֢ ࣪ —🕸️ ♱ jesus Christ looks like me.

✮✟✮✟✮✟✮✟✮✟✮✟✮✟✮✟✮✟✮✟✮✟✮✟✮✟✮✟

. .. (_ __") ? HHJ / ☆ ! @cvpidhan

behold my phone layout

♱ 잔잔히 번져가는 회색빛 석양

♱ 죽은 태양 아래의 몽환경 (蟻夢 2024)

Eddie

Respawn and Relive

@thenightwolf51 who tagged me in this months ago, but I didn't know enough about Respawn to write something. I didn't forget! I just still haven't found much on him, so sorry if I get his character wrong.

They don't give him a name.

It's one of the first things he notices they do to dehumanize him. It's not like they see clones as humans- he's just a science experiment meant to keep the legacy of the League of Assassins alive, even at the cost of his life.

He is just there to be trained to follow commands, and if needed, he is spare parts for the Real Son. He is made from part of the same DNA as the Real Son, but that hardly matters to what should be his mother, as she does not feel anything for his biological father and thus feels nothing for the being created from the two DNAs.

He is the clone created by Slade Wilson- alias Deathstroke- and Talia al Ghul. She may not had a hand in his creation, as that was done by her father, but she had no issues using him.

Torment him. Rip him apart and put it back together just to see what happens.

She looks at him with the same gaze she would a sword. Valuating his worth by how well he can do in training, how healthy his organs are, and how he should be nothing but a loyal dog.

But he isn't. Not really.

If this was all he knew, maybe he would be the weapon they wanted, but he knows more. Remembers more. Yes, he doesn't have all his memories, but he has flashes- glimpses- of the life he had before the Leauge.

They would disapprove of the memories, which makes them all the more precious.

He can still clearly remember his mother- his real mother- a brilliant mind, his father's warm, solid hugs, and his sister's gentle eyes. He can recall his home's layout even if he can not remember the street or how far it was from his school. He can identify his two best friends' faces even if their names slip through his fingers like falling sand.

He also remembers his first name and the initials of his last.

Danny F.

He thinks he died before, waking up as the clone. He remembers standing inside a metallic cave- or a large hole in a machine?- and being electrocuted. He remembers the screams, the flashes of light, the pain, and even a glimpse of his best friends' horrified faces but not much else.

The next clear memory is looking in a mirror to see white hair and green eyes. The same combination he now sports as the Leguage's weapon and spare organ farm.

The memories after that are filled with harsh training, even more, brutal torture, and the reintegration that should his half-brother ever need them, he would give up his organs for the Real Son.

He is, after all, Damian Wayne's gift. He was created to harvest his super healing for the boy's body parts. Danny thinks he hates him, but he's not sure he can remember what hate is supposed to feel like.

He does remember what love is supposed to feel like.

Sometimes, when all he can do is lay in his cell, body aching as they test his healing factor beyond its limits- they cut off his left arm once, just to watch the tissue slowly regrow- he lets himself drown in his old memories, in the few dream-like sequences.

Some make sense, others don't. For some, he's a black-haired blue-eyed boy, and for others, he has white hair and green eyes.

Danny is sitting in class, eagerly taking notes on a topic he has been having trouble with-

-He's playing fetch with a small green dog, throwing snowballs into the air, flying after the excited creature-

-Danny is playing video games with a goth girl and a nerdy boy, laughing so hard he can't see the buttons on the control correctly-

-He's flaying alongside his sister, aiming his outstretched arm at a figure in the sky, shooting a green ray at the same time she does down below in her mechanical armor-

-Danny is helping his mother mix the dough for the cookies. He is swaying his hips to the song she has on the speaker. She's in her teal jumpsuit, having come up from the lab to do mother/son cookies as they do every Thanksgiving-

-He's testing the latest blaster with his father. They wanted to see if the auto-aiming feature was interfering with his flying. He flickers the white bangs out of his eyes as his father cheers from the roof while he takes aim-

Yes, Danny knows what love is supposed to feel like, even if he can't remember all the details, even if his full name evades him. He will escape the Leauage of Assiagins and find that feeling again.

Maybe he'll track down his biological father. Deathstroke does not know a clone was created by him, so maybe he will be willing to take him in.

It takes months, but eventually, they tell him Damian Wayne needs a kidney. Why? They don't say, but Talia knows her Beloved will donate his own, and she won't stand for it. She orders him to fulfill his duty as guards drag him to the operation table.

He grits his teeth as they strap him down and prep for surgery. Thankfully, they don't apply any anesthetics- they don't deem him worthy of a painless operation- so he has a clear head for escape.

The surgery has a thirty-window opening with no guards around. He waits until they are about to begin when he taps into the powers his memories tell him. He makes his limbs intangible, slipping through the restraints with great effort.

