#michael jackson discord server

[mjj-nostalgia]

My new MJ Fan Discord Server!

I went ahead and made one then LOL

18+ only!

I am hoping to provide a positive and safe space for fellow MJ fans! There will be plenty of space to fangirl over Michael but plenty of space to share other things as well such as artwork or fanfiction! Or just a photo from your day!

If you'd like to join, let me know and I'll send you the link!!

Photo of channels so far under read more!

[pain-is-too-tired]

If i made a Sunforge and/or Leeluke community or Discord server would anyone be down to join?

[Edit: Discord created! Link in reblog/ my pinned! ^^]

[wildandmoody]

RAHHH ok I'm calling it done, IT'S HERE

Join my gay little mj server for both new and veteran fans (and friends)

[pinkjunepeanut]

DO NOT COPY! I'll Report U.

Two friends of mine on Discord, avatars from Zepeto. I hope you guys enjoy 😊

Took me an hour an' thirty minutes to draw ✍️🎨

Sorry for the side view, it was the only way to post a hour-long-but-one-minute-condensed video 📷

[myheromarveldemia]

Unserious MHA Roleplaying

Wanna roleplay but afraid of your character not being 100% accurate to MHA lore or not writing long enough paragraphs? Luckily, I don’t care about any of that shit, and I’m always looking for RP partners. I prefer one-on-one on Discord because, frankly, the concept of servers perplexes me to no end. But anyone who’s interested in a fun, silly RP reminiscent of the MCU and classic superhero comics can add niathedisneyprincess on Discord and we can plan from there. OC’s are welcome, of course, but minors DNI.

My OC’s

Adopted from Africa, Nia is the daughter of two members of a hero team that was wildly popular decades ago due to their boy band good looks and because they're powerful enough to take on world-ending threats. Her Quirk is the ability to put people to sleep by singing any slow song of her choice and enter their dreams. A black girl who always wears '80s clothes, she's an optimistic old soul who believes in the power of kind words and changing minds. She has been singing and dancing since she was very young—idolizing and learning what she knows from Michael Jackson, Fred Astaire, and Whitney Houston—and she loves to perform on TikTok and at children's birthday parties and hospitals.

Steve Marvel was born from cosmic energy and cloned from Cathleen Bates' DNA, giving him a strong, bulky frame and the ability to travel the multiverse. He—as well as Nia—is tasked with keeping otherworldly things like the multiverse secret, so he tells his classmates that his Quirk is super strength. Steve is a scrappy transfer student from Brooklyn whose good looks and strength have not only filled him with overconfidence but have also convinced him that his crush on Deku is reciprocated based on those traits alone. His hobbies are learning different languages and playing electric guitar.

[iheartcabbyiii]

I didn't want to make this post, and I still don't, but I don't think I can keep my silence on the situation for any longer. I've only told a few people about this, so I'm here now, telling all of you about what happened.

"The Henry Stickmin Artist Community" discord server is a server I am currently in; you may be too, you may not. If so, you also might know the owner, Stick, aka Suppishstick on discord. I definitely do. My experience with them was not a good one, and I'll be sharing my experience with them in this post.

1: Starting off.

How we met:

A few months ago, I joined a THSC community based server along with another close friend of mine, looking to communicate with some other THSC fans outside of twitter (only platform I posted on back then). However, I didn't start talking until a few months afterwards. Once I had started talking, I had gotten to know a few of the people there; one of them being Stick. They didn't talk much, but the first interaction we ever had (I believe) was when I was talking about an artist I disliked (this artist was fairly controversial for their predatorial creations and actions, btw).

When I explained what they did to Stick since they wanted to know, we just talked about how disgusting that behavior is, and so on. Conversation ends.

How it started:

However, a few hours afterwards, they'd started dming me with random shit. It wasn't wrong, it just felt a little weird because I didn't expect to be dmed after our previous conversation was already done and over with: also because we didn't know each other. There wasn't anything wrong with just talking, so I went along with it.

One day, he suddenly said that he was thinking of making me and my friend mods. However, he said it like if he made me a mod, he'd have to make them a mod too. Despite this, I was extremely happy. I don't know WHY I wanted mod perms, but overall you can't really do anything other than ban and kick people; can't even invite a bot to the server. It wasn't worth it, but now I see why he made me AND my friend both mods. (This will come up again.)

