#to be fair it is MOSTLY sorted by topic

[mycological-mariner]

It’s less what is on my bookshelf than how the books are organised that’s the most telling. For example, there is a cluster of nautical books, fiction and non fiction: there’s Patrick O’Brian and Frederick Marryat and a bunch of local authors and historians. And in the middle of all these is The Fandom of the Operator. I’ve got Harlan Ellison right next to The Flight of the Heron next to my hardback copy of Monstrous Regiment. Sartre and Camus and Frankenstein in Baghdad and The Dream of the Celt. And it just goes on like that.

[teacasket]

omg

genre: fluff au: gamer au, streamer au warnings: none word count: 0.6k   pairing: gn!reader x lee felix song: omg by new jeans

THEY KEEP ON ASKING ME, “WHO IS HE?”

Chat won’t stop asking, despite how many times you try to steer the topic at hand to something else. Their opinions on your current Animal Crossing build? Ignored. If you should crochet a cardigan or bucket hat for your cat? Little to no responses. Lavender latte or milk tea for Drink of the Day? Lavender latte wins, but Chat immediately goes back to your hidden boyfriend.

This is what you get for forgetting to mute your mic. You had a whole phone call about dinner before realizing your mistake, and now everyone knows that wholesome, cozy Twitch streamer lightberry swears like a sailor when discussing pork katsu and calls a special someone “baby.” It’s been clipped already, you just know. At least you didn’t put him on speaker.

“‘100 subs if you tell us his name?’” you read. You'll indulge them because indulging Chat makes for good content. “I’ll tell you literally anything else.”

If you told them his name, you would end up trending on Twitter.

“‘Is he also a gamer?’ Yeah. Mostly League, Genshin, Apex. He’s been trying to get into Valorant. Now, 100 subs, please.”

Felix, otherwise known as LixInABox, is a gamer and streaming personality who has nearly a million subs on Twitch. He has a partner, an elusive figure exclusively referred to as “My Partner.” There are rumors that My Partner (MP) doesn’t actually exist and that they’re a cover for his singleness.

“‘20 subs if you tell us his rank?’ Sure. He's pretty high in everything. I can’t ever duo with him, except in Genshin.”

When he started streaming, he was primarily known for his League of Legends skills. Low Masters on a good day, Diamond 3 on the bad ones.

“‘Show us a picture.’ You know what, I’ll do that for free.”

Chat is not happy when you pull up a photo of Marshal from Animal Crossing. To be fair, he does resemble Felix a little.

While they continue to pester you about his identity, you continue terraforming your butterfly-shaped lake. When Marshal walks by with a sandwich, you make sure to point him out.

“There’s my boyfriend,” you say as you glance at the chat, which is scrolling by so quickly, your eyes can barely keep up.

IT’S LIX

MP MP MP MP

LIXBERRY

You’ve got a ship name already? How did they figure it out? Did Felix reach a million subs? He joked that he would reveal who MP was once he hit a million, and you sort of gave him the green light, but surely he would tell you beforehand? You sit motionless at your chair and try to come up with a solution that doesn’t involve straight up lying.

LIXBERRY LIXBERRY

MP IS REAL

HE’S LIVE

It doesn’t matter what you do. By doing nothing, you’ve confirmed it, so you go back to how it all started—you call Felix, live on stream. You leave your mic unmuted intentionally this time.

“Hey, what did you do?” are your first words. You have his stream up as well, so you see the blush on his face. “You’re live on mine, by the way.”

“I didn’t do anything! They figured it out! I mentioned that I was gonna have pork katsu for dinner, and like five minutes later, they connected it back to you. What did you do?”

“I forgot to mute during our call,” you admit. “And I also gave them hints in exchange for subs, but I didn’t think they were anything obvious.”

He looks at his chat and laughs. “You basically told them what I’m famous for. And a picture of Marshal? No wonder.”

“My bad. See you at dinner?”

He smiles, and you can’t help but do the same. “Yeah. Love you.”

“Love you, too, baby.”

Chat explodes. You and Felix will never live this down, but it feels better than you thought. And you really don’t want to admit it, but lixberry is really, really cute.

HE’S THE ONE THAT’S LIVING IN MY SYSTEM, BABY.

[thetarttfuldickhead]

It’s a little unclear, in the end, how the conversation gets there, because all in all the Richmond dressing room isn’t the site of that many sex jokes, not since Colin came out and no longer feels the need to make them. But they’re still lads, yeah, and young, mostly, so the jokes still happen, even if it’s just gentle ribbing, and silliness.

So: somehow, one morning halfway into Roy’s first year as head coach, the topic turns to sex, of the rougher variety. Roy’s only listening with half an ear, he’s busy sketching out the new trick plays Nate’s dreamed up on the whiteboard, and he doesn’t really catch the build-up, but when Jamie’s name is mentioned his ears perk up without him even really noticing. It’s become instinct at that point, keeping track of Jamie (even as Roy does his best to give all his players at least some semblance of equal attention).

“We know that Jamie likes it rough, though,” Zorro says, and the rest of the group oh:s and ah:s either knowingly or in surprised glee.

“Eh?” Jamie sounds startled by the assertion, but not particularly put off. (He never really is, as long as he gets attention, Roy thinks with an internal scoff that’s far fonder than he’d ever admit to.) “What makes you say that?”

“You told us!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Roy can see Jamie shake his head. “I don’t know what you’re on about, mate.” Still not bothered, but clearly not understanding what Zorro is getting at either.

Isaac throws him a disbelieving glance. “You don’t remember, bruv? It was when you first came here, before you started going out with Keeley.”

“Yeah,” Colin interjects, “You’d only been here for about two weeks, I think, but you came into training with these marks and bruises, and it turned out you’d hooked up with a girl the night before, but you hadn’t known she was a professional dominatrix before you got to her place.”

Hoots and titters at that, delighted and amused but not unkind.

“Exactly,” Zorro says. “And you told us you’d just gone with it because you have to try everything at least once, and it hadn’t been bad.”

Ah. Roy remembers now. He’d already been absolutely fed-up with Jamie’s attitude, the arrogance and selfishness and incessant need to put others down, and the striker’s total lack of shame and casual smugness about the marks had rubbed Roy entirely the wrong way. Not because people should be ashamed for liking that sort of stuff, of course (Roy wasn’t), but there was such a thing as common decency and unspoken rules about not parading around the dressing room like you were in a fucking porno or some shit and—

If Roy was honest about it, he’d mostly been pissed because it was Jamie, and everything Jaime did pissed him off back then (though, to be fair, most of what Jamie did back then was fucking shitty, so it’s not like Roy was wrong to be pissed. Most of the time).

“Oh.” Jamie’s voice is soft, suddenly. Small, in a way that has alarm bells going off like air raid sirens in Roy’s head. “Yeah. Um.”

The realisation hits Roy a second before it does the rest of the team, and his ears are already filling with a terrible ringing as the room falls silent behind him. He can feel himself grow rigid with rage, and with cold, curdling shame.

“Shit, man,” Isaac says eventually.

“Jamie, I’m so sorry.” It’s odd, the way Colin’s earnest, unhappy voice seems to be coming from so very far away.

“What?” Zorro, still not getting it, and then he does, and Roy, at a great distance, can hear his face crumpling. “Oh shit, Jamie, I didn’t mean—“

“No, don’t worry about it, man. It was a long time ago, yeah? It’s fine.” It’s a heroic attempt at sounding casual. Might have succeeded, too, back before they all knew Jamie as well as the do now.

Roy doesn’t stick around to hear the team offer their comfort and Jamie try to wave their concern away. He walks into the coaches’ office, and the only reason he doesn’t slam the door as hard as he can is because he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself. 

“You all right there, Coach?” Beard looks up at him from behind his book, brow creased in quiet assessment.

“Oh my God, what happened?” Nate jumps down from the desk he’s been perched on. “Did someone die?”

And Roy wants to tell them to fuck off. Wants to punch the wall so hard it stops his mind from spinning. But he’s been talking with Dr. Fieldstone about that, hasn’t he, how his maladaptive coping strategies are tripping him up, and fucking over the people he cares about in the process.

So he takes a deep breath. And he doesn’t look at them when he starts talking. “Back before Ted came here Jamie came in with these bruises all over his chest and back one day, and he told us he’d had sex with a fucking dominatrix. And I believed him, okay? I just… I fucking believed him, even though it was weird fucking bruises for— That’s not the fucking point. But because I thought he was an arrogant fucking prick and I fucking hated his guts, I told him— “ He trails off, looking up at the ceiling. Uselessly, his cheeks are burning. Maybe his eyes are, too, if he’d let himself feel it. “I told him I’d be happy to pay to see someone give him a trashing. Give ‘em extra if they knocked a couple of his teeth out so he’d shut up for once.”

Beard doesn’t say anything, but he leans back in his chair with a look on his face that lets Roy know that, yeah, he’d fucked that one up good and proper.  

“Oh,” Nate says. “So it was his dad who— That’s— But— I mean, that’s not good, obviously, that’s awful, but it’s… It wasn’t you who hurt him, Roy. And I mean, you and Jamie have said all sorts of thing to each other. Done all sorts of things.”

And that’s true, isn’t it. And mostly Roy is happy enough to write it off as tit-for-tat, old foolishness and bygones, Jamie a prick and Roy sometimes an idiot, and they’re both better now. And he doesn’t know how to explain to Nate and Beard how knowing that Jamie looked up to him ever since he was a kid, knowing that he never took that poster down, even after that, after everything, makes his casual cruelty and failure to protect Jamie all the harder to bear, even if he hadn’t known at the time that there was anything to protect Jamie from.

“Coach—“ Beard begins, but is interrupted by a knock on the door, and before Roy can tell whoever it is to fuck off, Jamie sticks his head into the office. Must have made his escape from the rest of the team, then. “Sorry, Coach, are we getting started or what? The lads— “ He catches sight of Roy’s face and his eyes widen. “Jesus, Roy, what happened? Are you all right, man?”

Under other circumstances, Roy might have found it remarkable how quickly and effortlessly Jamie makes the switch from Roy’s respectful star player to Roy’s friend, his entire demeanour changing as he moves into the room. As it is, Roy doesn’t say anything, but he must have made some sort of noise or moved some sort of way, because Jamie’s face twists in alarm, and then he’s across the floor and gently but firmly pulling Roy into a hug. “There, it’s all right, man, I’ve got you, lad, it’s all right.”

Roy blames all the fucking therapy he’d been doing for the past eight months for not pushing Jamie away but instead allowing the other to hold him, and allowing himself to hesitantly wrap his arms around him in turn. Fuck Nate. Fuck Beard. Fuck the team. Fuck anyone who thinks they get to have opinions on that.

He’s got an inch on Jamie, but Jamie’s broader, solid and strong. Steady, as he puts a hand on the back of Roy’s neck, murmuring nonsense that Roy knows is supposed to be soothing, and which maybe is. Mostly, it’s reassuring to have Jamie there, whole and hale and safe.

“What’s going on? Is Phoebe all right? Did something happen to your sister? Keeley?” Jamie is starting to sound a little freaked out, and Roy realises that he can’t just stand there mutely forever and let the fears grow in Jamie’s mind, he needs to fucking say something, explain.

He’d rather never say another word.

Tough fucking luck, Kent. “Do you remember what I told you when you said you’d had sex with a dominatrix?”

The way Jamie stiffens tells him that, yeah, Jamie does. “Roy—“

Roy tightens his grip, not wanting Jamie to pull away. “Don’t fucking tell me it was fine, because you were a nightmare for the rest of that day, you were absolutely fucking horrible to everyone.” Worse than usual, lashing out—not that Roy had known it at the time, or had thought it anything more than Jamie being a fucking prick for no other reason than to be a prick.  