The medics only have a few seconds to be shocked before he is upon them. They lay in a pool of blood- not dead. His chest flares up in pain if he kills, so he tries to avoid it as much as his environment allows- as he flies through the walls. He has been planning here, so he knows what to do. Turning invisible, he passes under a helicopter scheduled for a month supply run.

By doing so, he does not appear on any radars using the large cargo as camouflage. Danny drops into the ocean as the alarms go off on that wrenched island, allowing his whole body to turn tangible. This way, the water does not slow him down as he flies deeper and deeper down, praying that they won't be able to track him the further he goes. When he gets to the part where everything is too dark to see- he picks a direction from where he came and hits top speed.

Traveling three hundred miles an hour, Danny escapes the League of Assians with all his organs intact, so take that Damian Wayne.

He has no real destination in mind but maybe, he can find the little town of his memories or maybe he'll find Deathstroke.

Maybe he will discover what the F. in his name stands for.

For now, he'll work under the name Respawn because that's a name he picked out for himself, and he'll do what he wants. He's no one's tool any longer.

(Miles away Tim Drake squints at the small dot darting from Nanda Parbat on his spying map. He's not sure what kind of misle Ra's just shot, but it's traveling fast, and he feels like he needs to phone this in.

"Hey B, we may have an issue." )

All The Concerts!

my mom wrote down every concert she's ever been to and it's a LOT, like in the triple digits

and it got me thinking if I could name every concert I've ever been to? I am fearful I might forget some tho my MS memory sucks but here goes:

New Kids on the Block

Boyz II Men/MC Hammer

Tori Amos (x7)

Switchblade Symphony

KMFDM with Nivek Ogre

VNV Nation (x2)

Air Supply (x2)

Terri Clark (lol I hated country when my family dragged me to this one, I was in my peak Snob Goth era)

Garth Brooks (happened much later when I had learned to embrace country)

Peter Cetera

Sarah McLachlan

The Editors

Radiohead (i hated this hahah, it was so fucking boring like their music. My friend bought the tickets and I had hoped seeing them live would make it click. It did not. I was bored and cold because it was raining in Seattle)

Coldplay (was so much better than Radiohead, seethe snobby indie rock fans)

Regina Spektor

The Decemberists (literally the worst concert I've ever seen. Again I did not buy the tickets but my friend who liked going to indie rock shows always bought two tickets in hopes of getting a date and I was her backup if she didn't. To be clear even though this and Radiohead sucked, I did have a great time with my friend both times)

Cake

George Clinton & Parliament Funkadelic

Puscifer

Barry Manilow

ummm now I'm drawing a blank but I KNOW I've been to more shows and the stupid brain damage is making me forget. I've always been to see a fuck ton of tribute bands at this supper club, and tbh they were almost all really good. The Pink Floyd one especially. Also lol in middle school once this club I was in had a band come perform and they were like... a hair metal Christian band that took mainstream rock songs like "Living on a Prayer" by Bon Jovi and changed the lyrics to like... "LIVING 'CAUSE I PRAAYYYY" and it was fucking hilarious. It's driving me crazy tho because I know there are more actual real concerts I am forgetting -_-

so i guess if you count all the artists I saw multiple times, it comes to... *maths* 28 concerts? Which tbh does not feel like nearly enough.

on the bucket list:

Vienna Teng

Brandi Carlile

Portishead (lol this will never happen but a girl can dream)

Beyoncé

Taylor Swift

TOOL

A Perfect Circle

The Amazing Devil (which is somehow even less likely than Portishead)

SO I'LL MAKE THIS A MEME. Tell me which concerts you've been to, and tell me which concerts you feel like you MUST see before you die. @deathinthesun @an-ivy-covered-summer @swiftzeldas @sylvieons and whoever else wants to do it~

I did get Taylor tickets last year HOWEVER they were... beyond atrocious, the seats. Like, upper upper deck, BEHIND the stage with like no visibility, not even of the screens, because again: BEHIND. I had like three people trying to get tickets that day and 2/3 of us failed but my friend succeeded and she was like "do you want me to buy these? they're upper deck" and I was like yeah yeah that's okay! We can look at the screens! And then I saw the "OBSTRUCTED VISIBILITY" thing and looked at the layout and I was like...kind of devastated, honestly? It's really hard for me to do an outing like that physically, it was outdoors in April (which translates to HOT in Florida) and I just didn't see myself able to endure 5 or 6 hours at minimum in the heat without like, passing out and dying. Not to mention I'm still really scared of being in a large space with that many people because my disease-modifying drug destroys most of my immune system. I ended up selling them, and... buying my vinyl collection lol. Taylor got a lot of that money again because I bought a lot of her records. I'm kind of bummed that maybe I missed my chance forever, but again, I don't think I could have physically swung it. Plus, of the three nights she did Tampa, the show I was supposed to go to had meh surprise songs while the other 2 nights had AMAZING ones, so I know I would have been salty about that too. ONE DAY THO.

