#source: @50-item-writing-prompts

[nickgerlich]

After Awhile, Crocodile

It is not uncommon for me to miss out on a fashion trend. But now I can say that I missed out on the same trend twice. I am either pop-culture aloof, or just couldn’t care less. I suspect it is the latter. Regardless, Crocs are hot for the second time this century, and my feet have never slipped into a pair.

Crocs were introduced in 2002, made from a material called Croslite. It’s a rubbery compound that is lightweight and comfortable, and perfect for boating. The first line that Crocs introduced was called “the Beach,” a nod to the original target audience. It’s just that the general public fell in love with them too, although their dense, synthetic material made my feet sweat just thinking about it. I guess I was wrong.

The casual shoes became wildly successful, and in 2006 they acquired Jibbitz, a company that made accessories and charms for Crocs shoes. But then the Great Recession came in 2008, and Crocs found itself on wrong footing. They had a negative operating margin in half of the years between then and 2016, prompting the firm to hire a new CEO in 2017.

The new CEO doubled down on personalization, by means of colors and accessories. While shoes are never a one-size-fits-all proposition, the new message stressed that your pair were truly OAK—one of a kind. That Croslite footwear with the ventilation holes allowed wearers to buy all the Jibbitz they wanted, treating their shoes as a base canvas of expression.

And given that wearers could swap out their Jibbitz as long as they wanted to, sales could go on infinitely, long after the initial pair was purchased. Genius. Sales of Jibbitz alone are $271 million, about 8% of overall company revenue. It’s similar to the razor and razor blade phenomenon, as well as the old camera and film relationship. Get the shoes on their feet, and the money tree will keep producing fruit.

The CEO also recognized that Gen-Z, as well as younger Millennials, absolutely love personalization. They have grown up with the digital life, and know personalization from every corner. They expect it. To be able to do the same with one’s shoes is just another manifestation of a generational value.

It has paid off handsomely. The pandemic also played into their hands nicely, with so many people working remotely and in need of comfortable, casual footwear. You might not wear Crocs to the office, but you could certainly wear them from bedroom to living room.

But now the firm is trying to pump life back into the HeyDude brand of footwear, which it purchased in 2022. It’s just that HeyDude, which also rode its own crest of popularity starting before the pandemic, has had some rough pavement to trod. Crocs was forced to pay $1.9 million to customers last year after the FTC accused them of filtering negative online reviews, as well as improperly refunding customers. Sales of HeyDude fell 13.2% last year, while Crocs revenues jumped 8.8%.

Hey, at least I didn’t miss the HeyDude fad. I own two pairs.

While Crocs needs to keep its main product and accessory lines fresh, along with figuring out how to revive HeyDude, the bigger problem right now is tariffs. More than 50% of its shoes are sourced in Vietnam, which President Trump just levied a 46% tariff against. While there are reports circulating online that Vietnam has offered to completely wipe out any incoming tariffs against US products, it may not be enough. Finding new sources can be tough in the short-run, whether it is in a different developing nation or here at home. And I write all this before the stock market opens, with hints and rumors of another blood bath today.

I get the personalization aspect. While I doubt an old-timer like me could pull it off (never mind that the second wave of this fad seems to be more popular among women), I do show my personality in other items I wear, most notably my t-shirt and hoodie collection. The words and phrases on them attest to my exceedingly good taste in craft beer and travel. They are my badges of honor.

While a pair of Crocs adorned with a variety of Jibbitz are the height of individual whimsy, they are decidedly different from my generation’s expressions. It’s all good, though. I know that Youngest Daughter would not bother to buy a Barcelona Jibbitz (if such a thing existed) to reflect her travels last year, but she would buy colorful flowers and characters.

That’s the beauty, once more, of embracing the differences in generations, understanding them, not judging them, and serving them with what they want. Even if it means that some old geezers miss out on a trend not once, but also twice.

Dr “If The Shoe Fits” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[adventuresinclientservice]

Of the 53 posts I wrote this past year, which one is the most helpful?

It is the early evening hours of December 31, and I am about to wrap up the day’s activities by selecting a blog topic for the first post of 2025.  I won’t issue the result until next week; Account weenie that I am, I already am at work on it.

I begin the process by reviewing the articles I’ve archived from The New York Times and other publications, knowing they often serve as sources of inspiration.  I find there is much to write about, but not much to say, given I lack an observation or insight – some form of value-add -- to supplement what’s already on the page.

At a loss for an idea worth posting – for me more common than not -- I turn to what I’ve already written in 2024.  I note last year’s commentary is negative  and critical– not the ideal way to start 2025 – with a fair amount that’s disposable and dismissible. 

I sort though the remaining possibilities, searching for anything positive, possibly helpful, maybe even hopeful, something worthy of the start of the New Year.

There are three posts I like, the first two of which are about music, each making a point about client service.

Although they’ve been making music for 40 years, I never heard of Cowboy Junkies until I stumbled on their cover of the Lou Reed song, “Sweet Jane.”  Ever since I have devoured whatever is available on YouTube.  My post, however, makes particular note about the creative process, expressed by singer/spokesperson Margo Timmins when she was interviewed as part of the television program A Beautiful Noise.  If you’re curious, you can read the original post here.

Unlike Cowboy Junkies, I have been following Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band he formed more than 50 years ago, and am very familiar with many of his hit songs.  So when the documentary film Road Diary was released last year, chronicling the band’s 2024 tour, I made a point to watch.

What spoke to me is Springsteen and his band serving as testament to loyalty, longevity, and live performance; I’ve written before about the impossible-to- replicate virtues of wisdom earned through experience, the spirit of which is captured and fully embodied by the band, prompting me to write about it.  If you’re curious, you can read the post here. 

If I were compelled to select a single item from last year, however, I would opt for something that provide help directly, something useful not just to agencies but also to clients, which explains why if you have time to read just one post from the year that was, I would suggest it be this one.

Relatively speaking, “Five simple, obvious keys for clients wanting the best possible performance from their advertising and marketing agencies”  is what I think is the most helpful among last year’s post.  Looking at this another way -- the absolute way instead of the relative way -- is it truly of value?

I suspect even if agencies agree with what’s in the post, they will claim there is little they can do to influence their clients’ compliance.  As for clients, most will reject my suggestions out-of-hand, saying they don’t speak to the realities of dealing with agencies day-to-day.  They fail the usefulness test.

As I think back on what I’ve written previously and forward to what I hope to write, I realize that advice directed at clients and their agencies, no matter how well meaning, is not constructive.

I conclude counsel given to institutions is of little help; heading into the new year, I will do my best to offer help to individuals a post like this one, for example -- in the hope my readers can derive some  benefit from it.

[theembcnetwork]

HOW TO GET NUTRITIOUS SOURCED FOOD WITH NATURES WAREHOUSE CEO DANIEL LAUDON from THE EMBC TV NETWORK on Vimeo.

Empowering people to live health-conscious lives. In a world where no one wants to be accountable. I’m writing this to call out people to at least be responsible for their own health. No one will care for you and your loved ones like you do! I believe you can control your own health. This year has brought extra challenges. No matter what you think or where you stand, the constant onslaught of information about coronavirus is overwhelming. Contradicting opinions and flip-flopping from various health authorities about how to protect yourself has shaken me as I believe it has for many of you. On top of Covid another impacting health concern has been Cancer. Two of my close friends have family members battling the disease. Forcing them to make decisions with their loved ones that none of us ever want to make. What voice do you listen to in times like these? Do doctors really know? Can you trust your doctor?! Do scientists have the answers? These are all powerful questions. In the past I have encouraged people to ask themselves these questions, but now people are asking me on their own. Questioning it all is one of the most important things you can do in this life. I don't seek to answer these questions. I am committing my life to help those who are truly dedicated, find these answers through two simple steps; #1 I will bring together experts—surround you with people that I trust and have helped my family as well as myself answer these questions. #2 Trust yourself—I will encourage and teach you to listen to your body, to make the choice to give it what it really needs. 50 years ago, my mother made choices on how she was going to live and raise me, along with my siblings. I want you to do the same. Never trusting until you've studied and never acting until you've listened to your body. Raising the unpopular flag once again in a haze of confusion where healthcare has become nothing but big business, you can live healthily without fear! This belief prompted my mother to start this business. A place where you can get items that she herself approves and uses. Where you can find us… Our quarterly catalogs are a great source of information. They include articles about health and nutrition from different sources, product information, recipes and more. They also contain a variety of extremely healthy foods and supplements. On our website you can connect to our blogs-where we post articles along with healthy suggestions, you can meet our team and learn the Laudon's story. Our Call Center has 15 highly trained attendants. They know our products, they are regularly counseled by herbalists and supplement suppliers to know what products to suggest for most commonly faced health issues. Our company herbalists and family herbalists. We have on staff herbalists who have been practicing for over 20 years for more advanced issues. Our Facebook Instagram and Twitter where you can find helpful ideas, pointers, and recipes. natureswarehouse.net/

[paperpocalypse]

fish dad.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”: 8. Buying them something unrequested because it made you think of them.

Pairing: Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 3,161 words

Warnings: Swearing, one brief depiction of blood/death, Sparrow!Ben

“Before you say no –”

“Hell no,” Ben hisses at you. “I’m not babysitting it.”

“Before you say no,” you repeat earnestly, legs dangling freely as your forearms stick to Ben’s windowsill, “just consider how this would benefit you. The public loves Fei’s birds. Animals are badass.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ll throw a fucking two-inch fish at the enemy and Dad will promote me right back to Number One. Thanks.”

“His name is Ben, Jr., and I’ll have you know that he killed at least two other fish while he was with his previous owner.”

You hold the plastic bag containing the blood-red betta fish out towards Ben, who curls his lip in distaste. Still, you notice how his eyes linger on the slow, wave-like motion of Ben, Jr.’s fins before sending another glare at you.

“I have more important things to do than take care of a fish,” he says condescendingly.

You tilt your head.

“Like what?”

“Like fighting crime, dumbass!”

(Ben does not peel you away from his window for your feigned naivety, which is an improvement from last year.)

“Please, the Sparrows have nothing to do these days except walk around and look cool. My niece is staying over for two weeks, and she literally likes to sleep with the fishes.” You cut a thumb across your throat for emphasis. “Just look after him for two weeks, Ben. For me?”

He scoffs. “What makes you think I’d do anything for you?”

“Because I’d do anything for you.”

Ben’s mouth snaps shut. He makes a face as if he’d just chewed up a whole lemon, and you stare openly at his scrunched nose, Ben, Jr. dangling from your hand.

A gust of wind blows past the building. You shiver, knees scraping against the rough brick wall.

“Bullshit,” Ben finally manages.

“It’s not bullshit.”

“It is.”

“Why?”

He leans over his bed towards you, splaying his hands over the comforter. “Because if you’d really do anything for me,” he murmurs, voice a low, bitter drawl, “you’d join the Sparrows. Not unload your pet on me like a deadbeat parent.”

Your smile slackens just slightly. As it does, Ben rolls his eyes and pushes off the mattress.

“That’s not fair,” you mutter, breaking eye contact. “You know why I don’t do that anymore.”

“Your past is an explanation, not an excuse.”

Guilt-tripping me for being a child soldier is kind of a shit take, Number Two, you want to say, but you don’t.

Ben, Jr. flits back and forth in his little bag, appearing to sense your agitation. You take a deep breath in through your nose and fix the original Ben with an irritated look.

“Look, I came here to ask for a favor, not to have this conversation for the millionth time.” Setting Ben, Jr. on the windowsill, you reach back to unzip your backpack. So much for your good mood. “I guess I’ll just give him to Jenny instead.”

Ben narrows his eyes at you.

Right before you can store the fish away and start your slow descent, a tentacle reaches out and takes the bag from you.

You frown. Ben clicks his tongue and places the fish on his desk with more delicacy than you know he would ever admit, avoiding your quizzical look all the while.

“You owe me. Don’t go crying to me if Fei’s crows get to it,” he grouses.

“Keep your door closed,” you reply tersely. “You already do that, don’t you?”

He doesn’t answer. “Do I have to buy the stupid tank, too?”

“Everything he needs is in my car.”

With that, you heft yourself up and over the windowsill, hopping over the bed and landing solidly in his room. Ben stiffens when you nudge his shoulder with the back of your hand and head to the door.

“Where are you going?” he demands.

You look over your shoulder at him, still a bit miffed but ready to get a move-on.

“To get Ben, Jr.’s stuff. Come on and help me?”

Despite his grumbling and complaining, Ben trails after you down the hallway towards the stairs.

—

At first, he tells Grace to take care of the fish, but that order is quickly retracted when the robot malfunctions and starts dumping a shit ton of food into the tank. After that, it seems that taking care of “Ben, Jr.” is solely his responsibility. Fuck.

He takes great pains to ensure that nobody else knows about his situation, but this lasts for exactly two days. At least Sloane, the most tolerable Sparrow next to Chris, is the first to know.

“What’s with the fish?” she asks upon slipping into his room to borrow his blue Copic marker, staring at the five-gallon filtered monstrosity you had called an adequate temporary tank.

“Stupid present from a fan.”

His sister tilts her head. She approaches the tank, squatting down to trace the glass, and Ben resists the sudden urge to tell her to back off.

“Must be a pretty big fan. Look, it even has our colors.” She’s right. Though it’s mostly red, there are blue details at the bases and fringes of its fins, something that Ben had noticed the moment you shoved it into his life. “Did you name it?”

“Of course not. I don’t even want it.”

The quiet, piercing way in which Sloane regards him is unsettling. He meets her gaze head-on as she stands back up.

“Well, if you don’t want it, I’ll take it. I’ve always wanted a pet,” she says.

“No,” he replies without even thinking.

“Oh.”

There’s another excruciating moment of silence where she looks at him, and his short temper flares. He hates it when she acts like she knows something he doesn’t, like a mother waiting for her child to understand the bigger picture.

There is no bigger picture. He knows this – his ranking’s higher than hers for a reason, after all.

“What, Sloane?” he snaps.

She smiles, and his anger quickly turns to dread.

“I saw you carrying the tank up with [Y/n].” Oh, for fuck’s sake. He crosses his arms as she continues, her tone airy and wistful. “You should be nicer to your friends, Ben. We don’t have very many of them.”

“It’s not a gift,” Ben tells her sourly. “I’m stuck with it for two weeks while their fish-killing niece is staying over.”

“Well, it’s nice of you to look after it. You usually don’t do things for other people.”

He bristles. She says it like he’s getting soft.

“We’re exchanging favors. I’m not doing this to be nice.”

“Oh.”

No matter what he says to try to convince her, Sloane doesn’t seem to take him seriously. Nobody in this goddamn academy does.

“Just – take the marker and leave,” he ends up saying – to set a boundary, not to admit that she’s right in any way, because she has the wrong idea about all of this. “And close the door.”

Sloane nods. Casting one last glance at the tank, she takes her leave without another word, closing the door after her with a soft click.

Ben is alone once more. He glowers at your fish as it hovers near the surface of the water.

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

Ben, Jr. just flutters his fins.

—

At the end of the first week, you drop your niece off for a sleepover and then stop by the academy to check on the fish.

“Wow, he looks good,” you exclaim, admiring Ben, Jr.’s vibrant, healthy colors.

“Why do you sound surprised?” Ben retorts.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “I mean, you were pretty reluctant to take him in.”

“I wouldn’t kill your fish on purpose.”

“Have your siblings met him yet?”

He sends you a look of poorly masked bemusement. “Sloane saw him.”

(You know that Ben doesn’t really bother with personal matters when it comes to his siblings. Some of the Sparrows (read: Jayme and Alphonso) would probably try something stupid for shits and giggles, anyway, and you would rather not let that happen.)

