#fired from jobs and ostracized from society

[somer-writes]

I was just thinking recently about how to be an ally to my queer friends on tumblr. Do you have any suggestions? What kinds of things would be supportive and gender affirming to you? How can mutuals support you?

oh man i am not the person to ask this XD

im queer but not really involved in the larger community/academia aspect of it

i would just say educating yourself is important. podcasts, articles, seminars, w/e floats your boat. pull from multiple places, be wary of echo chambers.

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

More of my older writing on Monsters as Disability Metaphors (abridged, emphasis added to portions, to be louder for the people in back)

(Originally posted to LiveJournal/Cross-posted to Dreamwidth on 10 February, 2011)

The word "Monster" comes from the Latin for "omen" or "sign" (the same root as 'demonstrate'), and originally referred to human or animal offspring born with missing or extra limbs. Such births were interpreted by the priests and oracle-readers as a sign that the Gods were angry, and was taken as a warning to prepare for devastating punishments against the whole society.

I was struck, reading that, that it was not, originally, the monster itself (himself, herself, ouself...) that was angry or wished to wreak havoc, as we define the word today, but was simply the unwitting, and unwilling, messenger of the gods' anger. Blaming the monster for the coming wrath is like blaming the stop sign for the car that runs you over.

Human psychology being what it is, however, such transference is predictable. The ostracization of the disabled, the denial of our existence within a society, probably stems from a desire to deflect Divine Wrath:

"What? Who, us? Oh, no... We're not the people who're sinning... no, nope. You warned us, sent us an omen, Jove? You sure? 'Cause no such monster was born around here. You must be looking for that other village, over in the next valley."

*whistle* *eyedart*

That's the reason why I don't trust the medical model, or the medical industry. Doctors started out as priests, using magic and ritual to summon spirits and banish demons of illness. Scientific discoveries have changed the language used to describe phenomena, and have changed the way an illness or difference is analyzed on a physical level. But if you peel back the generational layers from teacher to student, teacher to student, it won't take long before you find the superstitious beliefs that link physical conditions to sin and/or righteousness.

Why else, when Christopher Reeve was recruited to help raise money for Spinal Chord Injury research, would all the attention be focused on "Getting up, out of the chair, and walking" instead of treating the invisible health risks of spinal cord injury that actually shorten lifespans (controlling blood pressure and body temperature, etc.), if not to hide the 'mark' of disability from the society?

Why else would people with visible disabilities be shamed for not seeking cures at the same time that people with invisible disabilities are shamed if they do?

Why else would Medicare (in America) only provide money for assistive technology if you need it to function behind the walls of your own home (and "function" being limited, here, to: eating, pooping, and sleeping), but would deny you the funding if you intend to use it to hold down your job, raise your kids, or volunteer in the community?

Why else would demands for inclusion be treated as if they were deliberately hostile acts?

It's almost as if people still believed that if Jove saw the "monsters" had indeed been born into our village, we wouldn't be able to dodge the floods and fires any longer... So that if a disabled person dares to go out in public, that person must want to invite the lightning bolts, and destroy our society. How dare they?! Why can't they just realize it would be better for everyone if they just stayed home, and focused their attention on being good cripples?

[radsplain]

it’s driving me insane how, as a society, we used to understand that there were men, who knew they were men, who liked to dress up as women on the DL. we called them cross-dressers, and we understood that most of them, especially the older heterosexual men, were fetishists. we all knew and understood that these were heterosexual, autogynephilic men who fetishized “dressing up” as women. and the public shamed them for doing so. but in the past decade it’s as if this group of men has suddenly and completely vanished. where did they go? the answer is: absolutely fucking nowhere. we’ve just decided to start calling them something completely different now: trans women.

now you may be thinking, “well that doesn’t make any sense. cross dressers are not trans women! cross dressers know they’re men and identify as men and only dress up as women sometimes! they know that doesn’t make them trans women.” but that’s where you’re wrong. like stated previously, we used to know what to call these men. we had a word for them. and that word rightfully kept men who fetishized women away from women and our spaces. we knew as a collective that this type of man, who fetishized this fake version of womanhood, must be kept away from women and our spaces at all costs. calling them cross dressers created an invisible boundary between them and women. it was a boundary that shamed them (rightfully so, in my opinion) for fetishizing their surface perception of women. but in the last decade we’ve seen a new phenomenon pop up that’s ideologically captured society and mass gaslit women into believing that men who liked wearing dresses and wigs and makeup were actually women, instead of, you know, men who liked wearing dresses and wigs and makeup.

we used to see them as what they are: men with a fetish who are playing out a sexual fantasy (mostly) in private. but today, these very same men have been emboldened by the recent advent of gender ideology to take their fetish even further: instead of just “dressing up” as women in private, they’re now being encouraged to identify as women in public. their fetish for dressing up as women has now been given protection by the trans umbrella, and on those grounds they are being allowed to enter into women’s bathrooms, changing rooms, prisons, and sports simply because they “identify” as women. they are being encouraged and even cheered on by other women to play out their sexual fantasy in public. they’ve been given free license to take their fetish further, and many of them have.

now, you may be thinking: “yes there are men with fetishes, but do you really think men who aren’t ‘actually’ trans would go through all of the steps of transition just to be seen as a woman?” yes. yes, I do. men have fetishized every single aspect of womanhood. there’s a porn category for every facet of our being. men have become doctors just to play out their fetish on unsuspecting women. so yes, I do believe that some of them would take it that far, especially when they get social validation and sexual gratification from people seeing them as women and referring to them as such. their fetish has consumed them to the point where they have to become it. this is not new to men who develop paraphilias like this. it’s just that only recently this particular paraphilia has been given license to be expressed freely, in public, with no pushback or repercussions. doing so could outcast you from your friends, fire you from your job, or just plain socially ostracize you.

and before anyone tries to bring this point up: no, it isn’t all trans women. but it’s certainly easy to pick out the ones this phenomenon likely applies to. they almost always “transition” much older than your typical young adult transitioner. they have debilitating porn addictions (which they’ll never admit), and they tend to call themselves “trans lesbians” (ie. heterosexual men). these are the men who gender ideologists are telling women we have to accept into our spaces with open arms. the men who, just a few decades ago, we would’ve rightfully clocked as the fetishists they are.

I need y’all to expeditiously wake up. these men are not women. they are autogynephiles who are now being protected by other women and the trans community at large for practicing their fetish in public. and I’m fucking sick of people telling women we’re just being “paranoid” about the prospect of sharing our spaces with them.

[ofstarsandskies]

@pclitesse || For Alisha from Luds' Zesty AU ;U

Another day, another firing when he started speaking to and feeding 'ghosts'. He still understood their worries, but if this kept going? He'd be blacklisted from every cooking job in Glenwood unless he developed a brand new persona. Assuming rumors didn't get him ostracized from society at large first...

