anonymous said:

Prompt ---> It's okay

Their nightmares had changed as the months had gone by. Just after the Turn, they were dreams filled with fear of catching the illness and becoming one of the staggering corpses. Then they were dreams about being eaten alive and ripped apart by them. Then they were about ending up alone and defenseless. Then they were about facing Turned loved ones. Then they were about losing everyone. Sometimes their nightmares wore faces.

Lori’s face. Sophia’s face. Andrea’s face. Merle’s face.

They all came out of the boiling darkness at some time or another.

Lately, Daryl could hear Glenn comforting Maggie when she woke up crying for her father and her lost sister. Tara would cry in her sleep for her sister and niece. Michonne would murmur some unintelligible syllables that Daryl comprehended without understanding.

It had been a while since Carol’s nightmares had had names.

Daryl was familiar with Carol’s nightmares. They used to be Ed. Then they were about Sophia. Then Lori. Then Judith. Sometimes they were about him. She cared about all of them, and she hurt for all of them. Now that they were back together again, away from Terminus and en route to Washington, names were crossing her lips in her sleep again.

“I’m sorry…” she choked in her sleep one night.

The crack in her voice was a lance through his chest, and Daryl remained upright, sitting beside her as the embers of the campfire glowed in the pit. He waited to see if she would pull herself out of it and drift back to restful sleep. Her disturbed stirring continued.

“Lizzie…Mika…No…Please…” She trembled.

Daryl reached out and grasped her shoulder. “Carol. Hey, you’re having a nightmare.”

Carol twitched, opened one eye blearily, and then bolted upright, gasping for breath.

“Hey, easy.” He held up his hands, corralling her wild eyes to his face. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“Th-they were…It was…” Her face crumpled and she covered her eyes with her hands, breaking down.

Daryl folded his arms around her, cupping the back of her head and letting her cry it out.

“I gotcha. It’s okay.”

Why should I pay for a game being made in RPG Maker?

I think a lot of people have been wondering this when they visit the GORGE campaign! Here’s a few reasons why I decided to go with Kickstarter (reiterating some points from my last post on this topic).

  • Developing any game takes a staggering amount of time and effort. This isn’t a hobby for me; game development is my career and my future. An employee at a big studio like Valve needs compensation for their time and effort, and I don’t lack that need just because I’m an indie developer working on my own with a simple engine (RPG Maker).
  • The campaign isn’t about preordering the game. It’s about helping me to afford the time to make it happen (a lot of time, by the way).
  • People tend to dismiss RPG Maker games because it’s such kiddy software (I think we’ve all downloaded the trial as 13-year-olds, made some crappy game, and then forgotten about it when the trial ran out) and not considered professional like Unity. But the merit of a piece of work shouldn’t be judged by the medium it was created with.
  • With crowdfunding, I can make GORGE the best game I possibly can. It gives me a chance to afford things I never could, like hiring a musician and producing merchandise. It’s an opportunity worth taking.
  • Ultimately, if people think the game isn’t worth it or it isn’t fair for me to try to crowdfund, they won’t pledge for it or buy it! And I won’t be mad at anyone who thinks that. So I think that’s pretty fair.

I am ALWAYS up for discussing this, if you have any thoughts at all please don’t be shy with your questions!

freakaheadofthecurve said:

As Jonathan turns the corner into his bedroom, waiting for him in the darkened room is none other than the Joker who is holding a bag of potato chips. He raises his hand and on Jonathan coming into the room, proceeds to literally smack Jonathan square in the face with a bag of potato chips.

The blow to the face was unexpected and sent him staggering back a bit. Jonathan managed to catch himself though and looked flatly at Joker. He couldn’t really find it in himself to be angry right now, so used to the idiot's antics. “Is this some sort of joke about potatoes and sacks? Or did you just really want to hit me in the face with junk food?”


Raf had been out on the town, drinking. Thanks to his new job he found himself with a bit more income than he usually did, which meant that drinks hour started every night and ended at sunrise. He was staggering back into the Cirque, rubbing his eyes from the bright sun shining in them, still slightly tipsy. Looking up and trying to avoid the glare of the sun, of course, he didn’t notice as he bumped into someone. 

"Oh, sorry—" he said, straightening up and noticing an object fall to the floor. "You dropped this." He held it out, looking them in the eyes.



One weird upside of triggering people entering my life is that i get flooded with images from my past that aren’t all bad. These two baby me pics are among those… so even though they return primarily to claim a stake in my life and death, i don’t have it in me to tell them my life has been better without them. Triggered so badly today…

I don’t have it in me to say that the past they all claim responsibility for was the reason i wanted to die so often growing up. When they banded together and kicked me out of the family for outing a child molester, telling me I’m stirring up unnecessary drama by reporting him, and subsequently having to spend time in the psych ward as they told the police who i reported the abuser to that i was mentally unstable… that was the beginning of my life without them even though i wasn’t aware. The staggering few years keeping in contact was torture. Getting called crazy and immature for resisting their advice to “let it go” and make peace with my abuser got old. Using the leverage of financial assistance to make me regularly hate myself enough to accept their belittling and constantly being made to exist in every possible closet imaginable…

Being outside of that has been the reason the past few years have been the best of my entire life. Just because i am dying am i supposed to reintegrate into this? Getting called tranny, fag, and nigger most of my life- I’m supposed to just be okay with that because “life is too short”? Fuck this… life IS short and i don’t want to spend what little time i have left adhering to abuse just because it’s rude… I’m dying and i don’t want to die stuck in another series of closets i no longer fit into.

If it means dying alone, then so be it… if only i had the courage to outright say this…