(But still, you entertain the idea of the others learning that Ben can, in fact, take care of something other than himself.)

“Oh, okay. You know, she’s always seemed like the type to get a pet. A little, fluffy white dog, or something like that.”

Ben shrugs disinterestedly.

Grabbing the bottle of fish food, you sprinkle a little bit into the tank.

“You said he killed at least two other fish.”

Looking back at him, you sigh. “Yeah, his previous owner dropped other male bettas into the bowl and made them fight,” you answer, watching Ben, Jr. slurp up the flakes with a frown. “Asshole got bored after a while, though, and I managed to buy this little guy. Good thing, right?”

“What kind of loser watches fish fights?”

“Losers who like how easy it is to cause them,” you say. “Male bettas are really territorial, so it’s on the owner to keep them in the right environment. Otherwise, they’ll end up hurting other fish and getting hurt themselves.” You roll your neck to the side, feeling the vertebrae crack. “Mind if I sit on your bed?”

“What do you think?”

“No?”

“Don’t put your shoes on the sheets. They were just cleaned.”

“Sure thing,” you respond, taking your shoes off and making yourself at home near the foot of his bed. “So, how was your week? Kick any ass?”

“Flew to Philly and fucked up some kidnappers. It didn’t even take ten minutes.”

“Whoa. Cool. I looked at spreadsheets and confronted Janelle about eating my lunch in the break room.”

Ben raises an eyebrow at you, blatantly unimpressed. “Doesn’t having such a boring-ass life bother you?” he asks.

You consider, drawing your legs up to cross them. Does it bother you? A nine-to-five office job, mediocre workplace drama, a normal sister with a normal daughter that visit your normal apartment twice a year. Bills. Overpriced tea. Decently ironed shirts in different colors. An old cat that follows you to the bathroom when you wake up in the middle of the night, skin sticky with sweat and head pounding with dreams of blood on your teeth and your old teammate with his skull cracked open like an egg.

“Civilian life isn’t boring,” you conclude. “Especially if you can scale buildings.”

“Whatever you say,” Ben drawls, sitting down in his desk chair, elbows on the armrests and legs spread as if he’s on a throne.

“Come on. Every superpowered kid thinks about what they’d do if they were normal.”

You don’t miss the way his jaw clenches.

“We’re not children anymore,” he informs you. “My power is a gift. I’ll always be a Sparrow. It’s who we’re meant to be.”

Wetting your lips, you scratch the back of your neck. Every time the two of you are together, the conversation inevitably circles back to the academy. It’s his life. It’s all he’s ever known and all he has, all the bells and whistles attached. Sometimes, you wonder if you would’ve had the same sentiments if your team was – better. Stronger.

In a fucked-up kind of way, you’re glad that it wasn’t.

Three sharp knocks interrupt your train of thought.

“What?” Ben sounds a little more annoyed than usual.

The doorknob turns, and you’re met with Fei’s carefully neutral expression, a single finger still raised from pushing the door open. A crow is perched on her shoulder.

“I’d appreciate not speaking through the door. It’s time for dinner,” she reports, inclining her head towards you. “You’re welcome to join if you want.”

You glance at Ben. He meets your gaze, then rolls his eyes.

“I don’t care if you stay or not.”

Geez, what a bastard. You kick at his ankle. “I wasn’t looking for your permission,” you chastise. You turn back to Fei. “I’d love to join your dinner meeting, as long as I get to sit next to Benjamin over here.”

“Don’t call me that.”

The corner of Fei’s mouth twitches. “All right, then,” she says, turning. “Hurry up and get Chris. I’m not going to wait until my food gets cold.”

As she leaves, you stand up along with Ben. “Her crow didn’t even look at Ben, Jr.,” you note.

“Her crows don’t do anything she doesn’t want them to do,” Ben says, putting a hand on your back and pushing you out of his room. “Now hurry up.”

—

You answer after two rings. Or three. Or five? He can’t count for shit right now.

“H … Hello?”

“[Y/n],” Ben mumbles, relieved. He fumbles with the phone, managing to pin it between his shoulder and ear before it slips and clatters to the floor. “Shit. I dropped you … pfft …”

He hears you snort quietly. “Ben, are you drunk dialing me at two in the morning?”

“Nooo. It’s three in the morning, dumbass. Three-oh-two.” Something in his throat catches, and he hiccups loudly, then giggles. “Thanks for pickin’ up. I hate leaving messages.”

“Well, I just woke up, so I guess you’re lucky, huh?”

“Why’re you whispering?”

“Because my niece is sleeping –”

“I lost your fish.”

“… What?”

“I lost your fish,” Ben repeats, and unexpectedly, sorrow wells up inside of him. His eyes sting, and he hangs his head, chin dipping down against his chest. “I can’t find him.”

“Did you look inside his little cave?”

“No, ’cause he left me. He left because he hates me soooo much.”

“He doesn’t hate you, Ben.”

“Yes, he does,” Ben insists. “’Cause I hate him. All he does is swim around and hide, and I hafta fuckin’ feed him and clean his stupid tank. And he can’t even be with other fish because he fights and kills them, and he flares at me when I put my face too close. I hate Ben. So now he’s … he’s gone.”

There. He finishes his explanation in one breath, then listens expectantly for your reply so he can argue some more. When you take too long to answer, Ben almost cries.

“Why’d you take such good care of him, then?” you eventually ask.

“Because you like him,” Ben slurs. What kind of question was that? Stupid.

“You could’ve just told me if he was too much. There are other people who can take care of him.”

“I’m good enough to take care of your fish. You asked me first. Don’t ask anybody else.”

“I didn’t ask anybody else, Ben. I knew you’d do a good job.”

“But I lost him.”

“Again, did you check his cave?”

“No.”

“Check his cave, dingdong.”

He pointedly looks away from the tank. “No. He needs to stay lost. He’s better that way.”

“Ben –” You sound exasperated, but then you laugh. It bumbles through the haze in his brain and he smushes his ear against the receiver to hear it better. “Fine. Do you know why I like Ben, Jr.?”

“Hell if I know,” Ben mutters.

“Because he reminds me of you,” you reply. “He deserves to be treated well. Thanks for doing that for me, Ben.”

This is frustrating. You’re frustrating. “I don’t get you,” he complains, eyes closing. “He’s just a fish.”

“That’s all he needs to be for me to like him. Look, check the cave or not, but he’s probably still there. Enjoy your hangover tomorrow.”

“You’re so fuckin’ mean,” he grumbles into the receiver.

You laugh again.

“Pot calling the kettle black. Go to sleep.”

“You go to sleep.”

You hang up. Ben drops the phone and stumbles to his feet, then stumbles toward the tank and squints into the dark maw of the small cave in the corner.

Sure enough, he spots Ben, Jr. snoozing inside.

“Go to sleep,” he also tells him.

Less miserable now, Ben is somehow able to remove his socks and unbutton his shirt before flopping limply onto his bed and drifting off himself.

—

At the end of the second week, you crawl through his window and announce that you have a confession to make.

Ben’s smile drips with arrogance. “Sorry, but I don’t date, sweetheart,” he says.

“I’ll make sure to cry in my bedroom later,” you reply wryly. “Not that kind of confession. It’s about Ben, Jr.”

“What about him?”

“Well …”

You linger on the word, and Ben crosses his arms impatiently, shooting a glance at the fish that had taken over his room for the past fourteen days. Ben, Jr. looks perfectly fine to him. He had fed him, kept the tank clean, even gotten a stupid moss ball after Sloane mentioned them in passing. For all intents and purposes, he’d spoiled the shit out of your fish. Surely him just being alive was good enough for you.

“‘Well’ what?”

“He wasn’t for you to just babysit,” you say, hands raised like he’ll unleash his tentacles on you. “He’s a gift. For you. I figured a trial run would’ve been better than just dropping him off, no takebacks. And my niece really does kill fish, so two birds with one stone, I guess.” You pat the top of the tank with an almost shy grin. “If you still don’t want him, I can take him today.”

He’s a gift.

Ben blinks. He clears his throat.

“It’d be a pain in the ass to move the tank out,” he mutters. When he sees your eyes light up, he glares up at the ceiling.

You hum lowly. Rubbing your chin, you start to walk towards him.

“So do you want the fish or do you want me to –”

“I want the damn fish,” he snaps. His cheeks flush as you get closer, and he drags his hand down his face in an attempt to scrub the heat away.

Snickering, you stop. “Okay, then. That’s all I wanted to know.”

He grunts.

His brow furrows as you spin on your heel and wave at Ben, Jr. before making your way to the window. You push the window up, and a balmy summer draft blows in.

“What are you doing?”

You put your foot on the sill and stick your head out. “Leaving?”

When Ben seizes your arm, your skin is already rough, but he maintains his grip despite the discomfort. “It’s almost six-thirty.”

“Yeah, your family dinner meeting. Don’t be late.”

“Stay for it.”

“Oh?” Your lips curl upwards. “You want me to stay for dinner again?”

Scowling, Ben lets go. Whatever sensation that’s prickling his chest seems to expand twofold when you duck back into his room.

“No. Forget it.”

“Nope. I’d never turn down a free meal,” you state. “Might as well beat Fei to it, huh?”

You leave the window open, leading him to the door. He doesn’t realize that he’s caught your wrist again until you’re dragging him down the stairs, babbling on about how Ben, Jr. might be okay with other fish if he gets a bigger tank.

Ben doesn’t care. Not at all.

[paperwayne]

worldy things.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” ➡ 21. Sharing your umbrella with them in the rain.

Pairing: Titans!Rachel Roth x Reader

Word Count: 1,232 words

Warning: Religious themes

Rachel tries to make herself invisible at church.

Churches are houses of God, after all – and whatever she is housing, it is the opposite of holy, restless in her legs, itching anxiously in her chest as she sits in the pew and lets the sermon scrape the inside of her damned skull; but she stays, if only for Mom, who plunges herself into religious routine like it’s the only thing that can save them.

(So far, no luck.)

“Want some gum?”

“Sure.”

But even if church turns out to be a bunch of baloney (she banishes this thought immediately just in case it’s not), Rachel is still glad that you’re here.

Most of the members avoid talking to her. Just like the last church, they had said hello for the first attendance, eyes raking over her black clothes and black nail polish and purple hair, and figured that she was another poor, devil-worshipping teenager –

(We’re so glad you’re joining us today

We’re so glad to be here)

– and even now, Raven forces a smile as uncertainty and pity crawls from their hands to hers when she shakes them at the church door. And hey, it’s better than what she gets at school, but pity doesn’t make her feel like any less of a freak.

“… I have some Snickers, too,” you whisper as the speaker continues, pulling a handful of candy out of your pocket. “Want some?”

Rachel holds out a hand. You press one Snickers Minis into her palm out of sight of Mom, looking straight ahead during the deal. Mischief and boredom and friendliness spark underneath her skin at the contact. She squeezes her fingers around the chocolate (it’s an ‘R’), pleased, and stuffs it into her bag for later.

The sermon goes on. She keeps quiet again, listening as best she can; the preacher has a kind aura but talks for way too long, and she only grasps some of his points before getting swept up in boredom again. The verses for today are easy to understand, anyway. (If only the message translated better in real life.)

“Love is patient, love is kind …”

Rachel glances to the side, through the window. The world outside is gray and dim – it’s going to rain.

Mom didn’t bring an umbrella.

By the time the postlude starts playing, the gum is tough and flavorless between her teeth. You lead Rachel out of the sanctuary when your mom starts talking to someone and her mom goes to talk to the pastor.

“Let’s go outside.”

“Are you sure? It’s pretty bad out there.”

Finger guns. “Brought an umbrella.”

You disappear into the coatroom, then pop back out with said umbrella, and the two of you push the doors open to the thick, sharp sound of rain bursting against concrete.

Rachel does not mind the rain too much. In fact, she usually likes it so long as it’s not thundering badly. A harsh storm, raindrops sharp, air heavy and fresh – it’s probably the closest thing she’s ever felt to true peace. Purity.

Up goes the umbrella. Out into the rain go you and Rachel.

“Whoo,” you say. “It feels like hail.”

“Hell?”

“Hail,” you enunciate with a snort. “Rain is, like, the opposite of hell.”

Your tennis shoes are already soaked, and so are the edges of your pants. Rachel had always wondered why you only dressed halfway for church, pairing a nice, ironed shirt and khakis with those old, scuffed-up shoes, but she’s figured that it’s not important enough to ask. The soles of her own shoes are pretty worn too.

When you make your way to your family’s car, you ask if she’s coming over for lunch.

“I don’t know,” Rachel replies, though she’s been craving your mom’s layered three-bean dip for the past week. “I haven’t done the geometry homework yet.”

“It’s just lunch. You can go home to work on it after.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You won’t make me stay until your mom has to kick me out?”

“What? Me? Never.”

You laugh, the umbrella slipping in your hand. Rachel grabs the handle before it falls, and her grip is right above yours, so that the coldness of your skin comes with the flash of amusement and fondness that prickles her nerves like a bad shock. She withdraws.

“So, yay or nay, Rachel?”

“I’ll ask my mom.”

Rachel catches the tail end of your slow, thoughtful nod, and she folds her arms around herself as a rain-laden breeze passes underneath the umbrella.

“She doesn’t like me, does she?”

You say it so matter-of-factly, Rachel can’t help but wince. “She just doesn’t know you like I do,” she counters honestly.

“Aww.” You grin, but it’s a little smaller than usual. “Is it because I tried to talk to you during prayer?”

Rachel shrugs, looking at the puddle at her feet. That had been an issue, but only a minor one. Mom doesn’t like you because you have a weird knack for nailing issues on the head, while Mom would rather say that everything was okay until they are. But talking about that will bring up a whole load of things that you probably shouldn’t know about.

“I’ll come over for lunch,” Rachel says. “Don’t worry.”

Looking over your shoulder, you nudge her and dig your free hand into your pocket. “Hey, who said I was worrying about anything?”

You worry about a lot of things.

“Rachel.” The sound of Mom’s voice through the rain makes Rachel’s head snap up. “There you are. Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah. I mean, actually”—Rachel gestures to you hopefully—“um, can I ride with my friend to have lunch at their house?”

“You can come too, Ms. R,” you pitch in. “My mom always makes too much food.”

Mom looks very reluctant. She has her purse over her head for cover from the rain. It does a poor job. She glances over you and then at Rachel, who puts on her best, pleading look.

After a few moments of standing in the rain, she finally acquiesces. “Well, alright. Thank you for inviting Rachel for lunch. I can pick her up at three.”

“Sweet! Thanks, Ms. R.”

(Maybe ‘Ms. R’ is a bit too casual.)

“Thanks, Mom,” Rachel says, stepping out from the umbrella for just a brief second to hug her. “Uh … you should get to the car. Your clothes are getting really wet.”

“I’ve noticed,” Mom tells her resignedly. “You have fun, sweetheart. Stay safe. Be good. Call me if you need anything.”

Rachel nods quickly. “Mhmm.”

As Mom hurries off, heels clicking, you suck in a breath. “Yeah, she definitely doesn’t like me.”

“She’s glad I have a friend, at least.”

“So we are friends! I knew I could get you with junk food. You had that kinda vibe.”

Cheeks warming at your teasing coo, Rachel rolls her eyes. “Thanks.”

As your mom comes out of the church, umbrella-less just like Rachel’s and slightly irritated because of it, you turn to Rachel.

“Mario Kart after lunch?”

“Only if you want to lose.”

The car’s headlights flash, and you open the passenger door. “Ooh, okay, I see how it is. Now I’m definitely gonna beat you.”