Moments like this are when Ludger finds the nearest archive, picks a random book, and plants his face on the table with his new hat to sulk. Least then, people just think he fell asleep reading. And there he sits for a while-- until someone else comes in. Curiosity has him peeking at their selection: a beyond weathered tome with the crest crest of Lord Innominat on the cover.

...It can't hurt to say hi! Probably....

Wiping his eyes, he taps the nice lady on the shoulder, presenting his already written note, 'Don't see many interested in Seraphim anymore. What's got you most interested? Might not look it, but bit of an inside knowledge guy! (＠＾◡＾)'

[myshredda]

Don’t mind me, just thinking about how in the jobs Ep when yellow’s literally FUCKING DYING, Duck screams at Red to “DO SOMETHING!”, because he’s always been the one to save them. To “turn off the machine”, if you will. I think the reason why Duck is the most distressed by change is because he doesn’t have the power to fix it, which is why he’d rather stick to the script. It’s because Yellow and Red hold those cards, even if they don’t realize it. It may explain his disappointment in Red. -🍓🍷

Yes exactly!!! Because Red was the one who wandered into a position of power in that episode, so Duck and Yellow (floor workers) are completely powerless compared to him socially. The trusted him to make the right decision, and instead, he acts selfishly and only operated to save his (and the company) from being held accountable.

The jobs episode is one of my absolute favorites just because of the way they so easily weaved all of this social commentary into a silly puppet show with gratuitous gore! Red became the "Boss" by happenstance, he was in the right place at the right time, he has no idea what he's doing but everyone around him (the fax machine and the rubbish bin) are yes men, they constantly stroke his ego BECAUSE he's the boss, regardless of how well he's actually doing the job (which is badly, because he DOESNT WORK HERE) and in the end, when an employee has been injured due to the unsafe working conditions of the warehouse, he fires the employee instead of taking charge and helping the situation in anyway. It was self-preservation and saving face for the company.

Yellow, who had worked at the factory for 40 years at that point, is retiring. He's wasted his entire life at the factory, he's got no friends or family outside of this job, having met his "wife" simply because she's next to him on the line, and has re-modeled his entire personality into fitting into the workplace as seamlessly as possible. He's seriously injured as a senior, and instead of getting helped, he's fired. With no retirement, his medical bills would be ASTRONOMICAL and that's only if he survived the incident. He'd be mentally, emotionally, and physically scarred for the rest of his life, with no help from the place of employment that he poured his entire soul into.

Duck, the most outspoken of the three, is immediately fired for questioning the system, and is tossed into a pseudo-helpful therapy situation that's obviously supposed to be a critique of how even mental health resources have been co-opted by the capitalistic systems we're all trapped in. The therapy isn't to help Duck feel better, it's a bunch of buzzwords and empty platitudes and forced medication that would get him back to work as fast as possible, and when he refuses, a physical representation of the system (the care hound) LITREALLY chews him up and spits him out. Finally, he's back in the workforce, because the other alternative is virtually impossible to live in. It's been made into a hostile culture of either working until death, or being shunned by society and your peers, and most people choose the former for a sense of stability in an already unkind world.

TLDR:

Red represents those of us that are allowed to fall upward, either by change or due to random circumstance. Those that fall into a job and work it their entire lives, never once having to see the realities and hardships of life, and only work to further their own life, disreguarding the rest of us without a second thought.

Yellow represents most of society, who give their entire lives to a thankless job and are discarded once they're no longer useful in a capitalistic society. Left to suffer and die after working thanklessly for his entire youth.

Duck represents those who try to fight against the system, and are told there must be something wrong with them mentally. Pill and therapy forced onto those who feel disillusioned with life in a endless grind of work and when you're finally sick of it you're shunned, ostracized, and (eventually) reprogrammed.

After all, you must be mentally ill if you don't want to waste your entire life in a factory with no free time, lousy pay, eat the same bad food over and over again, and retire with only a 'thank you' card and shitty speech from a boss you rarely saw that does as little as possible and eats diamonds while you choke down cups of rancid oil.

[jacquesthepigeon]

I wish that ticket officer who was mean to Sabine got punched in the face.

I wish he got fired from his job and was ostracized by society

[ekstazye]

#ekstazye##entry#001

was out with a couple friends and this one guy that i assume was homeless asked us for a couple of euros. had some change so ofc i gave it to him it’s obviously way more useful in his hands.

il nous a remercié et on a continuer notre route. on s’est posé côté surs des escaliers histoire de discuter et later ce même homme est revenu vers nous pour nous demander une cigarette. évidemment on lui en a donné une. c’était un petit vieillard coréen de pas plus d’1m57 avec la majorité de ses cheveux blancs et une peau bronzée.

he stopped for a few minutes to talk to us about himself. said he was originally from south korea until he got adopted by a french family as a 13yo ( "pretty late" he said) and had been an artist ever since. he talked about having worked on a lot of projects here in paris that were extremely successful a few decades prior.

on serait amené à se demander comment quelqu’un comme ça qui partait aussi sociable et passionné pourrait s’être retrouvé à la rue. et bien l’explication est simple. il nous a fait comprendre que depuis petit il souffrait de plusieurs problèmes mentaux qui lui causaient des "crises" comme il les a décrites ,et qui donc pouvaient temporairement l’incapacité et le forcer à délaisser sa tâche afin de pouvoir prendre de l’air ainsi que ses médicament.

surely you can guess that an employer would not greatly appreciate his employees’ walking in and out of the job as he "pleased" which led to him being fired under 1month at every job he had until he ended up being blacklisted of the art industry. his only crime was being born with a disability and thus he was completely ostracized by society.

après avoir été licencié il eu un accident qui lui fit perdre la vision de la moitié de son monde. cela lui cause jusqu’à présent bien des misères. cependant il possède toujours une grande détermination en lui. peu sont ceux qui continueraient de vivre à sa place et je trouve ça incroyable qu’il soit capable de le faire avec le sourire.

je n’ai pas pu retenir son nom cependant j’ose espérer le recroiser un jour et en attendant ce jour je lui souhaite le meilleur.

i was able to take a picture of one of his paintings which is the one you’ll find in this post.

[winvyre]

Witches in [Valerie's Story]

Witches can be of any gender. What makes a witch is not "girl" but rather an Affinity with energy found in objects and being able to manipulate it.

Witches were ostracized due to the "brutal" way they perform magic as opposed to their mage counterparts and thus formed their own communities on the outskirts of society. The Academic Era brought more understanding of witches (though they took a back seat to mages) so witches were able to integrate with other people. There are still people who think witch magic is "too brutal" or "cheating" because it draws from other things rather than being generated from inside.

