#and i get told talk in the artist alley server as if it’s not an overwhelming mess to look at and i don’t know what conversations belong

[professionaljester]

beating my brain into submission anytime it wants to draw bc i’ve told it for weeks now we’re done with that. we’re not an artist anymore stop trying to make art happen

[thomotomo]

Quackity x Male Reader pt.1

Summary: You're a French streamer who got invited to the QSMP and you just have a huge crush on Quackity, even though you wouldn't admit it.

CW: Use of Quackity's real name a few times.

A/N: Sorry I'm showing up every few months to drop you something and then I'm letting yall starve so today you get Quackity content cos I got a crush on him now lol. (And I need to feel some love cos I'm single af. Also I'm sorry I wrote this instead of sleeping lol)

You had been so excited when you received the invitation to join the server, as a language nerd you couldn't wait to hear people discuss in a multitude of languages.

You had gotten addicted to playing on the server from the first seconds and so you stayed up until very late at night.

So since you had a completely fucked up schedule the two of you were bound to hang out together a lot.

And so the two of you kept talking more and more outside streams and outside of QSMP, staying up late on discord calls, chatting and playing together.

You had gotten an invitation to the Twitchcon and while you had been hesitant to participate you had ended up accepting to be able to meet everyone.

So you asked Quackity if he was planning to come and while he hadn't planned it at first you were trying to push him to come join you and meet everyone IRL.

He had told you he didn't knew about it yet but he would keep you updated.

You were on stream one night, completely engrossed in your build when your phone shone, it was a discord notification from Alex.

You couldn't read it as you were mid-stream but you made sure to take a break to refill your desk with drink and to check it out.

As you were taking sodas out of your fridge you checked the message Quackity had sent you.

Your face immediately lit up as you read that he would come to Twitchcon Paris.

It had been very late for you but now with the excitement coursing through your veins you didnt feel like sleeping anymore.

You settled back in front of your cam, your grin a little bit wider than earlier and hopefully it wasn't noticed by anyone.

You kept playing for a couple more of hours and as soon as you ended stream you texted him to see if you could jump on a call.

The two ended up on call and you stayed up, discussing excitedly together. You were stimming a lot as you did, even though you didn't show that to him

And yeah, maybe you had developed a tiny bit of a crush on him throughout all of those months (but you wouldn't admit that to anyone).

For the next few weeks all you could think of was Twitchcon so you kind of drown yourself into your work so that time would goes on by quicker.

On the 8th of July you could barely function like a normal person, as soon as you woke up you sent a message to Alex "We're meeting today omg?!?!?!?" (yeah you clearly aren't the most subtle when you have a crush on someone).

He had texted you back the cutest picture of himself you had seen and it just felt to you that your heart was about to explode due to all the emotions you felt so early in the morning.

You prepared yourself and went to the venue, you had put on your best clothes (well best clothes for the heat).

You met up with some of the other French streamers, discussing for a good while as they were the only one present so early.

You didn't have anything planned to do until much later so you enjoyed the early hours of the convention by browsing the shops and artists' alley.

At noon you went and ate with all of the other QSMP content creators present, chatting excitedly with everyone. You were very happy to talk with them and even though you had chatted a lot in private messages it clearly wasn't the same thing now.

You had sent to Quackity the pictures all of you took together alongside the message "We're just waiting for you now."

Which he replied to with "Dw I'll be there soon!"

And you couldn't wait for him to be there.

After the meal you had the meet and greet.

You had enjoyed meeting all of your fans and right as you left the meeting area, you checked your phone and seeing a notification from Alex you couldn't help but grin, you were sure of one thing, he was here at the venue.

You had to restrain yourself from running, but if your pace was a tad faster than usual if was between you and yourself.

As you reached the backstages you could see Etoiles, Philza and Aypierre alongside Forever who was hugging Quackity.

You joined them quietly as you watch the two other guys hug each other and joke around.

You discussed with Etoiles, laughing together as you watched Forever do the "pay the server dance" to Quackity.

A few minutes later the two separated and you beamed at Alex when he turned back towards where you and the others were.

He harboured a shocked but excited face when he saw you and both of you also jumped into each other's arms, laughing together.

You couldn't help but notice that he was a bit smaller than you, which you hadn't expected but you didn't care.

The two of you immediately jumped into conversation with each other, the conversation flowing as easily as it was over computer.

Pt2

[prince-liest]

Hello! Since I’m binge reading all of your Genshin fanfics I wanted to ask how would you describe your experience contributing to zines? I’m considering it and wanted to ask someone who’s done this before. Is the process fun? Stressful? Both? I’d assume writing with a deadline is not easy! When did you first start? Don’t spare details please, tell me everything about your experience! I have minimal knowledge on the topic

Hey, there! I'm glad you're enjoying my Genshin works!! And of course, I've been in about three fucktillion zines by now so I'd be happy to talk about what it's like! Long post under the cut:

Not all zines are the same but most of them follow approximately the same outline of expectations for you as a contributor, which is:

After you've applied and been accepted, you're sent an acceptance email with a link to the zine server.

You join the server, and after a few days for everyone to trickle in, the mods will post a spreadsheet or a google form where you can submit 2-3 pitches, aka. ideas of what you think you could write for the zine, which should be reasonably different from one another. The reason for having 2-3 is so that not everyone ends up writing the same thing. I prefer when zines give spreadsheets rather than google forms so that I can see what other writers are pitching and make sure I'm not submitting something samey. There will likely be guidelines for what you can pitch (limitations on characters, ships, rating, etc).

(Optional) Some zines do author/artist collabs, and this is usually the time period during which folks figure out if they'd like to collab, and if so, with whom.

After a week or so, you are told which of your pitches you will be writing for the zine.

Creation period! Now you write a fic based on your pitch, usually 2-3k words in length depending on the zine. There's usually 3-4 check-ins scattered throughout the several month period that you get to write during, when the mods basically want to see how far you've gotten to make sure you're making progress. Sometimes you have the option of asking for feedback, but often the writing mod isn't going to be doing that until your final piece is submitted.

At the end of the creation period, you submit your final piece, usually with some formatting stuff like "highlight every time you use italics so the formatting mod can see it." The writing mod will beta it, toss it back to you so you can accept edits, and then that will be the final version in the zine. Voila!

Everything after that is just you waiting for preorders and production. Other stuff that will probably happen at some point includes submitting a snippet for the graphics mod to make a little preview graphic of your piece, and reblogging/retweeting zine stuff during preorders to promote sales.

To answer your more specific questions:

I started in late 2020 when I applied to a Hawks-centric My Hero Academia zine at the same time that I was invited to a My Hero Academia and Harry Potter crossover zine, both of which were an amazing experience. I find that the deadline is really not a source of stress, because you get several months to write 2-3k words and each check-in is only asking for a little bit of progress. My first check-in, for example, is pretty much always just the outline. That said, I'm not really applying to zines anymore (unless something exactly up the alley of my current hyperfixation pops up, which at the time of writing would be a Hazbin Hotel or radiostatic zine, haha) for a few different reasons.

Firstly, I've legitimately been in four dozen zines. I've scratched the itch, haha.

Secondly, particularly in the Genshin Impact space, the zine craze caught on so aggressively that the average quality of zine mod teams declined pretty sharply. There are a number of zine mods that I really trust, and I've been in some phenomenally run zines, but I'm also just kind of tired of the physical production period of a zine taking a year or longer when I know it can be done in like three months. Not to mention the number of times people in the zine space have straight up absconded with money.

Thirdly and most importantly, the actual part of zine writing that I don't enjoy very much anymore is the limitations put on my writing. It's an inherent and understandable part of the process that a fic has to be within a specific word count and topic, but I also have just hit the point where I personally want to write whatever the hell I want without coming up with three separate fic concepts and hoping that the one I actually feel passionate about is chosen - not to mention I've actually ducked out of zines before when the mods were so nitpicky about what they wanted me to write that it felt less like I was a guest writer invited to create something of my own, and more like they were looking for a cheap way to basically custom commission writing from me. And I've also noticed that the pickier the mods are about my writing, the less I end up liking what I create. There's actually three zine fics, now, that I'm never going to publish because I just don't think they turned out very good, and they are all from zines where I felt my writing got micromanaged.

All of that said, I'm basically highlighting the small number of things I disliked out of, again, four dozen zines, so I really encourage you to go for it! A well-run zine is a blast to be a part of, and my favorites have always been ones where it is clearly a labor of love and genuine interest.

Here are some tips when choosing a zine to apply to:

Look at the mods and their pages, and look for mods that have completed zines in the past, but aren't currently part of 4+ incomplete projects. For mods, you want experience, but you don't want someone who's just jumping into every single project they see.

Every P4P zine I've been a part of has been fucking amazing so far. These only get made in certain fandoms, though (mostly danmei). I'm sure they're not all perfect (there's one I know that's a little sketchy), but I think the lack of promise of profit attracts people genuinely invested in the project itself rather than money or clout or whatever.

Pick a zine that you know you will enjoy writing about the subject of. Don't apply to something because you like the character it's about, but you don't actually really know what you'd write for it.

Make sure they have a reasonably large number of followers on Twitter and appealing graphics. This speaks to a couple of things: 1) how well the zine is likely to sell and 2) how well the social media and other mods actually know what they're doing in terms of promo. If a zine has less than several hundred followers and they want to put out a physical copy, I would personally hesitate, because there's a good chance they won't break even on sales. Especially in the Genshin Impact fandom specifically.

Hopefully that was helpful! If you have any more specific questions, feel free to throw them my way.

[dropintomanga]

Fan Stranger, Not Danger

It’s about time for fan convention season and that means fans going out to events once more to celebrate their fandom. Even though COVID still lingers, the convention experience is worth it. That’s mostly because you get a good chance of talking to strangers that can become new friends. I want to talk about that because I want everyone to see that there’s good people out there.

I was reading a 2021 Atlantic article called “Why We Should Talk to Strangers More.” It detailed various anecdotes of people’s experiences of talking to strangers and the joy they got when talking to them. They greatly underestimated the reception they will get from the stranger and vice versa. It turns out most conversations end up being pleasant. Many things are in-play as to why people don’t talk to strangers, but talking to strangers is a beautiful thing. It’s argued that we don’t know how to talk to them due to social messaging saying that strangers in general are bad.

I recall one moment where I talked to a stranger on the way to Crunchyroll Expo 2017. I ran into a woman who was wondering which rail train to take to the convention center. So she talked to me as I was in total cosplay and I guided her to the same train I was taking. We talked for a bit and then she revealed that she worked at VIZ Media. We then talked about what was hot at the time (Haikyuu!! and Tokyo Ghoul). After we reached the convention, we parted ways and told each other to have a great time. While we didn’t become friends, I enjoyed the conversation. It got me more hyped for the convention. 

About a couple of months ago, a new user joined a mahjong Discord server I was a part of and asked about what to do at anime conventions as they were going to one for the 1st time. I chimed in and said.

“Regarding conventions, just hang around people with similar interests. Go to panels that interest you. Talk to people when you can. Take photos. Artists’ alley has some fun stuff to buy at times. I hope you get to make friends there because they make convention experiences worthwhile.“

I did check in with them later and they told me that while they may not be adept in social skills, they managed to make a friend. I considered that a success. 

What I want to say is that meeting strangers is arguably the best solution to some of life’s problems. Many popular anime/manga stories are about meeting strangers that change heroes’ lives. I think about Gintama’s introduction where Shinpachi meets Gintoki at his job and decides to join him after seeing how cool he was standing up to the Amanto. There’s many scenes in anime/manga where a disgruntled youth finds a lone badass to be inspiring and their heart tells them to go with them. There’s also the opposite where the lone badass finds peace with strangers that turn out to be the best friends they needed. The best example is Guts from Berserk as his supporting cast helped him ease the burden of helping Casca and providing him a companionship that he missed since his old Band of the Hawk days.

There’s so much conditioning in media and outside influences saying the world isn’t safe. Here’s the thing - the ones who often hurt us the most are those closest to us. When I hear stories about abuse of any kind, it is usually from someone who knows the victim well. Trauma can be caused by people who are supposed to protect/support us. I notice a lot of anime/manga characters are usually hurt because someone close to them treated them like crap.

Given how much has happened in the past 3 years, definitely reach out to someone who looks like they could be nice to talk to. You deserve a manga-esque story that can make life a bit more worthwhile and less lonely. You deserve a chance to see that people are still beautiful and trying to live the best they can despite the mercilessness of it all.

[bitchesgetriches]

To get this one out early to all your followers who I'm sure will eventually be asking: NFTs are essentially a scam. They're the digital equivalent of the creator of parks and rec scribbling you an autograph saying "Piggy owns parks and rec now, love, Mike" on the back of a napkin and jotting his phone number down on the bottom of it in case anyone wanted to ring and confirm that he did actually sign this autograph.

