#AND IT'S FUCKIN SOLD OUT LIKE WHAT IN LESS THAN A DAY

[moralleets]

don't try to find me im crying in the corner of my room, devastated

tf you mean out of stock man YOU'RE ON PRE-ORDER MY GUY

[coridallasmultipass]

.

[katsukikitten]

A rambling that adds more detail to this post about hockey players Izuku and Katsuki.

It doesn't help that you're the coach's pretty little daughter of one of the best hockey teams. At every home game and nearly every away game, you're there behind the plexiglass, insisting you buy your own tickets even when your dad can get you in for free. But occasionally you'll take his offer of a free game although it usually comes with the stipulation of being shoved into one of the manager's polo's, given a clipboard, and since this happened to be an away game you'd be forced to sit on the rowdy bus for the three hour drive.

But you really wanted to watch the championship and your paycheck came in too late when the rival match finals were FINALLY announced, it didn't help that the tickets were sold out in seconds!

So you'll stand by Daddy dearest trying to look important just behind the bench inside the cramped box the team will sit in while they wait to come on and off the ice. The team of course had to arrive early and since this was an away game, you had to look every bit the part of staff as everyone else. Which meant you too had to be in the locker room while the men stripped themselves with ease. Snarling and shoving playfully in the pre game excitement, arguing over who moved who's helmet and “where the fuck are we gonna eat after we win tonight?!”

Some of them speaking lewdly off their latest piece of ass and how Bakugou “had her barkin like a bitch in heat.” Before a chorus of laughs is shared sided from a hissed “Kacchan!” followed by a rough shove into metal lockers.

It isn't until they're all pulling on their jerseys on does your dad clear his throat. Giving the speech of the century but it half falls on deaf ears. Your cheeks burn as you feel every eye on you as if they only just now realized you'd been there the whole time but two men in partial catch your eye.

Izuku, beat red under his freckles, brows furrowed as if he's embarrassed he had such a dirty mouth in front of a lady. Embarrassed of the ‘locker room talk’ and how your tight pair of jeans has his cock twitching at the thought of you barking like a bitch in heat. His gloved hand comes to grip at the nape of his neck but it does little to quell the drunken gaze he gives you, his heated cheeks morphing into pure lust. Emerald eyes slipping around the room and when he sees Todoroki staring too intently at you his glare becomes deadly. Shouto looks away and then Izuku finds another poor soul to glare at, already possessive over something that wasn't even his.

The other being a toxic bromine, smiling wolfishly palming himself roughly as he keeps eye contact with you. Strong grip with his other hand on his hockey stick as he daydreams about you. He wants you in doggy first then missionary because you're so fuckin pretty and he's dying to know what you look like when you cum. Especially when you're creaming on his cock. He's dreamt about you before, he's fucked his fist to you before and he sure as hell has knocked some asshole’s teeth out over you before. It didn't matter if it was his own teammates or the opposing team with the exception that Izuku was allowed to make an occasional comment but no more than three before the childhood rivals would be at each other's throats.

Their gaze are always a little unnerving with their intensity, almost predatory and yet it never makes you feel uncomfortable. They'd proven before that they'd protect you when push came to shove, they did four seasons ago when you first moved to the city and before anyone on the team even knew the coach had kids, let alone a daughter. The bar was crowded, it was a rival team against some other team the city happened to give less of a shit about. The players were on an off day enjoying their few hours off the ice and of course the rough men chose a bar where they could watch a fucking hockey game and shoot shit.

You'd finally found a table with a decent view of one of the many TVs and the bar so you could easily get up and get yourself a drink. But your new male coworker offered to bully his way through the players for you, ending up at the end of the bar by a bulky curly haired man and loud ass ash blonde. Getting caught up in the game and taking your eyes off your coworker but only for a moment.

“Are you trying to spike her drink?” A thick scarred hand is over one of the glasses on the bar top, your coworker flushed red.

“Huh?”

“Ya fuckin dumb?” The ash blonde reaches over the curly haired man, yanking your coworker’s tie harshly, effectively smashing the man's face into the polished wood.

“He said were ya tryin to date rape that pretty woman over there?” The blonde cocks his head in your direction, a group of eight eyes turn to look over their shoulder and then back at your shitty coworker. Who stammers, tried to get himself out of the lie before the sweetest, deadliest voice comes from the freckled sunshine boy of the team.

