#Doing Time

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Doing Time 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

Note: Happy Tuesday🐵.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“Marta still insists she isn’t responsible for ordering the toner...” you shrug and sigh. You shake your head at the petty office argument. 

Before you can laugh, the guard calls time up. You blink, brought back to the present. Your account of the printer tirade seems even more silly now. 

Your eyes come into focus and you find Steve’s entirely on you. He might not admit it, but you suspect he is lonely. In some way. He’s all but confirmed that he doesn’t get any other visitors. It makes you think of Vaughn. How he must look forward to those days. They might not be the same but they both drew the same lot. 

You go to get up as the guard signals with a tap on his watch. 

“Wait,” he pulls away defiantly, keeping hold of the receiver. You keep yours by your ear. “Will you come back, sweetheart?” 

Your lips part. You’re surprised by the question. The man knows how to keep people off-balance. “What?” 

“You already gotta come all the way here for your brother so why not? I mean, if you really wanna thank me for saving his neck. I’m sure he’ll find a dozen other ways to get himself in a bind,” he shrugs. 

“Rogers,” the guard warns. 

You weigh the hint of a threat in his tone. You don’t think he’s serious but he’ll never say aloud the truth. He’s all by himself in there, even if he moves the rest of them like chess pieces. The urgency of the guard makes you sputter. 

“Sure, uh okay, I’ll try,” you say. 

“Alright,” he surrenders, a glimmer of disappointment, as if he expected more. “See ya next time, then.” 

He hangs up and the guard unhooks his cuffs from the loop. He stands, dwarfing his keeper easily, and follows him away. You’re grateful for the barrier for the first time. 

You get up and you’re led out yourself. What did you just do? You don’t have to see him again. Now you do. You made a promise and a man like that won’t take kindly to breaking it. Shoot. Why did you do this? He’s a criminal and you still have no idea what kind. 

Your heart clenches as you get to the counter and fill out your form. 

“If you really wanna thank me...” his words echo. 

You ask for another form. You don’t want to take the chance that you made things worse for Vaughn. The novelty will wear off. He’ll lose interest and hopefully, he also forgets about your brother. 

You sign the forms and pass them over. It’s a different guard. They don’t react as they read it over. They merely dismiss you as the pit deepens in your stomach. 

⛓️‍💥

You don’t tell Vaughn. If you do, he might be mad. Not just at you, but Steve. If he lashes out at someone like that, you might never see him again. That’s your worst fear. 

The thing about your brother is he might know exactly how things go, what to expect, but it doesn’t keep him from messing up. Even if Steve is watching him back, it wouldn’t stop him from feeling slighted and turning around and breaking his own spine.  

You can only imagine his reaction to your chatting with his fellow inmates. Vaughn only listens to what fits his own narrative. He wouldn’t hear you out, he’d just go off and get himself hurt. 

You attend your usual sibling commiseration. He’s looking better. You’re mostly quiet. You wait for any mention of Steve. Dread it even. He only tells you how the other guys are scared of him. You’re not so sure it’s him making them stay away. 

You say your usual good byes and love yous and you stay put. You wait. Steve appears sooner than the last time. He takes his seat and lifts the receiver. He’s just as stony as before. 

The glimmer in his eye has you reaching for the phone on your side. You gulp. You don’t know anything about him. Only the one thing that should’ve kept you away. He’s a criminal. 

“Hey,” you eke out. 

“Sweetheart,” he greets evenly. 

“It’s... your turn." You state shakily. He lifts a brow and he chuckles. You clear your throat. “I told you about me, now I wanna know about you.” 

“Oh?” He tweaks his head. 

“Look, I’m not going to keep talking to you if--” 

“You’re threatening me?” He challenges. 

“N-no, I just--” 

He laughs again, “oh, sweetheart, you’ve been thinking a lot about this, haven’t you? You miss me already?” 

You frown, “don’t call me that. I didn’t come to be laughed at.” 

“Uh huh, so why did you come?” 

You don’t know how to answer. He knows. He wants to hear you say it. 

“We both know why. That brother of yours is reckless. I can barely keep him on a leash.” He looks you up and down, “does he know you’re here, huh? I don’t think so. Think if he did, he’s be at my cell door getting his neck broke.” 