It's traditional in old witch culture to give children names that have animal meanings. They believed the child would share the animal's qualities and be more connected to the natural world. This socialization often had the effect of the child's physical magical manifestations taking the form of the animal which they were named after, confirmation-biasing the belief.

Example: Bernadette means bear and her magic steed that she uses to travel is also a bear.

Witches also don't assign genders to their children. If you were to ask a new parent if their baby was a boy or a girl, they'd respond "We don't know. They haven't told us yet." The children identify their genders by observing the people around them and mix-matching what clothes, pronouns, and other items gendered by the rest of the world to what's most comfortable and verbalizing it to those around them.

Mages start practicing as soon as their powers show themselves for the first time, whatever age that may be. It's mainly control and practical uses with specialization coming later once they decide if they want to do it for a career and some get to go to school for fancier jobs. There are plenty of resources available for new mages, mostly through the churches, and apprenticeships for the more experienced. You can't really tell if someone's a mage before they manifest.

Witches have a test to determine Affinity the day a baby is born.

Boil a cup of seawater.

Grind baby's breath in a mortar and pestle with sage and mix it in, removing the cup from the heat source once the solution turns black and let it cool.

Add a drop of the baby's blood.

If the potion turns white, it's a witch! If not, it's either non-magical or a mage. Only a witch can perform this because only a witch can draw out the magic that makes it possible. Potions aren't just mixing ingredients together, they're actively performing magic. When witches exclusively lived in witch communes, this duty was assigned to the medical personnel but in the current era any questioning parent can do it.

Witches start practicing as soon as they're deemed old enough. This usually happens around age three when the child can walk, talk, and follow instructions. They'll start by helping their parents with whatever spells need doing, learning etiquette and such along the way. There's a guide that most witches follow once the child can read with stock potions like medicine for an upset stomach (things like fire resistance are too advanced) but from then on the witch guides their own learning. What works for one witch's spell might not for another.

Here's some raw dialogue to help explain this concept:

"Can't you teach her? Like you did with the potions?"

"Potions are one thing. They have the same effect no matter who uses them. Spells are personal to the caster. Since witches use the world around us to perform magic, our worldview impacts how we're able to utilize those materials," Bernadette moved to her mason jars, "Take a light spell, for example. What do you associate with light?"

"The sun, um, reading hunched over a candle after bedtime."

"Then you might use a sunflower seed, a piece of wax, or a scrap of paper. For me, it's fireflies. When I was a little girl, the kids in my commune would chase fireflies barefoot on the grass every summer night. I remember thinking they were stars come to earth." She took a jar from the shelves and shook it. Dead fireflies rattled around inside.

If you feel like it, comment a spell and what you'd use to cast it witch-style!

[llocket]

okay so first is andrew and hes literally perfect (HES MEEE IM ANDREW TRUST!)

"Andrew Kreiss was ostracized by society due to albinism, with only his mother for consolation. They were evicted from their home by Landlord Marshall, who wanted his mother to abandon ‘the cursed child’. His mother died from illness later. He became a grave keeper when he grew up, at Laz Cemetery. Shortly after, corpses started to disappear from coffins after he saw a poster for wanting bodies of medical value. Since most of the people at Laz were only there because they were rich and not good people like Andrew thought deserved to be there, he dug up their corpses and sold them for medical study. After being discovered, he fled the cemetery. A letter of invitation from the Manor later changed everything- the letter’s words let Andrew feel warmth and understanding for the first time in a long time. He decided to go to the Manor and see for himself; perhaps he could find the answer he seeks there."

theres his background, so like basically hes so cool.

"

At Oletus Manor, Andrew was hired as part of the Manor staff. His job was to handle the "slabs" that were sent to him, making tombstones for them. One day, a new "slab" arrived with an invitation letter. Andrew saw this letter as a chance to return to the Temple.[7][8]

During his Manor Game, Andrew met someone he called "Mr. Will", which was the three Will brothers pretending to be one person. Andrew was asked about Mr. Will's parents, to which he knew nothing of. Mr. Will also asked Andrew to play a supporting role in his "performance", to which Andrew declined.[9]

At first, Andrew was able to communicate normally with the other members of this game. However, later in the game he stopped communicating with Antonio and 3-?-2[10] due to changes in their emotional expression. 3-1-4 was polite to Andrew, while 3-1-5 extracted information from him while concealing their own intentions. As Andrew was focused on being able to enter the "Temple," hindered his ability to see the true intentions of those in his game.[11]

3-1-5 formed a temporary alliance with Andrew at some point. As Andrew was familiar with the Manor's layout 3-1-4 used his help to set a fire underneath the stage, which resulted in 3-1-4's death. After 3-1-4 died, 3-1-5 was hostile towards Andrew, which he did not notice. 3-1-5 manipulated him with their acting skills, giving Andrew false praise for his work. This ultimately led to Andrew's death.[11]"

all was gathered from the IDV wiki...heh.... BUT HES LITTERALLY SOOO ME LIKE OMG I LOVE BRO...erm

look at his GOOFY face (make more content i need to feed)

woah andrew seems like a really well written character ALSO THEYRE ALBINO??? TAHTS SO COOL????? thats such a W for albino people 💞 i love that...

im so happy that idv has good rep, thats so cool

i need to get back into idv when i caaaaan... dude it seems like they added a billion characters after i left WHICH IS COOL i cant wait to get back into it

[chloeworships]

Wow this article by Lynda was just written and the LORD was talking to us about WEAVES. I learned they use a flame retardant on the threads used for wefts (nylon thread). Our scalps are very sensitive and absorb products faster than many other places on the body.

This also explains the dark circles under the women’s eyes in the dream.

Thank you Lynda. I pray this brings more awareness to the issue.

I love you Black Women! You are beautiful like a box of chocolate 🍫🤩😘😍

The hair industry is a BILLION dollar industry. We deserve better. Our money is just as GR€€N🤑 as anyone else’s. We have spending power, too.

PS. I got fired from my first job because of my HAIR. It was “too much” for the manager. I should have sued them for racial discrimination but at 16 what did I know ☹️ People put us down for our hair and don’t know the societal pressures we face for trying to just be US. I remember watching Chris Rocks “documentary” on our hair hoping to God someone was going to stand up for us and shed light on this issue, a BLACK MAN at that, but instead I felt it was a MOCKERY of Black women and since then I have not been a fan. There was a time when wearing dreads had you labelled as a weed smoker and you were ostracized from society. More on this later…. Maybe.

[swynlake-rp]

“I'm new in town, I just have one of those faces! But -- uh -- just the one, the normal amount of face.”

