#because of it's dedication to hand drawn animation

[theslimeologist]

can we take a moment and ask what happened here? like what did they do to her??

oh.

[zip-toonz]

The fun thing about making pokemon aus is that the manga is just free real estate for me. I go on my little manga site and skim through the pages digging through pannels to make silly little edits

[dmitriene]

simon riley is touch starved, the gnawing need to feel and touch is hidden and buried deep behind his austere façade, the one that actually covered in wide, bleeding cracks, which are about to come apart like stitches on an unhealed wound.

he denied himself tenderness, stubbornly lifting his chin and turning his nose at any caresses and tenderness for so long that when you appeared, when the pads of your fingers skipped for the first time over his sturdy shoulder, he felt an almost wild hunger.

simon's whole body was buzzing with deep need, bubbling up in his lower abdomen in bright flashes of heat, making his skin tingle and sting every time his dark, sulken whiskey eyes fell on you.

it was hunger, genuine, animalistic, the desire to see your gaze only on his eyes, to feel your hands on his body, everywhere, over the thick layers of his gear and underneath, on the wounded, scarred and burning skin, where your gentle and tender touches felt as a pleasant and soothing cold.

he likes it when you kiss his scars, thin and wide, from bullets and knives, a particularly painful scar on his ribs, but each of them seems to disappear and dissolve under your soft lips, down to moles, to his shoulders and spine.

your touches cover his entire body from head to toe, with kisses, light scratches from your fingernails after the long, drawn out nights you spend under simon's body, with your legs spread wide to accommodate his hips, kissing the animal growls from his pale lips and leaving bright buds of marks on his neck.

you have tamed the wild wolf in human form, but he will be the most faithful and the most loving to you, until his last breath and heartbeat, because his whole life and existence is dedicated to you, and only you.

because you're the only one who, without fear, without prejudice or disgust, has accepted him as he is in your hands, letting his growls turn into purrs.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

[madaqueue]

TEAR MY FLESH, HOLD MY HAND, FEEL MY WARMTH

the weight that lies in a pinky promise

pairing: suguru geto x gn!reader

themes/content: curse/canon au. fluff, angst. mentions of fights/difficult childhood. (wk: 3.2k)

a/n: this was originally gonna be for flufftober but it got a lil angsty teehee so here we are :) also the mouse on my computer stopped working so i did all this formatting on my phone bc i'm that dedicated to serving you guys this fic

Suguru was a soft child. Chubby hands, round cheeks, gentle steps.

He was sweet in all the ways a child ought to be, at least according to your parents - sweet in all the ways you weren’t.

You, on the other hand, were loud, jarring, unreserved. “A handful,” you were always described as by those who attempted to care for you. Perhaps that’s why they allowed you such a great extent of freedom, tugging against the length of a leash they tried to place around you, but they’d need stronger chains to tie you down.

And yet, you and Suguru found your similarities - you were both unencumbered by expectations. I am who I am. In spite of everyone, in spite of the ways they tried to dig their tight hands around you and force you into something you weren’t. You are who you are.

The first time you met him, all you saw were tiny feet kicking the air, unable to reach the ground from where he perched upon the park bench. He was the only one not screaming, something you appreciated, something novel. Your life had held such chaos, constant arguments, slamming doors. The peace that wrapped around his small frame seemed to exude a comfort you craved, even if it couldn’t be articulated by your six-year-old mind, you were drawn to it. To him.

“Hi,” you chirped, lifting yourself next to him.

“Hi.”

When you grinned widely at him, he returned a thin-lipped smile, as though he had been trained by wild dogs who took eagerness as a threat, who wouldn’t dare snarl unless as a warning.

(He noticed your absence of fear immediately - how could you approach him so easily? Had you not been taught to be wary?)

(You had been taught. “Avoid strangers, they’ll hurt you.” But you would never choose the harm of the monsters you knew. Better to take your chances in the wild.)

Averting your gaze, your dirtied fingernails began absentmindedly picking at the green paint coating the wood beneath your legs. Your eyes landed on his knees, scuffed and bloody.

“Did that hurt?”

Without looking at you, he shakes his head. “No, I’m just clumsy. I fell off my bike.”

“That’s okay,” you hum, “I get bruises all the time. You must be pretty tough if it didn’t hurt.”

And this time, he giggles, crooked teeth poking through. “Anyone can get hurt, it doesn’t make me tough.”

Leaves rustle overhead as you let out a thoughtful sigh, allowing the sounds of the breeze to fill the silence. It’s comfortable, you realize, no tension hanging in the air like there always seems to be at home, no threat looming around the other side of the kitchen counter.

You tug with all the strength your muscles can muster at a large strip of paint. With a final pull, your palm catches along the fraying wood, splinters digging under your flesh as you let out a choked cry.

Immediately, the boy’s small hands wrap around your wrist, pulling it to his face. Worried eyes inspect the wound. “Are you okay?” he asks without looking up.

A small whimper falls from your throat, lower lip trembling as you hold back tears. “Y-yeah,” your voice wobbles.

You’re lying. He knows you’re lying - you aren’t particularly hard to read, he grows to learn, somehow always wearing your heart on your sleeve. It’s a trait he admires (perhaps because he’s never quite able to place his there so visibly).

When he frowns, you almost giggle at the sight - no child should frown like that. It’s endearing, the way his eyebrows furrow, mouth tugged downward.

“Can I make it better?”

It takes very little to make you trust him, but you believe he wouldn’t hurt you. Just as animals seem able to sense intent, an implicit knowledge that the human freeing them from a cage won’t inflict additional pain, you know that his stubby fingers won’t dig at your flesh and make you bleed.

So, you nod.

Determined eyes turn from your visibly pained face to your aching palm. Slowly, he removes the shards of wood from your skin. When you wince, he pauses immediately, waiting for your shoulders to relax before he continues. By the time he’s finished, your bottom lip is red from biting into it but the pain isn’t even noticeable, not when every nerve in your body seems focused on the warmth coming from his fingertips still lingering on your wrist.

“There,” he breathes through the softest smile, “all done.”

“Thanks,” and you can’t help but grin back.

“And see!” He’s beaming now. “You were very tough!”

Your laugh is brighter than the sun, more calming than the birds chirping overhead, a sound he can’t help but mirror. His desire to cheer you up, to comfort you through it all, makes your cheeks warm.

“I’m Suguru, by the way.”

He opens up easily to you, an honor you don’t quite understand yet. When you introduce yourself, he repeats your name back slowly, the vowels sweet like the flowers blooming nearby. It sounds good in his voice.

A whistle cuts through the humidity, immediately drawing Suguru’s attention.

“I gotta go,” his face draws into that adorable pout again.

“Oh.” Dropping your attention, it falls to your freshly healed hands resting in your lap. “Can you do me a favor?”

Expectant eyes meet yours.

“Promise me I’ll see you again?”

This time, he smiles so wide his cheeks push up into his eyes, crinkling at the corners. Holding out a hand, he gently grasps yours as he intertwines your fingers.

“Pinky promise,” he grins, linking them together with a shake.

Through a giggle, you mimic, “pinky promise.”

He shuffles off the bench, clumsy feet landing on the ground before he hobbles off to the waiting arms of a parent who seems to love him. Your heart aches for a moment before it stills - you’re happy he has someone to take care of him, to pull the splinters from his hands and clean off the scrapes on his knees.

It’s a miracle when you both get placed at Jujutsu Tech. It takes very little for you to abandon the place you called home, having jumped at the first chance to leave your childhood behind, but having Suguru there makes it even easier when you get approached by a strange man with dark hair and glasses who touts himself as the principal of some elusive school a few hours away. They’ll pay for your housing, your food, anything you need to survive for the next four years so long as you agree to train and work for them. It was an easy yes - you would have done more for less.

And of course, there was your so-called “power.” The two of you had danced around the subject for years, hesitantly testing each other’s experiences to not unload worry onto the other. That was the thing about Suguru - he was always looking out for you, and you, him. He never needed to ask if you were thirsty, he’d just bring you tea; you never had to ask if he was lonely, you’d just find him sitting alone on the same park bench.

It was Suguru who finally broke on his thirteenth birthday while the two of you made your way through town, snowflakes hanging in the air.

“Do you ever…see things?” he asked, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket in a futile search for warmth.

From the corner of your vision, you caught the faintest glimmer of fear in his eyes. And you understood immediately.

“Yes.”

His shoulders visibly relaxed, hot breath puffing into the air. “Thank god,” he murmured.

Again, it wasn’t a surprise, per se - the two of you had shared everything. It only seemed natural that you would share this ability to see curses, the monsters hiding in the shadows.

“Do they ever…scare you?” Your voice felt small as you asked - you hadn’t yet reached relief, or at the very least, neutrality towards these things.

And he sees it in you, too - the dread he felt when he first saw them, the pang of terror that shoots up his spine when he catches one moving in the dark. He’s grown more accustomed to their presence, but there’s still that thread of fear lingering, choking him when he gets tangled in it.

“Yes.”

Cold fingers lace through yours, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

“But I’ll always keep you safe,” he smiles that sweet, soft smile, “pinky promise.”

The training wasn’t easy. You hadn’t expected it to be, obviously, but fuck was it hard.

Suguru excelled initially, as he did with everything. The others in your small class also show great potential, Satoru in particular, but Shoko’s abilities develop in her own way, too.

