself anymore. Her self-care is giving time to others. It makes her happy to make them happy, believing kindness is still the greatest superpower of all and time the most valuable gift.

With almost scientific accuracy, she pushes her various keys into all four locks before kicking the badly oiled door to her apartment open and closing it behind her, the rustling of a chain and four locks following. She’s already been mugged five times since her move to the city. No superhero ever came to help, which was probably for the best, considering the building would’ve most likely been leveled.

You’d think she’s kidding, but she’s not. Just during her lunch break, a building in Midtown was demolished to the ground with nineteen people left dead by some airhead supe. Honestly, she’d move, but these idiots have been scattered all over the country by fucking Vought. It’s like an alien race has ceased the planet and declared itself the new rulers of Earth. Everyone else is presented with two options: obey or die, and even if you play along, the chances of being blown into oblivion are still high.

Y/N grabs the pack of Queen Maeve’s Macaroni and Cheese from the pantry and turns on the stove, carelessly dropping the gross contents into a pot. Everything’s branded these days, and it’s even hard to purchase something that’s not decorated with one of those fuckers’ faces. Honestly, they might as well go ahead and burn that shit into her skin. It really doesn’t matter anymore.

While the yellow paste is cooking itself to completion, her mom calls like she usually does when Y/N gets home from work, even stays up late to check in, and always whispers through the speaker so as not to wake her snoring father next to her in the bed. Her mother constantly worries about her, wishes she’d only move back where it’s “safer,” but Y/N knows safe places don’t really exist anymore. Have they truly ever? To her, it seems like they’re a mere illusion people hold onto to sleep better at night.

Suddenly, some continuous thundering pounds on the front door rattle her, and she jolts up, almost dropping the phone in her hands into the pot. The pounding is so goddamn loud and heavy that the whole wall shakes and the thin wooden door comes close to giving in and crashing down.

A few seconds pass before she’s unlocked the door again, phone neatly tucked between her ear and shoulder as she pries the door open, the chain still providing her some necessary safety.

Her brow furrows, head tilting to the side, and her eyes wander up the tall, bulky frame of the stranger on her doorstep. He breathes heavily, stares angrily, and looks…

“Uh, Mom, I gotta hang up. There’s a homeless guy at my door,” Y/N says and mindlessly ends the call, her mother’s “call the cops, honey,” only a faint sound in the distance.

She’s not gonna lie: the dude in front of her looks rough. Long, untamed hair and an even more untamed beard almost entirely hide his green eyes and the freckles on his skin, dirty and ripped clothes (sweats no less) clad his muscular body, and his smell direly suggests a need for a shower. Either way, he seems to be in his thirties and definitely gives off serial killer vibes.

“Can I-, can I help you, sir?”

Look, if the guy needs a shower, some food, and fresh clothes, she’s not gonna turn him away. Everybody needs a little help sometimes or the kindness of a stranger. She’s still got some old attire from her brother lying around that she was going to donate anyway. She probably should call her upstairs neighbor Eddie, though, before she lets the man inside. Although, by the looks of it, the guy seems like he could probably take out both her and Eddie easily at once. Nevertheless, some extra protection never hurts, right?

However, before she can lift her phone to her ear again, the guy’s fingers curl firmly around the rusty metal chain. He yanks it off its hinges, screws propelling to the floor, and violently pushes the door open. The sudden force makes her stumble backward, and before she can utter a single word or catch her balance, he bursts into her apartment.

Her breath hitches as she watches his chest furiously heave and his nostrils flare. “Wait… what are you doing? You can’t just-,” she splutters, the rest of her sentence cut off by his hand around her throat.

He’s quick, too quick to even see him move when he pushes her harshly against the door, his fingers squeezing into her flesh and tightening her airway as her feet lift off the creaking floorboards.

“Can’t do what?” he growls through clenched teeth, a certain cockiness gleaming in his eyes. She’s scared shitless and can tell that little detail only amuses him.

His strength is unnatural and the arrogance on point, so she doesn’t have to think long and hard about who she’s up against. “You’re one of them... Supe…What do you want from me?” Each word pushes out with an exhaustive breath, making her wonder how many she’s got left, the harsh grip on her throat seemingly unwavering.

Quietly and mostly reserved, he stares at her, studies her, as eternal seconds tick away on the clock. She squeezes her eyes shut, a part of her already accepting her fate and repeating the death statistics in her mind. Dying by supe is almost as likely as a heart attack nowadays. She guesses for her it’ll be the former.

But then, absolutely nothing happens. In fact, his grasp even loosens slightly, and as she dares to open one eyelid again, she finds him gazing at her display of family photos on the little side table next to the door. Then he abruptly drops her, her ass rather painfully hitting the ground. She rubs the sore skin on her throat and coughs until her lungs finally refill with enough oxygen at her first deep inhale.

Her eyes then find the supe as he paces curiously through her living room. He stops in front of the window and gazes through the yellowing blinds, pushing them apart with two digits. “You know, this used to be my place. Got it back in the late 70s… off the books. Warhol recommended it to me. He brought the sluts from Studio54 here and fucked ‘em upstairs,” he chuckles over his shoulder and throws her an expectant look like she’s supposed to be impressed by his little history lesson.

