#it was supposed to be a ask archive account

[k-yujin]

Made a second account!: @w-intera

#i’ll lpve you forever if you follow it #i just fwlt like making a new one #plus its joshua themed 🤞🤞 #not like i’ll actually ever post anything there 💀 #goofy ahh name #it was supposed to be a ask archive account #but the name was too pretty #the amount of times i actually renamed it 🌝 #❁ ﹒random

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available. 

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community. 

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company? 

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists. 

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom 

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

-

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits. 

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people. 

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it. 

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

#ao3 #lore.fm #fanfiction #fandom history #gift economy #caelum rambles

[darkdemeter]

WOLF AT YOUR DOOR Pt. 2

The DARK DEMETER WRITING CATALOGUE, WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN (ONESHOT) #2 —

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

A/N — So this took a fucking while because I was very sick and then by the time I could write I had lost the ideas I had and the inspiration to write it. Anyway this is considered as part 2 to Wolf At Your Door but can be read as standalone I suppose. Also there is no smut for this one because I just couldn't see it being in this part. I've got 2 other Wanda oneshots coming up that will have smut, one of which may be quite long... like Habits II if I can.

WORD COUNT — 2.9k

READER DISCRETION — fluff — slightly possessive reader — Wanda and reader being a grump x sunshine couple — profanity — mention of protective reader — all about them pups really — small mention of Wanda's backstory — there's SITCOMS HERE — reader acknowledges the cheese of romcoms — marking — confessions and feels — I think that's it?

PREVIOUS COLUMN(S) — WOLF AT YOUR DOOR

SUMMARY — Never did you ever imagine that pups would become your future. No less, to Wanda Maximoff. Despite your odds and differences to begin with, perhaps you're willing to give this thing a shot.

“No.” 

It’s as simple as that as you push the trolley forward. Wanda pouts and as an act of defiance, she throws the colourful, tiny suit into the metal basket on wheels. You aren’t quick enough to repress the almost disgusted sigh. 

“What’s wrong with it?” she asks behind a scowl as you both continue your voyage down the aisle. “Yellow hurts me. Deeply.”

Was that a lie? Maybe. But did you instantly regret your answer when you see the flicker of disappointment in Wanda’s eyes? There’s no doubt about it. She reaches back into the trolley for the tiny suit, amongst the array of others you both had already picked out, most likely to place it back on the rack when you stop her. 

“Leave it.” She looks shocked when you prevent her from fishing it out of the selection. You only roll your eyes, the faintest of smirks on your lips. “I’ll just have to be blindfolded when I hold them.”

Wanda smiles a toothy smile - that perfect smile - in regards to your humour. You’d never been one at the party to crack jokes but sure as hell would win a joke match against Rhodey. Him and his fucking tank story. 

But Wanda is entertained deeply by the mental picture of you with a literal blindfold over your eyes as you cradle little wolf jr. A picture perfect snapshot already archived in the album in her mind. 

Already midway through the second trimester. Time is flying by so quickly. You both still hadn’t sorted out the crib yet and by that, you hadn’t. But all the cribs you and Wanda saw were made for one baby; two at best if you were really set on them sharing. 

But human cribs never accounted for four pups and you weren’t very impressed by the idea of building four separate cribs. Uh uh, that made your wolf brain go crazy. Your pups separated from each other? How would they bond with each other?

That was how you and Wanda got on the topic of a ‘den’ and nesting. Surprisingly she was on board with the idea from the start when you first told her your concerns about the pups being kept away from each other, that their bonding time would be hindered greatly if you both went about it the human way.

She’d agreed wholeheartedly. Not a huge case it took to convince her. 

Wanda and yourself roll into the next aisle and the first few racks were rows upon rows of socks and shoes meant to be fitted to tiny feet. 

Wanda laughs at the expression on your face and you give her a puzzling furrow, head tilting to the side like a confused dog. 

“What?”

“You,” she giggles, “didn’t expect our little rendezvous night to take so well, did you?” You merely shrug with a small noise, quick to cover it up you clear your throat loudly. 

“You brought it out of me. You should have known never to do that to a werewolf.”

Wanda smirks with a slight nod of her head. She’s double sure she doesn’t regret a single thing. There’s nothing she would trade for this feeling of her hand running over the large bump of her stomach that ferociously kicks with your pups. Four, healthy pups. 

There were still remnants of the aftershock back at the compound. The reveal that you and Wanda had slept together was talk of the compound for weeks before Wanda grew sick and with that, the test coming back positive. When you were able, Banner executed some further tests and you almost fainted right there on the spot when he congratulated on the four additions.

And not to mention the overstimulation on your part. Not only was Wanda a walking ball of ever changing hormones but you were in overdrive as well. Anytime someone made Wanda upset in the slightest you were on them in a matter of seconds. Fury had to call an emergency meeting in regards to keeping yourself in line throughout Wanda’s pregnancy. Not that it helped, you only grew to become fiercely protective over Wanda and your unborn pups. 

But for Wanda it was all she could want. Not to lie to yourself - your counsellor advised that lying to yourself is a bad habit - but you were happy as well. This was a secret dream come true. Wanda’s interest is piqued when she spots a set of black footed pyjamas with crescent moons on the pads of the feet and little pawprints scattered across the body. 

“Y/N, look!” she gapes as she holds the suit up for you to look at. Out of some maternal habit, she holds it against her bump and in that moment, it all hits you like a freight train. 

You were going to become a parent. A wolf parent. You wouldn’t be so alone anymore now with Wanda carrying your lineage within her womb. And she’s excited for it. Has been since the very beginning. To have such an opportunity before you now, you realise just how alone you were before. How fine you’d been being so alone before. 

But if you had a chance to go back in time, to stop yourself from entering Wanda’s dormitory that night, you realise now that you wouldn’t. 

Your lips part but no words come to mind. You’re drawn at a blank. All you can do is marvel at the inevitable coming of your pups. “I think we should get them, the pups will look so cute.” She grabs three more and places them in the trolley. 

‘Fucking hell…’

Wanda looks up from the haul and tilts her head curiously at the look you give her. Eyes wide, unblinking and just simply admiring her. Right there in that aisle of baby supplies. Not exactly one of those times in movies where the misunderstood, hardened love interest finally sees the sunshine protagonist in the highlight of their epiphany and has a complete one-eighty on their entire reality; but fuck, it was close enough. 

Seeing Wanda swollen large with your pups. It’s something that cannot - will not - be robbed from you. “You okay?” she asks softly and you nod slowly. 

“Yeah. Really good, actually.”

Ugh, those sitcoms and romcoms she’s made you watch are starting to rub off on you. You sound so fucking cheesy. She smiles wider this time and using a hand to flip some loose hair behind her shoulder, she beckons you to follow her. 

Maybe yellow isn’t such a bad colour. You can make it work.

Dinner time is rolling around and you check the time, just ten minutes past six. Wanda happily prepares dinner for both of you and your invited guests, her eyes occasionally lifting to watch the sitcom she’s adamant on watching.

At first, you didn’t get the fascination with a cast of characters just doing mundane things in one space only to have the laugh track and fade effect transition into the next location. 

However, Wanda was quite open with you about her life before Hydra took her and her brother. That she adored sitcoms from a young age, and one of the last memories she has is sitting down next to Peitro in front of the TV to watch an episode of the Dick Van Dyke show, her parents cuddled together on the couch. 

It was a raw scene to bear witness to. Her eyes flooded with tears. The only thing you could do in that moment was pull her to you in a tight embrace. The rest is history. One of your personal favourites was Bewitched, but you refuse to admit that to anyone. 

“How’s the project coming along?” Wanda asks as she stirs the contents in the pot around, giving it a little taste test. “It’s good,” you answer with a focused grunt, expertly working one of the last screws into place. 

“You’re following the instructions, right?” You don’t need to look at her to know her attention is elsewhere, she’s not even looking over at you. You roll your eyes, gaze momentarily glaring down at the booklet. 

You grumble to yourself under your breath. “Don’t need the instructions, werewolves don’t need fucking instructions.”

Wanda can’t suppress the grin on her lips at your huffing and wolfish grumbling. The pups were in for a treat with you, she can tell already. 

“Do human babies actually like these… knick knacks?” you ask rather unsurely. You stand the changing station up and brush your hand along the mobile. The colourful, plastic bits clink and sway. 

“Yeah!” she answers with enthusiasm. You only raise your brows more with worry. You weren’t set on having those little things dangle in front of your pups, just begging to be grabbed and chewed to bits. But that was a worried conversation for another time, a knock on the door alerts you both of your arrived company. 

You call out for them to enter as you busy yourself with putting aside the table. Natasha all but swaggers on inside, a box in her hands as her eyes glance between you and Wanda. 

“Good evening, how did the shopping go?” 

Wanda giggles at your reaction before she uses her stirring spoon to point at the haul you both had garnered today on your big voyage to the great danger beyond: the public. Sam, Steve and Clint walk in after Natasha, each wearing a smile of their own.

“You ready to have a crack at parenthood, Wolf?” Clint jokes and you shrug. “As ready as I could ever be.” 

Wanda begins serving up dinner when her eyes squint, accusation on the tip of her tongue. “We’re missing one,” she drawls and Steve chuckles lightly under the scrutiny of the witch’s gaze. 

“Bucky had to cancel last minute, small mission briefing.” Steve’s explanation is supposedly good enough for your little witch to accept but you see the judgement in her eyes. You chuckled, the wolf in your eyes spelling mischief as you look at Wanda from across the way.

“So lucky. If only I had a mission briefing too.” 

Wanda flicks her fingers at you, the tips of her fingers glowing with her scarlet magic when a knife flies your way. You catch it with a surprised guffaw. “Sweetheart, I thought we would save the knife play for later.”

Wanda looks at you with a narrowed gaze but her smirk speaks volumes to you. She’s silently challenging you and all you do is raise your brows, your tongue in your cheek. 

Sam is clearing his third plate of the masterpiece dish he insists is of five star quality. You hum teasingly under your breath, “I dunno, I think she tried to poison mine.” 

The others share in the banter with small laughs and their own opinions of their dish, all of which praise Wanda’s skills around the kitchen. 

But what was all your teasing but a mere altered projection of your deep, underlying affection for Wanda? As you talk and catch up with your friends at the dinner table, your hand seeks out Wanda’s under the table. When you find hers, your fingers intertwined together. A simple and small action but for you, it held more affection than many things that could overly express one’s love. 

You weren’t the type to show up at the door with a giant bundle of roses and balloons, with music blasting the greatest love song hits of the century. You always prefer to keep it small. Private. Intimate. 

So after another hour or so, your friends call their leave. “And remember, Tony’s hosting that huge baby shower for you guys next week,” Natasha reminds over her shoulder. A shudder attacks your spine and you inwardly growl. Tony would of course play out the entire thing as an act of being the ‘fun and cool uncle’ but really, it was another dig for getting the car done up good on your mission. 

“He knows I hate his parties,” you mumble to her once you’re both alone. She’s in the kitchen finishing up the washing when you walk up behind her. It’d been a big day for you both. It feels good for it to just be the two of you know. 

Your arms circle around her waist and pull her in close, her back flush against your front you take the opportunity to bury your nose into her neck. She giggles loudly, cringing as she tries to wriggle away from you.

“What’s wrong?” you coo with a playful nip to the shell of her ear. “I’m ticklish there!” she squeals but you continue to feign knowledge.

“Oh? Are you now?”

“Yes!”

You laugh, cool, rich and deep. A husky drawl while you continue to nuzzle into her neck, inhaling her calming scent. Your hands balance on the rise of her swollen stomach, the kicks strong and prominent against the light pressure of your hands. 

“They know it’s you,” she cannot help but say with a smile. Something about your pups being able to recognise your touch makes her heart flutter and it makes something in you inflate. Pride. 

Your pups knew you by touch already. You just knew they were excited by the mere presence of your hands - of you - being so near. You smile. “Because they know I’ll protect them. Protect you.”

“You know… you never did mark me.”

You freeze for a moment, hesitant on how to answer her. What could you say to that? But Wanda turns around to face you and draws you into a deep, passionate kiss. Her lips capture yours and her tongue teases the line of your mouth. 

“I don’t care what reservations you have about this relationship, or that you plan on sleeping with other people. But please, I just want to feel some semblance of love, that I belong to you.”

You frown at this and immediately, your hands find the edges of her jaw to lift your tearful eyes to yours. “Wanda,” you sigh in disbelief, “take a look inside. What do you see?”

She gives you a look of scepticism and you huff deeply through your nose, a wolf behaviour to further urge her to comply. She does so, closing her eyes and taking a moment to read your thoughts. This is the first time you’ve given her permission to take a look inside your mind.

“You see anyone else?” She shakes her head in response. “That’s because there is nobody else. There’s only you.”

You sink to your knees so you’re at eye level with the baby bump. Wanda watches you, eyes wide and jaw slack. Whatever antics you were getting up to, she’s at a loss. When has she ever seen you become a mushy mess for anything? When Wanda looked at you, she never put affection as part of your resume. You and the factor of affection or anything to do with a loving relationship were just two opposite ends of the spectrum.