3:

Then, the more they talked, the topic became based on serious topics, their IRL life, and their problems. (I'm going to be very vague with their problems they had for privacy reasons.) It started off with them talking about having a crush on their friend, and it basically backfiring on them.

This is basically what started it.

From then on, they began to vent in my dms almost daily about any feeling they had, and I would reply every time, despite being uncomfortable yet not having the guts to tell them to stop.

He went from that, to talking about how he wanted to bleach his skin, which is OBVIOUSLY harmful. His reasoning was that he would maybe get a girlfriend because he would be white, and saying that he should do what MJ (Michael Jackson) did, which is also untrue. Besides that, when he said this, I felt extremely uncomfortable with what he said he was going to do just for people to like him, since I didn't want him to harm himself. I wouldn't want ANYONE to do this just so they could be liked by other people. (As well as me telling him another time, not to vent in my DMS.)

Then, afterwards, they had started venting in my dms without permission again. This screenshot one of the various times I'd told him not to vent w/o perms.

All he talked about was the situation with his friend, and everything that was going on in his life. However, then he started talking about using steroids and harming himself. (I may come off as dry in these texts because as I stated, I was uncomfortable.)

I didn't know how to react when I saw these messages. I didn't know if I were to comfort him, discourage those actions, or just not reply in general.

When he said he didn't vent in DMS anymore, which was pretty much just contradicting himself, I pointed it out that he had been doing that for weeks.

His motive for doing most of these things was to make people like him. And I understand that you might not be liked by too many people, but harming yourself and your health to fit in is not the way to go.

He argued that it wasn't "angry or suicidal stuff", so I guess it ... Wasn't venting??? (SS of convo down below)

3:

I'd also like to talk about the typa shit he'd talk about when he wasn't venting to me. Most of this stuff was stuff I didn't know (or really care, I'm sorry to say it,,) about.

A few of the things he sent stuck out to me, specifically because it was NSFW content.

One of these examples was a newgrounds animation. Why was I trusting anything they sent that was from newgrounds? Because I didn't want to just not acknowledge the shit he was talking about.

This animation, however, was a video of a fucking Creeper getting assaulted.

I did not request to see the animation, all I said was that I hadn't seen it, yet he still sent the link.

The image of the video is blurred because it contains slight gore, and I'm not taking my chances,,,

Yeah, some people might be able to handle it, but like, if someone doesn't ask for a NSFW link, YOU DONT SEND IT!!!

Now, here's my message I sent after I didn't want this to go on any longer. I sent this message to request that he stop talking in my dms in the politest way I could. Although, this is the response I got.

Yes, he did apologize for saying it like that, but it didn't feel as if he really meant it.

If he had problems, I wanted him to seek help for them, and not tell someone on the Internet who he didn't know basically every thought he had.

I wasn't comfortable from the start.

Before I start my conclusion on this, I'd like to mention the time he promoted his rants,...,, To be specific, he sent a message in the main chat of the server, saying, "check rant, it's bad."

Not only did he say this in the server, he also sent it in my dms as well. (I cannot provide any more pictures because I've reached the limit of images tumblr will allow me to add, but if anyone would like to see them, I can show the messages he sent.)

If Stick sees this, I will not argue with him about this. If he bans me from the server, that's fine. I still believe what he did was wrong.

[tsarisfanfiction]

And So We Tangled Back Together

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rating: Gen Genre: Friendship Characters: Clarisse, Michael, Sherman He'd been dead for two years. For two fucking years. But Sherman could see the ghost, too, and her hand didn't go through him when she reached out. Also related/a sequel to Dawn Rises From The East, although full knowledge of that shouldn't be needed as long as you know it's a Michael Lives!AU where Michael was amnesiac for two years - a few people, including me, really wanted the Michael&Clarisse reunion, so I finally got around to writing it! I have a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi!

Clarisse hurried up the hill, past the golden fleece and the sleepy Peleus, her spear clutched in one hand.

Sherman had been vague, when he’d IM’d her a few days earlier, telling her that she had to get to camp now and refusing to elaborate beyond assurances that there was not another war starting, Apollo had not ended up mortal for a third time, and no-one had died, and Clarisse didn’t like it.  She didn’t like not knowing, didn’t like the urgency in her younger brother’s voice, didn’t like the way he hadn’t seemed to be able to make his mind up on whether or not whatever needed her presence was a good thing or not.

He'd been excited, but in a subdued fashion, and anything that made Sherman subdued was not normally good news.  Things that made him excited…  Well, that was also a short list and combat-related activities normally topped it.  He was a son of Ares.