Who the fuck is this guy?

“What a… sweet story,” she clears her throat and smiles at him, but she’s sure it looks awkwardly uncomfortable as she slowly gets back onto her feet, her back pressing against the door. Man, she wishes she could disappear right through it. “Look, I get being sentimental, but I don’t care that you’re a supe. I’ll call the cops if you don’t fuck off.”

What follows next can only be described as a death stare before the creases around his eyes soften and his whole body starts to erupt into shakes.

Oh shit… he’s fucking laughing at her. That’s not a good sign.

His laugh is loud and booming as it bounces off the walls. He rubs the tears out of his eyes, still chuckling when he strolls her way. “Gotta admit, I haven’t laughed like that in… well, hell, probably forty years.”

“Gnarly,” she grits sarcastically, and yet her heart is wildly hammering against her ribcage, the sound ringing in her ears like a shrill alarm bell. Maybe it’s the coronary that gets her, after all.

His mouth opens, ready to retort something or swerve into another story, but then he closes it, his eyes flickering to the TV screen as the late-night news report rolls footage of today’s explosion.

And then, she’s certain the heart attack wins because she surely can’t feel hers beating anymore.

Holy fucking shit Christ… She’s fucked, isn’t she?

“That was you, wasn’t it?” Same sweats, Y/N. Why are you even asking? “You killed nineteen people,” she whispers, and it comes out almost incredulously, like the number can’t be real and representatively standing in her living room right now. It’s too fucking surreal.

His head snaps to her, each heavy step towards her pushing his full weight onto the old, wooden floorboards. His eyes are dark, empty, and nefarious, his body threateningly towering over her small frame like the Berlin Wall. She’d love to cower in front of him, but she’s even too frozen for that. “You want to be number twenty, darling?” His hand reaches out, knuckles lifting her chin to meet his gaze. She shivers in fear and flinches away. He smirks and drops his hand to his side. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I have no intention of hurting a pretty girl like yourself, okay? Now, all you need to do to make me keep that promise is to shut that fucking mouth and stay outta my way. If you don’t, I might have to crush your skull. Understood?”

She nods with a thick swallow, her mind racing a mile a minute before her brain flatlines altogether.

“Good,” he smiles and ambles to the couch, planting himself in front of the TV. She’s frozen in place, can’t move a limb or a goddamn pinky. She’s not sure she’s even allowed to breathe at this point. All she hears and feels are her thudding heartbeat in her ears and the fear coursing through her veins.

He glances at her from his periphery, rather annoyed, and sighs, “Look, after a goodnight’s sleep to clear my fucking head, I’m gone again and you can return to your pathetic, little life, alright? I just need… a safe place, okay?” He shifts a bit on the couch and looks at her fully now.

“O-Okay,” is her response, not quite believing that word left her mouth. But for a blink of a literal eye, there was a softness flashing across his pupils. “You-, uh, are you hungry? I can order pizza.”

Jesus fucking Christ, is she losing her mind?

He seems to be as baffled by her question as she is. “Aren’t you cooking dinner right now?” He gestures to the pot on the stove.

She grimaces and shakes her head, “Trust me, you don’t wanna eat that.”

“You just found out I killed nineteen people. Do you really care what I eat?”

Well, he’s got her there. She really just wants him to leave her apartment again, but she supposes that won’t happen anytime soon, judging how his ass is firmly planted on her fucking couch. But now, she’s stirred her own appetite for pizza and craves some comfort food on top of it all. The last fifteen minutes have been incredibly stressful, and she’s donated a lot of blood tonight and feels dizzy under the circumstances.

“Okay, let me ask you this,” he interrupts her train of thought when several seconds pass without a response from her, “Are you just offering pizza so you can leave and get help?”

She shakes her head, lips slightly pursed. “No, uh, I was gonna DoorDash it.”

His brow knits, and when she pulls out her phone to show him what she intends to do, he suddenly jumps up from the couch and snatches the device from her hands, almost crushing it in his fist. “Whoa! What weapon is that?”

Confused, she arches an eyebrow at him, “Weapon?” Seriously, who the hell is this guy? He looks way too young to have partied here in the 70s and everything about him seems a little odd and out of place. “That’s a phone,” she points out.

He scoffs, the angry wrinkles on his brow reappearing, “How stupid do you think I am?”

“You want me to answer that honestly?” she snorts and then chokes the laugh when his glare only intensifies. “Look, I promise it’s just a phone, okay? Everyone’s got ‘em. Nothing special about it,” she assures him, and to her surprise, he seems to believe her, his shoulders slumping a little.

“It doesn’t have any buttons,” he grunts and squints his eyes at the device in his large hands.

“Yeah, it’s a touch screen,” she shrugs and observes his lips curl into a pout. God, he almost resembles her grandpa when she gave him a tablet for Christmas. “Can I have it back to order, or do you wanna do it?”

A moment passes between them as he seems to contemplate his options before shooting her a reluctant glance and handing her the phone back. “Nah, I’m sure you can handle it, sweetheart,” he smacks her ass with a smirk and coolly proceeds to saunter to the TV as if he hadn’t just touched her inappropriately.

