#dunno what other tags there are... sorry!

[cable-tangled-angel]

𓆩♡𓆪 "This is my mission. I'm the Internet Angel, after all."

CHARACTER INFO :: ᯓ Name: Celeste. ᯓ Age: Around 24 - depends on RP. ᯓ Gender: Female. ᯓ Sexuality: Bisexual, men pref. ―――― ᯓ Hair: Black, usually tied into a ponytail. ᯓ Eyes: Deep grey. ᯓ Skin: Fair, leaning tan. ᯓ Details: Freckles and a birthmark on side of neck.

ADMIN INFO :: ⊹₊ Name: Valerie / Val. ⊹₊ Pronouns: She / They. ⊹₊ Age: I'm an adult. ⊹₊ Timezone: CST, active from 4pm - 10pm. ⊹₊ DM status: Open, always! ⊹₊ Replies: Speed obviously varies but somewhere between 3-7 minutes when I'm active. I usually try to match my partner but for committed RPs I write no less than a paragraph, usually 2. ROLEPLAY STYLE :: ➤ Texting ✓ | ✗ ➤ Casual/Free style ✓ | ✗ ➤ One liners ✓ | ✗ ➤ Illiterate ✓ | ✗ ➤ Semi-literate ✓ | ✗ ➤ Literate ✓ | ✗ ➤ Advanced literate ✓ | ✗ ➤ Novella ✓ | ✗

EXTRA :: ᯤ All ships and interactions are okay. Canon, OC, self insert, I don't care. ᯤ I have RP experience but haven't RPed on Tumblr before so sorry if I do something weird. Trying my best. ᯤ Have a bunch of alt blogs so hopefully I don't get them mixed up. If I do just ignore it. ᯤ I have some really bad experiences with being rushed / forced into responses, please be patient with me. I might block without warning if I feel uncomfortable. ᯤ Ask before shipping, I'm almost always okay with it but it gives me time to plan stuff. ᯤ If I interest you, please come say hi! Even if I don't know your fandom I'll do my best to interact~

[beyond-the-frozen-pines]

the stars, the moon, they have all been blown out (you left me in the dark)

[serotonin-dose]

AsaDen x Metaphor Re:Fantazio

[blue-slates]

I think what's getting me about the ending, more than how bittersweet they are is just that (endgame spoilers lool)

There's just no trust. Whoever the player sides with (and you HAVE to side with one of the them, no way out for you) just illustrates that Verso and Maelle don't trust that the other will follow through if they decide to listen.

Maelle can't trust Verso to not destroy the painting while she's gone to recuperate (and she's right). Verso can't trust Maelle to actually leave the painting after ostensibly fixing things up. (and how long would that even take? A day? A week? A year? Real world time or canvas time?)

And it makes me think back to their final relationship conversation, where Verso can either lie or be truthful about whether he let Gustave die. I was bothered by how subdued Maelle's reaction was, and eventually chalked it up to her putting it behind them. For context I chose to tell her the truth.

But I think whatever you chose, Maelle had already made up her mind about what Verso was capable of, and what she was planning to do with her life. She had already figured out that she can't trust him - he had already left everyone Lumiere to die instead of giving her Alicia's letter, telling her that shes' Alicia. (Maybe at first she still wanted to trust him. She understood why he did what he did, but by that point she asks about Gustave, she's made up her mind) And she'd already proven that, when push comes to shove, she's not going to listen to what Verso has to say, even about him not wanting to be alive anymore. Killing Alicia was a kindness to her, but she didn't let Verso even say goodbye. Yeah, it was her (Alicia/Maelle) decision, but to Verso it must've felt like he didn't matter.

He was just another portrait of her brother she couldn't lose.

And it kills me that they couldn't trust each other enough to reach a compromise, but they'd already made their decision long before their fight.

[basilpaste]

i think. i think people forget, sometimes, that unlearning things takes time. and theyll get mad at themselves for not shifting their behavior immediately after learning something is wrong. its something that requires conscious effort, like breaking a bad habit. adjusting your thought patterns is not a one and done kind of deal.

and beyond that, exclusionary groups are inherently predatory and feed on your insecurities. lots of young people are corralled into these kinds of things because theyre looking for direction, for someone to tell them how to behave because they dont understand what theyre experiencing. and exclusionists will jump at the chance to dictate what it means to be a 'good' minority.

i got pretty trapped in trans/sysmedicalist spaces when i was younger and i still to this day find myself lapsing back into that way of thinking sometimes. i had an epiphany that i dont know if i actually want top surgery today. and my first thought was "but i wont pass that way" despite the fact that i havent cared about passing in many years. when i talk about my experience with plurality, theres often a nagging worry that people will decide im doing it wrong somehow.

i dunno where im going with this, really. just... give yourself some grace. shit takes time. youll get there.

[snzydarling]

and ofc gotta throw some of your middle aged lovelies at you how about f/ukuzawa with a stuck snz~ how would he handle that? where is it happening? guess that's up to you 👀

ok once again thank u so much for all of these asks im gnawing at my enclosure... i had to start with my middle aged guy because hes just my guy..... i tried to keep very little fuku/fuku in this so that way its palatable to litr anybody besides me but i dont think i did a good job ok thank u for the ask again........ i hope u enjoy (^-^)

“Ah, Yuki, you okay?” 

This isn't exactly unusual. Allergies hit Fukuzawa like clockwork in February, leaving him disheveled and sensitive. Genichirou's borne witness to almost 30 years' worth of hayfever seasons - but even he's a little surprised when he barges into the office. 

Yukichi looks hazy - sort of like he is when drunk, but he'd never drink at work. His eyes are unfocused and watery, and his shoulders are trembling. For a heart-dropping second, Genichirou thinks he's crying. 

But after a beat, he sighs. Starts scrubbing at his face with a fury, and bleary, redrimmed eyes meet his clear ones. He looks grumpy - actually grumpy, not just the infamous resting-angry face look he carries. The crease in his brow gives him away. 

“Genichirou.” He acknowledges, finally, voice husky and breathy in a weird way. He blinks a few times, probably to clear itchy-looking tears away, and one hand moves back to his already abused nose. Genichirou can't help but whistle. 

“Did you take your meds? You look pretty awful.” Fukuzawa huffs at him. Genichirou considers himself pretty lucky he didn't get a pen thrown at him. Better not test it. 