FULL NAME: Vala “Vee” Carrero-Noceda FACE CLAIM: Kathryn Bernardo  PRONOUNS: She/They  BIRTHDAY: August 27, 2003 CURRENT STATUS: Taken

Character Information (CW: DEATH THREATS)

Basilisks are an endangered species. That’s the first thing you should know. It’s rare to see a basilisk in the wild, often because you never know if you’re seeing one. They are hunted down because their abilities to siphon raw magic and drain magicks are often deemed far too dangerous to other Magicks. They are classified, often, as monsters, and are ostracized and hunted for the misconception that they’re a threat to all Magicks.

Vee was taught from a young age that her goal in life would always be to survive. It was important to learn how to blend into the Isles from an early age. She was raised among a small colony of Basilisks who only fed on reagents to keep up their abilities. While raw magic would have made them stronger, the colony believed that their job was to do as little harm as possible and take care of themselves first. Strength wasn’t brute force and overwhelming power. It was perseverance. Recklessness could get you killed.

The colony lived and worked in society, pretending to be fairly weak magicks, and hiding their appearance with their shapeshifting. With their combined Basilisk magic, it could be easy to play the part of a low-level magick, someone who could perceive and collect reagents. Their perception was their super-power.

The survival strategy is what Vee was trained to do as well.

From a young age, just about when she was learning how to talk, Vee was known as Five. As the fifth, and youngest, member of the Basilisk Colony, they were told that she had to learn to disappear. 

“Fade into the background” she was told by a tired One, “because that’s the way we stay safe.”

So Five did.

She was taught by the Basilisks to appear as a human or magick, helping her choose her identity as Vee. Once she reached an acceptable age – 13 – they went to work a job in an apothecary, collecting reagents for the shop owner. Her favorite to collect were types of emotions – sunshine as happiness, moon water as sadness, the warmth of a candle for anger. Which is how she learned that the shopkeeper was angry inside.

The fire of the candles in the apothecary were burned into her mind.

It was an ordinary Spring day when Vee came home to the perception of the apothecary candles burning the Basilisk Colony. Vee wasn’t sure how the fire started, but she knew then that she didn’t have a home anymore. Her family was scattered, and after days of searching, she had to give up. They might have thought she was a traitor, or they might be gone. It was clear to Vee that she was alone now.

Using the remaining amount of money, Vee ended up working at a hotel for a place to stay and money – hiding her identity by feeding on sad rainwater. It was a miserable experience, but it didn’t last long. Only a few weeks before her 14th birthday, a stranger came to the hotel.

Manny Noceda.

Visiting family, but a misunderstanding led him to a hotel. And to a quick relationship with Vee. He told her about a place off the Isles where he and his wife and daughter lived. Over the course of a week, Manny made a split second decision. He was going to adopt Vee.

Which was definitely a surprise for Camila and Luz when Manny arrived at the airport, a girl just about Luz’s age in tow. They immediately agreed that this was a good decision. Vee was a good house guest, but the question of the legality of the thing was in question. They came up with a story and applied to adopt Vee. By the next year, Vee was officially Vala Carrero-Noceda, though still known as Vee.

She participated in all the human things. An actual [enby] next-door. Softball, the school newspaper, art classes… all things she never got on the isles. All things she never got to do as a Basilisk on the Boiling Isles.

Which could be a problem at times. While Vee was able to get and absorb reagents – happier ones, at that – the fear that someone would figure her out was prevalent. Manny always said he’d protect her from harm, and he did his best until the day he passed the summer before Luz and Vee’s senior year.

Now it was Vee and her mom and sister in Gravesfield, Connecticut. 

Trying to help the family, Vee (age 19, and a freshman in college) got a job at a local interest museum in the spring term.

We can now say that her employment track record isn’t very good.

The owner of the local interest museum ended up being someone who was obsessed with the supernatural – the sort of person who would do anything for his own ends. Even threaten to dissect Vee. With effort, she was able to be saved, but it was apparent that Gravesfield was no longer safe.

Enter the Carrero-Noceda’s in Swynlake.

A last minute transfer, to the 2024-2023 school year, Vee started at Pride U, while Camila started working at Pride U as an instructor in veterinary medicine (a perk? Discounted tuition!) Now Vee’s exploring life as a digital arts and creative writing major, hoping to put her skills to use in her storytelling ambitions. 

✓ Loyal, Creative, Imaginative

✖ Easily Flustered, Fearful, Self-Doubting

Character Suggestions

None

Current Relationships

Luz Noceda

Possible Relationships

Click Here!

Magical Abilities

Basilisk

[heavenlyhoundoom]

Willy's Wonderland x Beastars au part 3.

Liv gets listed as a predatory offender (a predatory animal who commits an act of predation such as eating an entire prey animal or one of their limbs) after eating Stella's foot and is forbid from marrying Chris let alone date him and is know forced to wear a collar that will give her a shock whenever she gets too emotional in order to "prevent any more incidents". She drops out of high school and and moves into an apartment complex made exclusively for predatory offenders in the black market, she meets up with her predator drama club supervisor Tito and his wife Toki, the tanuki explains how her husband being labeled as a predatory offender, fired from his job, and being ostracized from society and forced to live in a shitty apartment in the black market, separated from her and their daughters caused her to snap and bite into the neck of the racist mouse how gave her the news and that she's been listed as a predatory offender as well and Tito's mother Maria now has custody over their daughters, Liv also meets Willy and Cammy. Willy ate a rooster after he harassed Willy for simply being a predator in public while Cammy was the chameleon patient who ate the moth she was in love with and slowly went insane from it, she was saved by Nick and Alex but decided to turn herself in regardless.

Liv is escorted to see Stephanie the bee, who is the city's current beastar, she explains how she and Liv's grandma Agnes were given the opportunity to be the first beastar duo in hopes to close the gap between predators and prey, Agnes declines because she wanted to start a family with her husband Victor, Stephanie then tells Liv that if she helps her arrest a fox lady who commits genocide on prey animals and plans on making all of society into one big black market that is dominated by predators, then she would remove her predatory record and she would be able to go back to her normal life and be with Chris again. Liv accepts but on one condition, Stephanie would also remove Tito, Toki, Willy, and Cammy's predatory records, she agrees but only because it was the only way to get Liv to let her remove her predatory record (Stephanie thinks she's doing right by Agnes by saving her granddaughter from a horrible life)

[aramblingjay]

To have and to hold Geraskier, ace!Geralt, touch-starved, outside POV (3K)

Master Witcher visits her establishment once a year with enough coin to earn two hours of anything he wants in the world. And every year, what he wants is to be taken to the room with the largest bed and held in her arms. Until the bard.

ao3

-

Master Witcher is her favorite customer. And often the most difficult one, too. He’s a walking contradiction like that—rough and gentle, scary and scared, monster and human.

When the door opens to black armor and yellow eyes, Mistress barely has to glance in her direction before she’s stepping forward and leading him toward a room in the back with the coyest head tilt and smile she can manage. It’s all part of the game, really—it wouldn’t do for anyone to guess what they get up to inside, not even Mistress. He deserves that much privacy, at least.