“Sure,” she replies somewhat bitterly. Any other guy would have already received a lecture and a sprained wrist from her, but she figures an ass grab is not really worth dying over.

While she opens the app and places an order, she watches him as he inspects her TV, his head poking behind the flatscreen. The app announces the pizzas will be delivered in twenty minutes, and as she glances up at the superhero in her living room again, he has moved on to her laptop now. He picks it up, weighs it in his hands before opening it up sideways like a book. All in all, he seems lost and, frankly, slightly panicked.

Yeah… she should ask questions, right?

“Uh, just-…” Upon her utterance, he puts the computer back down on her desk and blinks at her expectantly. “Are you… alright? Like, in the head?”

His eyebrows draw tightly together, and then he rolls his eyes and licks his lips. “What do you mean?”

She twitches her shoulders, hoping she won’t say something stupid that’s going to get her killed. “I, uh, I just mean… maybe you have amnesia or something. Maybe a concussion? Did something happen to you? You remember anyone hitting you over the head?”

“Why are you asking?” he snaps a little impatiently.

“It’s just… the phone, the TV, the computer-”

His eyes widen almost comically as he thumbs back over his shoulder to her desk, “That’s a computer?”

“Yeah, see, kinda the point I was trying to make,” she nods. “No offense, but you seem like someone who’s stuck in another decade. And honestly, you look way too young to have already been alive and partying here in the 70s. Are you one of those supes that doesn’t age? Did you take on someone else’s identity, like a, uh, a mind switch? Or is your superpower time traveling and a wormhole scrambled your brain?”

“Look, I-…,” he scratches the nape of his neck and purses his lips. “Something like that. You don’t need to know the exact details, okay?”

The doorbell interrupts their talk, and she quickly rushes to accept the food. For a second, she thinks about dashing out that door and calling for help, but she doesn’t want to get the delivery guy killed with her. She puts the two boxes on the coffee table, the supe instantly plopping down on the couch and grabbing himself a slice. The way he hums in delight around the melted cheese and crust makes her think it’s been a while since he had a decent meal.

“Uhm, if you want, you can use the shower. I have some fresh clothes that should fit you, too,” she offers him and softly clears her throat to catch his attention. “Nothing fancy. Just some old ones from my brother.”

“Thanks,” he states gruffly and then continues to eat and watch TV.

She cleans up the kitchen a little, removes the vomit-looking food from the pot, and mostly stays out of the superhero’s way. After he’s done with his pizza, he wordlessly locks himself in the bathroom while she tells him a fresh set of clothes is already lying on the hamper. He showers for approximately fourteen minutes before she hears him cursing when the water finally runs cold. She’s turned the TV off in the meantime and prepared the pull-out couch for the night, only the dim and flickering kitchen light remaining to illuminate the apartment. The door to the bathroom then opens, steam flowing through the crack as her eyes slowly wander up his frame.

Admittedly, he looks a lot better once he’s cleaned himself up, her brother’s old Giants jersey and sweats fitting him like a glove. The hair and beard still remain a wild mess, and even the supe seems to think so as he rubs his chin rather uncomfortably and then looks up at her.

“Oh, uh, I can get you a razor tomorrow,” she tells him. He nods silently, and yet, she can detect a little gratefulness gleaming in his green orbs. Still, she reminds herself he murdered nineteen people and only threatened her an hour ago. As she dries the last plate over the sink, however, he walks to the fridge and grabs himself a beer, examining the label closely before popping the bottle open and gulping it down.

“I’m Ben,” he suddenly says, and her eyes almost spring wide open because she’s so surprised by the information he decides to share. A small part of her already bet on that he’d likely kill her in her sleep tonight.

“Wow, uhm, no stupid superhero name?” she questions, bites her bottom lip instantly, and honestly doesn’t understand why she keeps engaging him. She should count her blessings that she’s still breathing at all.

“I think it’s best if you don’t know that either, darling,” he replies and then stares at her intensely before she realizes he’s waiting to hear her name.

“Oh, uh, Y/N,” she swallows and then abruptly backs out of the kitchen. She doesn’t exactly know why, but his presence is making her feel fairly uncomfortable – and not just because of the killer look in his pine green eyes. “Uhm, I’m gonna go to sleep. I left a pillow and blanket on the couch for you. I’ll take the bed since I pay rent and you better not crawl into mine while I’m asleep. Got it?” she tells him in a sharp tone, wondering where the fuck that courage is coming from and immediately feeling like she’s going to pass out.

He bobs his head, tongue licking over his plump lips as he guides the beer bottle away from them. There’s slight amusement detectable in the corners of his mouth. “Alright… But you’re aware I could easily kill you and just take the bed, yeah?”

To his bewilderment, though, she plainly shrugs her shoulders and bravely meets his gaze, “Honestly? At this point you’d be doing me a favor.”

When he only nods and nurses his beer in silence, she finally escapes into her bedroom and closes the door firmly behind her, locking it for good measure, although she knows that won’t do shit to keep out a supe if he ever changes his mind about her living status during the night.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. How is she supposed to get outta this one alive?

