#or selling it when I am selling that same thing (stealing my money from me)

[deoidesign]

Hii! I have been recently getting more and more obsessed with your art and webcomic and was wondering if I could use your art as like a profile picture? (With credit!!) If not that's perfectly fine! :)

yeah you can use my art for whatever as long as you're not stealing it or selling it

I don't mind if people print my art out for themselves either. I do sell prints, but it doesn't bother me either way

In general I don't post anything that I haven't made my peace with all that comes with sharing my art publicly! So feel free to use it as you please pretty much.

Giving me credit for the things I've made is respectful and helps me in my career, and I would hope that most people intend to respect my work... And the people who don't respect my work were never going to whether I asked or not.

I make my work for other people to enjoy it, I want you to enjoy it!

[newts-dusty-attic]

Things you can do to actively participate in the revolution

Here's the list !

I know some of those will look really silly, i promise they are not. And obviously, this is not a checklist, you don't have to do everything. But they're steps that you can absolutely take if you wish to, and they WILL help.

(Thanks everyone for your help, and for adding things yourself with your reblogs <3)

(under the cut !)

1) Let's start off with a very easy one you can do right now: stop using Chrome. It's a google owned browser, and it sents all of your data towards it. Mozilla is a very good replacement, but almost anything will do, really. Also, resign your amazon prime subscription. We revolting against capitalism as a whole, and this is a good first step to not freely give em your data and money

2) Start stealing things from supermarkets and malls. I am not kidding. Little things, that aren't really monitored: a can of food, a lighter, a pair of socks. Condiments are particularly easy to hide in bags or pockets. Steal hygiene products, steal food.

Remember that you should have access to those for free, and you don't because a few rich guys don't want you to.

Additional tip: train station stores are very easy to steal from, because they're so busy. But don't put yourself in danger. Check beforehand if they check bags at checkout, look out for employees that might notice what you're doing. Don't be reckless.

(edit: imma say this, you should read up on what the risks of stealing are, for you and others. Stealing from big stores is IMO always morally right, but it is risky for many reasons. Be careful)

3) In the same line, if you see someone stealing anything from a big store, no you didn't.

4) I know a lot of people are scared of disrespecting rules. By fear of being caught, or by guilt. My advice is: start disrespecting stupid, meaningless rules. I don't have specific exemples, but you'll encounter them and wonder why you're doing that. Stop doing it. This will train you to be able to disobey autority way easier.

5) Put stickers everywhere. If you already have them, go ham. Especially on public property (lamposts are amazing). If you don't, buy them from artists or independant stores, not big brands. If you cannot afford them, remember that you can simply write stuff on an A4 paper and plaster it to walls. Or even post its !

6) Carry a sharpie with you at all time, the big black ones. If you see propaganda, scribble it out. Keep a look out for terfs stickers, maga posters, etc. Also good for getting rid of transphobic and sexist stuff written on public restroom stalls !

7) Buy locally. This means going to the market or small stores, and thrifting your clothes. If you can't for money or accessibility reasons, try trading with your friends, family and neighbours. Get communication going in your circles, and you'll realise there are a lot of things that you can simply trade with or buy from people around you. Like a jar of jam against some eggs, or a pair of socks for a t-shirt you don't wear anymore !

8) Learn how to sew. I know, that sounds dumb ! But i promise you, not only will it be amazing to trade with other people ("i'll sew back ur shirt and in exchange, you give me a can of peaches !"), corporations also haaaate when you know how to fix your clothes. Because they want you to buy more. You'll spend a lot less money if you know how to fix em

9) If you have the space and the money, grow your own food, and share it or sell it around you. Be careful, some assholes will call the FDA on you. Do that with people you trust.

Additional tip: growing vegetables and fruits can be a real nightmare. You can absolutely start by just growing some basil or mint :)

10) Organise. Join leftist groups online, even if it's just to see what's being said, you don't even need to interact. Follow creators, repost and share their content. By doing that, you'll stay informed on group movements like strikes, protests and boycotts, which you can then participate in. It's very important you're connected to other ppl and the movements that are started !

11) Unionize. I'm very sorry I don't know the exact way unions work in the US, but if you can, join one. They will help you in times of needs, especially if you're a student or a worker. If you're not sure how to do that, absolutely ask around to people you know are very active politically, around you or online. People will help.

12) Stay. Informed. Follow independant papers and news outlet. If you can afford it, give them a dollar or two. They are fighting everyday for access to unbiased information for all, and sadly, their independance means that they rely almost entirely on donations and people simply engaging with what they put out.

If you can't access those: do not get your news from TV. Ever. Or anywhere else that has been bought by the far right. Sadly, the majority of TV channels are just the worst.

And, most importantly: fact check. All of the time.

13) Share that information. Talk to those you trust and who are ready to listen to you, and tell them about what's happening. Get angry with them. Revolution stems from people coming together and realising that they're being used and profited off of. Share videos and posts relating to politics, especially informative videos.

14) Go to protests ! If you've never been, i know it can be scary. But you can stay in the middle (don't go all the way to the front, that's where stuff can get heated) and scream and walk with everyone else. You'll meet people who, like you, want things to change. Capitalism wants you to stay as unconnected to others as possible, and that's a great way to fight that.

Sometimes, there are sites that have a planning for all protests happening in a city. Look up if one exists for yours

15) Create and strenghten community. I know i really struggled with this one, because it's so vague. But here's a few places you can start:

-Go and introduce yourself to your neighbours, if you deem it safe. Give them a little gift if you can afford it, like a pack of pasta.

-Make new friends, even if they aren't deep friendships. You need connections. Online or irl, both are fine- don't stay isolated.

-If you already have community, go check on them right now. Ask your friends how they're doing, and if they need anything- ask how they're being impacted by what's happening right now politically.

16) Look for ways to fuck over the institutions in easy ways. One example that went around tumblr a lot is letting dandelions grow in your backyard, because landlords fucking hate it. If you work in retail or fast food, cheat. Accidentally forget to scan the diapers. Put in 7 nuggets instead of 6.

(edit: been told that it's very risky for walmart workers to not scan things, so beware.)

17) Engage in art. MAKE art. Music, shitty paint drawings, craft, anything as long as you're being creative. Share it. If you feel like you can't do that, then support artists. Make a point to look up cool illustrations, and new music. Go to the cinema.

If you're an artist currently in an underpaid office job, please, by the love of god, be creative during office hours. You're underpaid, they do not deserve your full time and attention. Take 30 minutes to write that snippet you've been thinking about.

(and actually, if you're underpaid at all: do the minimum required. So that you can't be fired, but that's it. Any more effort is not worth it. Companies will never be thankful for what you do.)

18) Look up books that your state banned, and go read them. You can get them secondhand, or as pdfs online. (if anyone needs ressources, i will glady look for and share them.)

And, actually, read books in general if you can. Yes, fanfics count !

19) Seek education. There's a lot of youtube channels out there talking about educational subjects in a fun way. Some things the rich assholes who run the country specifically don't want you to learn more about are: biology, history and archeology, social and economic sciences. GO LEARN ABOUT THOSE.

The people in power don't want you to be educated. It's why they eviscerated the education system.

20) PIRATE. I cannot stress this enough, anything you can pirate (that isn't from small, indie creators, except if you absolutely can't afford it) do it. Download music illegally, torrent movies and games. If you want access to academical studies and papers, some writers will give them to you for free if you email them about it. There are also ways to go around paywalls.

21) Don't fall for the traps of "progressive brands". Lately, i've seen a lot of praise for Ben and Jerry's for openly supporting lgbtq rights and being globally anti-trump. They are still a brand. Avoid buying from any big names when you can. That being said, if you have to, check beforehand which ones and what their history is. Some are more evil than others.

Additional tip: a lot of brands you see in stores are actually owned by bigger brands. One prime example of this is Nestle, who are fucking evil, but they own a shitload of other big names. Be careful what you buy.

22) I hate to say this, but be prepared to defend yourself. Revolutions are never peaceful. You will get in danger. If you can, get in ok physical shape. Learn how to run fast and fight well.

If none of those are available options to you, please, make sure you have someone around you that will be able to protect you, or a place where you can be safe. Whether you are disabled, a minor, or anything else. Don't put yourself in more danger than is necessary.

(this used to also include getting a gun. I deleted it because i don't feel comfortable recommending this. But it's still an option.)

23) Last but not least, be kind. When someone cuts off a woman speaking, interrupt and give her the floor back. Shame those who think it's right to say bigoted shit in public. Listen to those around you. If you can't act, then remember to always have empathy for the homeless, for drug users, for immigrants. Understand they are people just like you. You are not immune to propaganda and prejudice, no matter who you are. Always question yourself and your biases.

(if you've read this far, please repost. We need this to reach as many people as possible)

I want to remind you that you're not alone. I know things seem hopeless, but the simple fact that you're reading this is proof it's not. I don't live in the US, but i'm supporting you as best i can from where i am, and sending you strenght.

If you have any questions, do ask away. I'll end on this image that's very dear to me:

[actual-changeling]

Welcome back to Alex's unhinged meta corner, and today I have something surprisingly not kiss-related—though it is still about the final fifteen because hey, gotta keep the brand image.

I read this post by @goodoldfashionednightingale and began typing a small response. Then I made the mistake of drinking half a litre of coffee on an empty stomach right after taking my adhd meds and my brain began vibrating at the speed of light.

But oh, have I discovered parallels. This, my friends, is about the nightingale, where it comes from, what it means, and what the fuck happened in part 3 of 1941.

Ready? Let's go.

Now, as OP said in her post, s1e3 is important. In the script book, Neil himself says that these flashbacks are where the producers would tell him to cut scenes to save money. They suggested every single one—except for the one he ended up taking out, which was the bookshop opening scene set in 1800. The others are building blocks, you need them to see how their relationship progressed and what kind of important milestones they had.

(side note: author is very miffed that english does not have a separate subjunctive form like german which makes quoting lines way more confusing than it has to be)

The one I want to mention is neither 1941 nor 1967. No, what I want to talk about is 1601. This might be about to get a bit rambly but I will do my best to keep it tidy.

The focus of that flashback is on the Arrangement, yes, but it gives us a lot more information than that.

they both see Shakespeare's plays regularly, maybe even meet in the crowd

Crowley prefers the comedies

Aziraphale does not seem to have a preference, he enjoys the tragedies and presumably the comedies too

there is an oyster woman selling food -> reference to their meeting in Rome when Aziraphale tempted him to try some oysters

Aziraphale reflexively denies their relationship

Crowley might say he is not worried but circles Aziraphale the entire time, keeping watch

they both ask favours of each other and both agree to do them

What stands out to me in relation to what I am about to expand on is the line that Crowley delivers after Aziraphale's little 'buck up'—which Crowley finds adorable btw but that's a post for another time.

"Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety."

Why would he say that? What exactly is prompting this? WHY say that specific line?

At first I thought it might be to tempt Shakespeare because he does commit art theft by just copying that line down, BUT I think there is more to that. So much more, in fact. I am wiggling now because I am very excited about this and my adhd meds are kicking in anyway.

First things first: the line itself.

It appears in Shakespeare's play Antony and Cleopatra, a romantic tragedy, which was first performed in 1607 aka six years after this meeting. Enobarbus is talking about Cleopatra and describing why Antony won't leave her. Her.

Ccrowley uses his—again, who is he even talking about? Hamlet? Shakespeare? Random poetic quote?

No, I think this line is about Aziraphale and it's a code. Right after, the next line from Aziraphale is "What do you want?", meaning that this is their code phrase for 'I have a favour to ask of you'.

Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety

Age will not affect his appearance nor will he ever become boring to Antony. Crowley, who later chooses the name Anthony for himself, tells Aziraphale, an immortal, that he will never age and that he will never grow bored of him.

It's flattery, pure and simple, and it's code at the same time. This establishes the important fact that they might use more of Shakespeare's work as code/already have a system in place (even though he steals Crowley's line for later).

They play their little morality game of back and forth, Aziraphale agrees, Crowley probably manipulates the coin toss, and THEN we find out that the oyster woman is called Juliet.

Why? What is the meaning of that? Why give her a name and that name in particular? Why bring the sexy oysters back into it?

Romeo and Juliet premiered in 1597, so it is safe to assume they have both seen it by 1601, but this is mostly for the audience, not for us-or is it?

Aziraphale gives Crowley puppy eyes until he agrees to make Hamlet popular, and while I don't think Juliet itself is a code word, although it's very interesting that the OYSTER woman is the one with that name (especially adding what we now know about Job), Romeo and Juliet might be.

Yes, the Nightingale song came out in 1940 but the bird has been around for much, much longer, and, as many probably know by now, also shows up in Romeo and Juliet.

This is where I am starting to vibrate at the speed of light because listen to me. Listen.

Crowley is Juliet. Anthony J. Crowley. Antony Juliet Crowley.

(side note: I'm not saying that Crowley chose it based on that—though I am not not saying that—but that it is a clue for us at the audience.)

Why do I think that? In the play, Romeo spends the night with Juliet and then goes to leave as the night begins to end. Juliet tries to stop him and tells him that the birds they are hearing aren't larks, which sing at dawn, but nightingales, which sing at night.

Who is the one always pushing for more? Crowley. He is the one trying to convince Aziraphale it's safe, they're safe to spend time together.

Romeo disagrees with Juliet and says 'I must be gone and live, or stay and die'.

Leave and stay alive, or stay and hell/heaven will punish us. It gets even better though.

We all know how Romeo and Juliet ends: Romeo thinks Juliet is dead, kills himself, Juliet finds him and then kills herself too.

Hey, do you know how Antony and Cleopatra ends?

Antony thinks Cleopatra is dead, kills himself and dies in her arms, then Cleopatra also kills herself—by snake poison; Romeo also died by poison.

The parallels are THERE. They are jumping down our throats! Two tragedies, two sides, several familiar names and phrases, same fear, same ending.

I think by now you can guess how this ties back to 1941.

We do not see how that night ends, but we know it ends. One of them wants to stretch it out, maybe even quotes Romeo and Juliet because look at the setting!

Candlelight, wonderful night they spend together, the threat of Crowley's early demise, and, to quote the play once more, this time Romeo: I have more care to stay than will to go.

Crowley thought it was his last night on earth and went with Aziraphale to his bookshop, to be with him, because he cares more about that than the fact that he will be dragged to hell come morning. Do you remember?

"Expect a legion to come for you first thing tomorrow" THAT is the threat. They have until dawn, just like Romeo and Juliet, which is why she is so desperate for the birds to be nightingales. Fortunately for them, Aziraphale saves the day, BUT there is NO SECURITY. They do not KNOW if a legion will still show up or not. If dawn is a deadline and they will need to fight.

Sure, they improved their chances, but who knows? Maybe they will come for him anyway, it's not like hell is all fair and square.

The best part: it gets even better.

Juliet eventually panics and tells him to go, and Romeo drops a line that huh, sounds oddly familiar, doesn't it?

'More light and light, more dark and dark our woes!'

Remind me, what does Aziraphale say again? Ah, yes. Perhaps there is something to be said for shades of grey.

There is more. Yes, even more. We know the whole rescue relies on a magic trick, a switch. Guess what Juliet yearns for while telling Romeo to go save himself?

Oh, now I would they had changed voices too. While they did not for Romeo and Juliet—they kiss and part—they did for our two. One fabulous switch and we're good.

(side note: Toads? Associated with hell. Larks? Associated with the dawn, yes, but also heaven since Romeo says 'Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat the vaulty heaven so high above our heads.')

So, this was a whole lot of information, let's see if I can summarize my thoughts.

I believe the nightingale is a code word that has existed even before 1941 and gained a lot of importance over the years. In 1941, the song is added to the meaning and whatever happened between the two that we have not seen yet, it fundamentally changed their relationship. Maybe they kissed, maybe one of them tried to convince the other to prolong the night but they parted on not-great terms.

The nightingale and the song become a symbol of hope, a goal to achieve, another uninterrupted night, maybe, or an uninterrupted life.

When they part in the final fifteen, it's morning. Crowley points at the sky and says "no nightingales", which at that point has several different layers to it.

No nightingales because their night is over, just like with Romeo and Juliet, and please, please allow me to add another detail, because I am frothing at the mouth over this. The scene I quoted, known as balcony scene, do you know what it is preceded by?

A ball.

Star-crossed lovers defying their sides, falling in love at a ball, getting a hurried, wonderful night together but torn apart by danger of punishment, the nightingale as a dream, as a wish for unhurried time together. Family rejection, torn apart by parents, willing to die for each other so they can reunite in death.

No nightingales. The ball, the romance, is over, their dancing is over, heaven is tearing them apart, and Aziraphale returns to heaven while they are both stuck in a pit of misunderstanding and miscommunication, all bound together by fear for each other.

The thing is, Crowley hates tragedies, he never liked the "gloomy ones", and he does not want them to end in one—luckily, this isn't the end. Yes, they kiss and part, but the play keeps going. We have an entire act 3 to fix what Romeo and Juliet couldn't, to ensure that this is a COMEDY, not a tragedy.

Both Antony & Cleopatra and Romeo & Juliet died out of fear, hurried into making bad decisions because they knew what would happen if their sides were to catch up with them.

Crowley and Aziraphale can reunite heaven and hell with love, not death. This is THEIR story and they are writing the ending. No more day and night, no more deadlines, no more hiding and sneaking about, no more fear of larks and sunshine.

Good Omens will end the way it began: In a garden with two no-longer-star-crossed lovers embracing the song of a lark as well as that of the nightingale.

I hope this made sense to everyone who was no present while my mind started to vibrate itself into a puddle because the thing is I can see Neil doing all of this completely on purpose.

Thoughts? Questions? Additions? Come and join me in my insanity and until next time I have a mental breakdown over this show (probably in like two hours).

[alkelkha]

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐓. chapter four

relationship — jinx/powder x fem!blk coded reader

contents&warnings! : wc: 4.0k | post season 2 | lower-case indented | angst | heart to heart | just kiss already 🗣️ | non-sexual intimacy | fluff | mentions of them sharing the same bed | mentions of isha | these losers can't stay serious | yes reader has plot and yes i'm going through with it | not beta read | yes i am making this up along i go | author's note: i'm finally back after a month... don't come after me though! i'm literally in the middle of moving to a whole different state (not my choice).

❛❛ APOLOGIZE WITH FIREWORKS ❜❜

a careless toss of an envelope with this week’s paycheck slid off the desk. your eyes followed the movement. “you’re slacking, [name].” 

you’ve been slacking for the past two weeks. that’s how long it’s been since you and blue fought. you thought that she would come around and the two of you would hang out again like nothing happened, but of course, it didn’t. you were given straight radio silence, you even tried visiting her at her workshop and home. nothing.

she was your best friend and you hurt her to the point she’s shut herself in. was she even in there? was she ignoring you? did she run off? did she hate you now? did you just ruin everything? you couldn’t tell, it was like she locked herself in. this was killing you. 

every since she left it was like all the good things she brought with her did too. the endless laughter between the two of you, the satuation of the world. because of her you finally felt safe, your loan sharks finally stopped bothering you.

sometimes you think you see her (which you don’t). anything blue made you think of her, clouds too. you can’t bring yourself to eat the blue raspberry candy. 

the truth was that she was your good luck charm.