No one else services him. She won’t allow it. He’s been her customer from that very first time, when he walked in a scared, nervous colt half-waiting to be turned away before he crossed the threshold—he would’ve been, too, if she hadn’t been desperate enough for money to risk laying with a Witcher.

(If only she’d known, then)

“The usual?” she asks today, expecting nothing else.

Now, there is no fear or desperation. He knows she’ll give him what he so desperately craves. And she knows that what he wants is not, as she once imagined, the depraved fantasy of a mutated monster—just the simple wish of an aching heart.

A nod. He looks weary, tired—she wonders what the rest of the Continent would think of Witchers if they could see him like this now.

“Okay.” She smiles and flips over the medium-sized hourglass on the table by the door.

As she gets a fire going in the fireplace, he strips behind her—just the boots and socks and armor, the tunic and trousers staying on as always—and lays down on the feathered bed at the center of the room, shoulders curled inward to make himself as small as possible.

She still remembers that first night, the way he tensed as she approached and nearly jumped out of his skin when she laid down beside him. There’s none of that now, just a long, relieved sigh as she slides into place—her chest against the top of his back, an arm around his shoulders, his head tucked just under her chin.

By all rights it should be uncomfortable, an awkward shuffling of bodies into an unnatural position, but it’s never felt that way—most importantly, he’s never seemed to feel that way, if the steady drain of tension from his limbs is any indication. The coin he pays Mistress is enough for two hours of anything he wants, and they spend every minute of it like this, quiet and still, Master Witcher tucked into the curve of her body as the fire crackles behind them.

It’s some of the easiest coin she makes in a year—and also some of the hardest. Normally her job is a performance, and she can act with the best of them, but this is different. There’s no script to follow, no distraction to take her out of her head, just the rhythm of his breath and the slow, slow beat of his heart beneath her fingers.

Something about existing in the same space as another person, nothing but simply existing, can be the hardest thing of all.

The two hours pass like water through a river, calm and peaceful but moving steadily forward, until the last grains of sand drop through the hourglass and time is up.

“That’s time,” she says, but doesn’t let go.

As always, he pulls away immediately, sitting up and reaching for his coin purse. He has already paid Mistress, but this is extra, slipped into her brassiere before he leaves—a personal tip that Mistress can’t take away.

She’s fairly certain it started as an incentive to stay quiet about what they do, but nine years on and still no one the wiser, he can’t really believe her lips will loosen now.

No, she likes to think it’s because he knows just how difficult it is to live on the edges of society. Berated and ostracized for a service that’s nevertheless needed by many, spat at and kicked away into dark corners to be used and not seen. Earning just enough coin for one more meal. Always living on one more meal.

“Thank you,” he says in that gravelly voice of his, and it strikes her that these are the only words he’s spoken to her today.

She smiles. It’s not coy this time. “It’s been a pleasure, Master Witcher.”

He hesitates. “Geralt.”

“It’s been a pleasure, Geralt,” she says, and it’s the truth.

-

A year passes. As the spring turns to summer, warm and sticky, she waits with near-baited breath for that familiar pair of yellow eyes to darken the doorstep. He always comes in the summer.

The days roll on, one after another after another, and there is no sign of him. Leaves turn from green to red, then brown. Still he does not come. When the trees are little more than bare skeletons bracing for the winter frost, she starts to worry he is not coming at all.

Perhaps he has found a new establishment for his needs. Or perhaps he has finally been killed by those monsters he fights.

She cries at the first snowfall and cannot, even to herself, explain why.

-

Geralt returns the next year, just before mid-summer.

She wouldn’t have made it this long without knowing how to observe, and Geralt always has plenty to say, even if not with words. He is gaunt and thin. Dark shadows lurk in his eyes. His armor is more patchwork than leather, faded from its usual imposing black to a muddy brown. Even his medallion seems duller, as though it can sense the fading energy of its owner.

Still, he pays Mistress his due and follows her to his usual room. When he strips off his armor and lays down on the bed, he is even thinner than she imagined.

He fits in her arms better than he ever has before, and she hates it.

When she calls time, he reaches as always for his coin purse. She closes his fist over the coins he has taken out and shakes her head. “You need it more than I do,” she says. “You can gift me double next year.”

“Thank you.” His voice is scratchy with disuse—she wonders when he last spoke, and to whom.

“Until next time, Geralt.”

A full-body shudder runs through him at his name. It does not surprise her—she has heard the stories of the white-haired Butcher of Blaviken, though it seems so far removed from the man she has come to know. Likely it has been months since someone has spoken his name without revulsion—or spoken it at all.

He flees from the room without another word.

When she goes to clean the bed, she finds a single gold crown waiting for her under the edge of the sheet, and pockets it like a promise.

-

The next summer Geralt comes to see her is after their hardest winter in living memory.

It shows in her spindly joints and stretched-thin skin, her body whittled down to naught but bone. Business is tough as a result—few have the coin to spend on pleasure, and those who do don’t want her. She is no longer soft or curvy or sweet.

There’s a new Mistress in charge now, one who hasn’t met Geralt. Mistress balks when he walks through the door, is halfway to stammering that they don’t serve his kind in here—as if he’s not just as human as the rest of them, breathes and sighs and aches and wants just the same—before she steps up with a smile.

“Leave him to me, Mistress,” she says airily, dropping her eyelashes just enough to plant the right suggestions in Mistress’s mind.

“You’re in luck, Witcher,” Mistress says, every word laced with disdain. “She’s desperate enough. But you pay double, up front.”

Geralt nods and pays double for his usual two hours and follows her quietly to their usual room. Compared to last year, he looks good—his usual breadth and bulk, at least, medallion shining a brilliant silver. She smiles at him, as she always does.

Today, he smiles back.

Her heart skips a beat.

His smile is a small, little thing, but it changes the whole contour of his face—softens the planes and lines, bathes his eyes in brilliant, luminous gold. Like this, it’s easier than ever to see the man beneath the Witcher, though it’s been many years since she thought of him as just a mutated monster killer.

When he smiles, in fact, one could almost call him beautiful.

She doesn’t know what caused this change in him, or perhaps more likely who, but it leaves her warm. Of all the men she has met over the years in this line of work, he deserves it.

“The usual?” she asks, and can’t decide whether she expects him to say yes or no.

Geralt shakes his head, and she is only a little surprised. “Sit with me,” he rumbles as she closes the door to the room. The faint nervous thread in his voice reminds her that this is still the same man who trembled so hard it rocked the whole bed the first time she held him, overwhelmed with what must have been a tidal swell of emotion.

But he has never asked for something she would wish to deny. “Of course.”