It’s nice to finally feel like you have a place where you belong, to have people to return to, people who care about you, who love you. It’s nice to be here, even if it pushes you to your limits everyday, because you know you’ll always have someone to come home to - to know you’ll always have Suguru to come home to.

It hits you on a sunny day in October when you’re watching him spar with Satoru. Fists fly, a mix of black and white flashing across the grass. When Gojo lands a particularly well-timed punch, Suguru’s body lands with a thud in the dirt.

You’re on your feet in less than a second, shoving Satoru out of the way as you stand over the dazed boy on the ground. He looks beautiful like this, you think - his hair splayed out around him, blood trickling from his nose, lips tugged into an awestruck smirk - before you shake the thought aside.

“Are you okay?”

Panicked hands run over his torso, checking for injuries before they land on his face. Cupping his jaw, he can’t help but breathe a laugh at the worry painted across your features. His palms come to rest along your wrists, dark eyes meeting yours.

“I’m okay,” he sighs. Now that you’re here. “I’m tough, remember?”

Every muscle in your body releases tension just at hearing his voice, his calming aura once again blanketing you, bringing you under the warmth of his peace.

With a playful punch to his shoulder, he feigns a dramatic wince. “Just don’t get hurt again, okay?”

He knows it’s impossible - it’s the nature of the job, of the responsibilities he holds. He will be hit and bruised and battered and brought to the brink of death again and again, but right now, that’s not what you need to hear. Because you know it’s impossible too; and you also know Suguru is strong.

“I pinky promise,” he halfheartedly grins. He promises to at least try. For you.

Wrapping your finger around his, you let the heat of your bodies fill the air, vibrating in tune with the cicadas lining the trees. His hand is soft in yours. It feels like coming home - the familiar walk up the steps, the paint on the front door cracking from where palms had rubbed against it time and time again as the handle turned. The wooden floors are worn in with the path you take through each other’s lives, from the kitchen to the living room to the windows, gazing over the backyard.

Suguru had a swingset, you remember. You figured out how to use it the first time you ever sat on the sun-worn rubber, going higher and higher and higher until the toes of your shoes scraped the sky. But Suguru always struggled - he couldn’t quite move his body in the right way to grant him flight. He would get frustrated with it rather easily, until your small hands rested against his back. With a firm push, you set him free into the air, his feet kicking perfectly with all the momentum a child’s body could hold.

Maybe gravity was discovered by children on the playground. There had to be a reason they couldn’t swing forever; there had to be a reason they couldn’t reach the sun.

The problem is, though, that a star’s heat dissipates with distance. It can’t always warm you, not when your feet land back on the ground.

Over the next year, Satoru began going on more missions alone, and Shoko stayed behind to hone her healing, leaving you and Suguru in the purgatory between power and nothingness. And most days, you feel closer to nothing.

It’s eating at him, you realize. The missions, the responsibility, the whole fucking thing is taking bites out of his soul with sharpened teeth and leaving nothing behind but a bloodied mess of torn expectations. It makes him smaller and smaller, pulling pieces of him until there’s nothing left.

You can see it in the way his clothes hang loose on his body. His shoulders slump forward, the shadows beneath his eyes growing darker each night he spends with his gaze locked on the ceiling.

The foundation of his soul is crumbling, the front door barricaded closed. The windows are boarded up. You can’t see your childhood anymore. All the grass in the front yard is dead.

You miss when the sun’s rays shone through him.

You miss when he was warm.

Finding him resting on one of the old benches in the school’s courtyard, it creaks beneath your weight as you sit, the only sound breaking the stagnant silence of the summer air. That’s another thing you’ve noticed - sometimes, Suguru is so quiet you aren’t even sure he exists. If you weren’t here watching his chest rise and fall, could you even prove he was breathing?

He says nothing when you rest your head on his shoulder, not that he needs to, of course. He hasn’t said much lately, mostly responding to everyone else’s overflowing conversations with empty smiles and sad eyes.

You aren’t sure how much longer you can take it.

“Suguru?”

His body doesn’t even shift in response to hearing his name, but you feel his eyes on you even though you can’t see them, your gaze instead focused on your hands resting in his lap. Picking at the skin along your nails, you continue.

“Are you okay?”

He’s grateful you can’t hear the way his heartbeat stutters (because then you’d already have the answer to your question).

“Mhm,” he hums, his lips never parting. You miss the way they used to curl into that childlike grin, it’s been so long since you’ve seen it.

You know he’s lying, but unfortunately, you want to believe him. You want to believe him so badly it feels like you’re trapped underground, buried under your love for him, banging on the floorboards overhead, but there’s no one around to hear. There’s dirt in your lungs and you can’t breathe. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

Silently, you hold your hand in front of him, pinky raised in a question.

Would you promise?

On instinct, his own hand lifts from his side. It hovers just inches from yours, but he hesitates. The gap between them grows farther with each second they don’t intertwine, stars pushing one another apart, unable to collide. The steadiness in him wavers for a moment as you watch his fingers shake.

He can’t.

When he collapses into you, everything falls apart. Arms wrap around your frame, hands grabbing fistfuls of your uniform. He clings to you like a lifeline, the only thing keeping him from drowning. Because as a child, no one ever taught him how to swim - maybe they didn’t see the point in learning such a useless skill, or maybe they thought they were protecting him. But now, he’s been thrown into relentless waves of grief and with each breath more briney water fills his chest and he’s gasping and scared and he doesn’t know what to do except hold you. The tears falling from his eyes taste like the sea and they burn his throat, but at least for a moment his legs can stop kicking. For a moment, he has someone who can keep him afloat.

Your palms rub slow circles into his back as he cries. The sound is sharp and painful, carving into the still-beating flesh of your heart, but at least it exists. At least he’s here. At least he’s alive.

Placing your lips to the top of his head, you let them rest there as his body shakes.

“It’ll be okay, I’ve got you,” you whisper into his skin, surrounded by small strands of hair pulled loose and warm from the sun. “I promise.”

As things tend to do, they eventually get easier.

You and Suguru talk to the higher ups about changing his schedule, only going on missions with at least one other sorcerer so he’s not doing all the work by himself. They bargain and ultimately even agree to grant him dedicated days off to rest. And finally, you feel as though you’ve been granted your miracle, the scales of fate begrudgingly tipping in your favor.

(If all your pain meant that Suguru’s would be lessened for even a moment you would do it over again a million times. If all your suffering meant that Suguru wouldn’t have to endure it for a second longer, you would suffer for eternity.)

Even as fall returns and the sun shines through the sky less and less, things feel brighter. The two of you find yourselves in the school’s cafeteria making tea every night, and he learns he sleeps better with you in his arms.

When the four of you gather around a picnic table outside to recap your recent assignments, you tell some stupid joke, one that makes Satoru groan and Shoko roll her eyes through a smirk, and you hear it: Suguru laughs. And for a moment, the world stops spinning.

You all exchange glances before turning to face him, his cheeks pushed up and pink, eyes closed in bliss. You can’t contain yourselves as you join him, fits of giggles lilting through the crisp air.

That night, he welcomes you into bed with open arms waiting beneath the covers. His lips are curved into a grin as he places a gentle kiss to your forehead, a newer part of your routine, one that makes your entire body vibrate.

Snuggling against him, the warmth of his chest radiates into your skin, each beat of his heart a welcome melody.

“Hey Suguru?” you murmur.

His voice is laced with sleep as he answers into the darkness, “Yeah?”

“You’re really strong, y’know that?”

Letting out an airy chuckle, he rolls his eyes. “I’m nothing compared to Satoru-”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

You can hear the air entering his lungs with each breath. He takes in three before he responds. “I know.”

Long fingers trace circles into the bare skin of your arm.

“Suguru?”

You know what you have to tell him - you’ve been holding it for years, keeping it close to you, carrying its weight through each day until you barely notice it anymore. Maybe it’s the change of the seasons, a different density to the air, but suddenly it has begun to feel heavy in your hands.

“Yeah?”

His hands make their way up your neck until they rest along your cheek, guiding your gaze to him through the dark.

Three breaths in, three breaths out.

“I love you.”

You can’t see him smile, but you feel it. The warmth of his palm leaves your face for a moment until you feel it again along your hand. He intertwines his pinky with yours. “I love you, too.”

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere self aware Maegor—burn the book and escape to another country (requested)

Yandere Maegor became aware of your presence early on in his childhood. It was some time after his eighth name day. He had just stabbed to death a palfrey. The poor thing only lightly kicked him while spooked. Just then he heard a sort of gasp and turned his gaze to the sky. It felt like he was looking through a watery veil. He could see your face, your surroundings, and your fingers gripping onto what looked like a book of some sort. 

A stable boy came running towards him after hearing the pained screeches of the animal. In that moment the connection was broken as the watery veil disappeared and he was left staring upward with a new feeling sprouting within his soul. It was red hot and made his chest ache. He wanted you back to soothe the pain, but the damn stableboy took you away from him. 

The boy broke your connection.

So he slashed the stableboy's face in half and let him writhe in agony on the grassy field. That was Maegor's first taste of you. His first taste of exploring the darkest recesses of his desire, all thanks to you. He couldn't get enough, and he needed more. It is his right. 

Yandere Maegor was betrothed to Lady Ceryse Hightower and thought it was the perfect time to try to reconnect with you. Throughout the years, he has seen glimpses and even heard your name being spoken by someone else. That should have been him! This was his time to make you need him in every way, just as he needs you.