“Hey, don’t--” 

“No, you don’t, sweetheart. Don’t tell me what to do. And calm down.” He waves away your distress. He glances over towards the guard then back to you. “You’re funny when you get all worked up but don’t go ruining this. For baby brother’s sake and yours.” 

“Please, don’t hurt him,” you murmur softly. “Please.” 

He snickers and rests a hand on the desk, the other on the receiver. He pushes and leans back, his chest puffing out. “Fine, what do you wanna know? I have mess at eight with all the other bums in here and I do about two hundred pushups after dinner.” 

You rub your lips together. His gaze follows the movement. “How long have you been here?” You stare at him, gripping the phone for courage. 

He rolls his tongue against the inside of his lip and shifts the receiver in his hand. He crosses his other arm over his chest, gripping his large bicep. 

“Six years.” 

“How long do you have left?” You follow-up quickly. 

“Ah, is that it? You’re anxious to get rid of all this,” he eyes the glass. “That’s sweet--” 

“I just want to know,” you blurt out. Six years isn’t too much but fifteen or more says it all. 

“A long time. The rest of my life unless the board has a change of heart.” 

You watch him, waiting. For a crack, for a tell. He didn’t flinch at all as he tells you he’s stuck there forever. Whatever he did must be bad. 

“For what?” You breath, running your fingers up and down your throat. He watches the nervous gesture before he meets your eye.  

He prickles and sets his shoulders, “You really wanna know? You gotta do something for me first.” 

You blink, “just tell me.” 

“No, that’s not how it works. You do me a favour and I’ll tell you,” he retorts. 

“What? What could I possibly do for you?” 

“You add your number to my roll on your way out.” 

“My... number?” You echo. 

“Lot of time between visits. I get antsy. When I get antsy, I do stupid things. Start fights... so?” He leans forward. He knows he’s won. 

“Fine, you tell me and I’ll do it.” 

“Deal,” he points at you, his elbow on the table. “And don’t test me. I don’t like people who go back on their word. Not even sweet things like you.” 

“I said yes,” you sniff. 

“I didn’t do anything,” he smirks. “But what they say I did...” he shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “murder. Court’s a joke, you know? Lawyers only steal your money. They’ll make more on the appeal. So they let me go down when the other guys say I killed my wife. The interviews for TV pay them better.” He snorts. “Far be it from me to go against the verdict. Especially in here. Better to let people thing I’m a stone-cold killer.” 

You chew on the answer, mulling it with his expression. You can’t tell if he’s lying. Does it matter? He’s still in this place and according to Vaughn, dangerous regardless. If he wasn’t before, he is now. 

“You believe me?” He asks. You don’t answer. “Ah, don’t worry about it. Doesn’t matter either way. We got lots of time for you to figure it out.” 

A frown tugs at your lips, “yeah...” you rub your neck and once more he stares at the movement of your hand. He’s so stoic, you can’t read whether he’s bored or annoyed. 

“I’ve banked lots of phone time,” he swirls his fingers on the desk. “I look forward to our little chats. Be a nice after dinner treat, won’t it?” 

You bit down and twist the phone cord, “why do you want to talk to me?” 

“I’ve been in here six years with stinky men. A nice little bird like you singing to me, that’s something to wake up for. It'll make the time pass,” he says. “See, I’m being honest.” 

You nod and inhale slowly. You drag your hand off the desk and wipe your sweaty palm on your jeans. You’re too far in now. There’s not going back. 

⛓️‍💥

“...so this guy tells me it’s his turn at the bench but I just got on. He didn’t appreciate me testing his strength when I dropped the weight on his jaw,” Steve laughs as you chop celery, his voice crackling from the speaker of your phone. The prison lines are fuzzy at times. He stops and silence rises. You almost think the call cut off. “Why’re you so quiet, sweetheart?” 

“I’m just making dinner,” you answer. “Listening.” 

You don’t like his stories. They’re always violent and you can’t always tell when he’s telling the truth or just trying to scare you. Vaughn said he has other guys do his dirty work. 

“Oh? What are we having?” Steve asks. 

“Stuffed chicken breast with rice,” you reply as you pour the celery off the cutting board. 

“What’s wrong?” He intones. 

“Nothing,” you lie.” 

“What? You don’t seem impressed.” 

“Well, Steve, I’m not a very violent person. I guess I don’t see much to laugh at.” 