Rachel shakes her head, slipping into the backseat. You follow soon after, folding up the umbrella and shaking it out.

“I’d like to see you try.”

[chrwrites]

On Wednesdays We Wear Pink

This was written for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers 250 Follower Celebration, I picked prompt #25 from 50 Wordless ways to say "I love you": Wearing clothes in their favorite color.

warnings: Implied sexual content and fade to black

read on ao3

If there was something Luka Couffaine hated doing, that was doing the laundry.

Hanging the clothes out to dry wasn’t much of a problem, just like ironing or putting them away didn't bother him. But sorting through the clothes and separating them according to different fabrics and their colours? That was something he couldn’t do.

No matter how hard he tried, or how many times the amazing fashion designer he was dating showed him how to wash clothes the correct way and was patient enough to repeat herself countless times, Luka would always manage to mess something up.

Why couldn’t he just put all the clothes in the washing machine with some detergent and softener and just start it like he had always done before he started living with Marinette, anyway? The clothes came out fine.

Except, Marinette didn't think the same when he accidentally got her favorite sweater to shrink three sizes, and she officially discharged him from doing this annoying chore after she came home to find Luka struggling with yarn and knitting needles, trying to follow some online tutorial that would help him make her a new sweater to replace the one he damaged.

But now that Marinette would be away for a month, Luka didn't have the heart to let the clothes pile up and give her more work to do when she came back. He had to take care of it.

He sighed as he resentfully loaded the washing machine, only looking at his white clothes to make sure he didn't pick anything that would get them stained. He was almost finished when his hand landed on a small red garment that was definitely not his and distracted him from his task, the memories of the wonderful night spent after taking that small piece of clothing off his girlfriend flooding his mind.

God, he missed her.

His thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing in the other room, and he scrambled to put the rest of the clothes inside the washing machine before he went to answer.

Marinette's cheerful voice greeted him, and Luka couldn't control the smile forming on his lips as soon as he heard her, “Hello, love. How's Milan treating you?”

He listened as she rambled about her day and told him about the challenges she had to face while working in another city, but the happiness and excitement in her voice made him smile along with her. He went back to the bathroom to set the washing machine in what he hoped was the right way, and started it.

“But enough talking about me,” Marinette said from the other side of the phone, ”I want to know what you've been up to.”

“Well,” Luka sighed, “Nothing much. Still working on the album. I've been trying to write, playing… Missing my muse...”

Marinette’s soft giggle rang in his ears, making his heart stutter the same way it did when they first met, “Aw, I miss you too,” she said, “I'll be back soon.”

“I know, it’s just not soon enough.”

“It’s only another week,” Marinette reminded, “then I’ll be back and I’ll be all yours.”

“I can’t wait.”

Smiling to himself, Luka set his phone down and grabbed his notebook and guitar. He settled on the couch and let the sudden rush of inspiration flow through his fingers to form a soft gentle melody that could do his love for Marinette justice.

He was so lost in the music that he forgot about the world around him, and when he heard a beep coming from the other room he jumped from the couch. He groaned when he realized that it was the washing machine signaling it was done, leaned his head to the back of the couch and closed his eyes to get his focus on the music back. The laundry could wait a little longer. But the beautiful rush of creativity that had previously caught him didn't seem to want to come back. Luka let out a helpless sigh and set his guitar aside, getting up to reach the source of the sound that disrupted his creative process.

Marinette had gotten so excited the first time she realized that their new washer also made sounds, and Luka still teased her for that sometimes. She would do a happy little dance whenever he heard the machine beeping, and as much as Luka loved to see her excited, he kinda hated that the stupid thing made sounds. What was the point of having a silent washing machine when it beeped when it was done?

So that you don't forget it, dummy.

The voice in his head sounded an awful lot like Marinette's, and it reminded him of his girlfriend getting up whenever that silly sound interrupted what they were doing. One moment, Marinette was resting her head on his shoulder, absently playing with Luka's hands as he hummed a soft melody in her ear; then, as soon as that damned washer beeped, she would abandon him.

“Can't it just wait?” he'd ask, and Marinette would laugh and tell him that they couldn't leave the clothes in the washing machine for long, “Otherwise they'll stink. I know, I know," he'd complain before lazily following her so that they could go back to what they were doing sooner.

“I swear, sometimes it looks like you love doing the laundry more than you love me.”

“You know that’s not true! I love doing you much more,” Marinette teased, making Luka struggle to keep his composure while he helped her hang the clothes, “You’ll be the death of me.”

Well, Marinette was going to kill him for real now.

Much to his horror, the first items he pulled out of the washing machine had turned a soft shade of pink.

“Shit,” Luka muttered under his breath. He pulled out more clothes, only to find that they all suffered from the same fate of the first ones. His t-shirts, his socks, his boxers were all pink.

How could that happen? He had paid attention this time, didn't he?

He sighed, tossing the now pink, old and ragged Jagged Stone t-shirt he didn't have the heart to throw away (much to Marinette’s annoyance) in the basket. At least he didn’t wash any of Marinette’s clothes, so he didn't have to worry about hearing her yell at him from another country for ruining her clothes as well. Maybe this time she would laugh when he’d tell her what happened to his clothes. Either way, there was nothing he could do about it now. 

He pulled out the last pieces from the washing machine, sighing when he found what caused his clothes to turn pink. Marinette’s polka dotted slips were of an apparently harmless bright red despite having tinted everything around them. At least it wasn’t totally his fault, he could blame it on his girlfriend’s underwear, couldn't he?

Marinette would have called him stupid and it would have ended there.

He let out a helpless sigh, opting not to try to find a solution for turning half of his wardrobe pink and hanging the clothes to dry instead.

What was some more pink in his life, anyway? His girlfriend was the epitome of pink and pretty, and he loved her for that. Even if he had to convince her not to buy all the pink home appliances she could find for their new apartment. She would complain, and he would kiss her adorable little pouts away before they went on looking for what they needed to make their new apartment feel like home. Two months living together and he still felt a little thrill of excitement whenever he was reminded that he was sharing the roof with the love of his life.

He couldn't really complain about some more pink in his life. He loved it.

Marinette greeted Luka with the warmest smile when she found him waiting for her at the airport. She ran into his arms, Luka’s chuckle ringing in her ear as he caught her and she wrapped her arms around his neck. They shared a long, sweet kiss.

He shivered when Marinette pulled away, his eyes still half lidded as he settled her down. Marinette traced slow patterns on his chest, biting down a teasing smile when she looked up at him, “Is this new? Pink really suits you,” she said, making Luka smile before he leaned for another kiss.

When they got home, his lips left hers only for the amount of time they needed to catch their breath. Luka ignored Marinette's gasp as he let her suitcase fall ungraciously on the floor and led her to the couch. She giggled when she fell on top of him and Luka’s arm wrapped around her.

“I missed you so much,” Marinette whispered, her bluebell eyes locking into his. His free hand reached to thumb her cheekbone, “Me too,” Luka said slowly.

Marinette snuggled close to his chest, her hand absently drawing patterns on his arm while Luka left soft kisses on her head from time to time, his hand brushing through her hair. They stood in comfortable silence, basking in each other's presence after so long of not being able to, sharing soft kisses and quiet laughs. 

Luka held her tighter, closing his eyes as he inhaled her sweet scent. Finally, their apartment felt like home again.

It was much later, when Marinette shifted and slipped away from his arms that Luka groaned, suddenly feeling cold. “Don’t go,” he whined, stretching his arms to grab her waist and pull her closer, “I didn't get enough of you.”

Marinette giggled, “When did you ever?” she asked rhetorically.

“Never?” Luka grinned proudly.

Marinette rolled her eyes, playfully slapping the hand resting on her hip. 

“I really have to unpack,” she said, struggling to be serious when she saw Luka’s pout, “Stay with me, please?” he asked.

Marinette managed to shim out of his hold and blew him a kiss before disappearing behind the door. Luka let out a lovesick sigh, getting up from the couch to follow her into their bedroom. 

“Thought you might need some help,” he said casually as Marinette opened her suitcase and took out her clothes.

“Just say you can’t stay away from me for one second,” Marinette teased. 

“Can you blame me?” Luka shrugged, “I have the most amazing girl by my side, and I want to–

Luka interrupted himself mid-sentence, noticing how Marinette's expression shifted into a frown when she opened the closet.

She put her clothes away, only to rummage a bit longer in the closet to pull out two pink t-shirts from Luka's side of the closet. 

She suppressed a giggle as she turned to look at his boyfriend, whose expression dropped.

“How come half of your closet has turned pink?” Marinette asked, letting the amused tone in her voice speak for her. 

“I…” Luka rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Marinette raised an eyebrow as an invitation for him to confirm her suspicions, and Luka sighed in defeat.

“Fine, I messed up the laundry,” he could feel his cheeks grow warm at the confession, and he braced himself for any reaction from her.

“No way, I thought you got Rose so mad that she decided to colour all your clothes pink,” Marinette giggled, “Not that I'm complaining, you know how much I like pink, and it looks really good on you.”

“Oh really? You're not mad at me for messing up the laundry again?” he asked.

“It depends…” Marinette said, crossing her arms when she got up, “Tell me, Luka, did you ruin any of my clothes?”

Luka gulped, despite knowing he had nothing to worry about, Marinette looked quite menacing when things didn't go her way, “No.”

“Good,” Marinette smiled, satisfied with his answer, and closed the distance between them wrapping her arms around his neck, “I can fix these,” she said, eyeing at the clothes she dropped on the floor, but Luka shook his head.

“You don't have to.” 

“What?” Marinette asked, frowning in confusion.

“I wanted to take care of it so you didn’t have too much stuff to do when you came back. I don't want you to add more work to your list because of me,” Luka's thumb grazed her cheek gently. “Besides,” he added, his hands moving to her hips to pull her closer, “I like pink.”

Marinette smirked, “Don’t you think it will ruin your image, rockstar ?”

Luka shook his head, his smile brushing her lips, “Screw image, pink is very rock and roll.”

“That's why I like it so much,” Marinette's soft giggle died in her mouth when he kissed her, and she tilted her head to welcome him fully, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

Her hands made their way down his chest, pulling at the hem of his t-shirt, “As much as I like pink…” she purred, moving her lips to his ear and making Luka shiver, “I think you'd look better with this off...”

Luka didn't find Marinette sleeping in the bed next to him when he woke up. He yawned and stretched, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before he got up and followed the unmistakable clattering of pans coming from the kitchen.

Marinette was standing near the stove, wearing nothing but the pink t-shirt he wore the previous night as she stirred something in a bowl.

He leaned against the door frame, not daring to disturb her and admiring her from his position instead. She was humming while she got the breakfast ready, a habit she picked from him, and Luka felt a familiar warmth spread in his chest. Sometimes he had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming, that Marinette was really there by his side and loved him just as much as he loved her. Her sole presence lit up the darkest of corners, and Luka was lucky enough to be able to watch her shine without her light hurting his eyes. 

She squeaked when his hands squeezed her hips and he pulled her back against his chest, “Luka!” she scolded when he left a quick kiss on the exposed skin on her shoulder. He smiled and made her spin around so that she could face him, his ocean eyes bright with admiration. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Luka whispered, his voice still groggy from sleep.

Marinette let out a small laugh and put some distance between them to look up at him, “My hair is a mess, and I haven’t even had my coffee yet. You're only saying this because I'm wearing your clothes,” she countered playfully.

Luka chuckled and leaned in, “Not true, I'm saying this because I love you,” he whispered before pecking her lips, “And also because pink looks great on you.”

He kissed her again, deeper this time, making Marinette sigh on his lips before she reluctantly pulled away, “I love you too, but could we not have burned pancakes for breakfast?”

[splintered-emotions]

Ok so, if you wanna - I've written two Mandis/Beedle ficlets, now so it's your turn. If you want, how about writing a little something from one of the hand holding scenes I sent you yesterday? (So taking one of those as your prompt)

i finally finished it! i hope you like it

He was back. A small part of her that had been worrying calmed at the sight of him looking at some of the arrows she had on display. As he grabbed a few bunches as well as two towels that she had made a few days ago, she wracked her brain, trying to remember the prices she had given him last month.

The ones for other customers were written down on a cheat sheet near her elbow, but for him, there were lowered prices. Not enough to be obvious, but enough for him to keep coming back as often as possible. After all, it wasn’t like there weren’t a dozen stores on the island that sold the things that Beedle needed.

As she watched him walk up to her with his handful of items, she finally recalled the price of the towels. Mandis was about to begin her normal script, when he said, “Did you know that apparently there’s a store on this island which sells marked down prices to certain customers?”

Oh no. He had figured it out. “No, where’d you hear that?” She asked as all thoughts of pricing went out of her head.

“Some of the townspeople were discussing a merchant and her paramour as well as how little he had to pay for goods from her. If I was the lover of a merchant, I would ask that they not decrease the price for me in order to continue their source of income, but I suppose that’s just me.”

She breathed out a sigh of relief before stating, “I’d be the same. I couldn’t let them lose money because of me.” Even if I was already doing that for you, she thought.

“Well then, in order for you to not lose any, what must I pay you today for your goods?”

“I believe your total is,” She stopped for a second, trying to wrack her brain for the price of the arrows, before continuing, “50 rupees.”

“That seems even lower than last time!” he exclaimed. “Is trade doing well around here? I can’t have my favorite merchant going out of business.”

His descriptor of her brought a flash of heat to her cheeks, and she quickly replied, “It’s fine,” before he could notice anything was off. “I think the prices are the same. Your memory may perhaps be the problem.”

She tried to find something to package it with, knowing that there was nothing behind the table beyond rupees of every color. The chance of making him stay for longer was far too tempting than forcing herself to find a nonexistent container.

But this moment was not meant to last forever. She stood up straight for the first time in a couple minutes, her back already complaining at the strain that she had put on it, before stating, “It seems that there’s nothing that I can give you to package your items with.”

There was a hint of reluctance as she collected the proffered rupees. It was unclear to Mandis whether it was just her wishful thinking or that perhaps Beedle may feel the same way about her. She brushed it off and quickly stashed the rupees. There was no use dwelling on this matter for now. After all, he had only come here for supplies before he set back out again.

As she gave him back his purchases, there was a moment, just a single moment, when their hands brushed past each other. It didn’t even properly register in her mind until he had taken the towels and arrows, but during that barely even a second action, it seemed as if time had stopped.

The slight warmth from his slightly calloused fingers, the roughness caused by weeks on end spent on his shop ship, and the possibly nonexistent spark of something that she felt were all that she could think about.

He stopped for a second after that simple touch, seemingly about to say something. There was a moment of tension, thick enough that even the sharpest of knifes wouldn’t have been able to make a dent in it, when he just took a breath before saying, “Have a wonderful day!” in that stereotypical customer service voice.

That knocked all of the wind and hope out of Mandis as she replied, “Thanks, you too!” It seems that this wouldn’t be the time that anything would happen. Perhaps it never would.

[hglog]

SECRET JACKALOPE 2022

Secret Jackalope is an event in the OSR discord server where we each write a prompt, and then are randomly assigned each other's prompts to write a full blog post about.

My prompt came from discord user Dread Pirate Swagmaster#2135, who asked for 5 classic magical items, and twists/curses for each of them.

I was a little unsure about how to select my items, since if you're running an OSR game then most "classic" dnd items will already have compatible rules for them. Instead, I pulled magical items and artifacts from a variety of non-ttrpg sources.

These cursed items range from strict downgrades to perfectly usable items in their own right (that could hopefully still mess an unsuspecting adventurer up if they're expecting it to work like the original). I wrote 4 variants of each item, for a total of 25 magic items. I did my best to make them system neutral.

