Gacha club outfit


2019.12.29 01:03 GachaClub

Our community provides a safe space for ALL users of Gacha (Life, club, etc.) apps! Whether you’re an artist, YouTuber, or other, you are free to post as long as you follow our rules! Enjoy your stay, and have fun! (This is not an official Lunime subreddit) Icon by: u/IamMrukyaMaybe Banner by: u/Gennerocity

2020.01.18 19:12 HECKYOUXx GachaClubCringe

Gacha Club was created by Lunime and is now available for Android, iOS and P.C. It is the game after ‘Gacha Life’ which is infamous for sexual and toxic content. Also, this is NOT a gacha hate subreddit, so do not hate on the entire fandom, just the toxic sides of it. Join our Discord: (Discord is 13+ TOS)

2019.05.04 02:37 rriolu372 Gacha Life Cringe

(The subreddit has been shutdown, so nobody can post, only comment.) The video game Gacha Life created by Lunime has a very bizarre fanbase. While most of it consists of kids ages 6-14, the content they create can be violent, inappropriate, or downright pornographic. Don't forget that these videos are marketed towards kids. Luckily, most of the fandom's content is just cringeworthy. This sub is for showing the icky and cringeworthy things made by members of the community.

2023.06.09 15:21 RjBoss08 Now, if you’ll pardon my asking

Where in the name of super Kami Guru are my new outfits???? I could care less about the gacha, but what I wanna know are where the outfits are.
Looking in the store, there isn’t a new outfit to be seen except for some Hawaiian shirts that cost 300 medals. They look ok, but I ain’t shelling out 300 for them. Nor for the saiyaman outfits.
submitted by RjBoss08 to DragonBallBreakers [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 14:55 kiplet1 [City of Roses] no. 27.3: “Quite distressing” – well as She might – taking Any hand – Something falls

[City of Roses] no. 27.3: “Quite distressing” – well as She might – taking Any hand – Something falls
previous Table of Contents
tends to crumble
“Quite distressing,” says the older man, there in the wingback chair. “Though one does not wish to play the churl. A certain degree of disarray must certainly be allowed, given the shocks – the challenge, the duel – ”
“Allowed?” says Agravante, there by the yellow stone fireplace, an elbow up on the mantel, and the older man takes a sip of milky tea from a thin bone china cup. “How is the King’s champion, by the way?” he says.
“Death’s door,” says Agravante. There on the mantel by his elbow a fiendish little basket-box, carved from a chunk of dark red wood. “Shame,” says the older man, shaking his head, stiff grey curls swept back, and the collar of his shirt undone, a blue scarf knotted tidily about his throat. “Though it is distasteful, how they might linger, on that threshold? Neither here, nor there,” and another sip of tea.
“What is it that distresses you, Medardus,” says Agravante. White-gold locks tied neatly black, his grey suit shot with blue.
“It’s a delicate question I’d have answered, Pinabel,” says the older man, setting the cup in the saucer on his lap, clink. “Does the King yet mean to pursue his bold vision?”
Agravante’s brow pinches. “Of course,” he says. “Insofar as I know.”
Medardus smiles. “Delicately put,” he says. “It’s been two days.”
“These things take time.”
“Two days,” says Medardus, “since he took from me mine offer,” knobbled fingers closing in a fist, drawn up by his yet-mild smile. “And not a word said since.”
“There’s much to be considered,” says Agravante. “Four of you do vie for her hand.”
“Please, Pinabel,” says Medardus, dropping his hand, and a clatter of cup and saucer. “It’s an indulgence to pretend the choice isn’t manifestly clear – that mine is not the best offering.”
“The best, perhaps,” says Agravante. “But sufficient?” A slatey shoulder shrugs.
“The King would demand more?”
“How can I answer that,” says Agravante, “when I know nothing of what you’ve promised, or he might require.”
“Nothing,” says Medardus, still smiling. “Such a delicate word.” Setting cup and saucer on the low table between them. “I would hope,” he says, “it could always be said that the Hound has done well by Medardus,” and he knots those knobby fingers in his lap. “Much as it can be said, to a surety, that Medardus has done well by the Hound.”
Rather carefully, Agravante does not smile at that, or nod, his shoulders do not move, nor does his arm, there by the basket-box. “Of course,” he says.
“But it’s also said,” says Medardus, “that a fear grips your court: that the line is not unbroken. That the Queen, despite her, prodigious recovery, has no Bride of her own. That your King’s hand, howsomever reluctantly, is forced. That he means,” and here Medardus leans forward, elbows on knees, “to take the Princess for himself, and that is why our offers go unanswered.” Sitting back, a dismissive fillip of his fingers. “Or so it’s said.”
“By some,” says Agravante.
“Indeed,” says Medardus.
“But not to me,” says Agravante.
“Ah.” Medardus pushes himself to his feet. “Tell me,” he says, as Agravante leads him out of the little drawing room, “how fares the Count?”
“Grandfather?” says Agravante, pushing open the sliding wood-paneled door. “He sleeps.” Beyond, a narrow hall, in the shadow of a long straight staircase.