He scoffs, “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I was a bad boy.” 

“Steve,” you say. “I just... I don’t like to hear that stuff.” 

“Oh, you worried about me? I can take care of myself.” 

“It’s just not very nice,” you mutter. 

“Not nice? That’s how the yard works. I can’t help that. I don’t like it either but you gotta do that stuff. To survive.” He explains, “but Vaughn, well, we both know he’s no good with change. That’s why he needs someone like me--” 

“I asked you nicely not to mention him,” you say. “How much time do you have left?” 

“Couple minutes,” he drones. “Didn’t mean to get you worked up.” 

“I’m not worked up. I just... I worry.” 

“I know you do, sweetheart. Look, I’ve been here a while. Don’t you worry about me or the baby boy,” he drawls; you can hear the smirk in his voice. 

“Mm,” you hum. 

He mimics the noise, “you’re not amused? Sweetheart, tell me what you want to hear. How can I make you happy?” 

You cluck, “it’s just... I don’t like it... when you put on a front like that. I’m not an inmate. I... I’d rather you just be honest. I never liked men who can only talk about violence.” 

“Oh, and what kinda man do you like?” 

You look at the phone, “I don’t have a type. Not that it matters.” 

“I can be your type,” he purrs. 

You pause as you reach into the bag of bread. You’re taken aback by his statement. You shake your head. 

“Steve, I should get this in the oven.” 

“Right, time’s running out,” he exhales. “Well, good night sweetheart.” 

“Good night, Steve,” you say pointedly and reach to hang up with your knuckle. 

You sigh and tear up the bread. You can’t believe how far this has gone. He calls every night and you dread it every night. No matter what you do, he doesn’t let up. When you’re quiet, he makes you speak. When you’re curt, he makes you gentle. He demands it and you have no way to deny him. 

It’s hard at times to stomach. He can be patronizing when he wants to. When you don’t perform for him. He always mentions your brother at exactly the right time. To remind you of his power over you or to remind you of your own guilt for lying to your own family. 

Well, he has a whole life sentence ahead of him. He has to get bored eventually. Besides, Vaughn will be out in another two years on good behaviour. 

[spongebobsoundtrack]

Sid Phillips - Sugar Beat Plays in:

45b. "Doing Time"

[hardhed]

(TIME)

MY WRISTS HURT-

THESE STAINLESS STEEL RINGS HAVE LEFT AN IMPRESSION IN MY MIND- AND ON MY SOUL-IN THESE HANDS WRAPPED ROUND COLD RUSTY POLES-INCARCERATION WAS NO INFATUATION WITH ME , BUT WAS MY SALVATION TO BE- A MAN SAVING ME FROM THE DAMNED

SLEEPLESS NIGHTS, CONSTANT FIGHTS, have you ever seen it? You wouldn't believe it.!!! or fathom the fact of lonliness felt on the inside of good men for being locked down as they criy..

THEN , YOU ASK , "CAN YOU GIVE A HAND OR HELP?"

I SAY, "NEGATORY, FOR THAT IS WHY I LAY IN THIS CELL AND TELL MY STORY"

© JUSTIN GIBBS

Circa 1997

[mail-me-a-snail]

he's free now

[paintedcrows]

Did anyone tell Ford (bonus doodles: Family Movie Night, 70s Classics)

[alivingtypo]

you can pry starting sentences with 'and' or 'but' out of my cold, dead hands

[flamboyantly-understated]

maybe this is just me idk

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Doing Time 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

Note: Since' I'm vibing.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You never expected it to be like this.  

It’s still surreal to you. The frigid halls, the concrete walls, and the bulletproof barrier between you and your own brother. Despite all those troubled years, of him being lost, you just never could think he’d end up here.

On the other side of a window; where you can’t hug him, you can’t hold his hand, you can’t even poke him for being the annoying the little brother. You can only stare at him and grieve. You try not to show it. You try to be strong for him. Maybe it’s a lesson. 

You wait for the guards to bring him as you sit in the stiff chair. As you think past to the days when you and Vaughn were just kids, when his antics were harmless, it’s all so distorted. Like a dream. Like it never was. 