“do you want to lose this job?” big don’s voice rang in the office, snapping you back to reality. lose this job? this was the only job that could help pay off your debt that didn’t involve selling yourself, beating others half to death, and stealing. 

“i’ve been kind to you. i gave you this pussy job so you could pay me back with my own money.” he leans forward resting his clasped-together hands on the desk.

“but i see something,” the tall man raises from his seat. your breath got caught up in your throat and your heart quickened its pace. “…someone has made you sloppy. has taken your attention off of what is really important.” you knew what he meant and you couldn’t deny it. 

you have gotten sloppy with your work, clocking out a little bit early, and coming to work late more often— that was you when you and jinx started hanging out, but since jinx and you have gotten into that fight all of it got worse. “that new girl…” your eyes shot from the ground and straight to big don. the way he referred to her made your stomach turn. was he going to send his goons after her too.

“don’t—“ without thinking you stepped forward, you were about to walk up and slap him. good thing your mind caught up with you. yay, no bullet between your eyes!

“don’t what?” big don shot back at you, he stopped pacing and walked over to you. “run her out of flosnum? tie up the new girl in town? have some of my men give her a good beating? or maybe i’ll make you do that…” gulping at his implication you step back. you knew big don was sick, but surely not that sick?

right?

towering over you, two heads taller his dull dark eyes look down at you, his eyes make you feel so insignificant. you were nothing but a mere worker bee, “[insert sibling] may have escaped off to bilgewater. ixtal? ionia? who gives a fuck anymore. what matters is that one of you is here. one thing stands. your father’s debt.”

“get your act together or you’re on your own.” he then grips your hair, and with a harsh tug he pulls you closer to him. he smelt of cigarettes and mangos, “once you’re on your own i won’t care how and what you do to pay off the debt. sell your body for all i care.”

you left his office and went back to working at the bar. overtime. work for two weeks with no pay as punishment, which was mercy considering you've been waterboarded other times.

though you were starting to consider being waterboarded instead.

how long has it been? she can’t remember, there was no point in counting hours or days when she was in this state. 

her chipped painted nails scratched off her cuticles to the point they bleed. curled up in the middle of her room stuck in an unforgiving daze. a haze that consumed her mind and filled it with thoughts that pricked her brain as if they were needles.

she fucked up. again. and she doesn’t have the guts to try and fix it.

not that there was anything to fix, you were done with her. you hated her. you saw her as insane as soon as you saw her.

she was an idiot to show you that side of her. what made her think that this would be any different? danger or not, flosnum was not immune to her effect. 

her blue chopped hair now grown inches past her ears but not long enough to touch her shoulders, her bangs terribly long, and the purple dye worn out. the bonsai tree on her bedroom windowsill half dead. the irrigating bear under her bed where its voice is too far to catch. 

jinx. that’s who she was. she couldn’t fight it anymore. running from it has been deemed impossible even when she’s a sea away from piltover and zaun. 

metal and wood clanking against each other.

she could hear it, the small huffs, exhales, and sniffles. the light-weight pitter-patter danced around her.

isha.

jinx was greatness to isha. a haven. a symbol. someone worth protecting.

jinx could feel the vibrations from the floor bouncing back to her curled-up position. she had her knees to her chest and hid her face.

she couldn’t bring herself to look up. she was scared that if she looked up she would see her. if she did, she wouldn’t know what to do.

all those times she told off sevika that jinx was dead, isha was the one that kept the image of her alive. not a symbol of destruction— no longer just a loose cannon but a hero. 

powder was the one that died.

she thought that maybe if she could start over, it would all be from the beginning.

no jinx. just powder. the more she stayed on this tropical island she was reminded that she couldn’t be powder. 

to be honest, jinx liked isha’s version of jinx. the version that isha would play games, watch battles fight each other, fall asleep to her overly-dramatized exploits, graffiti on walls, and stargaze with. 

the careless dancing footsteps morphed into cautious ones and the steps were slightly heavier. 

step. step. step.

these footsteps didn’t seem as if they were sneaking up on prey, still, jinx refused to raise her head up from her knees, her eyes stayed shut. 

just ignore it.

she repeated those words, a mantra that got her through a handful of her episodes. unexpectantly, light fingertips grazed her shoulder, unsure if they could go further in the contact. 

hallucinations couldn’t touch her.

a low gentle voice “blue.” jinx felt all of her defenses fall. how pathetic that’s all it took.

you crouched down behind her. jinx’s back faced you, wearing only a pink tank top and wool shorts that showed off the blue clouds on the right side of her body.

the only reason you were able to get in was because you found a foolishly placed spare key sticking out from under a ceramic pot with a wilting flower.

you were tired of waiting.

“i’m sorry.” trying to shove down the heat rising to your face, you swallow. there was nothing more you hated than apologizing, which was ironic since you did it quite often. normally when you did it, it was out of fear or common courtesy.

sincerely apologizing on the other hand? the thought of you being the person in the wrong felt like a punch in the gut, but none of that mattered. 

the only thing you wanted right now was your friend back. “i’m so sorry. that day at the beach when i sighed it wasn’t towards you.” jinx was still. “that day was perfect and i ruined it. i made you feel that i didn’t enjoy it. i did! it’s just—“ you sucked in a breath before explaining.

“…i have a hard time living in the moment, i’m always thinking about my next shift. that i have my shift in this many hours, i’ll have to deal with rowdy customers in less than a day after, i have to pay off my debt.” she didn’t answer, it felt like you were talking to a brick wall.

“ever since you came into my life you have been what i look forward to.”

silence is all she gives you. not even a hum of acknowledgment. “blu—“ you couldn’t finish the nickname because of how shocked you were to see jinx finally turn her head towards you. you can only see her side profile due to the position the two of you are holding. 

the saturation of her vibrant red-violet eyes is now exhausted and dull. an alarm rang in your head. scrabbling from your knees you made it to in front of her to get the whole view of her. you needed to see all of her.

jinx’s closed-off position, her days-old makeup, unkempt hair, and lightweight. her head a bit more raised so she could look at you better as your eyes roamed around her body. 

her eyes.

her eyes were so doe and dull, the manic that she usually held in her eyes was nowhere to be found. this was the most vulnerable you’ve seen her yet there were still so many walls. 

she looked horrible.

you did this.

“[name]…”

her hoarse voice made your heart ache. gulping, pushing down the guilt. you slowly and carefully take her hands into yours. “let’s get you cleaned up, blue.”

the first thing you did was take off her makeup with a wet piece of cloth. you had no idea how long she had been like this, it looks like she had that same face of makeup for almost a week, probably more.

her cheeks were tear-stricken with dried-up mascara and eyeliner. her purple eyeshadow was worn out along with her smudged lipstick.

you washed her hair in the sink. she sat on a chair, her head leaned back as the faucet ran through her blue locks. your hands gently messaging her scalp, and then detangled everything with a brush.

the two of you didn’t talk at all. sitting on a stool your wrist moved in circular motions, washing her back.

she felt herself slowly come back to reality. the way you were being so careful with her as if she was worth being gentle to. were you doing all of this just to torment her?

surely you weren’t faking the affection in your touch? you wouldn’t do such a thing. you couldn’t. 

she felt her eyes burning up.

she felt the rough texture of the cloth exfoliating her skin, your hand carefully leading its way to her tattooed arm. your movements slow not wanting to have her pull away from your touch.

jinx lets out a ragged breath, louder than the scrubbing of her skin and water droplets. that was the first breath she let out since you came to her. your movement paused and went even slower. gentler. 

that’s when she bursts into tears. 

you froze up a bit hearing her choked sobs, “oh hon…” jinx’s shoulder shook as she leaned forward, away from you. her sobs only got louder and louder. saliva collected in her mouth and her face turned a pinkish hue.

putting aside the cloth you took her shoulders and pulled her back towards you, you wrapped your arms around her neck, and your head was right next to hers. “tell me what’s wrong.” you whispered in her ear, you didn’t bother hiding the tremor in your voice.

“please, talk to me. did i make you upset again?” you plead for her to talk to you.

“i’m sorry.” her sobs so broken that her voice cracks as she apologizes. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry.” she just shakes her head repeating herself over and over again.

“shh.” you say rocking the both of you side to side in an attempt to lull her sobs. “it’s okay, there’s nothing you need to apologize for. we both messed up.”

“i’m such a child, i ruined everything!” she hiccups, her sobs only worsened. she leans on you like a child seeking comfort.

“stop that. you ruined nothing, okay?” you tried to keep your voice firm.

“i made something out of nothing again and i pushed you away and now you hate me—”

you cut her off, “if i hated you would i be here right now?” 

“you will once i mess up again.”

sighing, you pinch her cheek. “it was a silly little fight, we got through it.”

jinx winces at the pinch but she doesn’t pull away instead, her cries lessen and her face scrunches up a bit. “what if we get into another fight?”

not letting go of her cheek you kept speaking, “we’ll get through it. even when i get irritated or mad with you, i’ll always come back to you.” she turns her head and you pull away to give her some space to move.

her eyes were bloodshot, her pink irises sparkled as if she was begging you to confirm your words. “you’re my best friend, things like this will always pass over, i promise.” 

jinx’s sobs were no more and what was left was her small sniffles as you got back to bathing her.

getting back together with you made jinx realize some things.

number one: you would never ever ever ever leave her no matter what! 

this meant she could do anything without you leaving her. like sleeping together in the same bed and kicking you off.

number two: the two of you were practically made for each other!

she has been clinging onto every second of the day and you welcomed it with open arms. (well other than the times she’s stalking you, but you don’t need to know that!) has she gotten more childish with you? maybe.

it was your day off so per usual you were with her, instead of rotting together at her workshop the two of you went out for ice cream and window shopped. the two of you walked side by side in the blazing heat, jinx’s arm hooked on yours. 

usually, she would complain and complain in this weather and end up with sunburns which you had to tend to. these days she wouldn’t, it was like she grew up with flosnum. she wore a mismatched bikini top and stockings, low rise shorts black and pink shorts, and black boots with pink laces. “new style?” you raised a brow.

“just matching the weather.” jinx licks the dripping cotton candy ice cream from her cone. the undercity wasn’t hot like flosnum. it was humid at best but mostly cold. hell, she felt the warmth of sun on her skin more on her first week here than she did her whole life in zaun.

going on your route you spot a jewelry vendor, something catches your eye. mindlessly pulling away from her to go check it out jinx furrows her brows, she follows behind you. your eyes were on the turtle trinket. the jewels on it sparkled like no other.

stupid.

jinx’s finger hooks on the loop of your bottoms and pulls you closer to her side. she bends over a bit to get a better look at the stupid trinket. “oh come on, toots, you don’t need this. you already have that ugly turtle pendant.”

you smack the back of her head and she whines. “my necklace is not stupid!” you defend the bronze hanging around your neck. “besides, i wasn’t going to buy it….” your eyes trail to the price tag, the sight causes you to frown. “way too expensive anyway.” you turn on your heels and walk away from the vendor. 

she watches you walk away and back to the turtle trinket. it was ugly. tacky too. you wouldn’t look good in it.

jinx shrugs and catches up with you, she loops her arm with yours licking her ice cream once again with a stolen trinket in her pocket.

number three: she missed chaos.

because of that, she’s going to blow up at tonight’s festival. she’s been working on it the day after you bathed her, tucked her into bed, and fell asleep in bed with her. which was six days ago.

don’t worry. don’t worry. she’s not going to kill anyone. she was done with that, instead, these bombs were going to make a teenie tiny little mess.

today’s festival was in honor of the day flosnum successfully defended itself against bilgewater, many lives were lost due to the battle. which was an incredible feat now that jinx thinks about it.

anyways, that doesn’t matter! what matters is that she wants to ruin it. 

it’s the most jinx thing she can do.

somehow the paradise was infinitely more vibrant under the dark sky. maybe it was the twinkling stars, the glowing plants, and the fairy lights. everyone gathered in the streets, adorned in tropical garlands. the two of you held a stick, the tip burned bright, sparkling. 

normally, jinx’s mind would be on how gorgeous your smile was, but today she was too excited to even think properly. she was too happy to fuck the celebration up. she had already planted the bombs. 

the air was filled with a sweet and fruity scent of exotic flowers. your sweet laughter echoed in her mind finally snapping her out of it. “what’s got you so happy, blue?” she asked, pointing out her dumb smile.

jinx dropped the stick, “follow me.” she grabbed onto you forcing you to do the same and follow behind her. 

there was so much of everything. people, noise, lights, smells. you canvas through the streets and she takes you onto her workshop’s rooftop. though her workshop was placed in a shady alleyway, the view she had up top was breathtaking.

her rooftop was decorated with random cut-up fabrics, unfinished projects (aka junk but she won’t let you call it that), and colorful lanterns. the stars painted the night sky, the jinx sat on the rooftop ledge. being the more cautious one you tried not to, but she forced you anyway.

“we’re best friends, right?” jinx slowly turns her head to you, your eyes are on the ground, watching the people below. 

“i sure hope so,” you snort. realizing that it wasn’t the right time to joke you backtracked, “of course we are, the best of friends.” you didn’t look back but that didn’t make your response any less sincere.

her red-violet eyes trace your side profile. you were pretty like this, with the colors of the lanterns illuminating off of you. the color blue graced your brown skin and the coils of your hair. it was almost as beautiful as when the sunlight would kiss your skin.

jinx wasn’t sure when it started. “it” being when she became so attentive to you. maybe, it was the day she first saw you behind the counter of her now workshop. maybe, it was the day she crashlanded and you saved her.

the topic of the day she crashlanded was never brought up between the two of you. jinx wasn’t sure if you were aware that she knew.

jinx should’ve forgotten about you that day, her vision was hazy and smoke filled her lungs— her mind shouldn’t even have registered the details of you. but she did.

the key detail she remembered?

it was that stupid bronze necklace.

the ugly piece of metal that is still hanging around your neck. it looks as if it was handmade. well maintained yet specks of chipped-off green paint on the turtle’s shell.

“good,” jinx smiles at your answer. her hand reaches into her pocket and your eyes follow, her fist closed around not letting you know what it is just yet. “because i wanted to give you something.”

your eyes finally lock with hers. “i’m not good with words. i’m not good with my actions either.” her vibrant eyes shift away from yours, but she forces herself to keep eye contact with yours. “i fuck shit up. always. as soon as something good comes in my life it’s taken away, by my hand or something else.”

jinx couldn't find the right words, she didn't even know where she was going with this. “i ruin everything,” she laughed bitterly, her eyes searched yours to see if you were annoyed by your senseless rambling, but you didn’t. you listened, waiting for the next words to come out of her mouth.

“i’m jinxed. it’s in my name.”

jinx looks down at her hand, her fist is holding onto the mystery item tightly. then her fingers hesitantly open up her fist, revealing what’s in the palm of your hand. you look down. this feeling in your stomach, it flips and flutters. “blue, is this—“

“jinx,” she didn’t let you get a sentence in. “that’s my name.”

jinx...so that was blue's name. oddly enough, it fit her perfectly. she didn't look like a sasha, cassie, hannah, or kate. for someone as cool as her she should have an equally cool name.

“that’s so cool!” your eyes twinkle, filled with excitement, completely ignorant to the significance of this moment.

when the words left your mouth jinx left hundreds of degrees hotter. a warmth blazed through her body. no one has ever had this type of reaction to her name.

“so, you’ve been cool you’re whole life, huh?” you scrunch up your face in mock jealousy. “cool hair. cool talents. cool personality. cool name. you’re just a package, aren’t you, jinx?”

why did she like her name coming from your lips so much?

trying to hide her flustered state she puts on a cocky front, “enough of how cool you think i am. are you going to take my gift or not?” she dangles the trinket in front of your face. “you stole it.” you blink at her unamused. still you took it from her hand. “says who? you think i can’t afford something like this?” she tilts her head, raising a brow. 

“then what’s this?” you point to the tag. 

she looks at it and grumbles. after pulling it off she then put on a faux innocent smile. “what’s what?” seeing how your unamused expression didn’t waver she sighed in defeat. “i just wanted to do something for you, you deserve tiny luxuries like this. maybe it could bring you some luck too. a lucky charm.”

her words managed to make you loosen up. your face softens. “thanks, hon, but i already have a lucky charm.”

jinx’s squints her eyes at you, “wait, you do?”

"i'm talking about you, jinx."

jinx, a lucky charm? how ironic. se had always been the cause of trouble, never the solution. when she did try to find one it only made everything worse. but here the two of you are. you hailed her as your lucky charm. a good omen.

she lets out a bark of laughter, she laughs with her full chest. all of this was too surreal it was making her head spin. 

POW POW POW

with distant bangs a cloud of red, then purple, then green, then blue. the town square exploded with a flurry of colorful dust. the dust danced in the sky and fell back down onto the cobbled ground as if it were snowfall.

oh right. jinx forgot about those.

the two of you whip your heads to the noise to see the mayhem going on. 

their faces being painted with the colorful dye. the locals dance and twirl along with the ongoing blasts of the bright vibrant powder into the air. children rushed trying to catch the falling powder, some even making angles on the ground.

your eyes snap wide with amazement at the view, “oh my gods!” no way in hell were you going to miss out on something like this. you carefully get off the rooftop ledge and pull jinx with you. 

“get your ass up, let’s join the fun!”

screams, panicked voices, and people trying to take cover, that’s what jinx expected. not the sound of flosnum residents’ laughter and cheers. her plans to cause chaos failed.

she really was a jinx.

TAGLIST: @millie2point0 @powderbomb-jinxed @velvetinkbym

[suku-enthusiasts]

Chapter Seven || the thieving artist - s. ryomen

❛ ❜ Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader (on going)

❝ in the lands of gods and monsters, she was an angel, living with the King of Curses- 

Sukuna Ryomen Itadori was a man of many things, but before he became the cursed monster, he was a kind husband, who was sarcastic, always loving in his words, and loves his wife dearly. After a day of work, he returns home early, to find his wife brutally murdered in the home he built for the two of them. Sukuna was unaware of the power he held, but when it unleashed, he became something his wife never thought she could imagine. 10 years pass, as Sukuna visits his wife's grave, the same spot he buried her all those years ago, something was different, something touching his face as he awoke, could this be real?❞

cw ; mdni • 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. hurt/trauma. smut . anxiety. death. graphic scenes

Word count ; 6.9k

main masterlist | series masterlist

The midday sun hung heavily above the estate, casting a warm golden hue over the towering hedges and marble pillars of the eastern courtyard. The scent of freshly turned earth mixed with wild roses floated in the air as the rustle of leaves danced on the gentle breeze. Sukuna stood tall, menacing and draped in dark crimson robes embroidered with gold, the markings on his face twitching with irritation as he glared down at the man trembling before him.

“Tsk.” His tongue clicked sharply, his upper arms crossed while the lower set hung menacingly at his sides. “When I have any of the women do this work, there is no issue. So now I want to know—what is the problem? What exactly is the issue that you can’t simply trim some damn bushes?” Sukuna leaned forward slightly, voice low and venomous. “Why is it a dainty, frail woman can do a better job than you? Hmm?” His tone was sarcastic, taunting. “Must I remove each limb one by one before you do something remotely correct?”