“Smile.” But there's nothing but malice in his eyes as he snaps the photo, immediately texting it to every bar owner he knows. (Half the city!) Your coworker fled and they offered up a seat at the bar for you but you politely declined after that they periodically glanced back to see if you left yet and if you were still okay.

So it wasn't like the only thing they wanted was to get their dick wet right?

Bedsides what probably made you super hot to them was the fact that you were the coach’s daughter, aka off limits.

Sighing as you watch them skate around the rink gracefully despite their size, Izuku and Katsuki passing to one another before taking shots at Kirishima in his full gear as they all warm up. Soon the stadium will be packed with throngs of people pressing into the glass behind you. Most of them rival fans banging on the plexi in hopes to distract or rile up the team, not realizing you'd be distraction enough.

Because all night a pair of emerald and bromine eyes will be glued to you. One giving his killer smile and the other smirking as he delivers a deadly wink.

[divinegrey]

ᴘᴀɪɴᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴡɴ ʙʟᴜᴇ / ᴊɪɴx x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

sorry for the wait everybody!! been writing other things in the meantime, arcane hasn't been my sole focus. also i have homework and exams. but here's something to appease all of you!! anon, i hope i did this prompt justice!

prompt: I'd like to request a Jinx x Fem! Reader. I like the idea of the reader being a follower of Jinx, as I think the dynamic could be fun. I think it could be cool to explore a follower of Jinx getting to know her and realizing that she's more than just a symbol. She's a multifaceted individual.

words: 1585

warnings: none

It started when she caught you tagging the side of a building. With her face, no less. 

With all the shit going down in Zaun in the wake of Silco’s death and every gang leftover fighting for scraps of power, it was only time before Jinx caught up to the fact that while yes, her face is plastered everywhere on wanted posters, there are about a dozen more spray-painted graffiti tags of her over them. Which was the goal of what you were doing when she dropped down from a building and walked to your side. 

All she did was look at the statuesque version of her face, washed in shades of blue, and say, “My nose doesn’t look like that.” 

And she was right.

Of course, with time, you got better at it. The wanted posters did a mean disservice, honestly. The only thing they got correct were the pink eyes, pink eyes that followed you when you went to your shitty box of an apartment and flopped onto a mattress flattened by years of use. You’d go to sleep, wake up, grab your paint duffel, and head back out again. The nice thing about Zaun is that there’s always an empty spot just waiting to be tagged. 

Somehow, Jinx always finds you. 

“You know people see you as a leader, right?” You say, shaking a can of neon pink, the ball rattling around inside the canister. You glance over your shoulder to where Jinx sits on some pipes connected to the wall, her braids dangling and the gold bullet casings wrapped around reflecting the faint light that falls through the fissures. With a gesture to your own head of hair, dyed an insane hodge-podge of bright colors, blue included, you continue, “Silco’s gone. Whole world down here has turned upside down. But for the first time in a while, we’ve got hope. Cuz of you. Cuz of what you did to those fuckin’ Pilties.” 

“For all the good it did,” Jinx remarks, a dryness to her tone you’ve come to know and love. 

“I’m serious. C’mon, you can’t tell me you don’t know the reason why I keep painting you? Why a dozen other taggers I know keep painting you? Why the color blue is nearly sold out in every damn shop?” You kneel down, arcing a curve of pink paint along the grey brick wall, moving quick and precise. Overthinking it makes it worse. “I’m not wearing spray-painted clothes in your colors for nothin, Jinx.” 

She turns, peering at you. In the shadows, her eyes seem to reflect some more, glowing like a cat’s would. “Because y’all have some weird, deluded sense that I’m a leader, or somethin’.” 

“You are. To me. To us.” You point at the other tags in the alleyway, some of them copies of the same mark you’ve seen a dozen times around town. Jinx’s name, sigils of BOOM! and explosives doodled about. You twist and take a seat on the scaffolding, your legs dangling off the side of it. “I didn’t know you when I first started drawing you. I heard what you did, and I thought damn, there’s someone out there willing to actually do something. In a single day, you did more than Silco ever did in years. Sure, we might be going head long into a war, but dying free is better than living under someone else’s boot.” 

Jinx hums. She leaps off the pipes, crossing the gap between you and her with ease, landing on the wooden scaffolding. She straightens up, gazing at the half-finished tag you’re working on. With a hum, she turns to you, and puts something in your hand. Before you have the time to look down and figure out what it is, Jinx says, “Nozzle control. Quality on some of your cans are shit, no offense. Slap that thing on it and you won’t have an issue after that.” 

