#almost 75% of people are Free of Him

[scrivenger-grimgar]

au of an au for mdzs where canon plays out exactly as it was supposed to except

wwx became a calamity after dying and cared for his coven of ghosts in yiling before mxy summoned him for revenge.

he still elopes with lwj after solving the corpse question

supreme ghosts have a similar ability to gods taking deputies, except since they're not sharing immortality they can have a lot more of them

wwx's "deputies" are (in order) jiang cheng, the wen remnants, luo qingyang, nie huaisang, mo xuanyu, jin ling, lan jingyi, ouyang zhizhen, lan sizhui, and lan wangji.

being a calamity's "deputy" means that you are soul bonded to them, with a kind of preternatural sense of the wellbeing of the entire coven.

one of the heavenly officials decides to fuck around with time, and only other heavenly officials were supposed to remember, except extremely strong ghosts and their covens also remember because there are TWO gods married to calamities, and calamities are weirdly cooperative with each other (hc, hx, wwx, & gL discuss trade agreements over tea and artistic process over alcohol).

thus like 75 people are now in the past.

wwx's child body cant stand the power his soul has and just kinda crumbles under the weight. thats mostly fine tho cause he can shapeshift.

of course he immediately comes up with a dastardly plan to inflict as much chaos onto the sects as possible while also protecting his loved ones at the same time. he gets in contact with the wen remnants (bigger and there's more of them) and slowly moves them over to yiling while he builds places for them to live on the mountain, and then offers the people of yiling a very good deal:

"we'll deal with all your ghost problems for free, and in exchange we get discounts on food, and you tell everyone who comes asking that the Yiling Wei sect has been here the entire time."

its almost too easy to set up, too. they forge some trade agreements and other documents to place in the other sects' files, waiting to be found, with ease, bc he knows what the filing for the jiang, lan, wen, and nie looks like, and part of the story is that the jin offended them so badly that they just stopped doing business with them altogether and also tend to actively hate them with few exceptions.

meanwhile, huaisang, qingyang, and wangji will reference the Yiling Wei and act like this is something everyone knows about, and jiang cheng catches on and starts doing the same.

wwx's plan is to drive them all insane by appearing out of nowhere and acting like he's been there the entire time. make them question reality.

wen popo, at a discussion conference: i'll be standing in for my grandson so he can participate in the games

jiang fengmian, initiating polite conversation: your grandson? what happened to your son?

wen popo, internally cackling: fengmian! are you so quick to discard changze like this?! for shame!!

jiang fengmian, who has never met this lady: what

wen popo: you know i trusted him when he said he wanted to stand by his sworn brother's side but if this is how you treat his memory after he was so unwaveringly loyal to you, only ever leaving for Cangse, the love of his life, then i'll have to have you stricken from the legacy registry!

wen popo, with unfaltering confidence: good evening wen-zhongzhu

wen ruohan, who has incurable face blindness: well met Wei-zhongzhu (do i know her???)

nie mingjue is the only one who's taking any of this well and thats solely because his brother has been spoon feeding him Yiling Wei propaganda for 13 years. lan xichen has a crisis because his baby brother eloped with a clan leader he met thrice and they're having a spring wedding.

[spider-mancan]

peter and tony are broken up and everyone knows it. nick fury knew it when he made peter accept this mission, his teammates knew it when they piled into the jet, and tony knew it when he sat down as far from peter as possible

peter is awkward on a good day but he's not sure he can handle being side-eyed by the most powerful people in the world. black widow's round kick has nothing on her disapproving look, but peter does his best not to pay attention.

he wasn't even the one to break up with tony. it was mutual, after months of barely finding time for each other. peter had tried, but with college and...who is he kidding? if tony wanted to make it work, he would have.

with that in mind, peter tries not to stare at tony through the reflection in the glass and tony tries flirt with the flight attendant and only one of them is successful.

the mission goes fine. peter almost expected to be useless, but considering about 75% of the fight happening on scaffolding, he was much more active than expected.

peter doesn't think about getting thrown off by a ninja (which, like okay, that's pretty cool) and being caught by tony. he would have caught himself just fine, but he hadn't even hit free fall before his nearly brained himself on tony's chest plate. and then tony did the extremely predictable thing and told him to pay more attention and didn't flip his face plate up but peter knew it was a little derisive but he still really wanted to see tony's face, just a little.

he wasn't handling the break up well.

afterwards peter is sitting on the ambulance passing out shock blankets to hostages and tony shoots a syringe of pain medication into peter's forearm before peter realizes its happening

"you threw your shoulder out," tony says.

"you shouldn't be stabbing people when you're not a doctor," peter replies dully, even though he's pretty sure he tore his trap. tony opens his mouth and peters cuts him off because it's familiar. "not THAT kind of doctor."

tony wipes off the bead of blood on peter's arm from the needle. its a little useless, since the suit is torn and his skin is greasy with sweat and blood. "take better care of yourself, then."

peter scoffs, because tony is even worse than peter is. when he asks karen, friday snitches on the limp tony is hiding with the armor -- old knee injury. peter knew about it because there was a time when he knew everything about tony.

he could count the moles on tony's thigh and trace the shape of tony's scars and now its been four months since tony really looked him in the eye. its been longer than that since they talked about something that meant anything.

its another week before peter gathers the nerve to take the suit to tony for repairs.

he wonders if tony is still limping, or if someone held tony down and took him to medbay. tony had stayed in the area by himself after the mission to schmooze, and peter had flown back with a pleasantly numb arm and the avengers trying to figure out if peter did something wrong.

it doesn't matter when peter says nothing happened, or reminds them that the breakout was both mutual and none of their business. bruce is the only one mature enough to tell peter that tony is miserable, so clearly it wasn't really mutual at all.

well, it's great that he's miserable. they were miserable together too, because peter always thought tony missed the thread of women in and out his door and tony proved him right by putting out the queue line as soon as he was single

"don't trust all those articles," pepper told him, near the end.

peter thought it was mean, so he didn't say it out loud, but he wasn't sure he could trust tony either, since tony wouldn't talk to him.

it was childish. in the moment, peter and tony both knew peter was being childish. four months later, peter knows he was being childish -- it's also childish of him to hesitate outside the door of the lab, psyching himself up like he's about to go to war.

it's just tony. peter tells himself that for two days before he shows up at the tower, and he's telling himself that now, even though tony has never been Just Tony and peter is childish and he misses him and peter didn't want to break up but he's scared and he's lonely.

friday opens the door before peter knocks. tony looks up in alarm, double-take, and then cooly goes back to sewing up the kevlar on widow's uniform. "long time no see, kid."

its not warm, but it warms peter. he's awkward, quiet, and smooths the suit out flat on the worktable that was his until it wasn't. there's still web fluid stuck on the corner. tony left his photos up on the wall.

peter watches tony finish widow's suit, and the wordlessly passes the spider suit over and watches tony run his fingers over the torn fibers. "next time it will be better," tony tells them both. "next time it won't tear."

after two hours, peter brings tony a sandwich, pats dum-e on the head, and says, "i think i'm still in love with you," and it's quiet except for the sizzle of the solder gun.

and tony just puts his tools down and looks at peter and his eyes are a little wet and his jaw is clenched. "don't do this, pete." and a few years ago maybe peter wouldn't have but this is important enough that he doesn't care what tony has to say about it.

"i just...wanted you to tell me i was crazy," peter admits. "i thought...it wasn't about the--the girls. i know that...i know that you wouldn't. didn't." the clock ticks. tony doesn't say anything, and peter clears his throat. "i just...missed you. i was angry. i don't know."

"i'm an old man," tony tells him. "i'm not interested in playing around anymore. i'm not going to be alive long enough to play around--don't tell me i'm wrong." he's not even looking at peter, but they know each other backwards and forwards, and he knows peter will tell him off.

"i'd bring you back," peter says quietly. he's never thought about it until now, but he would. he knows that he would. "even if you hated me. if you never forgive more or...well. i would bring you back."

"i don't know if that's what i'd want." tony picks up the gun again and returns to working on the circuitry, lovingly crafted to protect the love of his life, even if the thought makes him choke. "i'm just saying, kid, that this is it for me."

"you have a funny way of showing it." peter won't pretend he's not bitter. tony ignored his calls and cancelled plans and then swept peter up in his arms and kissed him and then disappeared again, like a ghost. like a man on the run.

"you're it for me," tony says again, eyes on his work, "and that terrifies me."

peter is still sitting on his stool and his workbench, hands folded in his lap like he's getting scolded. but he can't stop himself from scowling. "why? we want the same things, so why is it...why are you terrified?"

"i can't be the guy on your posters, pete." the circuit sparks and tony tosses the soldering gun away with a huff. dum-e whirrs over to pick it up and tony runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "you're so young. i can't predict what you're going to want in ten, twenty years."

"i don't need you to." peter consciously relaxes his hands, smoothing them over the rough denim of his jeans. sweaty. nervous. pointed. "i just need you to be here."

tony curses, and then his stool is kicked over and he's rounding his workbench and he's pulling on peter's clothes and he's burying his face in peter's neck and breathing so deep, like he's been drowning and now he's on the shore.

peter is apologizing and tony is telling him not to, and tony might be crying or maybe the collar of peter's shirt is just mysteriously damp, but when peter pulls back and kisses tony's cheek and his nose and his forehead it's good. it's so good.

"it's been so horrible," tony groans, and then cups peter's face and kisses his mouth, sweet. it's just as good. "it's been the worst four months since i was dying that one time."

and peter punches tony lightly on the side and then sighs into the kiss like he's been longing to.

[angel-of-the-moons]

The Ghost and The Relic

Merc!Ghost x Fem!Soul Survivor!Reader

TW/CW: Chem usage, raiders, slavers, murder, executions, child death.

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Depending on how much I like this or how many people like this I might continue this but god I need to get this out of my head lmao.

☢️💀☢️💀☢️💀☢️💀☢️💀

It'd been four years since he took up this kind of work. Three since he'd joined up with the old man.

It was his idea, really, to form their little "Task Force" and roam the Wasteland, performing jobs here or there for settlements, providing temporary security and escort details for caravans...

But Simon "Ghost" Riley had a thought. Several, actually. But they all muddled together after a while, especially around his "team".

Their whole team, a rag-tag group of "soldiers" from all the way in the Mojave to managing, by sheer dumb luck to come ashore with their families from another goddamn country.

Ghost's family was one such case; they'd apparently immigrated 75 years after the Great War from someplace called London. He didn't care much about it, or his family, given how shit a hand he'd been dealt.

His father, the abusive sadistic bastard that he was, had fucked up his younger brother so badly that he himself turned to chems and booze, almost killing himself in the process.

Ghost had rejected that path, convinced his mother to leave his father, and they took his recovering brother and moved into a new shack he and a few of the other residents of their small farming settlement had built and they settled in there. Ghost took up a job in the local militia, defending their homes and settlements; and he became a terrifyingly good shot.

His little brother got clean, stayed sober, and married the girl from a neighboring farm. She was a good match for him and they both loved each other immensely. And it was to their small unit's great joy when they mentioned they were going to have a baby.

A baby boy. Joseph. Their mother was thrilled.

But it all came crashing down, eventually.

Thanks to the old rat bastard.

Raiders slipped right through their defenses during the changing of the watch, in the dead of night when the farmers were all tucked inside their homes.

They'd taken Ghost's farm first, nabbed him on the way down the dirt path to their shack and drug him to their camp, locked him in an old shipping crate.

He didn't know how long he'd been there, or how long he had been tortured... all he knew was that when he finally got free, their settlement was almost razed to the ground, the majority of the militia dead, women taken for sport.

And his family?

Dead. Well. His mother, brother, and sister-in-law anyways. There was still hope for little Joseph.

When he'd gotten to the meeting hall (or what was left of it) he found his father bound and beaten by the settlers, so tweaked out on jet and psycho he didn't even feel any of the pain.

He'd ratted them all out for some fucking chems, like the narcissistic, sociopathic junkie he was.

Ghost had suited up in the best scrap armor they had, bagged provisions, packed loaded weapons and plenty of homemade throwing knives, and set off to find Joseph and the others that had been taken as slaves.

He didn't even look back when he heard the gunshot from inside the hall.

He tracked them for days, maybe longer. He wasn't sure. All he felt was an all-consuming drive to get his nephew back, to save his former neighbors.

But he was too late. He found Joseph's crumpled little body beneath that of a partially nude woman, one he faintly recognized from the settlement, but not enough to recall her name as the haze settled in over his skin.

All he saw was red. Red, like the blood covering that poor, tiny, fragile body.

He moved in the dead of night, creeping like a spectre as he executed every raider and slaver he came across. He shot some, stabbed or slit the throats of others. One he left with his voice box slashed, another with their liver hanging out, both still alive as they bled to death in their dingy tents.