You remember pushing him in the swing at the park, laughing with him about jumping in puddles, but then there are the other scenes stuck on replay. The boys teasing him until he hit them. Until he held them down and filled their mouths with rocks. He wasn’t violent then, not in your mind, he was just protecting himself. Now you see, that was only the beginning of a twisted road. 

The door on the other side opens and closes. You look up and lean in, trying to see around the walls of the booth. Other inmates sit along the row, facing their own loved ones, soaking up those few minutes they can. 

Vaughn is shoved into the seat across from you. The guard hooks the chain of his coughs to the desk and pats his shoulder with an unheard warning. You sit up and grab the receiver. He does the same, reluctantly. He won’t look you in the eye. He hardly can as his left one is swollen shut, his nose is split at the bridge, and he wears a stiff neck brace. 

“What happened to you?” You gasp. 

He pokes his tongue into his cheek. He hovers the phone away from his battered face. His tattooed knuckles clench. You repeat your question. 

“A fight.” He shrugs and wince. 

“A fight? You didn’t think to tell me when I called? How—the guards--” 

“The guards don’t give a shit,” he hisses. “Just the way it is.” 

“Why--” 

“I did what I had to. Some guys in here are just looking for it.” 

“Vaughn, look at me,” you demand and lean forward. 

He closes his eyes and takes a breath. He opens them and meets your gaze. Shame twitches in his cheek. You’re the only person who calls him anything but V. He sighs. 

“I was being stupid. I ran my mouth and... shit, I woulda been killed if it was for this other guy down in Block D. Saved my neck,” he gulps. “Really, he did.” 

You frown and rub your forehead, “he saved you? Didn’t think there’d be much of that in there.” 

“Huh?” 

“Like you said, the way it is. Why would someone help?” 

His eyes dart away. For all his sneakiness, he’s never been able to lie to you. Still, he can’t admit it. 

“Who was it?” You ask. 

“Who? Why? You got friends in here?” He snorts. 

“Well, you won’t tell me why they helped, so I don’t know, Vaughn, give me something.” 

He rolls his eyes; at least, the one you can see. “Okay, okay. He’s got pull in here. He’s... been here a while. Kinda the big dog.” He sniffs and lowers his voice, “he’s got a lot of friends.” 

“You mean he’s in a gang?” 

“If that’s what you wanna call it,” he scoffs. 

“What would you call it? I’m not stupid. Someone like that doesn’t do you a favour out of the goodness of their heart, so what’s the catch? Tell me.” 

“Sis, you don’t get it. You don’t survive in here unless you got someone to watch your back.” 

You drag your hand over your head and sit back, “I know. It’s-- it’s just that sounds dangerous. Vaughn, you said you were going to learn from this.” 

“He’s not the worst,” he says. “The guy, he’s got a code. He keeps people busy so they’re not hanging around sharpening shivs. It is what it is, but it’s better than the alternative.” 

“Still punching each other in the face. Beating each other senseless,” you accuse. 

“Look, it could’ve been worse. You should’ve seen the other guy. And the one who helped me, everyone is afraid of him. I got him in my corner. You want me to make it out, that’s how.” Vaugh shifts and touches the neck brace. “And sure as shit I’m not gonna turn around and spit in his face. I owe him my life.” 

You think. He's right, you don’t know anything about being inside. And you don’t have any other suggestions. At least he has someone looking for him when you can’t. They might even be able to protect him from his own worst enemy; himself. 

Still, new allies mean new enemies. At least, going by the TV shows. You doubt those are accurate. What can you do but let him figure it out. Pray that he does. 

“Tell me who.” 

“What?” He snips. 

“Just tell me?” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know. I’m curious. What else are we gonna talk about?” You say. 

“Yeah, guess you wouldn’t wanna hear about my cell mate’s shits,” he snickers. “Guys name is Rogers, Steve. Don’t know what got him in here but he can hold his own. He’s like a walking Ken doll. Maybe a bit forgotten but, put together.” 

“Ah, you interested?” You wonder. 

“He’s not my type. You know I’m picky.” He smirks then chuckles only to wince in pain. “Stop making me laugh.” 

“Well, I hate to put an even bigger smile on your ugly face but I did add credit to your commissary. Phone time too. You gotta call mom.” You try to roll the tension from your shoulders, “I won’t tell her about the fight but you promise to call. She’s on my ass.” 

“Thanks,” he deflates, “I... I didn’t mean to hurt her. Or you. Ya know?” 