Being summoned mid-week, just as college was due to start for the fall, was concerning, and she hated that Chris hadn’t been able to come with her – his nursing course didn’t allow for things like summer breaks, and he didn’t have any days off he could take until next month, and Clarisse hadn’t been willing to wait that long when Sherman wanted her at camp now.

She missed his solid presence at her side, though.  With so much uncertainty, she could have done with it.

Sherman was waiting for her at the entrance to camp, where the ancient archway still stood and welcomed demigods into camp, the same way it had done for the years she’d lived there.  His back was ramrod straight, and his arms were crossed.  Tension screamed out from the set of his shoulders, and he had a new scar zig-zagging its way down his face since the last time Clarisse had seen him in person.

She hadn’t got the story out of him during their last IM, when she’d first seen it, and that either meant it was an embarrassing scar, or whatever Sherman had summoned her for was more distracting than showing off his latest badge of honour.

Clarisse hoped it was the former, and not just because it was her duty as his older sister to mock him for stupid scars, and get payback for all the years where he’d been a little shit, before the war – the first war, against Kronos, because they’d been through two together and word had it that there had been more battles during Apollo’s mortal phase that she’d missed and Sherman hadn’t – had sobered him up and he stopped challenging her for the rights to lead the cabin every other day.

“Report!” she barked at him as her march came to a stop in front of him.  He’d grown again; she had to look up a little, and Clarisse herself wasn’t short.  “What the fuck needed me here?”

She glanced past him, at the camp, and couldn’t see anything wrong.  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and that didn’t track with Sherman’s posture, or the fact that he’d insisted she come at all.

“It’s…” he started, stopped, and gritted his teeth, although he didn’t look away from her.  “It’s Michael.”

Michael?

The name immediately brought to mind fucking red and gold fletched arrows, shouts and insults, a figure too small for his age but with enough of attitude to more than make up the difference.

It had been two years since Manhattan, since she’d finally caught sight of all the Apollo campers – the surviving Apollo campers – and realised the short bastard was missing.  When she’d looked for him and heard that he’d fucking died, that there wasn’t even a body to burn.

Two years since she’d watched an empty golden shroud burn and cursed him for doing what she’d told him to for the first time in their lives as black guilt coiled in her gut.  She’d told him to die and he’d done exactly that, taking out a bridge in the process and halting Kronos’ advance, bought time for the rest of his siblings to flee to safety.

Two years since he’d sacrificed his life to protect his siblings and Clarisse had discovered the hard way that the bastard had shot his own fucking hole in her heart and that with him gone, there was a gap in her life that she’d never even noticed he’d filled until he didn’t, anymore.

But Michael was a common fucking name, and after two years there was no reason to bring him up again, so it had to be someone else, some other Michael-

“It’s him,” Sherman said, clearly reading at least some of her thoughts on her face, and Clarisse scowled as he continued.  “Michael Yew.”

Hearing his name, his name with no room for misinterpretation, made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“The bastard died two fucking years ago,” she snapped, because Michael was complicated and Sherman knew she’d fucking mourned him already, in the privacy of their cabin late at night when most of them were trapped in nightmares and she couldn’t even fall asleep – didn’t need to, when it felt like the nightmares hadn’t bothered to fucking wait.  “Why the fuck are you calling me to talk about that short asshole that went and got himself killed like a fucking imbecile two years later?”

“Nice to see you again, too, bitch.”

The voice came from behind her, and up a little bit, and it was familiar, not just the sound of it which had haunted her memories and her nightmares for years, but the direction, too.

She whirled around, spear igniting out of habit and crackling in her ear as her eyes fell on Thalia’s old fucking tree, and the small figure perching in the lower branches, looking like he belonged there.

The fucking ghost perching in the lower branches.

Clarisse crossed the distance to the tree in the blink of an eye, her spear still crackling as she glared up at the apparition.  Behind her, Sherman let out a string of curses, making it clear that he saw him, too, so Clarisse wasn’t fucking hallucinating.

“I was going to tell her first!” he was growling up at the tree, but the small bastard perched there wasn’t even looking at him.  Familiar dark brown eyes, glinting the slightest tint golden in the sunlight, were glued to Clarisse.  Too familiar.

“Get the fuck out that tree,” she ordered, because it hurt, seeing him in the tree as though he’d always fucking been there, and also because she couldn’t see him properly, couldn’t be certain-

“Turn that thing off first,” he demanded, with a sharp glance at her spear.  “I’m not getting fucking electrocuted.”