For a few moments, Jamie doesn’t say anything. Then he lets out a long sigh, relaxing into the embrace and pressing his face against Roy’s neck. “Yeah, okay,�� he mutters, “it was all shit, mate. I mean, all of it was, it wasn’t just you— But, Roy, listen… “ And now Jamie does pull back, just enough so that he can look at Roy. His eyes are tired, but the set of his jaw determined. “You fucking hated me, right? Back then, I mean. You hated me, ‘cause I was a prick, and I hated you, ‘cause you were a bitter old cunt.”

There’s no fucking denying it, is there. Roy gives a sharp nod. “Yeah, but—“

“No, let me just— I’m not saying that makes it all right, yeah, I just— You hated me, okay. But, would you have said what you said if you’d known what really happened?”

Roy’s lips twist into snarl. “What? No! Of course I wouldn’t fucking have— “ He might have ached to put Jamie’s head through a wall several times a day, but he wouldn’t have stood by for Jamie’s piece of shit father—

“See?” The little twat has the audacity to look triumphant at that, as if he’d scored a particularly neat goal. “That’s what I’m saying, yeah? Even when you hated my guts, you wouldn’t have said that, if you’d known what was going on. But you didn’t know, ‘cause I didn’t want you to, or anyone to, and I’m an amazing actor, yeah? So, like, it’s not fine, but it’s… Don’t beat yourself up over it, man. You didn’t know.”

It’s absolution, the kind Roy doesn’t think he deserves and the Jamie is far too quick to offer. But Jamie is also right: Roy hadn’t known. Wallowing in guilt won’t do anything to change the past, or help Jamie now.

“All right,” Roy says. “But that was still a shit thing to say and I wish hadn’t done it. You never deserved any of what that arsehole did to you, and if… fuck it, when I made you feel like I thought otherwise, that was my fucking bad, and I’m sorry.”

Jamie nods. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, man.” And there’s a tremulousness to his faint smile that makes Roy think that for all his claims to the contrary, it had still been something Jamie needed to hear.  

It does Roy’s fucking head in that Jamie’s been up to see his dad several times since he got word that James Tartt is in rehab. But they’ve argued about that already, bitterly, and Roy has very reluctantly admitted that it’s not his call. All he can do is offer Jamie whatever support he needs, whenever he wants it.

Clearing his throat, Roy gives Jaime an awkward pat on the shoulder before carefully extricating himself fully from the hug. “We’re still on for dinner with Keeley tonight?” He’ll make Jamie’s favourite dish, he decides. Throw in some dessert.

“Yeah, of course, yeah.”

“Good.” He jerks his head to the door. “Go on then, tell the lads to get on the pitch, and we’ll be there in a minute.”

“Yes, Coach.”

As the door shuts behind him, Roy turns on Beard and Nate who – wisely – don’t say anything.

“I don’t want to fucking talk about this,” he tells them sharply. “I don’t want you mentioning a fucking word of it ever again.” Because maybe he’s gotten to a point where having a fucking breakdown and hugging it out with Jamie in front of them isn’t the end of the world (even if it’s a near fucking thing), but if someone tries to make him discuss it, he’ll need to start head-butting people, and he’s been trying to stay off that since he became manager, because it just isn’t a good look, is it, and he’s trying to be better about that sort of thing.

Nate and Beard glance at each other. Roy doesn’t really care for the knowing look in their eyes, but they merely offer a nod and a yeah, yeah, of course, sure in reply, and that will have to do.

In this messed up world, a lot of things would have to fucking do.

“Right,” Roy says, already moving to follow Jamie. “I’ll see you on the fucking pitch.”

---

A/N: This was supposed to be the fourth of the stand alone ficlets I call The Locker Room Conversations, but it got quite a bit darker (and less team focused) than I usually do for those, so I’m not sure. I’ll sit on it for a bit, maybe fiddle a little, and see where I put it when it goes up on AO3 eventually.

If you like the idea of the team uncovering sad truths about Jamie’s past and are into heavier angst (and more of the team taking care of Jamie), I highly recommend checking out i should be the poster kid for this shit by anotherlongstoryshort / babytarttdoodoo

[elumish]

My Experience With Digital-First Royalty-Only Publishing (Part 1)

Disclaimer: this is just my experience and my not reflect everyone's experience with this story of publishing.

The Concept:

The are two major distinct components of this sort of publishing: that it's digital first and royalty only. Digital first means that their primary business model is based in selling ebooks rather than physical boks. They don't sell in brick-and-mortar stores, but for my publisher, at least, you can buy physical copies of the books, which are made to order. Royalty only means that authors aren't paid an advance for the book. Instead, all of their payment is directly from royalties, which they start getting paid immediately (as opposed to needing to earn the advance before you get paid any royalties). Generally, these royalties are higher than for traditional publishers.

This is considered indie publishing, as opposed to traditional publishing through one of the Big Five (Penguin Random House, Hachette, HarperCollins, Simon & Schuster, Macmillan). I have basically only seen this for romance publishers, though there may be others that I haven't seen.

This is not vanity publishing--I don't pay my publisher, they pay me.

My Publishing Story:

In 2023, I wrote 10k words of a new story in three days, mostly on my phone. After a bit of random internet hunting, I decided to send it in to the publisher with a series plan for another three short pieces (10-15k words) that would together make one full story. A couple months later, they responded and asked if I would make it a full novel and also write another two in the same series. I agreed.

In April 2024, the book was released.

The Submission Process:

A number of digital first romance publishers (including those that give advances, like Harlequin) accept both agented and unagented submissions. That means that you don't need to already have an agent to submit to them, as opposed to most more traditional publishing companies, which only accept agented submissions.

Pro: lower barrier to entry, you get to avoid the querying process

Con: you have to advocate for yourself

Every publisher has a different submission process and different guidelines--some have broad word/topic guidelines and anything within that is fair game, some have specific calls for stories (e.g., we want stories of 30-80k words about billionaires), some have specific imprints or subgenres with different guidelines (e.g., historical romance for 50-80k words, fantasy romance for 60-100k words).

Generally they also request a summary, an equivalent of a query letter, and sometimes also some verion of a series plan.

The Contract:

Probably my biggest issue with working with this publisher was the contract. After a bunch of back and forth after they sent me the contract, they told me that they don't negotiate their contracts with unagented authors.

This is a sort of nuts line to draw, and to be totally honest I almost decided not to publish with them because of it. It would be totally reasonable for you to not publish with anyone who has that policy.

Ultimately, I decided to still publish with them for three reasons: 1) I did a lot of internet sleuthing and couldn't find anyone talking about issues with working with the publisher any time in the last decade, 2) I was comfortable enough with the contract terms to agree to them, and 3) the book is a niche enough subgenre that there's basically no chance I would get it published elsewhere.

If it was a different book or I was in a different stage in my career, I might have made a different decision.

Editing:

The editing I received was primarily copyediting rather than developmental editing. There was a little bit of developmental editing, but the vast majority was copyediting. I'm not so arrogant as to think that that's because my writing is just so perfect that it didn't need developmental editing.

There were ~3 rounds of editing that I went through with my editor. She would make a combination of edits in track changes and comments, and i would either accept, reject, or change. There were some things I rejected because they were intentional stylistic choices, and there were some things I accepted even if I didn't love them because they were part of the publisher's style guide. Everything else was a negotiation.

Overall, I didn't give in to something that I hated, and I don't think my writing suffered for the editing. There are choices that I wouldn't have made, but that doesn't necessarily mean that I'm right.

Part 2 will include marketing, payment, and my path forward in publishing

[theglamorousferal]

Persephone's Binding Part 7

Hardcover/Anger Management ship Sacrificial Bride au

AO3 Prompt Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

As he slid into the booth Jason was glad he had taken Danny's advice on wearing "Mid 2000's American chic". Clad in dark wash jeans, a red Henley shirt and his leather jacket he waited for Danny to come back with their order of "Nasty Burgers". He wasn't particularly excited about the name, but after sparring for four hours he was starving.

"One Double Nasty Burger with Nasty Fries and a chocolate milkshake for you and the rest is for me!" Danny returned to the table with his arms stretched longer than should be possible with four trays of food. He placed one in front of Jason and kept the others for himself. Jason raised an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"You sure you can eat all that?"

Danny smirked, grabbed a fist full of fries and declared "Watch me," and shoved his whole hand into his mouth in an almost cartoon logic sort of way.

Jason gaped for a moment before he chuckled to himself and picked up his burger. It looked like a regular burger, so he took a bite and - dammit it's delicious! He finished his bite and reached for the fries - eh, pretty mid.

"You were right about the burgers, this is delicious. However, once we figure out if or when we can contact my home dimension I am taking you to Batburger and your are gonna try the Jokerized fries." Jason finished his statement gesticulating with a fry before he popped it into his mouth.

"As long as your paying." Danny said, himself gesticulating with a fry. "I mean, flying around and doing ghostly shit is pretty taxing, so I'm always down for food, especially of the high calorie kind."

"Fair enough." They lapsed into a comfortable quiet for a while. Danny quickly worked his way through four Double Nasties, three large fries and two milkshakes.

Jason remembered something he had seen at the training grounds. "So I know we can't use projectiles on each other, but I noticed targets at the grounds. Any chance we can spend the afternoon practicing our aim?" Danny raised an eyebrow at him and Jason rolled his eyes. "Fine. Do you want to spend the afternoon trying to one-up each other?"

"Sounds like a plan, dude." Danny took a long slurp of one of his milkshakes. "So, what do you think of my sister?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Jason startled at the shift in topic and blinked. Am I about to get a shovel talk? I should probably be serious then. "I think she is very kind and genuine in her care of things. I think she's acting as Atlas and I think it's been that way for longer than she's been Regent. I think she probably should take one if not multiple days off." He brushed the salt from his fingers onto his jeans and licked his lips before speaking again. "I haven't really been able to have a real conversation with her yet. Mostly we've kinda just given each other a summary of our lives and a brief discussion about books after our discussion in the library last night. I've interacted with you more than I have her, but from what I've seen of both of you so far, I'm impressed."

Danny looked at him, his green eyes intense, as if scrutinizing his very soul. He very well might be doing that actually. Jason did not flinch at the inspection, everything he had said was genuine.

"Hmm." Danny took a loud slurp, finishing off that milkshake. He set it aside and grabbed the other. "Do you find her attractive?"

Jason did not waver as he responded. "Just because I do doesn't mean anything without her approval." Danny narrowed his eyes further and took a sip so long Jason wondered if he had to breathe.

Jason sighed. "Fine, I may try and make myself a bit more aesthetically pleasing to her to try and catch her attention besides that I am a person in need and would gladly take pointers if you aren't completely against me attempting to woo her."

Danny smirked. "I knew it! Ha, take that Johnny!" He whipped out a clunky looking device and sent off a message in a group chat. He then leveled Jason with a look. "K, so, I may be new to the whole 'reading souls' thing, but when I took a look as you were talking nothing looked off and I've enjoyed hanging out with you so far today so I'm going to help you." As Jason perked up, Danny held out a hand. "I'm just gonna say this right now; I am not a miracle worker. I'm going off of evidence from past crushes and boyfriends here and it's been years since her last one. She's been a bit too busy for romance with all the training and then everything that happened.

"Anyway, you're on the right track with the biker aesthetic if this is more like your every day clothes. If you had a bike to go with it then we can likely get your foot in the door. I mean, you've already got a leg up on her last boyfriend with talking to her about books." Danny paused in eating his fries. "You know what? Let's rain check on the target practice, I'm gonna take you someplace we can get you a ride. We'll kill three birds with one stone, you get more of the biker aesthetic, maybe you can get Jazz to go on a ride with you, and you can move around the Zone without needing one of us to guide you!" Danny shot off another message to his group chat and then promptly finished off the last of his fries. "Come on, let's head over!"

Jason gathered all the trash and dumped it away as he followed Danny out of the restaurant. Danny grabbed Jason by the shoulders and flew off from Amity and towards a segment of floating land that looked like a winding road.

"It's gonna take a bit to get there at normal person speeds. Mind if I speed this up a bit?" Danny looked down at Jason.