Chapter 2

Please do let me know if you want more of this! I’m a little goofing around with this series and having fun. It’s got a bit of everything in it and if you know my writing and my humor by now, you probably can guess what this series will be like 😝 Don’t worry, tho – there’s no excessive slow burn, but as you can tell reader needs a little time to adjust to her hostage situation 🙈

Tags:

Real Heroes (Dean/Jensen Tag): @deanwanddamons​​ @flamencodiva​​ @panicking-outside-the-disco​​ @deandreamernp​​ @avanatural​​ @eevvvaa​​ @writercole​​ @gshade22​​ @poptart06294​​ @supraveng​​ @sexyvixen7​​ @that-one-gay-girl​​ @lyarr24​​ @msmarvelouswinchester​​ @akshi8278​​ @spnbaby-67​​ @xlynnbbyx​​ @mimaria420​​ @thoughts-and-funnies​​ @dark-night-sky-99​​ @wittyboldsoul​​ @awkward-and-indecisive​​ @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior​​ @imherefordeanandbones​​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​​ @snowlovespie​​ @leigh70​​ @maggiegirl17​​

[soapskneebrace]

It’s going to sound mean but you seem so pressed over Umiko’s alleged earnings, it’s worrying. Don’t get me wrong, I understand that seeing what she probably earns could make you feel hurt, but you sound jealous and not in a ‘I wish her well and I hope I’ll be able to earn as much or even more’ but more like ‘why the hell people pay her for her art if they don’t pay me for mine?’. And mentioning her specifically couple of times in your recent posts??? It almost sounds like you have a problem with HER and that SHE is being paid for her art and not you. I both write and draw, I know how much work, effort and time it takes and I am happy for Umiko and other artists, because it seems that people are willing to pay for what we create, you just have to know how to sell your product and it is not Umiko’s fault that it took you this long to figure something out. I’m happy her success motivated you and you decided to talk to your friend who can help you with your art, but seriously your recent posts made me feel like you have a serious problem with that girl. One more thing, you mentioned that she earns more in whatever amount of time than your mom in a year like what about it? Is it Umiko’s fault? People per her because they want to support her and they want to have access to her art, and I guess she wouldn’t earn as much in a normal job.

So first of all, I welcome you to quote directly (not paraphrase--highlight, copy, and paste) where I said or even implied that I think that Umiko should not be paid as much as she is.

Second of all, I mentioned Umiko as often I did because she is one of my favorite artists, not because I dislike her. I adore her work and believe she deserves every dollar she has made. She works very hard and is one of the few artists who I think is actually getting adequate compensation for that work. In addition, she seems to be a very kind person, and I will never resent the success of good people.

Thirdly, am I like not supposed to be jealous of someone making nearly $1million a year off fandom work????????????????????????? Sorry, but I think I'm allowed to feel envious that someone in my community is making more than twenty-four times the money I make, especially considering that I've been making fandom work for cod for about as long as she has. Maybe not as much, but I've been pretty consistent for the past year, despite the fact that I've been doing it for free.

I'm allowed to be salty that fandom culture permits her to ask for payment but fanfiction is just taken for granted as free content. Fandom does not bat an eyelash when artists ask for a subscription fee to access fanart porn, but writers can barely get readers to kick them an occasional $5 through ko-fi. Umiko didn't "figure something out" before I did--she has been allowed to monetize her work every step of the way because fandom has collectively agreed that it is acceptable for her to do so.

Umiko is not the only artist, either--Bluegiragi and Wombywoo are both making a significant amount of money off of their fanart. This is not guesswork on my part; the number of these artists' paid subscribers is available publicly on their patreon pages, and if you went to fourth grade math you're probably able to multiply that by the average fees of their tier lists. It is not hard to figure out that these artists are making a very comfortable living, or at least an extremely lucrative side hustle, off of work they produce for the Call of Duty fandom.

And I'm not saying they shouldn't! I never did! My beef with this fact is that this mode of income is not available to fanfiction writers! I have known writers who have written full length novels of carefully crafted stories that will never see even a fraction of a penny for their work, because fandom insists that fanfiction should not be monetized!

And knowing what I know now, I reject that notion entirely. It is beyond ridiculous, it is exploitative. My work, and the work of my friends, is just as labor-intensive, just as time-intensive, and just as skill-intensive as the work Umiko and the rest produce. If these artists deserve compensation for their fanwork--and I reiterate, they do--then how can we say that fanwriters don't?

As a postscript, I think you took my arguments in very bad faith, and I don't appreciate the finger-wagging you came into my inbox to do. I don't have to simper about other people's worth for my assertions about my own to be valid.

[rrahuntersblog]

https://www.tumblr.com/rrahuntersblog/751766278218350592/jensen-is-in-his-40s-married-for-over-15-years

Okay, I get people not liking to read about someone criticizing other people’s marriages. That’s totally fair.