He plops down onto the couch. It's late enough that Yukichi’s got the lights on, dull enough to not aggravate a sinus headache. They're pretty useless, given that his laptop is closed. He's just staring at the wall, scrubbing and scrubbing at his nose with his face scrunched. It's Genichirou's turn to throw something his way. 

A spare paperclip from the stand next to him. It platters to the floor, batted away, but Fukuzawa doesn't even acknowledge it beyond that. He just keeps fussing at his face. Maybe he didn't take anything, even though Genichirou knows he keeps an extra stash of meds hidden away everywhere. He mentioned needing a Benydral once, and Yuki pulled a blister pack from his sleeve in the dead of winter

“Yuki, what's your problem?” he asks,  eyes searching for another paperclip, or maybe something heavier so he'll have to at least look at it. Yuki snuffles, then sighs, then stands up, shaking his head a few times like an old, burly dog. His ears are red. They peek out from his hair like cherries. 

“I can't,” He trails off, gesturing kind of vaguely at his face. Fukuchi prods, in the literal sense, jumping from his seat to bump their shoulders together and poke at the tensed muscles on his back. “Keep goin’.” 

Fukuzawa shuffles his way to the couches. “I can't sneeze.” He admits after way too long. Thank god, because all the awkward suspense was making Genichirou feel weird. They told each other everything - some unsaid thing that made Yukichi look like he was crying and his ears burning would've eaten him alive. He tries hard not to laugh for a second, sputtering out half giggles, but the offended look Yuki gives him from under his bangs, half mad and half embarrassed, sends him over the edge. 

He's fully expecting the kick to the leg, but it still hurts like hell.  He'll tell anybody - Yukichi's stronger than he looks, and he's got years of bruises to prove it. Those wooden sandals are damn pointy, too. 

When he finally settles down enough to sit back down, Fukuzawa's too busy to keep abusing him. He's got that bleary look again. Fukuchi wouldn't know anything about trying to sneeze. It doesn't take him any effort at all. But he does know a lot about Fukuzawa's allergies, and how he turns every sneeze into a little implosion, and how sometimes that turns into this. And Fukuchi knows all about which buttons to press, too - what to mention to rile him up enough to spar, and the one spot on his face that's sensitive. 

His entire face is twitching when Genichirou leans in close. He's waiting in desperate anticipation for something to send him over the edge, chest stuttering with uneven, desperate breaths, eyes weighed down by heavy and irritated tears. Call Fukuchi a savior. He nudges Fukuzawa’s hand away from where it's resting under his nose and presses his ring finger right where soft cartilage meets bone, just above the tip of his nose. 

There isn't very much gratitude at first. In fact, his hand is shoved away. But Yukichi takes in a ragged breath of air and is thrown forward so fast that his face disappears in a blur of motion. 

“ ‘rRSZCHH -  eH'RSCHh!” He appears for a moment, hands lingering in the air, before he crumbles back down. 

“iA'ESZHHUh-! hH’rRSZHHh-oo! ehH'RZSHHi-!” They're so big that Fukuchi has to grab his shoulder to keep him on the couch. He shudders into each sneeze, probably tearing his throat. They're nothing like what Fukuchi's used to hearing. 

“ eI'SZCHHi-iew-! ‘rSZHHhiew-!” Fukuchi fumbles for tissues once he sounds like he's cleared out enough to breathe. “God, Yuki. Bless you.” He pressed tissues into his hand because if the way he's sniffling now is anything to go by, his face is a mess. 

When he lifts his face back a few moments later, nothing besides the angry red splotches gives anything away on his face. Looking down, however, his lap is splattered with spots of mess. Yuki sniffles again, then again, and a third time, then throws a half-hearted hand up and finally blows his nose. 

It takes a few throat-clearings for his voice to be anything audible after that. Yukichi slumped against the couch after blowing his nose, like sneezing like that tired him out. 

“Thank you.” Now his voice is thick with dredged-up congestion, and even Fukuzawa seems to acknowledge that he just can't win. Genichirou'd make him some tea, but he isn't any good at it. He just gives a sympathetic thump on the shoulder instead. “You feelin’ better now?” 

Fukuzawa nods. Genichirou pats his shoulder a few more times, just for good measure. “You owe me a drink now, Yuki!” 

Yukichi must be alright now, because that kick to the shins was in record time. Genichirou probably won't ever recover from all this abuse. There's something about deceiving looks and lifetime friends. 

[malachite834]

Had this template for a Fictional Crush Bingo saved for a while now and tried making one a couple years ago, so I decided to go back to it now and update my picks

(All characters are listed in the alt text if you're interested)

Hey did y'all know that I'm a furry? Crazy, right

Blank template below

[blade-that-was-broken]

“Hey Clay?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I know you don’t really like to talk about your older bro-...” 

“Did he call again? Ignore it, he’ll stop. Honestly, he should know better by now,” Clay grumbled, not looking up from his project. Last week, Bruce had called him, out of the blue. It had been a weird phone call, acting as if the last several years didn’t happen. As if Bruce didn’t just pick up and move across the country the moment he could, leaving the rest of them to their mother.

He knew he was holding a ridiculous grudge. It had been years. And Clay might have gotten over it eventually, if Bruce hadn’t replaced them with his perfect family. He barely stayed in contact - even with the brothers who weren’t as mad at him. Branch had been young when Bruce left, barely six years old. Clay wasn’t a whole ton better but at least Branch knew him to an extent. Branch at least knew his favorite color. Clay doubted Branch knew the first thing about Bruce. 

“He… he’s here.” 

Bruce wouldn’t leave his resort and his wife and well, now his kids. It was like he expected everyone to pick up and go visit him just because he lived on an exotic island or whatever. As if Clay didn’t have responsibilities or Floyd wasn’t constantly traveling. As if it was so easy for Grandma to leave the house and fly across the country. Bruce barely called and he never, ever visited - much less out of the blue like this. 

Clay stopped and looked up, his head swiveling around to look back at his best friend. Her curly blonde hair was wrapped up in a messy ponytail, which was fairly normal, but the uncertain and awkward expression on her face was definitely not the norm for her. “What?” he asked, shocked. 

She nodded. “Yeah. There is a guy down in the courtyard. He said he’s your older brother.” 

Clay shook his head. Bruce would never leave his precious wife and resort to visit him, especially when he knew how much Clay was upset with him. Had been for years. Honestly, aside from one phone call a week or two ago, Clay hadn’t really heard from him in years. Clay could have chalked it up to Bruce just knowing that he was angry with him for abandoning him - them - with their mother the first moment he could, but he barely kept in contact with Floyd and Branch as well. And they didn’t hold the hard feelings that Clay did. Not that Clay was much better; he didn’t talk to any of his brothers much either. 