The First Day

Rose stared up at the iron wrought gates, fingering a jade pendent dangling from her neck. The schools fence loomed, heavy and made of twisted metal. Rumors claim that Sassacre's Hallowed Academy for Potential Expansion (Or "Shape") was built out of a closed prison way back in the day. Granted, Rose checked and such allegations were merely jealous slander... however the campus had a imposing stature that made the student second guess her own research.

Sure the school seemed friendly enough, a large fountain streatched accross the court gardens, the water a frothy white as it sprayed out of a jug of a angel. The dorms sat across each side of the courtyard, long brick buildings with large ornate windows, ensuring that, wherever Rose looked, her new home was in view... It was simply coincidence that, between them as she was, the buildings had a shape that veered a bit too close to a pair of jaws for her tastes... or maybe simply legs.

Rose squeezed Kanaya's hand for emotional support... well KANAYA's emotional support mostly, this WAS Rose's idea after all. This school was miles away from home, up in the mountains hours drive away from the airport. Sassacre was considered the proto ivy league, spitting out celebrities and genius's with a almost spotless track record. The fact that her web novel got her a scholarship here was too good to be true. In fact her mother said as much... And so she simply HAD to apply.

Kanaya darling, was a little more hesitant, SHE liked her mother (And Rose's mother as well), and was more then happy staying home in the big city. It was just... Rose never did anything without Kanaya by her side before, it didn't feel right to split up. It was them against the world, not HER against the world.

Rose looked up, staring at the clock tower looming above the school, jutting against the sky like it was liable to pierce it. She shivered in her leather jacket, the cold air a little too unseasonable for her torn jeans. Fashion was a statement, and Rose's statement said she didn't back down to peer pressure, society, or the elements. Goth and cozy didn't mix, no matter how brisk it was.

Rose stared at the tower, scowling at the tinted windows, unaware that she was being stared back at.

Eventually she pulled herself away from the window, walking past the cheery trees into a crowded doorway. Next to it was a bulletin board listing all the classes. Rose and Kanaya shared most of them... same English class, Rose had creative writing when Kanaya had Domestic Arts, and Family Sciences, and... Home Economics?

Rose gave Kanaya a dubious glance. Kanaya was great... but a mother? Rose tried to imagine Kanaya in such a duties, pulling a turkey from a oven like a 50s housewife, folding laundry, cradling a child...

Hmm.... Rose lingered on that thought for a moment, and then dismissed it. Roses glance, lingered into a look, teetering on a stare. It was clearly a fantasy, Kanaya was a atrocious cook, and just because she looked nice in a apron didn't mean she knew how to use one... granted Rose supposed that was what school WAS for wasn't it... to learn? Maybe the school saw something she... hmm. Rose frowned, noticing that Kanaya wasn't frowning at her own classes... but Rose's.

Rose felt a pinpick of nerves, scrolling through the classes. Physical Education, dance, yoga, literature, Naked body- wait no that just said painting... all normal classes! Sure a little... artsy fartsy, Rose always thought, novel or not, shed end up in STEM but no even Kanaya had more math classes then her... granted Rose at least had physics... wait no that was just a different physical education class. Rose blinked. This was... such a normal class layout! What could Kanaya possibly be concerned with.

"Rose Darling." Kanaya said, speaking slowly, gingerly. "I Did Not Presume You Were So... Active."

"Well..." Rose frowned, her black lips pursed in thought. "I... am not lazy? But I am sure it wouldn't hurt to have a few classes to get the blood flowing. I cant imagine sitting on my ass all day."

"...Yes, I Suppose..." Kanaya glanced down at Roses hips, at the studded belt that was too small for Rose to actually tighten around her large lap. "That Would Be Um, Wasteful. But I Think This." Kanaya tapped the glass, Roses eyes trailing down towards Kanya's lilac painted finger... then the words she was pointed at. Huh. Rose didn't even notice she was assigned a sports club.... lets see which one...

Rose gasped, her legs, giving out. Kanaya bend down, catching her petite girlfriend as she swoned.

"Rose Are You Alright?" Kanaya asked, Rose could only moan in response.

"How can I be alright?" Rose whimpered. "I'm a Cheerleader."

Deadly Addictions, Part 3

《 Previous

Pairing: Ramone × Mirra × Erik

Summary: Mirra and Erik's initial meeting.

Club Rot was a little known secret.. an exotic underground sex club that Mirra made a point to avoid. She'd heard the stories and it wasn't her type of environment. Some even said it was cursed, but that seemed like marketing. Still, she'd gotten a call. A bunch of people were going and she refused to be the one to stay home with Buzz Lightyear the vibrater.