She didn’t believe you were ever capable of such adoration and devotion. “There’s never been anyone else. It’s always just been me. That’s how it used to be before… this.” Your nose pushes against her bump and you feel the pups kick again. 

You grin this time before your eyes lift up to see Wanda, her button lip jutted out in a pout. Her bright eyes coated with hot tears.

“Little witch, I’m not… I’m still very new to all this. But I’m telling you now that I want to have a go.” You pause and swallow thickly. “I don’t want it to just be me anymore. I want it to be us.”

“Then make it an us. That’s all I want.” 

You hear the plea in her whisper and you rise up to your full height, staring down at her. Your hands cradle her face in your hold, you simply take the moment to admire in her eyes what you once mistook for lust; that you now see as love. 

“It’ll hurt for a second,” you inform her as you slowly tilt her head so her neck is bared for you. “But I promise it’ll be for just a second.”

She nods and you take that as your go ahead. This is where the lone road ends for you. No more being alone. 

She closes her eyes with the growing anticipation and you bare your prolonged fangs, inching them closer to the sensitive skin of her neck, hovering over the spot you’d nuzzled just prior. Right where she was ticklish. 

With a final, deep breath you close the distance and plunge your canines and her body locks up, a yelp on her lips you tug her in closer to you. Your body is a silent assurance that she’s alright. That she and your pups will be alright. 

She feels it in her core, a whirlwind that sweeps her like a heavy storm. Like wind blowing in her face and drawing the air from her lungs. Right beneath the surface of her skin tingles and becomes ignited with that binding fire. When you pull away with a breathless exhale, your dazed eyes glowing, it takes you a moment of swaying to become stable again.

“Fuck,” you both groan softly, noses brushing together as your lips dance over one another, their connection ghostly but the radiance of your new connection a fiery and passionate spark to the touch. 

Wanda smiles and her flushed cheeks indicate her flustered embarrassment. You chuckle deeply and lift her chin up with your fingers so she meets your hungry, wolfish gaze. 

“You’re mine now.” Her hand finds purchase on her stomach, and yours falls over the top of hers. “And they are our pups.”

Thank you for Reading! (◕ ᴥ x)

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST —

@alexawynters

#female reader #gn reader #male reader #treehouse taglist #the dark demeter writing catalogue #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda x werewolf! reader #werewolf reader #marvel #wanda maximoff #wanda marvel #wanda x y/n #werewolf #pups #pregnant wanda #marking #wanda maximoff x you

[73ghosts]

I'm sure many of you are already aware of this, but in case I have any newer tumblr users, pet bill donation scams are very common on this site. If someone DMs or sends you an ask asking you to reblog some sort of donation post for a sick/injured pet, it is most likely a scam.

Below the cut, I have included tips to spotting a scam, and why I believe the post by 507-on-queue is a scam. @kyra45 runs an excellent tumblr scam awareness blog, and has more information and tips here about spotting pet scams. I have archived the scam post in question on my side blog here.

Here's some ways to spot these scams:

Age of the blog - most scam blogs are a week old or younger, they are often under a day old

Similar urls being used for multiple blogs - scam blogs are typically blocked/deleted rapidly, and the OP makes a new account with almost the same name

The blog bio/pfp are not unique

You can only access the dashboard view of the blog so the post archive cannot be accessed (for example, my dashboard view is this, but you can also visit my webpage view and see my 9 years of post history via /archive lol)

The blog has never interacted with you before

The blog follows you and immediately sends a DM/ask

The DM/ask is overly polite and guilt trips (they often ask you to reply privately to reduce digital footprint)

Images of pets can be found via reverse image search

OP's story is inconsistent or unrealistic

The Paypal link does not match the supposed country OP lives in

Most recently, a scam post has been going around about a sphynx cat named Draven. This has been done using multiple urls, including:

meer-lion (deactivated)

507-on-queue (deactivated)

507onqueue (deactivated)

507-onqueue (current as of Jan 13th, 2024)

Here's how this blog meets our scam watch criteria:

The current blog (507-onqueue) is less than a day old (19 hours at the time of this post). The oldest post:

As listed above, OP uses multiple, similar URLs.

The bio of 507-onqueue is taken almost directly from another user (said user). Due to the same bio being used in previous scams, I suspect this is the same or related person to kappa-tundra/kappatundra (about this scam).

Scam blog:

Copied blog:

Only dashboard view is available.

The blog follows and immediately DMs/sends and ask. From my account:

The ask from the account is very polite, guilt trips, and asks me to answer to the post privately. The goal of being so polite is to win your trust and lower your defenses. This isn't the worst guilt trip I've been in a scam (that goes to the child support scam from several years ago). By asking me to reply privately, they're attempting to reduce their digital footprint (making them harder to google) and disguise how much they are spamming asks.

The information in that post was taken from a private Facebook account (source). I found the Facebook account in question and confirmed that the information was taken from there. I do not want to share the page because I view that as a further violation of the Facebook OP's privacy. For transparency, the images of Draven are not on Facebook OP's page any longer, but there are several other identifiable pieces of information that make it more than likely that the claims of her information being stolen are true.

The ask is inconsistent itself with the name of the cat (Draven vs Indie). This is also nearly identical to another scam ask from user captbridges. This user was using a real GoFundMe for a sick cat to scam.

The medical paperwork in OP's post is for a veterinary hospital in Wisconsin. However, OP's PayPal is based in the Philippines. The country.x= part of the url indicate the country of origin of the account; PH is the Philippines. The local.x= part of the url shows that the link was localized to the United States (making the donation currency USD). (PayPal's information page about country codes).

Stay safe out there and remain vigilant, everyone. If you don't already know them, try to pick up some boolean operators to refine your google searches when checking for scams. The tumblr search function sucks, so this is your best bet of finding information about scams like these online.

#meer-lion #507-on-queue #507-onqueue #507onqueue #scam alert #scam #You all can feel free to reblog this if you want #I normally make posts like this when a scam comes my way #But I haven't actually seen one in a while lol

[jscwrites]

Please Follow this Backup Blog for Vendetta-IF

Hey guys, it's jsc, the author of Vendetta. I'm making this blog to backup all of the stuff I've posted over on the vendetta-if blog because I can't access my main account. Until I can access my account again, this will be the blog I'll use to interact with all of you and post updates. And in the worst case scenario, this will become the main blog.

So, please, follow this blog as I will be posting updates and answering asks like usual here. Also, for those who want to share their fanarts and other fanworks, please tag this blog too so I can see it. I'll also start reblogging some posts and asks from the Vendetta blog here in hopes of preserving them as much as I can. So, be prepared for a little blast from the past as we walk down the nostalgia road, I suppose.

I'm really sad because just earlier today, I checked my followers count and saw that we were 30 followers away from reaching 4K Followers in the main Vendetta blog, and I was thinking about what to do to celebrate it. Plus, there are also so many awesome fanarts and asks that I don't want to just be gone, which is why I'm making this blog to reblog all of them.

For those who are new and wondering what my story is all about, please check out the intro post I've reblogged. I might need to make another intro post in the future if I never get access back to my account, but for now, I hope it'll suffice.

IMPORTANT LINKS

[ORIGINAL INTRO POST]

[VENDETTA BLOG ARCHIVE]

[DEMO | Latest Chapter: 6 Part 1 | 272.8K words total] 

[FORUM] 

[PATREON] | [KO-FI]

[DISCORD]

CHARACTER RELATED MASTERPOSTS:

[CHARACTERS LIST]

[ARTBREEDER PORTRAITS] [ROs] [Other Pt. 1] [Viktor] [Other Pt. 2]

[CHARACTER PLAYLIST]

ADDITIONAL LINKS

[PUBLIC SIDE STORIES LIST]

[AO3 WRITTEN FANWORK] -> Currently 3 works

For those who are interested in what happened, I'll tell the details under the cut.

So, a few hours ago, I decided to open my iOS Tumblr app to check on notifications and stuff, as I usually do. But instead, I got hit with the Tumblr error messages over and over as it keeps trying to load in.

At first, I just thought it was my cellphone Internet connection, so I tried logging in on the desktop. At first, after I input all of my login credentials, the page loaded, but it brought me to the viewing page of my Vendetta blog as a non-user. I tried again, and this time, it said that my account got terminated. I never got any email from Tumblr about this, and it came as a shock because I just used my Tumblr earlier today to reblog some fanarts with no problem and I have never really used my account for other non-IF related stuff.

So, I scrambled to ask my members in Discord whether my Vendetta blog is still up, and thankfully it still is. But, my main account is somehow gone. The problem is, my Vendetta blog is actually a sideblog to my main account, jsclarissa.

As you can see here, when I tried searching for my main account, it says "Ghost blog! This blog does not exist." despite me having used that account to respond to comments and send asks to other authors before.

I have sent a support ticket to Tumblr support and also tweeted them on Twitter. I really hope they can give me my account back as I'm pretty sure this is some kind of technical issues on their end. I'm just worried about how long it would take them to respond and of course, the worst case scenario that it actually got terminated, so, I'm making this account.

Even if I got my account back, I'll still reblog stuff from the main blog here and maybe I can finally have a more personal blog where I can talk about stuff that is not really related to Vendetta.

#intro post #important announcement #writing update #if: vendetta #if vendetta #vendetta if #if game #if wip #dashingdon #choicescript #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #interactive games #cyoa #cyoa game #choice of games #hosted games

[bbybluemochi]

bbybluemochi's F.A.Q. ✧･ﾟ

Hi! Arun here! I thought that instead of answering your submissions one by one I’d gather all the frequently asked questions and answer them in a single post (this is a mix of art/OC/commissions related q's)!

Please note that I do read all your messages and I’m so grateful for every one of them!!!! I keep all your words really close to my heart, thank you for liking my art and loving my Ocs as much as I do, it means the world to me <3

What’s the name of your OCs?

They’re called Cotton (the blonde one) and Puppy (the dark haired one). The original idea for them was to make some silly wolf/bunny OCs (that’s why Cotton is called like that, it was supposed to be a joke about her tail…) but somewhere along the way they took over and became something completely different!

Is there a webcomic for your OCs?

Not currently! I don’t have the time or the skills (for now) but I’d love to give it a try in the future! 

I was wondering if you mind people using your OC art as character art/inspiration for DnD?Just games with friends that are for fun, nothing for commercial.

Go ahead! I find that really flattering.

Just out of curiosity, are any of your OCs bisexual?

Both Cotton and Puppy are lesbians. That’s what I feel comfortable drawing since I’m a lesbian myself. If I ever do draw a bisexual OC I’ll make sure to mention it! <3

I think you said Cotton was a dominatrix in a previous ask, but is Puppy on the opposite side of the spectrum or is she just glad to be there whichever way?

Puppy is very much a sub. They both switch (Puppy as a service top and bottom and Cotton as a top and power bottom), but the dom/sub dynamic never changes. Also I wanted to mention that these dynamics do not transcend outside of the bedroom that much, there’s more to them than their kinks but I do love to draw them deep in their submissive/dominant headspaces. 

Are one of the lesbian fairytale characters trans?

I didn’t design either of them with that in mind, but I’m super OK with people headcanoning them as trans!

May I use your art as a header/icon?

Of course! Remember to credit me tho~

Do you allow people to use your art freely?

I don’t allow reposts of my work (not that it matters that much, since almost all my art has been already reposted a million times ))): but I’d really appreciate it if you just shared my posts instead of reposting my art). As for phone backgrounds/wallpapers or stuff like that, yeah!

Do you have an instagram account or other social media, I would love to follow you there.

My main platform is twitter (same @), I post all my drawings there and I’m usually more active over there. Tumblr is kind of like an archive. I really like the community here but I find it easier to reply/interact with people on twitter! As for instagram, I do have an old art account (same @, again) but I haven’t posted in so long. I may start posting there soon if a certain rich guy decides to keep destroying the bird app tho. 

I’ve always thought about this… how do you think it’d look if the aesthetics/styles [of your OCs] were reversed?

I’ll have to explore that in a future drawing, I haven’t thought much about it! 

Do you write fics for your characters or has anyone else written fics about them?

Not yet! A couple of my friends have offered, tho! I usually like to stick to drawing because that’s what I do best, I don’t wanna subject anyone to my writing (it’s not very good,,,,). When I share some of my Ocs stories, I think it will be in comic format. 

What's the story behind your OCs? 

There are several, actually!! I like to put my OCs in different universes. As for now, there’s the Fairytale AU, the modern setting AU (this is the original one), and now the Werewolf/Vampire AU. I also did a drawing of them as spiderwoman and black cat but I don’t think that AU is gonna make a comeback for a while. I’m also planning a scifi AU but I’m not sure I’d be able to pull off that aesthetic with my current art style so I’m still working on it. 

The Fairytale AU is the one I’m working on most of the time. I wanna release a small artbook with their story + illustrations. That was my main goal for 2023 but life got in the way, so maybe,,, 2024??? *crosses fingers* 

Is your shop down? It’s saying that it’s not available.

I open my shop for 1-2 weeks every now and then, that’s why it’s closed most of the time! My plan is to open the store again in september, if i manage to finish all the merch in time! I’ll announce it on my twitter and tumblr account when I do. 