They sit side by side on the edge of the bed, feet brushing gently over the ground. This close, Geralt’s characteristic heat radiates off him in waves, and it leaves the space around them so warm that it’s several minutes before she notices that she hasn’t stoked the fire. Even in the summer, this room is normally always cold, one set of stairs beneath the ground and surrounded on all sides by stone slabs for walls. Not today, it seems.

“I wanted to thank you,” Geralt says to break the silence.

On instinct, her eyes flicker to the hourglass to see how much time has passed—before she realizes that is yet another thing she has forgotten to do. “Thank me?” she repeats, a little dazed.

“For the past eleven years.” It seems he, too, has been keeping track. “Well—twelve now, I suppose. You—” He lets out a small, frustrated groan (and she can’t help but smile at the simple humanity of it) before starting again. “You have done more for me than you know.”

“I’ve done my job, nothing more.”

Geralt huffs, clearly amused. “I’m quite familiar with just how rarely that line is true.” He sets a coin purse in the space between them on the bed. It thunks against the sheet, hefty. “With double, for last time.”

It should feel wrong to accept the payment when this is the furthest thing from work she could be doing, but coin is tough to come by these days.

Besides, she recognizes the gift for the goodbye that it is.

“You found someone?” She makes sure her voice is entirely neutral, revealing nothing. It’s rumored that Witchers can smell emotions, but there’s nothing she can do about that anyways.

Geralt takes his time answering. When he finds the words, they are full of quiet wonder. “I hope so.” Another huff. Is that his laugh, she wonders suddenly? Soft and breathy, easily missed even in a quiet room if one isn’t paying attention—has he learned to contain his joy, too, in the same way he contains his ache for intimacy? “It might be more accurate to say he found me.”

A he, then. Another Witcher, perhaps? She does not pry.

They are both lost and broken things, discarded to a life in the shadows, and she is nothing but pleased that he has found someone to share it with. That he has found someone who can hold him how he desires, whenever he desires, with the genuine love that such an embrace should embody, instead of paying for a poor imitation of it once a year.

Perhaps, she hopes, it means that one day she will find her someone too.

The conversation lapses into silence after that. It’s a peaceful silence, calm and companionable. Her mind wanders and she lets it drift, thinks about what lies to spin when Mistress asks about the Witcher’s preferences, about what she can buy at the market with Geralt’s coin, about what it must be like to constantly smell someone’s fear and hatred before they ever even open their mouth. It’s a sad thought, and she casts it away.

When Geralt eventually takes his leave—and she can’t tell for sure, the hourglass untouched on the table, but she would hazard a guess that it’s exactly two hours to the minute after they sat on the bed—she knows, deep down, that she will never see him again.

The thought only brings a smile to her face.

-

Three years later, she is Mistress.

She changes the name of the establishment to The Gold Crown and displays a crown, Geralt’s crown, in a frame on the wall. Many of the patrons and even some of the girls ask for the story behind it—she tells many, many stories, each one more colorful than the last, but none the truth.

It is not, after all, entirely her story to tell.

(And it seems, given the performances she has been hearing in the tavern of late, that someone else has started telling his story already)

-

Four years after the last time she saw Geralt, she meets the bard.

He is fairly unassuming when he first walks through the door, bright blue eyes and a bright orange doublet, nothing much to distinguish him from any other client. After several moments of scanning the room, clearly trying to determine who is in charge, he walks straight up to her and asks for her by name.

“I did go by that name once,”  she says, aiming for seductive. It's a good bet, with men like this. “But you can call me Mistress, now.”

To his credit, he doesn’t even blush. “Of course Geralt picked the one who went and became the boss of the whole place,” he mutters instead of a response, and her breath catches in her chest.

Geralt?

She looks him over again—while it would probably take him singing to confirm it, this could be the bard. Geralt’s someone, who turned him from the Butcher of Blaviken to the heroic White Wolf he deserves to be remembered as.

(She doesn’t actually have any proof that Geralt’s bard and his someone are in fact the same person, but what else could the bard’s songs be, if not carefully crafted acts of love?)

“You’re Geralt’s bard,” she says, taking care not to betray anything further in her voice. It’s an art she has only perfected, since becoming Mistress.

“I am Jaskier, a bard, and I belong to no one but my music,” he says, though she doesn’t miss the way he smiles at the possessive reference. “But yes, usually that music is about Geralt.”

Everything fits so far, but something about this doesn’t seem right. “What are you here for?”

The bard—Jaskier—sobers. “I want to know. Geralt has told me many parts of his story, but this one—he says it’s not his to tell. Not fully his, anyways. So here I am, to hear it from you.”

Oh, Geralt.

She thinks she understands, but she has to be sure. “You came all this way for stories of how he fucked me?”

“I think we both know that’s not what he likes.”

“Either way, I don’t kiss and tell.”

Jaskier scoffs. “There was no kissing involved.”

“And how would you know?” How would he, indeed? There’s no way he could be here without Geralt having told him something—everything, perhaps? It’s becoming clearer that the bard is indeed who he says he is, and knows Geralt exactly as well as he claims to. “Perhaps Geralt was not entirely truthful with you about our interactions.”

“That’s not what he likes,” Jaskier repeats, and arches an eyebrow. “I know him. And I know, vaguely, what you did for him. But getting him to talk, especially about himself, is like trying to draw nectar from a blank-faced stone, which brings me here, to you.”

Every word is wrapped in so much fondness that any remaining doubts fall away.

But Jaskier isn’t done. “Geralt said you would talk to me,” he continues. “So please. Talk to me.”

She relents, beckoning him forward. “Follow me.”

By a stroke of luck, or destiny, or Destiny, the first empty room she finds is Geralt’s usual. She closes the door behind them with a wry smile, and it’s been four years, but something in her still startles when she turns around to Jaskier sitting down on the bed with his legs dangling over the edge, a perfectly imperfect echo of Geralt’s last time in this room.

“Tell me about him,” Jaskier commands softly, and she does.

The words roll off her tongue—she has never shared this story before, and likely never will again, but it’s entangled so deeply in the core of who she has become that it flows out as easily as her own name.

She doesn’t look at him as she speaks, sitting beside him as she once sat beside Geralt and staring straight ahead.

When she finishes, she finally looks over to see a single tear rolling down Jaskier’s cheek, shining in the candlelight. He doesn’t move to hide it or brush it away—this is not a man who believes emotions are a weakness.

“Thank you,” he says. His voice is hoarse.

“I only did my job,” she replies.

Jaskier snorts, and she wonders if he, too, knows just how rarely that is actually true. “You did a lot more than that. Your kindness and your care, it helped him. And for that, I thank you.”

She accepts the gratitude with a nod, doesn’t trust herself to speak. Now that the story is told, it feels as though all her words have dried up—she has only tears left to offer, for the pain she saw in his eyes year upon year upon year, as he curled in his shoulders and asked to be touched with care for one day in a year. But this is a moment for the future, not for the past.