“I know, Vaughn. There’s time,” you assure him. 

The rest of your thirty minutes is spent trying not to fixate on his bruises. It makes you sick to think about what happened; to imagine him being beat like that. You have no illusions about prison, you’re terrified, and you don’t deny it’s his own fault he’s there. None of that can change that he’s still your baby brother. 

When it’s time, you don’t want to go. The unhook his cuffs from the loop and force him up. You watch him go before you leave, escorted by a guard into the hall. 

You stop by the desk to schedule another visit. You tap the pen on the form as you think. You look up at the uniformed receptionist. 

“Can I get another form?” You ask. It’s a bad idea. 

“Sure,” she’s unfazed by the request and slides another form through the slot. You write in the time and date then pause as you try to remember the name; Steve Rogers. You don’t know his number but hopefully that doesn’t matter. 

You sign and submit both forms under the window. The guard takes them and reviews them with a quick skim of her eyes. 

“Rogers?” She reads aloud. 

“Yeah? Is that a problem?” You wonder. 

“Not my call. Needs to be approved. Even then, the inmate needs to agree,” she puts the forms next to the keyboard and types. 

“Oh, well... I guess I’ll wait and see.” 

“Not saying anything,” she drones. “It’s just... he doesn’t get visitors.” 

“How long has he been here?” You ask. 

“Can’t disclose that,” she rebuffs. “But maybe he’ll agree, just for a change in the days. Board’s the real problem.” 

“Well, thanks. I appreciate the help,” you put the pen down. “Have a good day.” 

“You too, miss.” She responds without looking away from her screen. 

You turn and drag your feet toward the doors. You kind of hope it’s denied. You’re too embarrassed to go and ask her to just shred the form after all. 

⛓️‍💥

The prison calls to confirm both visitations, not so much to your content. The more you think about it, the worse the idea seems. The man is not only a stranger, he’s a convict and a criminal. You don’t even know what he did.

And what are you going to say? Your whole intent is to thank him but now you think he might just laugh in your face. What if you make it worse? 

And you can’t not go now. If he showed up and you didn’t. If he ever finds out it has something to do with your brother, you may have just put him in danger. Oh, why don’t you think things through? Maybe you’re more like Vaughn than you care to admit. 

You drive to the facility. You check in with the guard, they do their usual search, then take you into the visitors’ bay. Your brother looks better than the last time you saw him. In better spirits too. No trouble to report, at least none he will admit. 

Your half-hour goes to fast. You remind him to call your mom, your mind wandering to your next thirty minutes. The guard tells you to stay as they take Vaughn away. You do. For fifteen whole minutes before the door signals another arrival. 

The guards lead the inmate to your booth. You look up at him shyly. He’s tall, thick arms, broad chest, muscled bound shoulders. The jumpsuit clings to him tightly as if they can’t get one to fit properly. His blonde hair is made paler by streaks of silver. His blues eyes are edged with crows feet and his already handsome face defined with the lines of his age. 

He’s older than you expect but no less intimidating. He sits, his posture unwavering, and he stares at you blankly. They hook his cuffs to the desk and leave you. There’s only expectation in his expression. He is not the one who starts conversations. 

Vaughn’s right. He doesn’t look like the typical inmate. 

You wait but he doesn’t move. You grab the receive and put it to your ear. You chew your lip as he tilts his head. He slowly reaches to pick up the one on his side. 

You gulp but can’t find your voice. You stare at him helplessly. You eke out, “hi.” 

His cheek dimples, “wasn’t expecting you. Mostly ‘cause I don’t know you.” 

“Um, uh,” you sniff and shake your head. You fidget with the cord. 

“Take a breath, sweetheart.” 

“Sweetheart?” You echo. 

“Well, you got a name?” 

You clear your throat and give your name. It steadies you, just enough. 

“You saved my brother. Vaughn.” 

He scoffs, “you’re that ugly bastard’s sister? Why on earth are you bugging me?” 

“I just... he told me what happened. I wanted to thank you for saving his life.” 

“Saving his—Is that what I did. Well, rest assured, I didn’t do it for his sake. I did it because I can use him,” he leans forward on his elbows, crossing his arms. He keeps the receiver between his shoulder and ear. 

“He’s still alive because of you,” you argue. His constant stare makes you squirm. 