Would you ever share a tutorial on how you make your art?

Yes, of course! I’m not very good at explaining my drawing process but If it helps anyone I’d love to! Just let me know what part of the drawing process you’d like me to focus on, because If i try to make a full illustration tutorial it’s gonna be too long/difficult to follow. 

May I ask what brush do you use for your lineart?

I use a different brush almost every time I start an illustration, I’m not very consistent when it comes to that (I think it’s mainly because I haven’t found the perfect brush yet!). But let me know what illustration you’re curious about and I’ll try to remember which one I used!

Do you come up with poses off the top of your head or do you use some type of reference? I always struggle with them.

It depends on what I’m drawing! Some of my drawings are reinterpretations of paintings (I’m obsessed with pre-raphaelite painters and arthurian legend paintings in general), so in those cases I try to adapt the poses to my art style. Even If I’m trying to recreate an already existing painting I end up changing the poses/proportions a lot along the way to fit my personal taste/art style. 

Other times, I just sketch from imagination (this is more entertaining, I think, since looking at references can make the drawing process a bit tedious). If I find it hard to draw a certain pose/part of the body I will look up references on printerest, no shame in using pictures! If I still can’t find the pose I need I’ll just take a picture of myself (this is like, a last resort for me. I’m too lazy for this). 

My personal advice would be to use references for the pose and then tweaking the pose and trying to make it more personal 

I love the way the armor was designed and rendered! Can you share some tips on designing armor? 

Drawing armor is something I still struggle with most of the time. I think I’ve learned a lot in the past year (please don’t look at my armor drawings from 2022,,,,, sigh) but I still struggle to draw certain poses/angles. My advice is: don’t hesitate to draw non-functional armor!!! There’s always gonna be someone like “actually, that armour makes no sense :)” well !!!! it looks cool as hell so who caresssss !!!!! 

I think it’s more important for you to get comfortable drawing armor before you start beating yourself up for not drawing accurate ones. It takes a lot of practice (I’m still learning!!!), especially if you’re trying to draw historically accurate ones, so start by having fun, and then work your way up from there.

Most of the tips I can think about are really hard to explain without a visual example, so let me know if that’d be a tutorial you would be interested in and I’ll try to make one (I’m cringing a little just saying this bc I swear, my armor skills are so bad compared to some amazing artists out there………..).

Do you allow cosplays your OCs?

YES…. YES PLEASE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM BEGGING YOUUU ILL LOVE YOU FOREVER !!!!!! *rattles my cage* 

Do you allow fanart of your OCs?

Again,,, PLEASEEEEEEEEE !!! Just tag me so I don’t miss it and remember to give me credits if you do !!!!!!!!!!! :D

I was wondering if you use procreate , clip studio, or similar apps?

A mix of both. I used to draw on procreate only until I got a tablet and now I’m a clip studio user (csp sponsor me please), and now that’s all I use. I’m so used to drawing on PC now that I don’t think I’d be able to go back to procreate, but I still like that app a lot! All my drawings (even the ones I do on csp) always get retouched on procreate because I like some of the effects (*dreamy sigh* chromatic aberration filter,,, love u). 

I wanted to know if the marks Cotton has on her waist are tattoos or like a scar? 

Those are tats! Puppy is a tattoo artist ~~~ (I’m actually not sure if i’ll keep the waist tats on Cotton or if I’ll end up redesigning them,,,)

I was wondering if you take commissions?

Not right now. I also don’t have any plans of opening commissions any time soon! When I do, I’ll post a google forms on twitter and here on tumblr with the prices and type of comms I do. But there’s nothing scheduled. 

Even tho I'm not doing commissions atm, I’m currently looking for illustration jobs (specially book covers), so don’t hesitate to email me at [email protected]

That's all for now, thank you for reading!! I think I covered most of the questions, I'll make another q&a post in the future! Bye~~

#frequently asked questions #faq #ask

[ao3sbatfamily]

'Half in Love' by timeturners

Author: @timeturnerz

It’s Batman, the man with whom Clark is half in love.

“I won’t ask again,” says Batman.

Clark is deriving a lot of amusement from the fact that Batman doesn’t know that Clark is Superman. He feels giddy. This has never happened before, that Clark-as-a-civilian has run into Batman.

“I’m a journalist – my name’s Clark Kent and–”

“I know who you are,” Batman says shortly. “I asked what you’re doing. You’re supposed to be in hiding.”

“How do you know that?” asks Clark. “Did you run into Bruce?”

“He’s calling the police right now.”

“Good,” says Clark. “I need to find him and get us both to safety.”

Batman stares at him for a second. “He’s accounted for. It’s you whom I need to get to safety.”

#superbat #ao3 #fanfic #fic rec #dcu #batman #bruce wayne #superman #clark kent #dick grayson #lois lane #ship fic #batdad

[ffc1cb]

new art blog

the short version:

1. i made a new art blog: @cbge;

2. @ffc1cb will stay up as an archive.

the long version:

hi everyone. this announcement is somewhat late, since the blog in question has been up for a few months now, and i’ve already started posting art on it. the reason it took me so long to “reveal” it is because i’ve been trying to figure out whether a new blog is something i actually want, or if it's just me throwing darts at a board, trying to make myself feel better somehow.

i don’t know when precisely it all started, but ever since sometime last year i’ve been going through a hard time, both emotionally and creatively. i’m not sure whether being depressed is what made art harder, or art becoming harder is what made me depressed (a bit of both, i think), but lately, drawing has been a struggle. 

i’ve found myself having less and less energy for art, and this lack of energy resulted in poorer quality of drawings, which resulted in me feeling like i’m getting worse at it, despite my efforts. i knew i could make good art, art that i’m proud of - i’ve done so countless times before, - but somehow it felt like i just couldn’t anymore, like my hands forgot how to. nothing looked right. 

i’ve been trying to experiment. i’ve learned some new things, tried this and that - it was enlightening, to say the least, and even though i kind of liked how it looked, it made me feel a sense of displacement. i was at odds with myself, my art, and how i felt about it, when previously i was always in sync. i was making art, yes, and it looked nice, but it felt like it wasn’t mine.

i suppose part of it was also the growing lack of engagement, and i don’t mean likes and reblogs - i never particularly cared about those. they are all just numbers to me; dry and impersonal. what i’m talking about is actual, human interactions: personal thoughts in tags, asks, replies, etc. a conversation. 

i don’t mean to sound “old” or anything, but i remember when talking to artists online was more commonplace. my wife tells me it’s because the internet culture has changed over the years, that people have become more reclusive, less willing to be open with their thoughts, and she's probably right, but in my slump i find it hard to believe. somehow it feels like it’s my fault for being less “engaging”, for seeming unapproachable or perhaps intimidating. maybe it’s “just a skill issue”, maybe it’s because i have stopped churning out fanart for popular fandoms, maybe it’s because i refuse to torture myself emotionally by having an art account on twitter (i can’t fucking stand the place anymore; i still post nsfw art there, but only because it’s literally one of the only places on the internet that allows you to do so. i miss when you could post female presenting tits on tumblr).

i have always, ever since i started posting art on the internet back in 2012, done it for human connection. i wanted to talk to people, and have people talk to me. i wanted to inspire people with my art, and i wanted to bring them comfort. i wanted to elicit an emotional response, and have people tell me about it. it was one of the main reasons i drew in the first place; having lost that, i’ve been struggling to stay passionate about making art.

i miss being a small artist on the internet during the 2010s. i remember when i could make a post going, “hey everyone, how are you all doing today?” and it would not seem weird to people in the slightest. it is just me? does anyone else feel that way? am i too deep in my own head? the internet feels so unwelcoming nowadays, especially to artists. we are all just content machines; people scroll by our stuff, or maybe look at it for half a second and leave a like before scrolling away. i know it’s unfair to demand people’s attention, especially now when our lives are already so overwhelmed by everything - no one has the energy to pay closer attention; i myself am not immune to mindless scrolling. but it feels bad. i wish we were all sincere and enthusiastic again.

anyway (sorry for rambling. i hope i haven’t bored you to death), you might want to say, okay, but how is making a new art blog on a “dying” social platform going to help with any of that? the truth is, i don’t know. i just felt like i needed a change. 

i’ve been running this blog since 2016 (that’s almost 8 full years!). i feel incredibly attached to it, but at the same time, i feel it weighing me down. 

there are people who followed me years ago for one specific thing, still expecting me to post about said thing (i still find it mindboggling that some people follow artists for a specific fandom only, but that is a whole other matter for a whole other post that i will never write). a third, if not half, of my following are probably dead blogs. and with my current struggle with trying to regain the joy i once felt for making art, looking back at all the art i’ve done over the years makes me feel tired. i still love it all; it’s all very dear to me. i’m proud of it; looking at it makes me mourn my younger and more passionate self.

so i’ve decided to make a new blog, where i will let myself post whatever i want, in whatever stage of donness i feel like. maybe it will help me, somehow. maybe it won’t. but if you care about my art, if you want to keep following me on my artistic journey, i welcome you to join me there. similarly, feel free not to - no hard feelings.

thank you everyone for your support over the years; it matters a lot to me. i’m not planning to delete or private this blog; it will stay up, and i will still be reachable on here. i will still answer asks, if there will be any. i’m just not planning to post any art here anymore. this is it for my dear old friend ffc1cb.

i can be found in other places:

@cbge, as mentioned earlier,

@k0nstanta, an art blog dedicated solely to my wife and i’s ocs,

@inquisimail, a dragon age ask blog that has become my dragon age sideblog in general,

and multiple other blogs, none of which are art related, but feel free to ask, if you’re curious.

thank you very much for reading all of this. i hope you have a wonderful day.

#salt talks

[luckbealincoln]

Best Kept Secret

chapter eleven : he loves me not

THIS SERIES HAS BEEN MOVED AND RE-UPLOADED TO ANOTHER ACCOUNT. WHICH CAN BE FOUND HERE. THIS POST STILL EXISTS AS AN ARCHIVE BUT THIS ACCOUNT IS NO LONGER ACTIVE!!

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 4.6k

summary : something has changed in your relationship with the mandalorian

warnings, etc. : language, angst

Something is wrong. 

All day it’s been wrong. 

He’s different. Distant. 

You can’t help but wonder if you went too far last night, he had seemed skeptical at best when you had presented him with the idea, and then the sex.

Sex had always been special with him, no man has ever given you the rush of fire in your veins like Mando. But last night was… somehow even more intense than ever before. Like he had wanted to burn himself into you, permanently. 

A small part of you wonders if he did. 

But it doesn’t matter because you can’t ask him about it. He won’t even look at you. His helmet faces you but you’ve learned how to tell if he’s really looking at you. There’s a certain chill that runs down your spine, it isn’t there now and you know deep down that he’s looking right past you. 

The real giveaway that something is amiss is his voice. There is none of that familiar fondness that you had grown accustomed to. His greeting is short and he makes no attempt to speak to you in the library, so you read. Maybe he just needs space.

At least that’s what you tell yourself as you close your book, not even realizing you’d finished it until you peer out the window, the sun is setting and you realize you’ve spent the entire day in silence. He didn’t read today, he just sat across from the nook like he used to do. 

“Is everything okay?” Your voice almost sounds hoarse from not using it all day. 

He doesn’t even offer up a verbal response. Just a nod. 

Okay so you fucked up. The birthday thing might have been too far, too… personal. That’s fine, you can fix this.

Except you can’t, because when he walks you back to your chambers you lean against the doorway and give him a small smile.

“Hey, you know you seemed pretty stressed today. Maybe I could help with that?” You brought your hand up to his arm in what you had intended to be a comforting gesture but he flinched away like you had burned him. You immediately drop your hand. 

You can’t pretend that doesn’t sting. 

“Did I do something wrong?” You wish your voice didn’t sound so wounded as you say it. 

“No, not at all. You should get some sleep.” His arm gestures inside and that’s when you know he’s lying. Because the helmet isn’t even facing you now. He isn’t even trying. But you don’t argue. Maybe he just needs space.

Tomorrow will be different.

It isn’t of course. He’s the same. If not worse. 

Today you only get one word out of him.

“Good morning Mando.”

Nod.

“Library?”

Nod.

“You might like this book, the main character reminds me of you.”

That doesn’t even get any sort of reaction. 

“Are you mad at me?”

“No.” 

That’s it?

“Okay.”

Nothing.

“I think I want to turn in early…”

Nod.

“Good night Mando.”

Nothing. 

And now you can’t sleep. 

Because you feel like you’ve done something wrong. Which is stupid, you shouldn’t feel that way, especially regarding your relationship with him. There is no relationship, besides friends. Friends who take care of each other in several ways. 

Are you even that anymore? How are you supposed to keep track of the persistently changing status of your friendship with the Mandalorian when he can’t seem to stop being indecisive. 

Bodyguard, rival, friend, protector, confidant, lover. 

Lover? Is that the right word for what he is? It feels right but at the same time like it shouldn’t be spoken aloud. Something about the intimacy of the word makes it difficult to connect to him. Like you’ve put up barriers to specifically separate him from the word.