There’s only one thing left to ask. It’s important enough that she swallows and finds her voice. “How is he?”

Jaskier smiles, and the depth of emotion in his eyes is blinding. “Good and bad, depending on the day, like we all are. But so, so, very loved.”

And really, in the end, isn’t that all any of them can ask for?

Jaskier leaves soon after that, with promises to cajole Geralt back here again one day if they ever pass by for a contract. She doubts it’ll ever happen—in some ways, she almost hopes it doesn’t, their imprints on each other indelible but better left in the past.

Just before he walks out, she pulls the gold crown from its frame and presses it into the palm of Jaskier’s hand—she can always put another crown in there, to keep the allure going, but this one no longer belongs with her.

Jaskier closes his fingers around it like another promise, and with that, she lets him go.

[chaoticautie]

Unusually specific struggles that I’ve dealt with as an afab autie

Being hyperverbal because “women talk more than men” and i had to be talkative in a lot of social situations growing up, especially in school or family functions

Being dismissed as cognitively disabled because I’m afab

Masking a LOT

Gender confusion

Having several comorbid mental illnesses

Chronic and severe identity crises

Being distressed and dysphoric when I hit puberty and having even more sensory overload when my body was changing & when I got unwarranted attention for it

Being easily emotionally and/or physically taken advantage of by NTs, especially cis men

Being in a lot of toxic or abusive relationships with NTs

Very strained relationship with NT parents, especially my mother

“I’m not like other girls!” Baby you’re literally autistic and all of those girls are NT, of course you’re not

Being LGBT+ and wondering if it’s because of my autism

Struggling profoundly with the concept of romance & romantic social cues, even though I’m a hopeless romantic

Just,, NOT relating to NT girls at ALL

Being treated like a pet by NT girls in school

Always being viciously bullied, excluded & ostracized in school

Being invalidated because I’m afab, even though I’ve been diagnosed

Being diagnosed late because I’m afab

Finding a bra that is affordable, fits perfectly right and is 100% comfortable is like finding a needle in a giant haystack, in the dark, and you’re also blind, and the haystack is on fire

^^^ Binders are also often uncomfortable too and cause breathing problems, and finding the right binder is even harder than finding the right bra because you need one that fits right, is affordable, is comfortable, flattens your chest just right and won’t cause long-term damage

Extremely hyperempathetic to a T and it makes me burn out and become very apathetic for certain periods of time

Very nurturing and viciously protective of children, even kids that aren’t related to me to the point that I’ve had to mentally restrain myself from drop kicking a shitty parent when I see them mistreating their small child in the grocery store

^^^ Being EXTREMELY and unnaturally fiercely protective of autistic children in particular and wanting to give them the entire world and beyond

School & work are hell, enough said

Finding a good job you like is rough, and it’s worse when you’re not in college and have no degree and have to choose between fast food, retail, and factory work

Interviews are torture,, like PLEASE just hire me, I’m a hard worker and need money we don’t need to go over this trivial bullshit

Not being taken seriously

Being faulted for when I don’t allow people to walk all over me when I’m assertive or aggressive, but also being faulted if I’m passive because I get taken advantage of easily but I only allow it to happen because I get faulted if I do assert myself, it’s a horrid and really vicious cycle

Just literally being afab & autistic in an NT cishet white male dominated society is hell, especially when you have to shield yourself from the invisible double-edged misogyny + ableism sword

[ldss-interactive]

At Alter’s End: A CYOA Novel

Overview:

Trentworth, Maine. A town of ten thousand southeast of Ellsworth and North of Bayside. Its only bragging point since its conception in 1867 was being a shoreline city and cheaper than any of the other big tourist towns. Nothing ever happened here, besides the occasional drowning or fishing trip accident, until the killings started. They lasted five years in total and 48 people were lost to the killer’s sick desires. Robert Hall terrorized this small town, slipping under the radar by focusing on those considered “undesirable”; sex workers, orphans, drug addicts, and the like. Now ten years later, ten years after the killer has been put behind bars, murders have begun again. A copycat killer has come to Trentworth. And they seem to be targeting the ones left behind, still trying to pick up the shattered pieces of their lives…

You take the role of a highschool senior; your parents having died in a home fire shortly before the killer was put behind bars and now under the care of your workaholic aunt. Make allies of your classmates or attempt to go it alone, clear your parents’ name from their believed involvement with the killer or fight to put the past behind you, deal with the skeletons in your closet and mind or bury them deeper... Oh, and make sure your history project is turned in on time. With two young siblings depending on you and a whole host of problems a highschool student should never have to deal with, can you survive this nightmare made real?

Trigger Warnings: This game will go into very heavy topics including the following; murder, death, various mental health issues (such as PTSD, depression, and anxiety), abandonment, gambling, various types of drug addiction, self harm mentions (not happening to the MC or shown in graphic detail), suicide, sex work, child abuse (mental, emotional, and physical), and dangerous situations. This is a murder mystery/thriller, it is NOT intended for audiences below 18.

Hello! Thank you for showing interest in At Alter’s End. This is a Choose Your Own Adventure style novel in the Thriller and Murder Mystery genres. It would also fit nicely in the Drama genre as well, but Drama is not the focus. This will be a rather lengthy project, with fifteen chapters plus a prologue and epilogue planned.

You take on the role of a senior at Trentworth High. Join an after-school activity, take care of your younger siblings, prepare for finals, get a part time job, find a date to homecoming, and survive your worst nightmare come to life. The copycat killer is targeting the students of your school and no one is safe. With the police dragging their feet, no help coming any time soon from any higher up law enforcement, and the locals refusing to acknowledge the possibility of a copycat killer, it’s up to you and your classmates to find the person responsible...before it’s too late.

- You can play as female, male, nonbinary, or trans!

- You can be straight, gay, or bisexual!

- A highly customizable MC including hair color, eye color, skin color, hair length, height, and personality and interests!

- The ability to choose which mental illness the MC suffers from due to the trauma of their past from the following:

Anxiety, Depression, or PTSD.

- The MC is deaf in their right ear ear due to the way in which their parents died; this is not something that can be changed.

- Choose from 7 different official after-school activities! Trentworth Volunteers, Up and Coming Artists, National Debate Society, National Honors Society, Co-Ed Varsity Basketball, Creative Writing, and Trentworth Gardeners!

- Bond with your classmates, explore your town, and help raise your younger siblings!

- Rescue your parents’ bakery from corporate clutches or let it go!

- Find the killer, stop the murders, and put a stop to the rumors that have plagued your every step for 10 years!

Vanya: Oldest adoptive twin sibling to MC’s adoptive siblings, 6 years younger than MC. Strong-headed, intelligent, and always getting into trouble. She looks after her brother and MC in the ways she can.