It took him less than an hour. A bunch of jet-addicted starved fools was nothing against Simon Riley and the black rage that swallowed him up.

He'd killed them all.

He led the surviving captives back to their settlement, along with the dead they could recognize, and then burned the camp.

Ghost cradled Joseph against him, swaddled tight in a ratty, blood-stained blanket.

The whole trek home, all his mind would think about was how tiny Joseph was. How he'd carried him like this multiple times back to his own bed after he'd curled up at their fireplace with their pet dog. How he carried him as a baby, and a toddler...

And now, he had to bury him alongside his parents and grandmother, and their beloved pet.

Simon Riley wasn't... he wasn't dead. But he wasn't alive either.

He was like a walking corpse.

A Ghost.

And his name became apt when he'd assumed that moniker (mostly due in part to the skull balaclavas he'd wear. The most intimidating one being the one with the actual skull attached to it...).

He moved like a Ghost, wandering aimlessly, performing jobs.

Then, he met the old man.

John Price, former NCR ranger, before he decided to retire early and leave. Well, more like he went AWOL.

Price was convincing in bringing Ghost into his makeshift military outfit.

There was Alex Keller, a former Great Khan that Price had picked up after his splinter tribe had been killed by his own former allies, the New California Republic.

Then there was Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, a Brotherhood of Steel scribe who became a soldier over a mission that went FUBAR, and left his chapter to travel with Price and his growing "unit".

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, a rather peculiar man with a fondness for explosives who somehow managed to get close enough to Ghost to actually be considered a friend. He had been a Gunner, but left them shortly after he realized that he wanted to do good, not just work for caps.

And finally, there was Kate Laswell. Part of a small surviving group of something called the "Enclave" Price had explained what their group was at some point, but none of them particularly cared.

For the first time in what felt like a lifetime Ghost was... Content. He had a purpose, no longer wandering aimlessly, part of a unit. A task force. "Task Force 141" Price named it. Apparently it was a nod to the unit he originally was assigned to as a young recruit for the NCR.

Very few of them focused on their past lives, they'd lost so much in their travels, in the shit order they'd been born in. There was no reason to think about all that, now.

After all, past is the past, is it not?

Not entirely, as Ghost came to find out.

Once they'd gotten through the remains of what used to be "New York City" back before the Great War (now it's simply called New Necropolis, given it's dessicated state, and it was strung tight with "death zones".

It wasn't until they moved a bit East that Ghost suggested they set up a permanent base of ops.

He suggested Boston, Massachusetts. It seemed like a good idea, supposedly riddled with Vaults they could repurpose, military checkpoints they could loot for scavenged gear...

Price surprisingly agreed to send him alone, like he asked. Ghost didn't want to risk the other members of his "family" on a possibility he may be wrong.

But... Ghost was rarely wrong these days.

Especially about the past staying in the past...

☢️💀☢️💀☢️💀☢️💀☢️💀

He'd managed to trek to a ruined neighborhood surrounded by creeks and a river, by the looks of it, emptying out into a large lake with several other tributaries connecting.

Sanctuary Hills, the old, overgrown sign told him it was. Yeah, maybe 200 years ago, it was a sanctuary. But then again, maybe it could be again. A lot of the houses were still intact. Plenty of scrap metal, wood, etcetera.

Put up some reinforcements on the remaining structures by cannibalizing parts from the ruined structures, build some fences, plant a few crops for provisions, stockpile weapons in the cellar behind that one house...

What he hadn't anticipated on was a Pre-War Mr Handy, still futilely standing watch over his previous owner's house.

He took offense when Ghost set up his sleeping bag in the yellow house across from his master's, citing that it was "impolite" to assume the house was uninhabited.

Judging by the dusty skeletons lying in the back bedroom, yeah. It was uninhabited, save for the radroaches and bloatflies that took a liking to the "idyllic" neighborhood.

That damned robot harped non-stop, although the water it purified for him was something he was grateful for, his yammering certainly got on his nerves.

"Oh, you should have met Sir, he was a soldier too, you know! A rather polite chap, loved the Missus and their baby boy! Oh, how I miss them." The robot sighed, sounding almost wistful.

Could robots feel emotions? He'd yet to meet one that did.

But then again how long had this robot been alone, exactly?

Apparently, he remembered when the bombs were dropped. So, a very very long time. Ghost tried telling him his masters were probably dead by now, even in the safety of their "Vault" he couldn't get into. It's been 200 years.

"Look, bot..." Ghost sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask, setting his hammer down on the table.

He'd been trying to fix up the yellow house for a few weeks. He'd managed some work, namely the roof and larger holes, obviously. Codsworth had even been kind enough to help with the cutting and the welding, just glad to be of service to someone who didn't shoot at him.

"I'm a little busy, here. So if you want to get nostalgic, save it for when I--"

His eyes went wide and he went deathly silent when he heard some kind of alarm blaring across the hills. Very faint, but it was a completely alien sound from the ones he memorized from the area.

He'd grabbed his pistol, and immediately started for the trail leading to Vault 111.

Which... is where he met you.

Dressed only in your blue vault suit, with a Pip-Boy secured to your wrist, you stumbled down, blinded by the sunlight and delirious from being down there for... well.

You'd collapsed against him and Ghost grunted, deciding to carry you over his shoulders back down to Sanctuary.

He noticed a glare in the distance, like the glint from a pair of binoculars, but he paid it no mind.

The moment Codsworth had laid eyes on you, the robot would not. Shut. Up.

He kept chattering on, almost blubbering, actually.

"Oh! Oh, it's the Missus!" He'd declared, obviously confusing you for his owner, long dead...

"Oh, but where is Sir and young Shaun! Oh, why is she alone! Where are the others?" Codsworth lamented dramatically.

Ghost waved him off, checking your vitals and looking at you for any injuries.

You had none. In fact, you were perfect. Your skin was clean, spotless and pristine, unmarred by radiation or scars.

He'd been silently looking over you when you awoke in the dead of night, Codsworth busy purifying excess amounts of water, apparently finding an intact bathtub to fill, so you could have one when you awoke. Or for cooking, or drinking... he didn't really care.

He was so lost in his curiosity of the one thing he'd never seen before: you. A Vault-Dweller, that he didn't register your eyes opening, long, clean lashes fluttering as you blinked, adjusting to the dimly lit room, only illuminated by a single oil lamp.

He'd set up his spare sleeping bag for you to use, while you were unconscious.

He was honestly taken by surprise when you screamed at him; scrambling back in the opposite direction.

Oh. Right.

The mask.

Yeah, it made sense why you were freaked out. Not a lot of Vault-Dwellers were probably rocking skull masks as the latest fall fashion craze...

"Listen." He'd growled out, fixing you with a soft, yet stern glare. Ghost was not without his mercy, and he understood that this new world must have been terrifying for you.

"My name's Ghost. Not gonna hurt ya. What's your name?" He said, sticking his hands up in a non-threatening manner.

When you'd uttered your name, his eyes widened visibly. It was the same name that Codsworth had said. Could be a coincidence.

That is... Until you told him about being frozen. For 200 years.

"I... I woke up, when..." You said, your voice breaking apart to cough, your mouth unreasonably dry.

Ghost had moved to kneel in front of you, handing you his old, dented canteen to drink down in a few gulps before wiping your face with the back of your hand.

"Oh god." You cried softly. "They killed him! They took my baby!"

Ghost's ears instantly perked up, and his own past flashed in the back of his mind before he pushed it aside.

"Who did?" He pressed.

"I don't know. Some... Some guy. A guy with a scar, and a gun, he... There was a woman in a radiation suit, then the man... Nate, he..." Your voice broke off in a choked sob.

He felt pity and sympathy for you after you'd given him bits of information.

And when Codsworth came doddering in to investigate your screams, Ghost knew you were legit.

You were his owner.

And you'd been frozen for 200 years inside an ice box; your family ripped away from you by some cruel force.

After a tearful reunion and the viewing of a highly emotional holotape, Ghost watched as you silently walked back into what used to be your home.

He gave you your privacy to acclimate (kind of) into your new "life", until he decided that some things needed to be said. You couldn't be emotional in the wasteland, that got people killed.

It could get you killed.

So Ghost decided to follow after you, where he found you on your knees in front of your baby son, Shaun's, crib, clinging to a slightly rotted rocketship that was once connected to the mobile that dangled above.

You clutched it to your heart as you sobbed quietly at the horror of it all.

What had the world become? How could you, a former lawyer, survive this?

Ghost cleared his throat and straightened his posture in the doorway, looking at you in the dark. The moon was full, casting dim cool shadows through the holes in the structure.

"I know this 's hard for you." His gravelly voice dragged out with each slow, deliberate step he took towards you.

He had to take it slow, like you were a wounded animal.

'Hnh. Not that far off, actually.' He thought.

"But you got'ta understand. You need to learn how to survive here, now. If you don't, you're as good as dead."

"What's the point?!" You snap, standing to your feet and tossing the plastic rocket at him.

It bounced harmlessly off his barreled chest and clattered to the floor.

"I don't have my son, I don't have my husband, I don't have my family!" You said through fresh, hot tears as your anger and grief rose to the surface.

And just like that, the flames died, and you flickered out, deflating into more quiet cries as you stood, defeated.

"I have nothing."

"Not true." Ghost said, shaking his head. He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. "You got a bot out there that's been making water for you for bloody hours, now just so you can take a bath. He's still here, and he's been waiting for you all this time."

You looked at him, eyes glassy and oh-so hurt, but you let him continue.

"And you have your little boy. Somebody stole him." His eyes flashed in the darkness of the room, a glint only illuminated by the moon's light, taking more steps to you until he was face-to-face with you, looking down at you.

God, this man was terrifying.

"And you're going to get him back."

"What...? But--but how? I'm just... me! I was a lawyer, for God's sake!" You blathered.

"First thing's first: you learn to survive." Ghost told you bluntly. "Then..."

He reached into the holster on his chest and slapped a pistol into your hands, the weight almost as hefty as the one you felt settle onto your shoulders, and into your heart.

"You learn to defend yourself. You need to learn to shoot."

He turned to walk away, gesturing for you to follow with a jerk of his head.

"C'mon, then. Let's get to it." He grunted.

"Right now?" You stumbled as you followed him out into the ruined street. "It's past midnight!"

"No time like the present."

You couldn't tell, but you were certain this man was smirking at you behind his mask.

"Hey... what's your name?" You asked him as he began to line up old cans and bottles against a rusted car.

"Name's Ghost, like I said. Now, lift the gun and aim down sights. Don't pull the trigger. Squeeze it."

"What does that even mean?" You asked, taking aim as he stood beside you, still as a statue.

'Still as death.' You thought sardonically.

He grunted again, his voice coming out an annoyed growl:

"If you want to survive, you'll learn what it means. Now, keep both eyes open..."

[hannahssimblr]

After a freezing, wet trek along the Clontarf seafront I turn into Michelle’s estate. All the houses have warm, yellow light spilling out the windows onto the grey, rain beaten pavement, inviting, yet it only reminds me of how grim this damn country is in the winter. It's been eight years since we moved here now and yet I still don't understand how people are supposed to cope with the winter. I suppose they don’t. I suppose we just accept that we will be a little bit sad for a while. 

They always leave the door off the latch for me on Tuesdays, they know I’m coming, and I let myself into the warmth of their home. It always smells good here, tonight like seafood and lemongrass, and whatever is cooking sizzles enticingly on the pan. I won’t ask for food, I never dare to, but if they offer I have yet to refuse them.

Rahim Tengu peers into the hallway as I shut the door. He is cooking in a suit. He’s always wearing one, even when doing things like mowing the lawn in the heat of summer. 

“Jude,” he says, “Wet outside, eh?”

“Yeah,” I take my shoes off and leave them by the door, “Whatever you’re making smells good, like always.”

“Nasi Lemak,” He says, “I’ll leave a plate for you when you're finished”

“Oh, thank you.”

He hesitates, “So how are your studies?”

“Yeah, good. Trying to get back into the swing of it since the new year. Fifth year is tough, you know?”

“Yes,” Another pause. Rahim is the most awkward of all the dads, he never knows what to say to me, but I let him think on it for another moment, brows knitted, spoon halfway to the pan, before I decide to put him out of his misery. 

“Jen upstairs?”

“Yes, yes, in her room.”

“Cool, see you in a while then.”

She’s sprawled out of the duvet with her earphones in, laying still like a corpse with her hands clasped on her stomach and white socks stacked on the pillows.

“Oh, you’re here,” she drawls. She doesn't even have to open her eyes to know it.

“You sound thrilled.”

“Ugh,” She flips to her stomach, pulls at her iPod cable and tosses the whole thing towards the head of the bed, “Come on, then, make me feel like a dumb bitch.”