Why can’t he just pick one and stick with it? Preferably he would choose to be your friend. 

That’s what this is isn’t it? 

That’s what you want? 

You’ve deliberately been forcing that label on to him, so it has to be true. He is your friend. 

Then why do you feel hollow now that he’s suddenly shut you out? Not sad, not angry, just… hollow. Like something is missing. There aren’t a lot of words that can describe the empty ache in your chest. 

Today he wasn’t your friend. He wasn’t even your rival, he went a step further than that, separated himself from even that shred of connection you two had built your entire bond on.

Today he was just your bodyguard. 

Weeks of slowly built up companionship gone in an instant because what? You threw him a birthday party? Surely that can’t be it. Yet seemingly that is the case. What was it he had said to you that night? 

You shuffle through your blankets before finding the book. You were practically using The Smitten Paladin as a diary at this point. You had bookmarked the page with the necklace, scrawled it above a random chapter title in hopes of remembering it.

ner kar’taylir darasuum

It had been branded in your mind the moment he said it. The moment he had dismissed himself you had written it down, something about the way he had said it had made it stand out to you. Most of the time when he spoke to you in Mando’a it always seemed like he couldn’t help himself. Like the words were forcing their way out of him.

But not this.

This was the first time you truly believed he had intended to say those words. They didn’t fumble out clumsily like he couldn’t form sentences in Galactic Basic fast enough. No, he had said this with a reverence that settled deep in your bones, like you were a priestess and he was confessing his sins.   

Maybe that’s why he was being so cold. You had previously gotten into an argument when he had called you sarad’ika for the first time, maybe this is like that. That still doesn’t make sense though because the only reason why he got so mad was because you had asked what it meant. You assumed you were past this sort of thing though.

Maybe you had done nothing wrong. Maybe he was just angry for the sake of being angry. 

You’ll ask him tomorrow, you’ll put your foot down and make him talk this out. 

✩

You don’t even get a chance to chastise him for his frigid demeanor. 

You’re already in a bad mood when Elain and Lysa come to dress you in the morning, and your mood only gets worse when they bring an electric blue dress out of the closet and you realize what day it is. 

By the time you’re leaving your room you’ve practically got steam coming out of your ears, when you give the Mandalorian a dismissive “good morning” he returns your greeting with an unmistakable sorrow that gives you whiplash. The last two days he had been cold and dismissive at best but this was new.

He sounds miserable. 

Your anger dissipates almost instantly when you notice the distinct tilt of his helmet towards the floor. What if you’d been wrong? What if you’d done nothing to upset him and instead he had just been having a rough couple of days. Shame washes over you at the thought and you shoot him a sympathetic look, your immediate reaction is to comfort him.  

“We don’t have to go to the library, you know. If you want we can do something else.” You don’t make a move to touch him, even though you want to, you say it almost like you’re trying to comfort a wounded animal,  like you don’t want to scare him off.

“I don’t mind the library.” It’s never been easy to read him, not being able to see his face has always put you at a disadvantage with this sort of thing but right now it’s like there isn’t a barrier of steel between you at all. It’s like you can view him clearly, and what you see makes your stomach churn because he’s got the same tone of voice that your parents had the day they told you you were being sent away. Someone who's avoiding delivering bad news. 

“Okay.” You lose all the motivation you had to talk to him, consumed by the uneasy feeling in your gut as you make your familiar trek to the library. You sit in the nook, instead of finding a book you lean against the glass of the window. A subtle sadness settles in you as you watch the grounds, occasionally a servant will walk by, or a critter might scamper out past the edge of the forest for a moment before retreating back to the treeline. You stay like that for hours upon hours, you don’t realize how long you’re staring until you feel yourself almost dozing off as the sun sets, you wake up with a start and decide to busy yourself with a task. Abruptly standing up you start wandering through the shelves. 

The library is vast. It’s easy to forget how big it is since you usually stay in the same spot. It’s a maze of shelves once you get into it. It’s actually surprising to you how little you’ve actually explored considering how much time you spend in here but your nook is only a few shelves back from the entrance and most of the fiction novels that interest you are kept near the front so now that you’re actually exploring further you’re taken aback by the sheer expanse of dark polished wood and literature. 

It probably wouldn’t be noticeable if you weren’t already on edge but he’s standing further back than usual. It’s just a few steps but it pushes him out of your peripheral vision.

All those days you had spent wishing he would just give you some space only for it to finally happen and you can’t even enjoy it. A small part of you misses your steel shadow. 

But that’s not important now. Right now you need to stay focused on the task at hand. Your strides get smaller and smaller as you get into linguistic books.

Perfect. 

Your fingers trace the spines as you turn your head to the side to better read the titles. Someone must dust at night because your finger is spotless when you pull it back. 

One of the few perks of Princess Harand, this library is, for all intents and purposes, completely yours. Kodo certainly doesn’t read, you’ve already discerned that he finds it to be a waste of time, his family seems to share that opinion since you’ve never seen another living soul in here besides you and Mando. That’s why you can’t hold back the look of disbelief when you get to the “M’s” and there is a single empty place where a book should be. 

You don’t have to speculate, you know who took it. You turn to stare at the culprit. 

“Did you take the Mando’a translation book.” It isn’t a question, it’s a statement, as you cross your arms. 

He doesn’t speak for a moment, just staring blankly at the absence of a book. 

“Yes.” It’s strained, he sounds worn out. 

“When?” You want to take a step towards him but resist, opting to lean against the stacks instead. 

“A while ago.” He’s lying. It’s nearly imperceptible but the helmet shifts ever so slightly to the left when he says it, like he’s looking away. 

“What day? Was it the night of your birthday?” You shouldn’t be interrogating him, it feels wrong when he sounds so weary but you need to know. 

“It wasn’t my birthday.” 

“How do you know? You said you didn’t keep track, it very well could have been.” It’s a weak excuse but it’s better than nothing, he doesn’t respond for a beat so you keep going. “Was it? After we had sex did you come here and take this book?” The helmet turns further to the left. “Did you?”

“Stop it.” He’s clenching and unclenching his fist methodically.

“Answer me and I will.” 

“I took it before then.” There’s that familiar electricity in his voice. His fist stays closed this time and you can’t help but feel a fleeting sense of relief that he’s showing the faintest bit of emotion. 

“We agreed we wouldn’t lie to each other.” 

“When?” The helmet finally turns towards you. It’s funny, missing the feeling of cold steel being turned in your direction. 

“When we played the game. We said no lying, so tell me the truth.”

“You want to hold that over my head? Some stupid game?”

The game isn’t stupid to you. 

It’s one of the few things you’ve found enjoyment in these last few weeks. 

But you aren’t here to defend the game, you’re here to get answers. 

“You aren’t denying it.”

It only takes two of his long strides for him to tower over you. 

“It doesn’t matter when I took the book.”

“It matters to me.” You take one small step forward to press your chest against his, scowling into the thin black line on his helmet. He scoffs.

“A lot of things seem to matter to you that shouldn’t.” He turns on his heel and you find yourself missing the heat of his body, but not for long as his words sink in.

“What the hell does that mean?” You can feel your voice going up at the end of the sentence as your fury starts to boil over but he’s already walking away. 

“You’re going to be late for dinner. Come on.” He doesn’t bother turning to see if you're following as you stay hot on his heels.

“Wait a second, we aren’t done with this conversation.” You have to hike up your skirt to keep up with his pace now as he weaves through the shelves, you’re grateful that he remembers the way out though, you can easily see yourself getting lost here. 

“We are.”

“Says who?”

“Me.” You walk briskly in furious silence until reaching the large wooden doors. You don’t have any time to argue further because he’s opening them and continuing his beeline towards the dining hall. You can’t help yourself as you grab his arm and pull him to face you. He does but you know it’s of his own volition and if he wanted to he could just keep going so you need to make these next seconds count before he changes his mind.

“What is going on with you? Everything was fine and out of nowhere you got all… weird. It’s like you’re a ghost these last few days, just walking through walls and observing me.” You whisper yell at him, no one is in the corridor but it’s best not to risk it. 

“Nothing is wrong with me. Now go, you’re going to be late.” He motions at the ornate doors but you stand your ground. 

“Promise me we’ll talk about this tonight.” He doesn’t move, just stares at you as you glare right on back, unwilling to break first until after an eternity he sighs.

“Fine.” The static is low and impatient. 

“Say it.”

“What?”

“Say that you promise. I’m pretty sure your creed has something in it that means you can’t break it.” You have no idea if that’s true but you need to hear him say it. 

“I promise that we will talk tonight.” He sounds almost defeated but you’re satisfied as you enter the dining room. 

The first red flag is that your husband doesn’t immediately greet you. He loves the sound of his own voice, so why is he silent? Kodo raises his glass at you with that unsettling smile plastered on his face as he motions for you to sit. You cautiously take your seat and find comfort in the fact that he doesn’t dismiss Mando this time as he takes his familiar stance behind your chair. 

The second red flag is the realization that he’s drinking water. He hadn’t even been sober during your wedding ceremony yet here he was, as steady as you’ve ever seen. 

The third red flag is that the first thing he says is a question directed at you as a servant brings you a plate of what appears to be some sort of fowl. 

“Did you have a good day my dear wife?” There’s a sickly sweetness to his voice and you can feel the fainest perspiration forming on your skin. 

He doesn’t know. 

“It was perfectly fine. Just another boring day in the library.” You stare at your plate, picking at a tomato slice with your fork, you suddenly have no appetite despite not eating today. 

He simply hums in approval and eats in an eerie silence. It’s the first time in your marriage where you actually wish he would just say something. The only noises in the room as you eat are the scrapes of his knife against his dish and the occasional vulgar chewing noise from him. He always chewed with his mouth open. 

Dinner comes and goes. 

Plates are taken and you sit staring at him expectantly as he loudly sips at the water in his glass. You’re about to stand and dismiss yourself from this hellishly awkward supper but he clears his throat and you're frozen in place.  

“I’ve heard some rumors going around, my sweet wife.” He sets the glass down and stares at you, a glint of something viscous in his eyes. 

He doesn’t know. 

“Oh? Something about your brothers? Or you cousins?”

“There are rumors that I am cruel to you. Am I cruel to you, wife?” 

“No, you are a wonderful husband.” It’s not your most convincing lie. 

He couldn’t possibly know. 

“Then why am I also hearing rumors that you were seen in the markets with another man.”

For the first time ever, it’s freezing cold in this castle. 

“I-I went with Mando, he’s my guard of course he was with me.”

“Arm in arm. I believe this is how it was described.” He finally motions for a servant to bring over a bottle of a sickly brown rum, the thick liquid filling his now empty glass. “He’s the help my dear, sweet wife.” He points at Mando, standing silent as ever behind you, it makes you sick that he talks about him like he isn’t even there. “He is to walk behind you, not next to you. It says things to observers when you allow him to walk beside you.”

“I didn’t mean for it to say things he was just doing his j-”

“People love to talk. And you wouldn’t want people to say that I cannot control what is mine, do you? Of course that can’t be the case because if it was that would mean that I have been humiliated. ” He says the word with a venom you have never heard from a living thing before yet you are certain you will hear it again in your nightmares.  

“That was never my intention I only meant to-”

“Do you know, sweet wife, what the most dangerous thing in the galaxy is?” 

“...No.”

“A humiliated man.”

You don’t have a response as he takes what you assume to be his first sip of alcohol tonight. You’re waiting for him to drop the bomb. To reveal that he knows but he doesn’t and you find yourself releasing a breath that you didn’t realize you’d been holding in.

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t even suspect.

He’s just threatened. This is an easy fix. Apologize and just be more careful with Mando. 

“I’m sorry my prince.” You put on the most convincing frown you can. “I didn’t realize but I’ll be more careful from now on. The last thing I’d want to do is upset you.” As you wait for his response he downs his entire glass before letting out a satisfied sigh. 

“Of course you will. You’re dismissed.” He waves you off and you immediately stand before rushing out of the room, you’d almost forgotten Mando was with you until you catch a glimpse of him as you make your way out. The last thing you hear is Kodo muttering to a servant to find his brothers so they can go out.

The relief you feel once you're out in the hallway is immense. You don’t get to enjoy the small victory for long because Mando is already marching off towards your room. You don’t say anything until you’re in the safety of your room, he walks in first and once you close the door behind the two of you, you turn to face him, ready to crack a joke about how that was a close call, maybe relieve some of the tension that’s been building between the two of you but he speaks first. 

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” You find no comfort in the familiar crackle of the modulator as he stares just off to the side of where you’re standing.

“What? It sounds like you’re outraged but you genuinely don’t know what he means.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” He says each word slower. Enunciating every syllable. 

You manage to keep the look of betrayal off your face as you feel something crack deep inside of you.

“Like… be my bodyguard?” You sound like a child. Your voice is small and fragile. 

“No. I’ll still be your bodyguard. I just don’t want to… you know.” He gestures slightly with his hands and something about the way he says it ignites that flame inside you.

“Why won’t you say it? Are you ashamed of what we did?” There’s an edge to your tone. A bite. “Because you seemed to be enjoying it quite a bit.” 