Ajay: Youngest adoptive twin sibling to MC’s adoptive sibling, 6 years younger than MC. Nearly completely blind since birth, he enjoys painting and other artistic endeavors. Obedient yet opinionated.

Aunt Emma: The workaholic aunt that takes custody of MC and their younger siblings after the death of their parents. Well meaning but absent most of the time on business trips or at the office.

Kwan Hall: An adoptive relative to Robert Hall; aloof, intelligent, and completely ostracized by Trentworth as a whole. When the killings start again the town’s attention is immediately turned on Kwan. He’s the first to begin investigating the killings when the police prove their incompetence. He is of Korean descent, standing at 5’6” with dark hair and dark eyes. His most notable feature is the long scar that stretches from his forehead’s hairline, down his left temple, and ends just below his jawline and the constant disinterest on his face. He is asexual in that he doesn’t experience sexual attraction at all. He is also bisexual.

Alessia D’Agostina: Trentworth High’s school president. She’s clawed her way tooth and nail up to earn the respect of both the school faculty and her fellow classmates; she’s strong-willed, dependable, and always looks at things through a logical lens. When she sees her classmates dying, she takes it upon herself to try and stop this once and for all. With dark skin, deep brown eyes, long braided hair, and standing at 5’8” her confidence and sense of self always make sure she stands out from the crowd. Alessia is bisexual.

Georgiy Kuzmin: Twin brother to Anastasiya Kuzmin; he is, in the kindest way possible, not the brightest bulb in the box. Yet he always means well and is more than willing to offer a helping hand. As the co-captain of the basketball team, captain of the baseball team, and the star of the swim team, Georgiy is one of the most popular and well beloved students at Trentworth High. When he realizes his friends are in danger, he willingly throws himself into the investigation to do all he can to help. With fair skin, dirty blond hair, bubbly green eyes, and standing at 6’1” he cuts an approachable figure to anyone who knows him. Georgiy is gay.

Anastasiya Kuzmin: Twin sister to Georgiy Kuzmin: she and her brother are alike in so many ways apart from just appearance. Anastasiya, who goes by Ana more often than not, is head of the Co-Ed Varsity Basketball team, the Girls’ softball team, and the Tennis team. Just as popular and loved as her brother, Ana may not be the smartest but she makes up for it with passion and dedication. Like her brother, she has fairer skin, dirty blond hair, and bright green eyes. Also like her brother, she felt she couldn’t just sit around while her friends were put in danger and agreed to join the investigation. Ana is gay and demiromantic, meaning she only gains feelings for someone after having a strong relationship with them.

Lillian Triano: A quiet, withdrawn girl who mainly keeps to herself. Due to the fact that Trentworth High demands for every senior to be apart of an elective, she is mainly seen in afterschool reading club run by Ms. Habeeb. She’s MC’s closest friend, having been one of the only people who didn’t believe the rumors that MC’s parents were assisting Robert Hall in his murders. She has an olive complexion, brown eyes, a heavy dose of freckles, and stands at 5’1”. Lillian is gay.

Jasmine Abernathy: Jasmine is Trentworth High’s self proclaimed “Best news source!” After the school newspaper was disbanded, Jasmine took it upon herself to keep freedom of the press alive. She’s fierce in her pursuit of the truth and never one to back down from a fight, though her rash attitude can get her into some sticky situations on occasion. With vibrant red hair, dark brown eyes, and standing at 5’3” she puts the term “fire” in Fire Signs. (She’s an Aries in astrology!) When the copycat killings began, it was no surprise when she took the case head on. Jasmine is bisexual.

Asa San Nicholas: Asa is the oldest of a set of triplets; they’re the type to march to the beat of their own drum, often not listening to what anyone has to say about themselves or their interests. Asa is a firm believer in the paranormal and it isn’t uncommon to find them indulging in their interest in various ways. “The spirits are distrubed. These deaths aren’t meant to happen.” Asa’s reason for getting involved seems to tie directly back to their “connection” with the spirits of the town. Asa has black hair, most often tied in a ponytail, hazel eyes, and an olive skin tone. At 6’4” they tower over most everyone...something they seem to enjoy a great deal. Asa doesn’t see gender and is interested in people regardless of how they present.

Leo San Nicholas: The middle of the triplets. They are genderfluid, okay with any pronouns. Leo is, for lack of a better word, eccentric. A bit of an adrenaline junkie, you can often find them cliff diving or giving their siblings heart attacks by playing russian roulette with a chocolate gun. To them, it isn’t fun if there isn’t a little danger involved; naturally, an investigation into a serial killer scratches that itch quite nicely. Their black hair is clipped short, multiple piercings visible on each ear, and their heterochromatic hazel and green eyes are often stated to stare through a person. Although Leo is genderfluid, they are only interested in people who present as female.

The demo is upcoming! When it is available I will make a post announcing it! I will also update this post with the link! This game is written in choicescript; the demo will be published on Dashingdon and the final game will be published for free on itch.io. I am open for questions regarding this game/novel and once the demo is published I will also be publishing a link to my Ko-fi! Until then, please don’t hesitate to ask if you have any questions!

[aloneandforsakenbyfateandbyman]

Idk if this is invasive but what are your thoughts on the vaccine passport? I’m so scared and distraught at where we are going

Bro same. I feel like I’m committing a crime just by talking about how deranged our society has gotten. Not only do you have to tolerate extreme authoritarian measures, but if you so much as TALK about it you are bullied and abused until you shut up.

I don’t see anyone on social media speaking abt how insane forced vaccination + vaxx passports are. These are the same ppl who said voter ID was racist, that POC and women should have social choices, that workers should have basic rights, etc. And now so many minorities are being fired from their jobs and socially ostracized just bc they’re not comfortable getting the covid shot yet, and millennial leftists are literally cheering this on. It’s disgusting.

Even if you got the shot and you think you’re safe, you’re not. You can still get covid and die, and there’s a 3rd dose coming.

England is 3/4th vaccinated but they’re still threatening new lockdowns and insist on a third shot to travel for next year. Australia is threatening to ban unvaccinated ppl from shopping centres, while Austria wants to lock down and trap unvaccinated ppl in their homes. Canada is 3/4th vaccinated but is still threatening a new lockdown, and soon unvaxxed people won’t even be allowed to board a plane and flee the country even though this violates the 6th amendment of the fake ass charter.

It goes on and on. I’m not ~anti science,~ I’m not crazy, I’m not right wing. You all know me by now and I’m just talking abt this and risking my ass bc no one else is willing to. Not that anything I say makes a difference but I just want ppl who are also afraid like me to realize they’re not alone. I really do feel like there’s no hope and I’m losing my sanity so I’m just desperate to interact with others who feel the same.