---

1. Ancient Elven Dagger

Same stats as a +1 dagger, or a +1 short sword if wielded by a small creature such as a halfling, goblin or gnome.

The dagger glows when near goblins. Starting with a barely perceptible light at about half a mile away, it can get as bright as a torch when within a few feet.

1d4 twists/curses:

The maximum brightness of the dagger is greatly increased, getting as bright as a torch 100 feet away and being so bright within 25 feet as to cause disadvantage on all rolls that rely on vision (including attack rolls).

Instead of glowing, the dagger causes nearby goblins to glow.

The dagger is actually an ancient Goblin sword, which glows to signify a worthy wielder. Goblins will want to steal it from its wielder, and the sword grants them advantage when rolling to do so. (Or gives the wielder disadvantage when trying to stop them.) Roll an additional magical sword effect (on whatever table you can find) which can only be accessed by goblins.

Casts a field of magical darkness instead of light.

---

2. Black Lotus

An incredibly rare flower that can be consumed when casting a spell to increase the result of every die rolled for it by 3 (even past the usual maximum face of the die).

1d4 twists/curses:

When consumed, it expends all spell slots/spells/MD/mana/whatever. Basically once consumed the caster can't use any more magic until they do whatever it is in your system that replenishes spent magic.

When consumed, it appears to have no effect. Instead, the bonus is applied to the first spell its user casts tomorrow.

Releases a cloud of pollen which sends anyone who inhales it into a death-like sleep for 2d12 hours.

Reduces the result of every die rolled by 3 instead.

---

3. Green Sash

The person wearing this sash is unable to be killed by direct violence - they can be reduced to zero hit points (or whatever the moment before death is in your system) but will not die. Limbs and heads can be reattached if necessary.

1d4 twists/curses:

Any physical harm or wounds caused by the wearer will be dealt back to them in exactly a year and one day. This can kill them even if they're still wearing the sash.

The wearer must agree when challenged to a contest or duel.

The wearer must keep the sash a secret, and loses its effects of anyone finds out about it.

Instead, the sash protects the wearer from death by any cause other than direct violence.

---

4. Blinker Stone

A gemstone that fits in the palm of a hand. Allows its owner to close their eyes and look at at the stone's immediate surroundings at any time, though inanimate objects appear hazy and colorless. The stone's owner can teleport it back to their hand at any time.

1d4 twists/curses:

The stone's owner can cast spells from the location of the stone, however they can't retrieve it as they could a normal Blinker Stone.

Instead of revealing its surroundings in the same plane, the stone is tied to another plane.

The stone is cracked. If its owner attempts to retrieve it, there's a 50% chance they teleport to its location instead.

Something is watching you through it.

---

5. Compliant Staff

This staff can expand to the size of a pillar, approximately one foot in diameter. Its height (maximum 50 feet) stays proportional to its width when out in the open but otherwise won't exceed the space available to it (so no punching through ceilings).

1d4 twists and curses:

Instead of growing, the staff shrinks down to the size of a needle.

Its weight hardly increases with it, leaving it extremely light and easy to be knocked over or broken in its larger state.

The staff's default state is its larger one, and it will grow to that size if left unattended.

The staff only grows in diameter, staying the same length.

---

The Ancient Elven Dagger is based on Sting from The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings. The Black Lotus is based on the one from Magic: the Gathering, with curse #3 being the Black Lotus from Conan the Barbarian. The Green Sash is based on the sash/girdle Sir Gawain gets in the story of Gawain and the Green Knight. The Blinker Stone is from Gunnerkrigg Court. The Compliant Staff is based on the one Sun Wukong had (and the one Goku had in Dragon Ball).

I was a little worried about the Blinker Stone being too powerful - it’s basically like a 5e familiar (you can see through its eyes and cast spells from its location, two things ad&d familiars couldn’t do) with the downside of it being a rock. If you need a downside, I didn’t include this in its description, but in the source material the user creates sort of a projection of themselves when looking through it that can be seen or even “physically” attacked by ghosts and magical creatures and such. 

[neo-shitty]

milestone event.

can you imagine how long i debated to open my requests this time? i planned to do this for 500 but stalled it so much that i reached another milestone. cheers to 600! thank you so much for sticking around! would you care to share why you clicked follow? nothing’s great here lmfao.

anyway! after more or less a month of debate, i’ve decided to open requests again. requests are open until i fill out every entry in this prompt list. 

terms and conditions.

➳  please pick one prompt from the 50 ways to say i love you prompt list below. i will not be writing multiple fics for one prompt so please be aware of those that are already taken! 

➳  pick a member from any of the following groups: nct, stray kids, ateez.

➳  all the prompts may be fluffy but i’m not a fluff enthusiast. i can’t promise you i’ll stick to the genre as it’s not my forte. again, i’m reminding you that i can go from zero to thriller to major character d-word in a blink (yes, even if it’s the fluffiest prompt out there). by leaving a request, you are consenting to these potential plot twists.

➳ works will most likely be short drabbles/timestamps that will have more or less 1k words.

➳ please be patient. i’m currently in uni and getting beat up by accounting. writing is my favorite hobby but it’s not my number one priority atm.

prompt list. (source)

Holding their hands when they are shaking. | lee minho, skz

Tucking the sheets around them when they stir during the night.

Traveling long distances just to see them.

Making their favorite meal when they are having a hard day. | seo changbin, skz

Giving them a kiss before going to work and they are still in bed. | kim seungmin, skz

Tucking your head into their neck during a hug.

Lightly kissing on top of a freshly formed bruise. | han jisung, skz

Buying them something unrequested because it made you think of them.

Participating in their hobby even if it doesn’t personally interest you.

Sitting in comfortable silence while eating a meal.

Telling them a dumb joke just to see their smile. | han jisung, skz

Following their family traditions that they enjoy.

Playing your fingers through their hair while sitting next to them on the couch. | kim jungwoo, nct

Singing and dancing to their favorite song. | park jisung, nct

Calming them down when they have a bad dream.

Having a tickle fight until you’re breathless. | lee donghyuck, nct

Folding their clean laundry and putting it away.

Sharing a soft smile across a crowded room.

Bringing them a plate of their favorite sliced fruit.

Washing their back/hair in the shower.

Sharing your umbrella with them in the rain. | kim seungmin, skz

Listening to them while they vent. | yang jeongin, skz

Taking a picture together to print and hang later.

Tracing your names together in the sand.

Wearing clothes in their favorite color.

Doing a chore for them that you know they aren’t fond of.

Leaving a plate of food in the microwave for when they have a late shift.

Sharing a drink with them from the same straw.

Tucking their hair behind their ear to help them get it out of their face. | han jisung, skz

Helping scratch that itch on their back they can’t reach.

Pulling a chair out for them to sit down at the table.

Wrapping a blanket around them when they are sitting on the couch and watching a show.

Throwing away their piles of tissues when they have a cold.

Mending an item of their clothing that was ripped.

Running out in the middle of the night to get a food item they’re craving.

Helping brush their hair after a shower. | qian kun, wayv/nct

Making sure to be quiet while they’re taking a nap.

Letting them warm their cold hands under your shirt.

Giving them your dessert when you eat out because it’s their favorite.

Making a goofy face until they notice and laugh.

Giving them space when they express wanting to have some time alone.

Holding their hand while walking, even if there isn’t a crowd. | lee jeno, nct

Holding shopping bags that are too heavy for them.

Standing between them and a busy road.

Rubbing the back of their hand with a thumb.

Giving them a back massage when they flop on the couch or bed. | lee felix, skz

Staying up half the night to finish a game with them.

Getting them a coffee just the way they like it.

Giving them a tight hug that makes them lose their breath. | seo changbin, skz

Buying them a special treat when you go out shopping.

send a request!

now that we have all that cleared out, send your request in! i’m nervous as hell because i don’t think i’ll be able to do this but i’ll try my best. thank you for dropping by! (≧∇≦)ﾉ - toffee ッ

[itgetsdarksometimes35]

The Maid

Warnings: Non con, dub con, sex pollen, kidnapping, daddy kink, one wears clothes, one doesn’t, spanking, hair pulling, 18+

Word Count: 4,248

Pairings: Dark!Thor x Reader

Prompts: Pirates and all the warnings. 

Summary: Reader sold herself as a maid on Loki Laufeyson’s ship so she could support her family back home. One night intruders come onto the ship.

~ indicates a time change

- indicates a POV change

A/N: This is a late submission to @sherrybaby14​ mini b-day challenge. Happy late, lovely, I hope you accept and love this late present. I am officially all caught up and I’ll be posting tomorrow. I sadly will not be posting for a bit, though, after that. Finals and life demands suck, but I’ll write when I can. Love you guys, thanks for understanding, and I hope you enjoy! :) 

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Being the only girl on a ship didn’t have many perks. Sure, nobody ever got into a drunken fight with you or expected you to fight in a battle or help in a raid, but you were the mother of about 50 disgusting men. They threw their clothes at you to wash, stained with blood, feces, and urine, and left messes. You cared for them when they were sick. They constantly grabbed at you like the last piece of meat at dinner and were never grateful. Your days consisted of waking up hours before the rest of the crew, making breakfast, which typically woke everyone up, cleaned until it was time to make lunch, went back to cleaning until dinner, and cleaning until you passed out from exhaustion. On days a raid would happen you’d have to work on a docked ship and later give medical care. On the days where you attacked at sea you were to hide in your quarters. Never was there a battle lost or fought on your ship, but you were ordered to stay safe regardless. 

Your leader, Captain Loki Laufeyson, was an evil crook. Sure, all pirates were, but he was extra cruel. He stole, lied, and killed people who trusted him. You were painfully awaiting the day where he would finally sell his own crew out to save his ass. 

You being the only girl was entirely his doing. He purchased you a few years back in your village. Your father had died of infection and your mother had become extremely sick herself and wouldn’t survive much longer and now could no longer work. You had 9 younger siblings who would die during the harsh winters if you weren’t able to find food soon. You could’ve gotten a job locally, but time wasn’t on your side, you needed money fast, and none of the menial work they gave women wouldn’t do. The good paying jobs all asked for hardworking, big men. The eldest boy in your family was 7. Without any other option, you went to town and auction yourself off to pirates who needed a woman, or more, for any reason. You had hoped you wouldn’t be wanted for that. They paid big money and you would give it to your family for food and medicine while the others got local jobs to continue to support themselves. You didn’t expect to see your family again, so you let your brothers know they were now the men of the house and let your sisters know they needed to step up. The goodbye was painful, the youngest clung to your skirts while the older ones held back tears and forced smiles, promising mom would be okay and that they’d find good jobs to help out. Your mother wasn’t aware of any of it while she lay in her bed, looking off. 

“Goodbye, ma.” You said kissing her sweaty forehead, caressing her hair back. 

Soon you were at the docs, on a podium, while strange, dirty, loud men shouted numbers. Some were drunk and stumbled over their words while others were pointed and well spoken. Among the ladder was a man who sat at the very front. He started at you with eyes as blue as the water he sails on, long hair as dark as his thoughts.

 “Five thousand pound silver.” The crowd hushed. They looked around for the maniac that would pay that much for one maid. Your eyes widnes at the mysterious man as a sinister smile graced his God-like features. You turned to the auctioneer who donned the same surprise as you. 

He shook out of the shock and yelled, “Going once, going twice...Sold!” A man in rags helped usher you off the podium while another lead a blonde girl on next as the number calls started again. Your legs moved on their own accord as your mind swam. Why had he paid so much for you? What was his plan? 

You were lead to the pirate and a banker who would handle the money. A few small brown bags sat on the table where the banker sat filing out papers. He grabbed them before turning to you. “Who do I make the remaining money out to?” You told him your family’s name and he scribbled on two pieces of paper. He stamped one before handing it to the man who’d just bought you. “Here you are, Captain Laufeyson, enjoy your new lady.” 

You continued looking forward as your body began to shake from fear. From the corner of your eye you saw him turn to you with the same smile he wore minutes before. “That I will.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You opened your eyes suddenly, looking around the darkness. Your body typically woke you up like clockwork to get the day started, but that’s not why you were currently up. You heard a noise. The wood of the floorboards above you creaked. Who could possibly be up? Every night the men filled their bellies up with food, wine, and beer and passed out; the smell of more food being their only source awakening. You swung your legs out of bed carefully and grabbed the unlit oil lamp on your dresser of items. You reached into one of the drawers and pulled out a lighter and fed the lamp the flame as it illuminated the small room. You slowly crept to the door, praying the wood wouldn’t betray you. 

You pulled the door open and looked out with the lamp lighting your view. Seeing nobody there you crept out more until you were at the stairs. You couldn’t see past them and your heart beat in your chest like a hammer. Maybe you should turn back. Go back to sleep, pretend you heard nothing. The thoughts ran in your head as you debated what to do next when you heard it. Heard them. Voices. You quickly blew out the candle and was thrown into darkness again. You crouched down and leaned on the bottom step, listening. 

“Find what you can and take it. I want this mission to be quick and easy, find the hammer, burn the ship down, and leave. If you find anyone awake, kill them. My brother will pay for what he stole from me.”

Fuck. Footsteps continued walking around upstairs and your mind raced. You were being invaded. But surely by the wrong ship, Loki had no brother. Or maybe he did, he never spoke to you. You didn’t know what he stole from people or who he stole from, you just knew he left behind countless enemies that were bound to come back one day. But they never did, until now. 

You had to think fast, the ship would be up in flames soon and if you’re found awake you’ll be killed. You couldn’t jump overboard, you’d definitely drown. Your only hope was the ship’s one lifeboat, the one Loki kept around for himself and a few men that’d he take with him to help row him to safety if the ship were to ever have an emergency. It was a long shot, the odds weren’t in your favor at all, but if you waited for the flames to wake everyone the lifeboat would be filled and gone. If you acted now, you’d be in the boat ready to sail off the minute the invaders burned the ship and retreated back to their own. 

Rowing couldn’t be that hard and you had to be close to land. You had just finished a raid hours ago, you just needed a map. Maybe a compass and some food to last you. You stood and slowly crept to your room to retrieve a small brown sack with a map and compass in it, you’d stolen it in your first year on the ship, saying you’d run away back to your family; you never found the guts. It was still dark so you felt around blindly until you felt it hidden in your drawer. Then you walked  fast, but carefully, back out and to the stairs where you listened for movement. Upstairs in the kitchen was a basket of fruit the men had gotten while on land. You’d have to be fast. The kitchen was all the way on the other side, and you had no idea what these men looked like or where they were. 

Slowly, while clutching the bag tighter, you made your way up the stairs. You looked around, using the moon as light, before deciding the coast was clear. You stepped onto the deck, the cold night made the wood feel like ice on your bare feet. You were used to the heat of the underdeck, never had you left your room in such immodest conditions, wearing just a thin nightgown and underwear. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment of being found like this as you carried on to the kitchen.

You got into the kitchen and felt for the fruit, using muscle memory to navigate around the room. You stepped very timidly in your search, you were all too aware of the fact that there were plenty of things that made loud noises in here. Then you felt the bowl and took a few fruits before putting it in your bag. You start walking out when a loud clang echoes throughout the kitchen and pain radiated through your foot. You kicked a pot.

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A noise rang in Thor’s ears and stopped his search short. He boarded his brother’s ship with 3 other men in search of the hammer his brother had stolen from him, the object that was worth more than gold that he had found on a journey. He looked up at his crew member, Heimdall, and the both nodded to each other. They both inched closer and closer to the source of the noise, drew their swords, then pushed the door open. The moonlight pushed in and illuminated the room. In the middle of it was a black pot on the floor. 