Two years ago, Clarisse would never have done anything the bastard asked, but she needed fucking answers and she didn’t need the electricity active to skewer the bastard if this was wrong, if it all was all fucking wrong.  A flick of her wrist and she had the electricity deactivated, but she didn’t relax her grip on the weapon.

“Down,” she growled, and he dropped to the ground, barely disturbing the pine needles in the process, because the bastard had always been able to move through the trees like a fucking ghost.

He didn’t look like her memories.  Not quite.  His hair was longer, and his face gaunter, devoid of the teenage softness that he hadn’t quite lost entirely by Manhattan but seemed to be long gone, now.  His clothes didn’t quite hang right, not a perfect fit but more like he’d lost weight – like Chris had been, in the aftermath of the Labyrinth.

He looked older, but it had been two years.  Of fucking course he looked older.

He’d fucking grown, too, still a short fucking bastard but not as short as Clarisse remembered, another inch or two added to his height since she’d last seen him.

He was still a good foot shorter than her, though, and the way he looked up at her, chin tilted but always defiant, always challenging, never deferring, was the same it always had been, except there was a look hiding in the depths of his eyes that Clarisse could recognise, because it was coursing through her, too.

Fucking uncertainty.

Clarisse did not like being uncertain.

She lashed out with her empty hand and he was quick, had always been quick, but not quick enough to completely evade her at that range as she grabbed the collar of his t-shirt and bodily dragged him closer.

He’d never weighed much, by virtue of being so fucking tiny, but he was still a solid body and the resistance that fought against her was grounding.

He was there.

She was actually gripping Michael fucking Yew’s collar.  Two years after he’d fucking died.

Except there hadn’t been a body, and shit.

He was tugging back, glaring at her as he fought for his freedom, but it wasn’t anything like the struggles he used to do if she caught him.  It felt more performative than genuine, and the look in his eyes, that flicker of uncertainty was still there.

Clarisse leant her spear against the trunk of the tree and gripped him with her other hand, too, vaguely aware that he was straining on his tip-toes and that she was bearing a considerable percentage of his weight.  His hands wrapped around her wrists, tight enough to bruise, but she ignored them.

“Fucking answers,” she spat, leaning into his face.  “What the fuck, you bastard?  Two fucking years and you show your ferrety-ass face again?”

He bared his teeth in a snarl and it was familiar.  Normal.

Except that look in his eyes hadn’t gone away entirely.

“Clarisse!”  More hands joined Michael’s, and Sherman pushed her back, enough that she wasn’t in Michael’s face anymore even though she still had a solid grip on him and wasn’t letting go until she got her answers.  “Damn it, Michael, this was why I was going to tell her first!”

“She’s hearing it from me,” Michael snapped back, and Clarisse agreed with him.  Sherman meant well, but this had never been his fight.

“Back off, Sherman,” she warned, not looking away from Michael.  “Michael, talk.”

“Let go of me,” the son of Apollo shot back, but his fingers were still digging into Clarisse’s wrists, the grip white-knuckled, and Clarisse got the sudden, bizarre thought that she wasn’t the only one using physical contact to ground herself.

Had she been a hole for Michael, too?  But that didn’t make fucking sense, and even if it did, Michael had been the one missing.  She’d been at camp for another fucking year before leaving, easy to find if he’d just fucking tried.

She pushed him back, against the bark of the tree next to where her spear leaned, but let his feet fall flat on the ground again.  She didn’t let go, though, and nor did Michael.

“Talk,” she demanded, ignoring Sherman as he grumbled something and backed away.  He had always been smart enough to know when he wasn’t wanted, even if he was usually enough of a little shit to ignore it.

Michael glared at her, looking pointedly at her grip on his collar, but he spoke anyway, and Clarisse was not prepared for the answer.

“Traumatic amnesia,” he said shortly, daring her to challenge him.  It was absurd but it fit.  “When I fell from that fucking bridge I lost everything.  Didn’t even know my own fucking name.”

Clarisse remembered Chris, remembered the way he barely knew who he was, the way he didn’t recognise anyone, didn’t recognise her.  It hadn’t quite been amnesia but parts of it might as well have been.

Even two years ago, when she told Michael to fucking die, she wouldn’t have wished anything like that on anyone, not even Michael.