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” I dig my maths notes out of my school bag and join her on the bed, “You been practising your trig?”

“That the one with the protractors?” 

“I’ll take that as a no.”

She lays still for a long moment, just staring into the middle distance before gathering the energy to learn. She falls onto her back and pulls the book I have opened toward her. “‘In the diagram, [AB] and [DC] are two parallel roads, where [AB] = 800m and [DC] = 500m. By measurement, it is determined that [<ABC] = 75° and that [BC] = 600m. Find [AC] to the nearest metre,’” She looks at me, eyes filled with hopeless despair, “How am I meant to know?”

“Well, do you remember what we went over before Christmas? The cosine rule?”

“Before Christmas? You might as well be talking a decade ago. I don’t remember anything that happened before last week. My brain is mush.”

I pull out my ruler, “Well, look, let’s start by drawing it out so we can visualise it, like this, then, we know that A² = B² + C² - 2BCcosA…”

“Do we know that? Are we sure?” 

“Jenny, yes. C’mon, we’ve done this.”

“I don’t think you understand how much I hate maths.”

“It’s not that bad, look, based on the cosine rule and the information we know already, we can write out the formula, right? x=(600)² + (800)² - 2(600)(800)cos 75°, so all you have to do is work that out.”

“Oh, is that all.”

“Yeah, so c’mere, hand me your calculator, it’s-” A shriek from the next room almost rattles my skeleton free from my flesh. 

“Why are you always like this?” It's Michelle. “I’m old enough! Just let me go!”

I glance awkwardly at Jen who is ignoring it, diligently punching the formula into her calculator and kicking her feet in the air. 

“When you demonstrate responsibility,” her mother screams back, “I will give you freedom, but until then…”

“Don’t look so shocked,” Jen says when she catches sight of my stricken expression, “You and Collette are like this.” 

“Not really. We don’t scream at each other.”

“This is just the volume they speak at here. It’s not as dramatic as it sounds. They're kind of just... having a conversation.” 

“Okay but you’re being such a bitch about it.” Michelle bites out, and I wince. 

“I don’t talk to my mom like that.”

Jen shrugs, “It’s not that serious, really, they don’t mean it. They'll be all lovey-dovey-happy-families again tomorrow. You get used to it.” she scribbles something onto her copy book and pushes it toward me “X equals 751533?”

I frown, “I don’t know, let me check.”

“Well you’re a nightmare of a daughter sometimes, do you hear me? I don’t want to be like this, I don’t want to be up here shouting at you, but you drive me to distraction with all of this carry on!”

“Um,” my fingers hesitate on the buttons of the calculator, “So… it was… (600)² which is…”

Something clatters to the floor and they start shouting even louder. The corners of Jen’s mouth curl up, “Let’s take a break, yeah? We can drown it out with some music.”

“Good idea.”

She scrambles to fetch her iPod again and hands me one earbud. We lie back on the pillows while she puts on some whiny emo track about a guy who is either dying or wishing he was dead. 

“Are you traumatised by Michelle and her mam because it reminds you of your parents?” She leans over me and sweeps my hair from my forehead. I laugh, “You trying to therapize me?” 

“You said they fought when you were small.”

“Yeah but I only heard it a handful of times, I wouldn’t say I am traumatised.” 

“Still, I think there’s something lodged in your psyche about it, it’s why you hate conflict.”

“Nobody likes conflict.”

“Yeah but most people don’t avoid it like you,” She pokes my arm because I've looked away, “Hey, would you say that you’d rather run away from your problems than face them?”

“Did you steal that question from your counsellor?”

She pretends to be shocked, “Um, no! Excuse me.”

“You’re excused. Hey, would you like it if my voice sounded like this guy’s?” I tilt the iPod screen to her and point to the album cover guy who has blood pouring down his face. 

“First of all, that’s not the guy singing, that’s a cartoon. Secondly, I don’t know what you even mean.”

I lean into her ear and put on the whiniest voice I can in imitation of him “Hhhhwhat’s the worst that I can say… hhhthings are better if I stay…”

She snorts and shoves me off her, “Go away, you freak.”

“hhhAND IF WE CARRY ON THIS HHHWWWHAYAH…”

Jen’s bedroom door opens and I jump. Michelle stands there frowning. I hadn’t even realised in the midst of my caterwauling and our hysterical giggles that the shouting had stopped.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[sushiwriterhere]

drive - part i

summary: "Despite your intensely professional appearance, you didn’t seem out of place in the slightest. And by god, you were breathtaking.”  rating: explicit for sexual content (18+ mdni) pairing: eventual frankie morales x f!reader  word count: 3.2k warnings: pseudo enemies-to-lovers, light sexism, author pretends they understand car terminology, potentially ooc!, no use of y/n, male masturbation.  notes: i love love frankie <3 thank you to @tremendum for beta'ing :') this is my first attempt at nsfw content – please feel free to tell me what you think!!!! tagging: @sebsxphia @magpie-to-the-morning - pls let me know if you'd like to be added/removed!

She was beautiful. ‘84? ‘85? Frankie couldn’t remember what the sheet Pope passed him had said when he’d looked over it briefly—just to make sure he was opening the hood of the right car. Besides, whatever was written there probably didn’t matter. In Frankie’s experience, the customers never really knew what was wrong or needed fixing. Sure, the type to waltz in with a vintage, manual BMW at least knew something beyond imitating the sound the engine would make when they’d try and go over 75 (“Look man, I just need her sounding right before I drive down to the Vineyard next weekend with the wife.”) but Frankie liked inspecting the cars himself. Pope had once told him he knew cars, helicopters—machinery better than people. 

Maybe he was right. Machinery always had a response, you could always figure out what was making it tick, what was making the wheel stick when you turned too hard to the right, why the brakes made that sound when it was about to rain. People were often the same, but that’s why Frankie liked cars more than people. They talked to him.

Honestly, he almost felt bad for the car in front of him–whichever asshole suit had picked her up clearly wasn’t treating her right. She desperately needed a new paint job and a really good work over with a clay bar. There was a ding in the front bumper that seemed like it had come from a bit of overzealous joyriding, and he had that feeling in his gut that shining a blacklight around the interior would reveal a shitty Jackson Pollock imitation. 

“Well, we’ll see what we can do. Frankie’s our best guy, he’ll take good care of her.” Pope’s voice rang throughout the shop, drifting into the back. 

“I appreciate it. One of the partners recommended you, so I have high hopes.” 

A woman’s voice. Frankie wondered whose wife or assistant that would be, they had regulars but none with that voice.  He turned around slightly, attempting to keep his gaze hidden behind the hood. And there you were. 

Pope was taller than you, but he could tell that what you lacked in height you made up for in aura. You were looking Pope directly in the eye, arms crossed loosely, one hip cocked. Despite your intensely professional appearance, you didn’t seem out of place in the slightest. And by god, you were breathtaking. 

Frankie never felt terribly insecure about his looks–he knew he was attractive; maybe not as suave as Pope, but women found him charming. Frankie had had a string of girlfriends and lovers since high school, some serious, some not. More than one had found cause to argue with him about the amount of women who pursued him even while he was in a relationship, but even still, that part never really made sense to him. But when he looked at you, he knew he was looking at someone who men would fall over themselves to hold your attention for even a moment. 

He felt his feet moving before he registered that it was happening, and realized he was making his way to the shop front. Frankie didn’t enjoy talking to customers, he told himself, but he wanted to know what your boss had done to bring him such a beautiful car in such condition. That was why he found himself pushing open the door that connected the shop to the workshop. 

“The man of the hour!” Pope exclaimed, clapping him on the back, “This is Frankie.”

“Nice to meet you, Frankie. I hope you’ll take good care of her, she’s treasured dearly.” Your voice was rich and velvety, and the brief smile that graced your lips made him feel like he was staring at the sun.

But he had to go and open his mouth. “I’ll certainly do my best. But I have to ask, what on earth did the owner do to put that ding in the bumper? I’m sure he was having fun but it’s gnarly.”

It was like a bucket of ice water being thrown over a campfire–you raised an eyebrow and pressed your lips into a flat line. Pope inhaled (or exhaled– Frankie couldn’t tell), all he could hear was the sound of him holding his breath. Fuck.

“Well, I don’t know exactly what the previous owner was up to, but I don’t plan on joyriding. I bought her secondhand.” 

“Oh right, of course. My apologies.” Frankie could feel the flush spread from the base of his neck to the tops of his ears and onto his face– leave it to him to stick his foot in his mouth in front of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. Universe: 1, Frankie: 0. 

Pope coughed lightly, clearly attempting to draw your attention away from Frankie and towards a stack of forms sitting on the counter. The moment had been broken, and Frankie at least had enough sense to quietly excuse himself back into the shop where he probably belonged. 

Okay, scratch everything he had ever said about having any sort of charm with women. Ever. At all. Every piece of attention he had ever received must’ve been a fluke because only someone without any sense at all would ever manage to put their foot in their mouth as hard as he just had. And it wasn’t the best thing to admit, but it was made all the worse by the fact that you were incredibly stunning. 

Maybe he’d just never speak again.

-

“¿Qué pasó, hermano? What the hell were you thinking?” Pope’s voice echoed throughout the shop, reaching Frankie even though he’d attempted to tuck himself away under the Ferrari that he had to service every six months. “Best looking woman I’ve seen in months and you manage to say the stupidest shit within 30 seconds of seeing her face.”

Frankie tried to keep himself hidden without responding, but failed to remember that Pope could find him any place he attempted to hide in the shop. 

Never a moment of peace, even in mortification, Frankie thought bitterly to himself. 

“Hey.” There was Pope’s face, inches away from his own, his eyes alight with mirth, clearly taking plenty of joy from Frankie’s embarrassment. 

He prickled at the close scrutiny–under a car was supposed to be a safe space for Frankie, and yet. He ignored Pope for the moment, unwilling to face exactly what he’d done. It wasn’t like he had burnt down the shop or permanently ruined its reputation but there was a particularly bad sting about embarrassing himself in front of a beautiful woman. 

Pope stood, clearly not looking to spend as long as it took to get Frankie’s attention hunched to one side. He rapped his knuckles on the side of the car twice, indicating he was deep in thought despite Frankie’s determined silence. Frankie maintained a straight face and tried to bring himself back to the headspace where rubbing the dirt from the nooks and crannies of a stupidly expensive car was the most interesting thing in the world. Perfection, til it shined, til he could eat off of–

“I honestly don’t think it was that bad. I think there’s hope for you yet, Fish.” Pope’s face was back. 

“I basically told her to get back into the kitchen.”

“Oh, come on! Don’t be so dramatic.” Pope had rounded the Ferrari and was tugging on the leg of Frankie’s overalls, slowly pulling him into the light, “Besides, you’re the one who knows what he’s doing. Regardless, she’ll have to play nice when she picks it up, and you can make your move then.”

Frankie felt his eyebrows touch his hairline, “Make my move? Pope, be serious.”

“I am serious.” The smile that was threatening to split his face in half said otherwise. Asshole. 

A beat passed as Frankie held eye contact, hoping the incredibly unimpressed look on his face would convey exactly what he thought of the situation. Pope broke first, bursting into laughter, the kind that shook his whole body and would make him complain of a sore stomach later. 

“Oh god, Fish, I think the last time I’ve seen a woman look at you like that was when that one girl at the bar thought you were cat-calling her instead of Benny.” Pope finally finished laughing, sucking in a shaky breath and wiping the tears from his eyes. “Look, I apologized to her once and explained the whole wives-slash-assistants situation, and she just rolled her eyes and said she ‘got it’. Just call her yourself and apologize, offer to walk her through the inspection when you’re done.”

In all honesty, that wasn’t the worst plan he had ever come up with (no, really, Frankie had PTSD from not just one of the others).  At the very least Frankie could do a little groveling, and hope you didn’t think he was the type to tell you you belonged in a kitchen. Plus, it would mean that if you said yes, talking about cars was one of the things in life Frankie really knew, so you could see he wasn’t a complete bumbling fool. Wishful thinking made his mind wander to the thought of you actually impressed. Hey, if you loved cars you clearly cared.

-

By the time he got home, Frankie felt like he’d been through the wringer emotionally and physically. He hated to admit it, but spending all those years in the military, and then all those years afterwards contorting himself so he could work on cars was really taking a toll on his body. Sure, it was rewarding and he thought he understood a bit what doctors felt like with their diagnoses and treatments and whatnot, but at the same time there were so many days where he thought he might just give up and ask Pope for a spot behind the desk. Maybe a title like Manager. He knew the second he asked, he would get it, without all the usual ribbing. They all needed a goddamn break, and despite his jovial demeanor Pope really cared about their little group. The door was always open to Benny when he decided fighting wasn’t for him anymore, and they made good enough money that Frankie could afford to relax a little bit. But he was just Type A enough that the thought of a desk job made him want to scream. So he kept at it. 