“You know what I’m talking about. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” He’s already leaning towards the door and you can feel a sense of panic filling your stomach. You can’t just let him leave. 

He doesn’t get to do this. Insert himself into your life, make you care about him, fuck you, and then just leave. 

“What is your problem?” You snap at him, you mean for it to sound forceful but it comes out more like a plea.

“I just don’t want to do this anymore.” 

“Yeah, you keep saying that. What happened? We were fine, I would even argue that we were happy and now suddenly-”

“There is no we. ”

Ouch.

He’s right of course. 

“Is this because of the birthday? I told you if you didn’t want to do that we didn’t have to.” You’re starting to sound desperate as you stare at him with wide eyes, wanting an explanation more than anything else. 

“No. You didn’t do anything. I just… I don't want to anymore.” He crosses his arms. He sounds tired. Like he hasn’t been sleeping. You sound the same way. He takes a step towards the door but you immediately take a step in front of him.

“Bull shit. You- you said things, you called me those things. Don’t act like you suddenly changed your mind.” It isn’t fair. You know that you sound like a child throwing a tantrum but he can’t just do this to you. 

“Stop it.” 

“No! You don’t get to do this! To say the things you said and then without warning just decide we aren’t even going to talk to each other anymore.” You shove his chestplate but he doesn’t so much as flinch. “I deserve to know what I did. What made you change your mind?” Tears are pooling in your lash line and you want to scream at yourself for letting him see how worked up you were getting. 

You shouldn’t care this much. You’re the one who wanted this to be casual, you know that. This shouldn’t matter. You’re supposed to be just friends. Yet you can’t just let him leave. 

  “Stop.” You can’t prove it but you’re pretty sure his voice cracks, the modulator seems to catch it. 

“Just tell me! You said we were friends, be my friend right now, tell me what’s going on, for Makers sake, just tell me!” 

“I don’t want you anymore.” His tone is harsh as the visor burns in your direction. 

Oh. 

Any response you might have dies on your tongue. 

That cracking feeling is back. It threatens to tear you apart. 

Just friends. 

You knew you were lying to yourself when you said it. 

You can’t hide from it anymore.

The pain you feel in your chest can’t be ignored, you can’t keep denying it.

He was never just your friend. 

But that doesn’t matter now. Because he doesn’t want you.

You could hear a pin drop in your room. You’re about to say something, you don’t know what but the words are starting to take shape when he speaks again.

“I was… bored. You were entertainment.” There’s no tremor in his voice now. But he won’t look at you anymore. “I just needed something to distract me from how boring the job was and you seemed like the easiest thing.” 

That pulls you from your shock.

“ Easiest? ” You practically snarl the word and he starts stuttering as he tries to backtrack. 

“You know that isn’t what I meant. You were just, I don’t know, available? You were here. And I was bored. But now I’m not.” He sounds like he’s trying to rationalize the insult to soften the blow but it only serves to drive the knife deeper. 

“You’re lying.” You whisper the words at him, the tears are moments from spilling down your face at this point. He lets out an exhausted sigh.

“I don’t want you.” He says it with a finality. “I’ll still be here to protect you, I’m not going anywhere.” Somehow that’s worse than him just leaving entirely. 

“You’re a liar. Why would you stay if you don’t want me?” Your voice is starting to pitch up. It’s pathetic, you wish you could hide behind layers of steel like he does. Impenetrable walls to keep those who mean you harm at bay. 

“The money.” 

That’s really all it takes to convince you. You feel like an idiot. Of course he’d do anything to keep you happy, this was probably the best paying job he’d ever had. He had entertained himself with you and you had let yourself get caught up in a fantasy that it might be more than that. It’s the final nail in the coffin. You blink and the tears finally fall. His voice is cold and unsympathetic when he speaks again. 

“I thought you understood what this was.” 

“I did. We’re just friends.” 

Now you’re the liar.

Even if you don’t let yourself think it, you’ve always known that was a lie. 

“We aren’t. This is my job . We were never friends, I was just trying to keep you satisfied but clearly I went too far. You aren’t my friend. You aren’t my anything.” 

Ouch. 

“I think you should leave.” You wipe your face with the back of your hand as you walk towards the closet, not bothering to watch him leave. As you turn the door handle you hear the faint crackle of the modulator, like he’s going to say something but you close the door behind you before he gets the chance. 

You don’t bother taking your dress off as you collapse in a heap onto the blankets and pillows.

You shouldn’t let yourself hope that he’ll come to you. Apologize, or even just keep you company. Of course he doesn’t. So instead you bury your head into a pillow and cry until there aren’t any tears left. Then you stare at the ceiling in the darkness. Trapped alone with your own thoughts. 

Bodyguard, rival, friend, protector, confidant, lover, nothing. 

You aren’t his friend. 

You aren’t his sarad’ika.

You aren’t his anything.

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[drdemonprince]

Hi Devon,

this might not be a question you can answer, or maybe it is! idk. this is about covid & alike

for context on myself, i’m a white gendrfucky trans guy who’s also autistic & an immigrant (so some cultural context is probably lacking)

as we know, we’re in a 2nd highest surge & the pandemic never stopped and it increasingly dangerous and disabling to so many

i wear my kn95 everywhere i go now, and while i tried last semester, it was a lot easier to abandon masking because of

1. others’ around me negligence

2. some classrooms being IMPOSSIBLY hot and close to unbearable with a respirator on

3. attending crowded events where people needed to hear me

i’ve reevaluated and am rebuilding my practices now, but what i’m finding really difficult is to get people i have in my life to wear a mask again

i feel so lost. i share the informational posts, i talk to my people, i offer masks- what else is there to do?? i know the exhaustion i feel is absolutely incomparable to what disabled and immunocompromised people feel, especially when they’ve done the work for years!

i just don’t understand how i’m supposed to keep moving through life. i mean ofc i’ll keep doing what i’m already doing but it’s so incredibly isolating to be the only person masked in a meeting of 20,30,50 people.

i don’t know how to make people care. i don’t know how to have conversations with my friends in a way that will let our relationship evolve with this new understanding of care. i don’t know how to not polarize people into defensiveness when i talk about the powers wreaking atrocities in falasteen being the same ones shortening an isolation period to 1 day.

i don’t know how to be eloquent enough to be listened to and firm enough where people take what i say seriously. i don’t know how to not start screaming WEAR A MASK anytime it’s a crowded (or even not crowded) meeting indoors with no air filtration.

idk how people don’t realize the “cold” they’ve had for 3 weeks is either covid or direct aftermath of it. idk how they stand for seemingly the right things and then come to work sick & unmasked.

i don’t know how to engage with most people in a meaningful way & find connections because the delusion, the “it won’t happen to me”, the “i don’t care if i catch it and die”, the “this is just the way it is” seems to be a wall made of unbreakable cement and i don’t know what will melt it.

i feel insane for having compassion towards the world and seeing how it can be better. i feel insane for being angry people don’t mask & downplay this issue. i feel insane for even trying to talk sense into people.

i’ve recently been called a lying phony by an account that talks about masking bc a lot of my recent pictures show my face without a mask. i archived the posts since, apologized and reflected. but a lot of pictures i take are in my own room so i am unmasked. idk

i feel like the gap between me and most people i know is growing wider by the minute and with every reading i do about interdependent revolutionary practices, etc.

i know that when one understands something, it is their responsibility to make an impact on their bubble of the world and transform it with their knowledge. but i doubt i’m the only one doing the reading and knowing what’s going on, i just seem to be the only one masking.

i don’t know. i’m sorry it’s such a long ask & i’m sure you have your own stuff you’re dealing with. i just don’t know who else to ask that might understand. i’m sure there are people around me who might but so many are in survival mode and i currently don’t know anyone with the capacity to hold space for this.

i guess it’s bold to assume you do.

anyway, i hope your day goes alright today<3

You are placing wayyy too much responsibility upon yourself as one compassionate and informed individual here, and expecting far too much perfection of yourself in ways that do not help you and do not help the cause. You've done a lot to unpack the terrible individualism that has led to anti-mask sentiment being so rampant, but you are in a way still applying that logic to yourself and your situation by imagining that if you, one humble person with limited power were able to be adequately persuasive, you'd somehow change the actions of thousands. That is not how behavior change works.

Persuasion almost never happens logically or instantly, almost never through one person's remarks. Behavior is shaped by a vast array of economic, sociological, emotional, and ideological factors.

It's also not helpful in my opinion to worry about the opinion of someone who would shame you for not wearing a mask at home alone in your bedroom, either. Obsessing over the optics of our actions and wanting all people to morally approve of us at all times is yet another consequence of individualism and Puritanism. as you well know as someone who masks in a crowd of maskless people, sometimes we gotta do what we know is right and disregard others' opinions.

What you can do, in my opinion, is this: keep masking. Your behavior reminds people of the need for masks and models socially responsible behavior. Bring spare masks with you. Offer them to your family and friends and the people standing near you in public. If they refuse, and you have a good relationship with the person where they have shown they respect you and listen to you, then you can tell them why masking around you is important to you. You cannot change the opinion of someone who has never shown you any respect so don't expect that to ever work.

Even if you do have a good relationship with someone, persuasion is a long, hard process. Do not expect yourself to change their mind. If you can get some people to mask at least around you, that is a victory. Perfection is an unrealistic goal here to expect of yourself, and for public health in general. Any improvement you can inspire is a victory. Even if it's just making one or two friends mask more often when they are with you. That still lessens risk. That still sends a visible signal to everyone around you. You have no idea of the impact you truly have on other people in the long term. It is both more modest and far larger and longer-reaching than you as an individual will ever know.

Please be easy on yourself. You are just a person. An average person with very limited power. So is everyone else for the most part. When you stop burdening yourself with the unrealistic responsibility of changing thousands of people's behavior, you will feel less resentful toward others as well. When we resent other people it always means we are doing too much.

And when you feel less overwhelmed and overburdened, you will be more effective in the conversations you do have with people about COVID too. People do not respond well to (what they perceive to be) guilt or intensity or someone presuming to know better than them. What people do respond to well is to be asked genuine questions, listened to, validated in their feelings, given help where they are facing barriers to action, and being treated with compassionate gentleness.

But to do that you have to work on believing that people who are flawed in their response to COVID have reasons for doing so that make sense to them, and that they aren't all foolish and lacking in compassion. As my friend @kim-from-kansas says, people do not do things that do not make sense. If a person's actions do not make sense to you, it is because you are missing a piece of their context. The sad fact is people have many reasons to think that masking doesn't work or is hopeless. People have been very heavily propagandized and trauma also makes many people value life less.

Convincing people to take COVID more seriously is a tall, tall order, but if you wish to do so, you will need to be more than correct. You will have to put real work into not making people feel judged, and you will have to make peace with not always (or even usually) succeeding. It sucks but that's how it is. Best of luck!!

[vesuviaweekly]

Vesuvia Weekly: Event details, Submission guidelines, and Masterlists

EVENT DETAILS:

This is a sideblog from my main, @iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia, dedicated to hosting creative events for the Arcana visual novel! (Note: none of these events are competitions. They're simply opportunities to create together and appreciate each other's work!)

Every Wednesday, an Arcana-themed prompt will be posted on this blog with the tag #vesuvia weekly and a tag for the specific prompt. For the next two weeks, any creative work falling under the guidelines and tagged accordingly will be reblogged here and on my main account and added to the prompt's masterlist (see submission guidelines for details)!

On the same post, there will be a poll for the next week's prompt! You are more than welcome to send prompt ideas to the ask box (see submission guidelines for details)!

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES

PG-13, please! If you've made something spicier and would still like to share it, please tag a PG-13 preview to be reblogged here :)

All creativity is welcome! Here are a few examples of what would count: incorrect quotes, digital and traditional art, WIPs, oneshots, headcanons, sprite edits, scripts, character sheets/analysis, etc

To take part: post your creativity themed for an active prompt and tag it with #vesuvia weekly and the prompt's specific tag. Your post will be reblogged here and on my main account, and linked to the masterlist under that prompt

Please do not pass someone else's work as your own! In that spirit, since this is a space intended to boost and celebrate creativity, hate of any kind will not be welcome

TL;DR if it's your own creativity, PG-13, and tagged appropriately, it's perfect :)

FOR PROMPT IDEAS, please keep it PG-13 and open-ended enough to be engaging to multiple creative formats ^.^

MASTERLISTS: new masterlist for each Wednesday prompt post, for ease of browsing/archival organization Red: Retired Prompts Green: Active Prompts

Jan 10th: Your MC/Their LI's dynamic

Jan 17th: How Things Went Wrong (feat. the Arcana familiars)

Jan 24th: Borrowing Clothes

Jan 31st: Cooking Class

Feb 7th: The Impulsive Thoughts Won

Feb 21: MC explaining our world to the M6

Feb 28: How to Hold Your Loved One

March 6: "That's not how that's supposed to work"

March 20th: "Where Did You Learn to do That?"

March 27th: The First Post-Crisis Date

April 3rd: Nightmares & Daydreams

April 10th: Things That Changed

April 17th: Rare Smiles

April 24th: Inside Jokes

May 1st: How to Cry

May 8th: "Your Other Left!"

