#barely get paid

[chrollohearttags]

not so gentle reminder from a criminal justice major: law enforcement all across the country (DHS/ICE included) gets an average of roughly in $135B in funding while social programs and fire departments have to rely on the local government and often don’t get the resources they need. But hell yeah, let’s get the piggies more rubber bullets and undercover cars while ppl run into burning buildings for $2 and a goddamn hotdog. 😍

[t4t4t]

Hi !

I got bottom surgery on July 25th :3

I'm recovering well but I'll be on bedrest for a while. Collie and I will need rent help for September/food/gas/utilities/etc. Two disabled trans women. Anything helps ! Thank yall so much for all you've helped so far, it's saved my life ❤️

https://venmo.com/u/nora-esther-rose

https://www.paypal.me/NoraEstherRose

https://venmo.com/u/Leah-Esther-Rose

https://www.paypal.me/androgynophore

[xxplastic-cubexx]

you open my Super Important Documents and its just pictures of charles xavier

[starcurtain]

I know I've talked a lot about Alhaitham actually being one of the funniest characters in Genshin Impact, but every time I think about him, I find something new to laugh at.

Alhaitham's character stories and personal criticisms of Kaveh largely hinge on one specific point: That Kaveh's genius intellect and artistic abilities are incongruous with his idealism. Kaveh possesses more talent than a selfless person should reasonably have, leaving him vulnerable to constantly being taken advantage of.

However, Alhaitham states these complaints about Kaveh's personality while having the exact same problem himself.

Alhaitham is literally the definition of "personality and talents do not match." Sir, you are the pot calling the kettle black.

It's a given: Alhaitham is exceedingly competent. He is intelligent, rational, and capable of being impartial when needed. Despite being a slacker as the Akademiya's scribe, during his stint as the Acting Grand Sage, the game goes out of its way to note--in several places--that Alhaitham was actually going above and beyond what was expected of him, taking the position very seriously, uncovering and fixing major issues in the Akademiya, and demonstrating a deep care for the sanctity and future of the Akademiya as a whole when Sumeru's people's will to research and learn declined after the collapse of the Akasha.

By all accounts, Alhaitham is (was) a fantastic Grand Sage. Compared to Azar, who is shown as inherently self-aggrandizing and unconcerned with Sumeru's well-being, Alhaitham genuinely did his best during his brief time as Sumeru's leader, protecting students' research, concerning himself with how to address the people's problems, and even diving in to solve mysteries that normally would have been left for the matra. As Acting Grand Sage, we're told his behavior and judgments were fair, and he addressed problems immediately and with his full effort.

In short, there is literally no one else more qualified to be Grand Sage than Alhaitham.

And yet, despite possessing every talent needed to be the leader of a nation, Alhaitham doesn't have the personality for it. He has every single trait a good leader requires... And yet he refuses to be a leader. His own talent vastly exceeds the slow-paced life his personality leads him to seek, making his particular abilities more incongruous with his values than Kaveh's--by a mile. People keep trying to promote him into positions of leadership because his talents are so obvious, and yet he does everything in his power to deny his own abilities and instead fly under the radar--and under the level of his full potential too.

Awful hypocritical for you to claim Kaveh's talents don't match his personality when yours match even less, Alhaitham...

[screwpinecaprice]

Connverse conversation I had in a dream recently. They were either talking about a struggling shelter or were playing match-makers. (Or both idk? It was a little fuzzy.) I didn't get to know what happened next because I woke up.

But I swear I heard "You think I'm sexy when I pull out my charts" before IRL though.

[ghoulgeists]

*turns your favourite slutty tiefling into a dragon* aheehee

[tennessoui]

freudian slip au: vacation blues (3k)

@promise-from-the-force-itself requested a snippet of the freudian slip au aka be careful not to choke on your admirations on ao3 (the au where anakin is the kenobi nanny and falls in love with his boss, obi-wan kenobi, who refuses to sleep with him until he's no longer his employer) as a fic-for-donation trade on my ko-fi! this is set pre-obikin getting together, so it's mostly just 3k of 19yo anakin being horny, cockblocked, and saying a horny innuendo the wrong thing to his hot boss who is hanging by a thin moral thread trying to resist temptation even when the resort staff messed up your room reservation so temptation has to sleep with you in your bed every night for like two weeks.