“Oh,” he says. “It’s you.” A glass of wine in his hand, something dark. “She isn’t here.”
“She will be, soon enough,” says Marfisa, muddy boot up on the side porch step. “Jason, can I just, wait inside?” The collar of her sheepskin coat turned up, loose white hair stirred by a gust. He steps back, the door held open, his lips a sour purse between his mustache and his dull red beard.
Up the steps into a mud room, painted blue, forgotten coats and a tangle of umbrellas, a scooter, a chalkboard palimpsested with to-dos and shopping lists, “Ah ah,” he’s saying, pointing, thick-lensed glasses blanked out by the ceiling light, and she scrubs her boots against a mat before stepping up into a kitchen to the left there, ruddy stove and a steaming pot of something, stainless steel refrigerator hung about with coupons and note cards, a calendar, a math test festooned with red checks and gold stars, past a breakfast bar sloppily piled with newspapers and a box of soda cans, into a narrow sitting room, a low brown couch, a girl tucked at one end of it, under a red and yellow blanket, and pink headphones startling against her dark hair, watching something on the tablet on her lap. “Grace,” says Jason, still in the kitchen, but she’s already snatching off the headphones, a burst of chirpy music, as Marfisa steps about the low coffee table. “Hey, Mar,” says the girl on the couch, and “Grace,” says Jason again, “upstairs,” as Marfisa sits herself at the other end. Something bulky’s tucked in her coat, she leans over the table, pulling it out, a flat paper sack that spills out a sheaf of handbills, goldenrod pages splashed with black lines, a dancer rendered in calligraphy, and each marked by the green dot of an eye. “Oh, hey,” says the girl, springing from under the blanket, all elbows and knees and clattering headphones, “is that,” says Jason says “Grace!” again, but she’s already scooped up a handbill, turning it over and back again, nothing else to it but little pull-tabs at the bottom, each printed with an elaborately arabesqued question mark. “You’re putting these up?”
Marfisa shrugs. “You’ve seen them?”
“Yesterday, at Mississippi Pizza?” says Grace. “Did you hang ’em there?” Marfisa shrugs again. “The Mercury just had a thing about these things, like how nobody knows what they are, or who’s, it’s, it’s you! You’re doing it! Is it like, are you putting the band back together?”
“Grace,” says Jason.
“What,” snaps Grace, rolling her eyes away.
“Upstairs,” he says, “now. Flashcards till dinner.”
“Jason,” she says, but she’s kicking off the couch, scooping up the tablet, stomping around the table when back that way there’s a clatter and a squeak of hinges from that side porch, “I’m home!” cries someone, and “Carol!” cries Grace, turning on a dime, scampering off past Jason, through the kitchen, “Guess who’s here!”
Marfisa leans forward, slipping the handbills back in the sack, not looking up at Jason looking down at her.
And there’s Carol, by the breakfast bar, setting a brown leather book bag on the carpet. Draped in a brown and yellow striped serape, her dark hair neatly short. “Mar,” she says. “How are you.”
“Well as I might,” says Marfisa, looking up, pushing back a wave of white-gold hair. “What would you say to a chance to sing again, together?”