“There is no way,” he protested with a huff, rolling his eyes. She must be mistaken, there was no other option. “He’s never made a trip out here. He would never leave his resort. What is he doing out here?” Viva hesitated, glancing away, which was very strange for her. She was very straightforward and easily excitable. Clay felt his brow furrow a little. “Viva…” 

“He’s not… like how you said.” 

He just sighed and took a deep breath. Bruce definitely had a way with people; he always had. Granted, Clay probably painted him in mostly a crappy light, due to the fact that whenever the subject did come up - which was extremely rare - it was not often positive. Clay had a lot of anger and probably a lot of resentment. It was a work in progress. “Look, Viv. I know he’s easy to believe. He seems soooooo friendly and charming that you want to just swoon or whatever. He’s got that effect on people but…” 

“No.” 

“No?” Clay asked, confused. She said it so strong, so flat, so sure and Clay wasn’t sure what to make of that. 

“Clay… he’s not like that at all. He was actually really quiet and awkward and super uncertain but held him with some kind of…rigidness? At least as much as he could,” Viva looked uncomfortable, like she had seen something she really didn’t like. He wasn’t sure what that was about. At the moment, he was more hung up on the description which did not sound like Bruce at all. 

He scoffed. “Bruce?” 

“He didn’t say that was his name,” Viva continued, still uncertain, glancing towards the window. “But you only have one older brother right?” 

Clay blinked and his whole world came to a standstill. “I….” 

“Clay?”

Older brothers. 

There was no way, though. He hadn’t heard anything from him since their parent’s divorce and when he was practically dragged away almost kicking and screaming. Clay barely remembered it; he tried not to. Everyone had been crying but Branch’s screaming, going along with everyone else's tears kind of drowned everything out. It hadn’t been a pretty memory and Clay avoided thinking about it. Coupling that with his mother’s systematic way of erasing anything that evoked him or their father from their house and their lives, it only took a few years for everyone to stop considering them entirely. 

His eyes widened. There was no way. There was no way it was possible. 

Clay didn’t even think. He bolted out the door, not even bothering to strip off his lab coat. There was no way. It had been at least fifteen years. What were the chances? After fifteen years? There was no way. 

He had to be sure. 

Making his way down to the courtyard, with Viva shouting after him, he scanned the area upon slamming the doors open. It had been a decade and a half. He had no idea what to look for anymore. They had all changed. 

“He’s by the fountain, sitting on the stone wall,” Viva supplied. 

That helped. He made his way over, still looking over the area until he spotted a more middle aged guy with short hair and bandages on his arm. When he looked, Viva nudged him, giving him the sign that who she had talked to was him. Definitely not Bruce. 

He looked over at Clay and recognized him, suddenly nervous. Clay just stared. That was all he could really muster up to do. “Uh… hi, Clay. I know you might not really remember me but…” 

Clay didn’t say a word at first, just launching himself at his big brother, knocking him into the grass behind in a hug. He clearly wasn’t expecting it but he took to the action pretty quickly, wrapping his arms around Clay’s back for support and to keep him from being tossed around. 

“John Dory.” 

Clay couldn’t remember the last time he thought of him, much less said his name out loud. He hated that. His eyes were squeezed shut, just soaking up the firm grasp his oldest - his oldest - brother had on him. He had so much to say and so many questions but only one happened to come out. It had been fifteen years and now John Dory just showed up out of the blue. 

“How did…how did you find me?”

It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to say. There was a lot he wanted to say and do but his mouth had run off with him, questioning so much that he really didn’t actually care the answers to. Because he was here. After fifteen years. 

“Bruce told me.” 

Clay shifted slightly. “B-Bruce?” He supposed it might have been easier to find a resort owner before some crazy older college student. Although Clay felt like he had his name out there more than his other older brother, as he had written papers and had been featured in several journals. Although it might not have been in things John might have looked through. They could be pretty niche. 

“I…” John tensed a little and hesitated. “He found me. The hospital found him, I guess? They found him and called him. I’ve been staying with him for my recovery.” 

Clay’s heart dropped as he pulled away, trying to assess. He scrambled off his brother, stepping back. “Your what?” 

John grimaced. 

Viva nudged his shoulder and spoke quietly. “Clay.” 

Clay’s eyes were drawn downward. Sure, there were bandages on his arm but John’s grip didn’t seem to be very weak so he doubted that would be so debilitating and honestly, his legs seemed fi-… where was his leg? 

“W-Where is your leg?” 

“Sudan… I think?” 

Clay just stared. 

“Right, sorry. Kinda dark humor there,” John muttered, sitting up a little more. “I was… I have been, I guess, in the military for a while. Over ten years I guess, uhm… it’s a long story. But some stuff happened, my arm got kinda burned up but it’ll be okay. Head got banged around a bit but that should be fine too. The biggest thing was my leg which… well, that ended my military career pretttyyyy quick. The hospital found Bruce and yeah, I’ve been staying with him but…. I wanted to see you. Needed to see you.” 

There was a pause. 

“Sorry, that was… that was a lot of words.” 

“When Bruce called…” Clay drifted off in realization. Bruce had called to tell Clay about John. 

“He didn’t want to freak you out.” 

“But I hung up.” 

John nodded. “Bruce didn’t really tell me anything about what happened with you guys or anything but I just… I bought a plane ticket and well, here I am.” 

Here he was. 

“Does Bruce even know you’re here?” Clay asked, uncertainly. With John’s state, it probably meant that Bruce was kind of taking care of him, which meant he was in charge of his welfare and health. John was still on leg crutches and probably couldn’t get around super well. It couldn’t have been that long since it happened. 

John snorted. “I am a grown man.” 

“Missing a leg!” 

“So?” John asked, his nose wrinkling. Clay almost felt like he had been slapped. Floyd and Branch did the same thing. “I knew a guy who lost both and guess what? He lives alone. Does just fine.” 

“He’s probably freaking out.”

“Bruce? Probably.”

“Then why are you here?” 

John tried not to look hurt. He would have done a great job too, if he hadn’t looked away. It was a telltale sign and Clay noticed. He didn’t even realize what he had said and how it came out until it was too late. He cursed himself; he didn’t want John to think he didn’t want him here. “I haven’t seen you in fifteen years, Clay. No matter how much time passes or what happens, I love you.” 