“I despise weddings,” Mr. Kenobi says, not for the first time, leaning back in the white plush poolchair next to Anakin and disdainfully pushing his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose.

“I think that’s a bachelorette party,” Anakin replies as helpfully as he can manage when he’s trying his hardest not to glance sideways at his boss who is also most probably the grand love of his sad little life and who is, most annoyingly, shirtless and sunning himself in the Scarif mid-morning light.

When he’d accepted Mr. Kenobi’s invitation to travel with him and Korkie on their summer vacation to a famous Scarif beachside resort, he’d forgotten to factor in exactly how much time he’d have to spend with Obi-Wan Kenobi, shirtless and muscular and hairy just within his line of vision.

And with Korkie having been enrolled in the week-long child day camp that the resort boasts as being one of the best in Scariff, it’s hard to even remember why Anakin’s here if he’s not even really watching Korkie for Obi-Wan. For free.

Or, technically, he’s getting paid for this.

Paid to suntan and swim in the shallow pools of the resort, in the crystal clear blue waters of the beach just outside the resort’s gates. Paid to eat his weight in fancy oysters and sip frozen cocktails sitting at the underwater bar on one end of the resort’s pool. Paid to shyly offer up his bare back to Mr. Kenobi’s hands so he can slather sunscreen onto his unprotected skin, as if that’s something Anakin’s capable of building up an immunity against.

It’s not fair. At this point, he thinks there’s a good chance he’s going to end up being the first nineteen year old to ever die from sexual frustration.

“Been paying attention to them, have we?” Mr. Kenobi asks archly, sunglasses slipping down his sunscreen-greased nose as he raises an eyebrow at Anakin. 

Anakin stares harder at the group of women on the far end of the pool. It’s either that or give into the urge to count the moles dotting Mr. Kenobi’s shoulders. The one he’d seen yesterday just to the left of his heart and right next to his nipple had been devastating. Any other blow so early in the trip will surely put Anakin at critical levels of system failure.

Especially seeing as how due to a mix-up of rooms and reservations, as well as an inundation of bachelorette parties, Mr. Kenobi and Anakin are sleeping together. 

In the same bed.

Not—like, sleeping together, sleeping together.

Purely professional.

They really have kept it incredibly professional, which is more a miracle on Anakin’s side than probably even a consideration for Mr. Kenobi. 

That first night they’d arrived, jet-lagged out of their minds from the thirteen hour flight from Coruscant, Korkie already grumpily asleep in his father’s arms and Anakin handling his own bags because he’d felt too awkward to let one of the bellhops take them from him, had been a test in his self-control. When they’d entered the rooms—rooms—in the resort only to find that, apparently, the reservation had been improperly recorded and there was only one king-sized bed in the main ensuite for Obi-Wan and a child-sized bed for Korkie, Anakin had been the first to insist that the fancy couch stretching across half the sitting room—because this hotel room had multiple rooms—didn’t look so uncomfortable.

And when it was, because rich people can, apparently, do many things except make a comfortable couch, Anakin had been the first to suggest that he bunk down with the resident seven year old.

“Nonsense, he’s always kicked something awful,” Mr. Kenobi had said, running an exhausted looking hand over his beard while the other one carefully adjusted his sleeping son. “Satine scheduled an early delivery by two weeks. Told the doctors she thought her ribs couldn’t take it anymore.”

Anakin, almost desperate at that point and definitely on the verge of panic, had been about to suggest that, well, one of the sunbathing chairs by their private pond outside looked particularly comfortable. He’d sleep there—

But before he could say anything at all, Mr. Kenobi had said with the sort of finality that Anakin is sure has ended countless board meetings and starred in countless interns’ jerk-off fantasies, “You’ll share with me tonight. We’ll see if we can’t get something sorted tomorrow morning.”