“He’s alive as long as his mouth isn’t aimed at me. Let me make it clear, I hold not kinship for your brother. In fact, I was five seconds away from smashing his teeth in myself so your visit is entirely unwarranted and unnecessary.” 

You’re taken aback. Not just by his statement, but by his language. He’s eloquent. 

“I... so why did you show up?” 

“Curiosity. Boredom,” he shrugs and sits up as he grabs the phone with his hands. “Not much to do in here, in case that isn’t obvious.” 

“Well, glad I could entertain you,” you adjust the receiver then slowly move it away from your ear. 

“Hey,” his suddenness catches you. You keep the phone hovered an inch away. “Where are you going?” 

You arch your brows, “you said it yourself, this is pointless.” 

“You got time left. Might as well use it,” he counters. 

“I’m not going to sit here and be mocked, Mr.--” 

"Steve,” he chuckles, the first time his expression cracks. “Or you can use my inmate number,” he points to the digits across the left side of his chest. “You wanted this and I didn’t let them drag me here for a measly five minutes.” 

“I don’t have anything else to say to you,” you tilt the receiver away and he shows his palm, a gesture to stop you. You pause and put the speaker back to your ear. 

“We’ll figure that out along the way.” 

“Why?” 

“Sweetheart,” he pauses then says your name, “fine. Can I be honest with you? I’d like to talk to someone who doesn’t piss five inches from my bunk, anyone who isn’t trying to get something from me, who isn’t trying to stab me in the back. I thought you were a reporter, I was gonna say no. I didn’t so please, let’s keep talking.” He takes a breath and lets it out through his nose. “Let’s just have a human conversation.” 

You tweak your lips and think. You did drag him here. He stares back, placid. You’re not sure why you stay but you do. You settle in with the receiver. 

“So, where do we begin?” You ask. 

“Why don’t you? There’s not much going on in here. Not anything you’d wanna hear about.” 

“Um, okay, I don’t know...” 

“You look like a teacher? Or librarian?” He ventures. 

You squint at him. You’re not sure if it’s an insult. “Admin. For a clinic.” 

“A secretary. Close enough. You like your job?” He runs his fingers over the desk. 

You shake your head, “does anyone?” 

“I guess not. Why don’t you like it?” He waits. You have no answer. It’s still awkward. “Come on. It’s the same thing in here every day. Humour me.” 

You exhale, “alright.”

What’s the worst he can do? Laugh about the office drama? You think it’s just as silly. And you are the one who started all this. It'll be a unique experience you hope you never have to think about again.

[spongebobsoundtrack]

Richard Myhill - Surfin' Summer (a) Plays in:

45b. "Doing Time"

[jue-jack]

Kirby is a star!!!

[veliseraptor]

the weird schrödinger's emotion that is "that character death was narratively satisfying and emotionally impactful and ultimately the best way to handle their character arc" simultaneously with "noooo but I wanted them to live :( :( :("

[sapphic-luthor]

i’m going to hold your hands when i say this and i am only going to be kind about it once: ai does not belong in fandom spaces, ever. not in writing, not in art, not in video, not at all. it does not matter how bad you want to see your favourite characters kiss, or how much you need a bit of help finishing a chapter, or whatever.

make friends with artists. commission somebody. learn to draw yourself. ask for a beta read. try a writing partnership. fandom spaces are communities, so engage with them! it is about the journey and the fact that we all love something enough to create and build together about that thing.

spending 30 seconds to kill a tree and get an AI to push out some soulless empty piece of “content” is antithetical to the entire point of being engaged with fandom, and if you’ve taken to doing this you should really reconsider if you belong in these spaces with the rest of us.

[rioblitzle]

working retail

[overcaffeinated-aro]

ok not to be that guy but like. labor rights and working class rights can coexist with 24h services and late amenities. its certainly hard to do so without worker exploitation in this political and social environment, it’s not a conflict likely to resolve overnight. but 24h services are important and especially valuable to those of us that are disabled or are on a different circadian rhythm. in fact more professional, health, and government services should be available or at least possible to work on asynchronously (if applicable) during late or odd hours, while workers also get sufficient pay for their labor and proper consistent scheduling. this would be much easier on the workers with night schedules if the entire professional world didn’t grind to a halt at 5pmEST