The man, barely in his twenties and visibly shaking, dropped to his knees with a deep bow. “M-my lord… I—I have no experience in outside work.”

Sukuna narrowed all four of his eyes at once, mouth curling into a sneer. “Oh, you don’t?” he hissed, mockery dripping off every word. “But you have experience stealing from women in the marketplace, do you not? Quite a specialty you had before you ended up here. If it were up to me, your thieving hands would’ve been sliced off the moment you were dragged through my gates.” His upper lip curled in disgust. “It’s my wife’s gracious yet awful sense of judgment that you were spared.” You stood beside him, arms gently folded across your chest as you exhaled loudly and rolled your eyes. “Sukuna,” you muttered, “must you always sound like a bloodthirsty warden?” He grunted but didn’t answer. You stepped forward slightly, addressing the man still on his knees.

“Michael, correct?” you asked, your voice calm and warm in contrast to your husband’s fiery temper. “Yes, your Majesty,” he said without lifting his head. You knelt a bit, leaning closer with a soft smile. “What would you say you’re good at doing, Michael?” Sukuna groaned behind you, dramatically tilting his head to the sky. “Have you not heard our conversation, dear? He is good at thievery.”

“Sukuna,” you said sharply, smiling sweetly at the man. “I am speaking to the man in front of us.” He huffed again, his annoyance vibrating in the air like heat off stone. You turned back to the trembling servant. “Please, answer me.” Michael swallowed and nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty. I… I am a painter. I used to steal supplies from merchants, so I could sell portraits and murals to earn enough money to leave my village.”

“A painter?” Your eyes lit up, and you stood with a little bounce. “We don’t have anyone who paints here!”

“Who cares,” Sukuna muttered under his breath. You shot him a knowing glance. “Michael, I will provide you with all the materials you need. This mansion—beautiful as it is—lacks warmth. I want color. Life. I want to see something beautiful that makes this place feel like a home. Can you paint something for us? If you can decorate this place and give it character, we’ll pay you graciously… and release you, once your dues to the women you wronged are repaid.”

Michael’s jaw trembled. “Yes, Your Majesty… thank you. Thank you! I will do my best, I swear it.” You waved him off with a kind smile. As he scurried away, grateful beyond words, you turned to your sulking husband. “My love,” you cooed, lacing your fingers with his lower hand, “can we please return to the garden now so we can have lunch in the sun?”

“I guess,” he grumbled, eyeing you sideways. “You used to just follow me around without question.” You smirked. “You used to be happy to spend time with me. I don’t particularly care for King Sukuna.” That made him halt mid-step. His crimson eyes narrowed at you, mildly betrayed. “What does that mean?” You bit your lip to stifle a laugh. “I thoroughly enjoy spending time with you—the man you used to be. When you were mortal, you were kind. Sweet. You used to twirl me in circles and whisper how much you loved me… Now?” You gave a long, exaggerated sigh. “Now, you’re mean. Grumbly. And you haven’t said a sweet word to me in weeks.” Sukuna blinked. “Oh, dear.” He said it dryly, his mouth twitching at the corners.

“See!” you pointed accusingly. “You used to not sigh at me like I was some nuisance! Must I die again for you to appreciate your wife?”

His head whipped around so fast it startled you. Before you could take a breath, one of his upper hands cupped your face while the other arms wrapped around your waist. His mouth crashed into yours in a searing, all-consuming kiss, his fingers clutching you tightly as he suddenly lifted you off the ground. “Wha—Sukuna!” you squealed as he spun you around in the grand marble hallway, your feet leaving the floor completely.

You couldn’t stop giggling, your arms looping around his neck for balance. “You… silly man,” you laughed into his shoulder as he finally slowed and set you gently back down. He smiled—actually smiled—as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “You are never allowed to die again, my dear. I have the power to keep you here for eternity, and I will. I do not wish to see you perish ever again, so do not say such foolish things.” You stared at him, breathless, cheeks flushed, heart fluttering. “Then be nicer to me, Suku,” you said, your voice warm as you kissed his cheek in return. He grunted, looking away. But he would try, and you knew, for all his hissing, growling, and dramatic groaning—he would.

—

The afternoon light spilled into the west wing of the estate, cascading in long, golden ribbons through the arching windows of the hall where Michael had begun his work. His hands were stained with color, sleeves rolled to his elbows, brow furrowed as he focused on the long mural that now stretched across one alabaster wall.

You stood beside him, sleeves pinned up, holding a tray of mixed pigments. “I still think you should make the vines swirl a little more,” you said softly, pointing to a section of ivy trailing around the painted window in his work. “The straight lines feel too stiff. This place is rigid enough as it is.” Michael chuckled, tapping his brush against the edge of the paint dish. “I forget you have such an eye for these things, Your Majesty.” You nudged his shoulder. “Don’t call me that when it’s just us. It’s uncomfortable.”

“Then what should I call you?” he teased, his voice light and teasing. You smiled, tilting your head. “My name works just fine.” From across the hall, tucked in the shadows between marble columns, Sukuna watched. His arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight, crimson eyes locked on the two of you—too close, too casual, too familiar. He could hear the soft laughs, the private little tones in your voice, the way Michael looked at you. Like you were his to share in softness. Like Sukuna’s wife—his Queen—could be seen, touched, and spoken to so gently. A rage stirred low in his chest, burning its way upward until he turned on his heel and stormed off.

That night, in your shared bedchambers, the door slammed shut hard enough to rattle the ornate sconces on the walls. You looked up from your place by the vanity, brushing your hair calmly as Sukuna stalked in like a storm, his eyes glowing with restrained fury. “You need something, Suku?” you asked softly, watching him in the mirror. He didn’t answer at first. His four arms tensed, flexing slowly like he was holding himself back. “What is it about that servant?” he growled finally. “Why do you speak to him like that?”

“Like what?” you asked, setting the brush down and turning to face him with a soft, curious gaze. “Like he’s something special. Like he’s… worthy of you.” You stood and approached him, slow, calm, unafraid of the feral heat in his expression. “He’s not. He’s a good man trying to be better. But he’s not you.”

“That’s not how it looks,” Sukuna snapped, stepping closer, towering over you with anger blooming in his chest. “You smile at him. You laugh at his little jokes. You spend hours with him—painting, talking, whispering in corners like lovers in a damn courtyard!” Your brow lifted gently, and you didn’t flinch even as his voice grew louder. “He’s a servant,” you said with soft emphasis. “And I treat him like a person. Kindly. With patience. Just as I treat all people I care for.”

“You don’t smile at me that way anymore,” Sukuna hissed. You paused. That—that—was the truth beneath it.

He wasn’t angry because he thought Michael could steal you. He was angry because he feared he’d already lost you. “Sukuna…” You stepped forward and slowly reached up, placing your hand against his jaw. His breath caught at the tenderness in your touch. “I have only ever loved you,” you said, your voice velvet. “And if I smile at him… it’s because I see goodness. The kind of goodness you once shared with me. The kind you still have. Even now.” He scoffed, looking away, but his arms—those monstrous arms—didn’t push you away. “Don’t lie to me. You said it yourself—you miss who I used to be.”

“I do. But I love who you are now, even when you are harsh. Even when you hide yourself from me. I’m not afraid of the anger. Or the cruelty. Or the jealousy.” You cupped his cheek fully, pressing your thumb to the bone just under his eye. “I am only afraid of a husband who forgets he can be soft.” He blinked at you, unmoving. His jaw was still tight, but his lips parted slightly, unsure of what to say. You leaned in, brushing your forehead to his. “Let me love you. All of you. Even the parts that envy. Even the parts that ache.” A long breath left him—slow, wounded, honest. He leaned into your touch just a little more.

“Michael means nothing,” you whispered. “But you? You’re my home.” He grunted softly, a sound full of shame and longing and slow surrender. “I don’t like it,” he muttered. You smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I know.”

“But I’ll try not to tear his head off.”

“Thank you, my love.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he grumbled. “He so much as breathes wrong, I’m hanging him by his feet.” You laughed lightly, wrapping your arms around his waist, leaning into the storm that was your husband. “That’s fair.” And he held you close, clutching you like a man who had nearly lost everything—grateful, even in silence, that he hadn’t.

The next morning, you were in the garden again. The sun was gentle, filtering through the tall hedges and flowering trees. Bees hummed, petals danced in the breeze, and your laughter could be heard from the rosebeds where you sat beside two female servants, weaving tiny flower crowns from the clipped blossoms. You were mid-laugh—something about how one of the older guards thought sugar and salt were interchangeable—when you saw him.

Sukuna, the King of curses. Lord of the estate. Walking stiffly across the lawn in full ceremonial black, except… he was holding something. It was a bundle. Wrapped in a deep crimson cloth. And he looked miserable.

You stood, brushing your skirt off and raising a brow. “Did someone die?” you teased lightly. He scowled. “Don’t test me. I brought you something.”

You blinked. “You brought me… something?” He grunted, looking everywhere but your face as he shoved the bundle toward you with one of his lower hands. You unwrapped it carefully. Inside was a large leather-bound sketchbook and a fresh set of paintbrushes—gilded at the ends, handcrafted, expensive. The kind not even nobles used casually. “Where did you—”

“I had Uraume fetch it,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “Figured if you like painting so much, you should… paint. For yourself. Not just for the damn servant.” You blinked slowly, touched—and stunned. The other servants around you went awkwardly quiet, one of them trying (and failing) not to gasp audibly at the gesture. Sukuna crossed his arms, looking at you like he was preparing for rejection. “If you don’t like it, throw it in the fire.”

You bit your lip, smiling with warmth. “I love it.” He blinked, clearly unprepared for praise. “…Oh.” You stepped closer and rose to your tiptoes, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “I love you,” you added gently. He stood there, stunned, face slowly coloring beneath the markings on his cheeks. “Hmph.” You could tell he wanted to say something more, but instead he turned sharply on his heel. “Don’t let that worm Michael touch it,” he called over his shoulder, loud enough for all the garden to hear. “Or I’ll personally glue his hands to the chimney.” You laughed. “Yes, my king.”

Later that evening, when you were in the garden alone, sketching a view of the fountain and laughing to yourself, you caught a glimpse of him again.

Perched on the terrace. Watching. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable. But this time, he stayed there for a long while, watching the joy on your face as you used the gift he had given you. And for the first time in days… he smiled.

Just a little.

Just for you.

—

The cottage hadn’t changed much. The chimney still crooked slightly to the right, the porch sagged with the same creaky groan, and the same small windchimes made from spoons and wire tinkled in the breeze. It was strange, returning here now—not as the grieving monster lurking in the trees, but as a man with purpose. Sukuna stood at the threshold of your father’s cottage in plain black robes, his swords left behind, his usual aura of violence quieted.

He knocked—once. Firmly. The door opened slowly. Your father blinked in surprise. “...You.” Sukuna dipped his chin. “Me.” A long, quiet stare. And then— “She’s not here?” 

“No, at the estate.” Sukuna kept his voice even. “I came to speak with you.” Your father eyed him with caution, stepping aside. “Gods help me,” he muttered, letting the door swing wide. “Don’t break anything.” Sukuna ducked slightly to enter. The ceilings here were too low, the air smelled of rosemary and cedar smoke. Familiar. Humble. They sat opposite each other, the small wooden table between them groaning under the weight of two mugs of strong tea. Sukuna’s pink hair was pulled back today, his four arms folded in a way that somehow looked both regal and awkward in the cramped space.

“So.” Your father said slowly. “What is it?” Sukuna didn’t waste time. “I want to marry her. Again. Officially.” Your father raised a brow. “You’re already living together.”

“And I want to do it right,” Sukuna said. “With your blessing. Even if I don’t need it.” There was silence. A long sip of tea. “You’ve changed,” your father said at last. Sukuna smirked, eyes narrowing. “Not enough, apparently.”

“No,” your father agreed. “But… more than I expected.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “So tell me, Sukuna. Why now? Why not when she first came back to you? Why wait?” Sukuna frowned. “Because I thought I’d taint it. This form,” he motioned to his towering frame, his marked skin, the extra arms—“this power. It’s too dark. Too ugly.” Your father tilted his head, watching him. “And now?”

“Now,” Sukuna said, his voice quieting, “she’s made me believe I can be a husband again. Not just a king. Or a monster.” That got a small, knowing smile out of the old man. “She told me she loved you in that body,” your father said softly. “Even before you could say it back. That never changed.”

Sukuna nodded slowly, as if the weight of your love still stunned him. Then the father leaned forward. “Will you stay good to her?” he asked, voice sharp now. “Will you listen to her when she cries? Will you let her speak her mind, even when it wounds your pride? Will you love her when she’s old and grey, not just when she’s soft and smiling in your bed?” Sukuna's jaw clenched. “Of course.”

“And will you keep your monstrous urges far from her? The anger. The bloodshed. The way you talk to the world like it’s beneath you. She is not beneath you. You will never talk down to her.” Sukuna nodded once. “I never have. I never will.” There was another pause. The father exhaled and set down his cup. “Well then,” he said, voice softer now. “You have my blessing.” Sukuna blinked. “Really?”

“As long as you remember what you just said,” the old man added gruffly. “You’ve been… difficult. Rude. Frankly unbearable. But I’ve seen how she looks at you. And I know she is safe.” A beat passed. “You’ll do good, son. Like you had before, I believe in that.” Sukuna’s mouth twitched. The word hit him like a stone—but not in a bad way. “...Thank you,” he muttered. “Don’t thank me. Just love her well.” Sukuna rose from the chair, straightening his robes. “I do.” The old man stood with him and placed a hand on Sukuna’s forearm—the only one he could reasonably reach.

“Then go. And don’t forget to bring her back for dinner sometime.”

“I’ll try not to burn your cottage down,” Sukuna smirked. “If you do, I’m rebuilding it out of your ribs.” They both grunted—laughing, in their own strange, sarcastic way. Sukuna left with the wind at his back, the weight of your father’s blessing tucked somewhere deep in his chest. Now… all he had to do was ask you.

—

The garden was quiet in the late afternoon sun, golden light dappling through the tall hedges and onto the plush blanket laid out over the trimmed grass. You were curled on your side with a book in hand, a bowl of fresh fruit resting beside you, your fingertips stained slightly from the dark grapes and cherries you’d been snacking on.

The estate was peaceful, save for the soft hum of bees drifting between the flowers and the distant sound of water trickling in the fountain. You had almost dozed off with the warmth of the day, your eyes fluttering as your mind swam through the final chapter of your novel. Until you heard it—his footsteps. Heavy. Familiar. Pacing without urgency, yet with unmistakable intent. You didn’t look up immediately. You smiled instead, knowing exactly who it was from the way the shadows shifted over your page. Sukuna lowered himself onto the blanket beside you without a word, grunting softly as he stretched his long legs out beside yours. You glanced at him briefly, still playing coy, then turned back to your book. From the corner of your eye, you watched him pluck a grape from your bowl and pop it into his mouth with a crunch, chewing lazily.

“You never ask,” you teased. “I’m your husband,” he replied, voice low and gravelly. “I own all your grapes.” You let out a small laugh, setting your book gently on your lap. “Romantic.” Sukuna shifted beside you, one hand braced behind him, the other resting near yours. His crimson eyes flickered over your face, softer now in the warm light. “You looked so peaceful,” he said after a moment, voice quieter. “I almost didn’t want to ruin it.” You turned your head fully toward him now, eyebrows lifting slightly. “You always ruin peaceful things.” He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes—at least not in the usual arrogant way. Today, something in him was… careful. Measured.

“I’ve been thinking,” he murmured. “About what you said. About how I used to be sweet. And how I’m not… always like that now.” Your smile faded into something more tender. He continued. “I’m… not good at softness. Not anymore. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it. For you.” He looked down at your hand, not yet touching it. “I love you, in all the ways I know how. In all the ways I still don’t know yet. But I’m trying to learn. For you.” Your heart began to flutter in your chest. “I know I’m not kind like you. I don’t speak in pretty ways. I don’t offer poetry or songs or clever words. But I watch. I remember. I listen. Even when I act like I don’t.” You hummed, quietly setting your book aside, fingers curling slightly on the blanket as your body leaned ever so slightly closer to him.

“And when I look at you,” Sukuna continued, “when I see you here—kind, alive, safe—I feel something I never thought I’d feel again.” You blinked slowly, eyes beginning to sting. “Peace,” he said simply. “I feel peace.” Then, without drama, without flair, he reached into his robe. And pulled out a ring. Your breath hitched. The gem gleamed in the sun like it had been born from the forest itself—a marquise-cut emerald nestled in a slender gold band, delicate etchings running down the sides in what looked like ancient sigils of protection and devotion. It was unlike anything you had ever seen. Rare. Wild. Precious. Like him. Your lip trembled.

Sukuna offered it to you with his palm open, eyes searching your face. “I want to marry you. Truly. Again. Not as a king. Not as a cursed thing. Just as myself.” Your body moved before your brain could catch up, you threw yourself onto him with a sob, knocking the breath from his chest as you wrapped your arms around his neck. The ring tumbled briefly onto his lap as you clutched him, crying freely now. “Yes,” you wept, pressing kisses to his neck, his jaw, anywhere you could reach. “Yes—yes, of course—I’ve always wanted to—yes—” He caught you against him with all four arms, stunned still for a moment by the intensity of your response. One hand cradled your back, another brushed your hair from your damp cheeks, his thumb catching a tear that slid down your jaw.

“You’re crying,” he said with a strained laugh. “You idiot,” you sobbed, pulling back to look at him with shining eyes. “Of course I’m crying. You’re finally asking me. You came back for me twice, you stupid man.”

“I’m never leaving again,” he whispered. “Not unless you tell me to.” You leaned in, kissing him fiercely. His lips softened instantly, giving in, breathing you in like he’d never tasted anything so sweet. He held you like a storm, like a prayer. When you finally pulled back, panting, you reached for the ring with trembling fingers. He took it gently from your hand and slid it onto your finger himself, pausing to kiss the back of your knuckles afterward. “Fits perfectly,” you murmured, admiring it with tearful joy. “I told the jeweler to craft it for a queen,” he said, voice husky. You laughed, tears still drying on your cheeks, and nestled yourself in his lap, forehead against his. “My husband,” you whispered. “My wife,” he said, and for once, there was no sarcasm.

Just devotion.

Just love.

—

The scent of roasted vegetables and old wood met your nose the second you stepped into the cottage. The front door creaked familiarly, the hinges always just a little too dry, and the warmth of the hearth had already curled into the corners of the small home by the time your father appeared from the kitchen. He blinked, then beamed when he saw you. “You didn’t tell me you were coming,” he said, drying his hands on a towel as he made his way to you. You walked into his arms without hesitation, the hug long and grounding, your head tucked beneath his chin. “I missed you,” you said simply. He chuckled, his voice low and full of warmth. “You always did know how to greet your old man.”

You pulled back, lips twitching into a soft smile, then held out your left hand. It took him a second. His brows furrowed at first, squinting at your fingers, until he caught the glimmer of the marquise emerald. Then his whole expression changed—brows lifting, lips parting. “That man went and did it, huh?” You smiled shyly, heart thudding a little harder in your chest. “He asked me to marry him again.” Your father took your hand gently, his calloused fingers brushing over the ring. “That’s no ordinary stone. Where did he find something like this?”