A hallway narrow, dim, dark doors to either side, silvery numerals set in the walls by each, slender 1s, a wiry 7, great round-bellied 6es, an 8, a 9. Iona in her yellow track suit leads the way around a corner, stops before the door at the end of the hall. 620, the numerals beside it. She plucks a white card from a pocket, holds it up before slipping it into the slot above the knob. “I miss keys,” she says, as the lock chunks, a green light flicking on. “These may be better, but not in any way that matters.” She opens the door. “Go on,” she says.
Within brown walls and gold, bathed in daylight hazed by yellow curtains drawn over corner windows. A comfortable yellow chair, a reading table and a lamp, unlit. A wide bed draped in blue and brown and at the foot of it, sat tailor-fashion, Ysabel, in a white chemise, and soft white leg-warmers thickly rumpled. “Starling,” she says, with a smile.
“My Queen,” says the Starling, a shadow there by yellow Iona, black jeans, black sweatshirt, the hood of it up. “This is not our usual Thursday,” she says, in not much more than a whisper.
“This isn’t a Thursday,” says Ysabel, nodding to Iona, who steps out, closing the door behind her. “This is a whole weekend, if you’d like.”
“But I must dance, ma’am,” says the Starling. “Today and tonight, at the club, and Saturday – ”
“It has been cleared, with your, manager,” says Ysabel. “You’re free, till Monday.”
“Free to be here, with you,” says the Starling. And then, “If it’s just to be the two of us?” Her words worn thin.
“If you’d like,” says Ysabel. “Or, step back through that door. The Chariot will happily take you anywhere in the city you may wish to go.”
The Starling reaches for the strap of the black gym bag slung from her shoulder. “I don’t mind,” she says, “being with you. I’ll just go change,” but “No,” says Ysabel, quickly, “Starling, no. Put that down. Sit with me.”
“My Queen,” says the Starling. “I am not who I am, when I’m with you.”
“Please,” says Ysabel. “Sit.”
The gym bag slumps to the speckled brown carpet. Stepping over, the Starling stands a moment before the foot of that bed, and Ysabel sat there, smiling up, but then she turns, the Starling, and finds the yellow chair behind her, and sits, a darkness in that weak light.
“I’m glad you came,” says Ysabel.
“My Queen desired it,” says the Starling.
“I thought,” says Ysabel, looking away. “I’d thought today that I might dance for you. I have danced, you know. At a party. She said I was quite good.”
“Of course,” says the Starling.
“I settled on an outfit,” says Ysabel, looking down at herself, “nothing too elaborate,” and “Good,” says the Starling, “but,” says Ysabel, “I’ve been flummoxed by my lips. What should the color be?” A hand, lifted to her mouth, her hair, “White?” she says. “To go with the ensemble? Or would that be too much? Would a simple red be enough?”
“No one pays attention to the lipstick,” says the Starling.
“You do,” says Ysabel, quickly, even sharply, and then, “You take such care, with yours.”
That hood shifts, down, to one side, dim light passing over her chin, the tip of her nose. “White’s better for the stage,” she says. “Too bold for such close quarters.”
“A simple red it is.”
“Your majesty is sad,” says the Starling, then. “Why should that be?”
“I,” says Ysabel, shoulders lifting, and her chin, a retort swelling but then suddenly pricked, deflating, and she looks away. “Affairs of the city,” she says.
“Not the heart, then?” says the Starling. “Nor the hips?”
Ysabel untucks herself, a bare foot lowered to the carpet, and her hands on the edge of the bed. “Tell me,” she says. “Do you know the smell, of blood?”
That shadow sits up. “I do, ma’am,” says the Starling.
“She sleeps,” Ysabel’s saying. “Peacefully. Her wound is poulticed with a fief’s portion. The bleeding’s long since stopped, but,” and she takes in a deep breath, shivering at the top of it, a sigh, “wherever I go in those rooms I still can smell it, that – tang, like an armor hot from the sun, and I,” but the Starling’s standing, stepping over, she kneels at the foot of the bed, reaches for a hand that Ysabel lifts away, “here I am,” she says, “holed up in a hotel across town.”
The Starling sits back on her heels. “Would you rather go to her?” but Ysabel’s shaking her head, “The Mason,” she says, “watches over her. She wants for nothing. I am,” but then she stops, and the Starling catches her hand, draws it down, covers it with her own. Ysabel says, “My brother once told me,” but then she stops again, blinking rapidly, looking down at the Starling looking up from under her black hood. “He was once a little boy,” says Ysabel. “Did you know that?”
“The King,” says the Starling, “yes, ma’am, of course. I remember those days.”
“Not even a Prince, just an infant, he came to me, in the little garden, and took my hand, and asked me, sister, why are you crying?” Turning her hand in the Starling’s hand, taking hold of it, squeezing. “And I said, because I do not wish to wed. But I am the Bride, I said, and one day a King will come, and I must take his hand. Whether I will or no, I must, but he,” looking away, “he swore to me, then and there, most earnestly, that he would one day be the King, that I might never need take anyone’s hand.”
The Starling says, “And he did just that.”
“My brother,” says Ysabel, “the King, this,” and her eyes close, the lashes of them shining, “city,” she says, and her mouth closes about another, unsaid word, she swallows, and a lick at her lips. “Jo,” she says.
“My Queen,” says the Starling. “I will go, and change, and dance for you, to take your mind,” but “No,” says Ysabel, leaning forward, her hands on the Starling’s shoulders, “do not change, do not dress, do not perform,” lifting a hand, right to the very hem of that hood, but then pulled back, withdrawn. “I would see you just as you are,” she says, her hands once more in her lap.
“But, my lady,” says the Starling, and she reaches up to draw back that hood. “I am always as I am.” Black hair uncurled, slicked back, clipped down to stubble along her temples, about those ears. Her cheeks, the line of that jaw. The nose. Those eyes, only a hazeled hint of green. Thin lips unpainted, upturned, parting as Ysabel leans close to say, “And you are with me,” and then a feathery kiss, tugging at the Starling’s hands, lifting, the Starling who stands up before her, and her hands fall to the Starling’s hips, rough black denim, the belt loops, her thumb, the wide leather belt, looking up, those green eyes. She yanks at the bulky black sweatshirt, “Get this off,” she says, and the Starling lifts it up and off and tosses it aside. Bare now from the waist up, and the torso of her lean and long, and her long arms sinewy lowering, curling, Ysabel’s darkly hands caught up against the smooth pale chest of her by those wide white hands, and the backs of them snarled with thick blue veins.
“Now would you have me go and change?” murmurs the Starling.
“But you are beautiful,” says Ysabel, slipping her hands free, reaching for the tongue of the belt. The buckle jangles. “Majesty,” says the Starling, “I am many things, but,” and a gasp, at the kiss pressed there below her shadowed navel, as those black jeans loosen, lop, as Ysabel’s fingers dip within to uncurl a palely slender cock, and a stroke for the lengthening lift of it, “oh,” says the Starling, “my Queen, you needn’t,” as her hand cups Ysabel’s face.
“But do you want me to,” says Ysabel, and the Starling, shivering, nods. “The principles, I should think,” says Ysabel, “are essentially the same?” And a lick of a kiss for the tip of it, there on her palm.