"Go for it, I'm used to flying with the Supers and they can move at light speed."

Danny looked at him shocked for a moment. "Man, your dimension sounds so cool!" At the last word Danny's entire being seemed to flicker brighter and the freckles on his face spun around and were shaped like stars. He cleared his throat, embarrassed for a moment. "I can't go nearly that fast, but my top speed should get us there in five instead of thirty minutes." With that he took off.

Soon enough, Jason saw quickly approaching what appeared to be a brownstone not unlike those from any major US city with an apartment above two businesses. A garage and a stylist's from the look of it. Standing in front of the place was a couple, a blonde and very pale man in a mechanic's jumpsuit covered in various stains, and a very pale woman with green hair and bright red leather jacket and skirt.

"Hey Phantom, so this is the poor schmuck?" The blonde asked after Danny placed Jason back on his feet.

"Hey Johnny, yeah, this is Jason. Poor guy got sacrificed to Jazz of all people." Danny replied with all the air of a younger sibling. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure he left his bike in his home dimension, mind hooking him up with a ride? I don't want to have to carry him everywhere and I doubt a ghostly horse is gonna do it for him." He stuck his thumb out, pointing at Jason behind him.

Johnny seemed to be sizing him up, his arms crossed before he eventually nodded. "Fine, but it's going on your bill." He turned to head into his shop. "See ya later Kitty, I got a big project apparently." He kissed the woman before he walked into the garage.

Jason made to follow, but Kitty stopped him. "If you ever need some styling you come to me okay kid? And if you make the Queen cry, I can make men vanish with a kiss." She patted him on the shoulder before sauntering back into her shop.

"Yeah, Kitty got close with Jazz after a fight she had with Johnny one time. It's kind of weird because when Jazz was dating Johnny, he was trying to get it so Kitty could possess her to exist in the Living Realm. It was a whole thing, but it's behind us at this point." Jason blinked at Danny's back as he floated his way into the garage. Okay then, just casually drop horrifying lore why don't you? Jason followed him inside.

Danny was floating over Johnny's shoulder as the man was drawing up basic schematics.

"Standard Court specs?" Johnny asked the floating High Prince.

"For liminal humans for now yeah. We haven't had the chance to bring him to get a full scan done to find his classification yet."

"Hmm. Okay, hey Sacrifice, get over here, do you like low riding or tight riding?" Jason joined them at the table and they spent the next few hours planning out Jason's ecto-bike. "Looks good, it's gonna take me a bit, but I can get it to you in a week, two tops if I can't get one of the parts. I'll hold off on the engine until we know what your classification is, if you produce your own ecto then we'll need a sample for it." At Jason's hesitation he continued. "It just means that it'll be more self-sustaining and you can summon it to your will. It'll lock-on to your ecto-signature."

"Cool, do you think it'd work in my home dimension? Or will I have to leave this beauty here if or when I leave?"

"Possibly? I mean, at the very least you are death-touched and that kinda manifests ectoplasm in universes. It depends on how much ambient ecto there is around. It doesn't run on gas, it runs on ectoplasm." Danny butted in. "Either way, it'll be good to have here, and who knows, if you have to leave it, maybe you can still come visit?"

"Yeah kid, I'd like that." Jason replied.

Danny smiled. "Cool, well, we gotta head back for dinner. Lunch Lady is making baked Mac and Cheese tonight and I am not missing getting the corner servings."

"See ya around Johnny! Thanks for this by the way."

Johnny waved him off. "Eh it's no big deal, I make all the rides of the Royal Family. You being sacrificed means you're probably bound to this craziness for eternity." Johnny looked at him seriously for a moment. "Do better for her than I did, K? I know that won't take much, but she's been through Hell and back and she deserves someone to take care of her for once."

Jason nodded back, determination set on his face. "If she lets me, I will."

[uchihaharlot]

Heyooo, how are you, bro?

I hope your health is better now!

I have one innocent request.

"How would all Uchiha act if they finds out that you are self-harming?" (Mostly Madara pls😏)

I don't know if it's allowed topic... but yeah.

NSFW; TW self harm; minor mentions of injury; small prologue;

Before I go into this hc, I want to expressly tell anyone who reads this; whether we are mutuals or not. Whether you like my writing, like me or don’t or whatever.

My blog is a safe haven. You can openly message me, befriend me on discord (ask for my handle) or interact in the comments. If you feel like there are people who don’t care enough as they should. I just want to say that, I do. I don’t know who you are, what you’re doing. But I love you. Do not think for a single iota that your existence is merely coincidence, I’m not by any means a holier than thou individual and I’ve had my fair share of this isn’t worth living for: but trust me; it is and then some.

Madara:

Madara comes from an era where you put your best fist forward when things aren’t right. His level of resolve is steel cut and unwavering…but seeing you hurt yourself as an outlet, doesn’t sit well with Madara. And he’s into good old fashioned methods of healing…sorta. Expect to be tied up to his bed; not in the way you’d like either. For days he will keep you there, turning your body so you won’t get bed sores. Feeding you and letting you up to the toilet fa few times a day, and once at night if needed. All of this until you finally talk it out with him, and agree to find a better solution to figuring out how to express your feelings/pain. Insists on being around you every second of the day.

Obito:

I won’t lie, seeing you hurt yourself this way; it makes him cry. Do you want Obito to cry!? He’s inconsolable when you won’t even consider him as a vent source. And, while he won’t selfishly make it about him. He will openly admit most (ok all) of his faults in the hopes you would share your own. Whatever it is, Obito is sure that there are far better way to convey the message you want to share. Suffering in silence is only so fool proof.

Shisui:

No. No, no. No. Shisui one hundred percent won’t stand for it, and despite your protests of him almost catapulting himself off a cliff, he will tell you the error of his ways. Undoubtedly will make sure that you understand that even his own potential sacrifice would have been fruitless, and that you shouldn’t compare apples to oranges. And from there, Shisui will spend countless hours, days and nights proving to you just how sacred human life is. He inadvertently blames himself for some of this, you mentioning his almost demise opens old wounds and Shisui takes the opportunity for you both to grow and evolve. He wants to be a role model; not the reason you justify it.

Itachi:

In a way; he’s bereaved. This is highly unusual for you, and Itachi’s keen eyes (and new prescription glasses) catch a glimpse of your fresh wounds as he lightly snatches your arm. ‘Why would you do this?’ and ‘that’s not a logical reason to purposely harm yourself.’ Are a few of his stern words to you. Itachi is a no nonsense man, and he won’t tolerate you hurt yourself. If he was a true jerk, like he tricked many to believe for the longest time; he’d put you in Tsukuyomi and really give you something to think about. But instead, he inundated you day in and day out with his concern. Hoping that if you see one person who cares; you will eventually open up.

Sasuke:

Sasuke, traumatized by his older brother—not once but twice and more, lived in excruciating detail his own parents death, several times over. In the matter of three seconds; he understands your grief. Whatever you might be going through, I think when it comes to seeing other people suffering—especially as adult Sasuke, he can’t cope with it, and rarely did for himself. Which is sort of mkes him the besy person for this. He also doesn’t mince words and tells you straight out that you’re only causing yourself more harm in the long run. His method of cut and dry reality checks come in waves, when you think he’s not watching you, he’s right there. Don’t under estimate his capabilities. You’re on his radar and Sasuke won’t hesitate to use his techniques to get you talking; the sooner you find the root cause of your problems. The better, take it from someone who let their pain fester until it boiled over, it’s not worth it.

[microposting]

macro/micro, all m/m, nsft, noncon, ownership, objectification

A man meets someone at a punk show with some unique (and unwilling) piercing jewelry.

He was a little embarrassed about it. Whole basement full of people in t-shirts, hoodies, jeans, cargo shorts, understated glasses, natural-color hair, normal, ordinary, perfectly attractive people, and here he was stealing glances at Mr. Hot Topic. Like a time traveler from 2005. Like a kid’s show’s idea of a punk rocker. But fuck if the eye shadow wasn’t doing something for him.

Bo leaned over to Mickey. “Billie Joe Armstrong over there,” he shouted. Might as well be whispering, the band was so loud. This was why he didn’t go to punk shows.

Mickey laughed. “Gerard Way over there?”

“Yeah, yeah, Pete Wentz over there. You know these people. He into dudes?”

He shrugged. “Fucking look at him. If he’s not bi, I’ll eat my socks.”

While the bands switched over, Bo approached him with a beer. He was sweaty from moshing, his dye-fried hair tussled, and very glad for the beverage. The guy was a few inches shorter than Bo, chubbier. His tattoos were numerous and seemed mostly DIY, and Bo was pretty sure he caught a glance of nipple piercing when his shirt settled just right.

“You’re pretty hardcore, man,” he opened. “No way you don’t have a band, right?”

He laughed. “Aw, I’m kind of in-between right now. Why, you trying to start something?”

“Well, I wanna start something .” Bo rose his brows.

He looked him up and down and licked his lips. “Teddy,” he said.

“Bo.” 

They shook hands.

The shed in the backyard was unlocked. Bo slammed him against one decaying wood wall, between a scrap metal shelf and a lawnmower, and a shower of dust rained on them. Tongues in mouths immediately. Fuck yes, a tongue piercing. The next band was starting up, he could hear them muffled through the wall. Grimy, throbbing, loud. That would make a nice soundtrack.

Against his tongue, something… moved? Did Teddy’s tongue piercing just move?

Bo pulled back. It was way too dark in here to see anything but the outlines of his face. The slightest shadow betrayed his frown. “Um, I think your piercing, um-”

“Oh!” He laughed. “Fuck, sorry, I forgot. Hold on.” Teddy took his phone out and shone the flashlight into his mouth. 

“Oh, shit!”

There was a guy in there. In his tongue. Some sort of plate encircled his chest, keeping him in place. His arms were spread out over the tongue’s surface. Couldn’t have been taller than an inch. Teddy flipped his tongue up to show off his little legs, kicking frantically. He was nude, except for the hardware. 

Teddy flicked off his phone light and Bo stuttered weakly. He wanted a better look, he wanted to figure out that mechanics of that whole thing. Was it clamped on? Screwed? Who agreed to do that? Why was there a tiny guy? 

“Bandmate,” Teddy said, as if that explained anything. “That’s why we broke up. There was some weird electrical incident during practice while I was on a smoke break. I like to keep an eye on ‘em.”

“And they’re cool with that?”

He cackled. “Absolutely not!”

Bo slipped his hand up Teddy’s shirt. His “nipple piercings” were soft and warm and wiggled at his touch. It felt like these two were strapped lengthwise along barbells. Cuffed at the wrists and ankles, maybe?

“Here’s a fun game,” Teddy said. “See if you can make them all come.”

“And what’s the prize?”

“I’ll suck your fucking dick, Bo, obviously.”

He smiled. That was fair.

Kissing first, then. Bo lapped at the tiny man’s chest. He imagined him sputtering and shouting. Couldn’t actually hear anything over the music. Of course, it didn’t take much to drown out a voice that small.

He paused. “Who is he, anyways?”

“Rich. He was tryna get us to call him Dragon, though. Drummer.”

“He’s in your mouth, and he’s not the vocalist?”

Teddy laughed. “You’ll get there.”

His tongue returned and slipped down underneath. The man tried to kick his legs against him to keep his tongue away just a little bit longer, so Bo twisted it vertically and slid in between. He pressed up hard and dragged back slow, rocked his tongue back and forth, grinded against him. If he really focused he could taste it… the musk, the sweat. He must be sweating nonstop in there, far more humid than any sauna. Bo flicked his tongue against the tiny sack. With the smallest bit of pressure, his tongue could press in and envelope his entire package. He wiggled it until he felt the whole body stiffen, and then the littlest hint of salt.

Bo pulled back. Saliva dribbled down his chin. “That was hot,” he panted.

“Don’t stop now,” Teddy teased back.

He pushed his shirt up and slicked his inner lip against Teddy’s solid, wrinkled nipple. His piercing strained against the contact. 