It's *technically* not actually a scam because deep in the small print it does usually specify that your NFT grants you zero rights zero ownership and is absolutely meaningless despite the marketing claims, and in theory the NFT in itself *could* have some sort of collectors' value (like an autograph could) but the marketing around them is VERY scammy making all kinds of ownership promises and rights implications that they really can't deliver on. It's also got a whole 'nother level that the whole scam essentially exists to suck real fungible money into the eretheum system, which as a previous poster has already pointed out is also a proof-of-work-based environmental disaster. NFTs are essentially a barely legal cash fleece to prop up the crypto bubble.

So buyer beware people, if you wouldn't pay that for an autograph from whoever it is, don't pay it for their NFT.

I suppose we should also cover "What is an NFT" shouldn't we?

An NFT is a Non-Fungible Token. What does that mean you might ask? Well fungible means it's practically exchangeable for anything else like it in the same class. The best idea of this is money. A ten dollar note is fungible. If I have my ten dollar note, or I swap it for a different ten dollars with you, or I swap two of them for a twenty, I don't fundamentally care. Ten dollars is ten dollars.

Non-Fungible is like an autograph. If I have an autograph from Joe Biden, it's not immediately and self-evidently equivalent to an autograph from Barack Obama. Sure, you might *decide* to make the trade, it might be worth it to you, but they're not inherently interchangeable. If you woke up one morning and someone had swapped out your Joe autograph for a DJT one, or your mom borrowed your Joe and promised she'd replace with a Ford one later, you'd be well within your rights to be pissed in a way that you just wouldn't be with a simple ten bucks.

An NFT takes this idea and makes it ~digital~. It's built on the same idea as crypto currency but they've made each one unique. Like putting different people's autographs on a ten dollar bill, I suppose - now your Joe Biden $10 IS different to your mom's Barack one (very ELI5 don't @me).

What they claim to do is provide digital "ownership" of art, or music, etc. As we all know, digital artwork can be copied and pasted to your heart's content, and no one can really own an original. Copyright law can come into play, but who *owns* the original. NFTs (claim to) attempt to solve that. When an original is created, the artist creates an NFT that says "X person owns this artwork" and sells it. This person now has a cryptographically secure little badge saying "I own this artwork", that they can prove no matter how many people copy and paste it. The idea being that everyone can see the Mona Lisa, or copy and paste a print of it, but only one person gets to OWN the Mona Lisa, right? Even owning the artwork doesn't necessarily give you copyright over it - that's normal, so NFTs just work the same. You get to own it and be the only person in the world who can prove they do. Seductive marketing. Cool, right?

Wrong.

Firstly - you do not "own" this artwork. Like, not even slightly. Hell, the artwork itself isn't actually contained within the NFT. It's usually just a link to another website that is contained within the NFT. Something like "the person who can correctly prove possession of this token owns the artwork at www dot artwork dot com". Well, can you imagine if the Mona Lisa did the same?? You'd never stand for that, would you? Can you imagine if you spent $1bn on buying the Mona Lisa and then looked at the fine print and it actually said that you own the painting that stands at the middle of the Denon Alley in the Louvre? Sure, that's the Mona Lisa NOW, but there's no guarantee it'll be the Mona Lisa next week.

Secondly. You do not actually own the art in any meaningful sense. The terms and conditions confirm this. You do not gain the copyright. You do not get the right to have it taken down. You do not get the right to exclusive use of the photo. You don't get the right to destroy it. You literally only own this digital token that says you own it. To take it back to the Mona Lisa example, it would be like getting a piece of paper saying you own the painting at the middle of the Denon Alley in the Louvre, but we're gonna keep hold of it: you're not allowed to move it, touch it, tamper with it, copy it, take photos of it, sell merchandise of it, stop anyone else from looking at it, or do any of the things that one usually associates with "owning" a painting. In fact, all you get is a piece of paper saying it's yours, and you can ring us up anytime to check we really did give you that paper. That's it.

What's the point? You don't actually own the painting in any meaningful way. It's like those "name a star" gifts. It may well be "official", but in practical terms it's worth diddly fuck all. You'd be pretty annoyed if someone told you you'd bought the Mona Lisa and that's all you got.

Thirdly (and finally)

There is literally NO benefit to 'owning' it for you. To go back again to the Mona Lisa, the example the sellers use to justify the "but anyone can copy it" is that anyone can own a print of the Mona Lisa, but only one person can own the original. You're the original owner of this digital artwork.

Except... The Mona Lisa is unique. Digital artwork isn't. The original and copies of digital artwork are - ironically - completely fungible. If I copy-paste the original file, they're both "originals". Neither has any more claim to be original than the other. And remember, there's no "original" actually stored in the token, just a link to something that shows another copy. The Mona Lisa is unique, different, there's only one copy. He only put his paints on one piece of canvas. Prints aren't the same. But a digital artwork? By the time it's finished being drawn and copied over to the website, it's a completely different set of electrons on a completely different server. It's already not an "original". It's a completely, utterly, identical copy. Which I can then download. And copy a thousand times. And they're all still perfect copies and indistinguishable from the original. If I swapped one of them out for another on the website my link points to, there's literally no technical or practical way to tell.

After all that. NFTs DO have some uses. They are ways to support the artist. They are ways to give money back. They are ways to make people feel special (like autographs). You may ask why would you buy a digital print from the K&P Etsy store if you think all digital art is the same. Why would you pay to download an ebook when you could pirate an identical copy for free. This is what they will come back to me with. And there's many - good - reasons to do so! There's many good reasons to buy digital art. And you should! Support your local artists! But this can be, and is already, all achieved without paying over the odds to falsely claim I actually own some sort of permanent original. It can certainly be done without all the crypto-hyped middle men taking their cuts. And it can be done in a way that doesn't prop up the horrible eco-disaster bubble that is a proof of work Blockchain.

The technology isn't a scam. The technology has real world uses and benefits. But the entire marketing ecosystem around it is a scam.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

Now this is the kind of “better know a scam” content for which I come to the internet. Thank you so much for this primer on NFTs!

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Covert Operative

@stinastar turned my own mind against me and hit me with this in my inbox: 

“Heeyyyyyyy babe.You did this to yourself. I’m here to kindly ask for your own idea 🤣“The totally untrained/civi/softie jumps in front of a bullet for the one who's already been shot like five times? The ex spy or some shit who's been tortured and lived. And their twinky little SO was like NOPE” I’m assuming you’ll do geraskier but you know I also adore lambden. THANKS CAN’T WAIT. This is much better than filling my own prompts 🤣😘💖”

and i was feeling that Lambden life so, boo, this one’s for you 😘😘 ily

Warnings: this is all pretty canon typical levels of violence just modern au style, guns, gunshots, someone gets shot, allusions to killing, BIG TIME deception, feelings of betrayal, one of them is a secret spy, it ends soft but it is not a fluff piece, think an episode of NCIS or Covert Affairs. 

_________________

He’d found out by teasing Aiden about missing an exit. 

Aiden didn’t miss anything; he skipped it. Then drove them in circles, checking his mirrors the whole way, as he tried to convince Lambert he was just looking for something.

Lambert unbuckled and threatened to roll out of the car on a side street before Aiden finally admitted it. 

Covert operative, he’d said. Lambert had been thinking about proposing. To a spy.

They now sat across from each other on the upper level patio of a quaint little bistro, rather far away from the farmers market they were headed to, and Lambert was absolutely livid. Aiden ordered for them while Lambert pretended to be on his phone. Aiden had taken the battery out of that though, so it was more an excuse to not talk to him. 

“Bert-”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Lambert snapped, barely keeping his voice low enough, “Only family calls me that.” 

The hurt on Aiden’s face wasn’t even slightly hidden and, oh did Lambert want to believe it was genuine, “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. I did. But knowing placed you at greater risk.”

Lambert locked eyes with him, lips pressed together in a thin narrow line and eyebrows arching up as if to say “bang up job”, but he kept silent. 

“You don’t have to believe me right now. I just need you to listen to me. Please,” Aiden looked almost terrified for a moment before he schooled his features. He just looked like your average person out on a date with their live-in significant other. The pistol in his laptop case sitting on the table was the only thing an outsider would find odd.

Looking at Lambert was completely different.

He was breathing heavy, bouncing his knee fast enough the cooks in the kitchen below them could probably feel it, and the murderous look in his eyes alone would have killed someone unaccustomed to it. 

“I don’t even know you.” he growled.

“I’m still me. I swear to God, this was the only lie I ever told you,” Aiden offered a soft smile as he leaned forward a bit, “And that I liked your experiment with growing tea. So two lies.”

Lambert scoffed, crossing his arms and looking across the street. 

“Be as angry as you want. Hell, take a swing at me once we make it to a safehouse. But please - Lambert. Please tell me you can follow my instruction to the letter. You can hate me, and I’ll understand that, but I need to make sure you’re safe.” 

“Fine.”

A different waitress set their food in front of them in the tense silence that followed and just before she left Lambert noticed the edge of her tattoo peeking out underneath her shirt sleeve.

He glanced up at Aiden and made a split second decision, turning to the server, “Cool tattoo! Where did you get it? I’ve been looking for a good artist.” 

She blinked at him with round brown eyes before smiling and tucking her short curly hair behind her ear, “In Panama, actually. I had an interesting summer holiday last year.”

Something in Aiden shifted when she rolled her sleeve up and showed them the sailor’s Celtic knot taking up all of her inner forearm. Lambert looked politely, leaning into the ‘don’t raise suspicion’ issue Aiden had pressed.

“You make much better holiday tattoo decisions than I do. You know,” he cocked his head to the side and squinted a bit, “You look really familiar. Do you work anywhere else? I swear I’ve seen you before.”

She shrugged, “I’ve had to bounce around lately.”

“Renfri!” Lambert exclaimed, “You worked at the plant nursery! Sold me the giant monstera plant!” 

Aiden couldn’t have been any more tense as Renfri just nodded and made some excuse about getting back to work. 

“What? You told me to be as normal as possible.” 

Aiden stood as soon as she’d disappeared down the stairs, grabbing his computer bag before gripping Lambert’s wrist and hauling him up, “We have to go.” 

Lambert stumbled as he followed after him, a lead weight settling in his stomach, “She doesn’t work at either of those places, does she?”

“No. That was a completed knot. We need to move fast,” Aiden ducked into an employees only staircase that spit them out in a parking lot one street from their car. He broke into a dead sprint down an alley after a glance behind him. 

As soon as they’d cleared the brick, a bullet lodged itself where Lambert’s chest had just been a moment before. 

His whole body felt numb with shock. Aiden pulled him forward and shouted something at him but he didn’t register it until the third time. 

“Lambert! Climb through the fucking window!” Aiden was nearly screaming at him but shook his head and kept pulling him away from the open window that looked like it had been recently broken. Did… did Aiden do that?

He actually took a turn onto a busy street and sprinted up a block before diving right out in front of traffic, Lambert still in tow. They ran for another couple blocks before they dove into another alley that Lambert recognized as leading to their parked car. He had no idea if they were still being followed but he didn’t much care. He barely registered Aiden glancing back to check on him, didn’t even think he might be checking to see if Renfri was behind them. 

She wasn’t. She was leaning against their car, casually checking the chamber of her gun. 

“There you are boys!” she smiled brightly, “Took you long enough.”

Aiden slid to a stop on the gravel, keeping his fingers laced through Lambert’s, “Shrike.” 

“Cat,” She let go of the slide and the snapping sound echoed through the courtyard parking lot, “You killed my sister.”

“I didn’t.”

Lambert was starting to feel light headed as his mind caught up.

“No,” She conceded, “But you might as well have. What you stole got her executed.” 

“You two shouldn’t have gotten mixed up with Skinner.”

Before the last word had left Aiden’s lips Renfri raised her gun and fired.

She’d been aiming straight for his heart but Lambert shoved him aside with every last bit of strength he had. He felt a searing pain flash through his shoulder, outright blinding, even before he registered the crack of the shot. There were two more cracks back to back then nothing for a moment. There was one set of footsteps on gravel then one more sounded before the ringing in his ears muffled everything else.

Aiden was over him soon after, scrambling to stop the bleeding and yelling… something… but Lambert couldn’t hear him and his eyelids were feeling heavier and heavier by the second. 

-

Lambert tried to wiggle his nose and get rid of the itch as he woke up, but it only got worse. He tried to scratch it and ended up smacking himself in the face. His limbs felt heavy and there was a tube under his nose. 

Oh.

He was in a hospital. 