“Oh, thanks—” 

“Don’t mention it!” Jinx steps off the scaffolding, landing on the ground below with a THUD. “And for the record, I ain’t the kinda person to follow.” 

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that to convince me!” You call down, grinning from ear to ear. Her brows furrow together, then a small huff, a hint of a smile on her own face. She walks away, off to do… whatever it is that she does when she’s not hanging out with you. 

It isn’t for some time that you see her again. You’d say you’re worried, but you pass through the crowds hearing whispers of Jinx sightings. Every day, it seems another head of blue hair appears, the quiet signs of revolution brewing in the heart of Zaun as the enforcers grow more and more strict, searching anyone and everyone for some hint or clue to find the one that destroyed the Council Chamber in Piltover. You’ll never say a word. 

You walk into your apartment. Work was… work, boring and mind-numbing as it always is. You wonder if you can handle another day of it, but another day will bring another chance of seeing her out there, so you decide not to fly off the handle just yet. You shrug off the soot-stained work clothes, and where you reach for your paint-splattered jacket, it isn’t there. 

Instead, a note. 

Never had anyone believe in me quite like you. The Hound’s statue, midnight. Come and get it. 

With the pink lettering and the doodles of monkeys and bombs scribbled across the page, it doesn’t need to be said just who left this note. You snatch it off the wall, utterly beaming; Gently, you fold it into fourths, tucking it into your shirt. Thank god for the late shift— less waiting!

Any of the weariness you might’ve felt before is gone as you race through the streets, taking any and every shortcut you know. The night is quiet, what with the enforced curfew put up by the Pilties to discourage wandering, not that they’ve done a good job of it. Zaun is Zaun, and the cogs down here will always keep turning, whether Piltover likes it or not. 

When you arrive at the open plaza where the statue erected to Vander, the Hound of the Underground, is, your mouth drops in shock to find the entire plaza covered, every square inch of it, in neon paint. Sigils upon sigils that you have seen time and time again, glowing in the dark. It reaches all the way to the statue, pink highlights in Vander’s hair and blue accents along his metal jacket. 

Sitting on the shoulder of the statue, paint can in one hand and your jacket in the other, is Jinx. 

“Shoulda known you’d be a little early. Good thing, I work fast,” Jinx remarks. She crooks a finger at you to come closer, and you do, taking care to step over the paint lines on the stone. You’re a little in awe of the work she’s done— how has nobody taken notice? Come to think of it, you heard there was a scuffle a few blocks away. The logistics don’t seem to matter anymore the closer you get to her. 

You arrive at the base of the statue. “How’d you even know where I live?” 

“Sweets, there are a lot of things I know about you. And a lotta things you know about me. Things that might drive other people away, but not you,” Jinx says, something like an angel as she looks down upon you from the statue. In the flash of a second and the trace of neon light left in the sky, she’s standing in front of you, your back pressed against the statue. The beam of moonlight that breaks through shines on her, her shimmer-pink eyes locked onto your frame. “You keep sticking to the inside my brain, can’t stop thinking about you.” 

“Could say the same for you,” you reply, a little breathless. “Why’d you do all this? Get my jacket and bring me here?” 

“Cuz you showed me somethin’ important. That people, for whatever crazy reason they got in their head, believe in me,” Jinx says. She holds out your jacket to you, and you take it, slipping your arms through the sleeves and fixing the collar so it stands upright. Her eyes go from bottom to top, taking her sweet time. “I wanna show em what I can do. Give those people with my blue in their hair a reason to keep going. To keep fighting.” 

“You have me. All the way, Jinx,” you say, putting a hand over the front of your jacket, where a pink heart has been painted. “So what do you wanna do? Other than all this?”

“Right now?” Jinx cocks a grin. “I wanna kiss you.” 

What? You blink, wondering if you heard that right, but her taking a step closer to you only confirms that yes, you did hear it right. You swallow the nerves, finding your cheeks hurting from how hard you’re smiling. “And then what?” 

“And then, we show Zaun all the fun we have to offer, and we tell Piltover to shove their Hextech where the sun don’t shine,” Jinx finishes, her hands grabbing the lapels of your jacket and pulling you in. Your lips touch hers, something you never thought would happen, not in your wildest dreams. 