May 15: First Kiss

May 22nd: MerMay

May 29th: Baby Fever

June 5th: Watching Them Sleep

June 12th: "Why are we hiding?"

#the arcana #vesuvia weekly #the arcana game #the arcana fanart #the arcana fanfic

[starpirateee]

Hey! Inspired by that previous request could I suggest Curt having a panic attack and Owen helping him through it? Bonus points if it's because he thinks his mom knows you-know-what.

Oooooo, of course you can! I am nothing if not a nervous gay wreck, and I will take some of that projection!

Rule number 1 was never talk to Curt Mega about past missions. Owen was familiar with the rule. It was the one thing he'd kept reminding himself of over and over. Not everything was in the bad books, but there were enough things that Curt could recall in surprisingly vivid detail that sent him into nervous spirals, and they didn't seem to have a pattern to them, so Owen had just learned to avoid the subject unless he was certain it was a good bet.

Presently, he could hear near enough everything outside of the door to his hotel room. Groups of people walking the corridors, going about their lives... The occasional housekeeping call from the staff... Even down to someone's frantic footsteps seemingly running down the hall, followed by an almost drastic intake of breath, and then a knock.

On his door.

Two short, three long.

Owen was at the door before the call could finish. That code belonged to one man, who was currently residing two floors up and had presumably run all that way.

"Curt?"

He stepped aside immediately, before his partner could even give an explanation, and Curt hesitated for a fraction of a second before he took himself up on the offer and brought himself inside. Owen scoped the corridor briefly to make sure that the problem wasn't that he was being pursued, and then turned towards Curt as he closed the door. "What's going on, Curt?"

It wasn't easy to ignore the wild, manic something that had gripped Curt's nervous system, forcing his eyes to go wide and his breath to run short. There was little in the way of explanation, but he could tell what was happening without needing it.

Owen offered Curt the chair, and chose to lean against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. "Is this okay?"

Long ago, the two of them had devised something of an elaborate code to get close to each other in the wake of a dangerous or public-facing circumstance. It was their way of signalling when there was a problem, and how urgently they needed to do something about it.

When Curt had admitted that he was prone to panicking, that had been added to the code as a means to decipher, simply because finding the right words wasn't always the easiest of tasks.

Curt shifted, trying to make himself more comfortable, and then nodded stiffly. Owen inclined his head and hummed, waiting on elaboration before he could try and figure anything out. Eventually, Curt took a breath, kneading one hand repeatedly over the fabric of his trousers. "There's... There's a problem," he muttered. "Hadta find you." His gaze was fixed on a point on the ground, and even from his slight distance, Owen could see him shaking.

"What kind of problem?" He wasn't exactly known for having the patience of a saint, but he could make a lot of exceptions for Curt, and extending his virtue to account for as much patience as he could physically muster was one of them.

"... Cold case."

As Curt drew a folder from his pocket, Owen's face fell. A cold case— not necessarily something pulled from an archive, but something that had been pulled directly from their past. Something that had come back to haunt him. Maybe something mentioned in the file, or a name involved with one of the cases they weren't supposed to talk about...

"How cold?" Owen asked cautiously, wandering over and taking a seat on the ground to look it over. Curt's hand dropped from his trousers and he reached out, half expectant. Owen absently took his awaiting hand in his own, and started running gentle circles into the back with his thumb.

"Five months."

Of course he knew. There was probably an approximation of something more specific in his head— perhaps down to the exact date— but Owen wasn't expecting to hear that in any capacity. With his free hand, he flipped open the file and read the first page. He was looking for something that rang as familiar to him, but he couldn't find anything worth noticing, or anything he recognised.

Curt was sincerely hoping that Owen was able to work it out, because he strictly wasn't allowed to say a lot on the matter. It was just about ready to haunt him, and he knew this mission wouldn't be easy if he had to deal with it on his own. His thoughts were currently incapable of presenting themselves in any way other than the scrambled mess that had occured as soon as he'd registered the weight of the debrief.

Again and again, Owen's eyes passed over the document, and his brow furrowed with each failed attempt to make something of it. Then, something made him stop in his tracks. There was a name listed in among the other words, plain as day now that he'd noticed it, and quite difficult to ignore. That was something not only familiar to Curt, but to him as well.

"Oh, God."

Curt watched Owen's expression change, grow the slight of recognition that was all too familiar to him. The fact that he was concerned about it too meant that he remembered. And that was about all the comfort he could've asked for in the moment.

"January...."

Curt just nodded in response to that, as Owen seemed to bring himself back to his senses for long enough to close the file. January. The last time Curt had gotten caught. It wasn't a pleasant experience for either of them, but least of all for Curt, who afterwards elected to not shave for six weeks, to hide the deep scar that ran down from his chin until it looked vaguely less horrific.

The constant, repeating feeling of Owen's thumb against his hand was bringing him back into some semblance of reality, but he knew that they were both aware of how bad a situation this was.

"I... See why I'm here now." Owen managed. This case was one assigned to both of them, and initially it hadn't made sense, but now— seeing that name and knowing the face of the bastard it belonged to— the pieces were starting to fit into place. And the picture didn't look good.

He looked up, his free hand moving up towards Curt's cheek until Curt leaned in and met him halfway. Their eyes met. The base of Owen's palm was resting up against the scar. It made it feel strangely tight, but for some reason, Curt found it better that way; it was better if he could try and attribute it to something else, anyway.

Owen seemed to notice his positioning and attempted to shift his hand a little, but Curt took his wrist in his free hand and shook its head. "... 'S fine."

"You sure?"

A nod. Owen sighed, relaxing his hand again. "Listen, Curt... You don't have to go in there alone, okay? You're not alone, and you never have been. I'll have your back, right?"

Another nod. He was quite sure that Owen could be trusted to have his back, especially when his head was this much of a mess. He never had been very good at the past... "I tr- I trust you."

Owen managed a slight smile. "Good. Then trust me that that bastard Michael Jenner won't be able to lay so much as a fucking finger on you while I'm around. Did you know this case was going to be like this?"

"No..."

"Frankly, you're doing more than you accounted for just by being here, then... Give yourself some credit, Curt, you've gotten this far..."

"What if I- I can't face him?"

"Then you don't have to. This mission is split for a reason, I'm more than obliged to pick up on your lead, should you be willing to do mine."

"Right... Right, yeah..." He gave Owen's wrist an awkwardly angled squeeze, just to really cement that this was happening right now, that he'd actually made it to his hotel room, and they were actually talking about this now. "Thanks, Owen." I love you. I don't deserve you.

"Don't mention it, Curt. It'd be my pleasure to knock some sense into that tosser." I love you too. Don't you dare forget it.

#spies are forever #saf #curtwen #agent curt mega #owen carvour #void offering #star mail #nova's tags → #one hell of a request but one i am more than happy to oblige to! #i love it in concept. i love it in practice #this is great #well...... not for curt #uhhh i did honestly try and go down the gay route but this idea called to me more #owen and curt? having a code for when things go wrong? #more likely than you think

[mcytblr-archive]

Early MCYTblr Interviews: georgeeehd

today's interviewee is reese/georgeeehd/lmanburg/tommyofcolor! dreamlying member, mcytblr og, and the person who discovered that dream wasn't registered to vote. below is a transcript of questions and answers!

Q: What was your experience in wider MCYTblr?

A: I don’t have much experience with wider mcytblr. Maybe I used to reblog Grian stuff on my main blog, before all this DSMP shit. There wasn’t much of a Dream community when I started posting, much less one for DreamNotFound (surprisingly, Dreamnap was the popular ship of the two early on????? so bizarre to me), so I dug out my microcosm immediately. There was never a wider myctblr for me.

Q: What was your experience in critblr/dreamlying specifically?

A: The notion that dreamlying is the spawn of critblr is interesting to me, because I agree with you now, but I wouldn’t have at the time. Critblr was a tumblr community. Dreamlying was a friend group, predating critblr. I considered myself dteamblr for a really long time— I never felt aligned with the critblr movement because that was always Jason’s territory, really. I don’t mention it to nitpick or to scold, but like, I’m into this archiving thing, too, so I wanted to opine on how we label these groups. Maybe there should be a distinction made between what we considered ourselves vs. what we actually were.

My experience in proto-critblr was pretty cushy because it was all mine. Me and my contemporaries had a following, we were respected, we had smart things to say, we were funny, established, etc. Think, “The School of Athens.” I definitely grew a bit of an ego with how popular I was, which I’m sure will come across in this interview, haha.

At times I felt a little unchallenged, like people were only agreeing with me not because I was right, but because I was saying anything at all. At the same time, I was incredibly defensive and insecure, so the little pushback I might have gotten would bother me terribly. I was probably overreactive and mean. I was fifteen then, and I’m nineteen now, so there’s lots of things I would’ve handled differently, if I could.

In terms of my experience with dreamlying, I like what Ozzie had to say. We were all just very, very good friends. There’s not much else to it. In my first discord server, “dream lying” was a hidden messaging channel where we could critique Dream Team freely. “Dream lying” was supposed to parody the phrase “dream truthing.” So we were basically this tiny little secret society, at the start. There was no way we wouldn’t have hit it off.

Q: Are there any events that stand out to you?

A: A lot. Too many. Some are more personally relevant than historically relevant, and I don’t really know where to draw the line. The voter registration fiasco was a big one, but there were other smaller things… I was always in some fuckin’ controversy or another! The magic 8 ball says, Ask again later.

Q: Was being in MCYTblr an overall positive or negative experience for you?

A: Undoubtedly positive! I don’t even know where to start with this question. I met a lot of wonderful people that I still keep in contact with today, right? But beyond that, I feel like being in this community helped me grow a lot, like, personally. I was thinking and writing a lot. I learned so, so much, about people, about the internet, about fandom, about myself. It was such an expansive experience.

I guess I should mention that my time with mcytblr was incredibly stressful. My involvement in the fandom weighed heavily on my mental health. I felt very watched, and I still do. At my worst, I was hospitalized. (I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t mention my mcyt-induced mental hospital stint in my mcyt interview.) None of that really moves me, though, ‘cause it was all just part of the experience, and I find it all pretty funny, looking back.

Q: A few people have mentioned the account mcyttruth in relation to you, specifically around a callout post. What happened there? [I had misremembered-- I meant to ask this to Jason lmanburg, not Reese lmanburg.]

A: The mcyttruth callout wasn’t about me, but my discord server, dteamblr 2. I was not as involved here— at this point, critblr was in full bloom, and this server was like a rendezvous for people who liked dreamlying and modcord blogs (modcord was another friend group, like dreamlying, but critblr-based).

Regarding that callout specifically, I don’t know. Probably, there were too many r-slurs, too many jokes about hating Ranboo, the usual. There were a lot of callouts (for me or for people I was friends with), and I never really took them seriously. I mean, honestly, the url “mcyttruth” alone is derivative. Do you know how many times I’ve read the words “mcyt” and “truth”? Everything about this is a blur to me.

Q: I suppose I would ask-- given the current events surrounding many of the creators who were popular in 2020/2021, do you feel that dreamlying has been vindicated in their criticisms of creators?

A: Yes, but I would have said yes in 2020, because who these people are was as obvious to me then as it is now. Our criticisms weren’t like, headcanons that we made up to be mean, they were plain old observations. Wilbur was openly mentally ill, creepy, and generally dismissive of other people. Not to say that there aren’t good things about him either, but, of course this is the kind of guy to make his girlfriend clean up after him. There’s a million cautionary tales about guitar stringers with floppy hair under a beanie, whiny song lyrics, and a masturbatory approach to self-loathing.

Dream’s not this person anymore, so that’s not why I bring it up, but think back to when his old Reddit account was exposed for being active on r/The_Donald. That was everything we were ever talking about! That was Dream being exactly who he was— a young white man from Florida. I love Dream, always have, always will. Acknowledging that he is/was a whole person with flaws and unsavory politics, I think, is truer fanhood than the idolization everyone puts him through.

You use the word “vindicated” to acknowledge that we were heavily criticized ourselves. Most of that was on the basis of privacy— you know, whether or not it’s okay to speculate on people’s personal lives. It doesn’t matter that we were “right” so often, that we still are, and always will be, because people will focus more on the original sin of having speculated in the first place.

I used to love vindication because it made me feel smart, like I could see things that no one else could. Now it just makes me sad. I don’t think it has anything to do with smarts, nor would I care if it did. I think people just don’t let themselves think that far. You know, “I don’t want to make assumptions,” “It’s none of my business,” “It’s not that deep,” etc. Maybe there’s no instinct to look deeper at all. It really just makes me sad.

Q: Is there anything else you'd like to add/have archived?

A: I’d like to ask everybody to stay critical. The hivemind response to recent events have shown me that this fandom remains as shallow, unthinking, conformative, elementary… as it was four years ago.

Thank you for conducting these interviews in the first place. It's nice hearing everyone’s voices again.