Where was Aiden?

He forced his eyes open as Aiden gently picked his hand up off his face. His eyes were red and a little puffy and he looked downright awful. There was blood all over his shirt, a little in his hair, and the bags under his eyes were a deep shade of purple. 

“What.. what are you…?”

Aiden bit his bottom lip for a moment before taking a shaky breath, “I’ll go if you want me to. I just needed to see you wake up,” he barely choked out his words as his eyes welled up with tears. 

Lambert frowned, “No. Stay.”

Aiden tried to laugh but it came out as more of a sob as he grabbed Lambert’s other hand and cradled it in his, “I’m so sorry…” he whispered. 

Lambert gave his hands a squeeze, “Please don’t go.”

“I won’t,” Aiden shook his head, “I’ll do anything you want me to.”

“Get me out of here?” Lambert grinned.

Aiden snorted, wiping at his nose with his bloodstained sleeve, “Anything but that.” 

They smiled and fell into a heavy silence. Aiden stared at their hands where he not so slyly kept a finger over Lambert’s pulse. 

“Hey,” Lambert’s voice had a husk to it that he only got when he was about to cry, “I still love you.”

Aiden just stared at him with wide eyes. 

“I’m scared, but I love you,” he repeated. 

Aiden leaned over and kissed his forehead, tears falling over his hair, “I love you too.”

[ravnicaforgoblins]

Ravnica for Goblins

One-Shots and Story Hooks

One thing Ravnica campaigns are rarely without is conflict. On a good day, somewhere between nine and ten of the Guilds will be having an issue with one another in some way, shape, or form. This is good for adventuring parties because it means there’s always something to do. While coming up with a session can literally be as simple as picking two Guilds and building off their general reasons for not liking each other (which is as easy as picking a fight on the internet), sometimes you need help. You need something to kickstart those creative ideas again.

Fortunately, the artists over at Wizards of the Coast have had over a dozen sets/releases to craft not just the main storyline of Ravnica, but unique little one-offs as well. They come with absolutely stellar artwork to help build the atmosphere of the City of Guilds, and wonderful bits of flavor text that are prime jumping-off points for your story ideas.

So here are four story hooks taken straight from Ravnica cards to incorporate into your campaign. You don’t have to follow these prompts exactly, but if they spark some ideas of your own, run with them.

Watchwolf

Ravnica can be lonely & intimidating for a Druid. With so much of the world made up of pavement and skyline, one’s connection with nature can feel like a long-distance relationship. You’d be hard-pressed to find a tree outside the Conclave without venturing into Rubblebelt territory. Furthermore, what animals do inhabit the big city have been almost unilaterally conscripted into service by one Guild or another. Azorius hawks, Boros hounds, Gruul boars, Selesnya cattle; to say nothing of the terrifying creations churned out from Guilds like the Simic, Orzhov, or Rakdos.

Even the rats seem to have loyalties.

I was browsing a Tin Street stall for watermelon seeds when I saw it. A wolf, staring right at me from a bridge nearby. I looked around but didn’t see anyone it seemed to belong to. Boros dogs wear armor, Ledev dire wolves are never without their rider, and if it was Gruul it would almost certainly have some sort of clan markings. Could it be a wild one?

Noticing my gaze, the wolf made its way over to me. It avoided the crowd with a comfort you don’t see in wild animals. This wolf definitely belonged to someone in the city.

A few of the merchants were staring at us. Even if it was trained, it was definitely making them nervous. The wolf nipped & tugged at my tunic with its mouth. Not with aggression, but with urgency. Spend enough time with animals, you learn to spot the difference. I bought my seeds, tipped the shopkeep generously, and brought the wolf to a quieter part of the city to speak with it.

Who are you?

Watcher

A watcher? Curious.

What do you need, Watcher?

Help

What help do you need?

Lost

You’re lost?

Watcher shook his muzzle.

Where’s your owner, Watcher?

Taken

Taken? Taken by whom?

Watcher told me.

A what?

Role Reversal

This was definitely one for the books. Even for the Senate, seeing a Sphinx up close is extremely rare. Seeing one at your desk filing a complaint about another Sphinx is unheard of.

“They are Uthlon the Wise. A model among their peers for stoicism, moderation, and sound judgement.”

“And you’re filing a complaint against Uthlon for....”

I checked my notebook.

“....Getting drunk and painting rude words on the temple of Azor.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll look into it.”

I expected a response. There’s always a response when people get angry enough to file a complaint. However, instead of shouting or threats, the Sphinx Agammemnos stepped back from my desk and perched down a few feet away. They were really going to wait there until I looked into this. My lunch was sitting an arm’s reach away. I sighed deeply. I hated this job sometimes.

Then, another Sphinx came in and approached my desk.

“I am here to file a complaint regarding Uthlon the Wise.”

I took my notebook back out.

“For the crime of shouting out ‘River’.”

I had to ask for that one again. Apparently, they were asking someone a riddle, as Sphinxes do, when Uthlon the Wise popped up and shouted the riddle’s answer. For that, I might seek out this Uthlon the Wise for the sole purpose of giving them a medal. No sooner had this thought crossed my mind when another Sphinx, this one rubbing their head and moving as though drunk, wandered in.

“I....am here to....file a complaint.”

“Regarding Uthlon the Wise?”

The Sphinx looked pleased. They do love when someone can guess what they’re thinking.

“Uthlon the Wise hit me over the head with a club.”

I’d just finished writing that down when more Sphinxes came strolling in. I’d never seen this many in one place, not even in Isperia’s court. Then I saw the strangest thing of all. A goblin came in, calmly walked up to my desk, and told me in the best Common I’ve ever heard from a goblin:

"My name is Uthlon the Wise.”

For the love of the Guildpact, what is going on here?

Mass Manipulation

There they are. I thought I made my instructions clear to dress the part. One way you can always spot a Dimir is by their shabby taste. They’re so concerned with being able to keep things hidden in their clothes that they can never wear anything that fits them properly. Orzhov assassins, by contrast, always dress to kill. We turn the art of killing into an actual art. And here this tit comes showing up at the finest diner in the Precinct wearing that awful trenchcoat. Ghosts, I should have hired that Ochran. At least they know not to be seen.

The only reason I’m resorting to this alley skulker is because I need the job done quickly and on the cheap. If this imbecile ruins my appetite, I’m docking the price of the meal from their pay. Then again, if I do that, I wouldn’t be paying them at all.

Seems fair to me.

“Dreadfully sorry I’m late.”

“If this is how you run your business, I may just take mine elsewhere.”

“Now, now, let’s not get hasty.”

The server came over to take our orders, but because of this idiot’s tardiness, my main course would have to wait while they ordered drinks.

“Would you like to see our wine list?”

“Water is fine, thank you.”

Ghosts, I should have hired the Rakdos. This whole day is already a loss and it’s only breakfast. Why did I ever think these fools could be trusted with something important?

The server poured water from the pitcher while I waited.

“So, what’s the job?”

“What’s the job? The job is everything! How you present yourself! How you treat your clients! How you behave in high society! How am I supposed to trust you with a contract when you can’t even show up on time for a breakfast?”

They just sat there, drinking their water. Not even the decency to look ashamed. I’m going to put a word in to the Judge for another purge, this is unacceptable. We shouldn’t have to put up with these dredges.

Finishing their water, they clinked their glass on the table.

The whole diner was suddenly quiet. Not the awkward, shocked quiet of society types pausing to listen. I’ve lived in this city for almost 70 years and I’ve never heard anything like this kind of silence. Every single person froze in their place, some halfway in the motion of eating or talking. Then, every single head turned in our direction at once.

“I was afraid it might come to this. I know you have things to do, so I’ll be brief. When I ask you for the job, I don’t need your background or history and especially not your personal take. I know how uptight you Syndicate types are about contracts & paperwork & details and all that nonsense. I just need the deed and the name of the person it’s being done to. That’s all.”

Every face stares at me with blank captivation. Not a single eye blinks. Not a single mouth draws breath. Including mine.

“But first, let’s talk about the pay. For starters, since the target is probably wealthy enough to afford protection, the rate will double. Second, since you clearly have trouble keeping your mouth shut, you’ll need to be kept under supervision until the job is done, so the rate will double again. Lastly, since the reason I was late was because I was debating whether or not to poison your drink, let’s double it again and call it a deal.”

I swallow hard. I should have never gotten involved with House Dimir.

“Seems fair to me.”

“Excellent. Now, what’s the job?”

Debtors’ Transport

This one will not be easy. This isn’t your standard smash & grab in the Bulwark where the Wojek are too busy busting Gruul skulls to chase after a gang of thieves. Everyone in the city has thought of it at least once; rob the Orzhov. The problem is, everyone knows what happens to anyone who tries; best case execution, worst case servitude. The air surrounding the Orzhov Guildhall is saturated with the ghosts of poor souls still paying off their debts to the Syndicate centuries after death. It’s not a fate you wish unto anyone, least of all yourself.

But still....the temptation is right there. An Orzhov transport, one of those big bloated ones that look like someone took a person, removed their bones, and then blew them up like a balloon. Walking right through the plaza. Every week, same time, same route, same cargo. An enormous sarcophagus filled with more coin than your average Ravnican citizen will see in a lifetime, and the moans of the latest poor soul who fell too far behind on their payments.

From the street separating the haves & have-nots of Precinct Two, around the Hall of the Guildpact in Precinct One, then a straight shot along Plaza Avenue to the Orzhova Church. Roughly one hour to walk five miles of city and deliver the cargo into the greedy hands of the Ghost Council.

They aren’t subtle about their business, but they aren’t subtle about security, either. At least four Advokists and Knights for a light haul, double that for a bigger one, and if they’re really hauling a score you can expect a trio of their fully-plated Giants as well. Not to mention the gargoyles they have perched on roofs for every single street along the route. And the transports themselves aren’t exactly known for being well-tempered when something agitates them.

But you rip off a score like that and your entire crew can afford to buy a mansion on a floating mountain.

Assuming you get away, of course. That’s always the rub. There are few things the Syndicate take more personally than being robbed. You rob a score like that, they don’t just send the Order of Sorrows after you, they send the Angels. The executors of Orzhov justice who don’t sleep, don’t stop for lunch, don’t stop for anything until they find you. At least when the Firemane kill someone it’s an exciting way to go. Better death by immolation than spending every night listening for the sound of feathered wings dropping a scythe down on you.

But if you did it right, made sure no one saw you, made sure no one could trace it back to you, it could be done. It can be done.

But who would be willing to take the risk?

[blazehedgehog]

Do you ever think of yourself as being on the ASD? Up until the past few years (I'm 25 now), I never considered the possibility but as I delved deeper I identified with a lot of common behaviors (obsession, preferring isolation, social issues/anxiety, pickiness) and explained why I found it so difficult to assimilate in high school.

I’ve occasionally wondered, but there are a lot of things that kind of go against the grain of that kind of diagnosis. The few symptoms I exhibit of ASD also overlap with something that’s far more likely, and that’s that I probably have ADHD.

I had two or three teachers growing up try to convince my Mom that I had ADHD and that I needed to be medicated for it. My Mom refused to believe them, because back in the early 90′s, the traditional definition of ADHD included hyperactivity, and I was not a classically hyperactive kid. The image of ADD kids back then was being unable to sit still, unable to stop acting out. ADD kids were loud and grabby and uncontrollable, which I definitely was not.

We understand a lot more about the condition now and even though you should never self-diagnose, I’m 99% sure I have ADHD. My inability to focus on one singular hobby (hi, I’m an artist, game developer, sound engineer, youtuber, streamer, and writer), my extremely selective and poor memory, my inability to switch tracks and get motivated on something else after my mind is already set, my utter impatience for certain things, etc.

My isolation and social issues can be explained simply by my depression more than ASD, I think. I’ve talked about this before but I fell apart in high school. Things happened to me in middle school; I had bullies that acted like my friends, they did some deeply horrible things to me, and it completely destroyed my ability to trust anyone for decades. To some degree, it still persists to this very day. It just... wrecked me, in a way that’s hard to describe, and harder to even comprehend. I stopped showering. I stopped brushing my teeth. I just gave up on taking care of myself. I’ve blocked most of the memories out because of trauma coping mechanisms; I only know some of these things because other people have told me they happened. It really was that bad.

I had a really bad stretch of like, five years, from around 13 years old to 17 or 18, maybe even 19. I did eventually get away from those bullies in high school, but the combination of self-loathing they left me with combined with my ADHD and the mounting anxiety problems I was developing meant I coasted through an entire semester of algebra class absorbing absolutely nothing and I got a failing grade. Friends (new ones) dared me to skip one class with them for fun, and I figured “Well I’m doing bad in algebra anyway, so yeah, I’ll skip with you and go to the bowling alley.”