For many nights he treated himself to his newlywed spouse's body. He would have her covered in sweat and exhausted, and still he would go. He knew it pleased you to some extent. He always refused to look into his wife's eyes during this time because his head was trained upwards, staring at you. 

He always saw you during those times. That's why he was so insistent to constantly drag his wife to bed. It was like some gateway that was always open when he was inside of her.

Still, that bitch remained bare. Full of his seed, and she still couldn't produce any heirs. Worthless woman. He would scoff any time she tried to initiate. What gives her the right? She hasn't earned it.

Yandere Maegor was never one to stuff his head into books and frolick around like a pansy. That was the detestable lifestyle his half-brother Aenys lived. Still, his scarred hands found their way to dusty old scrolls that even the maesters forgot of. He learned of a strange phenomenon some Targaryens experienced. They had deemed it to be 'naejot ūndegon aōla' (to see yourself).

A certain awareness that very few had every scrapped the surface of. Dreamers were more likely to have such a revelation? ability? He couldn't find much information on it, considering the chance to study this anomaly was a rarity. 

He asked Aenys and he knew nothing. Typical.

Yandere Maegor dedicated his extra time to trying to reach out to you. He knew sex was one way to reach you. He really didn't want to touch a woman every time he wanted to interact with you. The both of you would never get any alone time. Not to mention the fact that it is quite hard to hear someone over long drawn-out moans. 

So he would meditate. He would lock himself in an isolated place for days just for a chance to see your visage once again.

He had minimal luck.

Yandere Maegor seemed to only marry women with cursed wombs. Bedding anyone was a way for him to see you, but bedding his wives had a ninety-percent success rate for being able to see you. Still, he needed an heir and was left without one. 

Was this a sign? He took it as one.

No one could change his mind on it.

You had been specially made for his seed. If you were unable to bare children due to your anatomy, he could—would find a way. You were meant for him. It was no wonder that no one else could satisfy him as you could.

You made him crazed without a touch. A feat no one but you achieved.

Yandere Maegor still felt as if you were the one after learning of his third wife's betrayal. She cursed his potential heirs! He doubts she could have cursed you. You are incredibly unique. Someone who is one of a kind.

So he uses his dead wife's book on sorcery and potions to interact with you bit by bit. He's astonished that he is in written text but is also thankful, as that is incredibly advantageous for him. He flips pages and changes the text. He dares to reach out to you through the pages and gently caress whatever part of you he is able to get ahold of. 

It's pure bliss for him, pure horror for you.

Yandere Maegor will find a way into your world. He will bring you into his. He will find a way to concoct a potion of vitality for you both. Although you seemingly do not age by much in his eyes. You are just as stunning as the first time he saw you. There's so much lost time to make up for.

[xiaowhore]

scribbled hearts.

premise. alhaitham learns to stop falling asleep in places that isn't his bed the hard way. (alternatively, in which the librarian doesn't follow the script to wake sleeping beauty.)

Kaveh finds Alhaitham furiously scrubbing his face in the bathroom.

At first, he's absolutely ecstatic. For all that Alhaitham refuses to practice skincare, he's never gotten a zit on his face. An earth-shattering revelation to Kaveh, who maintains a strict nightly skincare routine—he's never gone to sleep without a moisturizing facemask. It's not the most infuriating thing about his roommate, but it annoys him that a guy who only washes his face in the morning has clearer skin than he does.

Is this it? Is Alhaitham receiving retribution at last? Is he finally suffering the consequences of his carelessness?!

But when Kaveh cranes his neck to get a better look at Alhaitham's face, he doesn't see any of the sort.

“Dude...” Kaveh can't even laugh due to sheer incredulity, staring at Alhaitham with a pitying look. Alhaitham thinks it would be less irritating if he just laughed in his face. “Did a third-grader pick on you?”

Alhaitham grits his teeth, wiping the remnants of ink on his face. He's mostly gotten rid of the sparkly anime eyes you drew over his eyelids, but it still looks like a fading black eye. The blush lines on his cheeks are a work in progress, but they'll disappear with some effort.

“They have the maturity of one, at least.”

Alhaitham has met his fair share of librarians—there's the stern, no-nonsense kind he's gotten forehead flicks from every time he's caught dozing off on his thesis paper; the introverted bookish type who stutters as they nervously but firmly tell him off for hogging all the books a certain class needs for a report; the motherly sort who smuggles him coffee in his all-nighters when he looks like death itself...

And then there's you.

Cheekier than his brat of a roommate, you somehow manage to annoy him like nobody else can. He'd rather have you scold him for treating the library as a second bedroom than clip ribbons to his hair whenever you catch him sleeping. Hell, he'd take a skull-shattering forehead flick over doodles on his face any day. But even if he preaches his troubles to anyone willing to listen, they're never sympathetic.

Because for some reason, you're never like this to anyone else.

If anyone at campus were asked to describe you, they'll say you're a model student. Scholarly, courteous, standing tall with dignified grace; you're the perfect picture of a goody-two-shoes. Nothing like the childish brat who terrorizes his nap schedule on a daily basis.

People who have a vendetta against him is nothing new. What he doesn't understand, however, is what he did to be the object of your wrath.

“Maybe [Name] likes you. Kind of like how boys bully the girl they like,” is the ridiculous answer Kaveh gives him, dropping those words like they weigh nothing with a nonchalant shrug. Alhaitham would think it more likely for the reverse to be true; your insistence to dedicate your time into ruining his day is nothing short of admiration—surely a testament to just how much you hate him.

...Okay, so maybe Alhaitham could guess a few things for why. There's been a handful of times (read: it happens at least thrice a week) he kept you stationed at the library longer than you had to be because he fell asleep until closing hours, and he has a tendency to forget returning the materials he borrows for his thesis to the library...

So. Perhaps this was a consequence of his actions after all.

He argues that there are far more mature methods to resolve this issue, though.

Alhaitham stares at the crudely drawn portrait scrawled on his arm, deeply unimpressed. Although he's not one to boast about his looks, he's rather sure he isn't as much of an eyesore as you drew him to be, his nose an exaggerated point (a literal triangle) and his lips wide open as he drools, dangerously close to the rectangles he guesses are supposed to be books. Don't sleep on the reference books!! You'll get drool all over them >:(, reads the scribbled letters beside the portrait, an angry face scrawled haphazardly next to them.

(Still, by the corner of his eye, he spots a cup of his usual order of coffee, a neon pink sticky note pasted on the lid: Wake up and finish your report quickly, I have a show to catch at 8 :>

It would be easier to hate you if being bratty is all there is to your personality, really.)

You scribble all over your notes.

It's a fact Alhaitham has known about you since long ago. Everything else about you is neat and orderly, but every page of your notebook has some sort of doodle on the corners. They range from meticulous side-profiles of whoever sits beside you that day to meaningless hearts and smiley faces akin to what a five-year-old child might make.

If you've chosen to be more artistic for the doodles you draw all over him, perhaps Alhaitham might not mind as much. It's unfortunate you much rather prefer drawing exaggerated tear streaks on his face.

“I'm quite certain this is a form of harassment,” Alhaitham grumbles, rubbing his face with makeup remover. As pointless as it is to express his woes to the cause of said woes, he finds himself seated before the reception desk to keep you company anyway. “I don't understand why you're still doing this.”

“It's a punishment for falling asleep and keeping me holed up in here to guard the library until it closes,” you drone, fixing the library cards. “And yet you still refuse to stop. Is it really so hard to go to the dormitory instead?”

Alhaitham shrugs. A sigh inevitably escapes your lips.

Eventually, you run out of stupid things to draw on his skin whenever you catch him sleeping.

You start to write your shopping list on his arm instead.

“Why on earth would you need three cartons of eggs?” Alhaitham leans against the desk you're stationed at, reading the bulletpoints on his skin.

Eventually, Alhaitham gets used to scrubbing off your vandalism too. It's his personal brand of skincare.

“They're on sale today,” you reply, signing the papers requesting new stocks of books. “And I was planning on baking, so it's better I have plenty of ingredients for trial and error.”

“Sounds heavy,” he hums, eyes scanning the rest of your list. “Want me to come with?”

At that, your pen stops moving. “...Why?”

“I need to buy cereal.”

(No he doesn't. Kaveh went on a grocery run yesterday.)

“Sure, I guess...?” It's an unexpected development, but you wouldn't turn away an extra pair of hands. “Should we get going, then?”

“Yeah.”

You raise an eyebrow. “...But you didn't borrow a book today yet. Aren't you getting anything first?”

Alhaitham looks around. “The book I wanted isn't here, so I suppose I still have to wait a few days for it.”

“What is it?” You click your pen, reaching for your notepad. (You already have one of those, Alhaitham seriously sees no point in you writing down your grocery list on his arm.) “I'll tell you when it gets returned.”

“...No, it's fine. Let's go, the eggs you wanted might be all gone if we take our time getting there.”

You jolt up in alarm, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “You're right, we should hurry!”

For all it's worth, you're pretty gullible.

“You're still keeping that up?”

Alhaitham looks up from his laptop, fingers halting in their movement. “What do you mean?”

Kaveh scrunches his nose, pointing at the scribbles on his palm. “Your weird mating ritual. Can't you two communicate like normal people?”

Alhaitham glances at the mess you've made of his arm, full of little messages and doodles you wrote back and forth to each other during Biology period. Alhaitham had been, perhaps for the first time, not feeling drowsy. Regardless, you've taken to treating his skin as paper (“Save the trees,” you told him once, ignoring the disbelieving expression on his face), and Alhaitham has already accepted that you won't stop doing it as long as you still find it amusing.