Anyone could've driven right past the old rugged and broken building, it was a run down eyesore, but inside it was colored lights, heavy music, leather and latex. In her black tube top and leather fitted lace-up pants with heels, Mirra descended the stairs going underground into red light and explosive death metal which grated on her sensitive RnB loving ears. It was too loud. Too heavy in her chest and it rattled her bones. She couldn't even dance to it.

"Let's mosh," an associate yelled over sounds, jumping up and down with a large crowd, their hands swaying in the air.

Alternatively, Mirra's eyes swept over faces and bodies as she moved through the club familiarizing herself with the layout. It was huge enough to get lost. She paused when she captured the ice blue gaze of a pair of eyes in a slender feminine face located across the room. A gothic dark skinned athletically built woman with high cheekbones and long black locs with heavy masculine and mysterious energy.

Mirra's come hither expression was her lure. She smiled with her eyes and angled her chin down to draw the woman in. Stepping backward, she withdrew to find a more quiet place to draw this mysterious woman. She turned down a darkened blue-lit hall and found herself walking by a very muscular, large framed beast of a man wearing a ram's skull with the numbers 666 tatted on his scarred chest. The pattern extended to his arms and his hand rested on the back of a woman's head as it bobbed sucking him off. His head turned slowly as Mirra walked by which both freaked her out and aroused her. She turned away and entered one of the private rooms, waiting for the gothic woman to appear, which she did seconds later, closing the door.

"You found an empty hall," the woman smirked confusing Mirra who'd just seen two people who were hard to miss.

"You must be high." Mirra kissed the woman, pulling down the many straps on her leather top, reminded of her nightly dreams. All that was missing was Ramone's thick arms to hold her up.

"Damn, I'm not going anywhere," the woman pushed back while Mirra manhandled her. Mirra pulled until she found a zipper in the back, unzipping and leaving the woman topless. "Shit you get down rough."

Mirra pushed the woman's chin up and attacked her slender neck. She dove into her bountiful bosom, grasping titties, holding one in each hand to suck each nipple alternatively while the woman sighed in pleasure.

The woman yanked Mirra's top down and squeezed her smaller boobs while Mirra sucked, hungry and horny to block out the brain-melting, low vibrational metal.

Mirra snatched the woman to the floor and yanked at her shiny fitted pants and red thong to reveal a landscaped tiny puff of bleached pubic hair. Eating pussy wasn't anywhere near as fun as sucking dick, but Mirra could slurp a cunt. She got to work, expecting a fire return. She wanted her pussy feasted on by a lesbian who would do it right. When Mirra finally stopped, the lower half of her face was wet and the woman was breathing heavily.

"Your turn," Mirra sat up tugging off her own heels and tight leather pants.

"Damn.. I don't even know your name," the woman smirked pulling herself up.

"You must not be choosing the ebony category because I have 25 lesbian videos and one pops up on page 2 of the search."

"Oh you're a porn star.."

They switched places and Mirra laid with her legs wide. "Less talking, more eating."

As the goth bitch licked over her loins, Mirra received the head she hoped for. This woman knew her way around a pussy and enjoyed it. Mirra found herself rubbing the woman's shoulders and curling her toes in orgasm, panting as she came back down.

"Shit," Mirra sighed as the woman waited for her to get herself together. Meanwhile Mirra found herself fishing a blonde pube from under her tongue.

"They say.. there's a demon in his club and it jumps into your body and makes you have craaazy sex. I've heard a lot of rumors.. A lot of people saying they were fucked by a demon right in this club," she smirked, engrossed in the ghost story.

Mirra wasn't moved.

"The only sex demon you need to worry about is me," she panted pulling locs and pushing the woman's head back down. "I'll show you a sex demon."

Mirra was tapped dry when she left that blue hall and she'd eaten all the blonde coochie she could tolerate for a singular night out. She settled at the bar taking a deep breath feeling somewhat numb and emptied.

"Old fashioned," she ordered, taking a sip as soon as it came. She spotted a couple of the people she'd come in with on the floor. It was going to be a long night if she was going to stay. She felt depleted enough to leave.

She raised a finger to the bartender for another drink and drank five old fashions while she sat there.. enough to make the music sear through her soul and chew it up.

"FINE, FINE," she yelled over the music when her people retrieved her. She was stumbling in her six inch heels while drunk, but the others continued to force her onto the floor where she jumped like an idiot to music that sounded like people being slaughtered in Hell. Everyone was on coke, ecstacy, acid, or heroin, doing it openly and passing it around. Mirra had an excuse not to use. Her mind was already fogged and her body was not her own, it belonged to a demon of lust.

"I'll be back. Or I'm leaving. No.. Time to go," she wavered pushing through the crowd and to the bar. She held onto the railing stepping one foot as a time up the steep stairs, scared to fall. At the top, she stepped out of the club for a hit of cool air, her ankles buckling. She could see the moon between the city buildings and without the heavy music thumping, screaming, and weighing her body down, she could finally breathe fresh. The city was sleeping, but it wasn't dead and Ramone was probably somewhere being wholesome at home or in bed with some woman after a date.. One where she didn't run out on him.