Shit. 

“Clay… he’s so cute,” Viva sniffled. “You never told me-” 

“That I existed?” John guessed, making Clay cringe. “That seems to be an ongoing theme.” 

“JD, I just…” he didn’t really know what to say. He didn’t have any excuse, really. He could blame a lot on his mother but that felt wrong to say to him. There wasn’t any real excuse that would make anyone feel better. 

“It’s alright,” John replied, although Clay could tell there was some struggle. Which made sense. No one wanted to feel forgotten by loved ones. Especially not the ones still alive. “Bruce didn’t tell his kids I existed either. I’m getting over it.” 

He shouldn’t have to get over it, Clay thought. He shouldn’t have had to do any of it. He should have spent the last fifteen years with them. He should have been there for birthdays, for their graduations, for their important moments. He should have been there when Bruce got married. For Floyd’s first show. For Clay’s best college awards. Bruce’s kids should have known their uncle their entire life, not just now and so forth. 

“She’s dead, our mother,” Clay said, blandly. He blamed her a lot, for pretty much everything. Not the divorce itself; that was both of them, but for cutting them off from his brother. For forcing his name to never be spoken. For erasing his memory. It was one thing to keep them away from their father, although Clay didn’t like that either, but to keep them away from their older brother was unforgivable for him. 

“So is dad. Over ten years.”

Ten years. Over even. John lost his family, became an adult and lost his father. No wonder he joined the military. 

“Six.” 

“I tried looking for you,” John promised, like it was something he had to convince Clay of. Like he didn’t want Clay to think that he didn’t try. It wasn’t meant to make Clay feel worse and Clay knew it but it did anyway. Because Clay hadn’t. He hadn’t looked. He hadn’t even considered it. “Before joining the military. After too, a little, I suppose. I’m no detective I guess.” 

Clay just stared at him. Did he think…?

“I know…” John frowned again. “I know you’re mad at Bruce but I can’t… I… Clay, I want to be…to have… to be in some part of your life and I just…” 

“I’m not mad at you.” 

Clay hated the almost hopeful look that John stared at him with. It was a expression that screamed he wasn’t expecting this reaction. “You… aren’t?”  

“No. Of course not. Our parents were petty and bitter and it is all their fault. JD, you never… you didn’t abandon anyone. Dad took you away and mom decided to try and erase that part of her life. Have you blamed yourself this whole time? For years?” 

“No, no, I just… I don’t want you to think I stayed away or something.” 

“I believe you,” Clay promised. “And I’m so glad you’re here.”

[arihi]

#4 from the meme and a few extra! What's your oldest hypno fantasy from when you first discovered the kink and also what fantasy have you had the longest but have yet to do?

#4. My current recurring fantasy is being able to be on display. Shown how easily I make noises and how easy it is to get me to do anything. Pretty simple but I am not a particularly showy person and so I’ve got a lot of personal hesitations about it, totally on me to feel more comfortable with the idea! I know these things are possible to an extent at cons, but I wouldn’t be able to do the exact things I want to do at them. The reality is such a thing is likely only possible to conceive of in private.

My oldest fantasy from when I first discovered the kink! I suppose I stumbled upon it as many of us did as villains brainwashing heroes. The fantasy element would probably be hypnosis/brainwashing to have me compromised enough to betray my morals or limits that I’d previously had.

Fantasy I have had the longest but have yet to do: a bad decisions club. Not bad decisions as in actual ill-advised actions, but lightly based on my story Bad Decisions Make Better Stories! I am (obviously) a big drug play person. I would love if that was actually feasible - the idea of a drug that shoots your arousal up and makes you acquiesce, so to speak. At a club or bar, being able to be a little messy about it, being brought back and have terrible things done to you. This runs back into the me-not-being-an-exhibitionist issue, for one. For two, alcohol would be a great tool as far as kind of letting yourself be tipsy and silly (in a socially acceptable way) and make illogical (but hot) decisions, but that runs into the me-being-allergic-to-alcohol issue. I did get drunk once! Spider and I did shots of straight vodka to get enough of it in me before my throat closed up lol. HAHA not a very sexy description but a very funny story. I wouldn’t be opposed to it again. It just has to work out timing wise for a good evening and Spider to make sure I’m actually physically okay afterwards.

To a larger degree, I think many of us are all a bit more closed off and shy and worried to do things in public than we’d like to be. Sometimes comfort is a prison when you stick with old habits and only do what you’ve always done before. I’ve been going out with Doc a lot lately and meeting people and been uncomfortable but have always 100% enjoyed it. It’s been a great thing to push myself out of that comfort zone. A concept I have always joked about to close friends is an actual ‘bad decisions’ club where everyone goes with the idea that their comforts can be tested and they can try and let themselves do things they were scared to do, or be open to new experiences in a way they’d usually shy away from. This is, of course, hardly a feasible task. The reality is you are simply not going to find enough people who are okay with themselves enough to be uncomfortable, to do it, and people who want to take advantage of it, to not.

Ah, but a girl can dream.

Thank you sooo much for these questions!! Sorry I rambled and did a large text wall. I’m typing on mobile so if there are weird spacing issues, direct your ire towards the app, not me.

[boxtens-askblog]

is voxy fronting in some of the photos? by that i mean... was it in control of the body during some of those times?

uhm.. I guess so.. maybe back after Shrimpo twisted.. I don't think I was all there for that bit..

[evilducks]

god. i miss my old classmates

[lee-blogs]

Still packing stuff and now i'm looking for a box for this.

My dad and i made it a few years ago for halloween, probably 2015/16 if i'm remembering right. It's made from a lays can, a wipes container from his work, and paper maché. I don't remember what the wires and front metal bits are from, but the middle actually lights up! It has one of those long battery-powered emergancy lights in it and some colored tissue paper

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

Chapter 8

GUESS WHO'S BACK WITH ANOTHER CHAPTER That's right, after being out of commission for a couple months, chapter 8 is FINALLY finished.

AND I HAVE SOME GOOD NEWS FOR THE PEOPLE WHO'VE BEEN ASKING FOR IT:

Where the Stars Don't Shine is finally posted on ao3! The new chapter is here!

I am so so so sorry about the wait, so I made it extra long just for you guys! As always, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @bibooby, @laegume and @andyssilly, welcome back to the slumber party, I saved yall some front row seats! (If anyone else wants to be tagged just lemme know and I'll put ya in the next one!) Anyways, hope yall enjoy this, and without further ado-

On with the show!