“We do talk. Normally.”

“And if you do, why are you still doing... that.”

Alhaitham doesn't have anything to say to that. He did think it was inconvenient to wash all the messages off, and there are far more practical modes of communication.

But for some reason, he can't find it himself to say that he outright dislikes it.

And maybe he traces the shapes you draw on his skin, in the private confines of his room where no one can see him. Maybe he admires the smooth strokes of your penmanship, the adorable curls of your letters, the bubbly font that always makes him chuckle because it's just so like you.

There are hearts sometimes, or even flowers when you feel like drawing something more detailed. The ugly sketches of him sleeping are somewhat annoying, but he still finds himself endeared. Though some things are appallingly inaccurate—you've done his nose a horrible injustice more than once—he notices the correct placement of beauty marks on his face, the sharp edges of his eyes, the meticulous dimple that faintly appears when he smiles.

A thrill runs through him when he thinks of you paying attention to him, more than you've ever given anyone else.

And, well. Alhaitham's certain he's been doing plenty of that for you.

“Don't you think you're being unfair?”

You pause in your typing, averting your eyes from the computer monitor to glance at Alhaitham. “Unfair in what, exactly?”

He mindlessly spins a pen with his fingers, staring at the blank canvas that was your arm compared to the sketchbook you've made out of his. “You're the only one who writes on me.”

“What, you want to write your shopping list on me for a change?” you arch up an eyebrow, unperturbed. “I thought you said it was impractical.”

“I never said I wanted to write my shopping list.”

“What else would you write, then?”

Alhaitham reaches for your arm. “Give me your hand.”

You blink, not quite unwilling yet confused all the same. You offer your hand and he uncaps his pen, scribbling on your palm. You've never been on the receiving end of this little game, so you're not sure what to expect from him.

“There.” Satisfied, he lets go and stands up. “I'm going home for the day. Good luck with the rest of your shift.”

“See you tomorrow, I guess...?” you wave at him in farewell, but he's quick to spring on his feet and dart out the door. “What's his deal...”

You turn over your hand, seeing a string of numbers written in neat font.

“Oh.”

Alhaitham feels silly for anticipating a text like some lovestruck teenage girl who exchanged numbers with her crush.

The blinking cursor on his blank essay document almost looks mocking, and as time passes by, the only word he's managed to type out is “The.” Even so, his attention is completely locked on his phone, devoid of any notifications.

If it weren't for Kaveh being nosy the other day, he wouldn't have gotten the idea of giving you his number. He did think something had to change, but he didn't know how to get there. But now that he's gotten this far, he can expect a little bit, right?

At last, his phone chimes its long awaited notification. Alhaitham is quick to ditch his laptop and shuts it closed, reaching for his phone where it sits on his desk. He swears he's never typed his password so fast before in his life.

Unfortunately, the text he's been anticipating for a good portion of the day is nothing but a disappointment.

Unknown number: eggs milk whipping cream flour

Unknown number: baking powder cocoa powder vanilla extract sugar

What was he expecting anyway?

He sighs and leans back on his chair, solemly pushing his laptop open. He doubts this message requires a response back.

Another notification lights his phone.

This time, Alhaitham doesn't even have the energy to unlock his screen. He squints at the notification preview.

Unknown number: wanna come over when I finish baking the souffles?

He doesn't quite drop his phone in shock, but it's a near thing.

You: I'll go carry the groceries too.

Unknown number: thanks! 💖

[weebsinstash]

SIIIIIIIIIIGH oh my god though the power of across the spiderverse cannot be understated because I still think about Miguel O'Hara at least once a week and he's ruining me so I have a new idea for you guys (also did any of you see there's gonna be new Spiderman 2099 comics where he gets a Symbiote. Spidey 2099 being driven by his new Symbiote to finally act on his urges after hiding them from you completely for YEARS and just unleashes them all on you like a decade delayed volcanic eruption, just fucks you like an absolute animal who's about to go extinct and you're the only mate for miles--)

So anyways I was initially actually thinking of this for uh like Batman or the JL or whatever but, usually I come out here with my ideas, "what if Miguel meets you for the first time and you two get to know each other and he's crazy for you" but now I'm gonna hit you with "what if Miguel meets Reader and it's his first time meeting you but you've actually met different versions of him before" and it's in the most dramatic way possible (besides that "spiderwoman 2099 Reader who lost Miguel as her husband as her canon event falling prey to new Miguel who lost his wife as his canon event" idea anyways)

Miguel meets you when he chases an anomaly into your universe and finds himself drawn to you instantly, like magnetism, just so curious to learn about you, talk to you, spend time with you, and yet... you seem... off-put by him. You don't meet his eyes in a normal way, and there's a certain... agitation you regard him with more than once. He just wants to get to know you and you're practically AVOIDING him, even as you work for the Spider Society with him practically having to force that watch into your hand

He then finds out with all of these infinite universes, that there's a SECOND Spider Society, ran by another Miguel O'Hara

.... who is your ex-boyfriend

who never got over you

who still wants you back

who you're very obviously uncomfortable around, if not outright scared of, and everyone can immediately tell this second Miguel, let's call him Migs, is maybe not all entirely right in the head. He sees you and his entire personality changes. The tone of his voice. The light in his eyes. The way his smile pulls tight. The clear predatory interest.

Miguel is working with you amd there when Migs is 'introduced' and Miguel is INSTANTLY not only fiercely "territorial", but once he sees that you're actually kind of SCARED of this guy, well... Miguel doesn't want him there. Period. But Migs doesn't want to leave. The man claims you're still a member of his Arachnid Association, that everyone misses you, that HE misses you, misses working with you, misses holding you, FEELING you-

Like can you even imagine... Miguel watches you go from someone who is very unresponsive around him, giving him short answers, really only working with him when necessary, being intentionally emotionless, and then Migs comes out, and your hands are shaking, and you're breathing harder, and for a split second you look at Miguel and he KNOWS you're asking for help and he KNOWS he can see tears, even if you look away moments later trying to compose yourself, and it's ON, this guy has to LEAVE, Miguel doesn't even need a story or explanation he just KNOWS this motherfucker needs to get away from you and get out

Too bad the twist is that Migs is just a less intelligent and just more openly blatant alternate of Miguel, and you were just served on a silver platter to an infinitely more charismatic, more wizened, just as obsessive predator who you are now just SO grateful to. He's your HERO! Not to mention, you know, there were other people in the Arachnid Association that kind of gave you bad vibes, so, you should obviouslyyy stay under the protection of the Spider Society which Definitely :) isn't just as filled with eyes watching you as the last place if not even more, just smarter and more emotionally dedicated :) you can Totally relax here :) ignore that your Spidey Sense goes off sometimes when you're """alone""", it's just nerves, and you should totally totally totally tell Miguel or Peter B or your closest trusted "normal platonic friend" alllll about anything that happens and all of your feelings in detail! I mean, aren't they there to support you? They'll go over their game plan at the next meeting. You know, the secret ones you don't know about, the ones that are always only about one specific special person and I'll give you one guess as to who it is...

[orbmanson7]

From the Air - A Logangstamatic by Orb Manson

A little more animation than last time, but probably should still be called an animatic at most...

My "logangstamatic" project consists of about 26 different short animations and animatics (and maybe a lyric video or two), in each one, I take a song that reminds me of Logan from Sanders Sides and animate a short section of it in a different way!

The idea is to give a tiny taste of the type of work I want to do, when I someday have better means and the actual time and dedication to give to such projects, haha.

For more information on the full project, go here!

This one features the song "From the Air" by Laurie Anderson, and was animated by me by drawing and creating a bunch of paper doll versions of the characters (most dressed in costumes) as well as creating a paper theater and seats and props and stage setting, then using basic stop-motion techniques to create more of a photo montage of sorts of the story progressing, and used tissue paper to simulate fire. Everything was shot on my phone and then edited in the inShot app.

This song was chosen mainly because I have been a fan of Laurie Anderson's unique music for a very long time, and I originally wanted to do something for "O Superman" from the same album, but I felt this song fit Logan and his thought process way better, especially with how things are going for him currently in the series (and are bound to keep going at this rate).

I don't know why, but when listening to this song while thinking of Logan, I vividly imagined the words being spoken not by a pilot as a plane was crashing, but rather a stage manager watching everything unravel behind the scenes of a doomed stage play and once a spark sets the curtain aflame, he begins giving instructions on what to do, taking charge to clear things out but not once bothering to fight the flames, knowing no one would listen to what he has to say anyway, and eventually even revelling in how this is one of the only ways he can regain control of this unending stage of drama...

The storyboard was drawn almost instantly, haha, it just took a lot longer to find time to make all the pieces and then get it all put together.

Like the other video, I'd love to someday animate this whole song in a similar manner, preferably with a better camera and better software so it comes out more presentable and with way more animation on display. I was very limited in what I could accomplish with this, so if given the chance, I'd love to do it again but better.

I already have a few more of these other animatics and animations in progress, so stay tuned for those coming soon. As I said, there will be 26 in total!

If you liked this, please let me know with a like or a comment! It is greatly appreciated!!

Music Credits:

"From The Air" by Laurie Anderson, from the album Big Science

Art Credits:

All art, props, and animation done by me!