And that started the snowball. I became unmoored from the routine of school, which can be a big problem when you have ADHD. Skipping algebra every now and then became always skipping algebra. Then I started skipping gym too, because getting undressed in front of the other kids in the locker room was an introvert nightmare. Skipping two classes turned in to skipping three. Then four. Then all classes. Who cares, right? I couldn’t muster up the interest, especially when I realized I had no idea what the current lesson plan was anymore.

My girlfriend dumped me. The school waited until the start of my senior year to pull me aside and inform me that it was impossible for me to graduate under any circumstances (the first and only sign of disapproval they had shown me in three and a half years). My internet friends were yelling at me. I lost touch with my real-life friends. I had massive, gigantic, reality-ending panic attacks that left me too paralyzed to leave my room even to go to the bathroom. I teetered on the edge of having a nervous breakdown. I lost over 100lbs, leaving me nothing more than skin and bones. The mountain of stress I was feeling was taking a toll on my health.

I shut down. Closed myself off to the outside world. Ryan did not exist anymore. And for something like a decade, that’s how I lived. My only human contact was with immediate family (when they could drag me out in to the sunlight against my will) and with a core group of shrinking internet friends. The few that did not lose respect for me, anyway.

That does things to you. The parts of your brain that knew how to socialize atrophy and you forget how to hold a conversation. When I was still going to school, my cousin and I told each other we should become therapists, because we were excellent at listening to people and being mediators. We could fix anyone’s problems. Now, those skills died inside of me. I went from being able to make anyone feel better to constantly sticking my foot in my mouth. Being a nuisance, even when I wasn’t trying to be. I lost all sense of what was appropriate to say, or how to convey my feelings. Or convey anything outside of a keyboard, really. I made a lot of people angry and upset totally by accident, or pushed them away without realizing what I was even doing.

And all of these bad habits fed in to each other like an endless loop. It was a slippery slope that steeply went down, and down, and down. The more isolated I became, the more I wanted to isolate even more. The shame and embarrassment for who I was becoming kept getting stronger. I was caught in a spiral.

I was getting close enough that I could see where the bottom of the barrel was. I call myself introverted, but I’m also the guy who, completely of his own volition, downloaded the Shoutcast Server software in September of 2000 and hosted an all-night live internet radio broadcast. Alone. I was livestreaming myself playing video games for the internet four years before Twitch.tv was even invented. Whenever it came time to read aloud in class, I was always one of the best, clearest students, never needing to sound out words or pause for anything. Nowadays I'd never say I was anything but an introvert, but deep down there’s also been a voice inside of me dying to get out, and at some point I woke up and realized I could be better. I just need less fear and more confidence.

The person you see writing this blog today is the result of finally starting to become aware of what I was doing to myself, and forcibly dragging myself back out in to the world, inch by inch. I don’t think it’s going very well, but at least I’m still making an effort. I fell apart in to many small pieces, and they’re taking a long time to reassemble. I finally graduated high school about five years ago. (I re-read that post a few months ago and started crying.) As you may pick up on from the differences between that post and this one, I’m still learning a lot about myself and what’s wrong with me. The picture is always becoming clearer by the day.

But knowing the problem means you can find the solution, right? That’s what you’re doing, too.  It’s a slow process, but I continue the fight to heal the damage I’ve done to myself.

Anyway, sorry for getting so randomly heavy and spilling my guts out like this. I appreciate people looking out for me like this. And who knows, maybe I am on the spectrum after all. Just because I have my own theories doesn't mean they're necessarily right.

[haloshornsinkstains]

Convention Escapades [Leviathan x FemOC]

On AO3 here

Two dorks go to a Convention. There they encounter crowds, self doubt and con creeps and emerge victorious. Smut ensues.

Leviathan x Kore (my Obey Me! MC). NSFW (R18+)  Warnings for: Female OC, self-esteem issues, PIV sex, woman on top, con creeps/mild sexual harassment, sex in cosplay (if you spot anything else I need to add a warning for let me know)

Kore studied her costume carefully in the mirror, tugging at the hemline of the skirt and carefully adjusting the painstakingly styled wig. It wasn’t perfect, the colours a little off in places and several accessories missing. But it had been the best she could do a short notice and with unexpected delays in Akuzon shipping. She’d really wanted to go as Henry, she really had, especially knowing that Levi had a Lord Of Shadows cosplay ready to go and knowing just how happy it would make him. But then Lucifer had piled a mountain of extra homework on her, eating into 90% of her precious little free time and she just hadn’t had the energy to do it. She could have maybe thrown together something passable last minute, even Levi had said as much, but she told him she wanted to do Henry justice and that would require time. She didn’t tell him that she wanted to do Henry justice because the thought of letting him down with an imperfect and rushed version of one of his favourite characters in the whole world was the worst. ‘Next time’ she’d promised him. ‘Next time I’ll do the best Henry you’ve ever seen. We’ll be unstoppable’. He’d blushed, adorably so, and nodded determinedly. She was still fussing over the outfit when she heard someone knocking at the door. “Kore? We’re going to be late for prime queue spots!” Sighing and chewing on her lower lip Kore went to open the door, preemptively wincing ready for him to pick apart the flaws in her cosplay. When there was no noise she warily looked at him. Somewhere beneath all the hair she could see a blush staining his cheeks red. “Is it… okay? I know the colours are off but it was the best I could do last minute after Lucifer dumped all that work on me. Maybe I should have gone for something simpler… cat girls are cool down here too right?” She paused, tilting her head a little to study him. “Um, Levi? Leviachan? Are you okay?” He huffs, giving his head a slight shake. He mutters something under his breath that she can’t quite catch. “We need to go, if we’re not there in time we might not get the limited edition convention special figurine. I can’t miss out on that because some human normie made me late, you understand right? We need to hurry.”

He didn’t realise until they were halfway to the convention that he’d grabbed her hand. He dropped it as if she were made of fire, cheeks burning and eyes wide. “I… um.. I…” He stumbled over his words, refusing to look at her. “Sorry, you wouldn’t want to touch…” She laughed, reaching out for him again. “I don’t mind, how else would I keep up?” Levi was still frozen, staring at her outstretched hand as she wiggled her fingers at him. After a few seconds of staring she reached out and tangled her fingers in his, ignoring his stuttered protests and offering him a bright smile. “Come on, we can’t be late. Not when there are limited edition figurines on the line!”

They got there in plenty of time, early even, but something still felt wrong. Levi would barely look at her, despite his excitement to be there, and it was starting to form a roiling black pit in her stomach. She’d let him down, she knew she had, she should have gone with Henry, even if it wasn’t a good Henry. She was an idiot for thinking one of the main characters from "My Cute New Roommate is Actually a God of Chaos and I Think She’s in Love With Me" would be anywhere near good enough, no matter how much they’d both enjoyed watching the show. She frowned, squeezing his hand a little. “I’m sorry Levi, I can go?” Her voice came out much quieter than she expected and she was lucky he even heard over the chatter of the crowd. Leviathan tensed, grip tightening more than he meant it to as he tugged her to look at him. “W-What? Why… Why would you leave? I-I thought you wanted to be here? Did… did you just come because you felt sorry for me? O-of course you did, who would actually want to spend time with some yucky otaku like me?” The spiral of self loathing came on fast, and it would just get worse she knew, both from her own experiences and from spending time with him. At home she could sit in the calm of his room, gently tell him all the reasons he was wrong, and if things got too bad his brothers were there. For damage control if nothing else. But here, here she didn’t think she had that time, so she did the one thing she knew would shut him up, she flung her arms around him in a tight hug, pressing her smaller body into the warmth of his. It worked. Levi flailed for a moment, startled and embarrassed and not sure what to do, before he gently tried to push her away. Gently enough that she knew he didn’t really want her to let go. If anyone in the line around them had anything to say about the sudden outburst of emotion they wisely kept quiet. “Y-you have to warn me before you do stuff like that. It’s not fair!” “Hush, you adorable idiot.” She grumbled into his chest, before reluctantly letting him go and taking his hand again. “I do want to be here. I’ve been excited about this for weeks. And I really am sorry I didn’t come dressed as Henry, I know you’re upset at me about it and…” she chewed on her lip for a second, gaze fixed firmly on their hands “and it seems like you don’t want me here. I don’t want to ruin your fun.” Levi gawped for a moment, shaking his head so violently he nearly dislodged his headpiece before pulling her back against him. “I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t want you here, idiot.” It was disarmingly genuine, no otaku slang or stammering or yoda speak, and that alone was enough to calm all of her frazzled nerves and let her relax against him. She was happy to leave it at that, to not push him about his silence, but he answered for her anyway. “You just, you look…” “It’s not super accurate I know, I’m sorry. Oh, hey, the line is moving! Time to get our figurines!” Whatever Levi was planning to say was lost in the excitement of limited edition Ruri-chan merch as they headed inside.

Inside Kore was happy to find it was much like any convention she’d been to in the human realm, there were official booths as well as an artists alley type area full of fan merch, special guests and so much amazing cosplay she was honestly a little overwhelmed. Levi was grinning in the way that was usually reserved for new long awaited game releases or rare exclusive merch finds. It was refreshing to see him outside, around people, and still so happy. But, she figured, these were his people. They weren’t going to judge him in the way he was afraid of, they were all here for the same thing. “Where did you want to go first? You’re the expert here after all.” Levi paused for a moment, he looked like he was thinking but Kore would have put money on him having a whole itinerary planned in his head. He opened his mouth a few times, beginning to say something before closing it again, his face flushing bright red. “Um, well, I want to see the Doki Doki☆Angel Gakuen panel, and the Devilmation one, and um, there’s a few booths I want to visit… but, but what do you want to do?” Kore grinned, her heart growing in her chest at the sheer earnestness of his desire to make her happy. Levi was a lot of things, not all of them good, but he really did try to do his best by her and the mere thought of it gave her all kinds of warm feelings inside. “As long as I get a good look at the stalls, and maybe a few of the, uh, manga booths I’ll be happy.” She paused, momentarily distracted by someone walking past with a truly spectacular cosplay of one of the armoured knights from ‘I’ve Been Sucked Into This Game as a Plot to Assassinate Me, but They Forgot I’m Top of the Server Leaderboards so I’m Having a Great Time’ “Maybe a few photos?” Levi nodded, chewing on his lip and hiding behind his hair the way he always did when he was nervous. After a few moments he announced “Do that I can” grabbing her hand again and tugging her off towards the ‘official’ stalls in search of rare Ruri-Chan merch. She followed happily, smiling softly at the way the normally quiet demon lit up with delight when surrounded by things he was passionate about. He talked excitedly with the booth owners in a way she'd never seen before. As he finally handed over his grimm, clutching the box to his chest in delight, he turned back to her. "Are you okay? You're quiet…" She smiled, cutting him off before he could try to be self depreciating. "I'm fine. I just don't think I've ever seen you so happy around so many people before. It's nice." He hid his face behind the box, shaking his head. "Come on, you need to buy stuff too!"

He pulled her along behind him, stopping at several booths along the way. To her surprise he stopped at a couple just for her. Eventually they exhausted the official stalls, taking a break and grabbing some food while they watched the Devilmation panel. Once it wrapped up, not without some grumbling from Levi about their choice of voice actor for the official adaptation of one of the manga he was reading, he gently took her hand again leading her in the direction of the fan-run stalls. "Oh wow, this is all so awesome. Hey Levi, look!" She pointed towards a stall dedicated towards some of her favourite otome games only to find he had let go of her hand. "I'll be right back, don't go anywhere." "But Levi I… and he's gone." She sighed, turning back to the stall she'd stopped at. Where did he even dash off to? We got the Ruri-chan merch he wanted… I'm so getting lost in here without him. After a few minutes deliberation she picked out a few pieces of fan merch from her favourite new otome 'My Seven Hot Housemates are Constantly Fighting With Each Other, I Think I'm in Love With All of Them and I Have No Idea What to do About it', a full sticker set and keyrings of her favourites- the shy nerd and the brash adorable idiot. She had wanted the full set, but Mammon had borrowed a chunk of Grimm from her a couple of weeks ago and hadn't paid her back yet. There was still stuff she wanted to buy so she had to be strict with her budget. Levi still hadn't come back so now seemed as good a time as any to get him a thank you gift. Slowly she moved along the stalls, making her way towards one she was pretty sure had Sucre Frenzy prints, when she heard a loud voice behind her. "Oh wow, are you cosplaying Nyar-chan?!" She paused, turning to glance at the voice behind her in mild surprise. "Can we get a picture?" For a moment Kore froze, blinking at them. It had been a very long time since anyone asked her for a photo in cosplay. Maybe it was a trap? But the pair holding a camera looked so happy and earnest, and besides there were plenty of people here… she nodded once, smiling at them. "Sure." That one yes seemed to be the start of a landslide. Suddenly so many people wanted her picture, more than a few just for the novelty of getting close to the human everyone was talking about while the brothers weren't by her side. It was overwhelming, and she barely managed to get the prints she wanted for Levi, her eyes constantly scanning the crowd for him.