A car drove by, but it kept going. There wasn't much traffic at 2:54 AM. The occasional walker was out, likely up to no good.

"Down to fuck," a man's voice inquired from behind, scaring her. Mirra turned and squinted up to see that same tall figure with the ram skull, 666 tattoo, and body full of scars. "I wanna fuck," he repeated.

Mirra could only stare in drunkenness.

"I can't.. I.. No, I won't. Not tonight," she stammered looking ahead. She was tired and ready to go, but waiting for a safety ride.

"Can't? I don't know a can't. I wanna FUCK," he said roughly and boy did she love a roughneck.

His voice alone made her pre-dampened arousal-coated kitty purr. If his leather loincloth was any indication.. He was packing and she hadn't had dick that day.. plastic yes, but real, hard, veiny, gutbusting cock? No.

She wanted it.

She grabbed his large firm muscles and ran her fingers across his patterned scars. Her eyes widened and she nearly collapsed when she finally got bold and felt under the rectangular cloth. He was bigger than Ramone in length AND girth. A true BBC hero.

He ripped her black tube top open down the middle and pulled her leather pants to her ankles along with her black satin panties that she stepped out of, no stranger to public sex. She hoped the passersby did see every bit of her.

By her thighs, she was lifted. She held onto his thick neck. His fingers dug into her flesh hard enough to leave prints.

"Fuck me," she whispered as she squirmed against his body, feeling disembodied. "Take me."

His dick head pressed and thrusted upward inside of her first.. bold, seeking, firm and wide. She groaned as she was inwardly stretched, sliding down his width and releasing a feverish cry of physical accomplishment. She was taking that dick like the pro she's bred herself to be. Her grunts were loud enough to call to the sleeping buildings nearby and he bounced her effortlessly like he was curling weights, up and down, up and down, fast. She was a human fleshlight taking his monstrosity and her lil pussy was working.

"Mirra," a drunken voice called from the club searching for her.

The man covered her mouth forcing her to focus on him and he pushed her back against the ugly building, fucking her hard against it while she grabbed at his ass, her teeth clamped onto his shoulder blade as she came hard. He had a ponytail of long braids that she pulled and held onto to pull herself up and fuck him back. The more weight she put on it like she'd rip them out, the rougher he got until he dropped her slowly to the ground and stretched upward. She stared up, grabbing his thighs and tracing them to his slimy wet dick. It was her dessert after a meal like that. She licked it clean, long lick by lick. Then she sucked it for good measure ending with a kiss on the head before getting up to grab her pants. The top was trash and her underwear she could leave, but she loved those pants and they were real leather.

The masked man went back into the club and within the minute, Mirra's safety ride had appeared to take her home.

"Uggghh," Mirra groaned turning in her bed, the night still hanging on. She took a Tylenol with a glass of orange juice and rubbed her stomach while she walked, feeling achey deep inside. "Did I.. I did. Of course I fucked someone," she sighed heading to her shower where she could inspect her body. She could still feel last night's dick and his fingers digging into her thighs.

She groaned with the most vivid of flashbacks, replaying the highlights that made her kitty jump and her nipples tighten.. She didn't even know who he was, but the way he put it down. It nearly made her sweat to remember.. She needed to meet him again.

Her fingers explored the pink cavern between her thighs thinking about it in further detail. In and out, he stretched her. It was delicious.. like her creamy white residue that was all over his big.. fat.. swollen.. dick.

"FUCK," she howled turning off the hot water. There was no condom. She wrapped herself in a towel and paced the house, wondering if she'd made a deadly mistake. Of course she had, that's why too much alcohol was her enemy. "Nooo," she whimpered, her mind racing for a solution. "Testing," she froze. "Testing, testing! Shit, it's in a week!"

Her 30 days were coming up. Every month on a schedule, porn stars were tested. Mirra had to pay for a 10 panel gold star test with Talent Testing to screen her for 10 different STDs. But even if she were infected, nothing would show up for 14 days. It was good and bad. Good because she could do this movie she'd booked called Waterboarding Wetness and bad because what if she caught something from that masked guy at the club? Her life and career would be over! No more movies and possibly no more sex. She couldn't survive it.

The week flew by with Mirra being too distracted by her status to think of anything else. She went to her parents' house, but she didn't mention the slip up. They knew she was tense, but didn't know why. She didn't even flinch when they brought up DJ. DJ was not important at the moment nor was he ever really important. Mirra didn't give a fuck about DJ. She was close to finally saying it.

Finally, the time had come. She did the test and was cleared to shoot her movie as Byrdie, but she couldn't move as freely knowing she was secretly waiting another two weeks to get re-screened. She was nervous. It was the first prayer she'd said of the year. She prayed that she wouldn't accidentally infect anyone. She wanted everyone to stay healthy, afterall it was her stupid mistake not theirs. That done, she proceeded with the six man gangbang.