Character Credits:

Logan, Virgil, Roman, Patton, Remus, Janus, and Thomas Sanders are characters from Thomas Sanders' series, Sanders Sides

Lyrics Used In This Video:

Good evening

This is your captain

We are about to attempt a crash landing

Please extinguish all cigarettes

Place your tray tables in their upright, locked position

Your captain says:

Put your head on your knees

Your captain says:

Put your head in your hands

Captain says:

Put your hands on your head

Put your hands on your hips

Heh heh

This is your captain

And we are going down

We are all going down

Together

And I said "uh oh"

This is gonna be some day

Standby

This is the time

And this is the record of the time

This is the time

And this is the record of the time

[heiznx]

BETRAYALS

∗༝*◦✦ meeting him in shakkei pavilion.

BEFORE READING, this includes wanderer’s backstory, added scenes, removed scenes, and the timeline would be confusing.

|| NEXT▶ ||

You were not a god.

You played the game and had your heart flutter, break, and be stolen by many characters; the lack of romantic content would send you to your fantasies filled with what-ifs and imaginations of how characters would act if you do this or do that.

At your first arrival, you were confused about where you were, so what if you played the game? The game was not realistic, it was a 3D game with drawn or modeled items, and when you saw everything, it wasn’t the same as the game.

The difference was huge and so was the troubled feeling in your heart.

Almost everything was handed to you when you started walking around the place; the river was incredibly clean to drink on, the trees always have something to give, and the abandoned places have fabrics to give you.

Still, it’s not that you can actually feel safe in this place, not when everything was not as ‘modern’ as your world was, and you never knew how you had come to transport in this kind of place in the first place.

It was only when you stumbled upon a domain at night, the marbled structure with a symbol of three pointed sides, glowing together with the nearby plants that you don’t recall the name of because it was the least of your worries.

Genshin Impact.

You read works like that fandom, can’t say that you were as dedicated as the rest were, but you knew a few, because you tried to study the characters due to their appearance or their interesting personalities.

Alternative universes, and you were transmigrated like that? Unbelievable. You don’t have the power that those alternative universes have in which you were the god, and you didn’t have anything special; you weren’t aether or lumine, you were just you.

Tired, you sat by the tree and hugged your knees to your chest while using the fabrics you found as a way to keep yourself warm; you didn’t feel hopeful. You had no information about where exactly in Teyvat you were, what year, or who were the trustworthy people currently alive.

Frustrated to be away from the place you were used to and comfortable, tears stung your eyes, prompting you to place your palms over them as if you’re trying to shove the liquid back in your eyes—it worked though.

You shed a few tears, only a few, and the glowing light was a comforting feeling to you; it’s only been a day and you can’t help but wish to see a few people that was known in the game so they could be your source of comfort or the reason for you to know where to start.

How could you rest in an unfamiliar place? You closed your eyes, your tears piling up again even if you thought that your mind no longer had thoughts. You pulled the fabrics closer to your body and you tried to rest.

It’s too cold.

The domain couldn’t be too dangerous, you assumed, because in the game you have to turn on the mechanic to summon the monsters, and you could use the warmth of the place—it was not like you were in Dragonspine after all.

You looked up and held on the domain doors, pushing it open to have yourself be comforted by the light, but dread filled your body when someone was actually in the domain; you never encountered anyone yet in your travels, animals, sure, but not humans or monsters.

The person had a purple cloak, white clothing, purple hair and—you recognize him; this was not a person, but the puppet of the Shogun. The character you cried over was just a few meters away from you.

It was canon that he was pretty, he was described to be.

Your heart clenched as you saw him, laying in the middle of the domain that looked like it was taken from a place in Inazuma and shut locked in the domain, like a garden inside a bottle—as far as you know, he had no idea it was a domain.

Even if the trees were pretty and the view was a sight for sore eyes, you can’t help but tear up again; out of all the people you had to see first, it had to be the character your heart broke for so many times.

You now know the year it took place and where you were, and it did not ease the pain in your heart to know he could’ve been here for who knows how long, but you had to wipe your tears.

You wanted to help him, but what can you do? Not even you were from the world, no one knows you here, and you weren’t any different from him. You also didn’t want to change his future, because what if he doesn’t meet Lessor Lord Kusinali?

“Scara—” you said but your mouth clammed.

He has no name yet.

The puppet, however, turned to you, his face of curiosity and yours teary but you smiled regardless. At least you can take him out of the domain earlier than a certain samurai would, but you never knew the details.

You held the worn out fabric close to yourself, the scenery inside the domain being warmer than outside. You’re not sure what to say as you hesitated to even come near him; you can’t just give him a hug out of nowhere no matter how your heart breaks at his innocent stare.

“I’m sorry…” you whispered. “I did not know you were here and it was just cold outside.”

Your cheeks felt warm, embarrassed, and you’re not even sure if the puppet right now can even talk to you or understand your words because he was someone that wasn’t given a name before he was discarded.

Even your reason felt stupid, you sounded like you were invading someone’s home when it was a domain that anyone can walk in and walk out of—or can they?

You looked back and didn’t see the domain door and your heart dropped. This was the kind of domain without exit until you finish what is at the end of the domain, and you don’t remember what was inside this domain because it has been so long.

“Are you okay?”

Your heart nearly fluttered because this was someone who was now a blunt and not really soft-spoken person in the game, so hearing this tone on the character felt different, uncomfortably different.

“Oh, yes, uhm…” you said, stuttering your words a little before you hesitantly approached. “I… I’m sorry, but do you know what’s inside this place?”

To your observation though, he looked interested and flustered at the same time; you felt bad, because it was most likely because you were the first person he talked to ever since Ei left him there.

You nodded and then he replied, “Nothing…”

“Nothing?” your anxiety paused for a moment because you were bewildered, and he just nodded at you.

If there was nothing inside, then why was he still here? He could’ve gotten out on his own—unless he didn’t know how to get out in the first place or did he not know it was even possible?

“I… I see,” you muttered. “Hey… uhm… I’ll trust you since you said there was nothing…”

What else are you supposed to say? You can’t reveal anything from the game because it could affect the future, you thought of it like that as if you didn’t change the future by being the first person to meet him, and now you were going to attempt exiting the domain.

You felt a little stiff as you smiled at him and waved, the redness of the spot beneath your eyes and nose worrying him for some reason, because he never saw a human before, a human like you, at least.

He followed you, and you didn’t feel uncomfortable with him following you, except for the fact that he was following you—makes sense?

If you did find the exit, he would leave early too and you’ll destroy the timeline hours after you just arrived in Teyvat. You weren’t confident that you could give him a better life than what was ahead of him because you did not pay attention to details.

However, you do know that you can teach him to properly deal with his pain and emotions when the time comes, but you weren’t someone who graduated at psychology or anything that involves mental health; you’re just someone who observes.

“What are you doing?”

You can never get used to his tone, but he watches you slide the doors to the side or push them open in an attempt to find the exit, and he even follows you down the ladders and such.

“Investigating…?” you said but it sounded like a question, even the puppet was confused about your words, and you felt like you were going to flush again. “I’m just looking.”

You didn’t want to say you wanted to leave, because you didn’t want to hurt his feelings, you were probably—are—the first person he had ever met, and if you feel like if you found the exit, you wouldn’t be able to leave him without the shame and guilt building over you.

“I’ll go investigate with you,” he said and you felt something punch you in the gut by how innocent and soft-spoken he was. “I’ll help you.”

You smiled a little and then you turned around to continue walking.

In just a minute, you realized the puppet had no idea what investigating actually was and he was pushing and sliding doors open as you were earlier, in a way, what he was doing was right, but he looked endearing like that.

Endearing—the thought made your heart break again for the nth time. This person near you was someone who made you cry for days because you hoped his life would be better, because you felt like you understood his pain even if you hadn’t experienced it in the way he did.

You helped look around for exits, and you often look at drawers as well. You found a few mora and then when he noticed you were keeping circular gold coins, he started giving you the same looking coins whenever he sees one; it felt like you were robbing the place.

“Thank you, Kabu—” you clammed your mouth again. “Just… thank you.”

Clearly, as someone who never really had a social life, the puppet didn’t know how to respond to you, and your heart softened immensely. You continued, “The response usually is… ‘you are welcome’ or ‘you’re welcome’... It also can be ‘no problem’ if you weren’t burdened by what you were doing or ‘I’m happy to help’.”

“You’re welcome.”

Your heart warmed up, but then you realized that the reason why the puppet responded that way is because he probably can’t distinguish his own feelings right now; he had no lessons about his feelings and most likely didn’t know if he felt burdened by helping you or if he was happy to help.

You felt like going on your knees, crying and groveling in pain, because you messed up with him each time you opened your mouth to say something.

In the end, the last place you two checked just had to be the exit; you never tried to open it but it was the last door there, so it could be it for real, but you can’t find yourself to open it with the puppet in your presence.

“I realized you were looking for doors,” the puppet says. “Are you leaving?”

You don’t understand why he said leaving as if he didn’t plan to leave himself. You looked at him and whispered, “I really liked your company, even if I want you to come with me, I can’t do anything for you out there… I don’t know what will be out there, and I can’t help you…”

It was painful that you had to make the decision for the both of you, because you can’t trust the puppet, who barely had any interactions or say at the start of his life, make a decision; it was like he was a child in your eyes.

“You don’t know what’s out there?” he asked, his head tilting to look at you and your expression; he noticed that the redness of your eyes and nose disappeared. “How did you find me?”

“I wasn’t really looking for you, I was looking for a place to stay because it’s cold outside,” you said before you realized that barely hours had passed so it could still be cold outside. “I… you won't happen to be bothered if I stay, do you?”