Word Count: 4,962

-------

All your excitement during your encounter with Sun vanishes when it becomes clear just what sort of day it’s going to be.

You had a bit of a mixed bag in attendance today. All your regulars, plus a couple new faces here and there. It started out okay, really.

And then one new kid in particular showed his hand and cemented his legacy as one of the most spoiled children you have ever had the dishonor of meeting.

You try not to dwell on it and just move on, but this kid…this kid is awful . Pushing other kids around, turning his nose up at snacks and eating off other kids’ plates, ripping the heads off toys…

(You really have to remember to bring your sewing kit next time.)

You know it’s not the kid’s fault for his behavior, more of the people who raised him, and you try not to hold it against him, you really do. By the looks of it, Sun is trying, too, but both of your patience is drawing thin.

You draw the line when he tears out a page of your books that one of the other boys was reading.

You remind yourself repeatedly that you are not allowed to punch a child. 

You do put him in time-out, though. And you can guess by this kid’s behavior that their parents are going to raise hell about it.

You discover some hours later that your assumption is completely correct when said parent comes in later to pick up their child and you confront them about the brat’s behavior, to which their response is an offended gasp and a rant about how awful your work ethic is and you’re not providing enough care this is why people like you are in jobs like this you’re lucky you’re even employed that makes the brick walls behind security desk that you have the strong urge to slam your head into all the more appealing. You stand there with a polite customer service smile and take it like the valued employee you are while trying to remember what temperature human flesh burns at before chastising yourself, until you’re thrown back into reality and catch the tail end of what she says. 

“-and are you even listening to me right now? Ugh, you’re even denser than the robot, at least it can do its job right. You’re supposed to be the competent worker and you’re being beaten by a walking junkyard pile-”

Yeah, nope, not this again.

You bristle at her words, gritting your teeth slightly and forcing your smile to maintain itself. If it looks slightly more manic than intended, that can’t be helped, but you had always been good at playing the part of someone weaker than you. “I’m so sorry you feel that way, ma’am. I’m sure you can leave a review regarding our services on our website if you’d like. However, Fazbear does not tolerate abuse and slander of any of its staff. Thanks for stopping by and have a Faz-er- iffic day!”

You slam the door in her face just as she opens her mouth (likely to respond with another offensive remark) and dust your hands off in satisfaction. It’s not the first time someone’s come to complain about you and your coworkers. In truth, the company probably couldn’t care less how the clients treated their workers and their ‘property’ as long as they got paid. Slander against you, you could understand; you signed a contract and sold your soul away. One of the agreements was to deal with annoying clients. But the other two? They had been built for this, any complaint against them was the fault of the company itself, and besides, you couldn’t see them as anything other than people since the moment you’d spoken to them. After all, a company probably wouldn’t leave a prerecorded message expressing immediate hostility towards its employees on their first day of work, now would it?

They had to have some level of sentience to make that decision.

You mark off the last child with a pleased grin. At least with the way she’d reacted you could guarantee that neither the harpy woman nor her little satan spawn son ever set foot in the Daycare ever again.

You do unfortunately still have to clean up the carnage left behind, though. You grab a broom and a dustpan, ready to sweep up the crumbled play-doh and ripped stuffing from earlier, back straightening with a sharp inhale when the lights cut off. Not terribly uncommon, but it still left you uneasy. Moon didn’t get to do his little song and dance during naptime because you were preoccupied punishing a rulebreaker, and you’re pretty sure he’s fixing to dish out his skewed idea of justice one way or another.

Lo and behold, the tell-tale click of a wire descending directly behind you gives away his intentions. 

“ Aww , thank you for defending our honor so nobly , little knight,” he croons mockingly. You don’t even have to turn in his direction to know he’s fanning his faceplate and fake swooning in a ‘my fair maiden’ pose. You say nothing, just sweeping stiffly under his suspended shadow and inspecting the floor. You’d have to bring out the vacuum for the carpet, plus a mop.

You miss his frown at your evident disinterest. 

“So brave, to come to our aid when we were utterly defenseless ,” he continues, picking a small bit of clay off your shoulder and flicking it aside. “But you know, you seemed to have forgotten what I told you earlier…”

He pauses, seemingly waiting for some response of probing to continue. If he is, he’ll be sorely disappointed. Though you’re usually the one after them for conversation, you’re in no mood for it after the day-no, the week, the whole damn month , really- you’ve had. You just want to go home, take a shower, and sleep for an eternity. 

His frown grows further in distaste, and he decides to grab your attention by gripping your shoulders tightly and lifting you a few inches off the ground. Your previously unfocused gaze now snaps to him, alert and on guard.

Wuh-oh.

That’s more like it.

“We do not need your help ,” he sneers, shaking you by the front of your shirt. You blink and gulp nervously, unsure as to where this is coming from. You feel the worst of your nausea as he starts to raise you towards the ceiling with you hanging onto his wrists tightly.

“Moon…” you speak warningly, a shot of nervousness streaking through you as the ground grows further away. His only response is a sadistic chuckle, and the delicately crafted facade over your sickness accumulating from over the past few weeks worsens exponentially. Your stomach lurches and you hazard a quick glance down. You’re hanging a good thirty feet above the ballpit and still steadily climbing, and judging by the glint in your captor’s eyes, you’re not going to like where this is headed.

It’s safe to panic now.

“Moon, stop it, that’s enough,” you tell him, voice wavering. After no response, you try again. “Moon, that’s enough, put me down.” Silence. “That’s enough , drop it!”

He stops for a second, grin falling a little before returning full force. “Well, if you insist ,” he laughs darkly. 

Your eyes widen and for a moment, nothing happens. Then he yanks your hands off him and lets go, watching you plummet to the ground with sinister glee.

Then, you’re falling.

You think you scream, you can’t tell. You crash into the ballpit right after, but it doesn’t cushion your fall. You hiss immediately on impact, clenching your fists and curling in on yourself. The plastic balls dig into your spine, sending waves of pain throughout your body. Your eyes are squeezed shut and you don’t dare open them lest you see that face looming over you. You do a quick check-over, wiggling your toes and bending your joints weakly. Somehow, nothing is broken, but you can’t tell over the searing pain in your side. You thought it was bad before, but that was nothing compared to now. The dull ache is burning, setting your nerves on fire with as much as a twitch. Your back is in a similar shape, as are your legs. 