Pinned to the pole a mulching bark of posters, flyers, handbills, postcards, lapped and shingled one over another, rain-dimpled, sun-faded, twisted, torn, defaced, Thrash or Die, April Showers Burlesque, Snap! at the Holocene, Anodyne Presents, Missing Dog, Laughing Horse, Drum Circle Saturday Rain or Shine, Cinco de Mayo on the Waterfront, big black letters on an enormous sheet, Grupo Samurjay, Grupo Maravilla, Los Supremos de Los Hermanos Flores, Woodburn Rocks. As the bus pulls away she’s pushing back her black hair looking up toward the top of that slithery bristling treeline, there where handfuls of old notices have been ripped away leaving crowded dozens of denuded staples, glinting, by a metal sign that says No Parking This Block, a relatively fresh sheet of goldenrod paper, mad black scribbles limning a dancer, a single eye of bright green ink. She reaches up, to the pull-tabs fluttering the bottom of it, each printed with only an elaborately arabesqued question mark. Her other hand holds fast a black leather knapsack slung from the shoulder of her slick black jacket. Her glasses with thick black frames. With a sudden yank she rips the handbill down.
A broad porch with four front doors set one right next to another, and she unlocks, slips through the third of them, and up an immediate steep staircase, narrow between dark walls, unlit, that yellow page bright in her hand. Around the wall at the top of the stairs through an open room a couch the floor before it piled with cardboard boxes into a long hall once painted white, some time ago, lit by daylight seeping in from somewhere else. At the end of it a dark room, curtains drawn, and she closes the door behind her, a shadow in the shadows. Flump of the knapsack, dropped to the floor, creaking footstep, the thick click of a switch. Light blares from naked bulbs in the fixture in the middle of the ceiling, pink springs from the walls all whorled curlicues and faded bouquets, the bed there, skewed bedclothes striped dull brown and beige, and on the floor at the foot of it a great conical pile knee-high or more of gleaming golden dust.
She steps around it, jacket half-unzipped. A ridge of the pile has settled, slumped, dust trailed over the floor away from it, and the goldenrod poster drops, crumpled, from the hand she’s lifting to her throat, to the bit of black lace tied there. Steps back, around the bed. She grabs a little hand broom from the nightstand. Kneels down by the pile. Begins to sweep up the goldstuff, careful with each thread and grain.

Eyelids a-twitch, lips parting just to say not even a whisper, maybe a number, counting, nine or ten, eleven, those lids blink open over mud-colored eyes that swivel, narrow, try to focus, a gleaming edge there, mirror-bright, shifting as she blinks the length of it flat and smooth and slender, somehow deep within it coiling whorls of light and dark chased up and down a shallow groove that cleanly stretches up and up to a glittering net there on the pillow, wiry strands that knot a cage about a simple hilt she jerks away, kicks back sitting up, “Shit,” she says, as the sword’s tangled in the sheets, teetering at the edge of the futon. She’s bent over, thin white T-shirt, wine-red hair, rubbing her shin, a thin dark line of blood beading down by her ankle, “Shit,” she says, again. Snatching the hilt she whips the blade free from the sheets, “this fucking,” but it turns in her hand, a wrench and away it flies across the room to crack and a wibble it’s stabbed the white wall there by the plain black scabbard, hung from a nail, and the painted skull-mask also, the mane of it stirred by that thrust. Jo blinks. “Okay,” she says, to herself.
Without, the hallway’s dark, the little lights strung along the ceiling unlit. The kitchen beyond is empty, only glancing daylight and shadows. Jo leans over to knock at the door across the hall, “Ysabel?” she says, turning the knob. The room within all yellow and white, gauzy curtains, big bed neatly made, the armoire shut, and nothing draped over the dressing screen in the corner. “Ysabel?” says Jo again, but something, she looks down. Something lightly, barely there, faintly wisps, like down, like ash, falling from, brushing her foot, past her knee, caught there in the hem of her T-shirt, falling from, she lifts it, peering down at her belly beneath, and the line that climbs it packed with an ashen crust and a last few spangles of gold and, she touches it crumbling, flaking away, the pink skin taut beneath.
Back against the jamb. Dropping the hem of the shirt her hand to her breast, and quick wincing shallow breaths. Lurching up across and over to the dresser, a bouquet of heavy-headed peonies pink and yellow, she grabs a small brass box and pries it open, frees a cigarette, and a ragged book of matches.
The hall, the back room, dark, the back door and out, outside, out in the grass, under the sky, sunlight and blue sky, and glowering clouds behind, white and blue and grey and blue and greenly black, swollen with the coming rain. Fitting the cigarette to her lips but even as she opens the matchbook she’s falling to her knees in the lushly green, soft grass out to the parapets to either side, and she coughs up a sob, another, doubled over on her shaking shuddering self, her hand a fist to her chest.
The cigarette falls white to the grass before her. Feathers of grey-white ash caught about it, and sparks of gold.
A call behind her, muffled by walls and doors. Sitting up she catches, holds her breath. Swallows. A slam back there, distant, bump of a footfall, she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and leans forward getting her feet under herself but the back door bangs open boot-thump someone shouting and she springs up turns her arm flung out the sword
The sword in her hand –
Her hand, her arm extended shoulder dropped her torso sidelong and her front foot planted, off leg leaned back straight and true, off hand slung back to balance the thrust that’s ended sword-tip snagged in a corner of his unzipped shortwaisted jacket yanked up one side he’s twisted, turned away from it, both arms flung up and alarm gently folding his face.
“Oh God,” says Jo, dropping the blade, the ring of it soft on the grass.
“You’re awake,” says Luys, lowering his arms. Brushing the front of his soft brown jacket, his finger finding the hole punched there. “Your coat,” says Jo, “I’m so, sorry,” but “No sin espinas,” he’s saying, almost to himself, holding out a hand, “You are awake,” he says, but she rushes past that hand to crash into him tumbling her arms about him there on the rooftop under the clouds, she’s kissing his throat and then as he lowers his head she looks up to kiss his mouth, his mouth.
previous Table of Contents
submitted by kiplet1 to redditserials [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 13:55 Xenorion-Xen-SCP1433 Post 267. "This is not targeted, I just though there should be a reminder or something."