"Hey there gorgeous, got time for one more picture?" She blinked up at the man, who towered over her. There was something ominous in his eyes she didn't like, but Levi was nowhere to be seen and kicking up a fuss at this point felt like it would do more harm than good. "Um,  okay?" The demon grinned, his teeth looking far too sharp under the artificial lights. He gently rested an arm on her waist, ignoring her flinch as he did so. His friend took the picture and she went to move away but his grip tightened, claws digging into her hard enough to bruise. "I think I blinked, best take another right?" He looked to his friend, who nodded. Kore swallowed, holding still, eyes constantly flicking through the crowd for that familiar flash of purple. Then she felt his hand drop, no longer digging into her waist but instead dropping to cup her ass, fingers trying to dip beneath the hem of her skirt. She opened her mouth to protest when she sensed it, the dark oppressive pressure she remembered from the ill-fated TSL quiz. "Hands. Off. Her." The demon jumped away, hands in the air as he stared down a clearly irritated Avatar of Envy. "I wasn't doing nothing!" ' In which case you just admitted you were doing something ' she heard Satan's voice in her head at the double negative, chasing away the thought to quickly stride over to Levi, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Levi. Look at me. I'm okay." She soothed, squeezing gently. While his mood was warranted she knew this was a very bad place for him to lose control like that. "I promise, I'm okay. Come on, let's get some air." "But he…" "I know. We can be angry outside." She linked her hand with his, intertwining their fingers and giving him a gentle tug. "Come on." He followed with much less protest than she was expecting, letting her lead him through crowds of demons that swiftly parted, sensing the danger that still hung in the air around the third eldest of the brothers. It wasn’t long before they were outside, though she didn’t let go of his hand until she’d pulled him around to the side of the building away from any prying eyes or further interruptions. “Levi, breathe.” She cupped his face gently, pressing her forehead against his. “Thank you for rescuing me.” She couldn’t see anything but his eyes, though her skin picked up the flush of heat at her words. “I-I didn’t… it’s not like that…” He shook his head slightly. “I didn’t rescue you. Weird normie.” “Yeah, you did. I don’t think he’d have listened to me somehow.” She smiled. “My hero.” “I d-didn’t. I just didn’t want him touching you, not when you look so amazing. And I know I’m just a yucky otaku and he was all... handsome and stuff. But I wanted you to be mine today and I didn��t want him touching you and…” he huffed out a breath, the warmth of it tickling her nose “I’m not a hero. It’s not fair.” Kore just cradled his face in her hands, leaning up to press a soft kiss against his lips. “Whaaa… you’re supposed to warn me if you’re going to do that! I need time to prepare! I wasn’t ready!” “Sorry not sorry. I couldn’t resist. Now hush for a minute.” Her hands remained on his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. “You’re not a yucky otaku, you are, in fact, a very handsome and amazing otaku. Who just so happens to be one of the most powerful demons in the whole of Devildom, and the Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy. Which makes you a badass. Not yucky. Not gross. Not any of the other bad stuff you say about yourself. Believe me, that dude was not handsome. He was gross. Not you. I think you’re pretty awesome.” “I’m…” “You’re awesome. Don’t argue with me. And… wait, did you say I look amazing.” “Y-yes?” “Okay. I’m going to kiss you again.” This time he didn’t protest, tentatively kissing her back as he pressed her up against the wall. She whimpered into the kiss, one hand tangling in the hair at the back of his head as he grew more confident, his free hand trailing down to gently stroke the exposed skin between her skirt and the long socks she wore. Panting she pulled back, resting her forehead against his as she tried to pull air into her lungs. “Was… was that okay?” There was a tremor of nervousness in his voice that made Kore want to kiss him again just to make him realise how great he was. “It was better than okay. Is this why you’ve been weird with me all day?” He wouldn’t look her in the eyes but she felt the slight movement of his head as he nodded, fingers still tracing the exposed patch of skin on her thigh. “Okay…” She paused, not sure where to go with this, there was still plenty they both wanted to do inside the convention, but the way he kissed her and his fingers trailing across her skin made her want to do all kinds of other things. “Okay. We’re going to finish up inside, and I’m going to stay by your side whether you like it or not. Then we’re going home to finish this.” A whine bubbled up in Levi’s throat and she leant up to press her lips against his, silencing him with a promise. “You know you’d be upset if you missed the panels, I’ll still be around when this is over.” “But my brothers… I know you like them more…” Kore huffed, pressing a hand against his mouth. “I don’t. Leviathan, listen to me. I like you. I like your brothers. Remember that talk we had about sharing? I know it’s harder for you, I know you get jealous, but you have to trust me.” She sighed. “Please?” Swallowing Levi nodded, letting her lead him back inside just in time for the Doki Doki☆Angel Gakuen panel.

The rest of the day went in a blur, the panel was funny and informative, they picked up a few more bits of merch, and thankfully no more pushy demons tried to feel her up. Probably thanks to Levi being near glued to her side, his hand hovering near her waist. He at least enjoyed his panel, and got photos with his favourite voice actress prompting Kore to grin at him and point out what a good idea staying at the convention was really. After all, they had plenty of time later. On the way home she bought him Bufo Egg Milk Tea and promised she'd make up for all the waiting.

Luckily the tea was long drunk by the time they walked through the doors of the House of Lamentation, Levi dragging her straight to his room with barely a hello to Lucifer who had been waiting in the entrance hall for them to return. Only when they got to his room did his newfound confidence falter, his hands hovering over her but not seeming to dare make contact. With a huff she grabbed his shirt, pressing her lips hard against his. "I can't make it up to you if you won't touch me Leviachan. And I want you to touch me." She purred, pressing herself up against him. “A-are… are you sure?” "I wouldn't be in this position if I wasn't." She paused, pulling back a little to look him in the eyes. “Do you want this? You can say no you know.” For a moment Levi looked panicked and she felt terrible, as much as she wanted him (and she really wanted him right now) she had never wanted to push him into anything. It was just with the way he behaved before she thought… But the panic fades from his face as his fingers come into contact with her sides, running gently up and down the soft fabric. He nods once, chewing nervously on his lower lip. “I… I want you.” Kore smiles, pressing up against him once more to capture his lips. This time his hands grip onto her hips, pulling her so he can grind against her. She moans at the contact, fingers clenched in his top, and it finally gives him the burst of confidence he needs to take control. One hand moves up to grope at her chest, a low growl rumbling through his throat as he finds the layers of fabric hinder his touch. He tugs until the fabric moves low enough to uncover her breasts, ignoring what he thinks was a tearing sound as his fingers ghost over the skin, finding where her nipples have hardened against his touch. He's not a virgin, like so many seem to think, but it has been a long time, and these aren't just any breasts. They're Kore's breasts. Small and soft and so perfect his breath catches in his throat and he could swear his heart skips a beat. She makes a low meaning noise in her throat as he rolls one of the stiff peaks between his fingers. He could come from those sounds alone, he thinks dipping his head to flick his tongue over the other, he needs to hear more. Her back arches, pressing her breasts towards him as she fumbles with a hand to try and palm him through his trousers. "Ah- fuck Levi! That… ah, it feels so good." His hips buck against her hand  and she takes it as a sign to try and slide her hand inside, fingers wrapping around his length and stroking gently. Levi lifts his head abruptly to stare at her, expression flickering between shock, embarrassment and pure need. "I-if you do t-that I won't be able to- to hold back." The corner of Kore's lips lifts in a hungry smirk. "That was the plan. Please Levi? I need you." "But you, you're not…" She pulls her hand away and he whines, watching with wide eyes as she pulls his hand from her breast and pushes it up her skirt, pressing his fingers into the damp fabric. He slips a finger past her underwear, sliding through the slick coating her folds before pulling his hand away and staring at it in amazement. "Please? I want you." He nods in response, not trusting his voice to work enough to form words. She moved to take off her skirt but he shakes his head, earning him a raised eyebrow and a look tinged with concern. "I- um, leave it on? Please?" "Kinky." She grins, but leaves the skirt and socks in place, hooking her thumbs through the waistband of her underwear and tugging them down.

Levi tugs them towards the bathtub that serves as his bed, kicking off his trousers as he goes. He falls back into the soft pillows, tugging her down on top of him, her legs straddling his hips. His confidence grows now he knows this is happening, that she wants him like this and it wasn't all just desperate fantasies. “Are you sure?” Her voice was slightly strained, but she hovered above him watching his face. Levi thrust his hips up against her, his cock sliding through the wetness between her legs. “I need you to say it.” “Yes.” It came out as more of a whimper than he intended, but when she lowered herself onto his cock he really couldn’t bring himself to care. His fingers gripped into her thighs, leaving dents in the plush skin that would surely bruise later as she started to move. His body reacted almost on instinct, thrusting up into her warm wet heat. She moaned, back arching as she rolled her hips in time with his thrusts. “Ah, yes Levi. You feel so good.” He growled, thrusting harder into her until she was reduced to a mess of whimpers and moans. “Ah, fuck.” He groaned, tilting his head back. “I- I won’t last much-” She moaned in response, sliding a hand between her legs, flipping her skirt up so he could watch as she rubbed slow circles over her swollen clit. Levi groaned, feeling her walls start to clench around him. “Th-that’s not helping.” Kore laughed, broken and thready. “I don’t know, fuck , I’d say it’s helping. Ah fu- it feels so good.” Levi’s head was tilted back, breath coming in gasps as she started to lose rhythm, her hips stuttering allowing him to set the pace. He could feel the ripple of muscle around him as she got close, her walls clenching and unclenching a few times before they started to tighten. “O-oh, I’m close. Fuck, Levi, ah... ” Her body started to tremble, words lost in a half-coherent moan as she unravelled on top of him. He fucked her through her orgasm, not sure if he would even be able to pull out with the way she’d clamped down around him. As the last waves passed and her body started to slump he lifted her, pulling out just in time to splatter her thighs with his release, her name a low moan in his mouth. She fell forwards, bracing her weight on her arms against the sides of the tub as the room descended into quiet save the sounds of their ragged panting. “I, uh, might need to borrow some clothes.” She chuckled, looking down at the sticky mess on her costume. Levi went bright red, covering his face with his arms, shyness rushing back. “S-sorry! I didn’t mean to!” She grinned. “You did, and that’s fine. That was hot.” He peeked up at her between his fingers. “R-really?” “Mhm.” Shifting gingerly in the small space she pulled off her ruined skirt and socks, tossing them out of the tub onto the floor. “Later.” Slowly she lowered herself next to him, nuzzling her face into his chest and pulling his arm to wrap around her.

[catphistopheles]

I wrote a Thing. And if there is any expressed interest in this Thing, I will continue to add little installments on Tumblr. It’s a heteronormative romantic comedy, kinda tropey, but it’s something I really wanted to type out and have fun with. I’ll continue to write it even if there isn’t any interest on Tumblr, simply because I want to write it no matter what.

So without further ado, here is the first and possibly only installment of *Insert Story Name Here When I Think of a Title*

Melli glowered down at the innocuous little slip of paper that sat on top of her desk. She tapped her paintbrush impatiently on her knee , and she was so aggravated that the tapping became more and more forceful, almost painful on her kneecap.

It was a wedding invitation. 

Worse, it was a wedding invitation from her best friend. The one she had been in love with for years before he fell for another woman. Anders Nilsson. The man with the clever mouth and scrappy temper, the man with the charm oozing out of him, the man with the cold steel blue eyes and the hero jaw and the perfect hair and the whiskey-on-the-rocks voice that kept her company during her divorce. 

They met, as gimicky as it sounded, on a random team assignment for an online game they both played. It was chance, their meeting. One in a million chance that she’d end up on the European servers to get paired with him. Her soon-to-be ex husband at the time just so happened to buy her both the game system and the game itself (as a bribery, a sort of “Sorry I cheated on you for the eighth time, please forgive me” present) the same week Anders just so happened to buy his after leaving rehab for a drug addiction he was determined to leave behind. She and Anders clicked almost instantly, formed a solid game friendship, and eventually branched out to all sorts of games, and even conversations through a messaging app on the phone, and eventually actual phone calls, and it just kept becoming more and more intense. 