You don’t know how long you stay like that before Moon’s shadow looms over you from the side of the pit. He makes some stab at you that you don’t really process over the ringing in your ears. Existing hasn’t taken such a toll on you before. His voice still carries into the white noise. You manage to get your mouth moving again and whisper, voice crackling, “Knock it off, Moon.”

Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t let up on his teasing, and you vaguely register his response. “Oh, poor little worker can’t take a tumble. Too weak to pick yourself back up again? Not that I see much of a difference. You’ve always got your head down, ballpit or that desk you laze at. Best to let the ‘bucket of bolts’ do the work, hm ?”

You say nothing, not finding the idea of lifting your head and entertaining his little act worth it in your state. You remain limp in the ballpit, knees hugged to your chest in fetal position.

You hear him step closer to you, and jerk slightly when blue digits dig into your shoulders to pull you up. A cry of pain erupts from you at the fingers embedding themselves in your shoulder blades. They retract quickly as if burned by a pot sitting too long on the stove, as if this was the first time they’ve ever felt such heat before. Your severe pain and slightly depressive state dissipates momentarily and is instead replaced with white-hot anger that threatens to bubble over.

You slap his hand away and shout, “It’s not funny, Moon, knock it off! ”

He freezes, hands twitching in the air. His optics flicker, narrowing as he reaches back out to capture you once out. You smack his wrist again and ignore the added pain of striking metal. 

You stagger out of the ballpit, standing on shaky legs. You don’t give him a chance to speak before you start up again. 

“What the hell is wrong with you, man? You dropped me from 50 feet up, I could’ve died ! What did I even do to you?”

His faceplate turns in a silent half-rotation before he shrugs.

Oh no he did not . 

You explode, gesturing wildly as his simple movement spurs you on. “So what, you just don’t like me and decided to fucking throw me off the balcony like some- some doll for you to mess around with?! Pfft, yeah sure, that makes sense! Let’s just drop someone from 40 feet ‘because we don’t like them’! Wow, Moon, I can see how you guys got your position with that logic !”

“Oh wait! ” you spin around sharply, a manic grin on your face that seems to twist every meek and modest feature on your face as you continue on. “That’s why I’m here! Because for all your hard work, Management still decided to shove me into this hellhole! And it doesn’t mean much, it’s Management, they don’t mean anything, but hey , guess what? I never wanted to be here, but surprise-surprise, no one wants to hire a nobody who didn’t push through their degree except a shady company with a world record in OSHA violations and an even bigger death toll! So here I am, getting paid 30 dollars an hour to deal with your ungrateful asses for five hours a day, not to mention the ridiculous amount of unpaid overtime of three to five EXTRA hours I dedicate to this sorry place, all without a single day off in the past six months that I have worked here, each of which have been filled with your non-stop harassment and shitty attitude, which for some bizarre reason I haven’t reported yet! So why, pray tell, have you been dead set on punishing me for a crime I have yet to commit? What did I even do to you?” 

It’s a trap. Moon knows it’s a trap, but he refuses to let you get away with such slander on his turf. He rolls his eyes and huffs, “ Oh, please , you aren’t nearly as victimized as you make yourself out to be. You slack off during playtime while Sun handles everything, you’re constantly snoozing away at your desk unless you oh-so graciously decide to grace us with a moment of your time, and sometimes you don’t even show up at all. I think we have much more of a right to type up a report than you ever will.”

Alright, that’s it- “Oh, really ? Alright, buster, don’t give me that shit, I know damn well what I’m worth. For the record, I do play with the kids - which, if I may remind you, is not in my job description- until sweet lil Sunny starts giving me a death stare for daring to intrude on his precious playtime. And I do pitch in around here, just as much if not MORE than you do! Guess what, cheesehead? I clean the ballpit. I order the food, I buy the supplies, bring the books, put the kids toys back together, organize a monthly schedule AND deal with your sorry asses,  so don’t be telling me how to do my job, got it ? And don’t start up about my breaks, cuz, huh , I wasn’t aware that a two minute break in the place of an hour’s worth of free time was against my contract! I take time off when I know I’m not needed so that I don’t keel over and leave you to deal with over 40 kids! And even with that, I’ve still never taken an actual sick day off the entire time I’ve worked here because I know this is how you’ll react! When was the last time I didn’t show up to work, huh?”

Moon is swift with his reply, almost anticipating the question. “Last month, you took nearly two weeks off without telling your supervisors,” he states triumphantly, as if this had somehow won him the argument.

Oh, this absolute idiot . 

His victorious grin falls slightly at your disbelieving laughter. “Two weeks?! I’ve been working here for six months and you’re hung up on two weeks ?! I’ll have you know that I did tell my supervisors-which you are not , by the way- that I would be out on unpaid sick leave. And I know they didn’t tell you about it because I knew exactly what would happen, and it did! I thought you could respect it and let it go , but apparently not, cuz  you can’t handle not sticking your obnoxiously pointed nose up someone’s business! And now I’m the nosy one!” Your voice grows louder, and you throw your arms out with a wide, dangerous gleam in your eyes. 

“You wanna know where I was? Why I was gone? Well guess what, Craterhead, I was in the hospital making sure my brother didn’t drop dead ! I had to make sure he didn’t flat line halfway through a surgery !”

Oh.

Oh no.

Moon’s eyes widen, regret flickering across his face for a second. He takes a small step back, retreating as you advance. A jab to the chest pulls him back to the present, and his optics narrow.

“But you don’t care about any of that, do you? All you care about is your stupid reputation and oh no, Sunny and Moony can’t have a human ruining everything, because that’s all this meatbag knows how to do! Oh no, poor Sunny and Moony!”

You watch his expression drop like a thermometer exposed to subzero temperatures, red optics pinpricks in a sea of black that threaten to overtake them, contracted pupils tensed like a rubber band about to snap. A spark of something, perhaps vindication, ignites within you, overshadowing the voice in the back of your mind that quietly warns you of what to come, to back down before it’s too late.

A pity your brother isn’t here to hold you back. 