But it fucking fit, because Michael was an asshole but he would never put his siblings through that shit, never let them think he was dead if he had any say in the matter.  Not before Lee’s death, and definitely not after it.

If Clarisse was honest, Michael wouldn’t even pull that shit on her.  He was a sneaky bastard that loved to creep around in trees and hide and ambush with his fucking arrows out of nowhere, but faking his own death wasn’t his style.

“Where were you?” she demanded, because he had to be somewhere for the past two fucking years.

He had the audacity to fucking shrug at her, despite the grip she still had on his collar.  “Homeless.”

“For two fucking years?” Clarisse pressed, because homelessness and demigods was a common combination but it was also a dangerous combination.

It did explain why he’d lost weight, though.

“Yeah,” Michael confirmed, but he was defensive about it, a challenge in his eyes that looked familiar.  His what are you going to do about it challenge.  “Will found me three weeks ago.”

Three weeks.

Michael had been on the streets for two fucking years, and amnesiac the whole time, because if he hadn’t been he’d have found his own way straight back to camp.

Fuck.

“Fucking bastard,” she mumbled, but even she could tell there was no heat in her voice.  “You- fuck.  Mr D get your head back on?”

Michael’s face twisted into something that didn’t look happy.

“They came back on their own after Will found me,” he said, and Clarisse was no expert but two years of amnesia and everything coming back just like that didn’t sound right.

“What the fuck?” she demanded, and Michael still didn’t look happy.

“I don’t fucking know,” he snapped, and his grip on her wrists loosened, less restraining and more starting to push her away again.  She still didn’t let go, didn’t think she could let go.  “Get off me.”

“Clarisse-” Sherman said from behind her, but she ignored him.  She ignored Michael giving up on prying her hands away and shoving at her chest, too.  He’d never had the strength to overpower her, and that hadn’t changed.

Instead, she stepped in closer, towering over him and leaning the top of her head against the tree.

“You were fucking dead,” she said, and it was a good thing that the only people around were Michael and Sherman, because there weren’t many people she was comfortable letting down any walls around, and Michael didn’t make the list except this was about him and she had two years’ worth of guilt-laden grief that she’d never thought would have anywhere to go.  “I told you to die.”

Michael stopped trying to shove her away, his hands finding her biceps and resting there instead, not gripping tightly like he had been, earlier, but not trying to pry her off, either.

“I know,” he said, and it was calm, calmer than Michael usually was.  The fact that it wasn’t an argument, that he’d agreed with her was strange, too.  Wrong.  “I said some fucking stupid shit, too.”

He sounded tired, and strained.  It was probably the closest thing he’d ever said to an apology, to her.

Except it wasn’t, because he’d given her the chariot, back then, calling for a truce, asking for help, and she’d thrown it back in his face.  He’d only turned nasty after that, when she’d rejected the words but taken the chariot anyway, and even looking back she didn’t think the truce had been a true apology rather than a last ditch attempt to get the Ares cabin to fight, but in the weeks, months, years since, she’d realised how big even that had been, for Michael.

She’d been scared.  It had taken her time to admit it even to herself, but she had been scared.  It had taken her longer to realise, to accept that Michael had been scared, too.  Scared enough to ask her for help, but she hadn’t recognised it – and even if she had, she didn’t have enough faith in her younger self to think she’d have done anything different if she had.

“You bastard,” she grumbled, but it didn’t have any heat in it.

Nor did Michael’s returned, “bitch.”

She still didn’t let go of him, although her grip relaxed, fingers tangled in fabric with no desire to find their way out.  Michael didn’t start pushing her away again, either, his hands falling down by his sides as he leant back against the tree.

That wasn’t right, either.  Michael didn’t do that, but then Clarisse didn’t just stand there, loosely holding onto him with no intention of a fight, either.

But ten minutes ago, she’d thought he was dead.  She’d spent two fucking years believing him dead, living with the echoes of their last argument in her ears.

She didn’t think she wanted their arguments to resume again.  Not after how they’d ended last time.  Michael wasn’t spoiling for a fight, either, as passive around her as she’d ever seen him, and she thought that maybe, just maybe, they were in agreement for once.

What she didn’t know was what to do about it.  They didn’t do agreements, didn’t do civility.  They’d never managed that, always needed a buffer between them – it was no coincidence that their arguments had worsened after Lee’s death.

Sherman was still there.  She could feel his silent gaze on the back of her head, observing but not saying anything.  He’d never been enough to stop their arguments before; she didn’t think he’d manage now, either, if they started.