“It may have fallen by itself. Stranger has happened.” Heimdall commented. 

Thor grunted in an answer, but didn’t leave, moving deeper into the kitchen. He kept his sword at attention before him, ready to swing. As he continued looking, Heimdall stepped outside to keep watch as Stephen Strange walked up to him, yielding the object they were all there to retrieve. 

“I found the hammer,” he said holding it up to Heimdall, the light bouncing off it, “Cocky bastard had it unprotected in his trophy room.” Stephen announced looking into the kitchen and seeing someone crawling. His eyebrows raised as he looked closer into the dark room.

Thor turned the last corner before standing up completely, sighing in defeat. “I guess it did fall by itself.” 

Stephen smiled as the small body continued to crawl slowly backward toward the door, obviously oblivious to the two men that stood behind her. “Not quite, Captain,” the body stiffened at the close voice. “I think we found our culprit.”

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You hadn’t heard them, you were too focused on the man with long blonde hair to notice the two other men that stood behind you. The hair on your body stood to a point and your body was frozen in place. You stared ahead as you felt the heat of the man behind you. 

“What do you mean-” 

The blonde, their captain, stopped short when he saw you. His eyes matched that of your own captain’s but he was much bigger. You could see the muscles work to hold the heavy sword that the captain held onto, his beard was light across his stunned face. He was beautiful. And he was going to kill you. 

The blonde shook his head and looked above you to his men. “Heimdall, go find Holgun and you guys start the fire. We’ve gotten my hammer, now it’s time to finish what my brother started.” He turned to the one holding the hammer. “Hand me my hammer and go with them.” 

The brown haired man walked to the blonde holding out the hammer, never taking his glaring eyes off of you. “What about her?” 

The captain looked to you before responding, “I’ll deal with her.” 

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The next thing you knew, you were on a lifeboat and the ship you had called home for years now was up in flames. The only lifeboat on the ship was set on fire, so there was no way of escape now. The men you were with rowed away from the flames as screams and panic filled your ears. You still clung to the brown bag as you curled up into yourself on the boat floor. Every once in a while the captain, Thor as the men have called him several times, will look at you. 

Stephen looks back at you before looking at Thor, who was still looking at you. “You said to kill anyone who was awake. She was awake; why are we taking her back? She should be dead.” The other men glanced back as well before turning their attention back to rowing. 

“She’ll come in handy.” Thor smiled at you before turning to Stephen. “Don’t question your captain, Stephen.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It didn’t take long before you were back at Thor’s ship. It was like Loki’s only this one looked newer. It was definitely in better condition, he probably had more than one maid. The men got out of the boat and onto the ship, stretching as the morning glow of the sun coming up cascading onto the main deck. Few other crew members were up and moving things along to get the day started. They seemed less barbaric than the men you were used to babysitting, these men looked like they knew how to care for themselves. 

Thor helped you from the lifeboat and lingered even after you were steady on your feet. You looked up at him before looking at the bag in your hands. A gust of wind went by, making you shiver; it was then that you remembered how exposed you were. You wrapped your hands around your body, and Thor must’ve noticed this gesture because he hugged you to him. 

“You’re freezing. Here, follow me.” As Thor led you around more and more eyes looked to you. Hungry eyes took in your scandalous appearance, not once did you see another girl. Something told you these men hadn’t seen a girl in years, especially in this type of attire. 

You were led into a big room, at least double the size of what you were used to. Thor set down his hammer on a dresser before pulling socks and a jacket out. Both items entirely too big for you. 

“I’m sorry, it’s all I have,” Thor said scratching the back of his neck, sounding ashamed, “Not any women who would be able to share clothes with either.” He handed you the items and watched as you timidly pulled the clothes on. 

“T-thank you…” Your voice didn’t sound like yours. 

Thor nodded and looked at your bag. He seemed to just notice it as he took it from you, looking at the contents within. He looked at you before smiling. “You wanted to run?”

You nodded meeting his gaze. 

“Did my brother didn’t treat you right did he? Never did know how to care for a woman properly.”

Oh, he thought…

“No,” You said a little too loud, “I was only his maid. We never...I never…” You trailed off, before looking down at your hands. They were sweaty from holding the bag for so long. 

“But he wanted to. He tried didn’t he?” 

You stayed silent. Thor seemed to know his brother, you didn’t need to answer him. The night Loki took you back to the ship he had tried, but you cried and begged. You thought he wouldn’t let you go, what would you be able to do? You couldn’t run and even though Loki was no match for his brother, he could’ve overpowered you in an instant. And you were on a ship with at least 50 men who wouldn’t mind helping their captain, you shook at the thought. Loki had spared you, though. He just doubled his efforts to make your job as his maid harder, refusing to buy another maid. 

“My brother is anything but merciful, my lady. You held value in his heart, if you hadn’t he would’ve killed you after refusing him. I’m afraid we’re similar in that way.” The way he said that didn’t settle well with you. It felt like a threat. “I don’t blame him though,” Thor stepped closer and touched your cheek, “You are a gorgeous little thing. Something like that can’t just be let go so easily..”

You shrugged away from Thor and he retreated his hand. He smiled at you as you looked up again. “Right well, I’m afraid being on my ship and serving no purpose is prohibited.” His voice dripped venom as he stalked closer to you, backing you into a wall. 

“What d-do you want from me?”

“Mmm, I think you know.” Thor gripped the hem of your nightgown, slowly hiking it up. 

Your hand flew to his hand, trying to stop his efforts. “Captain, please, don’t. I can do anything else, just don’t…” Tears threatened to fall from your eyes as you looked up at Thor, pleading with him. 

He sighed before letting your gown go and stepping back a bit. “Fine.” He turned behind him. “Go into that cabinet. Inside is a cleaning powder, liquid powders mess up the wood on my ship. Use that and scrub the floor in here. Then move on to other rooms.” 

You looked stunned at his relent, waiting for the trick to be revealed. With Loki you had screamed and begged for hours, Thor just gave in. Then again, he did seem more level-headed than his brother.

You walked to the cabinet and found a small jar with powder inside. It was a strange place to keep cleaning supplies, but you weren’t one to judge. You were thankful you were able to keep your innocence. 

“I’m going to go and talk with my crew. I’ll take it you know what your doing?” You nodded again. “Good.” With that Thor was gone leaving you with the sweet smelling powder. It burned your throat but it wasn’t unbearable, you’d had worse done to you. You looked into the cabinet again and found a rag. You dumped some of the powder on the rag and started scrubbing the floor. As you did, more of it wafted to your face and into your lungs and nose. You coughed and looked to the floor. There was no difference. What the heck? You thought. Maybe you need water? 

You stepped into the room connected to the Captain’s room and found a pail of water. You grabbed it and pulled it to the main room where you were sitting. When you made to sit, your thigh brushed your core and you whimpered. It felt good. You had no idea why, but it left a hunger within you. You tried to ignore it, not wanting Thor to think you were useless by not doing the one job you've been doing for years now. You wet the rag before dumping more of the powder on the now damp rag. More powder went to your face and your hunger grew. You scrubbed the floor harder, trying to do anything to ignore it. You looked to the floor and again saw no difference. Maybe Thor would see one and you just didn’t, the floor looked pretty clean before doing this anyway. 

You moved on and the powder continued flying around you. Soon you were sweating, the heat in your core growing all around your body. The more you ignored it the bigger it grew. The powder was soon gone and you tried to stand to go let Thor know you needed more. As you did, your pussy screamed with need as it brushed your thigh again. You moaned out in frustration before wiping the sweat from you. You took painful steps outside the room to find Thor and found the deck even busier than before. As you stepped out more men looked to you, stopping what they were doing and licking their chops like an animal. What you would do to be devoured in that moment…No. This wasn’t you. Whatever was happening you’d figure out later. Right now you needed Thor. 

Almost on cue, Thor stepped in front of you, grabbing your arms and keeping you upright. Your legs felt as if they’d give out as him hands seemed to cool the fire in you for just a moment. “Finished?” Thor looked down at you with beautiful eyes. He was so good looking…

“Y-yeah. I need more, uhm, powder. I ran out. I’m sorry…” You mouth felt dry and you couldn’t seem to focus on your words. 

“No, I think you’ve had enough, my lady.”

“What? But you said-”

“I know but you don’t look like you can continue, not in your state at least…”

His eyes trailed down your body and back up. His eyes darkened as he watched your thighs rub together. You needed a release. 

“Water. I need water, I’m so hot. Why is it so hot?” 

Thor chuckled before reaching at a table beside him. He handed you the goblet that was filled with wine. You gulped it down, but it did nothing for the dying thirst you felt or the unbearable heat you felt. You started gasping as another wave of heat hit you, your core ached and you felt your panties getting wetter by the second. You gripped Thor’s jacket that was on you and fumbled to take it off. That still gave you no release, even the socks’ removal felt like nothing. All the while Thor looked at you with amusement. You narrowed your eyes at him.  “Thor, what did you do to me?”

“Nothing that wouldn’t help you.” He looked around the ship and saw his crew looking on in curiosity. He pulled you closer to him, his carnal and territorial instincts kicking in at the sight of men sizing up his meal. 

“Thor, please, help me.” 

“Don’t worry, baby, we’re getting to that.” 

Thor gripped the collar of your nightgown and pulled. The fabric tore all the way down, exposing your boobs to Thor and his crew. The cool breeze felt amazing on your fiery skin, but there was still a flame that didn’t extinguish all the way. You made to cover yourself but Thor held your wrists in his strong hand. With the other he ripped your panties from you, leaving you completely bare for everyone to see. You moaned as another wave crashed into your body. 

“I know, I know, I’m right here, baby.” Thor shushed you as he turned and bent your body over a table. Your drenched pussy was on full display for him. He rubbed his crotch to yours and you cried out. You needed him inside you. Now. 

“Thor, please..”

“Mmmm, please what?” He grinded harder into you.

“Please, fuck me.”

Thor fake gasped in surprise. “In front of all these people? Tsk, tsk, tsk, I expected more decency from you.”

“Thor, PLEASE!” You begged for him to touch you, do anything. 

He chuckled. “Alright, baby, if you say so.”

With that Thor shoved himself in. You felt a sharp pain as he broke the barrier of your innocence, and you cried out. 

“It’s okay, shhh, that’s right, take daddy’s big cock. He’ll make you feel better, don’t you worry.” Thor continued his hard pace, with each thrust your fire was slowly dying out. But another was forming within you, it had you backing up into Thor, trying to appease it. 

“Nuh uh,” Thor slapped your ass, “You asked me to fuck you, baby, so let me fuck you.” His hand danced along your hip down to where you both were connected. He rubbed tight circles on your clit that had you moaning out louder. Thor continued slapping your ass, loving the way you squeezed his cock when you did. His thrusts and fingers were working you closer and closer to bliss.

Finally your breath hitched and you were crumbling over the edge, eyes shutting in euphoria. Thor grunted above you as he drew his hand away from you clit and up to your hip, crushing into you even faster, chasing his release. He grabbed your hair and pulled you up to him so he could whisper in your ear. 

“Fuck, your sweet little cunt is gonna make me cum baby. Your squeezing me so tight, milking me for everything I’ve got. You want me to cum inside you?”

When you didn’t answer he spanked your ass again. 

“Answer me when I talk to you.” He growled. 

“Yes, I want you to cum in me!” 

“Yes what?”

“Yes, daddy!”

“That a girl.”

A few more thrusts and Thor was cumming deep in your squelching cunt. Your pussy ached from the abuse and your thighs were sticky with both you and Thor’s release that was leaking out of you from around his member. As Thor pulled out, you realized in your daze he was still fully clothed with just his cock hanging out. He looked around at the men who were still watching in awe. 

“Enjoy the show boys?” He looked to you and smiled while stroking his hardening member. “How about round two?”

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@jtargaryen18​

[commander-rahrah]

47 Bryce x MC please

Thank you @omgjasminesimone!!!

Prompt #47: Staying up half the night to finish a game with them.

Ship: Bryce Lahela x f!MC Jordynne Holland

Word Count: 900 words

Rated: T (kissing)

If you would like to submit a prompt like this one, please find the post from 50-item-writing-prompts here 

There were candles everywhere.

Tall ones, short ones, pink ones, lovely ones from bookstore clearance sections. 25 cent tea lights from Uskea.

It was the only source of the light on the top floor apartment — as the power had gone out more than three hours earlier. Sienna had been the quick thinker who got all of the candles set up. After that, it had not taken very long for the roommates of ‘Full House’ to settle into a night of shenanigans.

Jackie had run over to the fridge — pulling out bottles of wine and beer while they were still cool. Elijah brought out classic board games. Jordynne, of course, supplied copious amounts of junk food (as all good Doctors do). Within half an hour of the outage, Bryce and Danny had shown up to the apartment — joining in on the festivities.

After a couple hours of playing board games, listening to music through the crappy speakers of their phones — the roommates started getting antsy. Elijah was worried about the fridge and freezer, sighing at the slowly unthawing bag of jumbo shrimp he had just bought from the market. The wine had made Sienna sleepy, so her and Danny had left to watch a movie on her phone. Suddenly realizing she was the third wheel, Jackie gave Jordynne a playful wink before slinking into her own room leaving her and Bryce alone.

The pair flashed each other cheeky smiles, sinking into the sectional a little deeper. “So I thoroughly trashed you at Monopoly,” Bryce smirked, raising his eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes at him, “Ugh, I swear you cheated.”

“I would never!” His smile revealed his white teeth again, “And I beat you at Trivial Pursuits.”

Jordynne punched him in the shoulder lightly, “Elijah won that one!”

“Yeah, but I got more points than you.”

She let out an exasperated sigh, “Fine, then we will play another game.”

Bryce let out a low chuckle, “Oh, your competitive side is showing Holland.”

“Shut up, and pick something Lahela.” She pouted, crossing her arms across her chest.

He licked his lips, thinking. His chocolate eyes lit up as he thought of something, “Twenty-One questions.”

Jordynne’s brows furrowed in confusion, “How do you win Twenty-One questions?”

“Oh, you’ll know if you win.” Shifting his weight, he turned on his side to face her. His tan fingers swept his hair messily. “Ladies first.”

“Ummm,” She picked at her pink lip, “What is your go to karaoke song?”

“Rock Your Body by Justin Timberlake.” He shrugged, “Obviously.”

She let out a giggle, “You said that so fast.”

“Always be prepared, Jordy.” He chewed his lip, “First kiss?”

Her mouth opened a little, “I ask you about karaoke and you ask that?”

Bryce smirked again, “I told you that you can win twenty-one questions.”

Jordynne’s face flushed pink as she recalled the memory, “Senior prom. Tyler Armstrong. We snuck away for a break — sat on the benches in the baseball diamonds.” She tucked a stray piece of blond hair behind her ear, “I was terrible.”

“I don’t think any kiss with you would be terrible.” Bryce offered, moving his hand to help her tuck the strand away. “And what happened to this Tyler Armstrong?”

“We dated for the summer before he left for college in Nashville.”

He raised one thick brow, “The one who got away?”

Jordynne’s green eyes studied his closely, “I don’t think so.”

The pair stared at each other for a moment, shifting together slowly as they spoke more.

“What’s the most spontaneous thing you’ve ever done?” Jordynne asked.

She watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Kissing a medical intern in a supply closet on the first day of my Residency.”

She looked at him in disbelief, “No it is not. I jumped out of an airplane with you! You have done crazier things that.”

“I don’t think so,” Bryce’s megawatt smile flashed across his face, “It’s pretty addicting…”

“Jumping out of an airplane?” She asked breathlessly, as his fingers grabbed onto the tip of her chin.