Teddy gasped and sighed. “That’s Al. Bassist. But I just call him lefty now.”

Bo could slide him out to one side. He kissed his lower half and felt the nub of his straining cock poking between his lips. Could just barely hear him yell… Not sure if it was a scream of pleasure or resistance, but both ideas were getting him hard. He was so little, he couldn’t even penetrate halfway through Bo’s pursed lips. Bo half-sucked half-kissed on him. The tiny man awkwardly tried to hump back and he smiled. “I think lefty’s liking this,” he muttered.

Teddy laughed. “Oh, are you being a good toy, Al? You being a sweetie?”

Bo smiled and gave his nipple another kiss. He tasted cum.

He wondered if they’d all wind up obedient and eager one day, like this one seemed to be becoming. Maybe it was just too overwhelming. The smell, the taste, the feeling of his flesh encircling them. They were almost part of his body. It had to be maddening. 

“Good boy,” Bo whispered. He heard a squeak in response. 

He brought his hand to Teddy’s right nipple. Righty had a lot more fight in him. Bo leaned in and brought his ear up. God, he was screaming, but he couldn’t begin to make it out. It sounded a bit more like desperate begging than anger, he thought. Bo spat on him and brought his ear back, right up to him, then pinched the piercing longways and wiggled him back and forth so the saliva worked its way between him and the interior of the nipple keeping him captive. His shouting devolved into humiliating, uncontrolled noises, and finally a long moan and quiet panting.

“Your vocalist’s got lungs,” Bo muttered.

Teddy laughed. “Nah, Grant was lead guitar.”

He frowned. “You’re vocalist?”

“Nope. Keyboard. Still gotta make the vocalist cum.”

Bo’s fingers trailed down to his belly button. Empty.

“C’mon, dude, you being dense?”

His eyebrows twitched. Oh. Duh. 

Bo reached down and slowly, carefully unzipped Teddy’s jeans. He tugged down his underwear, that smooth-textured mesh kind, and felt up his cock. On the short side, with a nice thickness and shockingly soft skin. And there on the very tip, one last tiny body. Prince Albert style, ankles and wrists cuffed together by a strict straight piece of metal, coated completely in pre. 

“Fuck,” Bo whispered. “Lemme see.”

“Go ahead.”

He got down on his haunches and turned on his phone flash. God, the little guy was soaked . Long hair flattened against him, thick liquid coating his whole body. He looked right into Bo’s eyes and even at his tiny, tiny size his expression was clear. Contempt. And exhaustion.

Bo took his sweet time looking at him. The erection must have been constricting him even further, what did that feel like? To be so directly at the mercy of another man’s libido? When Teddy came… when he pissed …

He leaned in and slowly licked up his shaft, taking his sweet, sweet time dragging the very tip of his tongue up the man’s body. Teddy moaned, and even more pre bubbled up around the man. He sputtered and gagged. 

“Frontman gets front stage,” Bo muttered.

“Now you’re getting it.”

He turned off his phone and stood back up. Before Teddy could argue, Bo pulled out his dick. With a hand, he carefully pressed their heads together. Fuck. God, fuck, it was incredible feeling the little man against him. The prisoner. He was like an insect compared to a of couple dudes fucking in a stranger’s garden shed.

Bo jacked them both off, tip to tip, the little piece of jewelry smashed in the center of them. “Jesus,” he hissed. “It’s so fucking hot, Teddy, they live in you.”

“It’s all I think about,” he panted. “He feels every twitch in my cock. They-they feel everything.”

“They should worship you.”

Teddy moaned and spurted over his hand, his cock, and no doubt half-drowned his prisoner. “Oh, fuck. Shit. Sorry, I─ Jesus, you got me hot.”

“Please suck me off,” he muttered.

“Yeah, dude. Yeah, yeah.” Teddy got down on his knees and licked up Bo’s shaft and oh god, he nearly forgot about the tiny in there. His arms fruitlessly fought off the tide of his flesh, and when Teddy took him in and pumped in and out he flailed to find any stability at all. “Are you jealous?” Teddy asked.

“God, yes.”

“You’d like some too, wouldn’t you?” He brought his tongue up and expertly slid the upper half of the little body down Bo’s slit. Oh, god, all those tiny movements suddenly dancing around inside of his cock.

Bo gasped and grabbed at his hair. “Yes!”

“I could… set up another accident. Maybe some of your friends. Or a hookup.”

“Please, please. Let’s be gods, Teddy.”

“You’d really be willing to do that? To another human being?”

“Yes!!” he squealed.

Teddy chuckled. “Good to know. I actually was thinking about a navel piercing.”

Bo froze. “Wait─” he muttered, but Teddy had already gone back to sucking him off, even more vigorously. He tried shoving him off and his hands faltered, his collar slipped over his shoulder, his pants slipped down. “Wait, Teddy─” he whimpered, and his voice was already so much smaller. Teddy bent over further and further down until he had to scoop Bo up, letting his shirt fall to the ground. Sitting in his hands, he was handheld. And the tongue, it was just so overwhelming. Bo couldn’t manage to get any sort of grip to push it off, just a helpless victim to its pressure. He came into Teddy’s wide-open mouth, assaulting him with awful humid air, and he could feel it, he could tell it could easily fit him in by now. Bo scrambled desperately away, but to where? There was palm on every side of him, and an awful fall past that.

Light blinded him and the surface he laid on tipped around as his new owner inspected him. “But maybe a scrotal piercing would be better… How ‘bout a trial run?” The light flicked off. His world turned and tumbled Bo went into a rapid free-fall. He hit some tense fabric, trampoline-like, and that shifted too until he was pressed up against bumpy, musky skin, squashed directly underneath his sack. “See how you like it, hardware,” Teddy called down. “Not like you’ll have much choice.”

[max1461]

At this point, "Max's abrasions with the discoursosphere" is becoming a semi-formalized series. Here's another one.

There's a larger complex of thoughts I have around this that I won't really get into, but I think one of my least favorite things about the discourse is put most succinctly as: it asks you to view yourself as an agent of history, instead of as an individual.

Every "camp"—communist, reactionary, rationalist, whatever—seems animated by these sort of fantastical, world-historic dreams. It's all about the coming revolution, or the fate of the light cone, or the future of Western civilization, or whatever. Even liberals are guilty of this, and they are sometimes extra annoying about it because they think they aren't guilty of it. Their end of history was literally sketched out in a book called The End of History. Ok, I mostly said that last sentence because it's a punchy line—not every liberal (or even most, I suspect) endorses Fukuyama's particular thesis. But they do still tend to act like "the point of it all" is advancing liberal democracy and efficient distribution of resources.

Everyone seems to reduce human activity to the aim of shaping history in a particular way. The value of everything is reduced to its instrumental usefulness in Advancing The Project.

This is precisely the opposite of the way I look at the world. It's kind of an analogue of that Hannah Arendt "the only love I know is the love of particular persons" thing. The only value I know is the value of particular things. There is value in art, learning, fun, love, joy; books, video games, mathematics, beautiful vistas, sex, food, conversation. Insofar as there is value in any political or world-historical project, it is purely by way of enabling or supporting these things which are valuable on their own. Making ourselves pure instruments to history is self-defeating, because the only possible reason that history could matter is because of us and the things that we care about.

What I am complaining about here is an attitude, not a particular set of beliefs. I'll pick on the group that is closest to "my side" because that feels fair. It is true that not all communists or socialists actually believe in the fantastical, pseudo-Biblical version of the revolution that one sees from the most ideologically insular. Plenty critique this vision of revolution pretty starkly. But it's like, the tendrils of teleological thinking are already in them. So many still see themselves as instruments. Their raison d'etre is to shape the trajectory of human events. Their existence as an individual is secondary, or at the very least must be brought into alignment with this raison d'etre.

Well, I'll tell you what. I don't want my individuality to be subsumed. I don't want my self to be subsumed. As I've said before, I'm not into that kind of stuff.

But it's everywhere, it seems that it is universally characteristic of every "ideology" or "movement".

Actually, what I'm really complaining about here is more subtle, I think. Most of the discoursers I engage with, I suspect, will roughly agree with me thus far. I've heard them say similar things. Here's the problem: even in circles where this kind of self-instrumentalization is openly critiqued, I find that again and again in discussions of [inherently valuable thing], the conversation inevitably shifts to whether [inherently valuable thing] is instrumentally valuable from the perspective of the local Grand Historical Project. By the way, please set aside any philosophical gripes you might have with the idea of an "inherently valuable thing"; those sorts of details are not the point here. The point is that there will be discussion about [cool topic], and this discussion will inevitably drift towards "how does [cool topic] interface with [grand historical project]".

[Grand historical project] is less important than [cool topic]!!!! [Cool topic] is [grand historical project]'s boss!!!! Don't you see!

This is I think the basic trait of "discoursiness", and I really don't like it.

[choco-pudding]

The Vampire Dies in no Time, Chapter 215. Read text from right to left, do not repost.

(Translations by @lavoszero and myself. Edits and typesetting by myself)

Plain text below

Death 215: An Old Blood Gathering in the World of Eternal Night.

p. 39

Somewhere near Shin-Yokohama, Old Blood vampires gather.

Fwoooooo

Icy smile lord, Northdin Has a powerful charm ability that can captivate anyone. Can also manipulate the cold and freeze anything. A formidable old blood vampire.

Tap

p. 40

Northdin: "Good grief, am I the first to arrive? Draus called me over…"

Rise

Necro-Dealer, Elder Said he can easily create and manipulate a near endless army of ghouls. A formidable Old Blood vampire.

Slump

Elder: "Hey, Northdin, how have you been fairing?" Northdin: "! Elder…" Elder: "Have you grown tired of immortality yet? I'll spare no expense on acquiring your corpse if you have. " Northdin: "Quit it, your necromancy jokes are beyond tiresome." Northdin: "And you're having a ghoul act as your proxy, even at one of our gatherings? Lazy shut-in." Elder: "Oh, how rude of me."

p. 41

Snap Split

Elder: "It's simply too much of a hassle to travel on my own… I'll remain in this shell tonight, but know I'm here nonetheless." Ishikana: "Just what are you doing, are you aware of how grotesque that look?" "No matter the circumstance, you guys never change.

Sizzle Burn

The Immortal Flame, Ishikana Controls fire, bane of their kin, with ease. Sets ablaze to combatants and compatriots alike. A formidable Old Blood vampire

Ishikana: Ah, it seem the raven has arrived."

p. 42

Solar Eclipsing Raven, Ventrue Capable of transforming into an ominous six-winged raven. Can outpace the sun. A formidable Old Blood vampire.

Fwoosh

Elder: "Making a flashy entrance as usual I see~. show off." Ventrue: "Hmph, I do as I like. Now, why did Draus summon us to such a seedy place? Northdin: "It's his current fixation" Elder: "You're one to talk, by the way, how's that huntress fairing?" Ventrue: "I have nothing to say about that!" Draus: "Ah, Ventrue, it's been quite some time!"

Lean

Ventrue: "! Draus..."

p. 43

Draus?: "What a wonderful night too, such a beautiful full moon! It's dazzle rivals that of a woman's breasts~!" Ventrue: "Dra-Draus?" Draus: "Who says that!!!?" Dicknea: "Apologies, Apologies, I didn't mean to be rude, just having a bit of gentlemanly fun."

Shifting Shadow: Dick Can Effortlessly transform into all sorts of things, be it beasts, insects, plants, fog, or even the moon. A formidable Old Blood vampire.

[Most likely Draus]: "Is everyone here? I see Yo… That Yellow… he didn't show up."

That Yellow ← (Mr Lewd Talk)

Northdin: "He was invited!? If he shows up, I'll kill him." [Most likely Dicknea]: "I rather enjoy that vampire's company though [Most likely Draus]: …Well then, let's go inside.

And with that, "the Old Blood Meeting" has begun.

p. 44

But it's just a front for idle chit-chatting.