But he’d seen her mourning Michael, two years ago, and she’d been worried then about losing his respect, which she’d had to fight so hard to earn in the first place, but he hadn’t turned on her then, and two years on, she knew he wouldn’t turn on her now.  It mattered less now, anyway.  She was still his big sister but she wasn’t head counsellor, not anymore.

“Don’t fucking do that again,” she muttered, and felt Michael freeze.  “I thought you were fucking dead,” she added, the words spilling out before her brain could catch up.  “Dead, you bastard.”

Michael shifted, still trapped between her body and the tree, but it still wasn’t a fight to escape.  Instead, Clarisse felt a light pressure on her chest as his head leant forwards.

“I’m not dead,” he said, stating the fucking obvious, but it was tired, Michael was tired.

Clarisse was tired, too.  Too tired to turn it into an argument when it was obvious that Michael wasn’t angling for one.

“You fucking bastard,” she said flatly.  It wasn’t an apology, she wasn’t quite ready to apologise for the shit from two years ago even though she knew she needed to, but it was something and the way the weight increased against her chest told her that Michael understood.

She still wasn’t prepared for the word he mumbled, barely audible.  Just one word, a question and an offer and a promise all at once, and Clarisse couldn’t say no.  Should’ve said yes years ago, when there was a chariot between them, had regretted it in the years since and never expected to be faced with it again.

“Truce?”

Clarisse didn’t plan on making the same mistake twice.

“Yeah,” she said, and her hands finally fell from Michael’s collar.  “Truce.”

[444m777]

Earlier today I started reading “You Are Not Alone” by Jermaine Jackson and there’s a prologue… I just knew this was gonna have me crying like a baby! 🥺

In the prologue Jermaine talks about the time Michael fell and injured his back and the family went to see him at the hospital during the 2005 trail (this was hours before the judge ordered him to come to court or else his bail would be revoked and so he had to leave wearing nothing but his pajama pants and a white top and black jacket).

It is GUT WRENCHING! Reading how he broke down (while in physical and mental pain) saying “Look at me! … Look at me! I’m the most misunderstood person in the world!” revealing his skin condition and his brother writing that this was the first time he’s seen the true extent of his brother’s vitiligo. He said he looked like a white man with coffee splashed over him. Michael used the power of makeup products to blend and hide his condition so to many people he just appeared to have bleached his skin even though Black people who do bleach don’t look the way Michael looked but I digress.

He talked about how Michael was very particular about how he wanted to appear during the court dates and had his outfits planned but on that day he couldn’t dress up and was dealing with the back injury from the fall at the hospital. I remember watching the news on TV (when my parents weren’t home) and how they made it seem like he was some fucking maniac and didn’t care about his court dates and honoring them. It was so humiliating what the press did to him. It was fashion police on a day that wasn’t anywhere appropriate about fashion and they made it look like he purposely was just lounging around in his pajamas laughing at how he’s going to “get away with this”.

Ugh…

There’s much more in the prologue that paints a better picture but I just wanted to share how the lies and public lynching got to him. Jermaine said his brother maintained a cold and detached demeanor but he knew on the inside Michael was falling apart with all that pressure and described in more detail his brother’s breakdown.

And how appropriate… his father (like many Black fathers) did not know how to comfort his son and instead tried to steer the conversation to getting him to perform a concert in China. I’m so happy that both Katherine and Jermaine shut it down and said how inappropriate it was to even bring that up in a moment like this. I know what it’s like to grow up around Black men who had no emotionally intelligent people around them to gauge situations and learn to hold space for others who are experiencing a breakdown. It’s always “let’s just forget about it and move on” (and that’s putting it nicely). Sweeping real and intense emotional situations under the rug further suppressing and ADDING trauma down the line. I understand him when he said he was scared of his father. Not just concerning the physical abuse but the PURPOSEFUL emotional neglect. He forgave his father in the end and quite publicly too (like in his Oxford speech) but the damage has looonggg been done.