She left her shitbag ex, took the game system, found an apartment in a near city with her best friend, and started freelancing as a commissioned artist to make ends meet, the whole while kindling this strong sort of attachment to Anders. Anders was always there for her. He’d call her after he left work--with the time difference, it meant she’d get a good morning phone call every day as she got out of bed. She loved it. And he knew she loved it, and so kept it up just to put a smile on her face.

Melli once mentioned she wished she could see more of Sweden with him, and the next day Anders went far out of his daily commute to surprise her with photos of all the touristy things Stockholm had to offer; old town, with its colorful squished-together houses and cobblestone roads; the many rivers and deltas and lakes around his city; the giant city square with its vastly intricate paved gathering spots. He worked in construction and showed off some of the massive skyscrapers he had a hand in building. He was proud of his work, and his city, and gladly shared these with her at the drop of a hat. 

He’d stay up past midnight telling her his most intimate thoughts and secrets. They’d had really good phone sex many times, and it was sadly and ironically the best sex she’d ever had. She told him she loved him. He rejoiced and told her he loved her.

She fell hard, body and soul, for this man.

And then he fell hard, body and soul, for another woman.

It wasn’t fair. Melli had been saving up money to go to Stockholm when he broke the news that he had found a girlfriend--in fact she was three quarters of the way to her goal. She had scrimped and saved and daydreamed and planned and painted her heart out to sell as many projects as she could (while still paying her bills) to be able to afford the trip. Anders and his girlfriend had a rocky relationship--very on again, off again--and Melli had secretly and ashamedly hoped it wouldn’t last. 

But then again, the invitation on her desk. You fool, It seemed to gloat at her the longer she stared at it, You fell so hard and now you’re bruised and alone. She huffed and swept it off the desk and onto the floor, bitter tears threatening to fall from her eyes. She blinked them away.

Melli prided herself on not being a bitter person. She managed to go all twenty five of her years on this planet without holding grudges, or acting on spite, or being unnecessarily cruel or mean spirited. But there’s only so much heartbreak a girl can take… 

She’d have to go to the wedding, of course. This was her best friend, regardless of any heartbreak, and he’d messaged her weeks ago and asked her to attend. 

“It’s really important to me, if you’re able to make it. I know it’s an expensive trip, but you’re my best friend, Mellibelle. I’d love it if you could be there on the happiest day of my life.”

He was the only person she’d let call her by her full first name. It always made her melt when he said it in that accent of his, with that whiskey voice of his, and so she’d agreed before she could so much as think up a good excuse not to attend. 

It wasn’t the money, of course. She’d become quite successful as a freelance artist--pet portraits, mostly, but every now and then a local gallery would arrange a sale of her less generic works--it was the reality of finally seeing him face to face, close enough to touch and hold and kiss, only for him to be completely off limits. It would kill her. 

She had to go.

“Fuck,” she murmured, and begrudgingly powered up her laptop to look at flights and hotels. 

Footsteps behind her signaled her childhood friend and roommate had woken up for the day. She heard Sofia stoop to pick up the invitation and pause to read it. 

“Oof,” Sofia winced, her voice rough with sleep, “Are you going?” 

Sofia, of course, knew the whole sordid history between Melli and Anders. Sofia knew everything about Melli by proximity alone: they’d been friends since elementary school. Melli swiveled in her chair to level a helpless look at her friend, who opened her arms to offer a hug, and the dam broke, and Melli was crying. Sofia stepped forward and enveloped Melli into her arms. 

“Ah, dear,” Sofia said soothingly, pityingly, as she gently patted Melli’s thick dark hair. “Listen, I know this is going to suck. But you’ve always been so good at making the most out of sucky situations! Why don’t you use a little more out of savings and make it a miniature vacation just for you?”

A tiny spark of promise flared in Melli’s chest. She wiped her eyes on Sofia’s sleep shirt and glanced up at her friend. “A woman alone in a foreign country? Isn’t that just asking for a Liam Neeson film?” 

The feeble attempt at a joke got a snort out of Sofia. 

“You’re street smart and I believe in you. Just don’t go into dark alleys, don’t talk to shifty strangers, listen to your intuition, all that good stuff. You deserve a good vacation after that wedding.” Sofia leaned down and pressed a sweet kiss onto Melli’s forehead. “Treat Yourself: Unrequited Love Edition.”

Melli wrinkled her nose, swiveling back around to open several new tabs in her browser, mind reeling with possibilities. “Ew, don’t say unrequited love. Makes me sound so woebegone. How much do you think it costs to rent a boat?” 

Sofia barked out a laugh as she made her way to the kitchen. “More than what you charge for a painting. But the wedding isn’t for another month so you have plenty of time to get cracking on a few more pet portraits.” (The click of the electric kettle, followed by a yawn.) “Maybe hit up Mrs. Marchpane again. Didn’t her seventh cat just have kittens? She’d probably love a family portrait to go with the fleet she’s already commissioned. She’s so… enthusiastic.”

“Not a bad idea! You’re on a roll this morning, and all before you’ve had your tea!” cracked Melli, typing furiously into a US Dollar-to-Swedish-Krona converter. She opened another tab and started typing an email to Mrs. Marchpane.

Dear Mrs. Marchpane, 

I heard the Glorious Miss Tater Tot just gave birth to seven beautiful little kittens. Are you interested in a family portrait to commemorate this joyous occasion? I can give you a special rate as a congratulations…. 

Melli smiled to herself, floored by the plan that was forming in her mind.

“Sofia?” 

“Yes, dear?”

“I owe you so many souvenirs.”

“Bring me back a moose and we’re even.”

“Deal!”

[professionaljester]

i’m just hormonal bc i’m on my period my life isn’t slowly getting worse and worse it’s just my period

[tired-imagination]

“Sucker For Pain” - Part 1

Here is the story of one of my MHA ocs, Bakugo Mizuki 

MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING: This ENTIRE story has heavy themes of rape, sex, depression, drug use, murder, PTSD, pedophelia, and suicide. It is not for the faint of heart. 

Read at your own risk. 

(I have a discord server! Link: https://discord.gg/XvJyBnZ )

Atsuhiro stared at the woman on the bed that he had come to love, her body still. Her breaths ghosted on the oxygen mask, her eyes closed as if she was sleeping. He ran his thumbs over her knuckles, fighting back tears. 

“Mizuki, wake up. I need you.” 

~19 years earlier~ 

“Please, you need to take her.” Mitsuki held the small girl in her arms to the old woman, her eyes red from tears. “She’s three, she isn’t hard to take care of, please. I’m only 20 years old, I can’t take care of her anymore.” 

The young girl clung to her mother’s arms, screaming as the old woman attempted to take her away. Mitsuki kissed her daughter’s forehead, smiling at her. 

“One day, I will see you again. One day, sweet darling, I will see you again.” 

As Mitsuki walked away, the little girl held the older lady close, tears soaking the shirt decorated with small flowers that the old lady wore. The old woman simply pet the hair of the little girl, humming a soft lullaby until the baby fell asleep. The old woman brought the child to her home, laying her in an old wooden crib, sitting at the rocking chair and knitting until she drifted off to sleep as well. 

The little girl, Mizuki, and the old woman stayed together, the old woman teaching Mizuki how to bake and how to sew and clean. By the time the girl was 5, the girl had already been taught how to take care of herself in a world that favoured power over a home life, Mizuki was a smiling, happy little girl. The old woman never let her forget who her mother was, and would always tell the little girl updates on how her mother was doing, never letting Mizuki forget the promise that one day, her mother would come back for her. 

“My, Mizuki, it’s your fifth birthday already! How the years have flown by. When you were left  with me, I never would have guessed that you would look so alike at only 5 years old. How much you look like her. Who would have thought that you would be so strong and so confident, you’re so much like your mother.” The old woman bent down, gently scratching the head of the young girl’s unruly blonde hair. 

“Gamma, why don’t I have my quirk yet? Wasn’t I supposed to get it by now? The doctors said I have one because of my bones, but I don’t know what it is!” Mizuki pulled at her bangs, a small growl leaving her throat as she kicked her legs around. 

“Some children get their quirk later, Mizuki. It’ll come, it’ll come. It’s like baking a cake, love. You just need to wait, and everything will be perfect. I promise.” The woman kissed the head of the little girl, mixing the cake ingredients together in the bowl. 

“What was your quirk, Gamma?”

“I could control light, intensify and make it weaker.” “Intensify?” “I could make the light I controlled stronger! Not by much, however. My husband had a similar quirk, and so did our daughter. I haven’t seen her in quite a while, though. She ran away from home in her teens. That’s alright, I have you now, and you are just as much my child as she is.” “Okay.” Mizuki and the old woman continued their day, baking cake together and enjoying the small child’s 5th birthday. There were no presents, but only one thing that Mizuki had wanted. The old woman played with the little girl, baked with her, and made sure she had the perfect birthday. 

At around 10 p.m., far past the regular bedtime for the little girl, the old woman followed the small child and allowed her to tuck herself in. The lady picked up a book, one of Mizuki’s favourites, sitting on her rocking chair. 

“Gamma, why isn’t my mommy coming back?” Mizuki hugged her torn up teddy bear, the only present she had received from her mother that she hadn’t destroyed in a fit of anger. She buried her face in the worn down fur, fighting back the tears that had been needing to come out for the last 2 years. 

“She will come back soon, my child. She promised that she would come back, didn’t she? She will be back for you, she will come back for you, I promise. She promised.” “Okay, Gamma.  I believe you. I just want her to come back soon, okay? I want my mommy back.” The girl put her bear down, lifting her arms up for the woman to hug her. “I want a goodnight hug, if I can’t have my mommy. And maybe kisses too!”

“Alright, young one. You may get your hug.” The old woman wrapped her arms around Mizuki. Mizuki’s arms wrapped around Gamma’s neck, her fingers barely coming into contact with Gamma’s skin. 

The tiniest of gasps. 

The light left her eyes. 

“Gamma? Gamma? Gamma what’s wrong? Did you fall asleep? Gamma wake up, you didn’t read me a bedtime story yet, you didn’t even kiss me goodnight! Gamma!” The young girl started screaming, tears streaming down her face as if a hurricane was coming from her eyes. She stood up, running down the stairs and out of the door as fast as she could, screaming out to the cold night. “Help me! Help me! My Gamma isn’t breathing, my Gamma isn’t waking up!” She remembered the police sirens. 

Then the adults with mean faces all around her, bringing her from one room to the next. Bright lights, strange faces, the words “monster” and “freak” all around her. 

You were so innocent back then. You didn’t even know they were talking about you. 

A man surrounded by flames approached her, his face mean. He looked like a big teddy bear to her, so big and cuddly. Without his mean face, she would have crawled up to him and hugged him, crying for him to help her. A doctor came up to her, ripping her sleeve open, grabbing her hand. 

He dropped to the ground, the same look in his eyes as her Gamma. 

That was the dead they were talking about, stupid bitch. 

“Someone needs to take her in. We can’t touch her. Endeavour, you could kill her, right here and right now.” “I won’t. It’s  a little kid.” Teddy bear man crossed his arms, looking down at me. “Give it to someone else. My job here is done. I am not harming a child. I don’t know why you needed to call me to deal with something as irrelevant as a simple child.”

The child went through 4 families in the next 4 years. One family lasted 2 years. One, barely a month. One lasted 8 months before the child killed the family dog in an accident, and they kicked her out. The last family kept it for a year before the child ran from them, choosing to live on the street. Every family would force it to sleep outdoors, would feed it the scraps, and treat it as the words said on the child’s birthday. 

Freak. 

Monster. 

Murderer. 

Curse. 

It was 9 years old, had discovered what it's’ quirk was and how to use it. It was able to give living things pain, to varying degrees. Some pain could kill, as what had happened with Gamma and the dog. Other pain could simply incapacitate. It kept it safe, it kept it alive, but at the cost of the lives of animals and people alike. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore, except that promise. 

It learned how to live on the street, how to clean the alley rats for food. It had been sick many times, and it had come close to dying far more often. Some days, the child wished for Death to come and take them away. Most days, however, it would look for the mother that abandoned it to this life. 

More sirens, more restraints, more bright lights and more men and women in suits, tying its hands behind its back and placing strange gloves, ones that wouldn’t allow it to use that cursed quirk, on its hands. 

“Where are you taking me? Let me go!” The child screamed, kicking at the men that held it off of the ground. 

“Darling Mizuki. You’re a hard one to catch, aren’t you?” 

“What are you talking about?”

“We put you with so many different families but you could never stay for long, eh? Always needing to kill something? I bet you’re just thirsting to kill us now, aren’t you?” “That’s enough, Goldeneye. Don’t hurt the kid. She’s probably terrified right about now.” 