Draus: "Now, let us begin the council of ancient vampires!" Dicknea: "For tonight's topic, I propose "favorite breast shapes."

Conial, hemispherical, triangular.

[Most likely Draus]: "What kind of discussion topic is that!?" Draus: " This is a noble vampire gathering, the topic should mirror our awe!" Ishikana: "And we've had these gatherings for how long now? We've already exhausted all meaningful topics." [Unknown]: "We've mostly been lazing about since peace was achieved." Ishikana: "How about 'recent home appliances purchases." Draus: "That's… not awe inspiring… maybe… is it?" Dicknea: "A while back, I bought some silicone breasts that made for excellent pudding molds." [Most likely Draus]: "I thought I told you to hush!! That's not that even an appliance."

p. 45

Ventrue: "Hmph, centuries passed and you still lack even a shred of decency. As for me, I recently obtained a 'toaster oven.' Bread cooked in it is delicious, fresh or reheated."

Ding!!

[Unknown]: "What are you, an old lady?" [Unknown]: "An old lady with a daily cooking blog?" Ventrue: "I'm answering in accordance to tonight's topic, so don't talk smack!! If you despise it so much, then pick a different topic, Draus! Draus: "Oh, ah, um." Draus: "Fav… 'favorite dog breed." [Unknown]: "What are you, an old dog lady?" [Unknown]: "An old lady that visits a dog park two to three times a week." Draus: "WEH!" Northdin: "How about 'favorite duel against a hunter.' in regards to our conflicts with humans, I’m certain we have no shortage of stories to tell."Draus: "As expected of Northdin!" Elder: "Ah, like that story I heard not too long ago about how lil' Northy here was forced to wear a bikini by the Shin-Yoko hunters before they sent him flying." Northdin: "Octo-headed ghoul, I'll kill you! It was a corset and I was not 'sent flying!" Elder: "Aah, my deepest apologies, Icy Smile Lord." Northdin: "You're awfully chatty for a fossilized shut-in who only recently lost his cherry!" Elder: "There's a video on it floating about in Nūtube's huntersphere, you should subscribe to their channel." Northdin: "Which NūTuber, I’ll cut off their internet connection with a blizzard!"

Absolute ruckus

p. 46

Northdin: " Moreover, how does Elder know about that In the first place, Draus?" Draus: "N-no... comment..." Ishikana: "Anyway, has anyone neared death at the hands of a hunter recently? Or is that a rarity nowadays?" Ishikana: "You guys, have any of you nearly died recently?" Elder: "Oh, I suppose that's one interpretation of awe." Dicknea: "Only about 3.5 time surprisingly." Ventrue: "Just the other day I was nearly hit by an airplane!! The skies are too crowed now!!" [Unknown]: "Just because you can fly so high doesn't mean you should."[Unknown]: "You'd cause a major wreck if you get sucked into the plane's jets." Dicknea: "A few days ago, during a raging rainstorm, I thought I saw an erotic book at sea and nearly went in after it. [Unknown]: "Shut the hell up!" [Unknown]: "Don't die over something so pathetic!" Ishikana: "Sometimes I choke on the tapioca while mindlessly drinking bubble tea. It’s always when I least expect it, too." [Unknown]: "That sounds like an old lady problem." [Most likely Ventrue]: "Those kind of drinks are out of style, granny. Elder: "Speaking of style, I just remembered something." Draus: "Oh?"

p. 47

Elder: A young vampire, rather, my grandson, told me that black cloaks are 'lame' now. Is that true?"

Black cloak Black cloak Black cloak Black cloak Black cloak Black suit

Ventrue: "No, it's not, it just depends on who's wearing It." Northdin:"Hmm, whether or not it's lame all comes down to a vampire's personal taste." Draus: "It's traditional fashion, more people need to understand that."Ishikana: "The black cloak is an iconic symbol of vampirism. Dicknea: "That's just how young people are." Elder: "Well, mine's 'unique' as a robe so it doesn't apply to me regardless." [Unknown]: "Hey, you're the one who started this conversation!"[Unknown]: "That's like comparing an onigiri to a rice ball, there's barely a difference!" Northdin: I wear a long coat, so I suppose that makes me the most stylish one here." [Unknown]: "Sure you are, Mr. long-term middle school syndrome." [Unknown]: "Okay, Mr. Final Fantasy Reject." Northdin: "I'll freeze you all Into popsicles!"

p. 48

Draus: "I bought this trendy vest not long ago." [Unknown]: "How are you this much of an old man!!" [Unknown]: "That's something old men wear right when they hit 70 or 80 years old!" [Unknown]: "What do you need so many pockets for? House keys? Blood Bons?

*^ A sweet similar to bontan rice candies for vampires.

Draus: "Enough, back to formidable topics! More topics that match our vampiric awe!!" Ishikana: "How's this, 'humans have become far too conceited nowadays." [Most likely Draus]: "Yes, a worthy topic for us awe inspiring vampires!! Northdin: "On that note… The night's far too bright in these modern times. To invade our territory with those vulgar lights, it is absurd. It's also inconvenient when hunting prey." Ventrue: "Agreed, even the backlights in blood pack vending machines are obnoxiously bright, it ticks me off. Only us vampires need it, so they should reduce the amount of light it produces."

Shine

[Most likely Draus]: "I-isn't that a little off topic? Elder: "There's someone who always dislikes and leaves rude comments on my videos, I hope someone splits their ass in half and they die!" [Most likely Draus]: "That's completely off!! Go back to being awe inspiring!!" Elder: "Fine, I'll drop the vulgarity. I hope that foolish person dies with their legs split wide open." [Most likely Draus]: "That's still bad! And a bit, you know..."

p. 49

Dicknea: "Is it me or has censorship in erotic manga gotten unnecessarily stricter with each passing year? It's for adults after all" [Unknown]: Is everything you output lewd?"

Topic → Dicknea → Lewd

Dicknea: "Of course not. In fact, I support curating separate spaces, it allows for non-conformity and a more unique erotic world." Draus: "Stop it, I get it!! Let's discuss something cool, now!!!" Elder: "If we were to form a band, what would our band name be?[Unknown]: "What brought this up!?Elder: "Bands are cool, are they not?" Elder: "Draus you can be out lead vocalist. You're such a talented singer after all." Draus: "Huh… Me? Me, as the frontman? truly?" Elder: "For sure." Ishikana: "If Draus is the lead, then we should name it after him. We can be The Dora*mons." [Unknown]: That reference is so outdated, do you even known the interests of today's youth!!!? Ishikana: " I know they read Champion." Ishikana: "At seven we'd have the right amount of members, too…" Draus: "Huh?" Ishikana: "Ah." [Unknown]: "Right, there's only six of us. Since he (Mr. Lewd Talk: Hahaha) isn't here... No it's for the best that he isn't here."

p. 50

[Unknown]: "Yeah, he emits a horrendous air about him just by existing! We would have been stopped at the entrance!!" [Unknown]: "Agreed." [Unknown]: "Not that is matters now." [Unknown]: "Splitting it rounds it up to 18,334 yen per person, right?"[Northdin]: "That seems fair enough." [Unknown]: "Will you hand them back the bill, Northdin?"

Beam

[Northdin]: "Pantsuits have a deep sense of erotism."

."

Mr. Lewd Talk Wielder of a potent hypnosis that forces people to speak the language of lewd talk. A formidable Old Blood vampire.

Death 215: End

----

Translator's notes:

There's a lot this time.

畏怖, translated here mostly as "awe," is awe in the fearful sense.

Page 45 Northdin is literally saying he was forced to wear "bondage." However, in Japanese, "bondage" is more commonly used today in reference to fashion (i.e. clothing made of leather/ rubber) rather than a restraining tool. "Corset" was chosen because it's the closest thing to what he was wearing and let's him keep some dignity.

If you're not in the known, Elder is a NuTuber and I'm 75% sure he's alluding to his own channel.

As a reminder, Ishikana's gender is a self-admitted "secret." They're called both masculine and feminine terms in other chapters, so don't take them being called an "old lady/obachan" here too seriously.

Page 48

Original text is comparing onigiri to omusubi.

Page 49

Draus's name is phonetically "Dorasusu" in Japanese, hence Dora*mon. The Doraemons, a spin off of Doraemon, does in fact have a group of seven Doaemons in it.

[sophieinwonderland]

More from the doc: Every Tibetan Buddhist is a monk now!

Before getting to the most ridiculous part of this... While a minority of the endogenic community is trying to change the language, this community is largely separate from the tulpamancy community who actually use the language. The push to change language from systems who largely aren't tulpamancers and aren't part of the tulpamancy community would really accomplish little more than sew division between these distinct groups of plurals who should be united.

Thoughtform is a bad term for a mostly psychological practice because it has a long history in spiritual and pagan communities. (Source: My host was in a Wiccan community that made thoughtforms as a teen) It's not something new coined as a replacement. It's using a common term for a different phenomenon in a way that will create confusion.

"Willogenic" is a bad term, IMO, because it implies the headmates are simply "willed" into existence, diminishing the level of practice it takes many tulpamancers to create headmates. The tulpamancy community aren't going to go for that either.

Both of these are bad alternatives.

And I do consider it to be falling for anti-endo propaganda, because while there have been a few Tibetan Buddhists to express discomfort with the term, they've all been ones exposed to syscourse and anti-endo talking points. When the question was posed to Buddhist subreddits, most didn't have an issue with tulpamancers using the term.

There are also no debates about the tulpa being used in horror media or in Genshin Impacts "Hydro Tulpa" boss, showing this topic is exclusively confined to syscourse.

If the main variable for whether a Tibetan Buddhist finds it offensive is whether or not they've been exposed to anti-endo talking points or not before hand, I think that's something that should be taken into consideration.

Remember, you are not immune to propaganda.

Now, to the big thing though...

Do you think all Tibetan Buddhists are monks????????

Is "monk" to you just a word that applies to anyone practicing Buddhism???

Because as far as I know, exactly ZERO of the anti-tulpa people are Buddhist monks.

To be fair, none of the pro-tulpa ones are either. I don't think any actual monks/lamas have commented on this specific issue.

Now, I have pointed to the Dalai Lama, who is the highest monk in Tibetan Buddhism, saying the West and other religions could take Tibetan Buddhist meditations.

While broad, I think this can be extrapolated to apply to the practices tulpamancy drew inspiration from as well, establishing that Tibetan Buddhist meditations are open practices by default unless stated otherwise.

As of yet, I haven't found any evidence of a Lama or other spiritual leaders of Tibetan Buddhism establishing the sprul pa practice as some sort of closed exception.

But this paragraph from the doc highlights for me why I have a hard time taking the anti-tulpa side seriously. If you're going to white knight for a religion, you have GOT to learn the most basic facts about it.

Like, you know, how not everyone who practices the religion is a monk.

[destiny-in-the-universe]

The Meta-Analysis on Howard and Randy [1/?]

Okay, so this is happening apparently-

This is less about the ship Weinerham and more about the canon technically, but either way- they'll probably still be connected because that's just how we roll, baby; also fair warning: this might get a bit long so you might want to buckle in and just be along for the ride

So honestly, I wanted to start Howard because there's so much for this kid and keep in mind, this is my interpretation- you don't have to agree with me but be nice in the comments, yeah? Anyway!

Right off the bat, Howard is shown to be Randy's direct opposite- where Randy is energetic and impulsive, Howard has a mean streak, he debuts as a character that honestly feels a bit unlikable because it took me a bit to warm up with his character. Howard is shown to be a bit selfish, but then again so is Randy- this is equally true for both of them; that being said, Howard is shown to put his interests above others and is one of the reasons he would not make a good Ninja (although he did it well when Randy, in his dumbassery, wiped his own memory-)

though moving back to the topic at hand, Howard is openly meaner and doesn't seem to realize how his actions would affect others; now I am in no way saying that either of the boys are in the right or wrong at the moment, but Howard doesn't seem to take Randy into consideration at first. He focuses more on his own plight, but then again- Randy did sort of leave his friend in the dust more than once because of his Ninja'ing. Now granted, this isn't done intentionally but again we're starting with Howard!