“Kissing you,” His mouth pressed against hers softly, grabbing her bottom lip in between his. His tongue massaged hers gently, before pulling away and taking a deep breath. “My turn… What is something you know way too much about?”

“Methemoglobinemia,” She said through a ragged breath.

“Wait, what?”

“Methemoglobinemia.” She repeated, “It’s when there’s an abnormal amount of methemoglobin in the blood. So hemoglobin can carry oxygen, but it isn’t able to release it effectively to body tissues. I did a really extensive research paper on it in med school.”

“I love it when you talk medical to me.” He kissed her again, biting her plump lip the tiniest bit.

The pair went back and forth like that — asking their questions, pausing for a kiss or two. The candles around them began to flicker and wane — having been burning for quite some time now. The power may or not be out still — no one had tested it yet.

Eventually, Jordynne felt her eyes starting to get heavy — the heat of Bryce’s body and the blanket wrapped around them was getting so comfortable and cozy. She tried to fight it off — wanting to keep talking, to learn more about why Bryce won’t eat blue cotton candy anymore, to tell him about how she broke her arm when she first learned how to ride a bike.

When she heard a chuckle, she opened her eyes with great effort, “Hmmm?”

“Go to sleep, Jordy,” Bryce whispered, His lean arm wrapped around her a little tighter, pulling her into him on the couch.

“I’m not sleeping — I, I haven’t won yet.” She muttered, sinking into his warm arms.

“You won, Jordy. Trust me.” He kissed her forehead, before resting his cheek on top of her head. “You won.”

______________________________________________________________________

If you would like to submit a prompt like this one, please find the post from 50-item-writing-prompts here 

If you would like to read more about Bryce and my MC Jordynne Holland, you can read my Open Heart fic Residency!

[paperpocalypse]

white rabbit.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”: 2. Tucking the sheets around them when they stir during the night.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,874 words

Warnings: Swearing, panic attack

His idiot siblings are going to give him a goddamn aneurysm.

The hum of the Commission briefcase – which is now in 2019 without a single person attached to it – rings in Five’s ears, mocking. He resists the urge to scream and tear all of his hair out. All that work – wasted!

“Now what?” Luther asks as Five paces up and down the alley.

What do you think, you doorknob? “Now nothing, Luther, all right? Make your peace with God.”

“What? What about Allison and Vanya?”

“Screw them both. They should have been here.” Five’s irritated pacing turns into a run, and he furiously kicks a cardboard box. God, the alley smells like vomit and shit. Everything is shit! “Ugh!”

“What about Diego?” Klaus slurs out his two cents from his place on the ground. Useless puke bag. “He's quite a responsible young man, no?”

“Something must’ve happened to them,” says Luther.

Fuck that. Wherever they are, they’ll be dead soon enough. Does nobody understand that? Dead! Dead! Dead!

“Screw Diego, all right? Screw everybody!” Five seethes. “[Y/n] and I were better off in the apocalypse.”

He turns on his heel, trying to suppress the rising panic in his bones. Something catches his arm.

Your brow is furrowed when he meets your gaze, mouth set in a thin, worried line. “Five,” you murmur, voice soft.

A tiny sting of regret worms its way into his chest at your expression. But then he thinks of the briefcase, and the Handler, and he quickly looks away.

“Five!” Luther admonishes, casting you a concerned glance. “Come on.”

His brother’s tone grates on the last of Five’s nerves. Gritting his teeth, he advances on the large man. Your hand slips away.

“You know what, Luther? It's every sibling for himself now.” Five throws his arms out in a grand gesture, then makes his way over to the door. “How ’bout that?”

Yanking the door open, he storms into the building.

Five tries to think as he stomps up staircase after staircase, but he can’t hold onto a thought for more than a few seconds before it disappears into a muddle of static. Concentrate. He just needs to get to the flat and think of a new plan, yeah, again, and try to save the world for the millionth fucking time – he stumbles over a step and then rights himself, legs numb. His chest feels tight. Come on. Keep moving. Think, think! God!

You’re calling his name. He doesn’t answer.

There is another way. A Hail Mary. But what if they waste that last chance too?

He swears underneath his breath, heart pounding. Blood roars in his ears. He tightens his grip on the railing and tries to even out his breathing.

Shit. Now is not the time. He needs to get out of this stairwell. Everything is so cramped and it’s not helping at all –

“… Five.”

You’re behind him, and then you’re in front of him, and Five meets a blurry set of eyes for the second time. Breathe. Breathe.

“Do you want to go back outside?” you ask softly.

No more stairs. “Flat,” he manages to reply, gesturing messily at the door a few feet away. Just somewhere with some space. In. Out.

You nod.

Several minutes later, he’s sitting on the bed in the room that Elliott had given him, blazer folded over the footboard, face damp with sweat and tucked into the crook of your neck as he completely breaks down.

Your hands treat him gently, rubbing circles into his back and wiping his face. He grips your shirt until his knuckles are white.

“You can get through this,” you say to him. “Just breathe with me, okay?”

Five tries. He really does. A shudder wracks his body. You inhale. He inhales. Exhale. Exhale.

“Good job.”

Something wet runs down his cheek. Fuck.

Both relief and shame fill him when you dry his cheek with your sleeve.

It’s absolute shit, however long it lasts – Five doesn’t know how long. Too long. But you’re there the whole time, holding him like you’ve done before, and it helps even though he’s too embarrassed to admit as much. You help a lot.

As the hammering in his chest finally slows to dull thuds, he takes in another deep, slow breath, and loosens his grip.

“I’ll get you some water?” you ask. He moves his head in some semblance of a nod. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

Carefully, you detach yourself from him; the mattress creaks as you stand up and leave. Five swallows, staring down at his hands. The air feels slightly chilly on the side of his face that had been pressed against you, and he uses the comforter to quickly scrub away the dampness. His eyes ache.

You return soon enough with a glass of cold water. He sips slowly at first, then gulps the rest of it down. You put the empty glass onto the nightstand and brush his hair away from his eyes.

“You need to rest.”

The word brings a brief wave of longing. Then stress follows soon after, and Five steels himself. “I need to come up with another plan,” he mutters.

Even though he’s not looking at you, he feels the sudden burn of your gaze as you put your hands on his shoulders. “After you rest.”

“The apocalypse –”

“Is still a few days from now.” Your words take on a honeyed, coaxing tone. “There’s not much else we can do today, so sleep. Please. I’ll take care of things while you’re away.”

You press down, and despite his previous protest, Five doesn’t resist.

“… Thanks,” he vaguely hears himself mumble.

When his head touches the pillow, it feels as if all his muscles give way. His eyelids immediately feel heavy.

The last thing he’s aware of is you taking off his shoes.

—

Five is thoroughly conked out by the time you pull the blankets over him, and after giving his forehead a tender peck, you tiptoe out of the bedroom and shut the door with a quiet sigh.

Now on to business.

The rest of the Hargreeves siblings, as well as Sissy and Harlan Cooper, sit up slightly as you stride into the living room. You make a point of looking at each one of them individually, cross your arms, and then speak.

“I believe explanations are in order.”

Diego is the one who speaks first. “I ran into Lila,” he says, maintaining eye contact with you. “She tried to drag me to the Commission while I was burying Elliott.”

“I see,” is all you say. “Allison?”

“Some men came in and attacked Ray and me at the house,” she explained. “Otherwise, I would have been on time.”

“Did you kill them?”

“I made them leave.”

“All right. Vanya?”

“Carl called the police to stop us on the way here. I had to deal with them.”

Sissy and Harlan are not supposed to be here. Based on the hard look Vanya is giving you, she knows that. You close your eyes and breathe out softly.

“All right. Well, I can’t change the past, and the briefcase is already lost, so I’m not going to shout about how everything should’ve gone,” you eventually tell them, eyebrows drawn. “I just want to talk to you about Five.”

“What's wrong with him?” Diego asks.

Klaus answers for you. “He’s pissed.”

Luther agrees solemnly. You frown.

“He’s stressed. Yes, he’s angry, but he’s mostly stressed and worried sick.” You uncross your arms. “Do you know what he did to get that briefcase?”

The siblings blink at you.

“He assassinated the board of directors,” you say. “I know you don’t know much about the Commission, but what he did was a big deal and very dangerous. And he did it for you. He does everything for you, because you’re his family, and he cares about you.”

“He has a hard time showing us,” Diego mutters.

“And you guys seem to have a hard time showing him,” you return. “It just … it feels like you see the apocalypse as Five’s problem. And maybe mine as well, but not yours. I understand that you’ve had to adapt and make a life here, but none of you except for Sissy and Harlan belong in this time. Whatever we’ll have to do from now on will require all of us to stay together. We can’t risk another doomsday.”

“Doomsday?” Sissy speaks up, alarmed. “What’s this about a doomsday?”

Vanya shifts. “It’s …” She touches Sissy’s hand gently. “It’s kind of a long story. I’ll tell you later, okay? You and Harlan don’t have to worry about it. We’ll fix it.”

“We will,” you confirm, nodding at the pair. “As long as everyone does what they’re supposed to.”

Luther looks at you curiously. “Why are you telling us all of this and not Five?”

Why, indeed. Glancing back in the direction of the bedroom, you think of Five tucked away in bed for the first time since he landed in Dallas. Hopefully, he hasn’t snuck out. You’ll have to check on him soon.

“He’d be too stubborn to admit it. It took me a long time to find out how much he sacrificed to help me in the apocalypse. And the Commission.” You smile frankly. “What’s more, he’s resting now. It’s been a long two weeks.”

“Shit,” Klaus mutters. “I forgot about the time thing. The old man must be one apocalypse away from a heart attack.”

“Yes. He’s not invincible.”

Everyone looks down awkwardly.

“We’re sorry for not making it. We didn't know. And we’ll tell him that.” Allison folds her hands tightly in her lap. “So what do we do now?”

Again, not much. Shrugging, you gesture to the couches and chairs that they’re sitting on. “Rest. Get cleaned up. Five and I will need to explore our options once he’s awake.”

With that, you turn and start making your way back to the guest room.

Vanya’s tentative voice stops you when you’re halfway through the kitchen. “Let us know when he wakes up?”

The other siblings voice their agreement. A genuine smile touches your lips. “I will,” you answer, pleased.

The murmuring in the living room fades as you continue walking. When you reach the bedroom, you gingerly open the door and poke your head inside.

Five is exactly where you had left him, tucked in with the blankets up to his chin and dead to the world. Soft snores reach your ears as you creep closer. Good. Seating yourself at the edge of the mattress, you run your fingers through his hair.

For the rest of the evening and most of the night, you watch over Five, keeping quiet and re-tucking the sheets around him whenever he stirs. He doesn’t open his eyes once. His siblings drift in occasionally, individually or in pairs, each of them looking every bit like they’re entering a lion’s den until you smile and beckon them closer. None of them speak, but they don’t need to. You can only hope that Five won’t be too angry with them in the morning.

A lot of work will need to be done then. But for now, your partner needs to sleep.

[paperwayne]

steady.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” ➡ 1. Holding their hands when they are shaking.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Word Count: 2,450 words

Warnings: None

I.

You’ve known Jason Todd long enough to know how sticky his fingers can be. It’s a talent, really, something to be admired in the slums of Gotham; an apple here, a wallet there, and more recently, tires right off of cars.

Stealing isn’t wrong if you’re trying to survive. But sometimes, you can’t resist doing it out of pleasure rather than necessity.

Jason’s hand is clean and warm as it curls firmly around your wrist – a habit that has now become a signal, back when you had been loose-lipped and jumpy whenever the two of you walked past the cashiers at stores – and you tear your gaze away from the crude caricature of Batman you had been scribbling onto an Etch A Sketch you had found, blinking as your friend glances at your artwork.

“Funny,” he compliments, and you crack a smile before he jerks his head slightly toward the exit. “C’mon, let’s go.”

You give the gummy Etch A Sketch a few vigorous shakes and slide it back onto the dusty shelf from whence it came. As you and Jason make your way to the door, the old man at the register stares suspiciously. You smile at him, innocent in your youth.

The door is just about to close completely before it swings open again, but by then you had crossed the street.

“You little brats, get back here!”

Jason’s grip on you tightens and that’s another signal.

Run.

You don’t have to look to know that Jason’s biting down a grin as you drag each other along the dirty, buckling sidewalk, evading indifferent passersby as the cashier shouts out a few expletives in vain. You keep your breathing in time with his, pumping your arms as you leap over cracks and clumps of yellowing grass. Jason’s hand slides down from your wrist to wrap around your own hand, vicelike and stubborn. It’s easier to run that way, you think.

Eventually, you find yourselves in an alleyway that’s mostly empty, save for a homeless woman dozing off next to the dumpster. Jason lets go of your hand to unzip his jacket while you do the same. The trash bag behind you crackles when you shuffle back to lean against the brick wall, panting.

“So,” he murmurs, blue eyes a steely shade of grey in the shadows of the alley, “Purple or green?”

“… Green.” You try to swallow and moisten your parched throat. “R-Red or orange?”

“Something wrong, [Y/n]?”

You pause when Jason asks that question, one of his eyebrows raised. His gaze darts down to the pairs of socks in your two hands. That’s when you realize that they are shaking, and it’s a split second later when you realize that it’s because your hands are shaking. Trembling, more like.

“Oh.” Immediately, you clench your fists, embarrassed as you try to still your jittery fingers. “I didn’t even – it’s nothing.” In the brief moment of skeptical silence, you say the only other thing that automatically comes to mind. “Sorry.”

Jason’s curious expression morphs into one of confusion. “The hell’re you saying ‘sorry’ for?” he asks. His tone is a little rough, but when you blurt out another ‘sorry,’ he has the sense to soften a bit. “’S’nothing to say sorry for. We didn’t get caught, so you don’t gotta be shaking.”

You nod, looking down, and he sighs.

“Here.”

He takes your red pair of socks and tucks it into his pocket, then unceremoniously presses the candy bar with the green wrapper into your hand and places your other hand over it. You think that he’ll pull away soon, but he doesn’t; his hands engulf both of yours like some sort of sandwich, and then they stay. His skin is no longer warm like it had been in the store, but his hold is just as firm as it had been when he gripped your wrist not ten minutes ago.

Jason stares intently at his hands and yours, and after a few minutes, he finally lets go, satisfied.

“It’s choco-caramel,” he says, as if nothing had just happened. “Lucky guess.”

You tuck the candy bar into your jacket pocket, hands steady.

II.

You’ve known Jason Todd long enough to know that sometimes, he feels too much.

There’s a whoosh of air as your bedroom door opens, and you think you hear yourself mumble a few protests as the door slams loudly behind Jason. Eyes squinting, you reach out to turn on the bedside lamp, flinching when you click it on.

Heavy, angry breaths heave from the boy’s chest when you fix your gaze upon his hunched-over figure. His mask is gone, but the rest of his uniform still displays its bright and cheerful colors, a stark contrast to the darkness rolling off Jason in waves. Your eyes trace downward from his hair, matted and sweaty from a night of patrolling, to his arms and his hands, straight and stiff at his sides.

Anger still bubbles beneath the surface of his skin, you can see; it escapes in the form of shaking arms and fists.

“Jay?” you murmur in the choking silence.

As if awakened, Jason whirls around to kick the wall. It’s enough to jolt the rest of the sleep out of you, and you blink as he continues to slam his foot against the plaster and concrete, cursing both under and over his breath.

“Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!”

“Jason!”

You throw the blankets off you and cross the room, grabbing his arm. He tears away just as quickly, jaw clenched as he shoots you a venomous glare that’s not quite all there.

“Why the hell are you in my room?!”