But then don’t read posts that do so. Don’t seek them out just to try and prove them wrong. There is no “conclusively proving” exactly what any marriage you aren’t a part of is like. Hell, people often probably can’t even see their own marriage for what it is. Denial is a strong emotion, and all people have been involved in a frog-in-a-boiling-pot situation. It can be hard to hop out before you get cooked.

Okay. Sorry for that analogy. I got sidetracked.

Anyway, I wanted to comment on this because, while I think it’s admirable to stay out of other people’s business (most of the time), JA and DHA are public figures. Jensen telling stories about Danneel invites thought and speculation about their marriage.

And here’s the thing. What a lot of use hear in his stories is not good. Jensen paints a picture of a wife who is never happy with him, who orders him around like a child, who always tries to take him down a peg. Some of his stories are obviously trying to paint her in a “strong” and “independant” light, but often just make her look like a controlling bitch (sorry if that’s not a word you enjoy). The other stores he tells about her sound passive aggressive, like he’s purposely cutting her down but in a way that his obsessive fans don’t notice.

I don’t think Jensen is totally an innocent victim here, either. He has thrown her some truly contemtuous looks and bulldozed over her in shared interviews. He often looks at her like she’s an idiot (Same. To be honest). But, she is more blatantly belittling and underming than him.

Whether you believe Jensen is actively being abused or not (I would say he is emotionally at the very least), they appear to be a toxic couple. Danneel, when not cutting him down, seems to feed Jensen’s ego. And the more time he spends with her, the more arrogant he becomes. This could also be over-compensating for low self-esteem from being in a competitive career and having an unsupportive partner.

AAs like to claim that people hate on Danneel because they want to be her. But not only do I not want to be her, I respect and like Jensen less for tying himself to such a deeply shallow and unpleasant person.

Hi anon!

Wow! Thank you for a lengthy, but apt point to the other anon! (Also, Danneel is a bitch, come on, let's be honest. Though she's a cringey, trashy bitch.)

I agree with what you've said--I love Jensen, I support him, but I do not turn a blind eye to how he's been the last few years. He's in a downward spiral and a large part of it is because 1) he's away from a true friend (Jared), 2) been forced to relocate twice (Texas to Colorado, Colorado to Connecticut) to more expensive housing each time no less, 3) see his career basically crash and burn, now surviving on fumes and hand-outs from friends (yikes), and 4) is now in a lawsuit that literally names him and Danneel regarding a crewmember struck by lightning during The Winchester filming.

There's more, but I think I made my point. I see worrying signs and all I can do is sit back and watch, wishing I could reach out and yank him from the edge.

I can't.

This... this is a battle only he can fight. Danneel isn't there for him; she's the weight at his ankles that will drown him at this point.

They are not couple goals. They are not happy. They are miserable and they are poison for each other.

Uhhh... I might be in a bitchy mood. Ahem. Thank you for your input, anon.

[imgeekgirlfan]

Till Death Do Us Part│#TheLastofUs

Pairings:  joel miller x Black!reader [From The Last of Us : TV Series]

Major character death/Heavy Angst/Canon Divergence  

Synopsis: You are Sara Miller's mother (who recently divorced Joel) and your daughter was killed. You blame Joel and want to kill him, but as the Fireflies' leader, you need Joel's help getting Ellie and yourself to Vaccine Research Center #TheLastofUs  

AN: Ellie has appeared now. I hope you all are prepared for a lot of Angst in the next part.

Taglist: @flaneurpastel​ (If you want to be added in this fic, just tell me in reply )

➡ Previous : Next 

Act 2 : Another Chance

The end of the world lasted for a long time, it seemed like it would never end. The efforts of humanity to fight against deadly diseases and monstrous creatures have ended in repeated defeats. The infected, known as Runners (Stage 1), Stalkers (Stage 2), and Clickers (Stage 3), continue to increase in numbers every day through their savage bites and attacks. Research to find a cure has been unsuccessful, and the remaining survivors have dwindled. Hope for the future has all but disappeared. If they don't succumb to death first, they can only accept their fate. living day by day in quarantine camps under the control of the military government known as FEDRA. Finally, the entire world has become a complete hell.

It's true that you never stopped thinking about your own death. In fact, you thought about it often after losing Sarah. You couldn't imagine living the rest of your life without her. However, you made the decision to keep on living for as long as possible. The only reason you still breathe is revenge.

Joel Miller,

The military,

Or even yourself.

You still think about Joel constantly. He has never faded from your memories, even in the slightest, over the past few years.  You often dream about him. Sometimes it's a sweet dream of the happy times when you were still in love, and sometimes it's a nightmarish dream that sends shivers down your spine. The image of him holding Sarah's lifeless body plays in your mind like an old, looping videotape, causing you to startle in the middle of the night with tears streaming down your face. Then you wake up in the early morning, overwhelmed with pain and a growing sense of vengeance.

You promised yourself that you would find someone to compensate for Sarah's death, and that's one of the significant reasons the rebellious group called the "Fireflies" was formed.

You're not the only one who has lost a loved one at the hands of ruthless  soldiers. Death and gunfire echoed throughout the night, all under the orders of the high-ranking military officer, who claimed it was done to prevent the spread of the infection. and everything only grew progressively worse.