Post 267. submitted by Xenorion-Xen-SCP1433 to GachaClub [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 13:33 AverageFNaFEnjoyer56 Backstory of Blood Sun.

Backstory of Blood Sun.
I made a few posts about him before, and participated in some of GachaClub activities with him and gave him a backstory. After events shown in this post, he tried to find Mary (the girl in first pics) to hug her and calm down, but Mary was lured into The Pizzaplex and killed by Vanny... Since Mary was an orphan and had no brothers/sisters, nobody could report her missing... And now Blood Sun searches for Mary around this whole town, asks strangers if they know where she is, and eventually will find his way to The Pizzaplex and find her dead near The Blob. (Vanny just throws bodies into the abandoned pizzeria so Burntrap, the mimic endo, could gather remnant for his goals.)
submitted by AverageFNaFEnjoyer56 to GachaFnaf [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 13:27 Ramoninth Pro tip: If you run out of slots or you simply want to backup your OC's then OneNote is perfect place for this. You can create subpages for Gacha Club and mods you use. Thanks to that you're never forgot from which mods your OC's are! And you don't have to create quadrillion of Word documents!

Pro tip: If you run out of slots or you simply want to backup your OC's then OneNote is perfect place for this. You can create subpages for Gacha Club and mods you use. Thanks to that you're never forgot from which mods your OC's are! And you don't have to create quadrillion of Word documents!
I know that screen isn't in english but my notes on OneNote are always in my native language. 😆
submitted by Ramoninth to GachaClub [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 12:57 animeszn Outfit ideas for clubs/ bars in Mykonos Greece

Hi guys. Going to Mykonos in Greece in the summer along with a couple other European countries. Could you please suggest a couple outfits cause I need to do some shopping asap. Please include what shoes you would match with the clothes as well thanks! I’m a novice at this so need help badly 😂
submitted by animeszn to mensfashion [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 12:16 LolaDreamTeam Death by Depression

submitted by LolaDreamTeam to GachaClubCringe [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 11:23 Gardenia_8345 Can someone try to make this oc in gacha club and send the character code to me? Thanks!

Can someone try to make this oc in gacha club and send the character code to me? Thanks!
Artwork by me
submitted by Gardenia_8345 to GachaClub [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 10:17 HolyAnarchist66 What’s a good color palette for Topaz?
View Poll
submitted by HolyAnarchist66 to GachaClub [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 09:50 Heinkel_the_Bard hi, i would like to ask you for help, my friends are not able to put this oc in their gacha (we all use GACHA CLUB) so if you can copy and paste the code of this oc and tell me if it worked or not it will help me a lot , thanks for reading

hi, i would like to ask you for help, my friends are not able to put this oc in their gacha (we all use GACHA CLUB) so if you can copy and paste the code of this oc and tell me if it worked or not it will help me a lot , thanks for reading submitted by Heinkel_the_Bard to GachaClub [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 08:50 fictionalanimemen 18-year unrequited love with my straight best friend...