“This is my room!”

“No, it’s —” Jason cuts himself off as he finally registers the contents of your bedroom, gaze flitting across your stuffed animals and the Etch a Sketch on your bedside drawer. His mouth tightens, and his expression crumples back into one of irritation.

“No, you’re staying here until you tell me what’s wrong,” you state firmly when he moves to open the door again. Reaching out to touch his arm once more, you hold it as you lead him to your bed and sit down at the edge. “Did Bruce get mad at you again?”

Jason scoffs, high-pitched and loud. “He’s always mad at me during patrol. He’s got a stick up his ass.”

You examine the way he clenches and unclenches his hands in his lap. His breathing is still uneven. “… Something went wrong, didn’t it?”

“He got shot.”

“Bruce?” You frown. Though it’s obviously painful, you know that Bruce’s been shot before, and he gets over it pretty quickly every time.

“No. A – a kid. He was little. I wasn’t quick enough. It was in the leg, but Bruce said if I stayed back the bastard wouldn’t have fired the gun in the first place.” Jason spits out the words like they’re poison. “The hell does he know? He’s never used a gun in his life.”

You chew on your lip. You can picture the scene all too well, bits of memories of Crime Alley shootouts and family homicides filling in the gaps. You can imagine the scream of the child. You can imagine the argument in the Batcave afterwards, Batman glowering over Jason like the Gotham Clocktower, dark and disapproving, as Jason throws his mask down and stomps away.

“Did the kid get to the hospital?” you whisper.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” You breathe out slowly, deliberately. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

Jason is quiet. You look at his hands again, and as if in a daze, you reach out to hold them.

The gloves are dirty. You pull them off as his hands unclench, blinking down at the pale skin mottled with purple bruises at the knuckles. You turn them over to inspect his palms and fingertips as if you’re about to read them, prophesy about his fate or something, but really you just mean to look at them for the sake of doing so. It brings you back in time, touching his hands. They’re still rough with callouses. Still shaking.

“As long as you’ve stopped them,” you mutter, relaxing your hold as the tremors slow, then fade from his muscles. “It doesn’t matter how you do it as long as they don’t do it again.”

“Thanks,” he says. It’s forced out, but it’s sincere. You meet his eyes when he extracts his hands from yours, fingers pulling away as slow as pulling taffy, and they’re tired but resolute.

You almost kiss him that night. But you don’t, thinking that a better time would probably come, when both of you are older and wiser and happier, and when Jason would perhaps not mind kissing you.

That chance is buried along with Jason a few months later, and with it, a part of yourself.

III.

You used to know Jason Todd.

Used to, because Jason is gone. You had been there at his funeral. You had watched his casket get lowered into the ground, and you had thrown a dumb flower at it like it would magically make a wooden box with a dead body prettier somehow. You had cried for him.

Jason Todd is dead. But then Uncle Alfred calls, and all of a sudden, you aren’t so sure anymore.

Although Bruce had initially objected, Alfred tells you about the empty casket and the Red Hood. He asks if any men had visited you lately, or if you feel like someone’s watching you. You tell him that you’d probably be dead if either of those things happened. He chuckles.

He tells you that Bruce sends his regards. You hang up.

It’s kind of ironic that you almost get killed that same night.

Your ears are still ringing and the frigid night air makes it hard to breathe; the ghost of a cold, hard pistol pressed against your temple renders you dizzy. The whole thing could have been avoided if you’d remembered to test the battery of your damn taser this month, but you hadn’t, and now three bodies are in the alleyway – yours; the man that had touched you, now deceased, lying on the asphalt; and a strange man with the gun that had won.

The rest of the smoke finally dissipates from the barrel. Your savior for the night spins the weapon in his hand before tucking it away at his hip, strolling over to crouch down at the thief’s side. With no great effort, he shoves a hand underneath the corpse to roll it over.

You stand, still quite in shock, as the man in the red helmet reaches into the dead man’s back pocket and plucks out a square, leather object. He stands up and holds it out to you, and you realize that it’s your wallet.

You take it. “Thanks … er …”

“Red Hood,” he says, looking down at you. It feels like he’s staring.

“Yeah,” your heart is in your throat and you will the next few words to come out smoothly, “I know. I’ve heard about you.”

“Well, shucks, I’m flattered. I bet the rumors are full of sunshine and rainbows.”

The words seem innocent, but the tone is familiar. You know this tone and manner of speaking. It’s baiting, a subtle prod to reveal yourself, and overwhelming curiosity leads you to reciprocate.

“There’s not many vigilantes out in Gotham who aren’t under the bat, you know.”

The Red Hood barks out a sharp laugh. “Don’t need the bat when I’ve got a gun.”

He’s right, though you know Batman certainly wouldn’t appreciate that reasoning. Your gaze darts down to the leather holster cradling that deadly weapon. You wet your lips, cautiously, as he leans against the wall opposite you and waits for you to talk again.

“You could’ve just knocked him out.”

“I also could’ve let him splatter your brains out. Life’s full of possibilities.” He uncrosses his arms, and you, for some insane reason, stay where you are as he suddenly pushes off the wall. His voice lowers. “So’s death.”

Your next words are exceptionally careful. He’s getting closer, the white eyes of his helmet washed in shadows as you meet them as solidly as you can. “I’ve heard about that too.”

(Despite your greatest efforts, you feel your hands begin to shake. No no no. You cross your arms to hide them and look more put together than you feel.)

“Really,” he says. “Do tell.”

“My uncle,” you begin slowly, “was just telling me today about a casket that was recently dug back up in the cemetery. They found that the person in it – who was supposed to be in it – was never there.”

“Wow. That’s wild.”

“Yeah. Wild.”

God, your hands won’t stop shaking. They tremble, suffocating in the crooks of your elbows, and you’re growing more and more frustrated as the Red Hood just stands there, infuriatingly silent as he watches your patience slowly unravel until the last thread snaps.

“Look,” you finally exclaim, taking a single step forward; your voice is hoarse and desperate and barely above a whisper. “Jason, if that’s you, tell me. It was just us for so long – you owe me a yes or no, goddammit!”

Your fingers are achingly, annoyingly stiff. Tremors wrack through each tendon and joint. Breathing heavily, you realize that you’re now gripping his biceps, blunt nails digging into the soft leather of his jacket, and that you’re standing much closer to him than you thought you were.

A solid minute passes. Then, slowly, the Red Hood reaches up to grasp your forearms, his hands dragging down to meet yours as they pull away from his jacket. You bite your tongue, glaring at the space between you.

Jason squeezes your hands tight, and then he lets go.

Your arms drop down to your sides, limp, as he pats your shoulder, looking to his left. “Your apartment’s just across the street, right? You’ll probably make it,” is all he says.

You just nod emptily and amble out of the alleyway, mind blurry while he trails close behind, leaving the corpse of your assailant where it had fallen. There’s no cars driving around right now so you just walk across the street without looking both ways, only stopping once you reach your apartment door and have your key out to unlock it. 

You turn around before opening the door; no one’s around, naturally, and you exhale and step inside.

As soon as the lock clicks, your legs give out underneath you. You crumple on the cold tile, hands folded and crushing against your mouth in some semblance of a prayer, and start to cry – and you can’t, for the life of you, figure out why.

__

[50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” prompt list (requests using this prompt list are CLOSED)]

[spoonie-living]

[Image: A clipboard with pain scale and other forms, with pen hovered over. Credit: Rawpixel]

Find The Right Scale For Your Symptoms Pain & Symptom Scales Masterpost

Folks, describing your symptoms can be an everloving nightmare—especially when most doctors have nothing but a 1-10 pain scale for you to rate them with.

Instead of (or in addition to!) carrying around a calculator and a thesaurus, try these scales on for size. They aren’t just numbers; they are concepts and words meant to make your experience easier to explain. We’ll also list some great additions to the scales that will help you describe your symptoms way better.

We’ll continue to update this post as more scales show up on our radar, so click here for the latest.

Core Scales

Lots of these can be used for different symptoms than they were intended, so don’t let the name of the scale put you off!

Functional Pain Scale - Talks about how the pain impacts your ability to function; discusses levels of disability.

Stanford Pain Scale (CN: suicide mention) - Includes descriptions of severity,  some examples of conditions causing similar pain levels, and impact on life and life experience in chronic cases.

Mankoski Pain Scale - Short and sweet descriptions, based on whether or not the pain can be ignored, how it affects concentration and activities, and what level of medication are needed to manage it.

Global Pain Scale - A short survey on pain levels (current, worst, best, etc.), feelings around the pain, ability to do self care, and activity levels. Produces a number on a scale of 0-100.

McGill Pain Index - A scale from 0-50 that lets you compare the pain you’re experiencing to other conditions (childbirth is in the 30s, while CRPS/RSD is around 47). Link goes to a Google image search, as there’s a lot of different interpretations you can check out.

McGill Pain Questionnaire - Has you select words that best represent and categorize your pain. This questionnaire covers the type of pain, how it moves through your body, and how it makes you feel, among other things. Abbreviated and long version available.

Wong-Baker FACES Pain Rating Scale - That one. Usually considered to be unhelpful, particularly with autistic folks who have trouble recognizing facial expressions---but can be useful if you’re having cognitive trouble.

Hyperbole And A Half Pain Scale (CN: bleeding/body horror) - A parody of the FACES scale that’s both funny and remarkably effective. Has facial expressions with text descriptions (10 is “actively being mauled by a bear”).

Visual Analogue Scale - Rather than numbers, this scale is just a line that lets you visually select where you are on a spectrum. There may be labels and additional ticks/benchmarks along the line to help. This is useful if numbers aren’t really your thing.

Color Scale - Another alternative to numbers, this scale has you select a color from a spectrum ranging from blue (0) to red (10).

Impact of Chronic Pain Scale - Scored assessment based on ways and frequency your chronic pain has impacted you. Click the [View] button at the top to see the assessment after reading instructions.

Make your own! - Making your own scale is always an option, and especially useful if you’ll be tracking your symptoms. Just make sure to write it down so it’s easy to check your work and share with others. Need something to work with? The Randall pain scale has prompts for a DIY scale here, and @ShadyQuotesForHealthFitness lays out their really great system for different symptom types and experiences here.

Simple Mental Health Pain Scale - A very necessary scale created by a patient, with in-depth descriptions of each level. (via @AutismSerenity)

Fatigue Scale - Simple patient-made scale. Scroll to last item in article for image.

Functional Ability Scale - Made for ME/CFS patients, but good for most chronic fatigue.

Companion Scales

Use these to add another dimension to the information you’re trying to communicate.

Distress level - How much distress is your pain causing? Original post with more thoughts here.

Coping ability - How well are you able to cope with your symptoms? Suggested by @ramblingandpie​ in response to Distress post.

Discomfort - In response to our Distress post, @mcpeaceteach​ mentioned that discomfort ought to get its own scale, since it can really, really drive you off the deep end (consider what nausea does to you).

How someone else would rate it - You might consider your pain a 4, but someone else who hasn’t gotten used to its annoying thrumming might rate it a 7. Try phrasing as “for someone else it would be x, but since I’m used to it it’s x.”

NOTE: If your doctor can’t cope with two variables, you might consider doing what @queendeepsigh does and averaging them to come up with a more effective response to the pain scale question.

Add-ons

Try these in addition to a single number on a scale!

What you want to do to deal - @someriverinidaho​ says “I say what I want to be doing to deal with the pain. Like: ‘it’s a three and I wanna go home,’ or ‘it’s a five I want to be unconscious.’”

How many years you’d trade - Hank Green suggests expressing your pain by how many years you’d trade off of your life to make it stop (via @jenack-jarpad).

Pain subtypes - this patient-authored list includes a few extra-creative ones like industrial pain, “gotta/wanna do that” pain, and “back off” pain.

OLD CARTS, SOCRATES, and PQRST - old mneumonics for describing aspects of pain, but elements may also be used to describe other symptoms.

Caution

From @gods-and-punks:

Remember, at least for my experience in American Emergency Care, always rate your emergency’s pain 7 or higher or you won’t be prioritized.  My sister’s concussion almost didn’t get seen because she was so out of it that she said “3″ for pain, even though she was severely concussed.

Related

Words Matter When Talking About Pain With Your Doctor (NPR Shots)

Pain Scale tag

Chronic Pain tag

Dealing with Doctors tag

Sources

15 Pain Scales (And How To Find The Best Pain Scale For You) (PainDoctor)

Responses to Add Distress To Your Pain Scale (Spoonie Living)

[runicbeast]

Self-shippers, wanna see something cool?!

I've been scrolling through / following the #self shipping tag for a while. Noticed I have like, a F/o set up most people probably don't have that I'd love to share / teach anyone else to make! Just shoot me a message, don't be afraid, I literally have nothing better to do and love when people take interest in whatever I'm up to! I'm not worried about damaging any Street CredTM on my main here, I haven't been relevant in forever, if at all.

(This is my first time using a “Keep reading” cut off, since this post is sort of long. I think that sends folks to my blog, sorry if my font is hard to read in, idk how to change it. There’s always copy-pasting into a word processor)

The place where this amazing thing lies? Google Sheets. I guarantee you, it's useful for WAY more than data entry. I've been building up this "F/o set up", let's call it King Kong, an arbitrary name I'd given it that just sorta stuck, since 10/14/17. It all started with the Grade Book template.

Wow, it's been a while since I looked at the base template, so much has been changed since then. Not gonna show the real thing / parallel to this page, because sensitive info, but I will talk 'bout it's features. No one's ever asked and I never plan on sharing the sheet itself, so I'm just gonna rant on all the capabilities (and if anyone's interested, I can share some formulas to help build your own)

Note: This is all 1 Google Sheet, made the whole thing myself except for the /very/ base, which I think was the School Grades template? It's been a year since I started it, it didn't start this awesome.

There's a page full of graphs, info grabbed from my F/os to find what I'm attracted to. I hope to build The Ultimate OC, or one geared towards myself one day with this info.

You get one (1) graph. Looks like I have a preference.

The most used page is the Mobile viewport, or "Mobile RE", (Mobile Random Events) shaped to fit my phone. In the center is a randomized prompt, with pieces taken from another page. A different F/o is generated for each prompt, sometimes multiple (road trips are fun). Some prompts have a "switch" that is effected by character traits, such as characters listed as "Introvert" or "Extrovert" , or “Punchy-fist” or “Pacifist” may see a slightly different prompt

Example prompts -

"Spongebob Squarepants seems to have caught a bad case of the hiccups. Seems frustrating ~ You're just glad it ain't you."

(Has an Honest / Dishonest switch) "While you and Spongebob Squarepants are walking around town, you find a wallet. You could care less what is done with it, but Spongebob Squarepants insists the wallet be returned to it's owner. It's even got the ID in there and everything, so you oblige. One good deed a day." (While the Dishonest may just pocket it)

(Note: Spongebob ain't in there, just first rando I could think of XD)

I usually just peek at these for like a sec / enjoy 'em / imagine 'em in the moment, but you can write as many prompts as you want, even using them as actual prompts for drawing or fanfiction writing! I’d love to share the premise of some of the prompts I’ve collected if anyone is interested there.

There's also a refresh button, a break switch (seen here "Turned off for editing"), 25+ color themes (got "Chocolate" set in the pic), Night reading mode (love reading white words on black text, it’s on 99% of the time), Game modes such as "Best of" which just shows my favorite prompts, pronoun / name dropdown lists. want your F/o to call you your nickname? One of your kin names? Genderfluid and don’t want to be locked down?. 

Sound too good to be true? Hell naw mate, shit's real. Just needed to put a little work into it and boom there it is!