#early mcytblr interviews #Volume 13 #georgeeehd

[krrm4]

unrequited

bonten!haitani ran x fem!reader

a/n: IM BACK BABYYYY (i may disappear again but i’ll try not to)

cw: stalking, obsessive behaviour, guns, murder, unhinged & delusional ran (somewhat mild but not rly)

word count: 961

synopsis: ran can’t handle rejection.

return to masterlist.

ran can’t remember the last time he felt this way. scratch that, he can’t remember if he’s ever even felt this way for another person before.

there’s something about you. something so, pure. so innocent. he’s just so tempted to keep you in his arms, to hold and protect you. he can’t have anyone else taint and ruin you, oh no. that’s for him and him only.

he could genuinely see himself settling down with you. frequent daydreams of you walking down the aisle, frolicking in your wedding dress. he’s even got the entire reception down, thinking about the exchange of vows and wedding bands. his heart always skips a beat whenever he thinks of you carrying his surname, you carrying his children. he’s even stopped visiting brothels, stopped messing around with other women for your sake, that’s gotta count for something, right?

it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

it was supposed to be perfect.

you were supposed to like him back.

why didn’t you like him back? what’s not to like?

ran paced around in his cold and empty home. he’s bagged countless of women in his lifetime, why not you?

he’s never raised his voice at you, always complimented you, always visited your workplace, listened to you rant about your shitty boss and colleagues, drove you back to your home when you got too drunk at pubs, even ran you bubble baths and gave you massages.

and you were just so perfect. always so submissive and soft-spoken, and it only added to his list of things to like about you when you didn’t question the tattoo on his neck.

you’d be the perfect trophy wife, and ran’s got a wallet full of cash and a cold bed, you’re practically a match made in heaven. so why didn’t you accept him?

a few hours ago.

it was routine for him to enter your office an hour before you left at this point, always looking for an excuse to get a drink with you, maybe even accompany you back home to make sure you’re safe when actually, he just wanted to spend more time with you. walking in with a large bouquet of roses and a huge shit-eating grin, his expression faltered when he caught a glimpse of how tense you had suddenly gotten.

“hey, what’s wrong?” ran set the bouquet of roses down on your desk. his slender hands grabbed your cheeks, tilting your face up to look at him, a soft smile gracing his features.

“…what’s the meaning of this?” you asked, pointing at the bouquet of roses.

ran’s eyes followed your hand, his gaze landing on the bouquet. “oh, this? it’s for you.”

“i really like you, y/n.”

ran’s smile dropped once again, watching as you gently removed his hands from your face. and what you said following your actions, broke his heart in two.

“i can’t, i’m sorry. i don’t feel the same.”

back to the present.

ran looks into his bathroom mirror for what seems to be the umpteenth time already. nope, nothing wrong with his face. if all boxes are checked, then why aren’t you his? he’s even brought up the topic of relationships with you before, and whatever you’ve described fits him perfectly. so, what’s the problem?

ran soon found the root of it all, however.

weeks of stalking your social media account, but nothing turned up. another week of tailing you around in person, nothing. ran was getting desperate.

it took tons of bribing to get kokonoi to hack into all of your social media accounts, but ran didn’t regret it one bit. nothing was going to stop him. after all, he should have access to his lover’s private life, right?

scrolling through your archived instagram stories, he found something that was posted on your close friends list. ran scoffed. what were you thinking, not adding him into it? after all he’s done for you? but, he’ll forgive you, since he’s so gracious.

he pushed his frustration to the back of his mind, taking a closer look at the story. his eyes widened. you. a guy. at a restaurant. holding hands. smiling.

oh, you naïve little one. you chose that guy? over ran? no. he won’t have it. he’d rather you admit to dating sanzu.

“koko, mind helping me track y/n’s location? now.” ran smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

kokonoi knew better than to refuse ran right now, so he got to work.

“i found her, sending you her location now.” kokonoi piped up after a few minutes.

ran’s phone dinged, and he nodded in acknowledgment, muttering a small “thanks” as he unlocked his phone. oh, how cute, it was the same restaurant you took that instagram story at.

the man you’re with right now? he could never compare to ran. he’ll never love you like ran would. heck, ran could make that man’s yearly salary from a single hit. in ran’s eyes, that man? that man shouldn’t even have the privilege of looking at you, let alone touch you.

ran paced around kokonoi’s office for a hot minute, his thoughts running wild. you could do better than that man, and ran was sure you knew it too. were you being blackmailed? held hostage? oh no. no one touches his girl. no one will hurt her. not even her feelings.

thinking of what to do, ran’s eyes suddenly landed on the gun laying on kokonoi’s desk.

snatching the gun from the desk, the only thing ran said was “i’ll give it back after i’m done.”

now, he was speeding down the streets of japan, fully intending to be your knight in shining armour, determined to save you from that pathetic excuse of a man,

a glock tucked underneath the front of his trousers.

© krrm4 do not post, claim, plagiarise, modify or translate any of my work on any platforms.

#karma writes #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo rev x you #tokyo revengers #haitani ran imagines #ran haitani #haitani ran #ran x y/n #ran x reader #ran x you #haitani ran x you #haitani ran x reader #haitani ran x y/n #ran haitani x y/n #ran haitani x reader #ran haitani x you #tokyo rev #bonten #bonten ran

[themainspoon]

If you are a WoD fan and you aren’t aware of how fucking wild White Wolf’s strategy for marketing Demon: the Fallen was, that changes right fucking now, get ready.

So, the year is 2002, American Culture is still moving past the Satanic Panic, and your job is to market a Table Top Role Playing Game where you play as literal demons who were aligned with the Biblical figure of Lucifer. The book has a big ass pentagram on its cover, and is filled with information on fictional demons and their demonic powers.

How do you market this?

Well, isn’t it obvious?

You satirise Chick Tracks by making a fake one about how the game you’re supposed to be promoting is satanic. I’ve linked it below, it’s only 23 pages long;

But you may be thinking: “Ok, that’s a funny concept, but why is this such a big deal to you?” Well, buckle the fuck up kiddo’s, because I want you to look at that last panel again:

Do you notice anything about it that could prompt further inquiry? What about that URL?

You see, the chick track was only one part of this little marketing stunt.

And so, I ask again, how do you market Demon: the Fallen?

You create an entire fake Evangelical church website called the Eternal Grace Evangelical Church, and write a fake sermon in which you claim that the brand that hired you is producing games that turn children into drug addicts and sexual predators, also claiming that Vampire: the Masquerade was involved in real world murders including the fucking Columbine School Shooting.

Below is a link to the site from the Internet Archives Wayback machine, the main bulk of the interesting stuff is in the sermons section.

Quick note, they used EVERY part of the evangelical bullshit playbook to make this site look legit, they went hard on this. So, the site is satire, but it still feels like it would be a good idea to mention that they satirise everything about Evangelicals, including their homophobic, transphobic, anti-catholic, and anti-pagan beliefs.

https://web.archive.org/web/20031205191032/http://www.father-ramos.com:80/

If you don’t want to read it yourself, here are some actual quotes from this fake Evangelical site that was, and I can’t stress this enough, MADE BY WHITE WOLF TO PROMOTE DEMON: THE FALLEN: (above disclaimer applies here too)

“Eternal Grace Congregation Church is a community of Christians who seek to love, worship and praise Him and to communicate the Word of the Gospel to the world around us while exposing the lifestyles and and recruiting prctices of those deviants who would make this world a place of horrors. Among these are homosexuals, gamblers, drug addicts and role-players.”

“You may find it useful to tell role-players about the Dallas youths who were burned to death in the steam tunnels of Southern Methodist University (of course it was the Methodists) while exploring them for treasure. Tell them about the syphilis-related insanity of Jimmy Cox, a Tennessee teenager who used role-playing games to build around him a coven of homosexuals. Tell them about Michelle Sikes, the Montana role-player who had a sex-change operation. The more perversion you can ascribe to involvement with role-playing the better. You may even wish to fabricate some of your own, to better illustrate the point to your specific at-risk individual.”

“Listening to accounts of the role-players’ games is either the height of tedium (it must be said, pardon my air of judgment) or evinces strong feelings of pity, […] Invitations to participate, if accepted, place the individual in a precarious position himself, and will probably expose him to the scourges of drugs, fornication, homosexuality and Catholicism/paganism in many cases.”

“point out to them that the activity borders on delusion (“You are not an elf, Tommy!”) and heresy (“If God intended for you to act like a demon, he would have made you a demon, Jenny”).”

“In addition, rumors (which is why I relegate this to a side note instead of including it in the main body of my discourse) link the activities of the Columbine high-school “trenchcoat mafia” with Vampires Masquerade.”

“As good Christians, it is obviously our duty to prevent our youth from learning the corrupt ways these books and games teach. Sex, suicide, drug abuse, homosexuality, “golden showers” and many other behaviors proscribed by the Lord and the Good Book come as a result of players taking their games too far. In particular, the moral execration contained with the Demon book takes these aberrations to new levels by openly encouraging players to act in the interests of Satan (or Lucifer, as he is depicted herein).”

“Additionally, role-playing games teach that violence is an acceptable and even admirable way of solving problems. Significant portions of their rules are devoted to combat and weaponry. Demon, for example, also contains systems by which the satanic characters can attack or use magic upon their enemies, with dark arts spawned from Hell itself. These are not unlike the gay community’s reactionary “straight bashing” in response to the more physical efforts of their loving fellows (but loving in the Lord’s intended way) to bring them back into the fold.”

“This Week: Pastor "Father" Ramos discusses the Catholic Church and the 68 Million deaths its evil has caused throughout the world! You won't read this in the history books! Father Ramos also discusses why he has chosen to reclaim the Holy tile"Father" from Catholocism.”

White Wolf was frequently quite edgy, and often wasn’t great at dealing with social issues (you could argue this is still true of the modern World of Darkness in some cases). But honestly I think this is a fun stunt. It mocks evangelicals for all their insane bigoted beliefs, and for basically giving all the stuff they call satanic free advertising. No matter what though this is an unhinged marketing stunt, and it is so wild that they actually did this.

#world of darkness #WoD #Demon: the Fallen #DtF #Demon the fallen #White Wolf #White Wolf Games #a certified themainspoon classic

[mumms-the-word]

In Fathoms Below - Ch. 5

Ch. 5 - Dragon Turtle

Characters: Gale, Karlach, Wyll, Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Astarion, Halsin, Minthara, Gortash + other OCs; pairing is Gale x fem!Tav Plot: The island city of Nautera disappeared over 4500 years ago, if it ever existed at all. Now not a single, legitimate record of Nautera exists, save for one. The Nauterran Account. Long thought lost, it has recently been retrieved from the depths of Candlekeep’s archives and placed into the capable hands of one Gale Dekarios. With the Nauterran Account in hand and an eclectic team of Baldurians and other allies mounting an official expedition, Gale journeys to find the ruins of Nautera…but hopes to find so much more. A/N: Dragon turtle alert!! Will the team make it out of this encounter alive? Will they find the entrance to Nautera before anything bad happens to them?? Read on to find out, intrepid readers!

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“Tribute?” 

Gale glanced over his shoulder at the room behind him. The submersible was tilted at a steep angle so that the floor sloped sharply downward, forcing most people to hang on to controls, pipes, and railings to try and stay standing. It was Minthara who voiced the question from where she crouched using the side of a control unit as her foundation. 

All heads turned to seek out the vampire. Karlach was holding him mostly upright with a strong grip around his upper arm, her other hand hanging on to a bit of railing. The vampire’s eyes widened as he noticed all eyes were on him.

“Well don’t look at me!”

“I don’t think it will accept lives as tribute,” Wyll said. He had one hand wrapped around a pipe and was leaning out like a swashbuckling pirate, completely at ease with the new angles in the room. “Especially undead ones. It’s a dragon—the only language it speaks is treasure.”

“Well we don’t have any treasure to give it,” Gortash snapped. 

“This entire submersible is coated in polished bronze and brass, Gortash,” Shadowheart said. “I doubt it will believe that.”

“Then our only course of action is to attack,” Minthara said.

“Attack a dragon turtle?” Halsin asked, twisting from where he was, his back flat to the nearly vertical floor and his feet on a series of pipes, to look up at her. “Are you mad?”

“Would you rather get eaten, druid?”

“It spoke to us first, perhaps we can respond!”

“I think it’s growing impatient,” Gale warned, as the dragon turtle turned its head again and narrowed its eyes. 

A hollow-sounding, panicked voice suddenly rang out from a trumpet-like fixture on the wall. “Saer! The outer walls are cracking back here and water is leaking in! I don’t know how much go longer the bulkheads can withstand the pressure!”

“Gods-damned monstrosities,” Gortash growled under his breath. He shifted from where he knelt against the main control panels, his foot nearly wedged in the ship’s wheel. “Gale. You can speak to it. Convince it to release us.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Gale asked, irritation and disbelief making his tone sharp. “Ask it very nicely?”

“I was told you were intelligent. Figure it out. Quickly.” He turned his head toward the rest of the room. “The rest of you, ready yourselves!”

“Battle stations!” Minthara barked. “Send word to the others—be ready for anything.”

The dragon turtle spoke again, its impossibly deep voice once more causing the entire submersible to rattle and shake. 

Speak, creature. Who sends you?