This is my first time posting on reddit because Ive finally given up trying to deal with this all on my own. I figured other people's perspective on this could help me find some clarity and hopefully move forward.
I met a girl in fifth grade. (i'm 27 now) Let’s call her Avery for the sake of storytelling. Avery transferred into my class midway through the year. She wasn't popular because she was ‘the new kid’ and I was the ‘fat kid’ (I had a growth spurt and it evened out thanks god) So we became fast friends. We were each other's only friends for that matter. It's safe to say we grew really close. Since we grew up together we were basically carbon copies of each other. Whatever I liked, Avery liked, and vice versa.
We moved schools, and Avery moved to a different state with her parents in seventh grade, around the same time I was figuring out my sexuality. We stayed friends through the distance, having 12+ hour facetime calls everyday. We were inseparable even with 3000 miles between us. We wouldn't even talk on the calls most of the time, just sit and enjoy each other's company. I sort of realized at this time that I enjoyed her company maybe a little more than she enjoyed mine, often when we would have to hang up the facetime, I would find myself hugging my phone, tears in my eyes. Or while on the call, letting my thumb rest on my screen on her digital cheek, just wishing she was real and she was here. Of course I was soooo in the closet and in denial about everything, I pushed it aside and that was easy to do because Avery was so far away…
High school came and Avery moved back to my town, and we were able to become friends in real life again. Things were fine for the first while, we were able to fall into the same comfortable friendship in person, like when we were kids. We had a few fights that led to us not being friends for a few months at a time, normal teenage drama but we always came back to each other, without skipping a beat we would be back to being best friends…Until Avery started getting boyfriends.
Sophomore year she got her first boyfriend, Let's call him, Hero. Hero and Avery were cheesy and in love and it killed me every time I had to hear her talk about him and sing love songs about him. (literally she would do this and it make me want to vomit) At this point I knew I was a lesbian, I was out on tumblr, but to nobody IRL. I had admitted to myself that I had a crush on Avery but I knew nothing would ever happen because she is straight.
She ended up moving away again back to the same state with her parents, this time keeping a long distance friendship with me and relationship her boyfriend. We would still Facetime just as much, to the point her boyfriend was jealous of us, asking if we were dating. Her mom at this point even asked her if she liked me that way, she came to me and laughed about how weird that would be…I laughed with her....ouch. She stayed with Hero into our Junior year. They were stronger long distance because when she moved back to our state, they broke up, right before junior prom and Avery had already bought tickets ... .So…I became her replacement prom date.
IRL hero’s name had a closely spelled feminine name so we told the security at prom that they just misspelled it on the ticket and they let me in with Hero’s ticket. I was still not out but I wore a tux with black vans and she wore a silver dress. We took pictures together. It was just like a fun friend's date for her but I was over the moon. I think it was at this point I realized my ‘crush’ was like, more than that. I was in love with her and it was painful. I knew I couldn't be with Avery, but the heart wants what the heart wants and of course I told myself just being her best friend was enough…It wasn't.
Come senior year I got my own apartment a few weeks before graduation because home was bad. I was the only one out of our friends group (it was like four of us lol) who had their own place. Avery’s parents moved away again and left Avery to stay with some friends to graduate. She didn't like them very much so she ended up living in the living room of my apartment, this was when she got into another relationship.
It was not a good relationship. It started off fine but one night, it was actually on her birthday, she came to my apartment crying, He had beat her up pretty badly and done some other pretty bad things. We ended up sitting in my kitchen crying and eating her birthday cake I had gotten for her to give to her the next day. I was a happy, good riddens boyfriend, I had her all to myself again and was fully prepared support her thought he breakup once again…Except she didn't stop seeing him.
I would hide her keys to keep her from leaving because I didn't want him to hurt her again. But she would keep finding a way to go back to him. It hurt me so much to see the girl I was in love with, going to his scumbag of a guy who at one point locker her in the trunk of his car. After a point, I couldn't keep her away from him without loosing her. I could feel her pulling away and I just had to give in so I let her see him, only If I was around.
I loved her so much I didn't want her to get hurt. I would be sitting in the front seat while they hooked up in the backseat. I would be there for their fights, her threatening to run into traffic because he wouldn't listen to her, I was there through all of it. I ended up talking to the guy a lot because I was with the asshole so much. I was nice because I loved Avery and Avery loved him. Avery at some point started to get jealous that I would talk to him, and we got into a huge argument, she thought I wanted to date him. I wanted to scream and tell her that NO I wanted to be with her and tell her I was gay, finally, but I held my tongue. She ended the friendship because he was convinced I like him, we didn't speak for two years. I didn't stop thinking about her.
Two years later, I was eighteen. My friend messaged me a screenshot of a post she posted on facebook about gay marriage being legalized in the USA. She happened to use the word We when talking about the LGBT community and my friend was like “Yo, Is Avery gay??” and I had a full on gay panic moment. I hadn't spoken to her in years, I wasn't out to anyone yet except my few online friends and suddenly, I thought, maybe I had a chance. So I messaged her for the first time in two years. I sent the screenshot from my friend, I asked her if she was bi, because I knew she liked guys. It's safe to say when she told me no, that she wasn't Bi or gay, she was referring to ‘we’ as in everyone, now can get married, straight and gay people alike. She asked me why I wanted to know and for some reason, completely unprepared, I said ‘because Im bi.” Stupid because I knew I was a lesbian but I took the opportunity and went with it.
We became best friends again after that. She even flew out to see me and spent a month with me like two weeks after I came out. It was a dream. I was talking to her about girls that were hot and we watched the L word. I was falling even more for her, being gay and being around Avery just fed my lovestruck heart this false hope, of course things were going well because Avery was single at this point.
We went on a trip together to look at apartments. It was a dream, just us together for a week in paradise. I never knew travel could be so fun until I did it with Avery. But, halfway through the trip, I got really depressed. We went to the gay area where we were staying. We were both under 21 so we couldn't go into any of the clubs, so we just walked around. Avery really went just because of me, we lived in a small town so being even near gay bars was special to me at that time (lol) we ended up holding hands as we walked down the gay street so she fit in more. I remember it hurt so bad when we unlinked our hands. It's like my weird, false reality shattered in that moment.
I remember the exact moment I realized I could never have her. I was walking like twenty feet behind her back to our hotel. She skipped down the pathway, it was sunset and I was just admiring her. I remember thinking I love this girl so much, and then I was in so much pain because I could never be with her. I made a pact to myself that from that moment on I wouldn't be in love with her anymore because It hurt too much…of course that's not how love works you cant just stop loving someone.
We found an apartment and moved in with each other when we were 20. For the first while It was a dream. I remember just staring at her all the time. I had the only full length mirror in our house and I worked from home so she would come into my room every-time she was gonna go somewhere and look in the mirror. I would just admire her, she would dance in the mirror, sing in the mirror, laugh at the jokes I told while she adjusted her outfit to look just right. She didn't look away from herself to see me just enjoying her being around me. I was SO in love. At this point, I was kidding myself that I wasn't, saying I was over it, trying to convince myself we were like sisters so I wouldn't have feelings for her. I went on my first date with a girl….but I still loved Avery so much. I would stay home and clean the house and wait for her to come home and we would cuddle on the couch and watch movies. It felt like I was married but sexless...and honestly I was content with that. I wanted more, obviously but I knew it wasn't going to happed. I would have been happy like that forever.
Then Avery got another boyfriend and this one moved in with us…I lasted three days having to be around them, kissing and hugging. It was torture. I don't think I stopped crying. We got into a huge fight because I told her he had to leave. He wasn't on the lease. She picked him over me. We got into a huge fight, yelling, screaming, I walked around the city for four hours alone, balling my eyes out that night when shit hit the fan just thinking about how He was comforting her while I was all alone again. She wanted out of our lease and we both paid $5k to break it 8 months early and I moved back to our small town.
That was seven years ago. We haven't spoken a single word to each other since then. In the time between then and now, you would think I'd have gotten over her. I mean, I've dated. I was in one long relationship but…Avery is my soulmate. I can't find what I had with her with anyone else. We grew up together, I can't replicate that closeness with someone. I keep trying and trying but every-time i'm upset or hurt I just cry wishing Avery was there. She is my soulmate and she is straight. Avery stayed with that guy for five years and now they are broken up and she is single (i def stalk her twitter on a fake account don't judge me okay) She often tweets about a ‘best friend soulmates’ and how ‘hers slipped through the cracks’ and I know she is talking about me and it hurts to much because why does me being a girl have to matter so much. (i've even considered for a brief moment transitioning so I could be a man and she would be able to love me but i decided against that lol)
But yeah, I want love, I want sex I want to feel something for someone who isn't Avery. I want to move on but I fear my love for her has consumed that part of me and its not possible for me to love anyone else.. If you read all of this, Please help. I don't want to be in pain anymore. I need to know if anyone has felt the same and how they overcame such strong, unrequited feelings.
submitted by fictionalanimemen to lgbt [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 07:28 RottingZero I redesigned one of my first gacha club ocs and waaa!