Going through the motions of his evening routine, Frankie thanked him from Sunday for having the foresight to pack away leftovers, and himself from that morning for making the bed so he would be able to slide into neatly tucked covers. Some habits from the military died hard, others much easier. 

After a quiet dinner and a much needed shower, Frankie decided there was no point staying up with a beer or trying to exercise his mind by reading and called it a night. But despite the exhaustion from the day, his mind was racing. He kept replaying the mere thirty-second interaction he’d had with you, changing what he said each time to try and imagine a different reaction, a different outcome. What if he’d been smooth and made a joke about your car, would you have laughed? What did your laugh sound like?

It was at that moment that he realized he knew very little about you. He’d gone back and read the file that accompanied your keys– referred by someone from the law firm that constantly sent them new customers. It was then that it had hit him, likely exactly who he’d suggested was a mere assistant. Frankie didn’t know a lot about the law, but he suspected that having enough money to throw around to purchase a vintage BMW (even if not for joyriding) meant that you were senior enough for it to matter.

Frankie always knew he had a thing for women with power. When a high school girlfriend bossed him around a little in bed a few months into their young relationship after a bad fight about some nonsense, he’d felt his head get a little floaty. It was really hammered home during Basic when a female sergeant had laid into him and a group of his buddies at the time. He didn’t remember much about the incident, just that he wasn’t really involved. In his ever quiet, ever observant demeanor he’d just managed to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. But that doesn’t really matter when you’re in the military. You’re part of the group. Your individualism is systematically taken away from you– the haircuts, the uniforms, the orders. 

So when he stood in a line with these eight other knuckleheads, arms clasped tightly behind his back, feet shoulder width apart, the bead of sweat that had run down his back wasn’t really about the temperature in the room. The way he felt the need to swallow repeatedly from how dry his mouth was wasn’t about his lack of hydration in the twenty-four hours prior. 

Almost embarrassingly, he couldn’t even remember the woman’s face. She’d had her hair slicked back in a tight bun, military issue. She had a powerful voice but wasn’t yelling. The talking-to was stern, filled with exasperated threats and warnings of what would happen to them if there was a “next time”. 

But he remembered how she had made him feel. The way her voice commanded his presence–he’d felt the urge to drop to his knees and make the situation right however he could, however she might let him. He’d wanted to obey and continue obeying. 

And then there was you; the way you had commanded the space around you, looked Pope right in the eyes, not shying away. The images that floated to the front of his mind were unwitting, he definitely hadn’t invited himself to linger on what you looked like. The way you held yourself, the flow of your hair, the straight set of your shoulders as if you were trying to take up more space than you physically could. Your suit was perfectly ironed, crisp front folds in the slacks, the sleeves breaking just right over your slender wrists. Your eyes were piercing. 

They had women come into the shop all the time, but again, they were usually assistants or wives. It seemed like you knew that. And when Frankie had opened his stupid mouth, insinuating that your boss or your husband was the one who had hit the front bumper, the stare you had leveled him with felt like it had flayed him open. There again was that feeling bubbling to the surface, of wanting to be good, to obey, to make it right. The moment you opened your mouth it was over for him–the smooth lilt of your voice could read the morning news and he’d absorb every word, hang on every syllable. 

Frankie kicked his feet in the sheets a bit, willing himself to focus on falling asleep. But like most things in life, the more you tell yourself not to think about the forbidden fruit, the more it’ll be all that’s on your mind. And true to that, Frankie could see nothing in his mind’s eye but you. 

Something tugged in his gut, and he tried to ignore it. It wasn’t right, but he couldn’t help himself. He could feel just how hard he was, and he knew that it didn’t matter if he ignored it, he wouldn’t be able to will this one away. Besides, it would just be one time, just to get these thoughts of you out of his system and then it would be fine. 

Slipping a hand into his sweatpants he grasped himself tightly. Fuck. If there was one benefit from working with your hands, Frankie had to admit the edge of roughness from his calluses while touching himself was definitely it. It was just on the right side of painful, and Frankie let his mind wander. 

Just this once.

He would apologize–he would be heartfelt and sincere, let you know how sorry he was. He’d call you and beg for forgiveness and you’d offer him a “we’ll see”, before hanging up. You’d arrive and watch him, unimpressed as he gave you the rundown. And inevitably, he’d mess up. 

“First making me out to be just someone’s wife, someone’s assistant, now you can’t even explain this to me? I wonder what Santiago keeps you around for.” You’d raise an eyebrow at him, expectant. 

And Frankie would show you, he’d show you exactly why people keep him around (maybe not Santiago, but)–because if there was one thing that Frankie loved, aside from cars and an ice cold beer, it was eating pussy. Never mind all the jokes during Basic about how big his dick was, what Frankie really took pleasure from was going down on women. The first time a girlfriend had let him, he thought he’d gone to heaven. 

Something tightened in his chest as Frankie thought about what it would be like to go down on you. He couldn’t help but imagine you in the backseat of that expensive car of yours, work slacks tossed somewhere in a haste to remove them, eyes wild and lips swollen from kissing. 

Stopping the movements of his hand momentarily, he reached into the drawer of his nightstand to pull out a well-loved bottle of lube. In his rush, he squeezed out a far-too-generous amount, and all of a sudden instead of the deliciously dry slide of his hand around his cock, everything was soaking wet. Sheets be damned, he tightened his grip and twisted his wrist just in that way he really liked.

Fuck, he would love to get his mouth on you, to hear the sounds you’d make as he ate you out for his own pleasure.  

He had to admit that beyond the part of him that wanted to submit to a powerful woman like you, there was also the part of him that knew he would revel in seeing you on your knees for him, cockdrunk and begging for more. You’d have that lipstick on, but it would be just on the right side of smudged from kissing him and licking your lips. Your mascara would have run just a bit, enough to make you look messy and fucked out, that if you looked in the mirror you’d flush from how unkempt, how unruly you looked. 

Before he could stop himself, an image flashed in his minds’ eye: you, bent over the back seat of your flashy car, legs on the ground on your tippy toes in a pair of high heels, skirt rucked up over your ass. He had one hand on the back of your neck, pressing your cheek into the worn leather seats as your head turned to the side to give your room to breathe, and more importantly, beg. Your panties were wet and sticking to you, and the inner parts of your thighs were shining with your arousal.

It was the thought of tucking your panties to the side and gently pushing into your tight, wet, heat that sent Frankie over the edge. He grunted as his cum shot up his chest and his mind filled with static. 

He lay there for just a moment, just letting the orgasm wash over him like a tidal wave. In the aftermath, there was the tipped over bottle of lube on the nightstand, a soiled t-shirt, and just enough guilt to make him want to call in sick.

Fuck.

[stellz-mybeloved]

i was enchanted to meet you..

wilbur x reader

1125 words

requested by : @vibestillaxxx

tags: @vibestillaxxx (please ask if you wanna get tagged)

you walked through the streets of brighton feeling free after a tiring day of work, work for you was an absolute nightmare especially customers who are very picky and act like a karen. some customers complained alot and you try your best to calm those customers down cause its super embarassing that a customer would complain to an employee especially in the public eye making almost every single person in the restaurant look at them making you regret this job so much.

but on the good side you made friends with the other employees too and you felt comfortable around them cause they were your only ones to be with every time at work which was the best part of your shift,

you eyed down on something then you see a coffee shop down by the corner which made you stop by and you thought about getting a drink. after a stressful day working alot and you felt relaxed, you walked down the shop and took a deep breath, the smell of coffee tantalising around your nose and as you walk in you saw lots of people. like lots. you waited patiently in line until you hear someone yelling to the waitress in front not that kind of thing that would happen to me at work too.. you thought, you just couldn't handle it, you were tired of it. "you got my order wrong! it was lacking some ingredients, this is the worst coffee shop I've ever been to-" the woman was cut off by someone which was her friend "alright we have to go now, you need to calm down! im so sorry for my friend here.. she was kinda overreacting.." her friend says nervously to the waitress and they left the store like nothing ever happened, not even a single bit of an argument.

you sighed, people these days are like this every single fucking time.. even at your job , you went forward in line and you accidentally bumped on a tall figure, he turned around and looked at you, it took you a second to look at his features, he's tall.. like approximately 6'5, he has brown curls and hazel eyes and pearly white teeth.. you've never seen a person that pretty before.. wait- isn't that kinda cliche? you thought and shook it off, "uh- im so sorry for bumping into you, uh.. did i spill your drink?" i apologise and asked him as in if I was worried that he may get mad at me but then he chuckled "it's alright, you almost did-" he was cut off and you slightly panicked "what?! oh my fucking- I'm so so sorry about that I didn't mean to-" you were cut off by him smiling with his white teeth showing "it's okay, you didn't actually spill my drink.. but you almost did anyway." he stated and smiled.

his smile literally caught you, and m holy shit he was so nice to you.. i wonder who is he.. you wondered and you went forward in line and ordered your drink. "that would be £75." the cashier spoke and you looked through your wallet and realized that the money in your wallet isn't enough, and you panicked for a bit until you heard a deep voice saying "i'll pay for it." you looked behind to know who it was  and it was the same guy you accidentally bumped into what?! he wasn't supposed to do that! it was my drink, he didn't have to do that, you didn't even expect that to happen..

"but-" you were cut off by him "no buts, i'll pay for it," he said with no hesitation, he grabbed the money on his pocket and paid the cashier, "keep the change." he told the cashier and the cashier smiled at him you grabbed your drink and walked off the counter.

You look at him and smiled "thank you, that was very nice of you." you reply and he chuckled, "you're welcome, wanna sit on that table right there and have a nice chat?" the brunette asked you and pointed to that table and you nodded as a response,

you two had a nice chat together, you found out that his name was wilbur and he streams and makes music for a living and he's also the lead singer of a band called lovejoy, wow you didn't even expect that you'd meet a famous singer from a band and a streamer too. "wow.. that's so cool! and aren't you stressed because you have a huge fanbase and you have alot to do like writing some songs, go on tour?" you asked curiously and he huffed, "well.. yeah, but right now i'm taking a break from that" he answers and smiles at you staring into your eyes as he continues to talk, you slightly tilt your head to the right , admiring his prescence.. wait a minute.. you just met that person! you can't fall for him yet! you thought and wilbur was looking at you, "hello? you awake" he interferes and you shook your head to focus. "yeah, sorry I zoned out" you smile.

you guys continued talking alot, you both shared your personal experiences in life, your jobs and many more until the chat is finally done and it was finally time to go, "well, it was nice chatting with you..?" he looks at you confused not knowing your name, "y/n." you answer and he smiled "it was nice chatting with you y/n." he redid the sentence and you giggled "it was nice chatting with you too wilbur," you respond, "oh- and here's my number. so we can communicate through dms!" you added and you gave the paper to wilbur looked at it and smiled and kept it in his pocket.

"alright, it was nice meeting you!" he commented and ran his hand through his brown curls and you smile at him "me too, and i hope we see each other again soon" you reply and blushed, you both said your goodbyes and went off to your own ways.

you went to your apartment and you grabbed the keys for your apartment door you inserted the key to the keyhole of the door and opened it, finally revealing your apartment. ah.. the feeling of home, the time that you can finally rest and do stuff, but you couldn't get wilbur off your mind and you blushed all they way here still thinking about him, were you actually in love with him? is this love at first sight that you're experiencing right now? when you first saw him, the negative thoughts and feelings vanished when you saw him, and it was enchanting, you were wonderstruck.. you were enchanted to meet him…

should i make this a series? should i make a part two?

dividers by : @cafekitsune

[aukanemin]

~Commissions are open!~

It would be absolutely delightful if you distribute this post or even want to support my projects and order something special for yourself;зз In addition, I recently changed prices so this information may be useful even to those who already saw previous price list;*** Below I have described in detail almost all the necessary information, but please do not hesitate to write and ask me for any reason in a private message or ask - it will be my pleasure to tell or show you more, and I am always glad to have pleasant acquaintances***

What can I do for you:

Design and illustration of your original character (based on references or text description)

Your portrait, a portrait of your loved one, a celebrity or a person you like (including historical figures)

A portrait of any artistic character - from any fandom, and although my work is closer to gothic fantasy, it is a great pleasure for me to work with new themes and develop myself. The fandoms I'm most familiar with are listed in tags;з

I like to design clothes on my own, interpret the appearance and style of characters, but I am always very attentive to the interests and desires of other people** I do portraits in three formats - bust, waist-length and full-length, and with three different stages of completion - line art, flat color and full shadow work. They can be completely different in style, and you should pay close attention to the difference in the execution of these formats - the busts are always more detailed in the character's features, the atmosphere is more consistent in waist-length paintings, and full-length drawings are well suited to demonstrate clothing design or depict a scene. On average, I complete the work within three to four days, but in case of various circumstances I leave myself up to a week, the lion's share of the time (usually the first day) is occupied by sketch and line art, as well as the background - depending on the complexity and its cost , and the duration of the work can vary greatly, but on average I do them in a day or two. I can make completely different backgrounds for you - for bust or chest-high portraits, graphics or bokeh with some elements of the environment are more suitable, for full-length portraits, you can perform both art nouveau design and full surroundings with a landscape or interior design.