"You'll never get the top secret information out of me," she teased looking two co-stars in the eye seductively. They were the good and bad cop interrogating her as she was cuffed and she wasn't talking.

"We have ways of making you spill your guts," the bad cop threatened, but Byrdie was tough.

"I'm so scared," she mocked, watching the other ensemble men come in dressed like officers. It was a rainbow of penis being revealed. "Even if you make me suck 30 cocks I'll never never reveal such sensitive information to the likes of you!"

"We'll see about that," said another 'cop'.

They took turns and gagged her, stopping in between her to question her. She'd give a line and another dick would lodge itself at the back of her throat while her eyes watered.

"NEVER," she yelled covered to her breasts in her own spit.

The next shot was for her to get drilled repeatedly from the back. Her head wasn't in it, but her body followed what it knew to do. She jumped and rode on the dicks, popped her ass, took it in the ass, and then delivered a great ending where she finally caved and told the cops what they wanted to know. At the end, she barely remembered any of it but the deed was done and she'd be getting a very hefty check.

"I couldn't do what you do, not on camera for my coworkers to find," said her cousin on speaker as Mirra drove for food. "No disrespect, I respect what you do sis, get ya money, but me personally.."

"I guess that's why I don't have debt right now that I'm trying to appeal," Mirra shot back as she pulled up at the drive-thru ATM. "Not everyone can have their bills paid all the time AND afford to go out, it's a bad bitch genre."

"Look bitch, I ain't saying all that, I made a statement about me. I wouldnt do it. I don't care what someone else do."

"Hold up, I'm counting my money," Mirra paused with a smirk. "Look, Darnell. I understand what I do is not everyone's cup of tea. I'm not exactly a recruiter. I just get out here and do the shit everyone's afraid to do but secretly wish they could. All so they can log on and watch me do it then pretend they didn't. Whatever! They're me so I don't care," Mirra laughed.

"How much do you make exactly?"

"Enough to make me laugh when people who don't make half try to pass judgment."

@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @nobodybaby93 @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @tgigoldie @sicksadgen @honeycoatedgld @thehomierobbstark @capswife

FANE MASTER POST

[Status December 1st 2023. Issue 1 now available in digital and print-on-demand formats! www.FANEmag.com | Currently accepting submissions of all kinds for Issue 2.]

{Contributors/contributions per category for next issue: Art (0), Photography (0), Interviews (0), Music Reviews (0), Print (0), Articles (0), Random (0), Letters (0)}

FANE is a digital & print zine with the intent to lift up artists of all kinds and expose them to new audiences. In every issue I hope to feature Musicians, Photographers, Illustrators, Poets, Painters, etc., along with life testimonials from marginalized peoples (are you a gender non conforming POC in the Crust Punk scene? I wanna know what that’s like. Are you transitioning in a rural area and want to share your experience? I want to help you do that. Do you love transgressive writing and like picking it apart? I wanna read those book reviews.). I am actively seeking out creatives in the LGBTQIA+ community who make the kinds of works that don’t get the attention or respect of mainstream queer culture. That said, FANE is all encompassing and we welcome submissions from peoples of all different walks of life (from CisHet to TransQueer, and everything before, in between, and after).

FANE is 100% volunteer. Everyone involved is donating their time and content. The digital version of the zine is available completely free. The print version will full color A4 Print-on-Demand by Lulu.com Any kind of profits made or donations received will go towards building an online presence, securing future hosting/domain related fees, etc.

Examples of what we’re looking for:

Music Reviews, Live Show Reports, Photography, Painting, interviews (both interviewers and those willing to be interviewed), indie film makers, queer activists/artists, anything that defies convention, short stories, poetry, anyone willing to share honestly their struggles with mental health or other health issues, anyone into body modification, anyone with an unconventional body structure comfortable showing their body and discussing it, anyone willing to share terrifying personal experiences they’ve overcome, comedic works as prose or illustration, sex workers willing to share what their lives are like. Anything & anyone who deserves their “15 minutes” currently denied by surface culture. Contributions don’t have to be small, and you don’t have to do any page layout/framing (we can set up the pages from your content/files). ‪Aesthetic: glitchy, dark, dusty, ash, noise, industrial, goth, experimental electronics, metal, punk, esoterica…‬

Examples of what we’re NOT looking for:

Pornography, edgelord shit for the sake of edgelord shit, right wing/conservative bullshit, Racists, animal cruelty, white nationalist propaganda, Nazi sympathizers, homophobes, transphobes, sexists, and other generally shitty human garbage. This doesn’t mean journalistic articles about such things can’t find inclusion, just that I don’t want to print the actual things themselves. ‪For legal reasons, we’re also not accepting fandom art, fan fiction, etc. We respect those of you who create such things, it’s just they’re not a good fit for us.‬

All submissions to FANE must be your original work or works you have the legal right to use. When submitting, you give FANE the right to reproduce your material in perpetuity within the context of magazine print runs, website/blog postings, publishing collected editions of the zine, etc. (we’re not going to sell your works as prints or shirts or mugs or any kind of similar shenanigans). You are NOT giving us exclusive rights to anything, and your works will always be yours to do with as you wish outside of the zine.