“What can I say, Ironclad? You know I can’t help myself from roughing up murderers.” The kid was brought to the man in the car, who was called Ironclad. He was an older man, seeming to be in his 40’s, with silver armour around his body. Most likely a Pro. The kid didn’t care, didn’t see why the man being a Pro Hero was important. All it cared about was getting out. 

“Let me the FUCK go you dickheads!” It screamed, kicking once again before being hit in the back of the head by the other man, who had been called Goldeneye. Goldeneye was in a suit, with some strange machine on his eye. The child, the thing, wasn’t able to find a weakness for either of the men holding it. 

“Sweet child.” Ironclad stood up, sauntering over to the three. “Goldeneye, I paid for this thing. I paid for it completely undamaged. I don’t want the goods to be destroyed, especially with how much money we could make from selling it.” “Selling her? Sir, you can’t mean-” 

“Shut it, newbie. Do what you’re told. Before I make you find another agency to work with that won’t pay as well as mine does. Got it, kid?” The person who spoke, his voice was cracking, and gentle. Sounded like a child, not like a hero. The person who spoke bent down to its level, hugging it tightly. “Nothing bad will happen to you, I promise. My name is Shirogane Gin. I won’t hurt you, I promise.” His smile was kind, genuine, sweet. He didn’t seem to be lying. 

“Listen, I don’t know who you dipshits are, but if you’re going to kill me, just do it, okay? I don’t want to be alive anymore. I don’t want to keep eating rats and bugs just so I can make it to tomorrow.” 

For the first time in 4 years, it began to cry. 

“Please, just kill me, or I will fucking do it myself!” “Coin Toss, Goldeneye, let go of it.” Ironclad went up to the crying thing in front of him, bending down so their eyes were on the same level. He lifted up the child’s shirt, looking at it’s bare chest. “There isn’t enough here to make something from it, but if we feed it more food, we should have enough to make a profit.”

Coward. 

“Sir, she’s a little girl, she’s only nine years old. We can’t do this! We shouldn’t make her a sex toy!”

Goldeneye shot something at Gin’s face, causing him to collapse onto the ground. He threw Gin into the back of the car they were in, going back to the child. He let out a small chuckle as he saw Ironclad grabbing at the child’s chest. 

“Is he going to be okay?” “Coin Toss will be fine, kid. Don’t worry about it.” Goldeneye picked it up, carrying her to the back of the car. 

There was a noose right there, coward! If you ran for it, then maybe… 

Goldeneye threw the child into the car, it losing consciousness as its head hit the cold metal.

[shadowsong26fic]

Random crossover snippet

So, I swear I am actually working on, like, Actual Projects (i.e., the next Precipice chapter should be out this weekend; plus I’m poking at some other stuff that’ll be up later, etc.)

But, in the meantime, it’s been a while since I shared anything from the Epic Crossover RP of DOOM, so here we go!

For those of you who don’t know, this started life three and a half years ago as a Star Wars/MCU crossover, generally based in the same AU as Precipice. It has since expanded to include eleven total fandoms because we are Dorks.

Obviously, while several key plot points are the same, there are some things that have played out differently in the RP than will in the fic, both because of the actions of people from one or more of the other canons and because we Felt Like It.

Anyway, some context is actually necessary for the bit I’m sharing here - this is a bit less than a year after Endor, and the postwar government is about to make Official Contact with Earth and reveal that Star Wars is, well, an Actual Place even if not 100% as portrayed in the movies. Anakin has slipped over early, because he wants a chance to see what this place is like before the hell timeline, as he refers to it, becomes something he can’t avoid.

Naturally, shenanigans ensue, and he has here run into the main characters of Person of Interest [link to wikipedia] as they’re dealing with a number of the week, which is where we join him now.

    The safehouse looked like a safehouse; generic furniture, shelf-stable food, motel art on the walls. John put his gun on the table and went to a particularly hideous abstract painting, lifted it off the wall, and opened the safe behind. Good, more ammunition. There were probably more guns around somewhere, too. Not that the other man needed any.

    The number--Cris Boyd, twenty-eight years old, con artist; taking the situation much more seriously now that bullets had actually started flying--was curled up in one of the chairs, staring blankly at a slightly-less-hideous painting on the opposite wall. The stranger had stayed near the door, leaning against the wall with his eyes half-closed.

    "What--" she stopped, cleared her throat. "What happens now? Who are you people?"

    "Concerned third party," John said. He did enjoy that explanation.

    The stranger smiled faintly. "Guess I'm a fourth party, then," he said. "You two okay? I didn't see either of you get hit."

    "I'm--I'm fine. I think," Ms. Boyd said, then looked up at John.

    "Fine," he said, and meant it for once. "You were timely."

    "Right place, right time," he said. "Guess I'm just lucky that way."

    "I don't know that I would call it luck," John said, and reached into the safe once more, looking for another phone. His had been smashed, and of course Shaw had gone somewhere else, so Finch must be having fits.

    "Yeah, there's probably another word for it," the stranger said, opening his eyes and pushing himself away from the wall at last. "But I'm glad I could help. Any idea who the shooters were?"

    "I think Ms. Boyd could tell us that," John said, giving her a steady look.

    "Um," she said. "I don't..." She fidgeted in her chair a little bit. "I talked my way into an office building, a couple days ago. I needed something for a client. But there was a secure floor that wasn't on the building specs, and..."

    "And you couldn't resist taking a look?" Aha, a phone. He pulled it out and pressed start; battery dead, of course.

    "I didn't touch or take anything," Ms. Boyd said. "Not that there was much of anything to take. At least not a lot that was portable."

    "Did you see anything in particular? Company name, what they might've been working on?" the stranger asked.

    "Bunch of servers, mostly," Ms. Boyd said. "And I overheard two guys talking about something they called Calliope."

    Oh, great, this again. John prevented himself from rolling his eyes. "And who did you try to sell that information to?"

    "No one."

    "Huh," New Guy said. "Busy guy, No One. Everyone wants to sell him things, and he wants to sell to everybody."

    "He's also everyone's only enemy," John said, in the same casual tone.

    "I mean it," she insisted. "I haven't contacted any buyers."

    "Yet?"

    "...yet," she admitted.

    "Look," John said, "you probably didn't think you were doing any harm, and you might not have been, except to yourself. Who else knew you knew this?"

    Ms. Boyd looked away. "I may have mentioned my side trip to my client. To explain the delay."

    "Who are they?" The phone beeped; charged, finally.

    "I can't tell you that," she said.

    "Because you don't know, or because you have a Policy?" New Guy asked.

    "People won't hire me if they know I'll give them up," Ms. Boyd said. "I can't give you my client's name."

    "They tried to kill you," John said. "There's a point at which the contract is broken."

    "I don't know that for sure," she insisted. "Maybe the Calliope people had better security cameras than I thought."

    "They didn't," John said, with absolute certainty. He synced his earpiece to the phone and frowned a little when he didn't immediately get Finch fussing in his ear.

    "Something wrong?" New Guy asked.

    "Maybe," he said. "Doesn't matter yet."

    "All right," he said, dubiously.

    "So...so where do we go from here?" Ms. Boyd asked. "Assuming whatever doesn't matter yet doesn't start mattering."

    "You tell us your client's name so we can take care of the threat on your life," John said. "And by we, I mean myself and my associates. Presumably the gentleman over there has his own plans."

    "I can help," he said. "I'm here anyway."

    "There you go," John said, gesturing at New Guy. "He'll help too."

    "I can't give you the name," Ms. Boyd said. "Maybe--maybe if we could get our hands on Calliope's security feeds--"

    "Bad idea, unless you're a really good slicer. I don't think we should bring anyone else into this mess," New Guy interrupted.

    "No need for that," John said. "My associates already have them."

    "What? How?" Ms. Boyd asked, half-rising from her chair.

    John merely gave her a flat look, and turned back to New Guy. "There are several other people involved already who we can turn to." Assuming he could get in touch with them.

    He nodded, taking that in stride. "Great," he said. "We could use the backup. Is this one of your rally points?"

    "No, but there are some." If all else failed he'd take them to the library, though Finch wouldn't like that.

    New Guy nodded again. "I don't know the area like you do, so your call when to move," he said. "...does this place have cameras? Be nice to get a better look at what's outside."

    John tried to imagine a place that Finch had designed lacking cameras, and utterly failed. "There are, but I don't know how to access them yet."

    "Let me see what I can find," New Guy said. "I used to work with machines a lot when I was a kid."

    John shrugged. "Be my guest," he said, and then the earpiece kicked back in. "--ese? Mr. Reese!"

    "Got you," he said, with more relief than he was willing to admit.

    "Who?" Ms. Boyd asked, while New Guy started examining the walls; probably looking for hidden panels or something along those lines.

    "Shh," John told her, and listened to Finch fuss at him for a solid thirty seconds before he broke in. "As touching as this is, I have our number and an unrelated person here."

    "Hah!" New Guy said. "Found it." He produced a multitool from--somewhere, and began opening a panel behind another one of the awful paintings. "Also, hello to your associates."

    "Unrelated person says hello," John said, and then, "He's looking for the cameras." A pause. "Finch says connect the red leads."

    "Thanks," he said, then, after a little more fiddling, got them up and running. "...okay, there's someone hanging out on the corner down there. Not sure if they're with the shooters from earlier or unrelated, but they're definitely armed, whoever they are."

    "Finch?" John asked. "No idea on our end either."

    "Great," New Guy said. "He's covering the main exit. I don't see anyone around the back, but if he's not alone, he may be herding us there. I can see a couple places in that alley where I might set an ambush. If I wanted to. Thoughts?"

    "You won't need to," John said, leaning forward to watch. This was going to be fun.

    Sure enough, a suppressed muzzle flash off in one corner said the problem was under control.

    "Okay, heading out the back, then," New Guy said. He switched to the front cameras; the guy out there was on his phone. "...probably sooner rather than later."

    "Wait for it," John said, and had the pleasure, a moment later, of watching Fusco football-tackle the guy in front and send his phone skittering across the concrete.

    "I stand corrected," New Guy said, and grinned at him. "Your team's good."

    "They're all right," John said, and went out to help Fusco zip-tie the one in front. Shaw showed up a moment later, not a hair out of place, eyeing their number and New Guy in a vaguely predatory way.

    "I still have no idea what the hell is going on," Ms. Boyd said.

    "People were shooting at you, and other people tried to help," New Guy said. "That's about where I am. Hi."

    "Hello," Shaw said. "You are?"

    "I'm--uh," he said. "Owen. I’m Owen. Concerned...fourth party, I think we decided? There was shooting, I couldn't not get involved."

    "Owen," Shaw said. "Sure. I'm Shaw."

    "Nice to meet you," he said. "Glad you and your partner out front found us."

    Shaw snorted. "He's not my partner."

    "What am I, then?" John called to her.

    "Lesser wannabe," she shot back.

    "So," Ms. Boyd cut in, "so the people hanging around outside were the same group? Or just coincidence?"

    Owen shrugged. "I'm guessing different--guys out back didn't respond the right way to Shaw. Not as well-trained. But they could just be a lesser backup team."

    "They're idiots," Shaw said, "but you're probably right. Seriously, how many people did you sell this to?"

    "I didn't sell it to anyone!" Ms. Boyd protested.

    "Earlier, she told us she hadn't had a chance yet," Owen clarified. "But I don't suppose you've done some unrelated work for a local syndicate or anything?"

    "N--" Ms. Boyd stopped, and corrected herself. "Not...recently, anyway."

    "How recent is recent?"

    "Six months ago," she said. "But I did the job, handed over the property, and got paid, so that should all be settled."

    "I love how you hit should," Shaw said. "Who was it for?"

    "I can't tell you that," she said.

    "It's like you want us to leave you to die," Shaw said.

    "My clients hire me because I'm good at what I do, and I'm discreet," Ms. Boyd said. "I don't give out their names."

    Shaw put a hand up to her ear, and then said, "Oh, okay. Well, it's not them."

    "We know who it is?" Owen asked.

    "One of them, anyway," Shaw said. "Called in a favor. Elias says hi."

    "Uh," Ms. Boyd said. "Right."

    Owen just shook his head and went back to the cameras. "Are we planning on staying here, or moving?"

    "I'm staying here until someone tells me where to go next," Shaw said, and gave Ms. Boyd a pointed look.

    "What are you looking at me for?" she said. "I told you, I can't name my clients."

    "Nice knowing you then," Shaw said.

    "You already know it was the Calliope people shooting at me," she said.

    "It's not that simple," Owen said. "Big scary projects like that have a lot of moving parts. Besides, if your syndicate friends are also after you..."

    "Can't help you unless we know where to go," Shaw said. "Got at least five clients killed."