What can I do and approximate prices:

- Bust of one character up to the chest.

Sketch: $ 40

Flat color: $ 45

Shadows & Color Treatment: $ 50

- Portrait of one or more characters up to the waist.

Sketch: $ 55

Flat color: $ 60

Shadows & Color Treatment: $ 65

For background + 5 $ minimum. For each new character + 10 $ - Character (or several) in full growth.

Sketch: $ 70

Flat color: $ 75

Shadows & Color Treatment: $ 80

For background + 10 $ minimum. For each new character + 15 $ I also accept tips - most often they are included in the cost of the background, which is done at the end, after the main character design. Whoa !! You’ve read almost everything! Thank you very much! Here, under the cut, I describe the whole process of work and how we pay. This is very useful information about most of the questions that you may have, if you want to purchase my work, I advise you to take a look too;)

How do we work on an order?

Please feel free to contact me via Tumblr or mail for any questions you may have! ~ If you have an interest in my work, and you want me to create something special for you - share this with me in a message, we can discuss all the details and cost of your painting**

After I discuss the content of the painting with the client and receive additional materials from him (a photo of the person I am drawing, or references that are close to what is expected of me), I start creating the first sketch.

In accordance with the request, I make a sketch of the future painting, which will contain all its important elements and an approximate color scheme (if any) that I will use. At this stage, you can freely make your amendments, and when the content suits you, I will ask you for an advance payment of half the cost of the work without price of background (through Paypal).

After that, work on the portrait will begin. Its duration varies on several factors - to a greater extent on the volume and complexity of the work itself, as well as on my own workload with other orders. I will contact you at various stages of the work readiness to show its progress and make the necessary corrections.

After completing the portrait, I will send you its version in low quality- you familiarize yourself with it, and after you pay the rest of the amount, you will receive the final result of our work! ~

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Ricky Gervais

Published: Feb, 2008

I loved Jesus. He was my hero. More than pop stars. More than footballers. More than God. God was by definition omnipotent and perfect. Jesus was a man. He had to work at it. He had temptation but defeated sin. He had integrity and courage. But He was my hero because He was kind. And He was kind to everyone. He didn't bow to peer pressure, or tyranny or cruelty. He loved you. He didn't care who you were. He loved you. What a guy. I wanted to be just like Him.

One day when I was about 8 years old, I was drawing the crucifixion as a part of my bible studies homework. I loved art too. And nature. I loved how God made all the animals. Yhey were also perfect. Unconditionally beautiful. I was an amazing world.

I lived in a very poor, working-class estate in an urban sprawl called Reading, about 40 miles west of London. My father was a laborer an my mother was a housewife. I was never ashamed of poverty. It was almost noble. Also, everyone I knew was in the same situation, and I had everything I needed. School was free. My clothes were cheap and always cleaned and ironed. And Mum was always cooking. She was cooking the day I was drawing Jesus on the cross.

I was sitting at the kitchen table when my brother came home. He was 11 years older than me, so he would have been 19. He was smart as anyone I knew, but he was too cheeky. He would answer back and get into trouble. I was a good boy. I went to church and believed in God--what a relief for a working-class mother. You see, growing up where I did, mums didn't hope as high as their kids growing up to be doctors; the just hoped their kids didn't go to jail. So bring them up believing in God and they'll be good and law-abiding. It's a perfect system. Well nearly. 75% of Americans are God-fearing Christians; 75% of prisoners are God-fearing Christians. 10% of Americans are atheists; 0.2% prisoners are atheists.

But anyway, there I was, happily drawing my hero when my big brother Bob asked, "Why do you believe in God?" Just a simple question. But my mum panicked. "Bob," she said, in a tone that meant "shut up." Why was that a bad thing to ask? If there was a God and my faith was strong, it didn't matter what people said.

Oh...hang on. There is no God. He knows it, and she knows it deep down. It was as simple as that. I started thinking about it and asking more questions, and within the hour, I was an atheist.

Wow. No God. If Mum Had lied to me about God, had she lied to me about Santa? Yes, of course but who cares? The gifts kept coming. And so did the gifts of my new found atheism.

The gifts of truth, science, nature. The real beauty of this world. Not a world by design, but one by chance. I learned of evolution...a theory so simple and obvious that only England's greatest genius could have come up with it. Evolution of plants, animals, and us...with imagination, free will, love, and humor. I no longer needed a reason for my existance, just a reason to live. And imagination, free will, love, humor, fun, music, sports, beer and pizza are all good enough reasons for living.

But living an honest life--for that you need the truth. That's the other thing I learned that day, the truth, however shocking or uncomfortable, in the end leads to liberation and dignity.

I hope I haven't offended anyone with this article. Okay, that's a lie.

[nerdylittleguy]

are spidersonas still a thing? yes? cool cool...

Okay, he's not my spidersona per se, he's based on a favourite character from a forgotten 80s show (robin of sherwood, and the character's name is Nasir, if you're interested) but I wanted to make a spiderman based on him since watching atsv, but because of how well Pavitr was designed (culture and representation wise) I wanted to make him also more representative, but had no idea where to start where to even find designs or inspiration. So I wrote down in one of my many diaries that he's Palestinian, and left it at that for months.

And, if you're somehow not yet aware, Palestine has actually been noticed by the west for the past month, though it should have been for more. People should not have to die, civilians should not have to die, hospitals, mosques, churches, schools, bakeries and people should not be targeted by a powerful military, blamed for the conditions of their suffering and resistance under an apartheid state. I'm Polish, fun fact, and when Russia started its invasion of Ukraine we were all crapping ourselves, supporting the Ukrainian fight back against people who had already oppressed them in the past. Of course, every story of oppression is different, but the moral is this: the world supported Ukrainian resistance against oppression, and suddenly when it's in the oh-so dreaded middle east, it's apparently a threat to everyone, and apparently it's completely justifiable to murder innocent civilians, but not justifiable for them to fight back. Ideally, I'd like to say "violence is never the answer, it's not correct to fight fire with fire" but realistically, after 75 years of oppression, of western ignorance, what other options are there? You cannot debate for peace with a government that calls you "children of darkness" or "human animals" or whatever other dehumanising things the Israeli government and military have been saying. Now is the obligatory time I feel I need to clarify, no, I do not support acts of terror (from either side!! Israel deserves as much criticism as Hamas, if not more, seeing as they are a powerful military) and no, I am not antisemitic. I have not been studying World War 2 for almost 4 years as an autistic hobby to be called antisemitic, but also neither to ignore a genocide unfolding before our eyes on social media. My issue is not with Jewish people, who have suffered for years, centuries, especially in Europe, my issue is with the weaponisation of the Holocaust and the misleading Israeli/ Zionist idea that they, the children of the Holocaust, cannot cause the same atrocities. Especially when many, many Jews, also children of Holocaust survivors have spoken out again Israel and its actions towards Palestinians. Trauma is a cycle, one that the state of Israel has clearly not dealt with and is now willing to cause in another population.

So. Autism and activism (another fun fact, I'm a former climate activist who quit due to burn out) combined in my brain to make this artwork. I have a few more drawings of Nasir as spiderman, I'm still mulling over if I want to post them, but if people want to take my design and run with it, redraw it, make it more accurate or interesting (I literally just took the patterns on the keffiyeh and threw them on a spiderman suit, not very creative, or not as much as it could have been) absolutely do so. I would ask for a little credit, but if you feel you make the design entirely your own, it's yours. I'm just some Polish idiot living in the UK, what do I know about accurate middle eastern representation? (Also feel free to use this as pfps and what not, I don't care, I'll be happy with the knowledge I drew it, and if it makes you happy, I've achieved more than I hoped.)

Obviously activism has more to offer than just drawing spiderman, so if you can, write to your MPs or representatives or what have you, share information (I will do my best to share information on tumblr as I have been very inactive on here recently), maybe even attend protests if you can, but first and foremost, stay thinking!! Stay learning and educating yourself as having information keeps you one step ahead of propaganda. If you have the energy to, compare and criticise different news outlets, find yourself some Gazan news sources and journalists (a lot of people have been following Motaz, Bisan and Plestia on Instagram, I don't have that but it's easy to find reposts of their videos on tiktok or twitter) and stay informed!! Boycott those companies suggested by BDS, MacDonalds, Starbucks and Disney as the main ones (or just ignore capitalism all together and shop local!! That's what I've been trying to do, but obviously it's not an option for everyone, it's better to have focused efforts on those big three than smaller, scattered attempts at boycotting). We all have something we can do to help and show out support.

However, from my burnt out activist's perspective I have to highlight that you MUST take time for yourself, your hobbies, your wellbeing. Yes, you are privileged to be able to turn it off, but from my privilege of experience, I tell you that you will burn out and loose your spark. You need to be able to support those who need us (and not just in Palestine, but in the DR of Congo and many other places where crises and genocides are occuring) but you can't do that if you've burnt yourself out. You, your comfort and safety is important, your ability to sustainably fight for these important causes is more valuable than you know. Important causes like these require a lot of energy, but we as activists cannot let ourselves become completely burnt out as there will be no one left to fight. Just pace yourself. Do as much as you are comfortable with. Everyone has different styles of activism, different abilities, and that's the beauty of us. We can do so much if we don't start with too much and end up burnt out.

In conclusion, Free Palestine <3

[saeist]

SHARE THE DRUNK HCS AND BLURBS PLZ IM BEGGING (totally not drunk rn too 😍)

random drunk headcanons of various bllk characters:

sae – face and neck gets really red. like almost the color of his hair. still doesn’t talk much even when drunk although he occasionally cracks a joke here and there but no one gets it cuz they think he’s serious

isagi – clumsy as fuck once the alcohol hits. man is stumbling and falling around everywhere + he hiccups

rin – lightweight. give him a can of beer and hes out. also an emotional drunk. mainly talks and babbles about sae and you know its time to go home when he starts covering his face cuz hes crying (about sae)

oliver – the drunk uncle kind of drunk. can drink like a sailor but with every pint he finishes he gets louder and louder til he’s full on yelling (he thinks hes just speaking normally), also the one who proposes to everyone that they should get a drink. sings a lot too while under the influence (he’s bad at it sad to say…)

karasu – the philosophical when drunk. literally starts a whole debate about anything and still continues to assess people but more upfront now. will literally air out all the problems you seem to have with just a cold hard stare for about 5 minutes. becomes the group’s therapist

nagi – knocked out just after one sip. doesn’t drink, doesn’t want to drink, got forced by reo to go with them and now he’s sleeping soundly at the edge of the couch. (he’s the guy that everyone thinks got shitfaced drunk thats why he passed out but no)

reo – the dd or the designated driver. also pays for everyone’s drinks + anything the guys break at the club/bar/karaoke/etc. can handle liquor like a boss he is. ends up drinking one on one with one the last man standing guys since everyone is now literally shit faced drunk (usually its karasu) and opts to buy the hardest whiskey the club/bar/karaoke/etc. has to offer just to “unwind” no reo, you just have money and liver of gold

bachira – the one that ends up breaking something/s because he got the zoomies from drinking too much

chigiri – drinks cocktails like long islands, etc. cuz he’s chigiri

aryu – also only drinks cocktails OR wine 🍷 #styl

tokimitsu – got peer pressured (by otoya) into drinking a lot and is now a babbling mess

otoya – talks a lot of shit for someone who’s also another lightweight. initiates the drinking games that caused 75% of the group to blackout from drinking a lil too much. tried to invite girls in but got blocked by kunigami

kunigami – drinks only a little cuz he’s that one saint that looks over the group when everyone is wasted. bless up kunigami 🙏

shidou – the first one to get shitfaced blackout drunk. like actually. the moment they arrive at the venue, he orders the hardest thing on the menu and downs it in one go. (otoya instigates saying “bet you cant drink that shit in a minute and shidou goes BET) also the one breaking tables with bachira because they were playing the floor is lava and you know how that went… also makes fun of rin for crying about sae (“pussy!” -shidou 2k23)

kurona – sits at the corner drinking his own cup and eventually does get a lil tipsy. you can tell with how he repeats words more frequently and how he mispronounces them

hiori – the gunner aka the one who pours the drinks to everyone. also can take liquor like a man! liver of steel i tell you that. they cannot escape hiori when it’s someone’s turn to drink like .. he will deadass follow you around with your cup if its your turn like… nothing will stop my man hiori! will also give you a side eye if you pass this round . but that’s just him

yukimiya – doesn’t want to drink but is forced to drink since hiori keeps following him around. is a little lightweight since he doesn’t drink at all. also gets free drinks from random strangers because they think he’s hot (mostly from the ladies with their numbers under the cup) is the one that got side eyed by hiori since he passed this round.. again

[mybrainismelted]

Hi Kat! For the trope mashup: 67 & 75 😊

Hi Krystal! 67 (Casual Intimacy/Physical Comfort) + 75 (Outsider POV) I think for this one I would go in the direction of Kev's view of their relationship over the years. For such a big dude, he has a crazy ability to blend into the background, and being the neighbourhood bartender just adds to that - people forget he's there and watching. From the early years, when he would sometimes catch glimpses of them wandering the streets together late at night when he's locking up the Alibi and heading home, and seeing the body language change over time, to Mickey's not-so-casual questioning about Ian when he was missing. He saw them together from time to time at the Gallagher house after Ian came home, and while they didn't often touch each other when other people were around, they were always just THERE, always together, never going to the kitchen to get a drink without grabbing one for the other, they were just close in a way he had never seen Ian behave with anyone else. The night of the Christening, he overheard their conversation about Mickey being free, and really truly realized just how deeply these two were in this - not that either of them were really old enough to understand what it all meant, but he could see the passion burning in both of them. Fighting for each other that night (both with words and fists), and seeing them together afterwards, touching in public for the first time, helping each other get cleaned up and being so careful of their wounds. It felt like he was seeing something almost too personal, too private for other eyes.