Eventually, America, once a land of democracy, transformed into a military dictatorship, accompanied by coercion and bloodshed. Countless people fell victim to the government's self-imposed laws. It may be just as devastating as the repeated deaths of those infected. Not everyone bows down to accept this fate. There were groups of people filled with resentment, longing for freedom and hope, and driven by a strong sense of purpose. They united with a common goal—to seek revenge and create a better world for those who are still here and those who have passed away.

‘When You're Lost In The Darkness, Look For The Light’ That is the definition of the Fireflies. Through their words and ideas passed down from mouth to mouth, even the smallest glimmer of light from the Fireflies can shine brightly in a chaotic society. This has led to the rise of other rebel groups and uprisings. It was enough to shake the power of FEDRA from the bottom to the top. However, it is not enough to completely overthrow the military. The war between civilians and the military continues with tension, experiencing both failures and victories. But more often than not, the Fireflies find themselves on the losing side, as their forces and weapons are clearly inferior.

It didn't take long for you to rise to a leadership position among the Fireflies, gaining acceptance from everyone and becoming one of the top-ranked criminals marked by the FEDRA government. It's because you have killed the most soldiers since joining the ranks. There is no hesitation when it comes to eliminating FEDRA personnel one by one, and you're willing to undertake any deadly mission that no one else dares to take. Some in the Fireflies see you as a ruthless individual, and you've never denied it because it's the truth. You were here not because you had a hopeful vision of making the world a better place, like others.On the contrary, you don't believe that a world that has collapsed can ever return to its former state. Your only desire was revenge, and there's no other reason beyond that.

While Joel Miller and you are not very different when it comes to the role of dangerous criminals, in reality, he has stepped onto an even darker path. The loss of hope has transformed a once kind-hearted man into a ruthless monster. Joel lives solely for himself, becoming a hunter and preying on other survivors through ambushes, deception, and the merciless killing of innocents. However, when the quarantine camps was established, he turned into a smuggler and his name, Joel, became well-known among other rebel groups as the "wicked smuggler" He embraced a despicable role and was willing to kill anyone who posed a threat.

However, your life and Joel's never crossed paths. Although Joel and the Fireflies had traded illegal weapons on several occasions, it was your own intention to avoid encountering him, knowing that he was doing the same. Because Your coexistence only served as a reminder of Sarah, your daughter, who had a smile and brown eyes, just like her father, with hair and skin inherited from her mother.

The truth is, your relationship with Joel ended a long time ago. However, the fragmented pieces still tightly connect you to him. Love and revenge blend together inseparably. The horrific past continues to linger and haunt you in dreams until either you or he perishes.

You once told Joel that you would kill him if you and he ever came face-to-face again. You thought it would be as easy as killing those soldiers without hesitation. But it wasn't—reality is never that simple. You realized it when you were standing in front of him, guns pointed at each other, ready to pull the trigger at any moment.

But you didn't do it, and he didn't either. There was just a silent exchange of gazes amidst the suffocating silence. There were things unsaid between you and him beyond the realm of hostility. Was it painful? Resentment? Regret? It's hard to say.

"Oh my God! You're bleeding,"

You raised your hand to grasp your own arm, as if you had just realized you had been shot. The pain seemed almost insignificant at this moment. You turned back to another girl, who was looking at you with concern. You smiled at her and waved lightly.

"It's nothing, Ellie. A wound like this won't kill me," you said, but it was clear that Ellie didn't believe your words. She was too smart, too stubborn, and too coarse. She had been like this ever since you took her under your care within the rebellious faction. It took a long time for Ellie to trust you enough; you had to spend time coaxing and comforting her. Almost got stabbed by her a couple of times too. You never blamed her for intentionally treating you this way. All the kids born after the outbreak grew up to be ruthless. It's the only way to survive in this era.

Ellie is one of the unfortunate children who couldn't survive. She is infected, and she's supposed to die.

However, even in misfortune, there is still good luck, and an ordinary girl's stroke of luck may be enough to change this world completely.

It's true that Ellie is infected, but she hasn't transformed, no matter how much time has passed. There are only scars on her arm, confirming that the miracle has already occurred. The rebels' flickering hope has been ignited once again. They all believe that the process of curing the infection can be successful. Through experimentation and the development of vaccines directly from Ellie, this is the real beginning of a better world—a world without fungus, monstrous creatures, death, and tyrants in military attire.

Everyone is filled with hope until FEDRA discovers the main hideout of the rebels through one of the rogue traders named Robert. It was another round of fighting, and it didn't end well. Almost everyone in the main branch was killed, except for you and Ellie, the last two survivors. And all hope may come to an end today as soon as the government sends a new group of soldiers to wipe out the remaining rebels.

That's when Joel Miller appeared before you.

It turned out that Robert, the cunning rogue trader, betrayed Joel just like he betrayed Fireflies. And Joel came with the intention of seeking personal revenge. However, he no longer had the chance because Robert was killed during the battle between the rebels and the military. And all of this led you and him to meet again in a situation that can be described as the utmost desperation for you.