    "Well, I don't know where to go, either," she said. "I didn't sell the information about Calliope to anyone. I don't know who's shooting at me."

    "Somehow I doubt that," Shaw said, dryly. "Somebody wants you dead."

    "Maybe someone other than Calliope," John said, reentering the conversation.

    "That's...the only thing that's been unusual in the past year," Ms. Boyd said.

    "Any chance someone from longer ago than that might've tracked you down?" Owen asked, eyes still on the camera feeds. "Former client, ex-lover..."

    "No, I don't think so," she said. "Not any exes, for sure."

    Shaw snorted, and turned to John. "So I vote we take this guy-" she hitched a thumb at Owen, "and leave."

    "Take me where?" he asked, looking up. "I mean. If there's more shooting, I'm happy to help, but I'm...sort of new in town."

    "I dunno," Shaw said. "Bar?"

    "Shaw," John said.

    "What? You heard her, she can handle herself."

    "That's not what--" Ms. Boyd said, then stopped, and took a breath. "Look. I get that you're trying to help, and that the people shooting at me actually--but my clients are private for a reason. And half the time, we use code names anyway."

    "Look," Shaw said. "You want help, you gotta help us. You're not doing that, I assume you don't want help. I got better things to do."

    "It's not that I don't want help," she said. "It's that I have a life I need to get back to when this is over, okay? Wasn't easy building up my client list. I don't wanna ruin it."

    "People don't tend to notice us," John said, feeling that it was probably time for the bad cop bit to end. Not that it was a bit for Shaw.

    "And like I said, I'm not from around here," Owen said. "Not like I'd recognize any of the names, or could do anything with them even if I did."

    "Bet Finch knows 'em all anyway," Shaw muttered.

    "...the guy who sent me into the building, where I ran across Calliope," Ms. Boyd finally said, after another moment's thought. "I don't know if this is his real name--it's all anonymous bank transfers, you...seem like the kind of people who know how it works."

    Owen arched an eyebrow. "Something tells me that the account number is a good place to start?"

    "Yep," John said. Shaw held up her phone, ready to text. "What's the name?"

    "The name he gave me was George Read," Ms. Boyd said. "Like I said, I'm not sure it's real. Account number...uh. I have it in my phone. ...which is broken."

    "Anywhere else?" John asked. "Is the SIM card intact?"

    "I have a safe in my apartment," she said. "If we want to try and get there. As for the SIM card...I don't know." She pulled the phone out of her pocket--the screen was cracked, probably beyond repair. "I think I landed on it while we were running."

    "Just a minute," Finch said sharply in John's ear. "George Read? Can she spell that?"

    "Can you spell George Read?" John repeated, obediently.

    "George is like how George is always spelled," Ms. Boyd said. "Read has an 'a' in it. R E A D."

    "...I feel like that means something," Owen said.

    Finch swore in his ear. "Delaware signer of the Declaration of Independence."

    "Well, fuck," John said.

    "Ooh," Shaw said. "I'm getting the shotgun. Those Vigilance guys are wiggly."

    "Vigilance?" Ms. Boyd said. "Great. Just great. I just outed a privacy terrorist."

    "If it's not his real name, you haven't outed anyone," Owen said, half-reaching for something at his waist, as if on instinct, then frowning faintly and resting his hands on the table instead.

    "Is he in this picture?" John asked, noting Owen's movement and filing it away for the moment. He held his own phone out to Ms. Boyd.

    She scanned the photo. "Him," she said. "I may not get real names, but I've got a good memory for faces. That's Read."

    "His name really is George," Finch said in John's ear, "but not, obviously, Read."

    "We know who he is already," John told Ms. Boyd, ignoring Finch.

    "We're shooting at him already," Shaw said, brightly.

    "So," Ms. Boyd said, "the guy who just happened to be on hand when either Vigilance or whoever started shooting at me...is already fighting Vigilance? That's a hell of a coincidence."

    "Not really," John said.

    "Groups like Vigilance," Owen said, "will find a reason to fight just about anyone who isn't one of them. Sooner or later. I don't know much about this group in particular, but I've dealt with people like them. And I can't see Mr. Reese or Ms. Shaw falling in line with people like that. So, if they've met, they've fought."

    "Yeah," Shaw said. "Plus, no offense, we don't care about you."

    "Shaw," John said again. "We will keep her alive."

    Shaw rolled her eyes. "Obviously but we weren't stalking you or anything. I heard your name for the first time today. We didn't care about you before today and after we save your life we will stop caring about you entirely."

    Ms. Boyd stared at her. "That's...is that supposed to be comforting?"

    John sighed. "Just... don't pay attention to her. What she's trying to say is that it isn't a coincidence because we are fighting Vigilance, and you just got caught in the middle."

    "Right," she said. "Okay."

    "It does seem odd," Owen said. "That Vigilance would hire you to break into a building holding something like Calliope, but not into those specific offices. ...I'm not asking you to tell us what you were hired to steal, but is it possible that Read and his people were using you as a way to test Calliope's security systems, so they could make a move of their own?"

    "Sounds like them," Shaw said. "Slippery bastards. I should get the grenade launcher instead."

    "No grenades when the number is in the room," Finch said. "Miss Shaw, please take Ms. Boyd to Ms. Morgan, and then return to the library. Mr. Reese, please bring your... new acquaintance there as well."

    "Really?" John said, feeling his eyebrows rise. "You sure?"

    "Quite."

    "Are we moving, then?" Owen asked. "...if it's somewhere you don't want me to find again, you can blindfold me, if it would make you more comfortable."

    "We're moving," Shaw said, pointing at Ms. Boyd. "You're not. Stay put."

    "I gave you the name," Ms. Boyd protested.

    "You're going somewhere safe," Shaw told her. "I'm the escort. Get your stuff."

    "Right," Ms. Boyd said, looking somewhat less than thrilled as she grabbed her purse. "...do you guys still want my phone, or since you know who Read is, are we good?"

    "We're good," John said.

    "We don't care about you anymore," Shaw said.

    "Right," Ms. Boyd said. "You mentioned." She shoved her phone back in her purse. "I'm ready when you are, I guess."

    "Enjoy Zoe," John told her. "If she offers, say yes, it's fun."

    Shaw rolled her eyes again. "Come on, Fusco's coming."

    "...wait, did he mean--" Ms. Boyd started, then stopped. "Right. Okay. After you."

    "She seems nice," John said, to no one in particular, and then, after they'd departed, turned to Owen. "We are going somewhere, though."

    "I figured," he said, and smiled briefly. "Glad you're interested in letting me keep helping."

    "Mm," John said, reasonably sure that' wasn't at all what Finch wanted from the man, but not particularly willing to disabuse him. "The blindfold will look odd."

    "True," Owen said. "...you could put it on me once we get to the car?"

    "We're not taking a car," John said. Finch had provided him with a motorcycle for this number, for reasons that escaped John, but he was not about to complain.

    "Right," Owen said. He hesitated for a moment, as if considering something, then shook his head. "Sorry, I'm out of other viable options. Even if a full-face helmet wouldn't probably also stick out, I really hate them, they make me claustrophobic."

    "You will have to wear a full-head helmet," John said, "for safety reasons, but it is at least clear glass."

    "So, a bike, then," he said. "Okay. Yeah, clear glass, I can do."

    John raised his eyebrows at him. "Good, because we don't want to be pulled over."

    Owen winced. "Yeah, let's...let's not do that. And, uh, sorry that blindfolding probably won't work, but if it helps, I'm probably not going to be in the city very long?"

    John had had some inkling of that. "Why won't it work?"

    "Because you said it would look odd?" Owen said.

    "Briefly."

    "All right, then," Owen said. "Blindfold it is. Ready when you are."

[yawaribleubear]

Discord Time (Rant/Vent)

Okay y’all. I gotta rant for a bit cause this has been bothering me for a long time now. Rant will be under the cut.

There’s a chat that I’m in on Discord right now that... I really want to leave. Here’s the story:

The guy who runs the chat was one of my favorite small voice actors (I think that’s the right title?) on Tumblr, but I will not be naming them. Basically, they also have a YouTube channel, I saw a video of theirs where they were trying out a different style, I thought it would be interesting to share my ideas with them about how to improve the video, and it went downhill from there.

Now I love analyzing a bunch of stuff, music and YouTube videos specifically. But I ended up overanalzying their video and basically got talked down after sharing my thoughts with them. And I felt guilty and ashamed for ever sharing my thoughts. I deleted the conversation because I just didn’t want to remember it and tried to move on from it. Needless to say, it was mentally scarring to see someone that I looked up to talk me down like I was nothing to them.

Sidenote: They used their anxiety and depression somewhat as a shield to say “You can’t do this because today I’m not in the best of moods” or whatever. And I want to say that just because you have depression or anxiety or something of the sort, it does not excuse you from criticism that you will receive, especially if you want to be in the entertainment business. Then again, I could be interpreting their words in a different point of view, but still. That’s fucking scummy and is never a valid excuse. I learned that in my first term of college, and have used criticism to better myself as an artist and a person, but that’s another rant for another day.

Moving on, they run a Discord server that I’m in, but now I feel uncomfortable even lurking inside the chat. I had made good friends with a few of the mods and members of the group, and about a few weeks ago one of the mods reached out to me to see if I was okay. I explained what happened and why I can’t go back into the chat for a very long time. I thank them for respecting my wishes to be away from the chat for a while, and recently they contacted me again about a convention we had planned to go to later this summer. I told them I would be staying in the hotel with them and they put me on the list.

I’ve been debating whether or not to even go to this con because YOU GUESSED IT, the guy who owns the server is GOING!

And when I think about that, I become even more uncomfortable and anxious because holy shit, I haven’t talked to them ever since that conversation happened and now I’m afraid to meet them in person. I might end up sleeping in the car instead to be honest, because I know I won’t be able to be around them for more than a few seconds before I become scared and would have to excuse myself to go outside for fresh air. I can’t handle meeting people who I know will put me down ever since the incident in my sophomore year of high school. Another story for another time.

Basically my social anxiety is pretty fucking bad as it is. And the closer the date comes for the convention, the more the thought of meeting this person becomes apparent in my thoughts and just-

I’m a fucking mess right now.

Not to mention that every time I think about this or tell the story to someone, I end up breaking down and having to try to recompose myself before I end up falling asleep from exhaustion. I’ve only told one of the mods of the server, but I think about this a lot. I don’t break down that often now, but before when it was really fresh in my mind, it would hurt and I wouldn’t be able to hold it in.

I’m going to most likely end up in a corner of the con’s artist alley or something, just as long as I’m far away from the guy because I know I won’t feel safe around them. I know that I would have to be at least 50 ft or so away from them just to even explore the con or the city. Hell, I don’t feel safe even saying hi to someone in the Discord server! Plus there’s so many members there now and me appearing out of nowhere just wouldn’t be good and I’m sure no one remembers me except for the one mod, so fan-fucking-tastic!

I also keep having this recurring thought in my head that I would leave the hotel we’re staying at to explore the city and end up meeting some dudes that are really nice and help me calm down from what could be a future anxiety or panic attack. It’s a nice thought and it helps me calm down, but still. I’m a mess.

Did I mention that they stream and I forgot that I had notifications on for when they go live? Yeah, no thank you. Even when they stream I can’t join because that conversation just sticks out so much in my mind, it’s frightening. I don’t even know if there’s a word for what I’m going through, but if there is, then someone let me know. I’d like to at least know the word.

The reason I never said anything about this is because I’ve been afraid of the backlash I could receive if they find this post and send their fans to attack me. It’s saddening to think that too. I’m a firm believer that sending people to attack someone for you is never a good way to solve any issues or drama you have with anyone. At all. Regardless of what happened between you two. So to have that in the back of my mind and also have a good estimate of how many followers they have that could attack me at any moment is scary.

I like to say that I have tough skin from all the fucking shit I went through in my life, but I have no idea if this would be too much for me or not. If it happens, then I hope I have someone supporting me at least.

I don’t know. They don’t follow me or anything, but people from that server do follow me, and I don’t want the owner to find out that I made this post. I want to forget about it all and I felt that getting this off my chest would help a lot.

Here I am. Everything that has led up to this moment is now laid out on the table for you to look it. Not even sure if I’ll delete this. It could help someone who might be in the same situation as me, knowing that they’re not alone and that they could talk to me about it makes me hopeful that I’m at least sharing my experience and letting people know that I’m just a human.

That’s my story. Someone send me or tag me in memes so I can cheer up tonight. Or talk to me about your story or possibly show your support. If you want to ask questions about this, I wouldn’t mind answering some of them. But yeah, that’s about it. Later, guys.