But here you are, arms wrapped around Jinx as she kisses you in the streets of Zaun, the cry of revolution soon to come. 

~~~~~

A/N: thank you for reading!! comments are always appreciated <3

[drdemonprince]

i was on NPR talking about Autism shit two weeks ago, and i have the book sales figures from that week and that national media appearance had.... absolutely zero relationship to sales. on the typical week these days, 1,400 to 1,500 copies of Unmasking Autism will sell. The week that I was on NPR there was a slight dip; only about 1,300 books were sold.

i have done a lot of press for my books. For Laziness Does Not Exist I did easily a 100 damn podcasts and radio shows and newspapers and excerpts in magazines. none of it corresponded to a noticeable bump in sales. the biggest "get" my publicist found for my latest book was the Glennon Doyle show, a booking she and her team celebrated and then spent months clamboring excitedly for... it, too, had no obvious relationship to sales.

Unmasking Autism became a bestseller because some other guy made a tiktok about it, and then a bunch of tiktokkers made videos about it too. all on their own. without any prodding from me, or any relationship to me. it was completely organic, passionate, and sincere, and rooted in the book's true merits and usefulness to other people, and that's why it inspired lots of sales. and continues to more than a year and a half later. all the press I did for Unmasking Autism prior to the release of that tiktok did relatively far less. NPR, Goop, the LA Times, Lit Hub, Jacobin, Huffpo, the New York Times, the Financial Times, MSNBC, Business Insider. Didn't matter. at least not much. so why do i bother?

publishers really ride your ass trying to make you give lots of interviews and show up for lots of events but it's all based on the worship of traditional media and magical thinking that it will somehow convert listeners into buyers. and that's just not how it works. the truth is 95% of books never sell more than 5,000 copies, and most people don't buy books or read them. i love reading but i dont think this is itself some terrible loss, as most books are padded-out commodities made for sale more than a work of true artistic passion or scholarly merit, and sometimes listening to a 90 minute interview with an author tells you the bulk of what you need to know.

it's freeing to know that the effort i put into getting my books out into the world have almost zero relationship to the books' success. marketing just does not work. it's a relief. unmasking autism did fabulously because it's actually both good and useful. laziness has had a long life span because it speaks to real problems in people's lives and gives them a message they are desperate to hear. but no amount of thirsty ass online shilling will make somebody realize that and it's maddening to try. you just gotta focus on doing good work, work that you enjoy making or need to make and that you feel good about, let things flop if theyre gonna flop, and keep on living your life.

which is all good news because i really do hate a lot of these fucking interviews. how can i stomach being on npr or in the atlantic or whatever these days given how complicit nearly all major media outlets are in justifying this genocide. like who fuckin cares about them, who wants their approval. who needs it. it's of no value

[qprstobin]

the scenic route

i saw this post by @henderdads yesterday and started CACKLING at the image of eddie trying to hide from steve only to stumble across the rest of his stalkers fan club, so here it is

Ao3 link

--

Eddie was pretty sure he was supposed to be better than this.

He'd had more than his fair share of ill advised crushes over the years. His middle school science teacher, the entirely too-nice-for-the-popular-crowd head cheerleader, the bartender at the Hideout that he sold coke to on more than one occasion. And yet, here he was. Leering after Steve Harrington.

(Crush was maybe too strong of a word - that would imply he felt any positive emotions towards the man other than carnal lust.)

Every day at work, Eddie told himself he would take the shortest path outside for his smoke break, and every day he ended up taking the scenic route.

It was like he couldn't help himself. He'd shove his hands into his pockets, and meander his way passed the food court, trying his hardest to seem natural as his eyes strayed over to the Scoops Ahoy.

And there he was, Harrington in all his post-popularity glory. Eddie wasn't sure whose bright idea it was to put the Scoops employees in sailor suits, but he wanted to shake their hand. Or slash their tires.

The shorts clung to Harrington's thighs, somehow even thicker than they were when he was still playing sports regularly. The little hat was less flattering, causing his signature hair to fall limp beneath it, but that was fine. Eddie had seen his hair in all its glory more than enough to fill in the blanks.

As he got closer, he could see that Harrington was chatting up a female patron - typical of the high school heartthrob. It sent a pulse of jealousy and disgust through him. Harrington looked up at the girl from under his eyelashes, pulling his pink, glossy lips into a smirk.