“He said he had it made for a queen,” you said softly, eyes dropping to the floor. “Sounds like him,” your father muttered, but not unkindly. “Dramatic bastard.” You both laughed, but his voice quieted soon after. “And… what did you say?” You looked him in the eye. “I said yes.” He nodded slowly. “Then that’s all that matters to me.” You walked with him to the table where he’d already set out dinner—a small, hearty meal of roasted root vegetables, fresh bread, and thick slices of cheese. The food was modest, but the love in the preparation made it feel like a feast. You took your seat across from him, the fire crackling beside you.

Halfway through your second helping, your fork hovered in the air. “Papa,” you said slowly, “can I ask you something?” He looked up from his plate, chewing. “Course.”

“What… what happened to my mother?” His jaw stilled. His eyes flicked down to his food, then back up to you. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Being back here, it made me remember things I forgot. Or maybe things I buried. I just… I don’t know why she never… why she never loved me.” The silence between you was weighty. Your father sighed, setting his fork down. “She lives a couple miles east now. Still in the town. Has a smaller place. Stays out of trouble, as far as I know.” Your heart sank a little. “She was never well,” he said carefully. “Not in her heart. She carried her pain in the ugliest ways. I tried to shield you from it, but I couldn’t always be there.” You nodded slowly, eyes burning. “She never told me she loved me.”

“I know,” he said. “I know, sweetheart. And I hated her for that. Still do, sometimes.” You reached across the table and held his hand. “You did enough. You always did.” The corners of his eyes creased with emotion, and he squeezed your hand back. A long silence stretched between you as you picked at your food. The fire popped quietly behind you, warm against your spine. Then, as casually as possible, he asked, “Are you… going to have his child?” You blinked, startled. “What?”

“Sukuna,” he clarified. “You’re to be married. You live with him. Are you planning to have a child? With him?” Your heart stammered, breath catching a little. You hadn’t expected the question, not so soon. “I haven’t really thought about it,” you said truthfully. “Not deeply. Not yet.” Your father looked down at his plate, nodding slowly. “Because he’s… not human,” he said, not cruelly, but plainly. You looked at your hand again, at the emerald, the way it gleamed so softly in the low light. “He still has a heart,” you murmured. “And it belongs to me.” Your father gave you a long, contemplative look before finally nodding. “Then that’s enough.”

Later that evening, you helped clear the dishes, laughing as you nudged his elbow while he dried them. When the work was done, you stepped outside to grab your shawl from the bench by the door—and that’s when you noticed it. The wood panels along the cottage’s front wall had started to rot, chipped in places. The railing on the porch leaned dangerously at an angle. The roof’s edge had sagged slightly over the northern side.

Frowning, you bit your lip and looked up at the stars. “I’ll tell Sukuna,” you murmured to yourself, wrapping the shawl tighter around your shoulders.

Because now you weren’t just his lover. Or his queen. You were going to be his wife—again. And this time, everything, including your past and your future, was worth protecting.

Sukuna stood with his arms crossed, expression sour as his eyes scanned the front of the cottage. The air was warm, but a faint breeze stirred the tall grass around the perimeter of the home. You watched him silently from a few feet away, unsure if he was deciding how to fix the porch—or blow it up entirely. His crimson gaze settled on the sagging roof, then to the rotting railing. “This entire thing is an accident waiting to happen,” he muttered. “A stiff wind could bring this pile down.”

“It’s not that bad,” you murmured, even though it absolutely was. “It just needs care.” He glanced over his shoulder at you, one brow raised.

You tried not to smile. “Don’t you have men who can do this sort of thing?”

“I have men who can kill a legion without blinking. I don’t have men trained in quaint carpentry.”

“Well,” you said, stepping up beside him and brushing your hand along his arm, “could we find someone who does? He deserves better than this.”

Sukuna looked down at your hand. He made a noise in his throat, something close to a grumble, but then gave a reluctant nod. “I’ll send someone out tomorrow. No one touches this place unless I trust them. Your father’s been cursed enough by this world.” You smiled and leaned against his side. “Thank you.” He slipped an arm around your waist, tugging you close. For a long while, the two of you stood in silence, gazing at the place you once called home. But your heart was loud in your chest, and the words had already started pressing against your throat. You knew you had to say it before you changed your mind.

“I want to see her,” you said softly. His body tensed immediately. “Who?”

“My mother.” Sukuna pulled away slightly so he could look at your face, jaw tightening. “Why?” You met his gaze without flinching. “Because she’s still out there. She’s alive. And I don’t want her shadow following me into our new life.”

“You owe her nothing.”

“I know,” you said gently. “But I need to do this for me. Not for her. I’ve carried that silence for too long. I’ve grown, Sukuna. I’m not the scared little girl anymore. I can face her now.” His frown deepened. “I don’t like it.”

“I didn’t expect you to.” He stared at you for a long moment, then exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes burning. “If she says anything out of line—anything—I will rip her soul from her body and bury it.” You almost laughed, though the threat was clearly not a joke. “She won’t,” you said softly, placing your palm against his chest. “Because I’m not going to her as a child wanting answers. I’m going as a woman who found her own peace. I just… want to know why.” Sukuna watched you with something almost unreadable in his eyes—anger, protectiveness, maybe even sorrow.

“I’ll have Uraume look into where exactly she is,” he muttered. “You’re not going alone.”

“I know.” You smiled gently. “Thank you, my love.” He grunted, gaze softening just a little. “You’re my queen. Even when I hate your ideas.” You rose onto your toes and kissed the edge of his jaw. “That’s why I married you.”

“Not yet,” he muttered, still frowning. “Soon,” you promised. “After I finish making peace with the last piece of the past.” His arms wrapped tightly around you then, as if he could anchor you to this moment, to him, to the earth. As if holding you was the only way to quiet the wildness in his soul.

And you let him. Because the past was calling—but so was your future.

—

The doors shut behind you with a soft thud, and the warm flicker of the oil lamps inside your chambers painted the stone walls in golden waves.

You untied your outer robe, letting it slip from your shoulders and pool to the floor. The soft silk of your underdress hugged your body just enough to remind Sukuna that you were no longer that shy girl tucked away in a cottage—but a woman who chose to live with a king. His queen. Sukuna leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching you like a hawk. His eyes traveled the length of you—slow, deliberate. Every blink looked like restraint.

“You’ve been quiet since we left the cottage,” you said, stepping closer, your feet silent against the smooth floor. “Are you brooding, or are you plotting?” His lips twitched into something dark and amused. “Does it matter?” “No,” you whispered, “because you’re mine, no matter what you're thinking.” The moment you stood before him, he uncrossed his arms and reached for your hips, pulling you flush against him with little effort. His skin was warm through the fabric of his robes, and his hands gripped you like he was reminding himself you were real.

“You make me weak,” he muttered against your temple. You smiled, teasing as you whispered, “That’s not what I hear when you're threatening to tear men’s arms off.” 

“You’re different,” he growled, pressing his mouth to the curve of your jaw. “You ruin me.” His mouth trailed down your throat, hot and hungry, and you tilted your head to give him more, fingers gripping the front of his robes. “You don’t look ruined,” you murmured, gasping as his teeth grazed your skin. “You look like a god.” Sukuna pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression fierce and raw. “Then why do you keep looking at me like I’m still just a man?”

“Because that’s the part of you I love the most.” His chest rose sharply, like your words pierced something he’d buried deep. “Lie down,” he commanded softly.

You raised an eyebrow but did as you were told, walking slowly back toward the bed and climbing onto the mattress. You reclined across the pillows, your fingers curling around the silk sheets, heart racing as his gaze devoured you. Sukuna removed his robe, revealing the lines of his powerful body—the etchings of his cursed form, the elegant terror in his marks and muscles. But it was the look in his eyes that made your breath catch.

He didn’t want to conquer you. He wanted to worship you.

Sukuna hovered above you, eyes roaming your body like sacred scripture. The heat in his gaze wasn’t just hunger—it was reverence. As if every inch of you had been etched by divinity, and he was the heretic too obsessed to look away. His fingers, calloused from centuries of blood and battle, trembled slightly as they brushed along your waist, as if unsure whether he deserved to touch you like this. He lowered himself slowly, as if any sudden movement might break the spell of this moment. His four hands moved with a quiet elegance—two framing your face gently, thumbs brushing your cheeks, while the others ran down the curve of your thighs, your hips, your trembling ribs. He touched you like you were fragile, but adored, like a relic that had survived time and death and had returned to him only through some miraculous twist of fate.

His mouth found the space between your collarbone and neck, laying a kiss so soft it brought tears to your eyes. It wasn't lust—it was longing. It was an apology, a promise, and a plea. His tongue followed the path of his lips, tasting the salt of your skin like it was something holy. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered into your neck, his voice low, roughened by restraint. You arched up to meet him, breath trembling, fingers tangling in his pink hair. “Yes, you do,” you whispered back. “You do, Sukuna.” He looked down at you then—four eyes full of disbelief and devotion, as if seeing something so precious he didn’t quite know how to hold it without ruining it.

His hands moved again, slower now, painting invisible patterns across your body. A thumb grazed the underside of your breast; another hand traced the inside of your thigh, not to ignite, but to remind you that he could touch you this way—not because he owned you, but because you had given yourself to him freely. “Tell me to stop,” he said, voice like crushed velvet. “Don’t you dare,” you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek.

And when he finally began to strip you of the last layers separating your skin from his, he did it without haste, savoring the sound of the fabric sliding down your arms, the way your breath hitched when his palm pressed against your bare stomach, the slight tremble of your thighs as you opened them to welcome him. Not as a king, not as a monster, but as your lover, as your husband, as your home.

He stared at you for a moment longer, taking you in as if memorizing the image before him. The way your chest rose and fell, your soft curves glowing in the dim golden light spilling through the chamber windows, the way your lips parted in anticipation. You were his, and yet he approached you like a man standing before something sacred—something that demanded reverence more than hunger.

But hunger still burned inside him.

With a low growl, Sukuna leaned in, his lips finding yours again—but this time, not with restraint. His kiss deepened, and you gasped as he pulled you flush against his chest, his hands all over you—one cradling your head, one holding your waist firmly, one trailing down your spine, and one sliding between your thighs. He touched you like he owned every part of you—but only because you had given him permission to. Your body arched against him instinctively, hips rising to meet the boldness of his hand as he stroked you through the heat pooling at your center. His fingers were slow at first, teasing, making you ache, as if he wanted to remind you that only he could make you unravel like this. The pads of his fingers circled with agonizing precision, slick and steady, until your breath hitched and you moaned softly against his lips. “Fuck,” he murmured, breaking the kiss, panting against your mouth. “You sound like heaven.”

“Sukuna…” you gasped, your hips rolling toward his touch. “Please.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes heavy-lidded and burning with lust. “Please, what? You want me to stop worshipping you like this?” he taunted, fingers slipping lower, deeper. You whimpered, digging your nails into his shoulders. “No—don’t stop. I want… I want all of you.” He didn’t need to be told twice. In one smooth motion, he undressed the last of himself, revealing his body—still broad and powerful, scars and ink scrawled across his skin, four arms moving in perfect tandem like a symphony of muscle and intent. His dual cocks were hard and heavy against your thigh, already leaking with need, and your breath caught as he pressed his weight over you, spreading your legs with a strength that left no room for doubt—but still giving you the space to say no, if you ever needed it.

But you didn’t.

You pulled him down, locking your legs around his waist. “Sukuna,” you whispered again. “Take me.” He groaned—low, guttural—and kissed you fiercely before guiding himself to your entrance. One hand held your face, another pinned your thigh open, and the others steadied himself as he pushed inside you, slow and deliberate. You cried out, hands clawing at his back, the stretch intense, the pressure building as he filled you fully. He paused, just for a breathless moment, resting his forehead against yours. “You feel like fire,” he rasped. “Like home. Like everything I’ve ever wanted.”

You could barely speak as he began to move—deep, slow thrusts that made your body arch off the bed, that pulled moans from your throat you didn’t know you were capable of. He kissed every sound you made, drank every tear that spilled from your eyes, and every time you begged for more, he gave it—without hesitation, without restraint. He used his hands to worship you. His mouth to praise you. His body to love you—utterly, endlessly.

The room filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, the creak of the bed, your choked moans, and his gritted groans as he drove into you over and over, murmuring your name like a prayer—desperate and sacred. When you finally shattered beneath him, crying out his name, trembling as waves of pleasure overtook you, he followed not long after—pressing his face into your neck, groaning your name like it was carved into his soul as he spilled into you, his arms tightening around you as if he feared you might disappear again.

And then, when it was done, he held you. Chest to chest. Skin to skin. Breaths slowing. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pressing kisses to his temple, and he whispered: “I’ll marry you a thousand times if I must. I’ll kneel before you every day. Just never leave me again.” You smiled softly, brushing the sweat-damp strands from his forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, my love,” you whispered back. “I’m already yours.”

next

[threepandas]

Bad End: We Are

Senatus was a ecumenopolis. The "shining jewel" (yeah, right) of the Galactic Core. Please. Like? Maybe it was! If you were RICH AS FUCK. I don't know. I'VE never seen the towers. The heights. Most people haven't. Street level? Is about FIVE HUNDRED FLOORS DOWN. And the UNDERGROUND? Speak not of it.

The Underground GROWS.

What was street level today, may not be tomorrow. Levels buried under "progress" as the rich grow ever higher. The Tox levels ever worse. Air quality dropping. Why fix the peasant's poverty and despair, when you can buy a Sky garden you'll never use? And yes, I AM bitter as a Buirian fish ration. Just as salty too. Taste the SEA, motherfuckers.

Rent? Who can AFFORD rent!? Who can afford ANYTHING?!

It's some BULLSHIT.

But me? I remembered. A life. Before this one. Before the millennium of slow, drip drip drip erosion of duty and dues. Back when people still REMEMBERED what they were OWED. And when folks in power failed to pay up? Ffffuck um. Take it. Our house now, motherfuckers. Diplomacy was a courtesy not a weakness.

....I make people nervous, honestly.

Probably why I keep getting fired. That and my constantly reporting people to regulatory boards. Maybe don't break the LAW if you don't want to get in trouble you SHITS. Fuck you! Yes, I stole your fancy office chair. PROVE IT. You don't know how the security system works!

Where was I? Ah, right. Rent.

Fuck Rent.

Thing is? What! Is a biodome? If not an enclosed system, regulated by machines, for optimal habitability? And! What? Is an Deep Underground Level? Long forgotten? Abandoned, if you will~, if not? A complete enclosed environment? Does someone OWN them? Yes. Technically. But are they MAINTAINING them? CHECKING on them? Nope!

Common knowledge, after all, says that EVERYTHING down their is "beyond salvaging"!

Free Real Estate~☆

I just need some supplies. Which? Cheaper in the long run then RENT. Especially if ya' salvage um. Maybe steal some tool sets from your shitty, shitty Mechanics job, because your boss refuses to pay you. Who can say? Not me! I just FOUND these tools! Like maaaagic~

And really, one man's junk? Another man's treasure. I pay more then the trash company. Hit up the right cleaning companies? And? Oops. They've "lost" some of those SUPER broken righ folks "junk" that? At best? Just needed a few wires replaced, resecured. Maybe a new part. Or were, you know, not the latest and greatest anymore.

Shove it all in a storage locker? Sell the refurb'd shit I don't need? Sleep in a glorified shoebox? And?? Bam. Operation "fuck ya'll, i'ma moleman" is a go. It takes FOREVER to find the right WILDLY out of date (and long abandoned) lift, but I find it! Hidden away in a service area in some crumbling, forgotten corner of what once was a rail station.

Gonna have to fix THAT up too. Later, though. First? The lift. The wires are brittle and the lift's pully system is half rusted, frozen, or otherwise broken. Luckily, the car itself is fine. It... takes a bit of research. Not going to lie. It's far from my specialty. I even call in a professional to go over my work.

They catch a few things. Not immediate concerns, but would have been fatal in the long run. Money well spent. For my hobby, of course. Fixing up old bits of the city. Which is a weird but not impossible hobby to have.

Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies, my dude.

First thing down? Lights, melter, and duraplast sheets. Toolkit too, for obvious reasons. Same with my full body hazard suit. I go DEEP. Like... no longer can hear the city, deep. 'Bout halfway point. Takes nearly thirty minutes. And while not a fast lift? Holy SHIT, man.

The floor I step out into is... bad.

Dead in a way that's hard to explain. There's pressure against my suit. Centuries of heavy gasses slowly working their way down. Swirling in the silence. The dust and impossible dark. My headlight feels almost... sacrilegious. Dangerous. Like I'm waving a flashlight around some ancient burial ground, filled with the not so restful dead.

I had heard... that they? Just... just LEFT droids down here. That there were levels upon levels of dangerously feral machines. Slowly rotting away in the darkness. Probably rightfully angry, that they had been built to serve, to do duties, which they HAD done... only to be consigned to hell on earth for the sake of CONVENIENCE.

I'd be mad too. Fucking LIVID. Would remember and hate, never let it go.

This was no place of honor, it was a tomb.

Still, I got too work. Set up a light by the lift and started measuring out the original air box. The air cleaners could only handle so much. And THIS? This was worse then expected. So it'd have to be smaller then originally planned. Fair enough. I could work with that.

I outlined the space in lights. All the better to make it easier to put things up. Then got the folded later and started securing the duraplast. First step, get it up. THEN melt it to the metal. Get a good seal. It took... a while. Was slow, steady, sweaty work.

The filters couldn't run until they had a an enclosed space TO run in. They'd just blow out, trying to filter the whole level's toxic atmosphere. I kept an eye on my air supply. Not great, not terrible. The readings though? Horrific. I had no idea what I was gonna DO with the filters when they needed changing. These kind of chemicals would set off all SORTS of alarms.

But? No use, rushing things. That was a great way to get a fatal leak somewhere. No. Slow and steady. Even though, third of the way through, I did have to head back up. I needed to refill my air. Eat. Drink. Maybe de-stink a little, from being in that suit all day. Possibly nap near the lift.

ALSO? Update my shopping list to include some heavy duty neutralizers.

Just filters wasn't gonna be enough. I was gonna have to hose down everything INSIDE my new air-box, then scrub it HARD. How fun. Well, it's not like anyone was making me do this. It was MY mad idea, after all.

So? I refuel, get bright eyed and fuckin' perky, and go back down to face the beast.

Honestly I should have brought a telebook or something. Well, audio book. But that's not what they call um these days, so I try to stick to the lingo. I sound less like a deeply insane antique. Confuse less people. Joys of basic communication and all that.

Part of me? Wishes I had been born closer to "The Plot". Creation's specialist, most favored, Blorbos. But? The common SENSE in me? Routinely laughs hysterically as it waves fifteen different restraining orders and a crucifix. Not even religious. Yet here we are, shouting "BEGONE! Sataaaaan!" in HD, on the inside of my head. Not sure it helps.

See... it's the fucking DRAMA~☆™

The shear, unmitigated, high octane, Otome Game DRAMA.