And then they hadn’t. And then the next night, they still hadn’t. And now it’s their fourth day into the vacation, and Anakin is running on very little sleep and a level of fruitless horniness he hasn’t felt since the first few weeks of being employed by Mr. Kenobi.

Except then, there’d been a four year old running about in need of his attention and protection, and Mr. Kenobi had spent a lot more time comparatively not near Anakin. It’s like the exact opposite right now, and it means that Anakin wants to die.

“You’re red,” Mr. Kenobi observes, turning back to look down at the book  in his hand. “Surely not because of the bridesmaids?”

His tone is just cutting enough that Anakin, who is, it has to be said, running on little sleep and a lot of sexual frustration, snaps, “You’re hot.”

His mouth clicks shut a moment later, but the words are already out and, if the way Mr. Kenobi’s hand stills in between flipping pages, being misconstrued. His boss turns his head and peers at him over the rim of his sunglasses. 

It’s devastating, really, because Obi-Wan Kenobi—hand-to-heart—is actually the hottest thing Anakin’s probably ever seen in his entire life. Definitely hotter than any of the other people currently lounging poolside, and really, that’s saying something.

But that doesn’t mean Anakin has permission to just say that. To his boss. Korkie’s dad.

“I meant, like. It’s hot. When you get hot, you get red. Or—one, a person, like—you. You as a person gets red. When they—you get hot. So of course I’m—red. Independent of the bridesmaids.”

Anakin is quite sure if he was red before then he must be scarlet now. He thinks he can really, honestly feel the heat radiating from his face. 

Really, Anakin can probably sue someone. Make a formal complaint or something. About all the—shirtlessness he’s had to put up with over the past few days. Shirtlessness and bedsharing. It’s highly inappropriate behavior. Anakin’s here to do his job, which is minding Korkie. Mr. Kenobi is, at best, a dangerous distraction and at worst, a no-good cocktease. 

Or is it the other way around?

Anakin isn’t sure, and clearly he’s been getting too much sun. Because he’s all red and hot and his skin feels too tight.

“Actually, I’m gonna take a break in the room,” he decides, pushing himself up from the plush poolchair and faking a long, languid stretch to hammer home how very unbothered Anakin is with the whole situation.

When he glances back at Mr. Kenobi, the man’s eyes are once more fixed firmly on his book. 

Of course they are. 

“Alright,” Mr. Kenobi tells him, sounding actually unbothered in a way Anakin is incredibly envious about. His voice is level, cool as a fucking cucumber. “Oh, and Anakin,” he adds when Anakin is five steps away from their chairs and that much closer to the relative safety of Not Right Here Right Now For The Love of God Please, “if you could make sure to pick Korkie up from the Kids Club this afternoon and mind him for the evening. I’ve plans to get drinks with the owner tonight.”

Anakin scratches at the back of his neck. Knowing Mr. Kenobi, his plans could be getting drinks with the owner of a yacht at the marina, the owner of the resort, or the owner of the fucking island. “Well, yeah,” he says. “‘S what you brought me here for, isn’t it?”

Mr. Kenobi looks up at him, sunglasses hiding his expression. Anakin manages, through sheer force of will alone, to keep his eyes appropriately on his boss’s face. Even though his chest is right there. And his thighs, which are barely covered by the swimshorts. And his ankles, which are surprisingly delicate and incredibly endearing which is how Anakin really knows he’s in love. Or, well, obviously he’d known before this week exactly how in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi he is, but it definitely proves just how far gone he is that he finds the man’s ankles fucking…endearing.

“Quite,” Mr. Kenobi says, returning his attention to the book in his hands. He uncrosses his legs and then recrosses them. “I just thought a reminder wouldn’t be…uncalled for. Given potential…distractions posed by the…other resort guests.”

Sometimes Mr. Kenobi says stuff that makes Anakin think maybe he’s not as smart as he looks. Like when he implies that Anakin is going to spend the rest of the afternoon drooling over women in tiny bikinis and plastic penis crowns, when it can’t be more obvious that Anakin’s escaping inside to jerk off for the seventh time so far this week. Probably over something really embarrassing too, like the scent of Obi-Wan’s aftershave on his pillow or the memory of his stupid fucking ankles.