Your voice drops dangerously low for a moment, a deathly whisper that somehow seeps fear into Moon’s systems more than your uncontrolled rage.“I bet you tried to break me, didn’t you, wanted to see me all battered and bruised with my tail tucked between my legs as I ran out of this godforsaken place. Oh, don’t act so surprised, we both knew you never liked me. You never liked me or the idea of someone coming along to jeopardize your position, your life’s purpose, the only thing you have ever been good for, and so you pushed, even when I went along with all your orders, all your demands and your stupid checkpoints and your stupid, stupid rules, pushed and pushed and pushed until I couldn’t take it anymore, and here we are. Well, no more ! You knew there was a breaking point, you both did. Well, here it is, the final straw! Your hard work finally paid off, you’ve made me even more miserable than before, and for what? Is this what you wanted, Moon, Sun? Are you finally satisfied? ”

Moon is still in front of you, hands drawn to his chest, pupils watching fat drops roll down your cheeks and leave stained rivers on your skin as you smile that angry, heartbreaking, defeated smile that cuts through their wires like glass shards, words stabbing through his central processors and sending a jolt through them both. He wants to respond, wants to say something clever and leave you sputtering and defeated, but nothing comes to mind. He always has a retort, a comeback, a witty remark or a snarky comment to make you bend to their will, and yet this time he’s the one left grasping for straws. He’s speechless, voicebox pushing out low static as he struggles to formulate a reply. You don’t give him the time to, resuming with a steady confidence they’ve never seen in you before. This is a side of you that is unfamiliar to them. They don’t quite know what to make of it, and so they stay unwillingly silent as you answer your own question with an air of finality. 

“No, you’re not. And I’ll tell you why. This perfection that you’ve tried so hard to pin down? Hate to break it to you, buddy, but perfect is something even machines can’t accomplish, no matter how advanced or well-built they think they are. It never will be. You and Sun both think you’re oh-so-great and so far above lil ol’ me and my stupid human brain, but I think you forget that you’re just as bad as I am. I’ve seen the daycare reviews, boys, and trust me, they are not pretty. Our sweet little ball of Sunshine scared kids so bad with his pushiness that a good deal of them just didn’t come back, and you? Oh, you scared the shit out of kids, didn’t you? You left them shivering in their sleeping bags in fear of the very thing that swore to protect them. 

“So tell me”- you tilt your head, smile growing sickeningly sweet as your eyes squint upwards, hands poised together as you punctuate every syllable that leaves your lips - “What exactly do you think gives you any authority over me? How do you think you can protect anyone from me when you can’t even protect them from yourself?”

You let the words hang in the air for a moment, the manic grin not leaving your face as you turn around to sweep over the daycare after the prolonged eye contact with burning red optics begins to sting your eyes. 

 “But hey!” you call out behind you with a laugh like shattered glass left on cold tile. “Don’t take my word for it. I’m just the dumb worker you had to boot cuz you didn’t want someone to steal the spotlight.”

You whip back around to give a final comment before catching a glimpse of Moon. His pupils are near non-existent, eyes dark and empty. His static grin is too wide, fingers too sharp, curling and uncurling. You freeze, words cutting to a halt, and you swear his grin grows wider.

“ R̶̻̘̃͂̈́͋́ ̶̢̛͇̠͔̤̥͉̜̖̫̰̬̬̝̓͛̾̅̓̑̌́͆̅̇̿̎͂̈́͘̕͠Ǘ̸̡̻͖̅̄̄̚ ̵͖̱͕̫̋̈��̀́͊̇̐̀̒̒̋͑̅̀͗̊́́̚̕͝N̵̘̰͓̹̖̘̦̪͂̓̎̅̊̀͘̕͜ ̶̡͕̙͖̟͍̼͙̠̺̹̦̘̙̘̠̏̾̿̏̂͜ͅ," he growls. 

It sends a chill up your spine, dousing your anger in fear. You don’t waste time waiting for him to start chasing. You’re already booking it across the Daycare and to the exit. 

You’re maybe 10 paces in when you hear him behind you, wire clicking and shooting him to the ceiling. You know it’s a losing battle, he could easily take you if he wanted to. He doesn’t though, not yet. It’s the chase he’s after.

You dare not turn to check behind you, instead running blindly in hopes of somehow managing to hide. Your logical reason tells you to just leave, but it’s drowned out by pure instinct to run, get away, danger-

Moon has a severe advantage and you both know it. He knows the area. Still, you foolishly blunder on, making a hard right that almost makes you trip before you stumble back up again. You’re lucky he doesn’t do this more often because man you are out of shape. He hasn’t chased you since the first two months, you’d thought these games were behind you.

You wheeze as you bump into a wall, barely managing to dodge a wet floor bot. You can’t keep this up much longer. Your heart’s been kicked into overdrive, beating at a rate you know isn’t normal. Distantly, pain tingles in your elbow, muffled by the adrenaline pulsing through you. You’re surprised you haven’t bumped into any of the GlamRocks. They may not like you, but it’s better than this. 

Maybe they’re patrolling different floors? They could be charging.

All at the same time.

Yeah…

You skid to a sudden stop. You were just here, weren’t you? Ugh, these hallways all looked the same. Your eyes dart around wildly, spotting the familiar Daycare entrance. The faces of golden statues are smiling down at you.

You can’t recall a time where that’s happened to you before. 

Your eyes dart around for some place to hide, landing on a closet. You hear jingling bells in the distance.

You silently pray there aren’t any spiders before shutting yourself inside, leaving the door open just a crack for a sliver of light. 

It’s not a terribly big closet. There’s maybe enough room for you to stand upright. You sit with your knees tucked under your chin, eyes never leaving the door. Just in time. The wire descends and detaches, two feet coming into view. They pad softly on the cold tile, making no noise as he prowls for his prey. 

A shadow in front of the door.

You hold your breath, freezing and throwing a hand over your mouth.

A pause.

His attention is shifted elsewhere. He grumbles and stalks off, leaving you in  the dark. 

You wait maybe thirty seconds for the footsteps to grow silent before exhaling softly and taking stock of your situation. You’re stuck in a broom closet at work and the only other worker here tonight just left. 

Not that Moon would be of any help , you thought bitterly. He just wants you out of the way.

You can’t really blame him for that , though, can you ?

The thought almost sets you off the edge, but you reign yourself in, letting go of a self-deprecating laugh and wiping the tears that form in the corners of your eyes. It doesn’t help. New ones replace them and you let your hands fall back into your lap.

No. No, you couldn’t blame them for it. You invaded their space and made a mess of things. You have a habit of doing that.

That’s why you left, after all. You couldn’t handle messing that up , either.

A shaky sob escapes you, and you press your palms to your eyes to stop the flow of tears trickling down your face. You need this job, you can’t lose it. If you lost it, you’d have no other options. You’d be out of house and home, and then what? Go back with your tail tucked between your legs?

No. You couldn’t go back.

What other choices did you have?