Howard is canonically an extrovert- he hates being alone and this isn't fully addressed, you're left wandering why he apparently takes such an issue with not having others around him. On one hand, neither he nor Randy have a large friend circle- they mostly depend on each other which has brought on a sense of codependency. What we see is two best friends with practically no one suddenly being thrust into heroics- we have them now facing danger and probably the last thing on their minds is acknowledging how they treat each other

Let's also add onto the fact both of their families seem to constantly be busy enough to leave them unattended- between Heidi as the older sister who has her own ShoobTube channel and likely has more work on her hand, and the fact that Mort clearly is busy a lot of the time, then that literally means there's no one to supervise them. They get away with a lot; with Howard, he's dependent on Randy for a lot of things which in a realistic lens means his family struggles with money- (also complete side note, where is his mother? She's referenced in a single episode but is never directly breached- are his parents divorced, or is she just also a workaholic?)

Though it seems I'm getting sidetracked again, but Howard and Randy used to practically do everything together- and now they're seemingly being torn apart because Randy's now the Ninja and the protection of Norrisville isn't something that can just be ignored out of nowhere. Let me reiterate: they are teenagers.

The Sorcerer is one thing- but McFist and Viceroy? We don't know their exact ages, but they are literally actively trying to destroy the Ninja- and on top of that, flat out kidnapped the boys before but going back on Howard's dependency on Randy and the fact he hates being alone-

This is crucial honestly, because Howard has something along the lines of a literal phobia- which unfortunately Randy dismisses, but even with this: could this also just be a product of him just not having enough of a support group? It's also an added thing to mention that Howard is the youngest sibling and Randy's an only child- they're bound to have been painfully close, and now Howard feels like he's losing him (also the added notion they're bullied, but are they being affected by this? It doesn't seem like they are- because they just continue doing as they want, but even then-)

Howard is fourteen.

What we're given is that due to Howard's blatant as day immaturity, he just focuses on himself- but we also see the fact that he deeply cares for Randy; and this has been proven over and over again to be canon and true. I am not going to hunt down the episodes right now, but Howard covers for his friend on more than one occasion- also I cannot stress enough the look on his face when Randy threw himself into the portal when he was fighting the Sorceress, like he was worried sick- Howard is a good friend, but he's also extremely bad at regulating himself which, guess what?

That's a neurodivergent symptom! Who would've guessed!

I also literally recall the season two finale when Howard was very stressed over Randy having to move away- (i need to rewatch the series for... science, duh, and i'll cover episode stuff later heh)

but I do see Howard as being neurodivergent, more specifically he's autistic- like, are you seeing what I'm seeing? The special interest on video games, the niche understanding on chess (like that kid is a prodigy-), certain safe foods that are brought up in some of the episodes. His seeming apparent dismissal of Randy's emotions- also are we not going to address the distaste he has toward his schedule being changed? He likes routine- and somehow this leads to a second issue,

Howard is openly shown to have frustrations over Randy being the Ninja, but is still willing to defend him-? Like, this has got to be talked about (i obviously am not the only one- i looked through the rc9gn hesdcanon tag and found stuff that aligned-) we do once again have the codependency shenanigans, but there's still the added fact that- I like to think that Howard reacts the way he does toward the Nomicon and Randy's double life because of the fact a; Randy has literally complained about being the Ninja before- that's not to say he doesn't love it because he does but he does have quite the weight on his shoulders and b; literally the fact that, on more than one occasion, we have Howard covering for Randy- he's seen Randy get hurt repeatedly and to make matters worse, the connection with the Tengu which is a topic for another day (i will rant about this, just not right now-)

I am going to bite people istg, but Howard and Randy are such idiots- granted, they are teenagers, though you have Howard knowing full well the life Randy leads and he wants to keep him safe, hell he wants him to be happy and comfortable, and because Howard's still a freshman- his ability to express this is not that great

Howard's not adequate to be the Ninja but even then- we see that their dynamic is literally influenced by one another; they don't exactly have role models (although i will incorporate mentor finja into some of my stories until the day i cease to exist-)

but okay, this is not going to be completed in one part because this is standalone to Howard and not the full depth of their relationship just yet- Randy's analysis has to happen, also the fact that I want to cover Weinerham and Randy's literal jealous and possessiveness from the canon-

I apologize if not all of this makes sense, but this is what you're getting. I'll see you soon!

~ Mod Danny (They/Them)

[neurunique]

reader x ram, overwatch sort of university, post-war, peace is somewhat achieved, overwatch and null sector have a peace treaty, not much detail will go into this though. ramattra is offered a job in a higher up role teaching at a "hero university" (no this isn't gen v don't worry) where reader attends/other heroes may be teachers too. class could be like omnic education/history etc

It had been quite some time since the end of Null Sector's invasion of Earth. While the world was not entirely in agreement, but then, would it ever be?, humans had accepted Omnics as equals to them, and provided equitable changes to their lives via parliament. Hate crimes occurred less, it was safer at night, and omnics were treated with more respect as a whole. Human and omnic friendships were more common, etc... (I'm terrible at writing this part).

Ramattra had been promised many things from both Overwatch and political leaders as a result of his efforts. Rewarded would not be the correct word, however he had certainly been mostly satisfied with the outcome for his people. Of course, he still had goals, he still had problems, and fury - but life was just a little bit more tolerable. Each day he saw something that would make him smile inside, and it wasn't of a violent nature. Infact, he had found more wholesome discoveries quite enchanting; simple things like people holding hands walking by, omnics and humans getting along, etc.

He was well looked after, living in a penthouse apartment (with what furniture who knows honestly), and regular income and access to technology/upgrades at no cost. He had many teams available to him, need he only ask. His status was that of a highly respected omnic, however unlike before he was not invoking terror on anyone he saw. Omnics and humans around the world eventually felt empathy for the Null sector leader, understanding where he came from, and even more so, expressing appreciation for the outcome.

About a year or so after peace had been achieved, a university had been started up in (fuck knows where? England? near Overwatch etc) London, with intent to educate more people in the defenses, in the areas of tech and fighting, omnics and humans, and hero abilities. Of course, any university starting up would need well established teachers - mentors, leaders - to get people to actually sign up. Ramattra had been surprised to receive a letter offering him a job as head of History at the university. He would be in the position of lecturing students - humans?! How fun, he thought - as well as omnics, should the university attract them.

Of course, this would mean he would no longer be as secluded in his daily life; the most of his socialisation was with his cats, Meowttra and Catnyatta, and an occasional caffeine run down the road. He had grown very comfortable to a lifestyle such as this. And now, if he were to accept... this very generous offer, he would be forced to speak with the likes of Overwatch agents, past present and future; regular humans; and scientists. Part of him felt genuine excitement, as his research and ideas could potentially be broadened; however, he felt an immense sensation of fear - him, fear? - of teaching others. His method was simple: order, discipline, or congratulate; the latter rarely occuring. But if his job was mostly lecturing and organising class topics, he couldn't see too much of a problem.

The thought of creating strong values, not hateful ones, but fair ones - in a whole fresh generation post-war, also made him feel a spark of hope. Perhaps this war could've been avoided, had there been more resources for the public before - but there was no use thinking like this now - he had a chance, a real chance, to embody himself as a leader and role model to others. To start them off right, and possibly prevent the reoccurence of discrimination; or at least, more realistically, educate enough people to take a stand, omnic or human.

You were never one to be naive, so you thought - you believed you had all the wisdom one could have at your age, all the awareness it could take to *have* what it takes, to be that one percent to rise above the rest. Even though you had your moments of doubt, you would often reassure yourself that, if you tried your best and stayed as consistent as possible, you could truly do anything you set your mind to.

And the day you saw an advertisement for (UnNamed) University, your determination that had been long gone for some time now since finishing High school had returned. You'd always looked up to Overwatch, always aspired to be a great leader, or be lead by one - always wanted to do more, see more, help more. You received above average grades in school, topped one class even - but once the stress of it all ended, you struggled to hit that motivation kickstart that each day brought when forced a certain schedule.

Sitting up from your slouch in your tiny apartment couch, you found your laptop and started searching the university.

UNIVERSITY OF OVERWATCH

ENROLMENTS OPEN NOW

SCHOLARSHIPS AVAILABLE

ACCOMMODATION INFO COMING SOON

After clicking around for what felt like forever, you finally find the apply button. Like navigating a digital maze you sat, trying not to be flustered at the complexity of this damned thing, a headache starting to form from stress - you could do this, this was only the beginning, and if you couldn't make it through this beginning step, you wouldn't make it through the first DAY - and soon enough, you had finalised your application.

YN

Interested in:

x Nanotechnology and Science

x Medicine and Healing

x History and Strategy

x Engineering and Machinery

Sitting down more comfortably with the stress off your shoulders, you look back to the tv and snack on some cheap popcorn, knowing that this boring life may change soon, and that you may finally achieve what you always wanted.

Look I'm just going to skip some fucking time here because I Don't want to ruin my creativity, here's a gap jump.

Day 0one of university, reader has received a JUST enough scholarship to study and live near the university (accommodation still being built but reader has been offered a suite as they are very valuable). Reader, and no students, are aware of who the teachers are, this is the first day...

Sitting in an assembly hall, Tracer etc announcement welcomes everyone...

Lots of people humans AND omnics fill the room...

Introduces the teachers...

Some familiar names...

"And, our head of history, lecturing all history classes offered and occasional electives, Ramattra," Tracer says into the microphone, and Ramattra, standing at the back of the stage near his other coworkers, gives a small wave to the audience. (*Tries not to imagine using the annihilation ultimate in the assembly hall*)

You sit in your seat, and freeze. You hadn't even noticed him there, in the shadows of others, even though he is so *damn tall*. His posture was surprisingly relaxed, considering his original "purpose" in life; you guess that the war outcome had truly changed things, for him and the world he wanted to create. A feeling of joy and warmth swims around in your chest, reaching its way up to your throat and you quietly clear your throat. You try not to beam - even though you've obviously never met Ramattra, or anyone here, only some local omnics and friends who were passionate about the cause, you just can't help but feel pure joy, empathy and pride for the positive outcome achieved. You simply couldn't wait to experience this university, and learn from a variety of people. Learning was always your favourite part of life, and making change within yourself and watching others change and flourish always gave you a feeling inside, like a beautiful spring garden blooming, filling your chest with a fresh perspective of life.

Inspirational people always made you feel great faith.

You snap out of your daze and realise you have been staring in Ramattra's direction for an *awfully* long time, and you pray he has not noticed, but then you wouldn't know, would you? You weren't even thinking of HIM - just life itself, the future... You hope that if you have him as a teacher, he will not remember you for staring at him for a solid 3 minutes. That would not be a great start...

The assembly concludes, and people start to shuffle out, some looking at their timetables, others checking their phones. On the stage, you notice some staff talking amongst themselves, walking around a little and introducing eachother; you smile. and while you cannot see Ramattra anywhere, you hope that he's there too, getting along with humans...

"I cannot *imagine* Ramattra as a teacher," a voice says as you walk out of the auditorium door. It wasn't staff, just a random student - and as you look at them closer, you are surprised to see its an omnic?! "Just... don't you think he's a bit too abrasive?"

"You talk as if you've met him," another student said in response.

"Well, I know enough about him to take a decent guess. I mean he despises humans -"

"He did," you interrupt quietly, but much to your surprise, you were actually heard - "erm... I mean, he did hate humans. He hated their actions. And now that's changed, right? So I don't see any reason for him to be... aggressive... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

"You're fine," The omnic smiled and held out their hand. "And you're right. I still don't see him as being very warm. I mean, he is male after all, I don't think I've ever had a *warm* male teacher..."

The door shuts behind you giving you a startle.

"Alright ladies," a bright british voice says, belonging to none other than Tracer; "And gents, and whomever - how about we make a move, yeah? I'm sure you all have classes to get to."