I redesigned one of my first gacha club ocs and waaa! submitted by RottingZero to GachaClub [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 06:51 Some-Cherry-3058 GachaTubers Are QUITTING Because Of This.. Gacha Club Rant

GachaTubers Are QUITTING Because Of This.. Gacha Club Rant submitted by Some-Cherry-3058 to u/Some-Cherry-3058 [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 06:44 dance_with_selena Clubbing outfit 😍

submitted by dance_with_selena to croptopgirls [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 06:39 SumpthinSumpthin Harem collection games

Searching this group, I'm not finding much about the harem collection games which are my PA/SA's primary method of acting out. As in, he blew through $7k in savings buying, romancing, and outfitting his many collections of 'waifus.' Much included XXX straight up sex, and he was playing them while working at his job in an ELEMENTARY SCHOOL.
We have many other issues with him having BPD, stalking his ex (he took a job over an hour drive away in a super random location- 3 minutes from her new apartment), and general non-sexual compulsive lying. D-day was late September 2022, and even then he did not give up everything. I had to squeeze each drop of trickle-truth out. And then he became violent- in reaponse to me being creeped out to have sex with him. And smashed many things in our new house on many occasions. He defends his vast collection of interactive waifus even over our marriage, kids, my sanity etc.. All while lying his ass off that he will quit (knowing full well he feels entitled to what he is doing).
Well it's happened again; the money trail led there but he was a step ahead and wiped out the new secret email address, secret all-porn Steam account etc. I can see and he admitted they exist- just sanitized and no details for me to be tortured by I guess.
He is extremely defensive when caught, calls me bitch over and over, even in front of our marriage counselor. Then flips back to the hollow apologies. And lies to her and I. I've taken to recording conversations.
I feel messed up, brain fog; I need to get out but am scared I'll miss him, the hassle of divorce, losing the house and so on. We have kids, a mortgage, and a Disney trip planned next month that IDK how the hell I will get through.
I can't be the only one cheated with, discarded for ... cartoons? But I sure feel like the only one. Even loads of women acting like the gacha collection is "so fun!" Ugh.
submitted by SumpthinSumpthin to loveafterporn [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 06:15 Ender-Gamez Help me please

I’m trying on finding a active amino community of Gacha (life/club) so I can properly Rp with them, but all the communities are dead or dying quickly.
submitted by Ender-Gamez to amino [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 06:01 LyPyro My Wishlist/Hopes for P3Reload. What are yours?