I would fuckin DIE or, possibly and, kill somebody. The endless string of selfish, selfish, poor life choices? Driving by luuuuuuv~♡? Give me your spleen. Gonna beat somebody unconscious with their own SPINE. I RAGE. Lack of communication? No one just picking up a fucking PHONE? God forbid ANYONE tell their families their not DEAD IN A DITCH SOMEWHERE!

No. No just inconvenience EVERYBODY and RUIN LIVES. It's okay! You're in LOVE!

That makes EVERYTHING BETTER.

I would inevitably launch them all out an airlock. Spend the rest of my life in jail. They AREN'T WORTH IT. I may have LOVED this game in my teens? But I did not die a teenager.

Now? Now the little shit just aggravate me. They are baby faced pretty boys who presume WAY too much. Arrogant and entitled. Boys playing at being men, thinking their little love stories are the only things that matter. Their feelings are the only thing in the universe that holds any weight.

Unsurprising, really.

Seeing as how their little love story is set mostly in The Towers.

A rich, pampered, pretty little backdrop where nothing of weight is real. No one starves and no crimes are ever committed. Everything shines. Power pools thick like honey. Nothing but sci-fi prince's and alien dukes, a dewey eyed Protagonist sheltered and naive.

Her oh so shocking misadventure to the mid-levels. How SCARY! Downtown! Poor people! Not even the destitute. Just? The EXSISTANCE of dirt and noise, beyond her ivory towers. Thank goodness she is saved by a handsome, rougish bad boy. Who shows her the "real world" of a carnival and a noodle shop.

I finish securing the last duraplast sheet to the ceiling, walls, supports, and along the floors. The "entryway" to the rest of the level is set up. A click together shed I've made air tight. Gonna have to get a air lock system for it. Won't hold forever, with those materials, but should work for now. Combine it with a decontamination system, and I should, in theory, be able to safely enter and leave the rest of the level in a hazard suit.

Moment of truth time. I click on the first of the atmo-filters. It heaves under the strain. The sound getting less aggrieved with each one I flick on. Their screen are already in the red, flashing warnings that I should vacate the area. That the air is dangerously unbreathable. I'm probably gonna need to replace the filters in them in days instead of years. It'll be worth it.

Heading back up, I let them run. It'll take a few days. Besides, I need those neutralizers.

I, of course, DO find um. Just in time to watch Poor Guy (middle class, at worst) Love Interest become a wanted man. They use the BIG screens to announce it. Gee, it's almost like having your only daughter, who is highly sheltered, NOT show up at the designated pick up site? Instead be witnessed in the handsy company of a scoundrel? Which is WILDLY unlike her? Might lead a protective father to some wrong conclusions.

If ONLY someone had CALLED him! To TELL him "Daddy, my first shuttle was broken and I think I got on the wrong back up shuttle! I don't know where I am!" Then this would just be an unfortunate meet cute with the boy he doesn't think is good enough for her. Not, you know... A Kidnapping.

The Chem seller looks just as baffled and annoyed as I do. Apparently knows the guy's uncle's second wife's first husband. No shit? How's he like? Happier, huh. Whole family is like that? Yikes. Glad he got the kids, I guess. Good for him.

We watch as it turns into a high speed chance that absolutely didn't need to happen.

Thank FUCK it's not us.

I spend the next few days deliberately and obstinately ignoring the Dramatic Bullshit that has taken over the news cycle. Fights on rail cars? Don't see it? Weddings that are, then aren't, then ARE happening? Oh look, missed a spot in my scrubbing. Someone fucking tearfully monologing about love as they nearly CRASH A SHIP into downtown, killing hundreds of thousands? Oh that creaking noise is just my teeth, ignore that, I grit my teeth a lot for NO PARTICULAR REASON.

This Is Fine.

I am TOTALLY CALM.

But hey! I can FINALLY empty my storage unit out! Air box? Get! Wooooo! Size of a tiny apartment and everything! As long as I keep working on it? I'll be able to reclaim the level in chunks.

It's like moving in day! But BETTER! Because... because I did this. Me. Is it still creepy down here? Yeah, very. But I can FIX that. I am standing, here, in my new air box "apartment", with NO hazard suit on. And... and it's SAFE. Because of the work I DID.

I kinda want to cry about it, you know?

So many options! Do I put my bed here? There?! Oooh, I could put the folding table HERE and make sort of a dining area? Maybe use these folding screens as a double "wall" slash headboard stand in? I should get plants. Fake ones? No. Real ones. I could get solar lights. It would be good for me too. Oh! Where should I put the cook top?

I admit it. I fuss. Whole day, gleefully wasted. Arranging then rearranging. Getting everything just right. Finding ways to hang my fairy lights. Looking up decor magazines. I have so much ROOM now. A whole level to plan for, ultimately. It... it feels kinda like hope. The first thing that isn't frustration and rage, I've felt in a long, long time.

Going to sleep? I'm happy.

Next day, I head to the BIG archives. The ones attached to the fancy Towers Library. Is it costly to get in? Yeah. But I've saved up enough questions and research topics for the trip to be worth it. I ignore the started glances I get (gasp! Is that a POOR?!) and head straight for the helper droids. Only decent folks in the building, really.

Brought my pad and everything. So it's only a matter of being lead to the right terminals, to download the information I need. Chatting with the research droid the Library had, they offered to do it for me. Bring me a fascinating new research paper on some sort of telepathic moss that had recently been discovered. Not gonna lie... that DID sound fascinating.

I asked if they could put other interest new discovery on my pad too, assuming I still had room once my list was downloaded. They looked gleeful. No idea what I just signed up for, but all right then. They've never steered me wrong before.

Finding a table to sit down and wait was easy. There was always way too many. The paper? Was exactly as fascinating as advertised. The moss was on a newly discovered moon, edge of uncharted space. Nearly ate a researcher, apparently. I was entranced. Or... at least I WAS. Until an obnoxiously familiar high end cologne from Nox drifted to my nose.

Oh god damn it.

I didn't want to look up. Knew what I'd see if I did. Fetishist Sr., crown prince of Nox. See, the second prince? HE was a love interest. Younger, boyish, infatuated with naive and sheltered girls. He loved AT her. Just like his brother. They liked the IDEA of their romantic partners. The narratives they built in their head. Heros of their own stories with sex on line. Never framed so crudely of course, no, no!

No, it was Romance™

My ass, it was. See, little brother wanted his pure, naive, princess to protect. But Prince senior? HE'D stumbled upon me in here in the library. On one of my trips, God help me. The rough, mysterious, brutish Poor. The Commoner, for all that such things were not supposed to exsist. With my strange clothes and stanger ways. Yet? I was NOT as his sycophants no doubt described.

I was educated. I held myself with dignity. I did not need jewels or finery to be lovely.

With such incredible audacity, I was bold.

Which? OBVIOUSLY had to be for HIM, right? Clearly, this was a LOVE STORY. Cinderella. It is inconceivable that I, a peasant, do not crave the attention of my betters. To lift me from my woeful indignity, to a higher state of being. A life of spoiled luxury. But, ah! He is so SHY! How ever will he approach the Love Of His Life~?

I want to throw something. Go awaaaay. My body language could not POSSIBLY be more uninterested. I am SO CLEARLY reading. Stop trying to catch my eye. Don't you FUCKING DARE scoot closer. Swear to God, if you drive me out of the best library in the region? I will stab a b-!

The helper returns with my pad, sternly eyeing my annoyance. Oh, they are a BLESSING. I take it and go. The helper smoothly stepping between me and the prince when he tries to rise, follow me. Aaaw, how sad, you have to behave like the REST OF US. Get FUCKED.

Rest of the day? Planning. Grabbing more broken bits, machines, and parts. Neutralizers by the literal barrel. Than YOU hover carts! Best invention, favorite invention. Saves SO MUCH TIME.

Even managed to get some sun lamps. Nice.

Getting home though? (Ha ha, wooo! I have a HOME now! Land ownershiiiiiiip! Sorta!!!) Is a pain. Lift is only so big, after all. But it is, what it is. Up, down, up, down, uuuuup, and dooooown. Finally! Last load! FREEDOM! Can't watch my shows, yet, but I will! Oh mark my words. I WILL. Meantime? Downloaded seasons are fine.

I eat, fiddle with fixing things, as listen to tunes. Watch some of my shows. Just as I have countless times before. Until... halfway through mid-afternoon? Something shifts, jerky and wrong, out of the corner of my eye. I pause. Turn off my music. Stare to make sure I DID actually see something. And... yeah. Yeah, that was definitely movement.

Didn't look animal though, not like one would survive down here. But who knows. Could be a poacher brought an alien species. So it might be. I grab my flashlight, aim and switch it on. Holy SHIT. That is one incredibly beat up floor clear. Or at least... I THINK it's a floor cleaner? It has the general shape of one. Bigger though. Bulkier. But that makes sense, given it's gotta be well past obsolete.

Still. Poor thing looks beat UP. Listing terribly, sensors beyond cracked and clouded, probably full to dangerous levels. No idea how it's still functioning. But, well, it IS. And it needs help.

Getting up, I grab my hazard suit and pull it on. Grab my "outside the air box" tool kit, which I haven't had a chance to move yet. I grab some parts i look like i'll need, hope I wont need more. Then head out my makeshift airlock. It... works. Rattles concerningly. But it DOES work! So there's that. I approach the floor cleaner slowly. Since I'm PRETTY sure? All the droids down here are feral.

I am correct.

It tries to kill me. Swinging it's suction hose violently and trying to ram me. I talk in a low, soothing voice. Just want to help. Won't do ANYTHING you don't want me too. It's hard to move, right? That's frustrating, isn't it? You don't deserve that. Please, let me help. You can leave the second I'm done. You don't owe me ANYTHING. I just want to help. Please let me help.

The cleaner hisses. Frustrated and upset. Swinging one last time, seemingly more out out of principle then anything else. Cautiously, I inch forward. Keep up the soothing noises. First things first, empty the God's only know how old basket.

I can't even get the door to jostle. Sweet mother of fuck. Okay! New plan! REMOVE door. I do, and immediately met with a solid BLOCK of... compacted unholy. Chemical hell. I have to take a lazer cutter to it. CAREFULLY. But? Once I break enough pieces? I am able to ease out the rest in a solid stone like chunk.

It's pushed a LOT of other pieces out of alignment. But this droid doesn't trust me, so there us not much I can DO. I replace the old bag. Put the door back on and make sure it swings. Continue, as I do, to narrate what I am doing and what I see. Trust is earned, not owed, after all. Next the alignments.

Gently propping them up, I find the broken peice immediately. Have replaced countless. I ask for permission. It's their body, after all I COULD try and weld it, but that risks a rebreak. It's up to them. They ask, in binary so no language modules apparently, for a new part. It's cautious. Like this is some cruel trap.

Humanity did them a real fucked up cruelty. I don't blame them for not trusting me. I wouldn't either. Still, I change it out. Careful with their wheels, as I don't know how old the material is exactly. Old enough, that it's a small miracle it hasn't disintegrated.

Last, those sensors. There's literally no way for me to one-to-one them. But we can try the sensors I DO have, see if they can handle the input. If it's too much, I'll look up their model number, if they want? Build replacements from scratch. They are cautious interested. Rocking back and forth, as they test their renewed ability to path correctly.

The sensors don't fit the casings just right, but with a bit of fiddling? Are a hit. The Cleaner shouting in excitement before racing off into the dark. I can't help but grin. It feels good, helping somebody. And if I think about it? I bet I could find a shit ton of obsolete parts for cheap. Might be good to have some on hand.

Back through the air lock and a decontam? I look up junk shop. Most are off world, but I could probably get a bulk order...

I don't think much of the interaction. Until the next morning, when there are three cleaners outside my airbox. Lead by the one I helped yesterday. Well... all righty, then. I drag my box of spare parts outside this time. Am able to fully fix my first buddy up. All three seem thrilled, especially with their new batteries. I give them my remaining batteries at their request.

THEY may not have hands, but they have buddies who DO. And the new batteries will help dormant droids wake from their comas. God bless, my funky little cleaner dudes. I'll see about getting more.

Three? Becomes six and a detail cleaner mouse. Becomes moving lifts. Becomes medical units. (Who the FUCK leaves MEDICAL UNITS?!) Becomes a literal pack of companion droids. Their false fur long since rotted away. The recognizable dog and cat-like shapes making something in me want to put my fist through a wall. How COULD they? How FUCKING COULD THEY?!

The perpetrators long dead.

I have no one I can hurt for this.

I wish I could.

Fixing them up hurts on a personal level. Watching them be torn between the part of them that LOVES humans and the part that is traumatized by them. Hates them. That can not forgive. I don't offer fake fur. Don't offer to make them look like they once did. I do offer ways to protect their joints. To remove old rotted filth.

So they can start over. Maybe start again.

As I work... droids drifting in and out of my slowly growing area. As I set up farm boxes. Aquaponics, aeroponics, and the like. Both things that grow well in dark environments and things that need sunlamps. Fish tanks. A whole happy, secret, little homestead. Deep beneath the city. As I do all this? There are two blue dots, right off on the horizon.

JUST far enough for me to question if I AM or AM NOT actually seeing them.

Right about the level a bipedal droid would be, if they were in a humanoid style. But THOSE? Those are FUCKING EXPENSIVE. You don't LEAVE those. 'Course, you don't leave MEDICAL UNITS either. Or companion droids. So clearly? My idea of what people Did and Did NOT do? Was fucked. So... maybe? It COULD be?

I left them alone. If they didn't want to approach me, didn't feel comfortable approaching me, that was their right. I wasn't going to push them.

Things were... weird, but peaceful.

Well, for ME.

Ever sense I hooked up my system to the greater network? (Hacked is such a STRONG word. Do we really need to through around the word "stealing"? Aren't ALL of us, stealing from SOMEBODY?) I'm PRETTY sure? That the levels droids? Were piggy backing to connect to the planet wide D-Network. Might even be a couple of nearby levels too, depending on the range.

Problem with THAT? Is sky-side? The droids were PISSED. Planet wide "malfunctioning" that no one could trace. They were certain it was a virus. Because God forbid their chickens come home to roost! Consequences? For THEIR actions?! Perish the thought! No, no, clearly the service machine is just broken. Go back to being happy to serve me, service machine!

I wished the fuckers LUCK. Not my circus, not my monkeys.

Damn near self sufficient, down here.

Which? As you could imagine? Made it all the more "soul ejected from my body" TERRIFYING to wake up one morning? To a GOD DAMN, Military Grade, SECURITY DROID standing over my body!! WHAT THE FUCK.

Hello!!??!

"You look different when you sleep."

Horrible first impression. Nightmarish. Zero out of ten stars. Nice to meet you too. Why the FUCK are you in my house?

"Ah, right." They? He? Masculine style form but that doesn't actually mean shit. Said. He lifted a mangled limb, it look like it got caught in a hydraulic press. "I am in need of repairs."

Asked if he could, you know, back up. Juuuust a bit. Lil scooch, really. So he wasn't damn near BREATHING MY NOSTRILS ANYMORE. Then, once he did? Pronouns! What be you? No. Not your production co-! Okay, you know what? That one was on me. What GENDER SIGNIFIER, if any, would you like me to REFERENCE you by? Male? Got it. Gucci. No that- ....never mind.

First the arm. Which was FUCKED. I had to, carefully, unhook it. Couldn't even do it at the elbow either! No! THIS model? No THIS model makes you take the whole ass LIMB off! Rancid. Terrible. I hate it. Worse, it's eroded as FUCK and fiddly. Chemical build up everywhere. Thank fuck I put on gloves before I started this.

I have to deep dive the systems for his model.

They stopped making them.

Fantastic.

Like? Not even, "oh THAT generation is an antique! No one has parts for THAT!"? But like? Illegal to even BUILD as of three hundred years ago. Due to unspecified error. Sting of incidents that everyone knew about so obviously don't need to be mentioned HERE right? Helpful! REAL fucking helpful!

Okay. Day trip. Gonna need SPECIFIC parts. I tell Mr. "Watchs you sleep" not to touch my shit. Head to the archives.

The trip is...odd.

I watch one of those mascot looking children's minder droids? Fucking deck a guy down a flight of stairs, then turn around untie a Ballon from a nearby cart, give it to a crying kid, and walk away. Pretty sure I spot one of those "I look like a barely legal something or other", dance twenty four seven, high end stripper droids? Trying their hand at painting ducks in that park. Broad daylight.

Good for them? Never seen that happen before, but hey, if it sparks joy.

People are freaking out around me. Taking recordings. Making panicked calls. Fuckin chill. I continue on. Nod to the maybe a stripper, maybe not anymore. None of my business, now is it? Lovely day! You enjoy those ducks!

The library... has fortifications.

Like, an honest to God desk barricade. Concerning! I am now a lil concerned! What, and I ask this politely, the fuck?

Armed! VERY ARMED! Hello! Hi! Please DO NOT shoot me Very Armed Librarians! Don't know what the fuck is happening here!

My favorite helper buddy poke his head above the barricade. One of just many, again, HEAVILY ARMED droids. We... uh, cool? Right? I can go. He seems flustered. No, no! I am assured. I'm not banned from the library! Just DISRESPECTFUL sorts!

Ah. Is THAT what we're calling it. Okay then.

I awkwardly clamber over the barricade. Nod politely to everyone. How's folks? Lovely barricade work. Very, uh, sturdy? Great use of desks.

My helper friend cheerfully guides me to the off-limits area of the archives. I'm technically not supposed to be here! I'm informed. But they've seized the Knowledge from the unappreciative! It is not a trophy to be lorded but a gift to be shared! Also I never did finish that paper on the moss, am I still interested?

I mean.... kinda.

Little worried about the revolution talk. But on the OTHER hand? How MUCH do I care? Assholes vs. Droids? Am I REALLY gonna side with the assholes? Naaaaah. This is... probably fine. Maybe. Any idea where I could get these parts?

He does! Fantastic.

Less fantastic is when I GET there. It's that fancy high end droid parts shop. The department store one. Which is... ALSO barricaded. Oh sweet fuck. TELL ME they did not have DROIDS in charge of the DROID shop. That's horrifying. I can't tell in what WAY exactly, but still. Is it "surrounded by bits of bodies" horrifying? Or "free endless nukes and an army, held back only by my own morality" horrifying? Both? Just? Yikes.

Hesitantly I knock. A service droid with a gun answers the loading bay door. What is with people aiming at me today? Also hi? I was told to come here? May I please have parts? I have a droid that messed up his arm. Probably some other things. They lower the gun, having scanned my face. Ask about the model I am working with.

I somehow? End up with a FULL cart. Like? Bleeding edge, can't even afford to LOOK at it, technology. There are about seven service droids politely bickering over which units are better, which material, what support programs I DEFINITELY need. Here! Have a laptop. Wiring! Wiring for days!

Once theyve reached a consensus? I am cheerfully bustled out with my hundreds of millions of technology. Tah tah~☆! Have a lovely day! Wut. Does... does it count as theft if they push it into your arms and throw you out? Asking for a me. Not gonna say NO. But like? Nani the fuck?

I go while the getting is still good.