Kev would have glimpses of those moments with the two of them over the course of all the years that followed, and would quietly be team Mickey even when the rest of Ian's family wanted him to forget and move on. He always found ways to remind Ian that he, at least, liked Mickey.

Seeing them fighting so hard to be together, even after everything, and actually getting married, is what finally pushed him to realize that the only other people he knew with that level of commitment to each other are himself and V - and he knows now that he has to get that divorce so they can finally get married for real.

fanfic trope mashup asks

[sorcerous-caress]

Witnessing you play pathologic 2 is such a fucking trip bc like?? I own both 1 and 2, but I’ve only actually played pathologic 1 and like?? How in the blue fuck do you have 15 shmowders????? I think I got like- 6 in my entire playthrough- I was not doing well with my quests tho so that probably contributed but??? 15??????

16 now just baught some from my buddy ol'pal dead items shop man on day 7

But if you want an actual answer

Shmowder kid

Find a building with shmowder kid in it, exist and enter until they have the shmoder in their inventory for trade. 10% spawn chance.

Rare cache farming

I save before 7:30 when cache reset. Then I go and check all the assigned "rare" caches with a chance of spawning shmoders, usually 3-6 each day. They're scripted so they never change locations. I reload until I'm sure at least two of them have shmoders then bag it quickly. 20% spawn chance per rare cache.

Rob people

You don't find shmoders, but you aquire nut funds for your shmoder supplier kid. Basically get the cape and all the protective gear, waltz into infected houses with at least 8 immunity boosters then go haywire and grab all nuts you can find.

Quests?

Only two give a guarantee Shmoders so uhh...maybe if you feel like it? I did them either way.

Here is my progress so far

I could squeeze 3/4 more shmoders out of my plug girlie, but I'm running low on food, so I rather trade them for eggs instead. Plus, I'll get 2 more when it hits 7:30 from caches.

I'm saving up for the shotgun! Maybe a revolver too idk.

I found out brewing antibiotics is annoying so I rather trade for them instead, but + immune boosters are a must.

The town so far is good, I gotta start repairing water sources.

I think Peter's infection is scripted because he had like 75% chance to NOT get infected, lost twice in a row when I reloaded.

Eh, he's not one of my bounds so Imma wait for Daniil to come begging on his knees for a shmoder.

Side note, Artemy is so fucking stunted when talking to women he is attracted to. It's almost hilarious.

Meanwhile, compare it with his flirting with men, and he becomes as smooth as silk.

Artemy is so down bad for Rubin it's sad and funny at the same time.

It's like a love triangle i can't. Artemy wants childhood sweethearts romance with Rubin, but Rubin keeps rejecting him for big city dandy educated Bachelor of medicine, but Daniil is tripping over his own feet trying to subtly (failing) to get closer and more intimate with hunky bottom surgeon Artemy.

Making us "indebted" to him.

Trying to get us to be his "Aide"

By day 6, we're drinking buddies. He even ADMITS how his arrogance hurts him and is a bad trait. IN LESS THAN A WEEK OF MEETING US.

DANIIL ADMITING A MISTAKE, A FAULT, BY HIMSELF AND NOT UNDER THE THREAT OF A RIFILE.

I'm still not over how he invites us to EVA'S house, doesn't tell her and doesn't inform the hunching brooding gaint Artemy that a soft hearted woman lives where he's squatting at for free and instead let her panic at seeing Artemy bust in unannounced.

"The milkman" I FUCKING CANNOT. Daniil is the roomate who's late on rent, keeps flirting with you to make you forget that he is late on rent, then his grinder date shows up unannounced.

Daniil is so much nicer than people made him seem? Idk, maybe I'm too autistic to pick up on his normie passive-aggressive condescension-which feels very in character for Artemy-but also, he just seems like a decent swell guy!

Kinda useless, but he's trying his best without time turning protagonist active player powers!

If anything, he's too friendly. He asks US to be his aide? Even when it's clear that Artemy didn't attend a single day in school all of his life.

Because let's be real.

"Where did you graduate??"

"Medical...school"

ARTEMY YOU DUMB BITCH I LOVE YOU BUT IT'S TIME TO BEG FOR SPARE BRAINCELLS ON THE STREET.

Daniil's "you don't have to watch your tongue with me" omfggggf

The sabotaged water sources must be getting to Daniil's head for him to act this thirsty in a makeshift hospital IN PUBLIC.

Artemy is clearly someone that Daniil would absolutely look down on MORE than he would to the average person, and yet how does he treat us?

Like what the fuck were those youtubers about???? Daniil is so nice oh my god. I had completely the wrong idea. He is so helpful and friendly, not once did I feel antagonised by him.

Also, I didn't insult him, ever. So he never replied with any insulting comment. You treat him with respect, and he does the same. It's endearing!

He entrusts us and confides in us! He clearly values our input and help. He vents to us and listens to our theories!

Side note, people's reaction to Artemy's height and gaint size is gold.

Also, I think they have a kink for his hands because of the whole surgeon thing, like come on, it gets mentioned TWICE?

there is also this time where Artemy had a nightmare that he was sleeping through class, and for some reason, Daniil was just ???? In the corner ??? For misbehaving?

He barely met the guy and he already figured out how 90% of his time in the education system must have went.

also Artemy REALLY likes cats and dogs.

First he calls himself like a Kitten, then he says Murky is like a cat and finally:

Artmey is just phenomenal in this.

I bought the first Pathologic HD Classic today, too! It was on sale for so cheap my god it felt like highway robbery.

See this loser wet cat kiddo right here?

I will behead every man, woman, child and elderly in this entire town with a rusty Axe if even one of them touches a single hair on his head.

[tbnrpotato]

Our Own Choices

Chapter 8

I hate Rex so much. He hasn't let me on any missions for a few weeks now, and I'm somehow getting bored of writing stories and playing call of duty. Actually no, its just writing stories. Haven't been playing much of call of duty since that happened. Reminds me of him too much. 

I also practice throwing knives sometimes. I've made a compartment in my armor to house about 20 or so knives, I always hit my mark when I throw them. At least if I'm in close or mid range. 

Besides, I usually don't follow Rex's orders anyways, so I've snuck on about 19 missions without his permission.

Fives' death has definitely affected me in worse ways than it should have. I can barely sleep at night, having nightmares of both Fives and Echo's deaths. It's not like Rex notices the dark circles under my eyes anyways, he's been on Anaxes for a while now with the 501st. I wanna go there so badly, just to get some action for once, waiting in the hangar as reinforcements are being sent to Anaxes for a ship that I can get on.

I've been calculating my chances of being spotted getting on a cargo transport that's headed for Anaxes that aren't being checked, and my odds are pretty good. 

So when I check that none of the troopers are looking, I run aboard the cargo transport just as the ship door closes and I get ready for a long trip to Anaxes.

In the cargo ship, I check my gear, making sure that some of the modifications that I made to it in my free time were working. My helmet's visor has a setting which allows me to see the heat signatures of people in my line of sight, which is also orange in color and makes my visor orange when using, which I think is really cool. I added an extra grappling hook that's attached to the armor on my wrist as well, because the only way I could sneak onto missions while I was grounded is if I clipped myself to the outside of the republic gunships and went along for the ride. 

When I arrive on Anaxes, the door opens and I see some troopers unloading the cargo. It's easy to blend into the darkness of the ship with my armor painted black and all, and when the troopers turn away from a moment I slip out of the ship and see Rex, Jesse, Cody and Kix talking to group of some really tall ass clones. Well at least 75% of them are tall. One of them has dog shit for hair and is almost as short as I am.

I see them getting onto a republic gunship and I run to it, using my grappling hook to attach myself to the side of the gunship where the door is closed, and I enjoy the ride as the ship takes off. 

We fly across the reddish terrain that kinda looks like trees but also not really, I can feel the wind against my body, not in my hair cause my helmet's on. I don't even know why I'm coming along for this one, it's literally just instinctive now that when I see a republic gunship with Rex inside I just clip myself to the outside and ride along. Sometimes Rex finds out and happily lets me come along. Yea. Happily. Totally.

It's quite nice out here. Fresh air's so much better than in my room on Coruscant, it doesn't reek of blood that I've had to clean off from my knife a lot, when I accidentally cut myself with it. It's kind of satisfying, sometimes, to just get a small slit on my arm, and watch the blood slowly flow out.

I know, something's definitely wrong with me.

Fives would have really liked this view. Bet he would invite me to get a drink with him after this mission and then play a few rounds of Call of Duty Battle Royale. 

And then as I'm lost in my thoughts, quietly pacing back and forth on the side of the ship, the door opens, and I'm hanging in front of the open door, with Rex folding his arms and staring at me.

"Hi," I wave awkwardly at everyone inside the gunship. 

"I don't think you wanna be out there if we get shot down. " Rex doesn't sound happy. I roll my eyes from under my helmet and curse under my breath, before swinging into the gunship and retracting my grappling hook. The door closes behind me and the inside of the gunship turns dark with a dim red glow.

"So anyways, who's the old man?" I ask, pointing at the dude I landed next to, receiving a death glare from him. I can see Jesse, Kix and even Rex trying to hold in their laughter, because they know I have a point. The dude's hair is literally grey, and there are FUCKING WRINKLES on his face. Or maybe he's just so thin that his skull decided to become really clear.

"That's...Crosshair," the dude with the dog shit for hair says. "Yea, and I'm betting you're Shithair." I receive an elbow in the side by Rex, and I take that as a warning to stop speaking facts. 

Rex pulls me into a corner in the gunship and half-whispers half-demands, "What are you doing here?! I gave you a specific order not to come!" The dude with a receding hairline that's next to me looks at me and then back at his datapad.

"Oh cmon Rex, when have I ever followed orders?" I try to shrug it off. "I'm here now, so it's not like you can throw me off."

"I would very much like to," Rex mumbles under his breath and I hear it, but I don't really care. I move away from Rex and head over to Kix. "Care to give me some introductions on the new guys?"

"That one's Hunter," Kix points at Shithair. "That one's Tech," he points at the dude with the receding hairline. "And that one's Wrecker." He points towards the buff guy. "You ever heard of Clone Force 99, genetically altered clones? Well, here they are."

I think I remember seeing Clone Force 99 back on Kamino, I've tried to sit with them in the cafeteria a few times but I wasn't very successful. 

I stand next to Jesse now, he's receiving a really weird look from Crosshair. Ayo, is the old guy simping? I mean, that could be incest-

Anyways.

"What are you looking at?" Jesse asks.

"We don't usually work with rEgS," Crosshair says, flicking a toothpick at Jesse, which bounces off his armor. Crosshair's voice sounds so (Imperial) weird, not like the normal clones. Then again, I can't really blame him. Is that what clones sound like when they grow old? Or was his voice always like that?

"Regs?!" Jesse takes a step towards Crosshair, but is stopped by Hunter (Shithair). "He's talking about regular clones," Hunter explains. "But don't take it personal."