No matter what you’re submitting, we ask everyone for a photo of themselves in the portrait orientation. If you are uncomfortable sharing a photo of yourself, we can go with an artistic interpretation or simply a “No Photo Available” generic pic. There’s also a short questionnaire. Any question you don’t want to answer, you can put “No Comment” or something sassy, etc. The Bio bit should only be about a paragraph (2-5 sentences).

Name:

Age:

Pronouns:

Gender:

Location:

Primary Medium:

Other Mediums:

Bio:

Links:

For each visual artist that has contributed so far, I’ve created a Bio page for the issue. I don’t know how that will translate to written works (would make sense for poetry submissions, or long journalistic works, but probably not for short reviews, know what I mean?), but better to have the info/pic and not need it than the other way around.

Please make sure to include a direct link, or links, to your work. You can also send files via email, but keep in mind we’re not touching anything that looks shady (Archives, Executables, etc). Also be sure to tell us what it is we should be looking at, and what your contribution idea is (Example: Photographer who provides links to their photos and states they want to share new works for the zine.)

Questions? Suggestions? Contributions? You can contact me here on tumblr or use FANEmag at gmail. I’m working on other communication methods as well, but I’m an Elder Millennial so please be patient with me :)

Feel free to reblog/spread far & wide.

Here are some visuals from Issue 1 to give you an idea of what the overall “vibe” of the zine is. The full issue can be downloaded for free from FANEmag.com

Asked & Answered:

* Hey! What does the name FANE mean/stand for?

It’s a noun. It means a church or temple. I’m not a religious person, but the most spiritual I feel is when I’m submersed in the arts, hence the name choice. Major world religions aren’t exactly friendly to the LGBTQIA+ community, so the zine, in my head at least, is an alternate experience where people can find community, inspiration, and acceptance.

I’m a self deprecating sarcastic asshat too, so the fact it rhymes with “feign” as in “to feign interest in this boring zine” is absolutely intentional. As is the fact that it’s a four letter “F” word :)

* Who are you?

Hi, my name’s Rob, and I’m an alcoholic (recovering). I’m a married cisgendered gay white male who uses he/him pronouns living on the East Coast USA. I’m medicated for anxiety and depression, and I believe I may have undiagnosed ADHD and/or ASD. I’m an amateur creative that’s been doing the best I can for the last 30 or so years with zero professional training. I’ve put out a good chunk of experimental music, some of which is still available online (“Vermilion Sky” is my best if you go looking). I’ve also collaborated with other musicians, labels, etc. I’m currently working on histological and minimal photography, as well as graphic design and illustration (digital).

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Confession: Hello guys, I was the one who submission about some abusive confessions sent over the years. I was mostly angry at all the hate "confessions" 5sos stans sent about an underage Rena. On twitter years ago grown adults would bully her, threaten physical violence against and even tell her to kill herself etc all in the name of "activism". It had gotten so bad she made her layout dark at one point and I was very worried. As a black person, her hair has never bothered me. Most of the people abusing her when white people pretending to act like "allies" towards us and tell us what is and isn't racist. That hairstyle was inspired by industrial/cyber goth culture which was very popular back in the 2000s in goth scene and I bet those horrible people don't even know about because they came from a world of pop music. Also I takes three seconds for them to google industrial goth fashion. I have some white industrial goth friends who wear similar hairstyles and none of them are racist. They're all very kindhearted sweet people with an epic taste in music, fashion and culture. That goth subculture has been popular since the late 90s and 2000s. By the way I've always loved that side of goth culture because industrial/cyber goth fashion looks so beautiful, badass and the music is awesome. I'm glad a couple of people who ran hate blogs about Cherri Bomb/Hey Violet apologized and I forgive them because they sounded very remorseful and sincere. Unfortunately one more person still runs a hate page. I confronted the person, especially about how badly Rena was treated and of course the person who runs that blog is crakkker and of course they placed the blame on an innocent child instead of placing the blame on the adults who bullied and threatened a child's life just so they can look like "political heroes" while they're a bunch of evil mean spirited political villains. I was very mad when they blame her like she was just a kid?? I also told them they sounded like a nazi, told them how performative they and that they're no "activist". Also told them to google industrial/cyber goth fashion, told them they're a pop music stan (although I love pop music but from the 80s and 2000s). Lastly I told them that 5sos sucks. Those 20 something year old white Australian men did absolutely nothing to defend her or her band. I've researched they did far worse things while in their early 20s too and barely was held accountable for it. Like always, males always get a slap on the wrist and are babied while women and young girls, especially in the industry suffer. I hate she had to apologize for having a hairstyle that's very common within the industrial goth world. Even another long time fan who's also black told her that she loved her threads and didn't need to apologize. When Rena said she was getting told to go kill herself it brought tears to my eyes. Imagine wanting to be a "political left wing activist" so bad you end up sounding just as vile, horrible and evil just like the nazis who identify as right wingers? I hope none of those people have kids of their own. Wanting to be appear like a so called "woke activist" give you no excuse to abuse kids, famous or not. Treating kids any kind of way breaks my heart so much, it's just as bad as animal abuse. I guess that's why we barely have child stars nowadays because throughout history, child stars like Shirley Temple and Judy Garland have been abused so kind of way by nasty abusive adults. I really wish Cherri Bomb/Hey Violet never met that garbage boy band because as much as some rock and metal fans can be annoying at times, pop stans can be very very awful people, especially when it comes to boy bands. Just wanted to add that Julia Pierce is now a goth dj. They all moved on from their teen years and other people should move on too. Also I'm very happy that the other hate pages got deleted while two sincerely apologized. Long confession but this is just something I wanted to speak out about. 🖤