“Can I… know more about you?”

He is so cute, once again, you want to grovel and cry about what he was going to go through and the fact you could do something about it but you didn’t want to because you weren’t confident enough to give him a better life.

You nodded before you sat down near the exit, leaning your back on the wall. You smiled at him and then pats the space beside you, at least, you want to try being beside a character you deeply adored.

Perhaps he felt some connection with you.

The puppet asked about your life and the basic information you know about Teyvat; he felt something he couldn’t point out when you told him that you don’t know anyone outside, it’s as if you two are new to the world, but you were human, no?

He doesn’t understand how you don’t know anyone and no one knows you, certainly, you’ve been outside longer than he was.

You had to pretend that you’ve been sheltered and it’s your first time going outside, which was, in a way in your modern life, true; you were quite introverted. He sensed a connection there.

He suddenly claims that he wants to go outside with you; he wants to experience what it is like outside too, with you, who he felt a connection with—someone he could relate to—someone he thinks he can trust, even if he wasn’t familiar with that concept yet.

You tried to explain to him that it won’t be easy, but he still wants to be with you still, you two are exploring the world for the first time, and he likes that thought.

You didn’t try to give him a name, even as he held your hand when you two left the domain after you took a nap to see that the sun was rising.

It wasn’t inevitable, when you entered that domain, you could’ve steeled your heart to go through everything and then leave him, but you couldn’t just ignore him, because for you, he was human.

He wanders around a lot, had you not been holding his hand, you would’ve lost him already, but you did let go of his hand and let him explore, just hoping he would scream if he ever encountered anything—not that you can save him though, but will save him.

You looked at the domain, trying to remember where Tatarasuna was. Maybe, just maybe, if he’s not too attached, you can safely leave him with the first person that ever found him: Kisaragi.

Tatarasuna was near a domain, but this domain, what domain is it? You don’t even remember. If Kisaragi found the puppet, then Tatarasuna must be nearby, no?

You look back to see that if you squint, you can see Seirai Island. You really must be near Tatarasuna, if you keep walking, you’re bound to find it—or if you wait Kisaragi might come by the domain and find you two.

You kneel away from the water and drop all the currency from the pouch; Mora was something you had a lot of in the game before you started leveling up a lot of characters just because you like them.

It can barely be used for food. You barely had 50 Mora with you.

The puppet watches you curiously and he comes back and kneels down beside you, wondering about your expression as your finger circles around the coin, refusing to acknowledge that you barely have money to go on.

You look at the puppet, prompting him to look at you. He’s so pretty and so carefree since he barely knows anything yet, and you didn’t want to teach him about poverty so early.

“Did you finish looking around?” you ask as you gather the coins and put them back in the pouch, and the pouch didn’t have some sort of void so you can feel its weight.

He nodded and you smiled at him; it won’t be easy to decide his future. You didn’t want to change his life in the game you were in, but you also didn’t want him to go down the road he did.

“Come on…” you stood up and offered your hand to him, hopefully, you would spot chests or eggs to cook. “Let’s look for a place to stay, but if we can’t… we might have to go back here and then look around again.”

THIS IS HEIZNX, IF YOU NEED TO BE MEAN BE MEAN TO ME :((( this is spoiler for the future chapters, ngl i want to put them in one but for some reason i limit myself to 2-3k words per post. im so not over his backstory even though i havent played it yet like i dont wanna break my heart

[choco-mooooose]

Ok off the bat things in the season 3 poster WHICH I AM SO EXCITED FOR WOW

- a schoolbus shining light on her (bus hijacking incident)

- the door creaked open on her with what I think is both Loid and Yor’s… shoes? At first I thought it was just loid, and I would’ve said that’s referencing his backstory, but I think they’re there just because they’re the other main characters yk

- a play soldier helmet (😭😭😭😭)

- a volleyball (Yor and Melinda and the women’s club- I don’t remember the name right now)

- a tea set, which I think Yor had tea with the women if I’m remembering correctly

- an onion (😭😭😭😭😭) (he’s chopping onions when he’s recruited)

- I know the tag in the right-hand corner has something to do with Loid’s backstory. I think the whole corner over there is dedicated to him, just as the left corner is for Yor.

Honestly I’m not sure if the lamp has any significance, especially since it’s shining a light, but they might’ve needed another object in the poster.

I think the light making a star shape probably references the Stella she will earn this season. I wonder how many chapters they’ll cover, though. Each season/cour has covered about three volumes’ worth of story, so if this is similar, the anime will have pretty closely caught up to the manga. This poster is mostly just showing things from volumes 10 and 11, so I’m wondering if this season will just be a bit more drawn out and only include things from those chapters.

Anyways, I’m excited!! This announcement came sooner than I thought!!

[utilitycaster]

In honor of that poll, which has apparently been answered by a bunch of loser rogue-fuckers, and was also written by someone who doesn't even have the update that gives you twelve poll options, please have a good ranking of sexiest D&D 5e classes, from me.

This only has the 13 officially published 5e classes so do not ask me about classes that are not that. Also, the existence of a handful of sexy or unsexy characters of that class does not a sexy or unsexy class overall make. I'm sure these two statements will not shut down all annoying people but by god I hope they shut down some.

Paladin. Self-explanatory: if you don't agree, you better explain yourself, unless you think they are outranked by...

Wizard. As Liam O'Brien said, what's sexier than wizards? And I said "paladins, but no one else." I'm also going to fuck up an Octavia Butler quote and say that her journal did not explicitly state that single-minded devotion is sexy but it is, and that's why wizards and paladins are, undisputably, the top two.

Warlock. Would be higher than wizards on the basis of sheer raw charisma but some warlock classes (archfey, hexblade) are extremely sexy and some are...pots in need of very unique lids, shall we say.

Bard. This is for competency and knowledge of mythology and musical instruments. If you're into some kind of memeriffic 20 CHA 7 INT Roll To Seduce bro shit, get the fuck out of here.

Ranger. Their combat abilities are not as great as they could be but this is also without a doubt the class that will invite you over and make a delicious foraged mushroom risotto and have lit candles they made themself. They are good with animals and can identify constellations. Entire package.

Barbarian and Fighter are tied. Do you prefer a flow state and passion or do you prefer dedication and persistence? Axe or sword? Raw power or precision? Equally valid; it's a matter of personal taste.

Cleric. One of the gods thinks they're special; it's hard not to be drawn in by that. Also, healing is the sexiest magical ability. Points off for the possibility of sanctimonious behavior.

Druid. This is just personal taste but I would find it weird if my partner was sometimes a giant scorpion, and I feel rangers are just the far sexier nature-loving option. People for whom druids are #1, I see you, I respect you, I disagree with you, but I do think you're valid.

Monk. Here's the problem. Yes flexible; everything else is kind of a solid "eh" for me. Honestly I think it's because D&D separates out dexterity and strength even though monks technically need both, and so the low-strength monk archetype really doesn't do it for me. It's not unsexy but it never wows me, and honestly in real life martial arts is usually more an aesthetic joy than a sexy one for me.

Sorcerer. Often physically attractive but I do not love a nepo baby, and absolutely the class least able to make you breakfast. Class most likely to attempt to make you breakfast and manage to fuck up scrambled eggs.

Artificer. Love the class but unfortunately I can only think of Belle's father in Beauty and the Beast (1991) when I think of what an artificer looks like. Wizards claimed the hot nerd spot; artificers never had a chance.

Rogue. Anyone can wear black leather. Anyone can twirl a butterfly knife and the ranger is going to be better at using it. You know what rogues are best at? Leaving through the window without waking you up. That's it. Bards have the same skills and then some and they're hotter by design. There are other classes with superior physical skills. Burst damage is already not actually that useful in 5e combat and even less so in the bedroom.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Whumptober Day 3 - Set up for Failure

Link walked the castle hallways in the dark. Occasionally he could still feel slippery warmth on his fingers, a strange echo of what had transpired. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he found it odd that it would imprint itself on him so much considering it was hardly his first kill.

Perhaps it was just because it had been a while. Or because of who the person had been.

It had been deserved. But he regretted doing so in front of Zelda.

Nausea overcame him, alongside a mind numbing exhaustion that fought for control. His skin crawled, hair on the back of his neck standing on edge, but his mind was so utterly blank he could hardly put together a single thought.

He felt nothing, really, as he continued to walk. His skin settled. He checked his hands once, twice, thrice. No blood. But he could still feel it, could still hear the gurgling breath as air filled pathways it wasn’t meant to, bubbling and drowning.

He wished Zelda hadn’t been there. But there was no avoiding it. The man had lost his mind, had been threatening her. Whether he’d truly meant it or not was a moot point by now; the damage had been done.

The man’s followers had done more damage than anyone. And Link was still very keen on hunting the rest of them down like the animals they were.

He’d spent the last month in a continuous fury, focused and determined in a way he hadn’t been since the war. It had been invigorating, honestly, and it had brought him and Zelda closer together than ever before.

Now that it was over…

Link paused, world growing hazy and spinning. He felt dizzy. He felt sick.

He wished today hadn’t happened. But what else had there been to do?

It was over. That was all that mattered.

The king consort sighed heavily, deciding that perhaps some prayer would settle his rattled mind. He maneuvered through the castle discreetly, entering the small sanctuary dedicated to the goddesses that was set aside for the royal family.

He hadn’t expected to see Zelda there.