"Well, I guess we know what's his genetic alteration," I say to Kix, doing a head tilt towards Crosshair. "He's a master at being an asshole."

Kix snickers slightly, nodding. "Yea, that's true."

"We're all on the same team, so cut the attitude and listen up," Cody says, and we all turn to him. Toothpick boi crosses his arms as he turns to Cody. I can almost imagine what's going through his mind right now.

Attitude? I'll show you attitude. *Crosses arms like an irritated child*

"Here's the mission. Our target is this Cyber Center," Cody says, showing a hologram of our target. "It's the brains of this entire Separatist campaign here on Anaxes."

"I can demolish that with one hand! Yeah!" Wrecker says, and I cringe, putting a hand to my helmet and shaking my head. Force, help me.

"This isn't a demo job, Wrecker," Cody says, and I silently thank him. "It's strictly a retrieval operation."

Retrieval means I get to slice up less droids but still some, as long as Clone Force 99 aka the Bad Batch doesn't steal all the kills. 

"Incoming fire," I hear the pilot of the gunship say, and the gunship shakes a bit, we struggle to keep our balance. And then I hear some hits landing on the gunship, and we're starting to decend, and fast.

"We're going down!" Wrecker laughs like an absolute psychopath, and I'm starting to wonder if he's okay.

I feel the side of the gunship crash against a wall, and I instinctively hold onto Rex for balance, but immediately let go when I realize what I'm doing.

It's not a nice landing. We crash on the side of the gunship and some of us are thrown off balance and get up, coughing at the smoke from the flames of the engine. We quickly get out of the gunship and onto the ground, which looks a bit like blue-stained glass.

"We always get shot down when we travel with regs," Wrecker complains, and I shoot a sideways glance at him. "Stop complaining," I roll my eyes. I hate it when they say we're regs, because not all of us are. At least, not me. But I don't wanna reveal it to them yet, or ever, because so far my impression of them is that Crosshair's an asshole and Wrecker's a psychopath.

I hear Kix calling out for someone to help Cody who's trapped under the gunship debris. I wonder what happened to the pilot though. Probably dead.

"I'll get him," Rex runs forward, but is stopped by Hunter.

"Woah woah woah, easy captain. Wrecker, get him out," he says as he moves Rex to the side and we all watch.

"Get back," Wrecker warns, stepping forward.

"This is ridiculous! He's gonna need help to get Cody outta there," Kix says. Crosshair chuckles at bit, smirking. "He's gonna get the gunship outta there, not Cody."

I stare at him for a moment, before turning back to Wrecker, who literally lifts the whole ass thing up and turns it on the other side, freeing Cody. Wrecker carries Cody on his back and walks away from the debris.

"Boom."

Boom indeed. The gunship explodes and I flinch and step back a bit, because I have no interest in getting paralyzed today. Wrecker sets Cody down on the ground as Kix checks on him. Definitely not good. Cody looks like he just got kicked in the balls, really hard.

"He has internal damage," Kix reports. "I can cut the pain, but he needs help fast."

"We all need help," Crosshair says as he looks ahead, and for a moment I think he's saying that we all need mental help, which isn't exactly wrong, but then I look in the direction that he's looking and see a bunch of droids headed towards us.

"That blast gave away our position," Crosshair says.

"I thought getting shot down gave away our position," Hunter argues.

"I think both did," I cross my arms and say from behind.

"Everyone, find cover. We'll hold this position and let them come to us," Rex says. 

"I don't think so, Captain. That's not our style. We prefer going to them. Bad Batch, plan 82, "shockwave"," Hunter says, and I'm starting to like these guys already. So I just sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.

Wrecker grabs a piece of metal from the gunship that's literally big enough to cover the 4 of them and they run into the blaster fire, the piece of metal blocking them from getting shot. Then I see one of them throwing a stun grenade and then Crosshair fucking shoots it mid-air, which I gotta admit IS FUCKING AWESOME, and they do it a few more times before splitting up and dealing with the remaining droids.

I run over to Wrecker, Tech and Crosshair. "THAT WAS SO FUCKING COOL BRO," I look at Crosshair, and he just puts a toothpick into his mouth and turns away.

"Aren't you a little short to be a reg?" Tech asks. 

"That's none of your business," I say, shooting a glare at him. I still haven't warmed up to them yet, but I wouldn't mind warming up to Crosshair, he's so fucking cool and maybe I could get him to teach me how to shoot a sniper sometime, I'll probably have to bribe him with toothpicks though.

So anyways, Rex and the others start walking ahead and we follow them, I stay at the back and Crosshair seems to be the one who wants to walk behind everyone else, including me. 

And here I was thinking that I was gonna be at the back.

We walk for a while, and we decide to set up camp in the forest, it's turning night now. Hunter goes to eat dirt or smth and I sit next to Kix and Jesse.

"So I get what makes the other Batchers unique, but what's so special about Hunter?" Jesse asks.

"He can put up with the other three," Kix replies, and all of us smirk slightly.

"He was engineered with heightened senses. A place like the Cyber Center, Hunter can feel the electromagnetic frequencies from anywhere on the planet," Tech says. 

"And here I was thinking we were smart just using a holomap," Jesse nudges me and Kix with his elbow.

"Well, maps can be wrong. Hunter never is."

"So is he eating the dirt or something?" I ask, and Kix and Jesse burst out laughing, I try to keep a straight face under my helmet. 

"He is feeling the dirt, not eating it," Tech says, and I roll my eyes. I hear Cody groaning in the corner, he doesn't look so good, and Rex is beside him, telling him to hang in there. Then he stands up. "Listen up. We have to move out."

Crosshair stands up and walks towards Rex. "Commander Cody's in no position to move."

"Already called in evac. Kix will stay with Cody until it arrives. I'm in charge now. And I've got a plan to get into that Cyber Center."

Crosshair takes his toothpick out from his mouth and points it at Rex. "If your plans are so good, why did Commander Cody have to call us in?" 

Wrecker stands up as well and walks over. And so does Jesse. "You can't talk to Captain Rex like that!" 

I roll my eyes from under my helmet, sighing. Can we not do this right now? 

"Says who?" Wrecker growls, picking Jesse up by the neck. Rex tries to get Wrecker to put him down while Crosshair puts Kix in a choke hold, and I give him a punch to the face and a kick in the balls for that. Crosshair's definitely not happy as he stumbles back a bit, and he kicks me in the chest, sending me down to the floor, and my helmet falls off. 

"Uh guys-" Tech tries to get everyone to calm down.

"Wrecker, drop him. Now," Hunter commands, and we all turn to him as Wrecker drops Jesse onto the ground. "Fellas, cmon! We're all fighting for the same thing, right?"

I take out my vibro-knife and move behind Crosshair, holding the knife to his neck and him in a choke hold from behind.

Hunter sighs. "All right then. Let's cut the chatter and finish what we started. We'll do it your way, Captain. For Commander Cody."

I let go of Crosshair as Rex gives me that "don't make this worse" look, and toothpick boi dusts himself off.

"Okay. Let's gear up and move out," Rex says.

Now that the batch know that I'm a female, there's no point putting on my helmet until we're in battle, so I just carry it under my arm for now. Crosshair and I stay at the back of the group, and he glares down at me, he's like a whole head taller than me, and I glare up at him.

"Didn't expect you to be a female," he says as he puts a toothpick into his mouth. 

"Didn't expect you to be addicted to toothpicks. Why not try chewing gum or something? You could get splinters if you chew the toothpicks too hard." I'm being slightly nicer now.

Crosshair rolls his eyes. "Gum's too soft. Just like you." 

I glare at him again before moving in front of him, but not before I knock my shoulder into his, showing my annoyance.

Soon, we all put our helmets on and scan the area, making our way closer to the cyber center, blasters drawn. Hunter raises his hand, motioning for us to stop. I see an outpost over the others' heads, we're probably either gonna take it or go around.

"Not our primary target," Hunter says. "It's an outpost. Should we take it?"

"Probably easier than going around," Rex replies.

"Alright, what're your orders? We pick them off from the tree line one by one?"

"Actually, I was thinking we take a page from your book. Rush them head on."

HELL YEA.

"Heh. I like your style."

So we take some shots at the droids and then we run out from where we were hiding, blasting at the droids. I stab one in the head just before Hunter can, and I smirk at him from under my helmet as we run into the lift, I can feel his annoyance at me stealing his kill.

"Too slow?" I ask, as the lift ascends, and we each face different directions, shooting the droids. I go for melee this time, drawing my sword in one hand and my knife in the other, and I slice up a few droids. Crosshair throws one against the wall and I throw my knife at it, it hits the middle of the droid's head. As Tech blasts the last droid, Wrecker comes up through the lift.

He looks around, blaster ready, but all the droids are already dead. He takes off his helmet. "Is it over already? Aw man!"

We all take off our helmets. "Not bad," Hunter says to Rex. "For a reg."

We head over to the window of the outpost, and look out.

"Well, there it is. The Cyber Center," Rex says.

"It looks like the Cyber Center itself has minimal guards, about 30 droids," Tech says as he does some stuff with the control panels. "Oh, wait, wait. I got a massive signal coming in. A whole platoon of droids is headed this way."

"Someone's noticed our handiwork back at the crash site," Hunter says.

"Yeah. Make sure you keep an eye on those incoming Separatist forces. I wanna know when they reach this outpost. We gotta move swiftly."

"We'll grab some speeder bikes and flank them from the back," Hunter says.

I follow Jesse and Rex and we sneak behind 2 battle droids, tackling them from behind and shooting them down.

We hide behind a tree and look out at the battle droids guarding the cyber center.

"Is everyone in position?" Rex asks.

"Affirmative," I hear Hunter say through the comms, and then Crosshair says the same thing.

"Cap, you wanted to know when those Separatist forces breached the outpost. Well, they're getting there just about now," Tech says through the comms.

Rex, Jesse and I get ready to shoot the droids guarding the entrance. Rex aims and shoots the head off the yellow-headed one, and we all run in, blasting droids left and right. Rex throws a stun grenade at the group of droids, knocking them down, and we take cover behind some crates.

We move forwards, still taking cover and blasting the droids. I can feel the adrenaline rush that I missed so much. 

Hunter and Wrecker come out of the doors behind the droids that we're blasting at, taking care of them quickly. We run over to them as a transport comes into view. Definitely carrying more droids.

"Better get in there, Cap," Wrecker says as him, Hunter, Jesse and I wait to blast the droids that will be coming out any second now.

Beams carrying dozens of b2 super battle droids extend out, and the droids drop to the ground and start firing at us. We move to the side a bit, avoiding their blaster fire and firing back. In most cases, I could sneak behind and cut them all in half, but there's too many of them, and I don't feel like dying today.

The battle droids advance and we take cover behind some crates.

"Crosshair, we're gonna need a lift," Hunter says into the comms as the rest of us continue blasting the droids.

"Not gonna be a problem," Crosshair replies through the comms, and suddenly I'm thinking about how he's gonna solo the entire group of battle droids like how those pro snipers do in Call of Duty. Having one on your team is useful, but having one on the opposing team is an absolute nightmare.

The battle droids are getting closer and we retreat into the Cyber Center, still shooting as many droids as we can, and then we reach the room where Rex is in and tell him to go. We run through the hallway and out through the back door, where we're surrounded by a bunch of droids, but we're still blasting at them.

Then a vehicle descends behind us and Crosshair is driving it. We all get in and he drives us outta there.

I climb to the seat behind Crosshair.

"Didn't know you could fly," I say to him as I take off my helmet. "You got any of those toothpicks that I can chew?"

Crosshair rolls his eyes. "No. Go chew your gum." I roll my eyes back at him and sit behind him, turning to Rex.

"Hey Captain, what intel did you get?" I ask him.

"Transmission from Skako Minor. I asked them who it was. They said CT-1409," Rex says, and my eyes widen, but I try to keep my composure.

"Echo..." 

"Yea kid. Echo's alive."

[widgenstain]

Saw the movie tonight, here are my spoilerfree thoughts on it. @illfayted17 is going to find them all very boring since we’ve talked about this for like 3 hours, but here we go:

The movie is very very good. I had expectations for it, they were met and surpassed. As I’ve said in the other post, I want to make sweet sweet love to that script, it better win some awards, it was so good, so packed with heartfelt and painful, almost too close for comfort, simply GORGEOUS ideas and they were executed worthily of it.

Andrew Haigh is right when he calls this universal. Yes, some parts will hit closer for gay men of certain generations, but the essence of it and even specific moments, will ring true to anyone of us. I certainly felt so seen in some of the scenes with the mum, and I’m not a gay man in my late 40s and my mum is very much alive.

It helps that everyone is on top of their game, seriously, everyone gets their moment to shine. Forget the reviews not mentioning Jamie Bell and Paul Mescal, it’s probably just because Claire Foy and Andrew are THAT good and their scenes together are at the climax of the movie.