Man, that was just the prologue and I went through a whole tissue pack reading it😔

I’ll be sharing more of my thoughts on this book and of course through our MJ Book Club The Historians discord server join the bookworm gang 📚

[sparkedblaze]

“Fairy tales do not tell children that dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children that dragons can be killed.” -G.K. Chesterton

⚡️Hey! I'm Sparky or Blaze or any number of nicknames you wanna give me, I'm not really particular

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🤬I curse so please use caution

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🎨More arty things: LinkTree Omg Newsies as Vines

🚫DNI: TERFs, -phobes, racists, anti-, yk this list could go on forever just don't be an asshole

🪭Fandoms: Newsies (1992, Live, and UKsies), Harry Potter (fuck jkr), Percy Jackson, My Hero Academia, Haikyu!!, Sk8 the Infinity, Hamilton, In the Heights, Heathers, Be More Chill, Six, 21 Chump Street, Legally Blonde the Musical, Mean Girls the Musical, 9-1-1, West Side Story, Cats the Musical, Panic There are probably more

🎶Favorite music: Age of Madness, Newsies, In the Heights, Alec Benjamin, DCOM soundtracks

🗣️Characters I can and will talk about for hours: Any newsie (but especially Albert, Elmer, Jack, Davey, Les, Mush, the Delanceys), Peter Pettigrew, Severus Snape, Sturgis Podmore, Pandora Lovegood, Leo Valdez, Luke Castellan, Frank Zhang, Dabi, Shoto Todoroki, Iwaizumi Hajime, Nishinoya Yuu, Kojiro Nanjo (Joe), John Laurens, Pip Hamilton, Usnavi, Benny, JD, Heather Chandler, Michael Mell, Katherine Howard, Anne of Cleves, Justin Laboy, Emmett Forrest, Janis, Christopher Diaz, Athena Grant, Mouthpiece, Balkan, Baby John, Pouncival, Tumblebrutus, Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer, Ray Hall, Heather Nill

🎙️Relationships you couldn't get me to stop talking about if you tried: Spralbert, Javey, Blush, Pink Flowerpatch, Xenora, Percabeth, Frazel, Hot Wings, MatchaBlossom, Lams, Boyf Riends, Buddie, NillHall

🫶🏻Mutuals:

@caw-salem Fuck u roomie 🥰

@the-lavender-lapin My babyyyyyy🩵

@noxexistant thank you for gracing my pfp with gay pryder 😭🙌🏼

@raggedy-albert My fellow Albert enthusiast 🧑🏻‍🦰

@kellyscowboy UR HCS ARE SO GOOOOOD 😍

@hexmari LOML IM GROVELING AT YOUR FEET 🙏🏼

🧐Special interests: Newsies, dinosaurs, DND

🎉Fun facts:

I play DND

I like math because I understand it almost all the time (and if I don't I can usually look it up and figure it out), words are hard

I'm in PST

I have a dog that only has 3 legs, his name is Porch

🕳️Current hyperfixation: ——————————

[real-total-drama-takes]

It is currently Day 168 of my losing battle against TRDMUW Syndrome, also known as Total Roblox Drama Major Update Withdrawal Syndrome. There are two known forms of the syndrome:

Cluster A involves a series of debilitating symptoms, including but not limited to:

-Obsessive checking of Mojosgames’s TikTok and Twitter accounts every hour to check for a major update

-Obsessive scrolling through Mojosgames’s Discord server every half-hour to check for a major update

Cluster B, however, revolves around a series of progressive symptoms that also interfere with daily living:

-Excessive posting on social media of predictions of what the new update will have

-Latent irrational aggression and irritation towards a college student who is juggling school, work, and developing a highly popular Roblox game for taking more than one month to finish a major update and map revamp

After researching the syndrome subtypes’ effects on ailing individuals and the cause of this syndrome, I have concluded that TRDMUW Syndrome is contagious, spread through the infectious bacteria B. sigma (full name: Brainrotosis skibidisigmatococci).

Upon learning I was infected by this pathogen (after being diagnosed by Dr. Nurse Chef, who just earned his MD) I decided to take a sabbatical from Total Roblox Drama, then eventually Roblox, altogether.

The symptoms, however, have only gotten worse, and I fear that, much like Dakota’s radioactive mutation into an unintelligent monster, I too am succumbing to idiocy and mind melting. I haven’t talked to my family in weeks. I have started eating all the wooden furniture in my house. My dresser drawer, wardrobe, and bed post are all chewed away, as if I were an incorrigible termite, destined to live on pure wood-hungry instinct.

At this point, the doctors have diagnosed me with Cluster C of the syndrome, which is a combination of Clusters A and B’s syndromes. Double homicide, I know. Double whammy, definitely. Double trouble all around.