You are injured, and you need to take Ellie out of this town to Eastern Colorado University, the location of the secret vaccine research facility for the remaining group.You know that with your current condition, you can't possibly take Ellie that far on your own. But you can't give up when everyone you know in the rebel group has sacrificed their lives to protect this young girl in the hope that the world will change. You never believed that the world could change, but you don't want to destroy that hope, even if the chances are slim.

You lower your gun and make a decision to do something you never thought you would do.

"Joel, I need your help"

His expression clearly tells you,—‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ Yes, it sounds crazy to both you and him, but you have no other choice. You hate having to admit to yourself that he is your only hope right now.

"I need to take Ellie out of this town. I can't do it alone. You're the smuggler, and you know the routes. I want you to take me and Ellie with you."

"I smuggle goods, not people. Why don't you try calling Uber?"

It's not surprising that other people call Joel a scumbag, and if you're not injured, you've probably punched this man in the face already because of his silly jokes.

"Joe," it's the first time in years that you've called him by his nickname. Your voice almost resembles the past, when Sarah was still around and you and him were still in love. "for me and for that girl."

Joel's face remains hardened, but there's a slight tremor in his gaze. He briefly looks at Ellie before turning back to meet your eyes. He blurts out another curse before swiftly stepping closer to you, his large arm sliding under your shoulder to support you. "Just to drop you off outside the city," he says coolly, different from his gentle actions towards you, which feel strangely unfamiliar. And you can't help but let out a soft chuckle.

You leaned weakly against him as you walked together, your gaze glancing at his face through the wrinkles of age and the stubble on his cheek. Time had cruelly transformed the handsome, charming Texan into a middle-aged man.  But only for a fleeting moment, you felt like you were once again looking at the old Joel, the man you had once fallen deeply in love with.

"Joe, please don't ruin this again."

Joel turned to look at your face, and you could clearly see the sadness and remorse in those eyes, as if overlapping with a picture from the past—when he held Sarah, who had already died, in his arms. The pain you and he shared had been the same since that night, and deep down, both of you always yearned for a second chance, which had now come today.

You hoped fervently that he wouldn't ruin it again.

[kevadai]

Why some people manifest with no effort at all while others need to focus actively in order to get their desires (and others just can’t seem to make anything work)

If you’ve been consuming content about manifestation, LOA, etc. for a while, you’ve probably seen a bunch of aparently contradictory messages.

Some people say that you NEED to saturate your mind with your desire, live in the end all the time, affirm all day, use X or Y method, whatever.

Others affirm that you don’t need to do anything, that you can just write what you want in a paper or set an intention once and poof, it happens. And some people definitely seem to be having good results this way.

According to what I know, you don’t even need to write what you want, you don’t even need to KNOW exactly, consciously, what you want, in order to get it. (Haven’t you ever gotten something even better than what you thought you wanted, in a way that you hadn’t ever imagined consciously? Isn’t it wonderful when that happens?)

But what’s your day to day experience? Maybe you can’t even manifest when you try to work on visualizing or affirming all day! (Don’t worry if you’re there, you’ll get it eventually, you’re fine, and you’ll be fine)

So… who’s right? Or what’s going on?

Well… What it seems to me is that most people just give PARTIAL information when it comes to manifesting, and in a way that’s not completely coherent with the bigger picture. Maybe they’re blind to it, maybe they’ve had X experience and aren’t self-aware enough to understand why they have it, nobody explained it to them either, and so they assume it’s just like that, that there isn’t more depth to it. Maybe they do know the bigger picture but assume that you know it too and will know how to translate their nugget of information. Maybe they are just lazy, or think an incomplete explanation will work better for some reason.

And what is that picture I am talking about?

Well, as far as I know…

You’ve probably heard already some variation of “If you want it it’s already yours” or “What you want is guaranteed to happen”. In theory, that happens instantly in the non-physical. Always, no exception. And it would happen instantly in our physical world (3D) if we aligned with it perfectly at the moment, too. But, most of the time, we are caught in the circumstances that caused us to desire that thing in the first place. So.

“It’s already yours” as in: you already have it in the non-physical, can be manifested at any moment.

“It’s guaranteed to happen” as in: as long as you are not pushing against it, it will happen. You don’t need to chase it nor prove your worth.

The universe loves you, it wants to give you your desires in the 3D too. You could just clear the resistance and it would happen. You don’t NEED to be thinking about it all the time, you can just not think against it.

The problem is: we are not aware of 100% of what we think and a lot of us still have limiting beliefs that are so normal to us that we don’t even notice them. So, quite often, we think we are already resistance free, but we aren’t.

Good news is: you don’t need to be 100% resistance free in order to get what you want. You can compensate resistance with a “proportional” amount of positive focus. I don’t know the exact ratio, if there is one, but basically:

If you have very little resistance, you might need to do some minor focus exercises like setting intentions or living in the end for 10 min a day, or rising your general vibration a bit.

If you have a moderate amount of resistance you might need to affirm all day for a few days, or try to live in the end all the time, stuff like that.