“Roger that, Captain,” he manages to say before he turns tail and flees.

—------------

For being his only support system at the moment, Padmé is being both unsupportive and terribly unsympathetic.

Anakin paces the length of the ensuite room, feet hardly making a sound as they trek the plush rug that the indecently huge bed rests on. His phone is tucked in between his shoulder and ear  so that he can have his hands free to gesticulate. Not that it seems to be helping.

It’s nearly midnight. Obi-Wan isn’t back yet, but Korkie’s been asleep in his room for the last several hours. He’d gone down easy, which makes sense. As far as Anakin can figure, the main point of paying what is surely an exorbitant price to send your kid to the Kid Club at the resort is to exhaust them so much that they’re ready to fall asleep before it’s even dark outside and you have the whole evening to yourself.

But still, just in case, Anakin has the doors cracked so he can hear if the little monster stirs. So far, all he’s heard is a gratuitous amount of kicking.

At first he’d tried to fall asleep when the hours ticked into proper night and he’d read as much of his book as he’s allotted himself for the day, but he’d felt wide awake the moment his head hit the pillow. 

When would Mr. Kenobi return? What was the other man doing? Was drinks with the owner really just a euphemism for something else he was doing with the owner? Who has drinks this late? Isn’t Mr. Kenobi old?

Isn’t it past his bedtime?

“I don’t understand,” Padmé admits, stifling her yawn. “Why can’t you just go to your room and shut the door if you’re afraid of your boss waking you up when he comes in?” 

Anakin turns and paces his line back towards the sliding glass doors leading out to the private patio. “Because we’re sleeping together!”

Padmé, for once, seems stunned into silence. But not for long. “Wha—”

“I mean, professionally,” Anakin says, pinching at the bridge of his nose and fighting the urge to hang up so he can just duct-tape his mouth closed. Forever.

“Alright,” Padmé decides. This is accompanied by shifting on her side of the line as she presumably stands as well to begin pacing through her house. “I think you need to remind me what exactly it is you do for the Kenobis again.”

Anakin splutters. “I’m Korkie’s nanny!”

“And what do you do for his father?”

“Mind Korkie!” Anakin snaps, voice far too loud for the stillness of the night around them. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Padmé, Christ! He’s my boss!”

“Right,” Padmé says. And then, unrepentant, “Look, Ani, darling, I have to go. It’s far too late in the night for me to listen to this kind of delusion. Go sleep with your boss. Tell me about it later.”

“It isn’t like that—” Anakin starts to protest in defense of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s morals more than his own, given that it would absolutely be like that if Anakin had his way. “Whatever,” he says when he realizes she’s already disconnected the call. He falls back into the soft hug of the mattress. It offers little comfort.

But sleep must eventually come to him, because he drifts back into consciousness an indeterminable amount of time later to feel the linen sheets being dragged over his body.

He makes a noise, half questioning and altogether too trusting, even as he refuses to roll onto his back, staying instead on his side. A hand, broad and callused and familiar, falls to rest on his shoulder as the bed shifts. Someone climbs in it, careful not to jostle him too much. 

“Korks?” Anakin mutters, even though he knows that’s not right—can’t be right. The touch is too sure, the hand too big. 

It’s Obi-Wan who replies, because of course it is. Who else would Anakin ever willingly share a bed with? “Mm, I think you’ll find that I kick less.”

The touch on his shoulder does not fall away. The fingers slip further down his arm, tracing along the line of his bicep instead.

Anakin is suddenly, irreversibly awake, as if he’s just injected caffeine straight into his bloodstream. Obi-Wan is touching him. It’s late at night, and the man is at his back. Closer than he ever has been before.

“The way you talk, you’d think you don’t have any bad habits in bed,” Anakin whispers.