Oh dear, I started a Sims 4 playthrough.

You know what, "Leeb, Leefuh, Love" sounds like a pretty good sitcom name. I'm going to start naming whatever sitcom-fanfic this playthrough becomes—provided I don't chicken out of documenting This Thing out of cringe.

For starters, Metallica—the three angriest men of the year 2003—decided to move to some random house in Oasis Springs. Why? I don't know. Are they there to find a bassist? Dunno either.

Okay, maybe they aren't so angry.

In fact, James and Lars are coming along pretty well. Since there isn't a way in-game for them to start a thrash metal band, each members are doing mundane jobs!

Lars is a lawyer—looking at you, Napster—while James is an Entertainer, probably a comedian because why not. Kirk's getting a start in the Culinary career.

...Oh, yeah, the Welcome Wagon struck that household, too.

Johnny Zest made a fruitcake. I think they liked it—I can't recall what they thought of it... Kirk's social awkwardness begins to pop up, too, although advice from his totally-bandmates did help a bit.

And yes, that's Makoto Yuuki—from the popular PS2 video game Persona 3 FES—in the background. We'll bother about him in a bit. At least he gets along pretty well with the Metallica household, especially James.

Several hours later, Lars decided to become the new Skrillex, and played around with the music-making-table (I can't remember what they are called).

It's got about as much bass as ...And Justice For All, trust me.

Moving over to that place that the developers designed after the British countryside, not that I remember the world's name, the RBY household moved into a house. Weiss won't fit anywhere between the budding lovers Blake and Yang and the hyperfixative Ruby. She might get created at some point, just outside the hellhole.

So, yeah, there they are, living their lives in the moment.

This is probably my favorite screenshot of them, Blake probably being OOC be damned.

Also, most of the household seems to have fairly... memorable faces, especially Yang's psychotic expressions. I might compile them at some point in the future.

Anyways, so, jobs: Blake writes stuff. Yang is a cop—because I can, and I want her to be as silly as Martin Riggs; so she's stuck in a cop-aganda show. Ruby goes to high school, therefore she's stuck in some teenagers-do-stuff sitcom.

Oh, yeah, Ruby did go to high school, and I have some bits to document.

As pissed off because of some fear about unfulfilled dreams, she seems to have a thing for exercise. It's probably an excuse to offer you one of her goofy-looking faces, though.

There's some random person with the Zelda moon following them, apparently:

And there's also that thing.

I can't kill that Landgraab off for the grievous crime of T-posing?

God fucking damn it.

But aside from that, everything went as normal, and Ruby managed to acquaint herself with Cassandra Goth.

That's good, I suppose. There were two other Sims that she managed to befriend, too, but I forgot their names. No, that Landgraab is not on the list—absolutely not, nuh-uh.

Also, later that day, she decided to bring Ruby to the Hijinks-and-other-things Festival. She went off to the art museum, while Ruby's left on her own. Noooo, that never happened before in the show Ruby was from! haha! But yeah, she joined the Pranksters—mainly because I wanted a silly laugh—but upon finding out that James Hetfield is there, I thought it'd be utterly hilarious for her to prank him.

That's the best image I could capture. No, I'm not giving you the aftermath of the trolling.

So, that's one-half of a thing I'm doing, and I realized that I was capturing too many pictures for comfortable reading. Plus, the default Tumblr layout sucks for this kind of thing, and I have no clue how to code layouts, so... Yeah, the second half coming later on.

♱ Caught between the crevice of delusion and reality (Kyomu No Naka de No Yuugi, Bara No Seidou 2000.)