If you have a lot of resistance it’s still not impossible to get it by focusing, but it’s going to take a lot of effort and unwavering attention. Also, it becomes way harder to focus on positive thoughts, visualization, etc. since they are really far from where you are at the moment, unless you have mastered the art of manifesting from any starting point. So most of the time you’ll get frustrated before achieving your desire, which might cause you to doubt yourself more, which adds even more resistance… In this cases I strongly recommend you work first on deconstructing limiting beliefs, go to therapy if you can, make peace with your now so you don’t try to manifest from despair (despair adds a huge amount of resistance, if you’re not confident in your manifesting skills it’s going to be fucking hard. You’ll likely just force it and end up feeling even worse).

So basically, the less resistance you already have towards a desire, the less deliberate work you need to do. To the point where it can even happen before your conscious mind identifies exactly what you want.

Those who manifest without doing practically anything are those who usually have very little resistance in general or a huge confidence in their manifesting skills (which allows them to manifest even when they have a bit of resistance. They just remind themselves that they are fucking great at manifesting and the resistance disappears, so they get what they want really fucking fast). They have learned to expect success, it’s natural for them at this point.

Those who say you NEED to affirm all day, live in the end X minutes/hours a day or whatever are people who have little, moderate or even a lot of resistance but have learned to work around it/compensate for it with methods.

And those who feel like nothing works… Are people with moderate to huge amounts of resistance who are either not being consistent enough or just not focusing on the approach that would lend better results at the moment, so they get burn out before they achieve what they want. Really, I know working on self-love, limiting beliefs, making peace with the now, etc. feels like it’s going to be too slow, but it’s actually way faster and it feels way better than being stuck forever trying something that’s not working. Also, if you can’t manage to be consistent… it might be a sign that you’re aiming for something that’s too far from where you are right now. Maybe aim for something closer first and see how it goes. Try to shift your outlook on life slowly but steadily to a more positive one. It works wonders, and it’s less frustrating. You can always try the other methods again once you’re in a better place.

Basically what I’m trying to say is: the amount of work you’ll need to do, and what kind of techniques will help you the most, will vary depending on where you are right now. Some people give manifesting advice without having this in mind. Be honest with yourself and pay attention to how you feel in order to identify what’s serving you and when you need to just persist or to try a different approach.

Did that help clarify anything? Is there something you’d like to add? Something you would explain better? Something I missed? Let me know what you think!

Also, I’m thinking next time I’ll probably write about adapting affirmations to your current feelings/beliefs, since the most positive affs often feel too forced when you’re in a dark place, and insisting on them can be counterproductive. Let me know if you’d like examples for a particular topic.

Have a nice day!

[carryoncastiel]

I agree with some that AI as a whole is probably not gonna go away. It exists now and it's gonna be used. But I think this will affect mostly professionell, big company spaces. Some art may now be able to be streamlined, done faster and cheaper, than just using an artist for it. Which sucks for the artist(s) in question but unless anyone can shut down AI entirely that ship has probably sailed. That is the capitalist hellscape we live in.

However, the one place I think we all should absolutely stop that shit in it’s tracks is fandom spaces.

Be it fanfic writers or fanartists, these people are the backbone of any fandom. And they absolutely create out of love with years of hard work and skill. Most of the time for free. Fandom would be a boring wasteland without the creatives (shoutout to gif makers for their hard work too. But you don't got an AI coming for your work yet so I'm leaving you out of this topic)

To come into this space and throw out 10 or so pictures some program gobbled together in a few minutes out of the most popular fandom artists style and a shit ton of other artists's stolen art, and at worst having the gall to call that *your art*, is a fucking disrespectful thing to do.

Again, creatives do this all for free, alot of the time while juggling work and other real world responsibilties, to bring all of us fun content. Or maybe this is their work and they do depend on the income. Regardless, any person who has done (or tried to) art or to write a story knows how much time and effort that shit takes. Especially to make it good. What is the point of creating if people care more about the things a machine spat out without any effort at all?

I will say "create for yourself first" any day but people engaging with your work is the whole point of putting it on the web in the first place.

Creatives who do this in their free time cannot compete with a machine plain and simple, no matter how much AI art falls apart once you actually look closer (And that is very likely a temporary thing. At some point we probably will not see the difference anymore). Think of the people who already steal and repost artwork. AI can already immitate people’s art styles so what’s to stop someone from just making a prompt list they can feed the tool to have a new picture to post every single day? The artist whose style was taken could neither compete nor really tell the person they stole from them because techniclally they didn’t, they made something new. And other creatives whose skill might not be at that level yet and/or who don’t post very often can't compete with that either. Most people just physically cannot create a new fully painted and detailed piece of art every single day. If they’d try they burn out fast or actually damage their body in the process. That’s not worth it for something that’s supposed to be fun.

It’s bad enough creative work has become “content” these days and it’s already hard to get your work noticed. Let’s not make fandom even more demoralising for creatives by telling them “I can get cool looking art in a minute with this tool so why should I care about your stuff?”

I fear if we let this slide now we will lose a lot of people’s cool and unique ideas in fandom and it would be a damn fucking shame to have it be snuffed out by a tool that in the long run will benefit capitalism and the people who already see artists as disposable content dispensers that don’t deserve to get compensated for their work.