The words drag a rough sort of chuckle out of Obi-Wan that Anakin finds devastating. The hand rests on his elbow. Obi-Wan’s forearm is touching Anakin’s naked side. If the heat radiating from just behind him is any sort of indicator, then the man must have discarded the shirt he’s usually worn to bed over the past several nights.

“Mm,” Mr. Kenobi drawls, and Anakin knows he must be drunk. Tipsy at least. He’s only really ever seen him like that a handful of times, but his voice always goes syrupy slow. He likes to touch, trace his fingers over whatever happens to be close by as if the sensation is heightened after several whisky cocktails.

He’s touching Anakin right now.

“I’ve been told I like to bite,” Mr. Kenobi murmurs. His breath hits the back of Anakin’s neck and it makes him shiver. It makes him ache, cock chubbing up at such a fast pace that he’s sort of afraid of passing out.

He grabs onto the distraction that is Obi-Wan’s response with both hands, holding himself carefully still so he doesn’t give into the temptation to roll his hips back. To see just how far away from him Mr. Kenobi has chosen to rest his body. 

“You’ve bitten people in your sleep?” He asks, because that sounds ridiculous.

“In my sleep?” Mr. Kenobi repeats, and his hand moves. His hand drops from his arm, lands on his stomach instead, longer fingers just skirting the dip of his exposed belly button. “No.”

It takes all of Anakin’s concentration to not buck his hips up into the touch. It’d be like taking advantage of the man, if he were to roll over and beg him to touch him more, touch him lower, get him off. He’s drunk. They’re both tired. Korkie’s just in the next room, and Anakin would bet a sizable chunk of Obi-Wan’s fortune that the man hadn’t thought to close any of the doors but the first upon entering their room.

“Mr. Kenobi,” Anakin whispers into the darkness. He doesn’t even know what he wants to say, what he’s planning on doing, how he’s going to finish that sentence. Please more? Please keep talking? Please tell me what you like in bed because apparently we’re not talking about sleeping habits? 

But before he can wet his lips and decide—commit—Mr. Kenobi is letting out a sigh, like Anakin has just reminded him of a pressing meeting that he has on his calendar.

His hand moves again, though this time it falls away from him completely as the mattress shifts once more and Obi-Wan rolls away.

Anakin blinks into nothing, holding himself perfectly still just in case lightning decides to strike twice. Meanwhile, he tries to talk his dick down from spontaneously imploding. It’ll be much too telling to go to the toilets now, and a shower is definitely out of the question.

The best case scenario would be Mr. Kenobi rolling back into his space and finishing what he started, of course.

But a handful of moments later, his boss begins to snore the song of the drunken men who have had the misfortune to fall asleep on their backs.

Like his stupid ankles, Anakin still somehow finds this incredibly endearing.

Though, he decides sometime after the night has ticked over into the very early hours of the morning and Anakin still hasn’t managed to convince his body to unclench and fall asleep, he’s going to riot in the morning if the hotel reception staff can’t find a trundle bed for him to sleep on for the remainder of the trip. 

Hell, he’d put up with Korkie’s knobbly knees instead of…of whatever this is.

He might even risk the bachelorette party.

[malenjoyer]

Hello! I hope this doesn’t sound weird, but I just wanted to tell you about how your style has inspired me so much!! Probably an ask you’ve gotten a lot, but I just have to know; how do you go at line work? It looks so good when you do it. Like, you’ve perfected where to leave gaps, what should be thick and thin, what should be subtle shading, etc. I’m so jealous! Do you have any suggestions on how to improve in this area? I’d love some insight!!

Thank you! That's very unexpected to hear but also kind of nice! :D That's the first time anyone has said that to me.

For line weight, Mark Morales covers it very well here

Aside from using line weight to show light source, you can also use it to emphasize stuff, which is what I like doing. I think it's essentially the same logic though- I just bend the rules often to make it work the way I want it to. Lots of trial and error and fixing stuff.

As for the gaps, I don't really know how to explain it without sounding a little weird. I think it's just something I developed as a habit where areas where you're supposed to connect with thin lines, I just don't finish it. Most of the time I don't finish my lines, because I don't need to. I live and embrace the karma of not connected line art when I color it.