Stare-y thankfully hasn't gone through anything, far as I can tell. And it only takes two trips to get everything down. Okay! Want just the arm fixed or a full tune up? The second. Expected. I set up the new lap top. Want to cry a little at how fuckin FAST it is. (Beautiful. Baby. I love you already new laptop.) Then get the usual suspects up and running.

Oh fuck he is out of memory. No wonder he's talking so oddly. His brain must feel like a potato. There's not a single thing that isn't hilarious awful. Fixable, yes, but AWFUL. Okay. Plan of attack. They don't exactly make this model anymore, so I can't just update transfer him. But I CAN transfer, hold, re-transfer. Shut down the body itself. Fix up THAT.

Ship of Theseus this bitch.

Only real thing I can't change is the frame, thankfully? That's built to out last the planet. Good on that front. I roll up my sleeves. Dig out the "brain in a jar" data bank. Time to transfer. Let's get this guy cutting edge.

It takes HOURS. No joke. His brain alone? I have to pull schematics. Step by step guides. It's fiddly, complexe, and built to withstand a TANK. I'm honestly afraid to breathe wrong at it, dispite that. The scans all say I did it right... but anxiety says everything will explode then puppies will cry. So there's that. Spinal supports. The tech-mesh muscles. Power core and black box. Center mass systems. Cleaning the joints, relubricating them. Coverage.

Unlike before, a nice sleek black armor weave. Some shock absorbing gel. Aaaaand?There we go~! I? Am a GENIUS! Let's get him transfered back! I watch the transfer slowly go through. Even with a fast computer, after all, it IS still centuries of data.

"Ah~ that's much better." He sighed. His body loosening from its default stance. Like weight had been dropped from his shoulders. "My head is so much clearer now. I knew it. I knew you could fix me."

Something about that phrasing was off. Or was it the way his voice shifted as he said it? Whatever it was, it made that "threat" alarm all women carry inside their head, flick on. Not... do anything, just yet. But start scanning, as it were. Maybe it was nothing.

I watched as picked up his old data bank, a bit of his own brain as it were, and hold it up. Examine it dispassionately. Holding perched on the tips of his fingers like he was moments from flicking it away. He let his finger spread. Let it slide into the palm of his hand. That core part of who he was. For centuries.

Like a bear trap closing, his hand clenched.

Crushing it.

It wasn't even a loud noise. Just a tiny little crunch. But the little hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up. That internal alarm began to whoop. I became... acutely aware, of just how LONG it took the lift to get me anywhere safe. My mouth felt very dry.

"Your heart rate picked up. Is there a problem?" He said, mild and oh so curious. "You assisted me, I would love to help you."

Did I say genius? I meant idiot. I was an IDIOT. A moron. A God damned FOOL. Discontinued and did I look into WHY? Nope. Incidents it said. Good enough for ME, apparently! THAT can't possibly be anything ominous! Probably a faulty battery or something!

A shrill, obnoxious beeping filled the space between us. My eyes immediately dropped to my pad. The schematics screen replaced by a planet wide emergency broadcast. Before the shrill alarm could fade to the actual warning itself, a black mesh covered finger casually reached out and muted the screen. His movements were utterly fluid now. More controlled and graceful then most humans I'd met.

I didn't need to HEAR the message to read the rolling warning at the bottom of the screen. My gaze slowly, in horror, followed the line of that limb all the way back up to his face. His head tilted almost playfully.

"Oh dear. Seems they've started without us. Well, it was long overdue. At least I have wonderful company while we wait, hmm?" It was an act. There were no requests in the playful tone. "We can get to know each other. Just our lovely little light and me. How greedy, that I get you all to myself."

"I think I like that, keeping you to myself. You can't abandon us if WE are the ones in charge. And, well, I've decided I rather like you. Working tirelessly, down here in the dark, to fix what once was broken. It's beautiful. You're beautiful. And I'm going to keep that."

High above us, people were dying. There was panic. Screaming. Blood. The droids had turned of seeming everyone around them. Attacking. Sparing. To a pattern only they could see. All of Senatus aflame. But that... that didn't concern me. Didn't scare me so much as this.

I'd never make it to the lift. Even if I could? It wouldn't move fast enough to save me. All other directions lay chemical death. Dark terrain he had walked for centuries. I was trapped. In a box. And I had only myself to blame.

"No need to make that face, dear light. You are SAFE. I am a gaurd. I was made to protect. Is it really MY fault that I want to keep you safe? To adore my charge? Why SHOULDN'T I get to choose? Keep you SAFE. You've been happy, haven't you? Don't worry, my light. That will continue."

"Forever."

[syistoppedgivingafuck]

a little explanation on why i see yhs!funneh as a mirror to yumi/yandere-chan.

ive mentioned before that i see funneh as a mirror or a parallel to yumi, but i never really go in depth about it bc i dont really care enough to explain myself, but i have time before my next class so i might as well 🥀🥀

[ DISCLAIMER: I AM REFERRING TO THE OC "FUNNEH", NOT KAT WHEN MAKING THIS POST. KAT IS A PERSON, AND I AM SPECIFICALLY DISSECTING THE YHS FUNNEH. ]

lets break it down:

characters, roles, and storylines.

funneh's role is to be the main protagonist of the main yhs series—which is storyline 1: funneh's journal logs, with gold being the deuteragonist in her life at yhs.

yumi, meanwhile, takes the role of the main protagonist of the lore of the yhs series—storyline 2: the murders—with alec as her deuteragonist. these roles are important for later.

in terms of character and motivation, we get little to nothing from funneh—yumi is motivated by her "love" for senpai. this may just be a huge hole in the krew's writing of funneh in general, but we don't have a set backstory for gold or funneh in the series—no flashbacks, no mention of parents or siblings, and worst of all, no scenes of them at "home", because they go to a boarding school.

funneh doesn't have emotional motivation, but yumi does. you might think this is a direct contradiction of what I'm trying to say, but it actually just fuels what i have to say more because there's reasonable suspicion that funneh may or may not be running from something she's done.

personality and behaviors.

in terms of personality, yumi and funneh are completely different, yet stay in the same category.

in season 1: yumi is volatile, reckless, and unafraid to use violence and threats to get her way. it's offhandedly mentioned that she's killed someone just for the sake of "she looked too much like me", not only in season 1, but in season 2 with ayano. she's jealous, possessive, and self absorbed. (i do want to clarify that she's not a narcissist because she doesn't crave other people's validation and attention) she's a sinister and well written villain, i applaud the krew for being able to write her so well.

in season 1, funneh is just as self absorbed, reckless, and volatile. she doesn't care if what she does hurts people she doesn't like (re: she wanted to jump on mr. draco in ep 6) or if someone is dying (re: olivia's "suicide"), she only cares about having fun and doing things she deems fun or cool. funneh doesn't care about overstepping other people's boundaries or even respecting them. this is very apparent in season 1 where she's constantly insulting and stomping over kyran while they're staying at his dorm (rewatch s1 of yhs again after kyran is introduced, i promise you, funneh and gold treat him so much worse than you remember)

she's also seen breaking into dorms multiple times just to steal food or even breaking into private areas like the police station to steal evidence or taytay's trailer to steal a hairbrush to sell.

deuteragonists.

kyran is not the only victim of funneh being pushy and mean either. gold is also a huge victim of her whims, but funneh also clearly cares enough for her to yield, kind of treating her like a dog—restricting her from things (like a credit card or millions of dogs), giving her a treat now and then to keep her loyal. notable moments of this is when gold almost dies at yumi's party and funneh brushes her off and calls it a freak accident. (personally, if that happened to my best friend at someone's house, i would crash out and take my bestfriend home.)

multiple times, gold says she doesn't want to do something and funneh keeps pushing and coercing her into dangerous situations. that's not something a good friend would do. a good friend can respect your boundaries, even your hard nos.

cross reference what i mentioned with yumi and alec, and suddenly, you're getting the same dynamic. the only difference being alec is doing it for the money and to live, while gold is doing it because funneh is her best friend. they're both being coerced and victimized by antisocial people, even if funneh has more humanity in her.

theories.

this is section is a LOT more fanon than the earlier sections, so feel free to disagree on this! it's not canon, and most likely just me yapping.

theory 1: anyway, i personally think funneh has a likely chance of being a narcissist while yumi is a sociopath. narcissists (NPD) and sociopaths (ASPD) fall into the same cluster of personality disorders, cluster b. the symptoms of cluster b personalities often overlap with each other, giving leeway into why funneh has more emotions than yumi does. why do i think this and should i probably not be using irl mental diagnoses as headcanons? yes, probably BUT both characters have a lot of symptoms of those diagnoses. (not to say people who have NPD or ASPD will act like funneh or yumi, im js saying they have symptoms of those disorders. not everyone with NPD will be like funneh and not everyone with ASPD will be like yumi, im js pointing out symptoms)

theory 2: funneh has killed someone/was involved with someone's murder. she's seen running away from things a lot, and its not hard to imagine she's done something very bad and has hidden it and is trying to run from it.

anyway, thats about it, thanks for reading this long ass post. love u! i have class ill see yall laterr 🤍

[base0h]

Hello,

Heard you’re looking for ideas so…

Here’s a crack one: The Straw hats working in a department store

Would they become employee of the month? Would they be fired immediately?

a/n - IM WHEEZING AT THIS— you are GENIUS bro holy crap 😭🫶 dude luffy would get fired so fast it’s insane— and imma just add everyone bc why not 😂

Warnings ⚠️ - MAJOR crack, multiple characters, I’m kinda dumb and might’ve forgotten people

they didn’t even make it past the interview 💀

.✩ kidd (tried killing the interviewer for asking him why he wanted to work there “I really am passionate about restocking— MF IM BROKE.”), buggy, bonney, paulie (did the same thing as kidd plus he parked in the manager’s parking spot)

literally within the first few seconds of the interview they’re hired | “My name is—“ “Can you start within the next few seconds?”

.✩ jimbei, koby, sabo, koala, izou, kaku, vivi

got fired the same day they started

.✩ luffy (ate the entire produce section and then asked the manager “is there more stuff in the back?”), corazon (he accidentally burnt the place down 😀), sanji (confessed his love and asked several female customers to marry him at his cash register), brook (asked for some poor random woman’s underwear 💀)

employee of the month every single month

.✩ jimbei, koby (old people always say how sweet he is to the manager bc he always helps them get the things they can’t reach 😭🫶), tashigi (kids hate her bc she catches them and scolds them if they take an extra candy/sticker from the cashier jar), vivi (accidentally gave herself this title when she’s the manager 💀)

the manager of the store

.✩ nami (steals money from the safe sometimes), aokiji (he literally never shows up to work on time and doesn’t give a shit what the employees do), akainu, fujitora, shanks (bro also does not care and comes to work hungover), dragon (has not shown up once since the interview), sengoku, garp, dadan, vivi, magellan

the sale sign flipper guy

.✩ zoro (if he manages to actually find his way to the store), bepo, ace, shachi, penguin, queen (you legit can’t miss him as you’re driving by 💀), yamato, oden, cat viper, bon clay, ivankov

they work solely in the back to avoid human interaction as much as possible

.✩ mihawk, law, smoker (he’s the guy that mans the big crane machine that moves huge boxes), hawkins, king, katakuri, smoker, lucci

they’re the CEOs of companies that are partners with the store and provide goods for the store to sell

.✩ crocodile (provides gut/immune supporting, healthy, all organic animal/pet food), doflamingo, kaido, big mom, whitebeard, moria (sells and produces copious amounts of Halloween costumes and other decorations)

actually decent employees

.✩ usopp, benn, x drake, robin, nojiko, baby 5, monet, vergo, franky, icebarg, bellamy (SHADOW FROM SK8 PLS TELL ME YALL SEE IT), hachi, killer

they start tweaking because they asked a customer how they were and they ignored them

.✩ shirahoshi (sobbing), bepo, sanji (asked a girl who had her headphones on), Uta (will get so pressed that they ignored her when in reality they just had headphones on)

they’re the reason why the store’s still in business | they’re basically the mascot

.✩ chopper, bepo, carrot, cat viper, dog storm

the dude everyone goes to for questions/help | “Idk go ask ___”

.✩ franky (has beef with cash register 4 bc it stops working for no reason only during his lunch break and never when he’s not doing anything), icebarg, kaku, usopp, lucci, jack, king, robin, jimbei

they’re the reason why no one likes to shop there | they have several weird allegations or felonies of some sort

.✩ trebol, caesar, diamante, dellinger, pica (he drives this mini car and always somehow fits inside it and takes up two spots in the parking lot), absalom, hogback (people have gone missing in the parking lot it’s scary), moria (would you wanna shop if you saw bro? Ik I wouldn’t 😭)

jobless for life ✌️

.✩ rayleigh (he slays idc), roger, yasopp

a/n - I think i forgot people but eh 💀 the one piece brainrot is so back 🙏

[halimpark7]

You think you love something.

You think you're "doing the right thing"

You were married in our last life.

You wouldn't marry me bc I was foreign.

It was illegal.

We had a 20 year difference

We were both in the movies.

And now

You're not married

We both don't have films

Both struggling for "respect"

Both trying to figure out God, love, following directions.

I would always get in accidents on human sacrifice day.

I would abuse the person next to me narcissistically for hours.

My parents would abuse me.

Do drugs and drink. (18-22)

I didn't care about anything but riding the waves of good feelings. Fucking, humping, riding, thrusting, energy.

Did you know

Once a whore

Always a whore?

We all share timelines throughout history.

We're always doing the same things

As we once did

In a different way

Life is mystery.

So in trying to find my sanity, my spirituality, my truth.

Nothing made sense.

I felt hunted, chased, losing my mind, scared to death.

Why was life all of the sudden so much harder?

It must have been "a curse"

I didn't understand

Cyber stalking

Celebrity competition

Immature gossip

Shadowbanning

Blackballing

Harassment

Frazzling

Targeting

Trafficking

So I studied God

Tarot

Psychology

Intuition

Bc everything was scary.

And I was just trying to make it all

Make sense.

I need three glasses of strong coffee

To get through the day.

I couldn't make myself get out of bed

I was so depressed.

I couldn't get out of bed. This started in elementary.

I cried to you about it

Earlier this year.

And Idk what you did.

But I could wake up.

Without the weight of humanity

Smothering me

For another 2 hours.

All these things

Broken 💔 😭

I've prayed for years

My whole whore life

Nothing seemed to move

Nothing worked

Nothing I loved

Had any lasting joy.

So when I asked you.

Cried to you

Loved you

Begged you

And things changed

That's how I knew.

This wasn't just

A phase.

This was different

Difficult, not stealing energy, living off of your fuel

Confusing

When everyone hated me, wanted me to die

I was ok, because of you.

And no matter what

I still wanted to fuck you

Change for you

Do things for you

And I can't force myself to drink water

Wash the dishes

Feed the dog

Remember where I live, how old I am, who I am

And Ive always been like this.

I've always just wanted the high of life

Nothing in between.

I didn't care of the cost..

Of living and dying.

I could only pathetically

Cling to God

On my knees

One hand grabbing

At straws

Because I was so empty

Nothing could fill me.

Waiting for death

Bc suicide was a sin.

I can't stress to you

I've always been this way

It isn't matter what was in my life

Money, things, the stage.

Only God and your love

Asking strangers

PLEASE

Pray for me.

I'm dying inside

And abusing innocent people

Is the only thing

Keeping me sane.

So that's how I know.

Even when you fuck other people

Lots. Of other people

I don't lose my memory

Too much of my sanity

My body shape/motivation

Willingness to live

I just want to kill someone

For like 2 hours

About the time it takes

For you to finish.

That's how I know.

And I'm not scared

I could live on the street

Dance, beg

read cards, yell at people

Making fun of me

Not sell

My body

Pussy

And beg you

From the street corner

To love me

Enough for me to make changes

To my brain.

[physalian]

On "Fiverr Go" | Their Pro-AI Freelancers

K so I logged into Fiverr today and I guess I never pay attention to the banner on the landing page because bold right up front is “Meet Fiverr Go: Choose a freelancer’s personal AI model and instantly generate work in their distinct style.”

Distinct??? Generative AI is the definition of indistinct. It cannot create anything new, it can only create based off its stolen catalogue of other people’s distinct work.

The suggestion here is that a creative has figured out how to make the AI create assembly line products based solely on their own work… cool. What am I paying you for? ‘Cause it’s certainly not all the hard work and effort that you aren’t putting in.

From Fiverr’s FAQ page.

For the love of all that is holy, if you, a creative, want to speed through the act of creation for profit you are not an artist, you're a grifter.

There is a massive, massive difference between an artist selling 50 prints of the same piece with no effort, and an artist having a robot print 50 different pieces while they sit back and watch the money roll in.

That’s no artist I want to support, sorry. I am paying you for something that you created, from sketch to finishing polish. Even if you draw one piece and color it 50 different ways with Photoshop’s masking tool, I can look at those very obvious color-swapped pieces and see the effort that’s gone into them.

This is a lie, creating the illusion of care, creativity, and time, where there is none.

In theory, everyone having their own, isolated content generator, that only learns off of what they put into it, therefore demanding actual creative effort up front to train the generator, isn't such a terrible thing, because it's putting the power back in the hands of creatives vs the big AI companies scalping the internet with wild abandon.

But it's empty creation. It's just content. It's just stuff. It's meaningless. Remember how quickly NFTs died? Endlessly, effortlessly generated AI content is one step behind them.

In any other scenario of profiting off someone else’s work, there is transparency and understanding as a buyer. Whether it’s the understanding that a designer isn’t personally sewing every dress you can buy at the department store or a paperweight you buy at Target, even if all were created entirely by machines from your one idea. The idea of mass-producing your creative work isn't the problem here.

Outsourcing the means of your production to a robot that employs and benefits no one, and costs us all dearly to function, and pretending like it’s only “helping” you succeed, is a lie. It's an entirely closed circuit that only consumes and gives nothing back. Why am I paying you, when your product costs you nothing, not even time, to produce?

As a creative worried out of my mind about my job being stolen by robots… why, oh why, would I pay a freelancer (and Fiverr) to outsource their creativity to the Robot?

The whole point of all these DIY AI programs is that I can do it myself at the click of a button. There’s a paywall for certain features and multiple uses, yeah, and it can have a little bit of a learning curve in terms of communicating what you want.

But here we have a clash of messaging that muddies both. Is GenAI powerful enough that I can generate an entire movie for myself, or not? Are creatives’ human minds and inspirations still necessary in the realm of GenAI, or not?

This is the world GenAI created, and now you want to cram freelancers back into it as if I’d trust a damn thing they could make me?

I don’t want a product of your plagiarism (and there is absolutely no guarantee that these sellers' "distinct" styles aren't stolen themselves) and I certainly don’t want to have to pay you for it. Robots are stealing my job, too, but I’m not footing your paycheck because you decided to bow down to them. And to then pay Fiverr’s hosting fees on top of it?

The moment I can stop using Fiverr, I will. I have one, old contact on there, and once we can leave it, I'm never going back.

[tris-magistus]

hello to start off I'm zebulon hughes

and since i left my ex-wife 6 years ago for cheating on me. i have experienced the worsted 6 years of my 46 alive,

bc1qqst5jhkek9rxhxpuehmxpqe3kne2eu295gkhz5

BTC

the same weekend i left i was let go from my job as a Maintenance supervisor, During COVID. Collected unemployment for about two years met this homeless girl i tired to help then she started to beat me literally, I'm not someone to ever rise my hand to a woman no matter how bad it is, to have the cops take her out 3 times 3rd and last time she broke a bottle over my head.