Speaking of climax (hurr durr), this does not deserve to be known as the Paul-Mescal-And-Andrew-Scott-Fuck movie. Is there sex? Yes. It’s even somewhat explicit, like you know what’s going on, but it never leaves German PG-13 territory. I’m a huge proponent of sex scenes supporting the narrative and these very much do, they also feel very natural and “normal”, this is not porn, it’s not meant to be particularly titillating, despite the beautiful chemistry, so don’t treat it as such, please. There’s so much more and more interesting stuff going on in there.

Like Andrew for example! :D I’ve watched and listened my way through 75% of his works and I was so sure that all the reviews going “career best” “like never seen before” were only using The Priest or Moriarty as their reference. Well, I’m not sure about the career best, but he certainly did something different, which is what I love the most about him: He always changes it up. In this case he reins it in; not just his intensity and his sometimes too-muchness, but also the sex appeal. I know that this sounds like a weird compliment, especially with so many people still going “that guy is hot?” and it probably will only be understood in our little circles here, but the way he portrays this innocence and inexperience and shyness, OMG! And then he builds on it in the storyline with Paul. While also being this very intelligent, very grown-up, confident and borderline angry man in other scenes… Seriously, get this man an Oscar nom, come on!

And he’s funny too, there are some great laughs in this, despite the sadness and the way the film plays with the genres it’s inspired by is just *chef’s kiss*

The ending is controversial apparently, I loved it, unreservedly. Except MAYBE the musical cue, which is A THEME in the things I’ve seen lately. Musical interludes or outros that are used to tell me a story, I’m not warming up to that, I’m sorry.

But otherwise, what a great movie, watch it when it comes out, I’ll watch it again when it officially comes out here in 2028, for now I’m just glad that some higher power made the Viennale cool for once and I got to see this. Can’t wait to discuss certain things with you all, and if you have seen it and want to discuss it or have questions, or want to know spoilers, feel free to ask me!

[mrsbsmooth]

The Suresh Problem.

If you’re here from that reddit petition, please be aware that this post was used without my consent.

Okay, I've received yet another four or five asks in my inbox about Suresh, so I'm just going to discuss this properly, once. I'm going to put the majority of this under the cut, because it specifically addresses very triggering topics for a lot of people.

TW: SA, DV.

TL:DR; you're all getting played by Fusebox, and they wrote Suresh to be an asshole on purpose.

I really appreciate that y'all are sending me these asks. Particularly as so many of them have mentioned that they feel that my blog is a safe space for POC. I cannot express how much that means to me. Thank you. I'm doing my best.

After this post, I will not answer, acknowledge, or in any way interact with any asks that compare Suresh to Harvey Weinstein, Andrew Tate, or any of the other real-life sexual predators & abusers he's been compared to, even if it's to defend him. While I appreciate y'all bringing it to my attention, it's just exacerbating it, and I'm not giving it a platform after this post.

I am not an expert in talking about race, nor am I an expert in writing POC. I'm not a POC, nor have I ever claimed to be. I just don't believe in putting discussions like this in the too-hard basket, and pretending they doesn't exist because it's a hard conversation to have. My willingness to have these discussions is not 'bandwagoning', or at least, it's not intended to be. I don't have the world's largest platform, but I have a small soapbox and I'm going to use it properly.

I'm also going to put a disclaimer here and say that this is only an opinion, and an uninformed one at that. I don't work for Fusebox, I don't have a degree in marketing or digital engagement, but I have done some work in User Experience and my degree's partly in Cultural Anthropology, so I know a little bit about human behaviour and the way we engage with online media.

Again, not an expert. Just cynical and sick of the debate.

So here's the sitch.

They wrote Suresh to be a toxic, pushy asshole on purpose.

His behaviour, in some areas, is not great. The gaslighting, the manipulation, implying he used to trick her into sleeping with him. Many people, including myself, have been in emotionally abusive relationships with people who are like this. It's not nice. It's certainly not entertainment.

But you cannot sit there and tell me that this script did not go through multiple rounds of revisions. You think this wasn't brought up at Fusebox HQ? I can absolutely guarantee you that it was.

So why on earth would writers write him this way?

Because it gets you talking about the game.

Ever heard of the phrase 'Any publicity is good publicity'?

There are 1000+ LITG Fanfictions on Ao3. Guess which season has the fewest fanfics? Season 3. Often casually referred to as 'The Disney Season'. The only drama during that season was Ciaran/Tai/Yasmin picking MC, and/or Rafi/Lily flirting heavily with MC. Feel free to tell me I'm wrong, but overwhelmingly, it was a very sweet season with generally likeable and unique characters.

Season 2 had so, so many characters with different backstories, interests, motivations, etc. that it was hard to find someone who didn't like one of them at least a little. And people engaged so much with that content. Just based off the fanfiction numbers (because I don't have any official stats) at least 75% of the LITG FF content is for Season 2.

But here's the thing: It's far easier to make people angry than it is to make them fall in love.

What is the one thing almost everyone spent gems on during Bombshell? Telling off Juliet. It's basic engagement principle that people are going to be more engaged when they're emotionally invested in a piece of media. It's why clickbait exists. It's why internet trolls exist, for fuck's sake.

So why on earth would they bother spending the extra time in developing complex, multifaceted characters, when as a fandom, we've made it perfectly clear that we'll spend more money, more time, and more brain space into tearing apart characters we hate, rather than doing the same for characters we love?

Fusebox are a business. They do not care if the game offends you. What they do care about are those sweet, sweet advertising dollars. And if they can show a reddit sub with thousands upon thousands of eyes on it, all ranting and raving about Suresh, they can absolutely turn to an advertiser and say "Yo, look at our engagement levels!"

This is just capitalism. It's business. If they take it too far on a TV show, advertisers will start pulling out. But advertisers only pull out when there's an actual, honest-to-god backlash. And most of the advertising (in my LITG2 app at least) isn't for products or companies with a reputation. It's for other games. Meaning that, realistically, if you did want to complain to an advertiser about the game being racist, sexist, misogynistic who are you going to complain to? Apple? The fuck do they care? They haven't broken any laws?

It's specifically designed to be controversial and problematic. That is the entire point. If this kind of thing triggers you, DNI.

Fusebox do not care about individuals' experiences.

A few people will be so triggered or turned off by the content that they'll leave. But enough of us stayed, engaged, and participated in the game to make it worth their while. So Fusebox just continues to exist in this sweet space, where they just insert more and more problematic characters, leading to higher and higher engagement. As long as they don't cross any hard lines, they can do it forever.

The inherent problem with this, is that a lot of people don't know when to stop.

And this is when it starts getting really fucking sad.

Y'all are taking a guy that's specifically designed to piss you off, and deciding he's an abuser, gaslighter, manipulator, etc. There are already so many stereotypes about South Asian men being pushy, or demanding, or that they don't respect women.

I've seen so, so many instances in the reddit sub, on facebook, and even in the official Discord server of language that tars all South Asian men as being this way. People saying, and I fucking quote, "I wouldn't mind it so much if it was Eddie". (Thanks, Reddit).

Firstly, there's a good reason that it's not Eddie. And that's because, as demonstrated by the quote above, a lot of people would be far more willing to excuse this behaviour if it was coming from a pretty white boy.

So why is this?

Why do you think they made the manipulative, 'won't take no for an answer' man be from Southern Asia?

Why do you think they made Hope a sassy, determined black woman?

Why do you think they made Miki a quirky, shy, but nosy East Asian girl?

Even Lottie, who's a whiny little shit isn't from the UK.

This game is most popular in the UK. It's also popular elsewhere, but its main target audience is the UK. It's why most of the characters are from there, the script contains UK slang, etc.

It's so much easier to hate someone when they're not 'from here'.

Check out any American superhero movie. The villain is foreign. In Hollywood movies, they're British, French, Russian, Chinese, South American, Arabic, whatever. They're just foreign. Or different.

They're others.

Because it sells.

It's easier for you to team up with your mates on reddit and condemn Suresh for his behaviour than it is to do it to someone who looks like you.

But guess what?

There are people who play this game who are People of Colour.

(Shocking, I know. They enjoy playing games too!)

And whenever you buy into this bullshit that Fusebox is feeding you, whenever you pile on a character like Suresh, you are making them feel like they're not welcome here.

People of Colour are being used as a means to an end.

Instead of writing complex, multi-dimensional villains with real motivations, Fusebox are using basic clickbait to get you to engage.

And that's super fucking unfair.

I'm not telling you to do anything. I'm not telling you not to play. I'm not going to stop spending money on it. I'm certainly not going to stop.

I just want people to be aware of what they're doing.

Be aware of the fact that they're playing into your preconceived ideas of race, culture, and ethnicity.

Be aware of the fact that they are trying to you to engage at at all costs.

Be aware that your rabid fan-ness can actually spur others into a mob mentality.

Be aware of the fact that you're allowed to criticise characters. But criticise the writing. Criticise the business tactic.

Don't fall into the quicksand!

Don't let yourself make it about race. Stop letting others make it about race.

Stop engaging with it when it becomes about race.

Stop engaging when your friends compare him to Harvey Weinstein, Andrew Tate, Prince Andrew, etc. He's a character from a mobile game. They are real people who have hurt real women.

Show Fusebox you'll engage with the stuff you do like, as opposed to only engaging when it's piling on to a character.

Get rabid about the drama, not about the character.

And look, I'm writing this out in a long, one-shot rant, so I might've completely rambled, contradicted myself, or said something completely wrong, so please forgive me if I have.

I just hope this helped someone see it for what it is.

MARKETING.

So in conclusion:

Do: Make memes about Suresh not apologising.

Do: Hate him for cheating.

Do: Push him in the pool.

Do not: Compare him to a real life sex offender

Do not: Make it about race

Do not: Think for a second that Fusebox don't know exactly what they're doing.

[the-light-finds-its-way]

Mom got out of ICU today, and put into a normal hospital room. My family went to go see her, and as for myself and my siblings, it was basically the first time in 3 weeks that we'd seen her.

She was covered in giant tender bruises from head to toe. Thankfully, only 2 IVs were in versus the original 7, and she was down to one pole that held the bags, while the rest were hooked to the bed. The blood clot in her leg has grown, and is breaking up at last, or so we assume. But mom can't walk because it hurts so bad. She has mesh in her lungs now to prevent the clots from reaching them again, which will kill her if they do. Additionally, she's on oxygen for the time being. And, there's a chance when she comes home, that she'll have to remain on oxygen tanks, and if that's the case then nobody is sure how long. But I've got this awful gut feeling telling me mom will be on the tanks for the rest of her life... I don't know, and have no way of knowing, but that's just what my stupid gut is saying to me. It'll be minimally 3-5 more days before she's released to go home. It could be more, and something inside also tells me it's going to be longer. But mom says she's doing the best she has been since the first surgery 3 weeks ago. Her nurses are really nice, super sweet, and they playfully poked (hehe) at my needle weenie self who had to turn away when they drew blood from her.

My anxiety didn't help when a $86 bill went through on my bank account that's already overdrawn by Gods only know how much... I'll be damned lucky if I make $150 for this paycheck. And an artist I commissioned back in March last year for a November finishing time on a piece, was late and is now almost finished in January. I'll have to pay him the other $175 soon, and I don't know when, and if I'll even have a single dollar to spare by then... There's another draft I have coming, on the 16th, for the retirement fund my father forces me to pay into unless I want to give him $100 for literally no reason, minimally once a month but possibly more, instead of the $75 for the fund once a month. So I go for the fund. And then, I have to somehow pay for my therapy appointment in another 10 days as well. I'm really not sure if I can do all this. I ditched college to work more, and as soon as I did, they cut me down to one day a week for the next 4 weeks, and there are no people I can cover because everyone is scrambling with trying to get more than 25 hours per week. Fuckers. Try living off 8 a week, when you just told the boss you're free all day every day at any time, and they won't even schedule you for 1/3 of what everyone else is working part time, let alone full time.

I'm so scared, so lost... I was hoping to get a ticket to go see Blind Guardian in May, but they're selling fast and I'm not sure when I'll ever have the money, if I will have the money, to get one in time... Not like I've waited 9 years to go see them live for the first time ever... I somehow have to save $32 for a train ticket as well by mid February, to go to the city for something I'd planned 7 months ago. And then, I planned a trip with friends which I may not be able to do if this keeps going downhill with my money... I already have to pay for a con we are going to as well in September. And I'm just... Fucking distraught. I planned my entire year around the fact that I'd be working full time and get more money. And work kicked my ass with a giant fuck you immediately upon me making those plans.

Fuck my life. Give me my healthy mom back, and $1000. Please... I'm fucking desperate and broken...