#ill try and sew some clothes for her soon :P

[bubbles-art]

I had some leftover pine wood from the spoon so I made a doll :D

[unripe-lemon]

Since i know no one will see this:

1 note and i will email my therapist

ok so for this one,, like since then i have emailed my therapist?? that counts right????? tbh i dont even know what to talk abt anymore, but i do have a session with her so dw

2 notes and ill put my laundry away

ugh….. stupid. internet.. making me do things that will make my life easier…. gugh yeah i put my laundry away!!!!! everyone clap now

5 notes and ill try to brush my teeth more often

ok so like for this one i found this video https://youtu.be/pvutTiPY7q8?si=PASnBmUXZ0xiHzWM imma sing this song to myself every tike i dont feel like brushing my teeth

6 notes and ill try to put on cream for my dermatitis (anxiety hives!!! yayyy!!!!) more often

just did it hehe :) tho it is getting a little worse and my kitten scratched me on top of it 😭

10 notes and ill attempt to learn my timestables

11 notes and ill study for my exams

my exams are over!!!! so idk what to do for this one? maybe ill go do my homework instead

20 notes and ill try to go one day without using my pc/phone

30 notes and ill vaccum (more bc we just adopted kittens) my room entirely

40 notes and ill try to explain my depression to my mom again

50 notes and ill clean my locker out at school

imma do this tmr!!!

i forgot 😭 someone remind me

80 notes and ill fix the posters that are falling off of my wall and are probably going to rip soon

doing this rn! taking dinner break

100 notes and ill REALLY unpack everything with my therapist

maybe tmr?

we talked about medication and kittens, also exams so like success??

200 notes and ill ask my mom if we can go to my go and get! me! medicated!

ill discuss w therapist tmr

discussed with therapist, we are now getting the conversation started with my mom and are going to see what my gp says after that!! :) ty to everyone in the notes rooting for meds

300 notes and ill re organise my bookshelf

400 notes and ill clean all of the mold off of my wall

damn 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 ion wannaaaaaaaa

this is a weekend activity tbh, and idk if its even going to BE this weekend :P

500 notes and ill clean the mold off of my roof

600 notes and ill try sewing some new clothes

i crocheted a scarf!!! does that count?

700 notes and ill buy some new shoes

800 notes and ill check out dnd club at school (im scared)

900 notes and ill come up with more goals

edit: bro……. 😭

so im gonna take my time w these bc there is a lot to go thru!! i will try my best to remember to update!!! ty for notes :)

- random internet stranger

edit 2: WTF 1000 NOTES GUYS CHILL

ok so like i have to come up with more goals now???

1500 and ill start taking study notes with a study method (rb with study method that is your fav eg cornell method)

1700 and ill attempt to hype myself up enough to eat at school (long story, germs)

2000 notes and ill start whatever book wins this poll:

[deewithani]

Raindrops in the Wind - Chapter 2

Chapter Rating: T

Work Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Jango Fett x F!Reader

Word count: Approx. 2.1k

Warnings: Justice system abuse, light blood and gore, medical procedures performed by someone not medically qualified, discussion of potentially gross food.

A/N: Again, canon gets blown out of the water, borrowing from here and there to weave the narrative. OC's abound. No Jango in this chapter (he'll be back soon, I promise), we're learning about the reader. I know almost nothing about healthcare, so take that as you will and don't do what the reader does. Milvayne and the underworld are canon, but I took some liberties on my descriptions of the underworld (since I know next to nothing about it outside of this article: https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Milvayne)

Chapters will list their individual ratings, work is rated Explicit (18+) for eventual explicit content.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Word had spread quickly through the underworld on Milvayne, passing from mouth to filth covered ear, each resident hearing the words a multitude of times: from the mouths of bandits, scavengers, old men dying in the gutter, children picking the pockets of newcomers who hadn't yet discovered they came to a foul place even the light of the maker refused to touch.

“Aleda Vole has work.”

The nature of that work was never spoken aloud, and endless throngs of people came and went from Vole's pawn shop, with no end in sight. To you it looked like Aleda was working night and day, the colorful 'Open' sign lit up no matter the time you passed by on your way to another house call.