The room was only just a little larger than Link’s own bedchambers, wooden pews lining in pairs for four rows, leading up to an altar where the ancient goddesses shimmered in golden splendor high on the wall. Beneath them was a depiction of Hylia, harp in hand. The altar glowed in different colors as moonlight spilled through stained glass, flanked by incense that slowly trailed tendrils up to the heavens.

Zelda sat on the floor just in front of the statues and altar, a blanket wrapped tightly around her, knees drawn to her chest.

Link felt like he shouldn’t be here. He was likely the reason she was praying, hunched over in such a vulnerable position. The Queen of Hyrule should be seated at the pews, or perhaps standing in front of the alter with hands folded over her heart. Instead, she looked like a child seeking comfort. It made Link feel all the more uneasy.

But no. He shouldn’t leave her like this. That was cruel.

Is it crueler for her father’s killer to be near her?

Ozen’s face flashed through Link’s mind again, nagging at him. He shook the image away, only slightly perturbed that it haunted him. He’d killed hundreds. This couldn’t be any different. It couldn’t.

Slowly, Link walked to the front of the chapel, sitting on the floor beside her.

Zelda didn’t acknowledge him initially. The cold of the stone floor brought some life back to him, trying to push the fog in his head away. He started trembling, catching himself off guard.

“Do you think Farore made us to suffer?” the queen asked quietly, eyes never leaving the golden statues above.

Link watched her a moment, uncertain, and then followed her gaze. The Golden Three looked serenely back at the pair. His eyes traced over the scales of justice in Nayru’s hand, over the flowers blossoming and encircling Farore’s arm, the fire and stone sparking around Din’s fingers.

“I don’t see why that would be the case,” he answered truthfully. “They have no need to make us just to watch us suffer.”

“What if we’re their entertainment?” Zelda questioned almost bitterly.

Link honestly sometimes debated if they even mattered to the goddesses, but the Triforce had chosen them, so clearly they had their favor, for whatever that was worth.

“Farore made us for a reason,” Link settled on saying. “I don’t think she wants us to suffer. I wouldn’t make something to watch it suffer. I wouldn’t want to see our children suffer.”

He supposed, then, that perhaps with that logic Farore had to care at least a little bit. But perhaps she was too removed, too busy dealing with something else – his destiny, once entwined to her graces, was over, after all.

“I suppose our suffering is our own fault, then,” he admitted. “We must be doing something wrong.”

He wished he could take the words back as soon as he’d spoken them—he’d decided to sit here to comfort Zelda, blast it—but he had no way to retract them. He himself had thought it multiple times, wondering why he was the way he was. Clearly it was his fault. He didn’t pray enough. He knew that. It wasn’t as if Hylia wouldn’t help if he petitioned her, even if Farore was too far to reach. She’d answered his prayers in the past, when he still bothered to speak to her.

Zelda was quiet for a long time before looking at the ground, pulling her knees a little closer, eyes staring somewhere beyond the stone floor. “We aren’t the only ones Farore made. We all have destinies, we all play our part. Just because others break the pieces of the puzzle, just because we bleed when we try to fit together as a result… that isn’t our fault.”

The words settled heavily in his mind and heart, and a million scenarios ran through his mind. Ganondorf, ruining everyone’s lives with his selfishness and pride. Ozen, almost destroying Hyrule time and again with his own paranoia. Zelda, constantly using those around her to further her agenda.

Link, helpless and pathetic and stupid, letting himself be hurt time and again, wallowing in self-pity like a child pitching a fit, undeserving of any sort of praise or love given all the idiocy he’d done.

He almost smiled. “I’m constantly reminded why Nayru chose you with her grace. I imagine your explanation is the correct one.”

The pair sat beside each other, each lost in their own thoughts. Link wanted to look up at the statues again, perhaps even to try and pray, but found he didn’t even have the energy to raise his head. Instead, he watched his hands, convincing himself he’d scrubbed off the blood for the millionth time that night.

He probably shouldn’t have killed him. Ozen was no murderer. He may have been brandishing a sword, but he hardly knew how to use it. He may have been yelling at his daughter, but he had never actually hurt her.

How could Link have known that she wouldn’t get hurt, though? How could he have stopped himself, when years of anger and hurt snapped at once, when all he saw was blood and all he felt was rage?

What was wrong with him?

What was he at this point? Had he ever been a Hero? He was no Hero now. He hardly felt empathy anymore, hardly felt anything. Dealing with the insurgents was the first time he’d felt life breathe through him in what felt like years.

Even now, despite how he ached at the pain emanating from Zelda, he could still feel anger and impatience trying to burn inside him. He had the gall to be frustrated that Zelda was suffering like this because of his actions, the audacity to be upset that he had to comfort her after she’d watched him murder her father.

When had it gotten this bad? Why couldn’t he fix it? Could he fix it?

Zelda swallowed, taking a slow, deep breath, and when he looked at her, he could see how she bit her lip to control her emotions.

“I still loved him,” she whispered, barely audible, voice breaking.

The queen of Hyrule began to cry quietly, trying to hide her tears from her husband. Link tensed even further, stomach rolling in protest, heart slamming against his ribs. The frustration boiled to the top and he looked away for a moment, frozen in anger and fear and exhaustion and hurt and guilt, not sure what he should feel, knowing, begging himself to comfort the woman beside him, unable to speak a word.

He dug his nails into his skin until they broke through. It made his body feel like ice in an instant, quieting his mind and heart. He felt sick. This was his fault. He wanted to run and never look back.

Instead, he leaned slowly towards her, wrapping an arm around Zelda, inviting her to rest against him. She started to sob, wrapping herself more tightly in her blanket, burying her face in his shoulder.

Link just held her as she cried. He couldn’t speak for the longest time, but the longer her tears stained his tunic, the worse he felt. The anger dissipated, exhaustion burned away, leaving a raw, raw emptiness and hurt that he couldn’t put any words to, a wound that had scarred and reopened time and again over the years, never healing fully, never addressed, and never leaving him alone.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, hardly able to get the words out. “I’m sorry.”

Once the words came out, they wouldn’t stop. He apologized over and over and over, images of Ozen, of Ganondorf, of Hemisi, of Merovar, of fallen Sheikah and Gerudo and Hylians, of Lady Impa bleeding on the floor after the attack, of his children watching him, of his own blood dripping down his body—I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry—

The King and Queen of Hyrule wept bitterly into the night, their cries carried on incense rising into the sky.

[blackdungeon357]

bad batch X artist Reader

Authors note: this is just for fun I randomly thought of this I tried I hope you like it

You have been with the bad batch for a while. You usually just draw when the boys are on missions or when things are calm in hyperspace although it is usual for you to draw you never really show them to the boys or Omega and most of the time they never question it. Until one day you were out at the store and left your sketchbook open on accident Omega found it on your bed and it was open to a page you have drawn of your little family. Omega grabbed it to show to the others at first they were a little weary because your privacy but when they looked at it their face is dropped as they flipped through the pages there were pictures of all of them just doing regular things

Hunter:

As Hunter looked through the sketchbook at all the pictures of his brothers his eyes are gleaming with happiness as this shows how much you see them as a family when he gets to a picture of him it says a few things that you like about him and its nothing but sweet as he looks at the well drawn picture of him holding his knife he is very happy and proud of how it looks as he keeps looking he finds a picture of him and Omega with the words #galaxies best father he smiles he never knew that you would say that about him and it brings joy to his day when you came back he smiles and handed you back your sketchbook "mesh’la you are a beautiful artist keep going I would love to see more" Hunter is extremely supportive of your skills and would love to see more as it helps him calm down seeing the pictures you drew and the time and dedication you made for each of them he also loves the notes you write in them.

Wrecker:

This big boy absolutely love your art especially the ones about him he finds this as a way you show you love and care for him and that makes him so happy he especially lost a little notes that you wrote about him he can't help but feel joyful inside. wrecker makes it known that he saw it he walks up to you and embraces you in a bear hug like Hunter he is very appreciative of the time you spent to draw each picture of him he especially puts the picture of him holding his stuffed animal. "Y/N you are amazing at drawing! We should totally draw together one day" Wrecker is definitely the type to do art as well and he happily gives advice to you as you give advice to him Wrecker does love you to death and would do anything to see your art.

Echo:

This precious baby actually feels more secure about himself as he looks at the pictures you've drawn of him and everything you wrote that you like about him it makes me feel jittery inside he also blushes a bit overall he's very happy that you see him in a good way as he is very insecure about how he looks but his favorite is the old picture you drew of him and Fives. It reminds him of the good times before everything happened it gives him a sense of nostalgic and he loves it Echo is very thrilled that you took the time to draw him and he loves the details of the pictures. When you get back Echo looks at you with a very happy smile and a better feeling about himself because your opinion is the only thing that matters to him now "ca’tra you are so talented when I saw how you drew me and the sweet notes about me it made me feel so good about myself you are truly amazing" Echo now sees himself in a better light and its all thanks to you.

Tech:

Tech was quite busy looking at his data pad until Omega decided to show him the sketch by shoving it in his face to get attention after his attention was grabbed he takes a look at it and at first he doesn't really care until he realize it's yours he's impressed by your proportions and ability to capture their figures very well he decides to look through it he finds many pictures of crosshair, wrecker ,Hunter, and Echo then he comes across one of him looking at his dad in the middle of the night and he loves how it looks the shading is spot on the proportion is correct he is very impressed we all know Tech is very intelligent and probably good at human anatomy and like things to be perfect when you come home he hands you back the sketchbook "you're proportions are pretty good you know a lot about human anatomy I'm impressed" he is very happy and may start to questions about if you know of each piece of the body and will correct you if you get it wrong.