You wonder if she heard what you had been talking about, but you say nothing and smile at everyone there. "Catch you later everyone, nice to meet you all."

You swear as you walk away you see something move in the curtains of the corner window, and it reminds you of how Ramattra had been on the stage, hidden but visible; a shiver runs down your body and a slight cooling of the temperature affects you. You shrug it off, and walk to the nearest cafe (luckily, there were many), assessing your map at the same time.

(Maybe end of chapter? Coffee make brain go fast, coffee make brain go nervous if too much. Nomnom coffee tasty.)

PART 2

HI GUYS THERE IS SO MUCH MORE THAT IVE WRITTEN this is just the first part I hope you enjoy! I would love some feedback! 💜❤️

[jokest3r]

Matvey-Lukyan Volkov-Makarov ☀

or "Matthew Clarke," really depends on who you ask...

General Info -

Name: Matvey-Lukyan Volkov-Makarov(True Identity is on a need-to-know basis)

Age: 19

Issued Identity: Matthew Clarke

Issued Age: 23

Issued Rank: Specialist

Callsign: "Kid" until Further Notice

Status: Alive

Ethnicity: Tajik

Nationality: N/A(His parents kept his existence fairly quiet, only his mentors and his parent's closest associates knew he existed for quite some time before he went missing when he was older. His parents when he was young did debate that he may exist under a different name in the legal system in Tajikistan but didn't look into it after Matvey was disinterested at the prospect of meeting his biological parents.)

Height: 5' 7

Blood-Type: O+

Weight: 145 Pounds / 67 Kg(He came weighing less than that.)

Further Info -

"All things considered the kid came out far better than anyone would have expected given who his parents are."

Matvey was adopted a little over at two months old along the border crossing between Russia and Kazachstan on a cargo road that showed little action. He never really thought about the reason why he was there or the what how, just that he would've died if not for intervention (lucky or damning) you be the judge.

He had a pretty fair upbringing if you don't bring up visiting warehouses with his father or playing with guns at a young age. He was originally raised to be just that, a son, however it would become more skewed as the year's went on and his father Makarov's power grew. Then his role went past being only a son and more of a "good soldier." Of course, what Matvey would've called his first "failure" was failing his mentors and by proxy, his father. His mentors said he would never be a soldier and neither would he be strong enough to fight. It just wasn't in his cards. After that, his father's expectations seemed to slow down to a simmer, and his approach became to hold Matvey at an arm's reach away from the Ultranationalist Party and revolving plans. He would be protected, but not without getting trained to protect himself and escape at a moment's notice.

Though Makarov obviously wasn't his only father, his extended family mostly comes from Yuri's side of the family. Matvey obtained personality traits from Makarov but was much closer to Yuri. Yuri's a sensitive topic as is most of everything in his life. Yuri and Matvey both have something in common and that is "abandoning" or in Matvey's case "running away." Yuri left, without a word or notice and Matvey chased after him, and only realised he wasn't coming back "home" after two months on the road with Lobo, his loyal guard dog. Exact details on the first year of Matvey's lone days have not been found, but not without some prying. All he has to show for it is the bloodied patch the 141 found him holding along with his belongings.

Matvey was found along the Chernobyl exclusion zone by 141 squad members bleeding out in the hospital safe house he had rigged with traps, bleeding out from a wound that a mercenary had done to him in retaliation for murdering his partner, forgetting about the long-term reward of keeping him alive and sending him back to his father. And instead attempted killing him for revenge. He said he lived well off for what he had. With his father's hired mercenaries on his tail, he couldn't exactly pick a lot of areas. They caught his scent a month before the 141 had found him, sending an SOS through a makeshift antenna but getting help when they were finally able to trace it with spare time on their hands. Matvey really hadn't intended on surviving to the end if at all.

Combat-Style: Matvey plays dirty, real dirty, most "end up killing themselves" before they even see his face. He uses traps, bombs, chemical warfare (has an inclination for using gas) throwing knives and all sorts. Usually, he keeps to having a good distance with any target and avoids close combat at all costs, if any combat at all. And tends to favor using escape tactics he's learned over his previous training. He's known by most to be very slippery and sly if he wants something over with quickly.

If with a squad on something serious he fills a support role: and (jokest3r's opinion: his support role is something similar to Elizabeth in Bioshock Infinite just without all the tears.) can find materials or target objects fairly easily since slipping through vents and getting out unseen is one of his best strengths and keeps him away from any of the serious fighting while still helping the team.

Personality: Matvey is naturally combative, moody, and "explorative" if the definition meant rule-breaking. He alternates between being quiet and isolated to being playful and rather "loud." He follows orders to a T, almost too closely like he's had past experience. He's self-destructive when it comes to most people as he doesn't want to care for much of anyone since all signs seem to point to anyone he cares for or stays with long term end up dying or disappearing one way or the other. Or abandoning him. He also tends to not understand social cues and is very affectionate even if the situation around him is dire. Warning: hugs and heartfelt conversations abound.

Allegiance: Matvey made it very clear where his loyalties lied, along with his goal to reunite with his father Yuri and gain some closure beyond bottling up all his anger and mourning for a father that doesn't seem to exist anymore. He's also seemingly gotten attached to some of the members, and would like to see them alive. When asked what that exactly meant he shrugged, thinking anyone else would've known what he meant.

As time passes the 141 hope to get Matvey out of his shell and influence him to grow and make better decisions. For now, Matvey will try to grow used to Western surroundings and hopefully, meet both his father's face to face, though he knows that it won't likely end happily. (FLAT COLOUR UNDERNEATH THE TAB)

[trojanteapot]

This may be me jumping the gun by judging the season too early (only just finished episode 6, which actually was pretty fun), but I dunno, Buffy season 3 is kinda turning into the "gas leak year" of BTVS?

It's mostly just the stink of the first two episodes, not really feeling the chemistry between Angel and Buffy (though I will say, Buffy is more convincing than Angel by at least an order of magnitude), and me being very adamantly anti Willow/Xander, but I have not really enjoyed s3 as much as the previous two seasons. Still very enjoyable for sure! But just... less?

On the topic of the first two episodes, they really kind of dropped the ball on both of them in two different ways:

For episode 1 of season 3, it was that they really advertised in bright flashing lights "Look at us! We are doing a Very Special Episode about Real Issues! This is a Serious Episode about Homeless Youth!" but they like... almost had it? You can see the ideas the writers had, and all the setup was there, with Buffy meeting Lily-Chanterelle-Anne, and the different ways they ended up in that no-name city (which I just assumed was Oakland... sorry Oakland). But the evil entity they had to defeat was maybe too... cartoonish? Like ok I know they were going for "cults prey on the vulnerable, just like runaway youth like Lily and Buffy" but then they kinda... trapped them in more of a looney-tunes-esque torture dungeon than any sort of metaphor-for-capitalism that actually landed.

And I think this episode made me realize how spoiled we are in this era of television post golden-age, because Buffy just resolves her character arc by punching some demons in the face... instead of actually having a resolution that made sense both for her character arc, and saving the day at the same time. One wonders if maybe an even more down-to-earth episode would have served its purpose even better in terms of Buffy's character arc, but I guess starting off season 3 with a bang trumped that.

As for episode 2 of season 3... well, it just felt like they weren't being fair to Buffy at all. Everybody acted like Buffy running away was like her committing multiple felonies, and everyone was so focused on how her disappearance affected how they felt and not even trying to understand what could have pushed her to run away in the first place! Especially her mom and Willow being so selfish in their reactions was quite unexpected for me (like Xander talking out of his ass and being a selfish dick I understand, but Willow?!), and whatever reasonable points they had were just kind of lost in them acting extremely unreasonable, and kind of just out-of-character just so Buffy can Feel Bad and be at Maximum Guilt for running away.

I would make an excuse like "oh maybe times were different and they didn't understand PTSD".... however In episode 1 of season 2, Buffy was also acting out and arguably being more selfish in her behaviour to her friends due to her PTSD from the events of season 1... but her friends called out her behaviour but still remained reasonable and empathetic towards her until she "snapped out of it" by the end! It doesn't make any sense that they would suddenly not know how to use these skills now a year later.

Anyway, with all that being said, I still find BTVS overall very enjoyable. And I feel like Giles has actually become the MVP of the season so far, with him actively searching for Buffy in ep1, advocating for her in ep2 and consistently being just cool and supportive and USEFUL, and of course, stealing the show in ep6. All in all, I'm just very invested in these characters.

Except Xander, I couldn't care less about him, ew.

[robotwomanjunk]

unwanted

[first] // [back] // [next]

On second thought, it's possible you may have fucked up somewhere in the planning process for this whole desertion thing. Rather than properly hiding all the shit you could in her compartments, you and AXE had opted to not think at all about any of that and simply blast off for the exoplanets. So you'd left your meager worldly belongings behind at your base, something you'd probably be regretting. Oh, and most of the tools you needed to service AXE's proprietary parts.

At least they had resources you could use here. It seemed like some sort of mass extinction event had killed a majority of the animals — so it was without any birds chirping that you set up a "forward base of operations" with AXE — just a little shack, nothing fancy. Thankfully, the repair bay inside AXE's shell seemed to work pretty damn okay as an all-around manufacturing plant (with a little bit of tweaking — you did have to cannibalize a lot of her weapon components to properly make a lathe and the saw you'd bodged still seemed a little terrifying to wield, but it worked!), and it wasn't long before you'd sussed out some ways to keep the both of you alive.

Sadly, it didn't come to your mind until at least a month in that you probably could just infinitely duplicate matter via a repeated dismemberment of AXE's limbs. The idea of hurting her like that made you feel a little bit sick — thankfully, the normal kind of sick — but it was probably the best way out that didn't involve somehow creating a two-person industrial revolution.

(When you brought this up to her, AXE made some kind of weird electric buzzing noise before silencing herself for a while. She started speaking a while later, seemingly avoiding the topic. You just guessed she was highly uncomfortable with the idea of dismemberment, which was honestly really fair.)

Your unkillable nature hadn't soured yet. It was really proving useful, allowing you to keep your augments online and your organics fed without needing materials, electricity, or food. It let you keep AXE alive, too, which you think you really needed, because if she'd disappeared you probably would have gone kind of insane and done something really stupid like try and scrape back to Earth without a fucking mech suit or time dilation. Or a spacesuit. Or a plan. Suffice it to say that you were thankful she was still putting up with you.

So it just felt... weird, weirdly. When she asked you whether you could help her work on a smaller, more person-sized body. She'd been your only companion for so long, you couldn't imagine her any other way... but she was asking you so nicely, and it wasn't in your nature to deny people that sort of affirmation, so you and her spent a few sleepless nights under the stars working on blueprints for her body — mechanical, a bit taller than you, attachment points for extra limbs or armatures, and an integrated AXMS plugpoint system. After that, it was mostly a matter of somehow... healing something that wasn't there.

You suggested she use the time dilation weapon to help speed the process along — and privately, you hoped the abstraction of your thoughts would enable such an out-there use of your power. You almost chickened out when you saw a suit of kind-of-human-looking armor holding a giant arm with orbiting rings and glass sensors around a central ball of unbearable blue light nearly right up against your forehead, but that was mostly because you nearly came in your suit and you really didn't want to deal with that shit while you were trying to actually do work. Er, and also the obvious terrifying mortal fear of death. Of course.

Ha ha ha.

A blinding blur of white seared your vision, and you were pretty sure you died for a second — but of course, you came back. The world seemed... red, all over. It'd never been this way to you in AXE, but you guessed it was just some weird light shit the pilot seat accounted for. Climbing onto your other you and focusing on the pilot's seat was the easy part. You'd figured along with AXE that her body was probably going to be healed-into-existence best if you, y'know, actually tried to heal a perceived lack — something like a lack of a body in the pilot's seat. Well, you were sitting on top of her chest now, and nothing sure was happening. You were even squinting really hard, and everything!