So first of all, I'm going to exclude any obvious QOL updates like party control and obvious inclusions like Male social links.
  1. Tons of Outfits. We'll obviously have our typical outfits to choose from like gym clothes, swimwear, and seasonal variations of uniforms and day-off outfits, but I would like to see more. For example, the characters' P4 Arena outfits, maybe the SMTIV:A crews' outfits, club based outfits (ex. Archery outfit for Yukari, Boxer for Akihiko, etc), and P3 Dancing outfits (and the crossdressing outfits too). We'll also need the High-Cut/Battle Panties armor as an outfit, obviously.
  2. The Acquisitions of Thanatos and Messiah. This one is rather simple. Rather than getting to fuse them after finishing their respective social links, we would instead obtain them from story progression the way other characters do.
  3. Implement Kotone's exclusive characters. Even if Kotone is not in the game, I would still like to see her exclusive social links appear and maybe even replace some of Makoto's exclusives like the Moon.
  4. Cementing Chidori's fate. In the original version of P3, Chidori's death is unavoidable. This changed in FES and Portable, as talking to Junpei on 4 specific days and encouraging him to go see her despite her protests, will save her life, though it's not immediately apparent until January. That fact that they made her save-able says to me that Atlus possibly regretted killing her. Even in P4 Arena, her fate is ambiguous yet Junpei has dialogue regarding her that make it sound as if she's still alive. A simple fix could be to make saving her required if you want the true ending.
  5. Bring an end to this saga. Persona 3 ends on a rather down note as we sacrifice ourself to become the Great Seal to keep Nyx at bay. We then got The Answer which expanded upon the ending and gave us insight into what happened, while also introducing us to Margaret as Elizabeth resigns from the Velvet Room to search for a way to save Makoto Yuki. This then brings us to P4 Arena where Elizabeth obtains the Fool Arcana and continues her journey to save our hero.
So where does this leave us? P4 Arena came out a little over 10 years ago, and we've gone that long without an update on Elizabeth's journey. We know that time moves differently within the Velvet Room, as the dancing games all take place at the same time yet different times, whilst still taking place during their respective games. So who's to say that Elizabeth can't try to use the Velvet Room to go back in time with whatever will help her save Yuki?
I know some people hate the idea of a truly happy ending but out of the 3 recent mainline games, the P3 cast deserves a "golden" ending as their story is the most tragic. The story also feels unfinished thanks to everything that happens afterwards, so it needs a true ending.
So number 6 is Crack-addled hopium as it is the most unlikely thing to happen, but I still dare to hope.
  1. Replace the Answer. This replacement would unlock after completing your first playthrough and would follow the final stretch of Elizabeth's journey. We would be introduced to Elizabeth's new Persona (as she simply uses Thanatos in Arena) and her gameplay would be a little more SMT like, as in lieu of human party members, Elizabeth's party members would consist of Personas. The final boss of this proposed story would be none other than Philemon, as he wishes to test her resolve. But if she is unable to defeat him, he won't allow her to save Yuki. Upon losing the first round, Elizabeth would climb to her feet and Awaken her Persona's true form. But before she engages Philemon in battle once more, the Velvet blue door opens behind her, and out steps Margaret, Theodore, and Lavenza to help her and become party members for this final fight. Each would use their guests' ultimate persona, so Theo gets Messiah, Margaret gets Izanagi-no-Okami, and Lavenza gets Satanael. Together the Velvet Siblings would defeat Philemon and he in turn would give his blessing to save Yuki. Completing this short campaign would unlock the ability to achieve a new true ending of P3 upon a new playthrough.
RAPID-FIRE ROUND: A longer Calander / More free days, make some social link start dates (like Mitsuru and Aigis) earlier, a more mature / brooding Junpei after Chidori's death / assumed death, change battle music without changing clothes, change mini boss music with other Persona/SMT tracks, more time with Shinjiro, unique attacks for Messiah and Thanatos, and flashbacks of important death's (I.e. Shinjiro accidentally killing Ken's mom) and character building (I.e. what led the members of Strega down the path of destruction).
submitted by LyPyro to PERSoNA [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 05:42 Puzzled-Sweet-5745 Gacha club thumbnail

can someone make me a thumbnail for my previous video please? ;-;
submitted by Puzzled-Sweet-5745 to GachaClub [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 02:35 AmajikiBear My Introduction…

My Introduction…
I saw some people doing this so I decided I would do one since I’m new to this page… this is my OC and is about me.. :)
submitted by AmajikiBear to GachaClub [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 02:01 pinkhairdevil So i made Milly in Gacha club

So i made Milly in Gacha club submitted by pinkhairdevil to TheMusicFreaks [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 02:00 AutoModerator Gacha & Gear Showcase Megathread – June 09, 2023

Welcome to the Gacha & Gear Showcase Megathread for Dislyte.
Show off your lucky Esper summons, awesome gear drops and those super lucky enhancement stats!
Please ensure all of your summon discussions, brags, salt and drop posts are kept within this megathread, as posts found elsewhere will be removed.
This thread will be recreated once a week, with the link to the thread updated each time.

Other Megathreads

submitted by AutoModerator to Dislyte [link] [comments]

2023.06.09 01:42 EmbarrassedOwl1314 I don't know what an outfit bartle means, but it's cringe💀

I don't know what an outfit bartle means, but it's cringe💀 submitted by EmbarrassedOwl1314 to disgusting_gacha_kids [link] [comments]