I think my style boils down to How do I draw good with the least amount of work which sounds questionable, but the less I focus on whether each individual line connects or looks good, the more stamina I have for the rest of the drawing.

If you've got this hamster, you're like 60% of the way there.

Real answer: probably try doing gesture drawings with the least amount of lines possible with 2 minute timer to simulate what happens in my brain when I do line art. you can try to apply the line weight stuff and think okay where would I apply thickness to show shadow or emphasize curves

[junespriince]

The barely getting paid therapist au

Wally: so, what do we do when faced with a problem?

Kyle: ignore it until it kills me.

Wally: how the hell did you survive childhood, you freak.

-

Wally: maybe your problems all steam from you not talking to your kids.

Bruce, thinking: no, that can't be it.

Wally, writing down; little bitch syndrome

-

Wally: you don't have to do everything by yourself, you can ask for help.

Dick: nah, I can fix my own messes.

Wally: asshole, you've been sleeping on this fire escape for two damn weeks, get your shit together and live with me.

Dick: ain't that inappropriate Doctor and patient relations?

Wally: I will kick you off this damn thing.

-

Wally: kill yourself.

slade: I came for help.

Wally: I already gave you the solution to all your problems.

-

Barry: I think I messed up the time and space

Wally: welp, you did your best and that's all that matters.

-

Lex: I want your free therapy.

Wally: you have mommy issues, trying to make a clone of your greatest enemy and me & my husband is a level of patheticness I have ever seen, you handwrite smut of you and Superman and the code the day you two met, you are a freak that needs to be studied. Also how the fuck did you get into my house, I'm in the shower couldn't this waited until I had some pants on?

lex: how the fuck yoiu know about the fics!?

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Angel Dust: "So how's our resident blissful gays doin' lately?"

Charlie: "!!! We're okay~!!!"

Vaggie: "...babe."

Charlie: "We're working on it."

Husk: "That's the fucking spirit."

Angel Dust: "Fuckin' spirit? Now?? Here? In front of my froot loops???"

Charlie: "Yes PLEASE, ohmygosh a drink would be REALLY nice!"

Husk: (sigh)"Not what I fucking meant-"

Vaggie: "Tequila. Straight."

Angel Dust: "S-strai- Hhhh- HRAKKGFPP!?"

Angel Dust: (inhales) (coughs) (chokes)

Charlie: "Is he dying??"

Vaggie: "No, sweetie. He's too annoying for that."

Angel Dust: "BITCH! I THINK I JUST SNORTED MY FUCKING FROOT LOOPS!!!"

Charlie: "Oh Angel... we've talked about this..."

Angel Dust: "NOT IN A DRUG WAY, YA- AAA- AACHOOO!!!"

Angel Dust: "OW! FUCK!!!!!!"

Vaggie: "Hey look. He's finally learned how to open up and share."

Charlie: "And without having drugs for dinner! YAY!!!"

Vaggie & Charlie: (applaud)

Husk: (covered in froot loops) "....."

[yeyinde]

bought the SIX novelisations for fever ~inspo~ and they're both trash but I'm kinda obsessed with this description of Bear

[illusive-delusions]

i hate seeing stupid ableist bullshit written about mel king as much as anybody but it’s also important to remember that screen rant isn’t a real journalistic outlet, it’s basically just three facebook troll rage-bait content farmers stacked under a trench coat, and paying any attention to it at all will only guarantee like three more “articles” on the subject✌🏻

[feminurge]

okay okay. starter call. i'll steal a meme from your blog & make a starter from it. let's go

[zayne-s]

do you know how surreal it is to watch a show and have the very first on screen argument be about inadequate patient care and satisfaction due to nursing shortages that are consequently due to nurses not being paid a living wage. which is something that you are intimately familiar with bc its also happening at the hospital you work at. and to hear an upper admin threaten termination at the hint of getting the news involved. which is also something you're familiar with.

🫠

[love-toxin]

wishing all the companies posting ghost jobs/elaborate scams/pretend pay internships on job sites a please die immediately