Crosshair:

He doesn't understand art at all like he's impressed that you can draw that well but he doesn't ever draw so he doesn't understand but he smirks at the notes about him he notes to tease you about it when you get back but other than that crosshair is ok with your drawings PS: he loves the drawings of him the most. Honestly Crosshair is very prideful what did you expect? So when you return home he is quick to tease you "so I'm charming eh?" He says this with a smirk on his face as he looks at you with that smirk and as you try to grab your sketchbook he keeps it out of your reach and laughs at you attempts to grab it Hunter has to tell hem to return the sketchbook but for the next week hes teasing you about it always steeling your sketchbook just to see the new things you wrote about him and more badass pictures of himself it annoys you but you can't do much but you will play his little game and it will continue until you can hide your sketchbook.

[cheesycatz]

INSTAGRAM ASKS BELOW WOOHOO I CAN NOT SHUT UP ABOUT THIS FREAK

(I updated the lore posts on here in like May because there was outdated stuff I completely missed and finally updated it on instagram too woopsies🧍‍♂️)

He draws. In used school notebooks, across old books, over discarded mail. Broken pencils, dried up markers, dull crayons, chewed pens. He draws the trees he will never climb, fields and fields of flowers, discolored leaves and vines. Sometimes he adds himself.

He keeps a faded journal in one of the jacket's many hidden pockets. A way to pass the time while waiting for prey to… sell to. He only draws “Spamton” in it, not himself. Nothing incriminating.

…never drawn an addison before.

In all seriousness, I've dedicated a lot of thought to Wormton's art style and what he draws. It's relevant to the fic; as foreshadowing, as angst, as fluff, as a plot device. It's meant to appear childish—as in, made by someone who just wanted to make something without caring about what it looks like. The lines are jagged and dig into the page, often ripping through. I held the pencil with three fingers, and used my right (nondominant) hand to write the text and color. His face is drawn in an abstract way where it doesn't resemble his mask, but anyone who hasn't seen his real face would assume it is the mask. He draws himself bigger than he really is, draws his three fingers in place of his mittens, and colors his eyes in the wrong order because he uses his mirrored reflection as reference. He draws Blue's face nearly the exact same as his because he doesn't know how to draw anyone but himself, and forgets their fourth fingers and scribbles them on after the fact. His spelling and handwriting is incomprehensible half the time.

Other than drawing, he also spends a lot of time hunting for food. He explores the Trash Zone, looking for things to sell or keep. He spends time performing maintenance on his disguise, either attempting to clean it or do repairs. He takes time to groom his fur, genuinely hating how filthy his costume and having to look in dumpsters makes him. He likes to inspect and rearrange all the trinkets in his nest before he burrows into his vast pile of shredded blankets, stuffing, and old pillows for the night (or morning? He's not quite nocturnal but he goes to sleep at like 3 am).

Blue's fear definitely does not go away. They might not be as grossed out by certain things (like if they saw an insect or centipede rubbing its legs against its antennae, they'd now understand that it’s simply grooming itself in the same way Wormton cleans his nose). But, I think that the majority of their fear for “creepy crawlies” (and Wormton initially) come from how unpredictable and fast they can be. They're hard to keep track of, you can't tell if they're crawling on your face or if your brain is being paranoid, spiders and centipedes specifically come out when the lights are off, Wasps will sting you for doing absolutely nothing, it goes on. They invade your safe space, you can't tell which can kill you and which are harmless, and nothing you do will convince them to leave your home.

Fortunately for Blue, Wormton's pheromones scare away pretty much any animal with a sense of smell, and he eats whatever is left. There's no birdsong around their home. He's the only one they have to worry about raiding the pantry, building nests in the walls, and crawling on the ceiling.

Yeah, I imagine that Ralsei and/or Queen would have to announce to the general public that Spamton is under protection so that he can finally exist without his disguise. Out of the volunteer researchers who weren't killed and didn't leave Cyber City before Deltarune takes place, I don't think they would dare enter his presence. Personally I would not try to speak to the last surviving member of a genocide if I had previously experimented on and killed thousands of their people's children

There's a lot of hatred for invasive species, especially ones that cause severe damage to both property and people, like malworms do. Some take joy in killing as many as possible. But, I think it's important to remember that species don't choose to be invasive. This is especially apparent with malworms, since they're sapient (though that information isn't really known by darkners). They've been taken out of their natural cave-like environment in the Deep Web and thrown onto the Surface Web with no hope of returning. The bright lights, loud sounds, and open areas of the city are disorienting and terrifying. But, without natural predators or competition, malworms multiply quickly. They destroy buildings, chew power lines, and kill anything they come across. But, the malworms can't stay, can't be reasoned with, and eradicating them was the only option Cyber City had. I suppose it's a miserable fight on both ends. Nobody really wins.

Technically, the only plastic required in a malworm's diet is polyethylene, and gift cards are usually made of polyvinyl chloride acetate. But, malworms like chewing and eating inedible things in general, so it wouldn't be surprising if one did eat a gift card. They like stealing/eating physical money because it annoys people and because Cyber World's dark dollars happen to be made out of the plastic they need.

[fanficmaniatic]

You know? The studio change makes me really sad.

A big part of Lego Monkie Kid’s soul was its animation and its use of Visual storytelling. There are frames and shots from the first 4 seasons that as stills, work as full illustrations that are able to tell so much about the story! It is clearly something born about of someone’s passion! It has dedication and so much though put behind it.

Animating is a Big, laborious effort. Productions like LEGO Monkie Kid? Even more so. The dynamic shots, the use of lights, the composition, and the fluid movement of the stylized shapes… They made the show unique, yes, but also an incredible hard show to work on. Yet it paid of! LEGO Monkie Kid is a success in China! As it was supposed to be, and even when the US is not the main audience, is doing well here too!

That’s why it pains me so much to see Flying Barks leave. Nothing against Wildbrain, I happen to really love their work and how they animate… yet, Wildbrain is mostly familiar with 3D and Puppet animation. Puppet Animation and 3D are great methods, but neither is the hand drawn 2D look LEGO Monkie Kid has become known for. I have no doubt WildBrain will make the best with the cards they’ve been dealt with, and I look forward to see what they do. But is not the same. Hand drawn and Puppet animation are different mediums for a reason, and is a big noticiable change, specially for an action cartoon.

But I have to say… I am disappointed, in LEGO. So far it looks like the change in studios is due to scheduling issues, and because Flying Barks was not able to keep up with the demands LEGO put in place… To this I say, LEGO Monkie Kid is one of the most laborious works of Animation I’ve ever seen… and they killed it because they wanted it to come out faster?

Such a big part of LEGO Monkie Kid’s identity lays on its Animation, yet the corporation changed the studio, changed the animation method… To make production faster?

Animation takes time. Art takes time. Is sad to see a corporation do this because what is next? Will they change the cultural consultants team for a cheaper, quicker one too? Will they change their writers? I really hope not… But again, most people get into the show because of its animation, and they were willing to change it for the cheaper, quicker alternative.

This looks like a bad corporate decision at best, and a big slap to the face to the artist at Flying Barks at worse.

With the attention the Animation Community has in the show, it could be doing numbers with a bit of promotional material, and a consistent streaming service, yet they never did that, and now the attention from the art people might leave.

All these is to say,

Farewell Flying Barks, You did amazing. I hope you soon get a project that gets its deserve promotion and doesn’t get cancelled or out sourced. Your name shall be known.

[chaifootsteps]

DoggySatan: makes a hate account specifically for you that is dedicated to stalking, harassing, and fabricating things to crusade against you in a vicious smear campaign, also makes a really nasty “joke” accusing you of having a kink for being killed in the process.

DoggySatan the moment someone points out gross stuff THEY have done: HELP HELP CHAI AND THEIR FRIENDS ARE ABUSERS IM BEING HARASSED IM BEING HARASSED LOOK AT ALL THESE PEOPLE WHO LIKED THIS POST CALLING ME OUT THEYRE ALL SUPPORTING MY HARASSMENT :( :( ;(

DoggySatan, you can’t have your cake and eat it too. PLEASE for the love of god get offline and get help instead of trying to get headpats from your followers by cry-typing to them about something that is simply the result of you harassing and trying to completely damage the reputation of a person who simply criticized a cartoon you like.

When are you going to get it through your skull that if people making “plushie humper” jokes constituted as sexual harassment, the (honestly far worse) stuff you said and did to Chai would be as well??? You made a WHOLE ACCOUNT dedicated to falsely accusing him of being some of the worst things a human can be, and your followers ate it right out of your hand. You enjoyed doing it too, I’m sure. So where is the line? Where is the line that gets drawn between “Chai is a sexual harasser because he’s making plushie humper jokes in response to my smear campaign”

and “i made a hate account that crusaded nonstop against one singular person and accused them of being a zoophile, a pedophile, being into snuff, and INSISTED they were into these extremely dangerous and horrible things without any hesitation if it means people will turn on them and hate them”. You constantly put words into peoples mouths, you’re constantly playing the victim over something that was simply the result of the first couple hundred stones that you threw at one singular person.

Please just log off the internet until you’re able to actually handle it and use it responsibly. Stop accusing people of vile things that aren’t true just as a wounded animal tactic over something YOU started and were more than happy to until the same thing ended up happening to you.

This.