Looking outside the viewport, there's a currency system (Pearls), along with that, a gambling prompt exists (Though I have to calculate winnings / make changes manually), Merchant's Prompt (they can buy stat boosting / effect items w/ pearls), Inventories, Statuses (Cursed Tiki effects a character's stats), Holiday indicators for seasonal prompts, you bet your ass I have a column for each character's MBTI / Enneagram, friendships between characters, even across media sources if it works.

Testing laboratory to check if new characters I've found would fit here (linked because it wouldn’t upload to the post for some reason?)

Team Puzzle the F/os are working on, it's 82% done ~ Each piece is picked up when a certain prompt comes up.

I may not have a self-insert made special for self-shipping or a detailed story of how I met any of 'em / life together like most you have, which is super cool. But I've got this.

I realize some folks still may be too shy to contact me, so here's some useful formulas to start with -

=IF(A1="word", "Yes it is word" , "Nope it's not word") ^ You can nest this formula like there's no tomorrow. Can be used with below for random chance. Ex. Under 50 is tails, over is heads

=if(iserror(SEARCH("thing to find",A1)), "Not contain", "Contains" ) ^ Similar to above, checks if a cell CONTAINS a cell instead of is EXACTLY that word

=RANDBETWEEN(1,100) ^ Classic out of 100 randomizer, but numbers can be adjusted

=CHOOSE(RANDBETWEEN(1,2), "Apple", "Banana") ^ Another random choice. Can def have more than 2

=INDIRECT("column letter" & cell with row number) ^ This thing is very smart, let’s you outsource the location of a cell

Say these are all in column A - Red (A1), Blue (A2), Yellow (A3)

=INDIRECT("A" & B1)

Then in B1 or something you have either the number 1, 2, or 3. It will use that number to know where to grab the info from :)

I use this in my main Mobile RE viewport, the row number is randomized outside of it, also allows info / notes on specific prompts to come up in a separate cell since they use the same row but a different column

=INDEX(HP!D1:D88 , L21 , 1 ) 

^ Incredibly similar to the above “indirect” formula. I grabbed this straight from the sheet. L21 is like B1 in the other formula, and the HP!D1:D88 is like “A” in the other, but this one grabs info ACROSS SHEETS, HP is in a different tab than this formula is in! Very useful

=index(E129:M129, randbetween(1, counta(E129:M129) ) ) ^ Big ol' text randomizer. This one is for a single prompt tho

And that's like 99% of my formulas, I probably have minor ones floating around tho. Reblog if you've been inspired / want to contact me to make your own / want to spread this around!

[illusoryteam]

Rant: Take Responsibility for Your Actions, Part 4

Writer: okbdsm Source: Multiple sources (including FetLife) Date: August 29, 2018 Errata: This is the final part of a series of rants regarding the importance of taking responsibility for your actions because whether you’re in individual, a small business, or a major corporation, if you are not going to honor your commitments, then you are putting your own personal and professional reputation at risk.

In 2012, one of my friends on FetLife would end up telling me about a camming Website called MyFreeCams. Either that same year or a year later, I would end  up discovering another camming Website called Chaturbate. Fast forward to 2018, I would dive into the world of Patreon.

This is actually going to be the longest of my rants, so the rest of it can be viewed via the Read More link.

So, what are MyFreeCams, Chaturbate, and Patreon?

Here are the descriptions from the HTML meta tags of each Website:

MyFreeCams: MyFreeCams is the original free webcam community for adults, featuring live video chat with thousands of models, cam girls, amateurs and female content creators!

Chaturbate: Watch Live Cams Now! No Registration Required - 100% Free Uncensored Adult Chat. Start chatting with amateurs,  exhibitionists, pornstars w/ HD Video & Audio.

Patreon:  Patreon is empowering a new generation of creators. Support and engage with artists and creators as they live out their passions!

I will get to Patreon in a little while.

In regards to MyFreeCams and Chaturbate, the vast majority of the Webcam feeds that are broadcasted on those sites are of a sexual nature where models would do things such as flashes, teases, dances, blowjob shows, masturbation (cum) shows, and the list goes on. Models would often offer various forms of content for sale on MyFreeCams and Chaturbate in exchange for the virtual currency known as Tokens. No matter how much a person spends when it comes to purchasing tokens on both Websites, whenever models are tipped on MyFreeCams and Chaturbate, they would earn 5 cents per Token. From models’ perspectives, this is how much they would have to make to get a certain dollar amount:

1 Token = $0.05

20 Tokens = $1.00

200 Tokens = $10.00

1,000 Tokens = $50.00

2,000 Tokens = $100.00

10,000 Tokens = $500.00

20,000 Tokens = $1,000.00

Now, how much do people on MyFreeCams and Chaturbate spend on the Token packages? Well, as of this writing, here are the current prices for the Token packages on each Website:

MyFreeCams:

10 Tokens for $1.49

15 Tokens for $1.89

20 Tokens for $2.49

25 Tokens for $2.99

30 Tokens for $3.49

35 Tokens for $3.99

40 Tokens for $4.49

45 Tokens for $4.99

50 Tokens for $5.49

55 Tokens for $5.99

60 Tokens for $6.49

65 Tokens for $6.99

70 Tokens for $7.49

75 Tokens for $7.99

80 Tokens for $8.49

85 Tokens for $8.99

90 Tokens for $9.49

95 Tokens for $9.99

200 Tokens for $19.99 (~$0.10 per token)

550 Tokens for $49.99 (~$0.09 per token)

900 Tokens for $74.99 (~$0.08 per token)

1875 Tokens for $149.99 (less than $0.08 per token)

3775 Tokens for $299.99 (less than $0.08 per token)

7575 Tokens for $599.99 (less than $0.08 per token)

Chaturbate:

100 tokens for $10.99

200 tokens for $20.99 (5% Bonus)

500 tokens for $44.99 (22% Bonus)

750 tokens for $62.99 (31% Bonus)

1000 tokens for $79.99 (37% Bonus)

1255 tokens for $99.99 (38% Bonus)

2025 tokens for $159.99 (39% Bonus)

4050 tokens for $319.98 (39% Bonus)

There are models that will also accept things such as Amazon e-Gift Cards, GiftRocket, PayPal (which is highly discouraged since they do not allow their services to be used in exchanged for sexual services), Circle (which is highly discouraged since they do not allow their services to be used in exchanged for sexual services), etc. in lieu of people purchasing Tokens.

For the most part, if I tip a model a certain amount of Tokens, provide her an Amazon e-Gift Card, GiftRocket, etc. for certain content (for example, photo sets, videos, Kik access, Snapchat access, cell phone numbers, Skype shows, etc.), most models that I visit will deliver on that content in a prompt and timely manner. However, I have run into three models on MyFreeCams and Chaturbate that I have either purchased content or won contests that they ran and still have not (as of August 29, 2018) received any of the content I’ve purchased and/or won.

Here is a list of some of the content that one model (I’ll call her the 2013 model for the sake of convenience) has owed me since 2013:

Fan Art

Fan Art

Photo of my screen name on the model's body

30 minute dildo masturbation video

Two photo sets

Upgrade from Beginner to Elite Four (some Pokémon themed profile club with certain benefits and features)

Music playlist

One photo set

Boyfriend for a week

Shower point-of-view video

Song request via a Clear the Board/Token Keno game (some chat room game)

Crazy request via a Clear the Board/Token Keno game (some chat room game)

Custom drawing via a Clear the Board/Token Keno game (some chat room game)

Mini song playlist via a Clear the Board/Token Keno game (some chat room game)

One future video via a Clear the Board/Token Keno game (some chat room game)

2 minute video via a Clear the Board/Token Keno game (some chat room game)

Valentine's Day picture via a Clear the Board/Token Keno game (some chat room game)

Song request

6 hours and 35 minutes (335 minutes of Skype time)

Additionally, I have entered a raffle that the 2013 model ran from November 25, 2013 to December 31, 2013 called the Rainbow Holiday Raffle. I actually managed to win The Blue Set which is supposed to contain the following content:

Ten different videos of unreleased content

A 60 minute Skype date

Two unreleased photo sets

A special Christmas card sent by E-Mail or through the mail

A special baked gift

To date, I have not received any of the content from the 2013 model.

Then, we have another model (I’ll call her the 2016 model) that owes me content that I have either purchased and/or won from raffles. This is just a small sample of items that the 2016 model owes me:

A handwritten letter letter (Valentine's Day related raffle content)

A dozen or so Fan Signs

Special Handmade Custom Valentine's Day Card (Valentine's Day related raffle content)

Goodie box with brownies or cookies (This was from a raffle titled the Raffle Raffle Raffle, but I mentioned to the model that I did not want the food, but what I did not tell the 2016 model is that since I never received the special baked gift from the 2013 model, I doubted that the 2016 model would mail them to me either)

A letter (This was from a raffle titled the Raffle Raffle Raffle)

10 minute custom video (This was from a raffle titled the Raffle Raffle Raffle)

All current content (This was from a raffle titled the Raffle Raffle Raffle)

Cookies, handmade Pokémon + Poké Ball & 20 personal pictures (This was from a raffle titled Raffle Me This)

Care package for the highest cumulative tipper in either July 2017 or August 2017

A southern fan sign

Southern post card

2 outdoor Polaroids (Up to 6 per person)

Any photos/videos that she took while she's back visiting home

Skype movie night for buying the movies Hocus Pocus and The Nightmare Before Christmas

Skype time to watch movies

90 minutes of sexual Skype time

HT wins secret print

Personal 10 picture custom set

BJ Snap show

Butt plug show (I'm assuming this is on Snapchat)

Sticky candy video (I'm assuming this is on Snapchat)

Candy Cane Cum Show (I'm assuming this is on Snapchat)

Personal show on Snapchat

HT gets a full size drawing + 2 polaroids! HT @ 160

Santa's Helper! 200 tokens - Santa's helpers get my Sweater photoset and an exclusive Christmas drawing sent to them (drawing can be sent digitally if you don't want it mailed!) + your name here showing my appreciation for your help this month!

These are custom videos that I am owed by the 2016 model (Note: one of these videos is from the Raffle Raffle Raffle that I haven't received yet):

Point-of-Video Dildo Fuck Video with the squirting dildo; seeing you with a shibari rope bra and nude beyond that

Double Penetration Video with the anal plug, the Bad Dragon dildo, and the Hitachi Magic Wand Massager; seeing you naked, of course

Cowgirl Fuck Video with the fuck doll, the sexy halter fishnet lingerie crotchless body stocking, studded spikes punk leather choker collar, fuzzy wristband handcuffs, nipple clamps, and the Hitachi Magic Wand Massager

Hitachi Cum Video with the Bad Dragon dildo and clit rubbing; with the exception of the cosplay restraint bondage sexy bra lingerie, punk goth heart-shape lock link leather collar choker necklace, fuzzy wristband handcuffs, and the nipple clamps, absolutely naked in that video as well

With the final model (I’ll call her the 2018 model), she said that she offers Private Shows on Skype at a low cost of $25 for 30 minutes. I’ve had a few sessions with her, but to date, there are three that still have not been done yet. So far, that’s $75 down the drain.

Finally, we get to Patreon.

I’ve been a Patreon of one of my local friends for nearly three months, and in this particular Tier (the Knight Commander Tier), I am supposed to receive the following:

1 8.5x11 lewd Print

Access to a special division of my Snapchat

Monthly special video chat 

Lewd videos

Access to my NSFW snapchat (which is updated super frequently with tons of exclusive content)

1 4x6 lewd print 

4x6 autographed print with handwritten personalized letter

Access to lewd photosets

Early access to all other Photo sets

Help me decide cosplays & Coordinates!

Lewd photo set previews

Access to Photo set bloopers

Access to exclusive LiveStreams

Added to my Patron exclusive Discord

Access to full cosplay photo shoot sets

Access to my Patreon exclusive feed

1 Digital Print each month

With my friend's Patreon, it's a bit of a mixed bag because while I have access to her current and previous photo sets, Snapchat (which I don't see the difference in the Snapchat content since I'm subscribed to her highest Tier), Discord, and lewd videos, I have not been mailed any of the physical rewards nor have I been reached out to regarding the monthly video chats. Overall, it feels like she completely overextended herself regarding the Patreon rewards because of how many have not been fulfilled.

I can understand that people can be busy. I wholeheartedly understand that. However, it is absolutely inexcusable for me to have to wait over a year (in the instance of the 2013 model, over five years) for me to receive content that I have paid for and owed. I really don't care how busy someone is, they should have time to be able to make and send the content that they owe someone.

What really pisses me off with the 2016 model is that while she is so busy that she hasn't worked on my backlog of items, she has somehow managed to find time to organize raffles in 2017, come up with holiday plans, and get on Streamate to try to earn more funds before the end of the year.

Myself, I don't charge for any photoshoots that I do because it's a hobby. I attend anime conventions, comic book conventions, and other activities frequently, and I can take well over 2,000 pictures a year. However, after any convention or event I attend has concluded, I diligently work on editing and uploading the pictures to Facebook within one week after the events have concluded.

I also know how to run contests and raffles.

In 2014, I did two contests on my personal Website, and those are the following:

Nintendo 3DS XL Contest

The Great Anniversary Contest

For the Nintendo 3DS Contest, I gave away a Nintendo 3DS XL. For The Great Anniversary Contest, I gave the 1st place winner a Nintendo 3DS XL, and the 2nd place winner a Nintendo 2DS. The prizes were immediately mailed after the contests were concluded.

I didn't charge for entry into the contests.

I did not have any sponsorship deals for the contests.

I paid for the prizes out of my own pocket. I took a financial loss doing the contests.

I largely did the contests as a way to drive traffic to my personal Website, and I hoped that people would be encouraged to check out my professional Web Design and Web Hosting Website so I can try to obtain clients.

I'm not going to lie. I've spent a lot of money on MyFreeCams, Chaturbate, and Streamate. While I don't have all of my data for the 2013 model (I know that I've tipped her over 60,000 Tokens), with the 2016 model, after converting the Token amounts to the actual amounts that she's received, she has received the following from the various sources:

200,000 Tokens (which equates to $10,000.00) from the amounts I've tipped on MyFreeCams and Chaturbate from 2015 to present day

$234.08 from the amounts I've spent on Streamate since starting in 2017

$2,039.25 of products from Amazon.com from 2015 to present day

A $1,034.00 customized computer from iBUYPOWER

This does not take into account of any gift cards I've sent on other Websites, any funds that I've sent on Circle, any funds that I've sent on Snapcash, and other things that I have not tracked.

All and all, if people cannot find time to work on content that people have paid for, they should not sell content. They should not do contests. They should reevaluate their business practices because they are accepting funds for services.

I have lost money by loaning/letting friends borrow money and never got paid back (for more information, please refer to Rant: Take Responsibility for Your Actions, Part 3).

I have lost money from models on MyFreeCams (the 2013 model, 2016 model, and 2018 model are on that site).

I have lost money from models on Chaturbate (the 2013 model and the 2016 model have accounts on Chaturbate as well, and I supported both of them on those Websites).

I can’t say that I’ve lost money with my local friend’s Patreon because I have received some of the content, but she either needs to keep better records of what she owes or she should not offer so many things if she does not have time to deliver on them.

Overall, I’m glad that the Illusory Team blog exists because I feel like I can finally post these things that I’ve been wanting to say for the past several years (mostly the contents of Rant: Take Responsibility for Your Actions, Part 3 and Rant: Take Responsibility for Your Actions, Part 4) that I feel like have been largely ignored by those that I should read it. Personally, I do not like ranting about things because I feel like many of my rants and complaints go unnoticed, so we shall see how well my rants and complaints are received here.