You had been sentenced to exile here barely a year prior, punishment for your part in a bacta heist that went wrong. It had became increasingly difficult for the clinic you worked for to obtain basic medical supplies, so you and several of your coworkers took it upon yourselves to steal the supplies from a medical supply transport that was scheduled to arrive in Milvayne City. The heist should have went off without a hitch. The proper palms were greased, heads were turned the other way, but if something seems to good to be true, it probably is.

The theft itself was easy. You and your teammates were able to load up everything you needed and leave the dock without a single pursuer following in your footsteps. A not insignificant amount of credits had successfully bought an easy getaway.

What it failed to buy was silence. Someone was a rat.

Several weeks went by, enough that you felt you had been in the clear, when Milvayne Authority officers kicked down the front door of the clinic, arresting anyone unlucky enough to be in the building. A slew of trials commenced the same day and people were found guilty en masse. Every man, woman, and child that faced trial that day was convicted without so much as a second thought, and people were forced over the ledge into the underworld by the hundreds that day.

Since then, you had used your meager medical skills to barter for food, shelter, and literally anything else that was offered to you. It didn't matter if you were paid in half a yard of soiled fabric, it could be turned into something you could use, it could be traded for something else that you may need, or the new item you traded it for could be bartered yet again. It was a shame you had no real medical experience, though. Being able to heal was worth it's weight in gold, but you had been educated in the upkeep and maintenance of technical systems. Unfortunately there wasn't much need in someone repairing holoprojectors or hover-stretchers here. Those things rarely ever came over the ledge, and when they did they were grabbed up by people with a lot more power than yourself.

What enabled your survival is the fact that your job in the clinic had a lot of down time. If it wasn't time for the scheduled maintenance of the equipment, or something wasn't broke, you made yourself busy straightening up exam rooms, stocking, and chatting with the nurses and doctors at the clinic. You watched them perform basic medical procedures and listened in when they explained to their patients the various illnesses and injuries they were experiencing. Because of the continual lack of supplies you saw cuts being stitched by hand, home-made poultices being applied, and injuries being cleaned and dressed. You were even asked to stand in and assist a handful of times, whenever the need of the patients outpaced the staff that was available.

But now here you were, trudging along a muddy path, checking on your next “patient”, an old woman who cut her hand on some scrap metal she had been trying to pull from a pile near her shack. A friend of hers had found you and asked that you hurry to help, as she was bleeding heavily and she heard that you had some antibiotics. It was true, but the vial had been hard to come by, and you hoped that it would be a secret until you absolutely had to use them.

But this is the underworld of Milvayne. The only time secrets are held is when it is beneficial to hold them, and that is a rarity.

The path kept winding, twists and turns bracketed by piles of junk that looked as if they would fall over with a gust of wind, if such a pleasant thing as wind blew down here. The air was stale and all things smelled of rot, as if the odor had wormed its way into the being of every creature that made this place its home. You got used to it, after a time, but occasionally you would be woken from a pleasant dream as a whiff of death passed by your nose.

You finally made it to the door of your “patient”, a shack that was little more than a lean to with a front wall and overhang. Makeshift metal chimes hung from eaves, but unless they were moved by the hand of a passerby they would play no song without the wind to blow through them. They were an odd thing to see here as well. It wasn't safe to leave anything of value outside your dwelling. The common rule was that if it was outside, it was scrap, and anyone could take scrap. Crudely made and as useless as they were, they had value as trinkets. There was little good and enjoyable here, but people loved things they could play, at least as tools to take their minds off the reality of their circumstances.

This peculiar shack stood alone among the debris, short and squat, but solid, it's back crammed against another tall pile of scrap. You raised your fist to knock on the door, but it opened swiftly before your knuckles reached the wood. Before you stood an old woman, petite, back bowed and leaning on a makeshift cane. You stared for a moment, she had a rough, worn face creased by the passage of time, and a strong nose that looked too long for her thin face. Her hair was pure white, and was pulled back in a tight pony tail. You tried to see her eyes, but her eyelids were heavy and swollen. She looked as if she may have been retaining fluids.