I have resorted to frequently rewatching episodes of Disventure Camp and even resorting to playing Roblox Outlaster to satiate my sick fascination with Total Roblox Drama. To quell my mind that races with possibilities of this update, I must play, play, play. Try as I might, I cannot resist.

Please send all thoughts and prayers for me. My GoFundMe is linked nowhere in particular, and any donation counts (even the largest donations of $0.00 can’t hold a candle to just keeping me in your mind, wishing for my speedy recovery).

🙏❤️‍🩹🤒😷

As the late great Michael Jackson put it…

🎶 Heal the world, make it a better place, for you and for me and the entire human race, there are people dying, if you cared enough for the living, make a better place for you and for me 🎶

[mjj-nostalgia]

Do not forget I have an MJ related discord serverrrrrrr...!

It is dead at the moment and I'd love to have some new members to get chatty in there if you'd like. Let me know if you're interested, please! I shall give you the link

See you there?

-T

[pain-is-too-tired]

Reminded of one rp I was in on discord that was kinda like a horror slasher type au going on

And Travis and Silena were dead,Piper ended up in the hospital, and then Drew and Michael ended up in the hospital after being shot and we never got past that gdgd

Anyway few screenshots that live rent free in my mind from that-

[wildandmoody]

We're having our first concert stream on Feb. 2nd!

Join us!

[a3poify]

Things I have dreamed about:

- ranking all the steely dan albums

- one of my friends keeps stubbing out joints on my bed and i can't get her to stop

- Nick Cave was in it that's all I can remember

- watching a documentary about Sunscreen MacLean, the first man to ever play in the WNBA

- theresa may and michael gove had a big argument in Parliament where they screamed and swore at each other

- i interviewed black country new road shortly after isaac left and accidentally shouted out Matt from black midi instead

- i walked to tesco while listening to Nights by Frank Ocean and i arrived there perfectly at the beat switch

- thom yorke came to my house with the new radiohead album and challenged me to walk across my garden in less than 20 seconds (extremely possible task in real life) or he'd take it away and i couldn't make it

- am i good enough friends with sufjan stevens to add him to a Discord server

- drake releases a song and everyone unanimously agrees it is the worst one ever made

- i'm in the room with the cross from the National Accident Helpline ad https://youtu.be/lXFbLMy9tjU

- i was in the playground near my house and had to rush home to do an listening party of Dangerous by Michael Jackson

- Nic Jones's Baby Einstein songs

- Jordan Peterson was my Computer Science teacher at uni where my class was from 1am-3am

- Simpsons brand chips and salsa cause me to hallucinate a Simpsons-animated video for The Cinema Show

- i owned Yanqui UXO on vinyl

- i did a sick pogo stick trick and broke my legs

- 100 gecs show at the soft play area i went to as a kid

- my parents bought a horse and it lived in the house with us and then it headbutted me into a wall from behind

- jason lytle vs deontay wilder world title fight

- I was walking down this street in Hastings and I saw Martin Kemp from Spandau Ballet collapsed on the path, covered in blood, after falling and hitting his head on a railing. Me and my family carried him home and as soon as we got him in he started vomiting everywhere which caused me to projectile vomit specifically on a pile of magazines in my bedroom. Everyone kept calling him Tony Hadley.

[cr1ms0n5]

So, I have like a fun fact. On my discord server with my cousins I got the nickname “MJ’s Heehee” (MJ as in Michael Jackson)

And of course there is a reason for it.

That reason? I’m a simp for a character. And when I see that character I ‘heehee’.

Will I tell who it is? No, I will not. You will never find out.

[luvscurrency]

hrtdiors blog 🇵🇸

bout me

my name is shiza!! i'm from canada, i was born on november 26 (sagittarius). i love to read lmk if you have any suggestions! i love cats sm.

i love pink, skincare, makeup, clothes, coffee, and many more!

i love music sm; arctic monkeys, ariana grande, cas, eminem, kali uchis, marina, mitski, michael jackson, tv girl, the weeknd, the neighbourhood, mac miller etc.

i love watching multiple shows and movies such as whiplash, bojack horseman, shameless, reality show

in the future i would love to be an internal medicine hospitalist! <3

i would love to be friends so msg me!

links

my socials > https://linktr.ee/hrtdiors

my wishlist > https://www.amazon.ca/hz/wishlist/ls/2V9AB8S3VSGRK

' vs angels discord server > https://discord.gg/JYcu5fmeDU

love you all, have a great day/night!