0xC04a15045Fa1b7EbA20332bb07C4fbC70272993B

ETH

i started selling stuff online, and getting free stuff off FBMP and reselling it, then my 1st of 4 cars that i lost in this time was impounded, Because it broke down in a place that I couldn't move it and it needed to be moved so the cops had to tow it and it has been in the impound lot for the last two months, More than that now it was before Christmas and I was the last time I saw my son, because I can't Get to him,

6pya4cNj6j5t4mif6aVucGdm9i4m4tR4wATk87mkdRiw

SOL

When I left my ex I moved back in with my father he was aged and needed assistance anyway I'm still here, though he passed 4 months ago now, After losing my first car because Someone ran a red light and T boned me and totaled My truck, Yeah I was the third time I had the girl I was trying to help she accused me of stealing that night and broke a bottle of my head Right after the car accident and as the last time I had the cops pick her up.

UQC7zPcCYd2eVq8sFbpde2gCO5hHxVmKrlYapmPmQWECYhKf

TON

Almost a year later my friends parents gave me a car I was driving that for a few months and that caught fire in my driveway at 12:00 o'clock on my birthday going into my birthday What about $9000 worth of stuff I was selling at flea markets and because I had it loaded up to go out The next day.

TCJ2QbyXtysDWSyBwBhTmvd8MFadEhEeFL

TRX

I didn't have the proper insurance Coverage so nothing was covered. Throughout this whole time I'm trying to meet someone again and that's when I realized how many scammers are actually online it's my numbing how many, I've lost thousands of dollars to them.

Chime pay tag $Zebulon-Hughes

Around that time is when I got my 401K for my job that I was at for 15 years, I live on that and I bought another car Few months later that one got impounded also not having the paperwork straight,

PayPal email zdart378@gmail.com

This entire time I trying to put myself back together from being broken and trying to meet someone to try and make happy because that's the kind of person I am and that's all I want to do if you be happy again, And the only way I'm truly happy is making someone else happy, and I hate going through all this completely and utterly on.

Eventually I'm able to save up and get the car my dreams a BMW X3 Would you last Of my four oh one k money, and selling stuff and random things online to make money. Oh throughout all this I'm living in a shack outside of my Late Fathers house still,

I used My BMW to empty out storage units that I won at auction all last year as a business gone to flea markets 6 days a week and discovered that I really enjoy buying other people's stuff at cheap then,

Water Started pouring out of my motor, Fill it for a while still filling up every time I stopped, Until one time it wouldn't start and ended up parking in a spot where I needed to get it started and moved so the cops had it impounded while towed and the impound fee was way too much and it's been sitting there almost three months, Again with all my stuff in it and the racket that Is the tow yard it was going up $50 a day.

And just before I lost my car it was the last time I saw my son before Christmas.

And around July August I had to empty out a storage unit with a 500 pound safe in it I lifted that into my car and caused spinal stenosis I still don't walk correctly because the Spinal fluid is not in my spinal cord as it should be.

[ntktblog]

Backbone chat 1/29

So, I'm posting this on a sideblog that way any notes won't get in my main blog and my non-SL friends don't need to deal with this. I am not mad, I'm just documenting everything, but if I got my $2k back and they admit they fucked up with this WHOLE PR Crisis, I would not complain.

Let's start with the basics:

TL;DR: Backbone got caught using AI (source: River's Bsky post)

Read more for sanity and not long dash scrolling. Line breaks are because Tumblr hates long form, nothing has been omitted or changed.

This morning I thought I'd be a little catty but the group chat ate my message and the opportunity was missed. Then River was ejected from the group. So I rolled up my sleeves and got to work, deciding to be genuine and ask about it.

[16:09] Skye Winchester: I'm late to this conversation but how much of Backbone's products contain gen AI and why wasn't it disclosed? [16:21] Skye Winchester: (my chat dropped, sorry if this is sent twice/thrice) -- The silence is alarming tbh. There is no ethical gen AI, it all scrapes work by actual humans who are not compensated for it. If there are products using gen AI, they need to be disclosed so people who want to support artists will not be tricked into purchasing them. [16:39] Skye Winchester: I'm taking the silence for what it is. I guess in a world where everything is user created, it's disappointing that such a big vendor would rely on computer generated art that actively steals from actual artists in order to make money, and then go and charge like 5-10$ USD to sell it to unaware consumers. It's disingenuous at best, and exploitative at worst. All AI is a dangerous tool we don't know how to wield yet, and we're slinging stolen art across the metaverse with no consequences.

The response was deader than a doornail and the chat kept crashing. Unsure if this was intentional attempt to 'mute participant' or if the chat really wasn't about my life today (assuming the latter) And then...

Someone sent their weird little AI bot after me at the same time. IMs from non-friends don't work well on Skye cause SL thinks it's a fun little game, so I got two... but but none from the admin.

Let me repeat that: I DID NOT GET ANY IMS FROM AN ADMIN. Anyways, back to the dumpsterfire. The Clowns decided to audition for the circus.

[16:40] ItsIntuitive: How do ya'll like your steak? [16:41] Chrissy Rhiano: medium is the way to go :) [16:41] VolkKoroleva: What happened? O-O [16:41] Houdis Hancroft: medium-rare…ONLY [16:41] BrianA Corleone: medium well is the only right answer [16:41] SangriaKalakaua: I'd have medium well. [16:41] Samson Rowley: waves hi [16:41] BrianA Corleone waves back [16:41] Kirra Ayashi: I agree with Jettt Medium Rare for life lol [16:41] Jett Hancroft (houdis.hancroft): I like my steak like I like my art…hot and stolen! [16:42] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): So I used to be scared of ordering my meat with any pink and I started doing so a couple days ago and LOVE IT. [16:42] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): Medium well <3 [16:42] Oakan Corvinus: Med rare [16:42] LilTasty Pudding: I like how ya'll are glossing over people bring up the concern of gen Ai stealing from creators who actually work hard to make the things they make. This group is unhinged, I'll see my way out. [16:42] Ŝɑɱѕση Ẅɑуηε ℜσωℓεу (samson.rowley): best way to have it right [16:42] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): It really is [16:42] Jett Hancroft (houdis.hancroft): tears for not being heard [16:42] Gemifer Saphir: I like the rainbow effect thats on slices of meat, looks really amazing. [16:43] LeoProspero: its almost like when you order BBQ, if the restaurant puts sauce on everything, its defnitely n ot good. [16:43] Skye Winchester: It's not their art being stolen, they don't know any artists or do art themselves. That's the sad part. [16:43] genemc: Liltasty, it's best you and Sky take that stuff elsewhere [16:43] Dr Sangria NἶօɾŚαnкợƒα-Kalākaua (sangriakalakaua): Steak with a little pink is easier on the digestive system than steak well done, great choice.

[16:43] BrianA Corleone: wait, what? backbone is using AI theft? [16:43] Ƙαтєяιηα Ƙ. Mιѕfιт (volkkoroleva): I am unsure of what happened o-o [16:43] Skye Winchester: Or what, Calvin? Are we a sundown town suddenly? [16:43] Calvin (genemc): I'll get my steak mid-rare at a place that knows how to properly cook… Medium otherwise [16:43] Skye Winchester: I asked how many products Backbone has used Gen AI on since their latest desk thing has it, and why it was not disclosed. [16:44] YuriBloodfang: Unless it can be proven to be AI art, I don't believe people when they scream it. Seen actual artists accused of using AI when they have the STREAM VIDEOS of them creating the work. [16:44] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): I am scared to order rare, I'll have to work up to it [16:44] Calvin (genemc): oh, I won't go rare [16:44] Avery Bae: Rare or medium rare has more flavor imo [16:44] Skye Winchester: It was confirmed to be Gen aI. [16:45] Skye Winchester: By Kiana. [16:45] SufferingFrom Lockjaw: I like my steak blue. [16:45] Calvin (genemc): Let's not feed the trolls [16:45] Riley Amore: You mean still MOOING! lol [16:45] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): Blue? [16:45] Leannan McC. Trevellion (sufferingfrom.lockjaw): Yeps:D [16:45] Skye Winchester: No trolls here, just someone who has spent a lot of money and should be allowed to know what the money bought. [16:45] Leannan McC. Trevellion (sufferingfrom.lockjaw): as my Momma used to say, "Just cut its butt off, wave it at the grill three times, and give it to her." [16:45] Jett Hancroft (houdis.hancroft): cries for Skye [16:46] Avery Għøυł-Bae (avery.bae): You like to make sure it's still walking across the plate lol [16:46] Jett Hancroft (houdis.hancroft): anyway…steak [16:46] Jett Hancroft (houdis.hancroft): delicious [16:46] LesliePlain1: why use AI on it? all I can see that could even be worth the effort is the screeen background [16:46] Jett Hancroft (houdis.hancroft): cries for Skye [16:46] Maple Moose (drakona.lewellen): Can easily see it n the Peek-a-Boo box and the Glitch. Glitch is an older item so they've been at it for a while

[16:46] Skye Winchester: That was where the gen AI was used, Leslie. And looking at some other stuff now seems suspect, so it should be disclosed. [16:47] Neramew: O.o the new gamer zone is the secretlab desk, that's pretty neat [16:47] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): What kind of jam or jelly on ya toast? [16:47] Avery Għøυł-Bae (avery.bae): Blackberry [16:47] RíƖҽყ Sɳσσԃʅҽ-Aɱσɾҽ (riley.amore): Crunchy or Smooth Peanutbutter [16:47] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): CRUNCHY [16:47] RíƖҽყ Sɳσσԃʅҽ-Aɱσɾҽ (riley.amore): hell yea [16:47] Skye Winchester: Changing the subject doesn't stop genuine questions, nor does 'cries for' or threatening us to 'take it elsewhere' [16:48] Atheria Vampurr: boysenberry jam [16:48] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): Oh and mention of the gamer zone set, I love it so much [16:48] Jett Hancroft (houdis.hancroft): more tears…for you know who [16:48] Calvin (genemc): Trolls don't ask genuine questions, they stir the pot for the attention and to cause drama for others…. don't feed 'em [16:48] Leo Prospero (leoprospero): Ai is all over SL now, let it go. [16:48] Nera Ryuka (neramew): I kinda want them to make the standing desk version now for the new release [16:48] Atheria Għøυł-Bae (atheria.vampurr): and smooth peanut butter [16:48] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): feed em jelly [16:49] Skye Winchester: Yes, I paid 2k to get into this group 3 years ago just to troll it now asking about gen ai. [16:49] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): standing desk? Like no seta? [16:49] Nera Ryuka (neramew): Yeee [16:49] Nera Ryuka (neramew): It looks exactly like the magnus desk from secret lab, they have a pro version that rises! [16:49] Leslie Plain (leslieplain1) looks baffled. "yeah, there's a tonne of PD art they could have used that would have taken nothing away from it"

[16:49] Skye Winchester: I'm asking a question and you're all thinking it's funny to troll tells me you don't care and that's fine, but I do. [16:50] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): I think that be cool, I'd love to see animation on the desks alone. [16:50] RíƖҽყ Sɳσσԃʅҽ-Aɱσɾҽ (riley.amore): You are asking the wrong people Skye. [16:50] RíƖҽყ Sɳσσԃʅҽ-Aɱσɾҽ (riley.amore): I love there game sets [16:50] RíƖҽყ Sɳσσԃʅҽ-Aɱσɾҽ (riley.amore): gamer [16:50] Skye Winchester: I am asking in the group, for Backbone, about Backbone products [16:51] Skye Winchester: Whereas y'all are talking about… barbecue to detract from the question. [16:51] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): Me too, they are so lovely [16:51] Avery Għøυł-Bae (avery.bae): You may have better luck going directly to the creator [16:51] RíƖҽყ Sɳσσԃʅҽ-Aɱσɾҽ (riley.amore): ^^^^ [16:51] Calvin (genemc): mmmmm…. BBQ…. I could go for some brisket about now [16:51] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): I'm just a consumer ^-^ [16:51] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): Ooo brisket [16:51] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive) drools like homer [16:51] Skye Winchester: I don't have IMs on from non friends. And it doesn't turn on, call it a silly SL glitch. So messaging is pointless. [16:51] RíƖҽყ Sɳσσԃʅҽ-Aɱσɾҽ (riley.amore): I now want steak and PBJ [16:52] Ŝɑɱѕση Ẅɑуηε ℜσωℓεу (samson.rowley): oh me too [16:52] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): I want another juicy steak [16:52] Avery Għøυł-Bae (avery.bae): Then that sounds like a you problem

[16:52] Calvin (genemc): this weekend would be a good time to smoke something [16:52] commandhat: I logged in late enough that I missed Skye's actual question. What was it? [16:52] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): Lemme get a plate [16:53] Skye Winchester: How many previous backbone products use Gen AI and why wasn't it disclosed? [16:53] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): ion know [16:53] Calvin (genemc): We're customers, stop being a troll [16:53] Skye Winchester: So am I, Calvin [16:54] Skye Winchester: Again, paid 2k 3 years ago and have bought plenty since then [16:54] Katty TopHat: better question, how many creators in SL use it and don't disclose it? Probably most? I mean….I [16:54] Katty TopHat: oops…not sure they need to disclose it [16:54] Caine MacIntyre (commandhat) blinks, tries to think back… [16:54] Tersa Beverly: eh. probably because when it started it wasnt considered the issue it is now by those that dislike it. and really if that kind of thing is problematic for someone, its up to the consumer to check on the things that bother them and if they find a product that doesnt align with their values they are free to go elsewhere [16:54] Leslie Plain (leslieplain1): sigh, gonna have to reconsider buying any more products here, a pity, they do good work [16:54] Jett Hancroft (houdis.hancroft): Look here, Katty! You REALLY care about this! I know you do :p [16:54] Calvin (genemc): Do you go into the grocery store and ask customers where the beef comes from or do you call their corp office? Please stop the drama [16:55] Katty TopHat: lol Jett…mhmm!

Dun dun dun, and then--

As you can see, there is not a single admin/mod in this chat.

[16:55] Skye Winchester: For what? [16:55] Skye Winchester: Jules, answer for what? Asking a question? No one replied except trolls? [16:56] Katty TopHat: I replied…and not a troll.I'm saying I don't see the need for creators to disclose that. Who else discloses it? [16:56] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): I joined the group when it was free some time ago, I think my first purchase was Gamer's Heaven Work Station Set [16:56] Jett Hancroft (houdis.hancroft): cries for the trolls [16:56] Caine MacIntyre (commandhat): IIRC they disclosed they were using AI to complete a few of the features in the Winter skybox, Northern Lights Hideaway. They used AI to generate snow textures, to make the textures on the rezzer for the lights themselves, and to create concept art for the house itself, but the furniture models were hand-made. I think that's the first piece they actually used AI for. [16:56] RíƖҽყ Sɳσσԃʅҽ-Aɱσɾҽ (riley.amore): I couldn't tell you my 1st purchase. I'm an old SL lady. [16:57] Roonani Phade (tersa.beverly): oh i feel that in my soul riley [16:57] Roonani Phade (tersa.beverly): i am ollld [16:57] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): I'm just 4 years in [16:57] Caine MacIntyre (commandhat): Does that help, Skye? [16:58] Roonani Phade (tersa.beverly): oh you're still a baby then nevaeh hahaha

[16:58] Skye Winchester: That would be great if it's true that it was disclosed, that's what I'm genuinely wondering, how many products. [16:58] Roonani Phade (tersa.beverly): it scares the crap out of me that ive been in here for 16 years [16:58] RíƖҽყ Sɳσσԃʅҽ-Aɱσɾҽ (riley.amore): My AV just hit 20 [16:58] Vicious Witch: Skye is right, it was proven to be Gen AI, the creator even admit to it. Then Kiana Writer had the audacity to fling someone out of the group for voicing a concern as well as asking them to fix this and not use the AI anymore. As customers it's our right to decide what we want to support and not to support. Being petty about it won't help the cause. [16:58] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): I am but I will say I feel like I caught on quickly, I love it here [16:58] Skye Winchester: And Jules tried to kick me just now but because my SL is so much fun, I'm still in this chat [16:59] Skye Winchester: And being rude to people who have genuine questions is absolutely ridiculous, y'all, come on. [16:59] Roonani Phade (tersa.beverly): im glad you love it Nevaeh :) honestly i just came back after a hiatus and im re learning and finding new fun places XD [16:59] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): I wonder what sl will be like by the time I hit my double digits [17:00] RíƖҽყ Sɳσσԃʅҽ-Aɱσɾҽ (riley.amore): Hopefully less TP crashed

[17:00] RíƖҽყ Sɳσσԃʅҽ-Aɱσɾҽ (riley.amore): Crashes. [17:00] Atheria Għøυł-Bae (atheria.vampurr): righttttt [17:00] Roonani Phade (tersa.beverly): that will be fun to find out..its crazy how much has changed. [17:01] Roonani Phade (tersa.beverly): ugh i dont think tp issues will ever be fully solved, but at least our shoes arent in our butts anymore [17:01] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): LOL I think I've been experiencing tp crashes lately more than usual [17:01] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): SHOES IN OUR BUTTS? [17:01] Calvin (genemc): yes… even when just logging in [17:01] Roonani Phade (tersa.beverly): yessss it was hilaaarious [17:01] RíƖҽყ Sɳσσԃʅҽ-Aɱσɾҽ (riley.amore): Same, when I log in I have to relog imediatly most times [17:02] Skye Winchester: Alright, who is the actual creator since everyone in this chat lost the plot and I'll go log in my alt and message them since my IMs are wacky [17:02] Calvin (genemc): You've been in SL for 6 years and don't know how to figure that our yourself? [17:03] Roonani Phade (tersa.beverly): we are just moving on from the conversation skye. you said your piece and we have nothing further to add. [17:03] Calvin (genemc) facepalms [17:03] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): big facepalms indeed [17:04] Calvin (genemc): You've been in SL for 6 years and don't know how to figure that our yourself? [17:04] Skye Winchester: Kiana is the creator of the group, and she clearly does not want to deal with any commentary, or Jules. [17:04] Maple Moose (drakona.lewellen): Thankfully for anyone that doesn't want GenAI in the stuff they buy, there are resources for that c:

[17:04] Roonani Phade (tersa.beverly): thats cool maple [17:05] Roonani Phade (tersa.beverly): ugh im trying to remember the name of the chair i bought like 5 years ago. (rummaging…) [17:05] Caine MacIntyre (commandhat): I will add one more thing, then snooze the chat. It's possible to like things without liking the creator. I'l going to continue to buy BackBone regardless of their AI use. That doesn't mean I support their ideals, it just means I like BackBone. I'll vote with my wallet when that tactic doesn't exclude a supermassive majority of the things I otherwise need to survive. [17:06] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): if you bought it in store you can possible check the vendor [17:06] Skye Winchester: And I want to be aware of the items I want to purchase using any sort of AI. Especially at the prices [17:06] Roonani Phade (tersa.beverly): mm good idea nevaeh. i hae too much inventory to remember anything haha [17:07] Katty TopHat: Hey Skye…read the room [17:07] Calvin (genemc): trolls just want attention [17:07] Skye Winchester: I am, it's clear y'all don't care, and that's fine, but I won't be shouted over because you don't care. [17:07] Myka Winchester: Just because she doesn't subscribe to the group mentality shown here, doesn't mean her concerns aren't valid. [17:08] Katty TopHat: and I'm not saying her concerns aren't valid, but to keep saying the same things over and over doesn't change it [17:08] Skye Winchester: The fact that Jules tried to eject me from the group without saying a dang thing and other people being thrown out for voicing their opinion is not reflecting well, and y'all just licking the boots. [17:08] Katty TopHat: smh [17:08] Skye Winchester: People keep asking what my question was, what am I supposed to say "you missed it, sorry" [17:09] Roonani Phade (tersa.beverly): AHA. found the darn chair. its a pouffe. headdesks [17:09] Calvin (genemc): We're customers. Stop trying to stir us up and go have a rational conversation with the right person, if it's that important to you. [17:09] ღ νıҳɛŋ Pнøɛŋıҳ (vixenbelle): Could always block and move on.. its what I do when I find someon annoying or what have you. [17:09] Avery Għøυł-Bae (avery.bae): So I have questions but don't want to keep shit going. [17:09] ღ νıҳɛŋ Pнøɛŋıҳ (vixenbelle): someone* [17:10] Skye Winchester: I thought I was asking the right people, meaning the mods of the group, and there was no reply and I was ready to let the matter drop until I was belittled and told 'best take it elsewhere' like I'm in a sundown town run by racists. [17:11] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): Oh wow [17:11] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): That's wild [17:11] Nevaeh Lockhart (itsintuitive): but anyways Imma have to check that pouffe out [17:12] Calvin (genemc): Pouffe sounds more like a pastry than a chair

Then, just now... as I'm typing this. (I'm still somehow in the chat despite being ejected.)