The woman before you lifted her cane and let the end drop to the floor, letting out a bang that pulled you back to the present. “Well, honey. You the healer? Don't just stand there”, she said, before turning and moving back in the shack. You followed behind quietly, entering her darkened home. Inside was much more inviting than out. It was only one room, and there were a few piles of scrap in the small space, but the rest was cozy. A small cot was placed against the back wall, covered with a clean blanket and a fluffy pillow, and on the front wall was a stove, cooking what smelled like a very delicious stew you had been served before by other residents of the underworld. Two chairs and a small table sat in the middle of the room, finishing out the rest of the space.

“Your friend said you cut your hand on some scrap, ma'am.” you told her. “I ain't no ma'am, honey, call me Zola”, the old woman replied as she gestured for you to take a seat. You sat down and took her hand, noticing the small bit of cloth she had wrapped around it. It was stained red with blood at the palm, but unusually clean around the top. Her hands were suspiciously clean as well, considering she was digging for scrap in one of the dirtiest places in the galaxy.

You opened your makeshift medical bag and found your small pack of needles and the thread you had made from the remnants of an old blanket you had found peaking out of the mud the first day you had arrived. It was filthy and too small to be usable as much more than a cleaning cloth, but you had painstakingly washed and scrubbed the fibers until they were clean and you could separate them one by one. It had taken you the better part of the week to get enough usable thread, but it had been worth it in the end. Another medic traded you a couple of bent needles for a handful of your thread, and you were able to start the business of survival.

You carefully removed the bandage from her hand, taking care not to pull where it had began to stick to the blood. “This is a deep cut, Zola. I'll have to sew it up. You'll need some antibiotics too, and I've only got a little bit.” The cut wasn't very dirty, but there was very little fresh water to be had here, and you had none on you. You were going to have to sew her palm up as is, and you hoped a shot of antibiotics would keep her from getting an infection.

Carefully you threaded one of your needles and went to work. Zola was quiet while you worked, but you could see her scrunch her face and hold her breath whenever you would push the needle through her skin. The wound continued bleeding as you worked, so you used the wrapping she had bandaged herself with to clean up as you went along. By the time you were through you had placed 7 stitches in the palm of the old woman's hand, and the bleeding had finally stopped.

“There, good as new Zola. I need you to stand up and pull down the top of your pants for me so I can give you the antibiotics.” You filled your needle with the antibiotics and injected them into the top of her buttocks, a place that was least likely to cause her too much pain.

You were worried about the old woman, here alone at the end of the winding path. Afraid that she would meet her end here from whatever was causing the excess fluid. “Zola, you need to see a real doctor about the fluid you're holding. I'm worried that you've got a bigger problem than a cut on your hand. I'll ask around to see if there is someone who can help, but I don't know if I can find anyone. Have your friend ask around. Please.”

“Don't worry honey. I will. I'll be alright until I can find someone. Don't worry about me.”

“Alright, now that I'm finished, what are you going to pay with?” Zola looked up at you and cocked her head to the side. “Well, honey, I don't know what you charge. I don't have any money, and I don't have anything of value I can give you.” You thought for a moment. You hadn't survived here for a year without being flexible with how your clients paid you. Your kind heart wouldn't allow you to not help someone, even if they didn't have any way to settle up with you. You had been left in dire straits from time to time by your personal policy, but your kindness had also won you friends who looked out for you as well.

“I don't do credit, but if you give me a bowl of that stew I'll consider you paid in full. Does it have any meat?”

If the stew did have meat, it was best not to ask what kind. There were very few animals down here, anything not sentient was quickly grabbed and put into the closest stew pot for dinner. The meat in this pot could be anything from a scrap rat to grubs and worms. It didn't matter, though. That bowl was a matter of survival. Jabba the Hutt could be cooking in that pot and it wouldn't make any difference.

“Honey, you may have saved my life today. The least I can do is have you here for supper. Sit down for a while and let's talk. I think I have some information you can use.”

You sat in silence and ate your stew as Zola spoke of her years in the underworld. How she came to find herself in this place. How she found love. How she raised a fine, strong daughter. How they survived. The stew was delicious, and it was a rare treat to hear stories that held more than pain and sorrow.

As you finished your meal Zola rose and walked over to you. She placed her hand on your shoulder and leaned over to whisper in your ear.

“Aleda Vole has work. You should go see her.”

__________

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