It didn’t matter, anyway. At the end of the day, nothing would change. You were still you, and something always goes wrong no matter what you do. Didn’t matter how hard you tried or how fair it was, it’s always the same.

Sometimes you wonder if everyone would’ve been better off had your brother been an only child.

A soft buzzing in your pocket snaps you out of your episode. You fish your phone out in surprise. That’s right, you’d put it there after this morning.  It vibrates in your hand, the caller ID flashing across the screen. It’s your mother. You stare at it dumbly, making no move to answer it. You’re half tempted to just let it ring till she gives up and drops it as always, but…

You need something to keep the quiet at bay right now.

Swiping to start the call, you hear shuffling over the static and put the speaker close to your ear. A short “hello?” is heard and repeated as she tries to figure out how to use the brick in her hand.

The act is familiar and you manage a watery smile. “Hi, mom.”

“Can you hear m-oh, good, you’re there. Your brother said you messaged him this morning and we just wanted to check in.” Her tone shifts. “You okay there?”

You don’t think you can pull off pretending that you’re fine at the moment. You sniffle into the receiver, curling further in on yourself. “I’m okay, I just…I just had a bad day at work.”

“Oh, sweetheart…”she sighs, and you wince slightly, not really feeling up to whatever questions she has to ask. “You wanna talk about it?”

You shake your head before remembering that you’re on the phone, instead muttering a quiet ‘no’ into the speaker. She stays uncharacteristically silent on the other side of the line, her subtle shifting of the phone the only indicator that she’s still on the call. You know she wants to pry further, force an answer out of you. Sometimes, you almost wish she did, wish she pushed just a bit harder so you could finally break and let it all out.

She doesn’t this time though, puttering out a soft sigh. “Well…alright. Just remember, we’re always here if you need us. Your brother’ll probably check on you anyway, you know how he gets. Just don’t let him burn the building down for your sake.”

A wet snort slips past you before you catch it, imagining your anarchist brother expressing his rage against the machine and corporate capitalism by burning down a rip-off Chuck-E-Cheese. You didn’t think your mother was capable of creating an image like that, either. She hadn’t exactly been very invested in either of your interests. You wonder if she’s been taking pointers from your brother. 

You wave the thoughts aside, realizing you’ve let the conversation taper off and…

You suppose you can let this phone call end on a higher note. You both sort of need it anyway.

“Thanks, mom,” you whisper coarsely, leaning against the stacked boxes and letting your head fall back.

“Of course, dear. You just call us back when you’re ready. Oh, and try to tag along with your brother sometime, it gets lonely without you there. You were much better at listening to his mechanical jargle than we are.”

You exchange a few more quiet answers before wishing her a good night and hanging up, squinting at your brightly lit phone in the dark space. The time reads a little past 10. Moon’s first round of patrols is likely finished, which means it’s finally safe to leave this cramped compartment. 

The door remains shut when you turn the knob.

You try for the handle again, rattling it with greater and greater intensity as your panic begins to build up to no avail. Your hands form fists, soon beginning to bang on the door, eyes wide and breathing erratic. Try as you might, it’s sealed like a tomb, effectively locked inside. 

No, no, no , this can’t be happening, not here, not now. You don’t want to be here, don’t want to be in this dark, cramped closet at the end of some forgotten corridor, stashed with all the boxes and cleaning supplies. 

Your brother had locked you into a closet once. Flipped the switch on the outside and left you alone to battle the demons you couldn’t see. It had been funny, back then, until you started screaming and begging to be let out.

It wasn’t funny now.

You drop to the floor, hands sliding down the wood to lay limply beside you. You can feel yourself shaking, bones rattling as you tremble. Your lungs burn with the force of the rapid inhale-exhale pattern you struggle to keep stable, your heartbeat pounding at the front of your head. Inhale, exhale, thump, thump, inhale, thump -oh, weren’t you supposed to exhale first- thump -and your heart’s not pumping, you can’t breathe, you need to breathe -

You gasp, head reeling, nails digging into your palms and leaving red marks. You struggle to ground yourself, forcing your eyes to focus on the sliver of light from under the doorframe. You inch back, still trembling lightly, staring blankly at the floor as the cold reality dawns on you.

You’re trapped.

No one is here to save you now.

Aaaaand that's a wrap! Hope yall enjoyed that lil chapter, seems like our y/n's gotten into quite a pickle! It's okay, though, they needed some time to process anyways. Speaking of which, Sun and Moon have a LOT to think about... Not sure when I'll post chapter 9, sorry! I have a couple of short snippets planned out already, but typing and connecting them is a whole other matter, so I dunno when I'll get back to this. Until then, however, I hope this is enough, and unfortunately...

The theater is closed...

[motorclit]

Ok everybody... I don't get on here much not because I'm trying to avoid this site, but the fact that I'm exhausted for a lot of reasons, including trying to keep up with events on various apps (deleted Pinterest since I don't use it and they're becoming sketchy, also deleted Twitter not only cuz I've been meaning to but it got hacked last night and I didn't realize so I've deactivated it... got too freaked out about it). I wanted to bring everyone's attention to the fact that the cheetoh is a Russian asset.

This video does not go into detail about it necessarily. However, I encourage you to chase this white rabbit down that hole by looking up how allegedly his KGB handlers have codenamed him "Krasnov." This has been brought up in rather old media articles before that are apparently being scrubbed from the internet (try the Internet Archive maybe for some of them?)

I also hope everybody reading this spreads the word. I don't care if you reblog this post. It's the video and this basic info here that I'm asking everyone to learn more about, to talk more about.

I'm pretty scatterbrained and shit at the moment, or else I'd do the heavy digging for everyone and provide links and shit, but most of this that I've been hearing being mentioned are comment threads on various Reddit threads as well as comment sections of various social media platforms. But they're simply mentioned and not widely talked about.

I want people, at least here on tumblr since this is still a blogging site and you can make a post as informative as you want with all the sources linked and such, to open a discussion on this topic, please.

Again, you don't have to reblog this or give me notes. I don't care about that. I care about getting this topic into the conversations of everyone when it comes to the shitshow we're watching unfold.

Thank you for reading this.

[abnormal-tulip]

no.1: dream HIIIIII I'M DOING INKTOBER AGAIN!! h o p e f u l l y i can keep up with it this time hjfbvjhfbvjhf using the official prompt list this time :3

[mars-ipan]

steroids have decided the two emotions for tonight are Gamer Rage and Deep Yearning Sadness