Gale took a deep breath and got to his feet, planting one foot on the glass and the other on the metal control unit next to him. There was no way this dragon turtle could hear him inside the submersible, even if he shouted. It was clearly time for some good old-fashioned thaumaturgy. 

He touched a hand to his throat and cast the spell—Fortior!—and willed his voice to be three times louder, almost as loud as the dragon turtle’s. With another deep breath, he shouted in draconic, “We are priests of Umberlee! Release us so that we may offer our tribute to you!”

Surely a small lie wouldn't make things worse. They just needed to get free.

The dragon turtle narrowed its eyes again and then gave another deep, rumbling laugh.

Ahh…not a creature, but a vessel. Priests of Umberlee, you say?

It tilted their submersible again, almost leveling it out. Gale had to scramble to jump down from the control unit back onto the floor without falling flat on his back. “Yes! Release us and we—”

The entire world suddenly tore out from underneath Gale and then slammed against him once more as the dragon turtle dragged the submersible through the water and smashed it against the rocky face of a cliff. Gale and several others flew through the helm, falling first to the floor and then crashing against controls, levers, wheels, and pipes as the submersible crunched against the rock. An explosion of pain bloomed in his side and chest as he was thrown against a set of controls, all sharp edges and hard metal, knocking the air from his lungs.

The dragon turtle let go of the submersible with a rumbling laugh. As they drifted downward, sinking slowly, black spots began to swirl in Gale's vision. He tried to find his breath again, willing his struggling lungs to take in air. As he struggled, he vaguely made out the dragon turtle's next words.

You lie.

“What the hells did you say to it?” Gortash yelled, climbing back up to his feet.

Gale clutched his side with a grimace and tried to sit up. “It—it doesn’t matter,” he gasped. “We’re free.”

Gortash stumbled over to a speaking horn on the wall and leaned in to yell, “Gunners! Launch the harpoons!”

“I don’t think harpoons are going do much against that guy,” Wyll warned. “Except make it angry.”

“I don’t care. Redhammer! All engines as high as they can go! If we can’t fight this thing, we’ll outpace it.”

But Redhammer, lying crumpled just a few feet from Gale, made no response. Gale’s stomach flipped as he noticed the unnatural angle of the dwarf’s neck. Across the room, two other pilots, a gnome and a human, lay deathly still, unconscious or killed by the brunt of being thrown about by the dragon turtle’s attack.

Outside, large spear-like harpoons shot through the water, launched from somewhere in the lower decks and sides of the submersible. Most of them bounced off or barely grazed the dragon turtle, but one shot forth right as the dragon turtle opened its mouth, sticking fast into the flesh of its gums. The creature growled, shrinking back, and lifted a clawed flipper to swipe at its face, clipping the submersible as it did. They tilted again, swaying and rocking.

“Redhammer!” Gortash twisted to look for the dwarf, then swore and took hold of the wheel himself, forcing the submersible to steady. “Pilots! Engines to—”

“Lord Gortash!” Another panicked, tinny voice burst from the horn on the wall. “Saer! The port side fins are damaged—bad. I don’t think—”

Another voice interrupted them, the voices mingling with a din until the second won over. “—starboard fins! I repeat, excessive damage to the starboard fins! Half of it’s torn off and—”

Yet another voice. “Saer! The rear bulkheads have burst and water is rushing towards the engine rooms! If we don’t get out of here fast we—”

“Gods damn them all!” With gritted teeth, Gortash let go of the wheel and dragged the dead human pilot over, wedging them beneath the outer spokes of the wheel to keep it from turning. “Evacuate the ship, now! All hands to the battle subs and cargo vessels!”

Flashes of light began to illuminate the waters as something else, cannonballs of some kind, shot toward the dragon turtle and exploded against its thick hide. Inside the submersible, the helm was a frenzy of activity as people rushed out of the room. Wyll swung down from where he’d been clinging to the pipes to help Gale to his feet as Karlach hefted the still-bound vampire over her shoulder.

“Come on, fangs, you’re with me!”

“Up you go, Gale, on your feet,” Wyll said, hauling him up. “Don’t fall behind!”

Gale didn’t bother gasping a response. He merely checked that his satchel was still around his body and that the Nauterran Account was still inside as he rushed after Wyll and the others. They clambered down ladders, down into a large cargo bay area. The vast space, now filling with water that already reached their calves, was lined with smaller submersibles and two medium-sized seacrafts—the cargo vessels. Each was shaped like a big metal fish in the same bronzy coating as the main submersible, but several of them were armed with harpoon guns and even a few cannons.

He saw Shadowheart and Lae’zel disappear into a smaller craft with another pilot while Wyll and Halsin ran ahead to help others. Gale swerved to follow Gortash, Minthara, Karlach, and her fanged hostage into a larger vessel alongside several others.

The minute they were inside, Karlach dumped the vampire into one of the seats that lined the wall and pointed to a seat on the opposite side. “Buckle in, soldier, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride! You,” she said pointing a clawed finger in the vampire’s face, “I’m unbinding you but you’re staying buckled in, got it?”

“Whatever gets me out of this madness intact,” he said, nodding quickly. She quickly cut through the bindings on his arms and then buckled him in tight as he was rubbing his wrists. She left his ankles bound and strapped herself into the seat next to him.

Gale collapsed into the other seat opposite them, fumbling with the buckles with shaking hands, sweat beading his brow. The pain in his side was impossible to ignore now and every breath sent a new wave of pain. The orb marking in his chest hadn’t stopped glowing since he’d stared down the dragon turtle through the glass, but now it throbbed in time with the waves of pain coursing through him. Outside the vessel, the main submersible shook again, as if something had broken or ruptured.

“Get us free of this damnable ship before it kills us! What are you waiting for?” Minthara barked from where she and Gortash sat in the cockpit of the submersible.

“Damn you, woman, I’m working on it!” he snapped, flicking a series of switches and pulling one of the levers. 

Dimly outside they could hear the roar of the dragon turtle and feel the submersible shaking as the gunners continued to load and launch harpoons and cannonballs. A loud bang blasted toward them as two massive metal doors on the far side of the cargo bay swung open and then crumpled under the pressure of the oncoming flood. A torrent of water rushed over them, lifting them up, nearly toppling them over, sweeping away several people still scrambling to get inside the smaller subs. Within seconds they were completely submerged in seawater.

“Finally! Took them long enough,” Gortash said. He pulled another lever and something—the cargo vessel's engines—roared to life. 

Gale twisted to look out of the front windows of their vessel just as they launched out from the cargo bay. Gortash steered them sharply downward from the submersible, deftly dodging around another vessel and dipping toward the sea floor. A great flash of light illuminated the waters around them, followed by the barely muffled sound of a massive explosion, sending out a wave of force that rocked their vessel violently. The dragon turtle gave a piercing screech.

“The submersible!” Karlach yelled, turning to look through a porthole on her side.

“Good,” Minthara said viciously. “Let’s hope it harmed the creature and bought us some time.”

The depths outside were chaos. Gale watched through the glass as the wave of force from the submersible explosion sent a gunner ship careening to the side and straight into a rock tower. The vessel hit the rocks and crumpled like tin. Before its lights flickered out, he saw the tower begin to crumble down over it.

All around them, the trenches were filled with a frenzy of flashing explosions and high-speed metal subs veering around stone columns, cliffs, and other submersibles, all pursued by an angry dragon turtle the size of a large fortress. Everything came in glimpses as lights from the subs swung wildly about, attempting to pierce the inky darkness enough to avoid the hazards all around them. Gale tried desperately to think of some spell to help in a situation like this, but his pain-addled mind was useless—inside an underwater submersible flying around at reckless speeds, he was useless.

“Gale!” Gortash yelled, over his shoulder, shouting to be heard over the din of others attacking the dragon turtle and its angry roars.  His voice snapped Gale out of his thoughts. “What are our chances that this dragon turtle is guarding your entrance to Nautera?”

“Given all these destroyed ships, extraordinarily high but not a guarantee,” Gale shouted back. They swerved sharply again to avoid crashing into one of the dragon turtle’s legs as it turned in the water. Smaller gunner ships were flitting around it like flies, trying to shoot harpoons and exploding cannonballs at it. The beast swiped a clawed arm at them, catching one of them and sending it crashing into another. Gale forced himself to look away from the gruesome sight and back out toward the front of their cargo vessel. “If it’s here, the statues are lying on the sea floor—look for a stone head or an arm worn down by time and the currents!”

“And then?”

“You’re looking for a crack in the rock—a crevice or a wide split that tunnels downward into the bedrock! Follow it down and around and we should end up in the Underdark!”

“There!” Minthara pointed. “I see something amid the broken ships!”

Gale craned his neck to peer through the front windows. In the distance, faintly seen in the lights of their vessel, two giant statue heads rested against the rocky sea floor, one lying on its side. They were worn smooth by time, but there were still a few features that were instantly recognizable as humanoid features, marking them as distinctly different than the rocks and boulders around them.

“Yes! That has to be them! Look for a deep crevice—”

Another explosion, this one much smaller, rocked their vessel as another gunner was destroyed. 

“Shit!” Karlach said, looking out of the portholes. “Gortash you gotta push this thing faster or we’re gonna be dinner for the big guy!”

The dragon turtle roared again, much closer and much louder, the sound one of rage and pain. Gale could vaguely make out words in the cacophony, which rang so loudly he and the others had to clamp their hands over their ears.

I WILL CRUSH YOUR METAL SHELLS AND SCATTER YOUR BONES TO THE DEPTHS!

It yelled something else, but Gale stopped trying to translate in his head. He gripped his satchel with one hand and the edge of his seat with the other, trying to keep himself from rattling around as Gortash pushed their ship to its limits, veering sharply around rocks and other vessels.

“Gortash! It’s gaining on us!”

“There!” Minthara yelled, pointing ahead. 

Gortash didn’t respond. He dipped them suddenly downward, aiming for a wide cleft in the bedrock.

Gale clutched tighter to his seat, trying to talk himself out of a rising panic as visions of crashing at full speed into the rock clouded his mind. “Just rudimentary plumbing, it’s just like rudimentary plumbing, it’s—”

The vampire looked at him like he was going mad.

The roar of the dragon turtle was right behind them as they dove down into the darkness of the crevice. Its giant clawed flipper reached in after them, scraping them and causing them nearly to crash into the tunnel walls, but soon they were free—and driving dangerously fast in a very narrow tunnel.

“Gortash, watch it!” Karlach yelled.

Gortash pulled a lever and the vessel's side fins turned suddenly vertical, creating a drag effect that acted like a harsh brake, abruptly slowing them as the tunnel took a sharp turn upward. Gale and everyone else buckled into the vessel's seats were flattened to their seats and then banged around as they clipped the tunnel walls trying to turn and follow the snaking tunnels upward. Behind them, some unfortunate gunner wasn’t so lucky, crashing directly into the tunnel walls with another bright explosion. Gortash threw the lever again, manipulating the fins and engines to make it through the tunnels as they twisted and turned.

For one terrifying moment, Gale was convinced he’d been wrong. That these tunnels went nowhere except to a dead end and that they would crash into bedrock with enough force to spell instant death for everyone inside. He clenched his teeth so hard together he thought they would crack as they hurtled upward into deeper and deeper darkness—

And then all at once, they shot free of the tunnels, rocketing into open water. Gortash flattened the side fins again, dragging them through the depths and slowing them quickly. Seconds later, the water came to an abrupt end as they surfaced with an explosive spray. Gortash killed the engines, leaving them to bob up and down in the waves their abrupt surfacing had created.

Then…silence. Silence and darkness, save for the lights beaming out from the front of the cargo vessel.

“Did…did we make it?” Karlach asked, running a slightly shaking hand through her hair. Beside her, the vampire looked like he regretted ever climbing aboard the submersible in the first place.

“I think so,” Gale said, his voice somewhat weak. He pressed a hand to his aching side and turned carefully to peer out of the portholes on his side of the cargo vessel. Water lapped against the window, only coming about halfway up the glass. Overhead, there seemed to be nothing but space. This was no small cave or air pocket. It was a large cavern.

A moment later, two of the small gunner ships surfaced beside them, followed by a battered-looking third. Shadowheart and Lae’zel climbed out of the top, standing on the roof to look around. They bent their heads together for a moment before Shadowheart cast a spell on something in Lae’zel’s hands, creating a wide aura of light. Lae’zel threw the illuminated object into the darkness. 

As it sailed through the cavern in a high arc, piercing the darkness around them, Gale could see arching rocky walls and hundreds of stalactites hanging from the ceiling. Just before the illuminated object plopped into the water and sank, still glowing, into the depths, Gale spied a rocky beach and the ruins of four towering, carved columns framing a series of hewn stone steps. The evidence of humanoid craftsmanship, though ancient, couldn't be more obvious.

These must be the ancient roads to Nautera.

They had found the Underdark path to the lost city. Just as the Nauterran Account said they would.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale #gale of waterdeep #my fic #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #in fathoms below #i love dragon turtles yall #they're dragons AND they're turtles #and this one sounds like jormungandr from the gow games so #he's just super neat imo