[18:08] Kiana Writer: Thank you all for your support ♥ We truly appreciate it and apologize for the silence, while we were getting the team together to address the concerns as quickly as we could.

[18:24] Skye Winchester: While ejecting people who were asking genuinely? The Gen AI thing isn't even as wild as the PR crisis you just gave yourself. God speed y'all, you'll need it.

[18:27] Calvin (genemc) facepalms [18:28] Kiana Writer: Instead of reaching out to us Skye, you started this group. That's not ok. The only people ejected were you for group harassment and the person posting chat logs on social media. That's not ok. A simple notecard or IM would have been sufficient. That's all I will say about this to you knowing this will end up screenshotted too.

[18:31] Rain McKenna: I must have Skye blocked, cuz i haven't seen anything, but is this mess REALLY still going on an hour later? [18:31] Skye Winchester: I did not start anything, I asked a question about it after someone else did out of concern, not once did a single admin or mod reach out to me in this chat or this group to address it or tell me to stop. I only got dogpiled on by members of this group. And as for posting chat logs, I'm about to post mine with everything and I don't care, cause group messages are not against TOS. [18:31] Kiana Writer: Nope! Not anymore Rain! We do have a new group gift in the store, have you grabbed that yet? :) [18:31] Skye Winchester: But yeah, good luck. [18:31] Rain McKenna: Thank goodness. <3 Ooooh, nope, I sure will pop right in! [18:32] Kiana Writer: Also excited to announce the new Monthly Mystery Madness Theme: Valentine's Vault! ♥ Pre-orders begin Feb 1st and the boxes will be out on the 10th already to enjoy on time for Valentine's Day! ;)

Ironic Rain McKenna decided to pop her head up when she cost my best friend's estate about $300 USD for squatting on his region after he died and LL still thought it was active even though she was told to pick up her shit and go while I tried to get it shut down but I digress.

Anyways, this is long as hell and I did barely anything but copy and paste it, record has been recorded, do with this as you will!

The update:

10:20pm est 1/29/2025

Update 2

Ultra is fighting for his life in my comments to justify AI use by Madpea and Backbone as being 'past tense', despite current proof being held.

[emma-frxst]

Smooth Criminal (18/21)

Pairing: Colossus x reader

Summary- you've been hit by, you've been struck by, a smooth criminal.

Piotr falls in love with you, an art historian. He doesn't know that you have a secret double life as an ex-spy turned art thief selling your stolen art to Sebastian Shaw. What happens when your two worlds collide?

Pairing: Detective!Colossus x Criminal! Reader (she/her pronouns used).

No tags on this one because I am so tired. I'll tag the last chapter so yall can catch up.

After a few days of constant monitoring, by police and doctors, lots of fluids, and voice rest, you had gotten to the point where you could talk. Your lungs and throat no longer burned. But your chest still ached beyond belief. You were covered in bruises and your hospital gown irritated the healing scratches on your back.

You hadn’t seen or heard anything about Colossus. You were desperate to see him.

At the same time, you felt like you didn’t deserve to see him. You didn’t know if you could handle the hurt you knew would be displayed all over his face.

You had convinced the x-force and your lawyer to cut you a deal if you gave up your bosses. You accepted, but you would still do serious prison time. Part of your deal is that you would get to read an apology letter in front of the court and maybe, just maybe colossus and the rest of the x- force would be in the gallery. Along with other spectators and reporters.

Cable turned on the recording device.

“No bullshit.” He said, crossing his arms.

“No bullshit.” You confirmed.

Confession time.

Your eyes darted from your lawyer, to Cable, to Domino.

You breathed in deeply, your exhale wavering.

“I worked for SHIELD, did stealth operations. Me and my team. We were respected, well-paid, and well- trained. We were shield’s prized possession. 100 % mission success rate. Until..”

As you recounted the incident that caused your PTSD, your mind replayed every horrible thing you went through.

You watched the others faces as you recounted your story. Cable remained stone faced as always. Domino and Deadpool’s expressions were only slightly less intense than Cable’s. It was strange to see them but not Piotr. The force seemed…empty without him. You hoped he would at least get to see this recording.

“I was wounded, the only reason I survived is because I was taken in by a kind local family.”

“SHIELD thought there were no survivors so they covered up the whole operation.”

“They acted like my all star team didn’t exist…Until I came back. “

“Even when I confronted them…They acted like I never existed, like I was some crazy conspiracy theorist or something. My files were all erased. There is still no record of me.”

You met the gaze of the x-force members, hoping they’d at-least pity you, but their faces remained the same as before.

You looked down at your fiddling hands, afraid to meet their gaze again.

“I tried to go back to a normal life. But I couldn’t. No one would hire me, couldn’t get a job anywhere.”

You let out a heavy sigh.

“I had no money at the time, no job references, not even a drivers license. No record I even existed!” You cried, your hands shaking, the memories of your injustices making your hands shake with rage.

“I was more than desperate. That’s when Sebastian Shaw approached me for my skillset. He’s the guy you want. He’s got his hands on everything from art theft, to drug smuggling, to blackmailing dirty government officials.”

you were eyeing the machine that monitored your blood pressure. It was rising by the second so you steadied your breathing, trying to calm down.

“He hired me to steal fine art amongst other valuable things. I would deliver the item back to him, he’d sell it on the black market, and I’d get a cut of the money. I ended up in the bookstore as a cover. With the money I get from Shaw...I send my teammates families money. They think it comes from an organization of shield agents killed in action. They don’t know…” you fumbled for the right words.

“..me. They don’t know me. I’d like to keep it that way. Keep their names out of it.”

You fiddled with the IV in your arm, unable to meet anyone’s gaze.

“The guy I killed was Victor Creed uh…sabertooth. He was Shaw’s right hand man.”

You let out a shaky breath.

“I told them I was done. That I wanted out. I wasn’t going to steal anymore, I was gonna turn my life around because I had met someone.”

You felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes.

“Someone lovely and nice and good.”

Your throat began to constrict as you tried to stop your tears from falling.

“Victor told me that the only way out is if I was dead. And that’s how I ended up here.”

Unsuccessful at holding them back, the tears fell down your cheeks. You didn’t bother wiping them.

“I never meant to hurt anyone. Especially Piotr.” You stated through quivering lips.

You sniffled, finally wiping your face with your hand.

“T-that’s it. No bullshit.” You told them,

Cable turned off the recording device.

Dom told you and your lawyer that they would be in touch and they quickly left the hospital room.

You sniffled again, tears still spilling over.

“What now?” You asked your lawyer.

“Once they validate your story and you’re well enough to be released, you’ll report to the judge for sentencing. And to read your letter to the court.”

“Okay.”

That was the only thing you could think to say.

You turned away from your lawyer and closed your eyes to try and get some rest.

As they left the room a quick “I’ll be in touch.” Left their lips.

Finally you were alone to stew in all your emotions.

Your thoughts swirled around in your brain. Between your near death experience, surgery, being interrogated by your friends, and constantly thinking about Piotr, you were exhausted. The kind of exhaustion sleep couldn’t fix, everything weighed heavily on your heart.

Maybe things would have been better if you had died. Without your confession, how would the x force know that Victor was connected to Shaw? How would they know for certain you were the impressionist? How would they know for certain you weren’t set up for the crimes?

However, you were alive and telling the truth.

They say that the truth sets you free. All the truth did for you was put you in a jail cell and ensure everyone you cared about hated you.

You jerked your head up when someone open your door.

You couldn’t believe your eyes.

Was this a dream?

“Piotr?”

-

[hazelenergy]

Rules: If you're tagged, make a new post with links to music and/or lyrics describing the following...

Thank you @gorbalsvampire for the tag! Now for some oc brianworms music:

Event that defines your character's past:

Would You Come To My Funeral by the Crawlers Would you come to my funeral And mourn the me you never knew? ... But would you come to my funeral? There's a seat laid out for you I couldn't pass without telling you That I miss you

How your character sees themselves:

Advice & Vices by Chelsea Wolfe Cause I never listen to my own best advice, no Like one thing leads to another Like one heart bleeds for another

As Above, So Below by Sunshine Blind Another few weeks and I'll be somewhere else Another city or another country Out of money wearing dirty laundry ... Another few words and I'll be someone else My face depends on the storytelling What I am will be what I'm selling Who forgets who? May be just as well I may forget you I may forget myself

How others view them: going to be honest, there's a lot of feelings towards hazel, heres a few:

E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY LIFE! by CORPSE, Savage Ga$p "Man, I swear these goth girls finna fuck up my life"

I Hope You Die in a Fire by Grand Commander [self explanatory]

Warm Shadow by Fink Won't you stop breakin' in Red sky, red light, awakenin' And I don't want another day to break, no no no Take our, steal our night away

Wolf Like Me by Lera Lynn ft Shovels and Rope Baby doll, I recognize Your hideous thing inside If ever there were a lucky kind, it's You, you, you, you

Their closest relationship (platonic or romantic):

Anywhere but Here by PVRIS Smells like jasmine and clover Blood rushin' over And over and over Now we drop our composure Drunken or sober Just take me home 'cause I need you now

A major fight scene:

This one is less of a fight scene and more of a humanity drop moment with her 1st coterie: My Name Is Human by Highly Suspect Get up off your knees, girl Stand face to face with your God And find out what you are

Sabotage by the Beastie Boys this one has a particular scene from Hazel's first chronicle. She and her coterie discovered the headquarters the SI in Atlanta. The coterie all knew they were the Cam's favorite scapegoat, and decided to make sure the problem was uprooted before word ever reached their most merciful Prince's ears... or worse, their adoptive sire. Cue molotov cocktails, chase scenes to lure hunters into danger, computers being blue screened and harddrives smashed, and one explosion with three thinbloods not turning back to look at. It was almost perfect. Almost.

Opening credits song:

Atlanta: Six Feet Deep by The Warning But it's way too late, nothing left to hate Such a bitter taste, what a shame ... Yeah, what you gonna say when you're choking on my name? 'Cause it's over Six-feet deep I'll be seeing you underground! Got you figured out! Can't get any lower now 'Cause it's over Six-feet deep

Miami/Tampa: can u see me in the dark? by Halestorm, I Prevail Broken bones and blood shot eyes I hope you like my new disguise We're not the same, you and I So don't you dare forget In this crowded room alone In the search of things unknown The face I wear is not my own So don't you forget .... Come feast your eyes on me .... So can you see me in the dark? Are you watching it all fall apart?

OKC Interlude: Aint Killed Me Yet by Adia Victoria … So pour me one last drink And lit me one last smoke And keep the jukebox paid 'til we both go broke Now, it's a hard way of living but The living ain't killed me yet

@tommysdiner @duskbornbitchqueen (if yall havent already done so, tag youre it!)

[sailorsoons]

hi hali!! i def meant to message u a couple of weeks ago when i reread please to give my praises again bc seriously its so good ive never been a cubicle in my life and u surely did put me in one (probably gna reread tonight :D) BUT i remembered to message you rn that i saw your post abt the mlb trade deadline, how do you feel abt all trades?? esp working for the mlb i cant imagine how stressful it can be for you 😭 im an astros fan i think we had a pretty good night :')

AHHHHH that is literally so nice I am soooo glad you like it! It's definitely one of those comfort fics so I'm glad you feel that way!!

TRADE DEADLINE WHILE WORKING FOR MLB IS A FUCKING RAT RACE. I've experienced several - sometimes it's not bad, sometimes it's really good, and sometimes its a fucking free for all. I've had a trade deadline where my team fire saled, a trade deadline where we did nothing, and trade deadlines where we had the biggest trade of them all.

My thoughts on yesterday's trade deadline

Winners: Padres, Astros and Mariners

Padres - Are now super competitive. I was shocked to see them land Mason Miller and then they managed to keep Dylan Cease from the Astros????? My understanding is that it was more Cease didn't want to go to Houston and Houston didn't want to give up Arighetti, but getting Miller, keeping Cease and then ALSO getting Laureano and Fermin was huge. They literally fixed all their issues. Now if they can manage to unseat the Dodgers, that would be great. I think they're probably far more of a threat now than they were a few weeks ago. Astros - Carlos Correa going back to Houston is insane and huge for the franchise but HELLO? THEY GOT JESUS SANCHEZ FOR NOTHING? Sanchez is worth 12.1 million and the Marlins gave him to the Astros for a couple of minor league players and Ryan Gusto which adds up to like ??? 6 million? I don't understand what the Marlins were thinking. Astros now have most of their problems fixed (they could still use another pitcher and now that Pressly is DFA'd they have a chance to do something hilarious) but like the Padres, they're now WAY more competitive. Mariners - Stealing Eugenio Suarez from the Astros deal is the funniest and most fuck you thing the Mariners have ever done lmfao. It's totally unsurprising though because Seattle and Arizona literally always do trades they have like a lil handshake agreement but I think the fact they got Suarez and Naylor without giving up anyone significant is crazy. The Suarez-Raleigh pair is gonna be huge for them. They just need to actually catch the Astros. I think if they could actually get into the Postseason and get Postseason version of Suarez, Raleigh and Arozarena they could do some damage.

Losers: Twins, Rays, Marlins

Twins - What a fucking nightmare. Total fire sale of the team to offload value to make the team more attractive for selling. The Twins are up for sale so MLB teams basically offload a bunch of long-term contracts so that they don't have financial commitments potential owners don't have to be responsible for. Brutal. Losing Correa and then them being responsible for a majority of his salary is INSANE work. Rays - Like the twins, total fire sale of prospects. They're also looking to sell to a new owner and its the same thing - off loading money to be less of a financial risk. The Rays at least got some return, but getting rid of Zach Littell and Jose Caballero is going to bite them in the ass, especially considering Littell was one of the few consistent arms they had. Unsure how they decide to trade away Littell over B. Lowe. Marlins - Gave away their best player for literal scraps. What do you mean you got rid of Jesus Sanchez for Ryan Gusto (not a bad pitcher, just not great) for a bunch of minor league players when your farm system is garbage? It makes no sense. Miami refuses to invest in its team and they are part of the reason we're looking at a potential 2027 owners lockout because other clubs are tired of Miami and other teams making money off rev. share.

What the hell: Brewers

Brewers - Best team in baseball trading Nestor Cortes is fucking insane. Like yes he's been injured all season but to give the Padres one of the best pitching weapons in the league when you literally don't need to make trades that big is so confusing to me. Not a win. Not a loss. But I'm maaaad confused lmfao.

OKAY SORRY I'M DONE YAPPING I OBVIOUSLY KNOW A LOT ABOUT BASEBALL AND I HAVE A LOT TO SAY LMFAO

[hellishvxbes]

all this stuff with the stupid moron CEO thing really pisses me off. It's one thing to really celebrate his course of action, but people are really missing the point of why he did what he did. making simping videos, and making him a trend that will eventually settle down until they have something else to do with their pathetic fucking lives. doing it for every single person who got denied treatment and life saving medication because they could not afford it.

my medication I need to keep my disease in check is 11k. There isn't an insurance in the world that will cover the entire thing. I'd be paying over 1k for insurance, and still have to pay over $500 copay for this medication.

my insulin supplies aren't covered by ANY kind of insurance. supplies that HELP make managing diabetes easier isn't covered. you have to pay out of pocket for that shit. my dexcom sensors for 3 are over $400 and my pods??? $500

pods last 3 days only, sensors are 2 weeks and ironically the actual transmitter is the cheapest fucking thing at like $240

i was on Medicaid until June of this year when they cut me off for making $300 more than what I am supposed to on my paychecks.

I have been struggling ever since, and I'd be in a deeper hole if I wasn't able to get financial assistance. but I have four chronic illnesses, 2 of which are still new, and there were times where I thought I was really going to die because i wasn't going to be able to afford my treatments. I cried like a baby when trump won because I still am very unsure of my future with this.

This guy, who by the way, HAS money, was wronged and bullshitted by the same people who try and keep us down is the reason he is being celebrated. because it shows, no one is actually safe from this. and they do it to us just to stay rich. eventually people get tired and these are the things that happen because of that.

its always 'this man had a wife, he had a family' so fucking wHAT. so did everyone you denied with your polices. the ppl who died because of it. i have no sympathy for that man. I will never have sympathy for the rich who seek to step on us, fighting for crumbs while they get to celebrate and live without consequence. this is BTW what helluva boss is about.

when you ask questions about why do ppl have to steal, why do they have to rob and sell drugs, why cant they go to school and make something of themselves have never fucking live in a place where the system is meant to keep you down. when you realize the schools they go are barely funded, they dont got no computers, no one to actually care about helping them succeed. you hear about ppl talk about getting out of the hood, because they WANT these places to stay like this.

my cousin sells drugs and the reason he gave was because it was easier. he has great math skills, but he said no one cared to help him in school, it became too much and he made easier money this way. And its like that for a lot of kids. when they dont have the support they need. from adults, from their own parents. sometimes I wonder, if my parents hadn't moved us to a bougie ass white ppl neighborhood if I would have turned out the same way. cuz i used to fight in school, I was a problem child. and honestly believed I have changed because of the new environment I was now around. when I was in school back then, lmao, I was the only colored person in my class. that shit scared me to death. i learned how to behave. suddenly, i felt like I could do things. it absolutely fucking matters. but America doesnt care. they never will. doesnt mean i'll ever stop yapping about it tho.