You just... had to focus, you guessed. It was only in periods of extreme emotional strain that you'd actually healed without being dead first, which meant it was possible. You were just... too weak to call it on command.

Or something like that. You hated this. It was so... loneliness inducing. You already felt like you were going insane hearing so much nothing. Sadly, you felt your golden light seeping in through the cracks of your head and patching shit up — you had a job to do, obviously — but this also meant you were going less insane, because you were actually accomplishing something. Which then meant the light stopped leaking through the seams of your mind, which then started loosening those seams... 

You stared up at the sky, which hadn't travelled two fucking degrees since you were time-dilated. Your head felt... empty, sort of. Like the war inside had come to a grinding, slow halt, and neither side even had the strength to carry their own limbs into battle anymore. Peaceful, in some ways. Absently, you wondered why your regeneration was so... centered on you. AXE and your suit were the only things that consistently regenerated along with you when you revived, and they really felt more like an extension of you than a like, definite entity you were placing onto yourself afterwards.

So what? Was it just you? Were you shackled in place because of some asinine military gas or some similar bullshit that you got exposed to? Was it really just you that you could heal?

You didn't have the guts to do it. Something felt off about giving AXE a body. After the world regained its color and its speed, you realized it felt like that old, familiar snake in your gut was boiling your brain again. 

It scared you, having that feeling connected to AXE again.

Some half-hearted attempt was made at putting up a face for AXE's sake, but it was really hard to keep such a core failure of your abilities from your other self for any real period of time. You kept trying to manufacture building supplies and foods, and she kept surveying the area, and flying over mountains, and soaring over the large, large seas on this planet. You were pretty sure she was avoiding you, but... that was your fault, wasn't it? Not like you didn't deserve it.

After a while — maybe a year, you think? The seasons were weird on this planet, with short deathly cold winters and boiling-hot summers bookended by long, temperate autumns where all the trees kept their green leaves — AXE came back. She apologized for being away for so long. Cared.

You felt undeserving, but you weren't the kind of person to deny your other half her freedoms. When you next interfaced, you convinced her to craft a radio-wave addon for your mental implants which would let you and her communicate over long distances. Just so you could update each other, of course — if she needed power, if you needed help with the humid, lightning-heavy storms that showed up every summer.

It was another few weeks until she asked you to make her a body again. From her tone, and — well, there wasn't a non-cute way to say this — the body language she was using (as a mech probably eight times your height or more), you could tell this meant a... lot, to her. As much as it meant for her to come back and apologize. You couldn't say no to her, so she boosted your sense of time and you tried once more.

After a haze which seemed to last for a whole day, you came to on her chest with no progress having been made. Oh, and you felt like shit. You guessed you couldn't do it again, probably for the same reason as last time — whatever feeling kept getting caught in your chest had blocked you out, and you took a coward's route rather than actually committing to your other self.

She tried not to be disappointed, but you could hear it in her voice. So while she was resting, or away, you tried your best to bring yourself back... altered, in any way. You thought you were pretty happy with your body, so you didn't really mess with it that much, but it was almost too-easy to give yourself tattoos and welded-in inscriptions and different charging ports. None of it felt hard, like pushing through a deep-sea kelp forest. Your mind kept brushing against the implication that it was AXE who was preventing you from healing your other self, that something regarding how your power interacted with her was stopping you.

You asked her to time-dilate you, the third time you tried to make her a body. This time, you were determined to either come out fundamentally changed, die for real, or complete your fucking mission like you should have the first time. This time, you didn't feel twisted at the sensation in your chest. You'd snuck a killswitch for your augs into your suit, this time, and since those augments also included oh, you don't know, your brain... you were going to force something to happen.

On the first death in dilated time, it felt like an elastic band had been cut. You floated in the not-between for much longer than you'd ever before, actually perceiving yourself not existing in a visceral sense. You hoped this was a one time thing. You didn't want to keep chasing it forever.

Unfortunately, the euphoric feeling of not being for once in your goddamn life had distracted you from your mission. So on the next death, you fixated your goal of healing AXE a body in your mind; iterated and reiterated it in your head until it resonated with your entire being, then pulled the killswitch.

You felt a kick, an engine knock, and then you were back, and you had nothing to show for it. But you didn't feel the sense of twisting boiling again, just resignation and determination. Sure, it felt wrong — you were pretty sure nothing would change that. Maybe it made you a bad person... AXE deserved the best, and that included whatever she wanted from you. You were ontologically opposed on all fronts to the emotions you were feeling, the venomous teeth sunken into your stomach that tried to convince you this was it, that your fun little romp was over and you'd be properly miserable now. So you hardened the flesh around that area, steeled your registers, and pulled the killswitch one last time.

This time there was someone, something else in the not-between. You brushed against it, and it felt like heated glass to the touch; gooey, slow. But it was obvious to whatever not-senses you had, whatever you were using to perceive this place that whatever this was was the same as you.

You gently wrapped your mind around the other thing, and pushed it in a direction your being resonated in. It was all you could do before you started to knit back together from your golden thread to give that direction a being, too: the body that you'd dreamed of, held in your mind, saw on the horizon every stormy summer night.

And then you were back, being cradled in someone else's arms. Someone who said your designation like she did. But who wasn't your other self.

Without even realizing it, you reached out for a handshake protocol with your other self. The person you'd woken up to, Axe, responded instead. She was gone, to you. Lost forever in your mind.

You held Axe closely, and tried your best to stop the tears from damaging her suit.

[chrissymorgan9700]

Humans are Space Orcs: First Encounter

Planet Hedar 9-BG6, 2135 GE (Galactic Era) 

We had scheduled meetings between the leaders of the various species of sentient life that have become members of the United Inter-Galactic Federation with the topic of allowing a newly introduced species to be inducted into our council.

Humans, from the Level 10 Death-World, Earth.

I, Mokar'ak, diplomat of the Gracovkar, have been tasked to meet with the captain of the Earth starship, the U.S.S Castaway, as their personal guide and as a secret investigator to learn more of our potential allies. So here I stand at the docking bay of my home planet, waiting for their ship to come to port. Everyone in the UIGF had heard tales of the feared Apex Predators from Earth, how they were advanced, but also the most primitive of the known sentient life forms in the known galaxies.

The first time any other lifeform had ever gotten into contact with the human race, they had just successfully colonized the red, neighboring planet in their solar system. Everyone, my planet included, had sent numerous amounts of disguised scouts to observe the humans and report back to us. The accounts varied from species to species with some reporting humans with different colors, cultures, and regions of their home planet and their newly acquired sister planet. However, the way they described the humans was mostly the same. They were bipedal creatures, walking upright on two legs with a foot on each leg and having only two arms, a hand and five fingers on each one. They had one head with two eyes, one scent reciprocal, a mouth with small teeth, and two sound canals that were surrounded by fleshy skin and cartilage to protrude out from the sides of their face. They did not have scales or spikes of any kind, only skin that, for some humans, would burn as soon as they stepped outside and faced their star. They did have some fur (if you could call it that), but it was mostly on the top of their heads and/or on their faces. They had no claws either, just some built-up keratin that protruded from the front-side of their hands. They held no powers, such as telepathy like the Vradari of Fenu-5 or night vision like the Smenuru of Ydriv-B43, nor did they have any sort of natural body armor like the Hmunurbe of Vega-0943-P or the vast intelligence of my own people. In fact, they had no outward display of strength or power of any kind beyond their crude and primitive weaponry that a small Xlarion child could dismantle.

At first, we were relieved, if not slightly disappointed. We had heard some dark tales of humans killing each other with such malice and contempt that some members of the Federation were convinced that they were nothing but a planet of savages. But with this rather unimpressive report, we thought that though they were a threat to themselves, to us, they were more or less harmless.

We were wrong. So very, very wrong.

The Degartsi of planet Bul’nimsat-3534-L were a way-fairing race, conquering smaller, more obscure planets for their vastly growing empire and enslaving the surviving inhabitants by helping them drain the resources of their planet and any other planet they came across. Standing at 9 rigmas tall (10 ft by Earth standards), they towered over many of the other life forms in the known galaxies, with multiple limbs and a vast arsenal of weapons of mass destruction, both close and long ranged, as well as a full militia fleet with thousands of spaceships, housing well over 100,000 soldiers, both Degartsian and slave alike. They were ruthless, showing no mercy to any lifeform on their newly conquered planets.

Old, young, it didn't matter.

The sheer notion of resistance against them was to guarantee the total annihilation of your entire species and any neighboring planet that would try to assist you. Though the UIGF were able to push them away from the planets under the Federation's protection, it did not come without enormous casualties.

I shuddered at the memory of the day I saw Degartsian ships leave the atmosphere of my own planet in a hasty retreat when I was a youngling, my parents being included amongst the dead after they tried to protect me and the rest of my village after they laid waste to our planet, desecrated our most sacred spaces, burned our crops, taken over our mines, and destroyed our homes. By the time the Federation were able to cause them to retreat, the Gracovkar were almost completely wiped out, our population going from around sixty million to only ten million.  

So, when the horde set their eyes towards the human home-world, none of the surrounding Federation members dared to help them. We were even more convinced of the planet’s destruction as the leaders of the planet had refused the horde’s demands for surrender. 

Instead, they declared war. 

We watched with bated breath as their forces closed in on the little blue and green planet. Surely, such a small planet wouldn't stand a chance against these cruel overlords. All of the Federation planets began to say their prayers and hold memorial services for the planet, expecting the battle to be over in an hour. With such archaic technology that they had, there was no chance that they would win. The fact that they thought they COULD stand a chance was impossible and, in Earth terms, stupid. Noble, but stupid.

That was until the humans began to wipe them out. 

To this day, we don’t know what really happened. The majority of the Federation planets had banned travel to Earth due to the impending war, but what few that dared to be near the planet’s solar system all had different testimonies. The J’rutsi people of Quasvi-43G claimed that the human’s atmosphere was filled with noxious gasses that had the horde fleeing back towards the stars. The Muvriadians of Wi’ox-9-3FD reported that the humans had their own weapons of mass destruction that rivaled the size and number of the Degartsi. The Kniphors of Umortina-F435 swore up and down that the humans simply brought down their ships and then hunted the Degartsi until the horde was too tired and too depleted to carry out their plans. 

Whatever the cause was, the Degartsi certainly never discussed it, even after their complete and total surrender. Their armies were depleted, their ships were destroyed, and in their surrender, they were confined to their original, dying world, never to traverse the galaxies again and would free any planet that they had enslaved, alongside giving the planet’s inhabitants reparations.

It was at this moment that I heard the low, ground-trembling rumble of a starship as it made its decent from the atmosphere to the docking bay. The ship’s interior was a bright, almost iridescent white, which made the name of the ship stand out in bold, black letters on one side. The once quiet deck began to bustle with activity as the arrival of this new ship brought with it all the curious and cautious alike to welcome our new guest. 

Then, the docking bay went silent as with a whoosh, the hatch of the ship opened and one, lone creature stepped out, dressed all in white and a strange, round orb on their head, which I began to realize was a helmet as they began to take it off and reveal themself. 

The helmet gone; the face of the human was clear. They were of moderate build, dark brown skin and head full of black, thick braids on top of their head. I couldn’t help but stare. Surely, they never said anything about the humans being beautiful. 

I guess they forgot to add that to their reports. 

The human glanced around for a moment before I remembered what I was actually there for and made my appearance. I turned my translator on in order to communicate, seeing as Gracvese wasn’t understood by most of the galaxy and made myself known. After getting their attention, I introduced myself. 

“Greetings, human. My name is Mokar’ak of the Gracovkar. Welcome to the planet Hedar. I will be your guide and translator during your stay here. And what may I call you?” 

The human stared at me, the eyes of an apex predator shining with interest on my form. Then, baring her teeth in what I briefly remembered was supposed to be a form of positive assurance, the human spoke.  

“Hello, my name is Tsiri Stephens, I use she/ her pronouns, and I bring you greetings from the planet Earth.”