The things Eddie would do to that mouth with half a chance.

The girl let out a laugh, turning in a whirl of curls as she giggled with her friends. He would've thought that response was a positive one if Harrington hadn't immediately let his head fall forward with a groan. Robin Buckley, the mousy band geek Gareth was infatuated with last year, popped up from the back room with a white board that seemed to be a record of all of his strikeouts.

Harsh.

Seemed even pretty privileged popular kids had trouble wooing fair maidens sometimes. Who would've thought. A feeling of satisfaction curled in his stomach - both at watching Harrington get put in his place and knowing that he was still painfully single.

He didn't let himself examine why that was.

While watching the interaction, Eddie hadn't realized he had been slowing to a stop. Until Buckley looked his way. Panic surged through him and he dove to the left, towards a gathering of potted ferns that should be leafy enough to hide him and his hair.

There was a snag in that plan - someone was already hiding there.

Eddie stumbled, arms pinwheeling as he tried to stop himself from running over three middle schoolers. Several little hands snagged the front of his shirt, keeping him from pitching backwards and falling on his ass.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ-" he cursed as he wobbled to a stop. He clamped his mouth shut, taking in the three children in front of him.

The two nearest to him were barely holding back giggles, one a boy with an unfortunate bowl cut and the other a redheaded girl who looked like she was trying to judge him but couldn't smother her mirth. Another boy with dark skin and a bandana tied around his head was looking embarrassed, crouching as close as possible to the girl as he could.

"What the hell are you guys doing?" Eddie asked, unable to help himself.

"Same thing you are," Red replied with a smirk playing at her lips. He blanched.

"What."

"Eye candy," she said. It was clear what - or rather who she was referring to.

Bandana groaned softly, the embarrassment on his face deepening. Bowl Cut started giggling again. A fern was tickling Eddie's ear, and he desperately wanted to melt into the floor like the ice cream on a Scoops Ahoy cone.

Eddie didn't even bother to deny it. "You're like, 10. Aren't you a bit young for crushes?"

Red gave him an unimpressed stare.

"We're about to start high school, man," Bandana said as he wrinkled his nose. Judgment colored his tone.

"You don't look like the type to normally go for preps. So do you really have a leg to stand on?" she added.

Sheesh, the attitude on these kids.

Eddie refused to give her any ground.

"Also, I don't have a crush - I was dragged here against my will," Bandana continued.

"I can't believe my boyfriend is lying to my face like this."

"Steve's basically our babysitter, that's weird."

"I don't know," Bowl Cut piped up for the first time, "I think crushing on your babysitter is pretty normal."

Eddie's head was spinning as he tried to keep up with the back and forth. Steve Harrington was their babysitter? He pinched the inside of his wrist, convinced this whole situation was a bad trip or a surreal weed dream. It made more sense than a couple of toddlers claiming that Harrington babysat them regularly.

"I don't have a crush on him!"

"Then why do you keep asking him to 'shoot hoops' with you?" Red asked, turning her judgmental haze onto her sweating boyfriend.

"You know I'm thinking about trying out for basketball next year," Bandana said with an almost pretentious air. "I need all the practice I can get!"

"I didn't know getting smacked in the face with the ball when Steve takes off his shirt counted as practice," Bowl Cut said, a deceptively sweet smile on his face as he drove a dagger into his friend's back.

"DUDE!"

Bowl Cut and Red shushed him, tiny hands flying to cover Bandana's mouth. Eddie reflexively peeked through the fronds, checking to make sure the object of their well - their object hadn't noticed them.

(He hesitated to call him the object of their lust because the three in front of him were literally babies, but he refused to use the word affection in the same sentence as Harrington. Even if this entire conversation was throwing his carefully crafted view of the man through a loop.)

It was fine, though. Harrington and Buckley were wrapped up in their own world, chatting back and forth. If he had a heart he might even say they looked good together. Eddie's eyes strayed towards Harrington's fingers as he twirled his scooper in his hand.

He wanted to shove them in his mouth-

Not the time.

By the time he tuned back into the infants' conversation, Bandana was sulking. Clearly, he had lost, especially with how smug both Red and Bowl Cut looked. Red had even pulled out a little snack packet that she was triumphantly munching on.

"You brought snacks?" Eddie sputtered out, not sure if he was impressed or put out by the sheer balls on this little girl.

"Uh, yeah? Food court food is expensive," she said like it was a no brainer.

The balls, man.

He kinda wanted to be her when he grew up.

"Let me get this straight, you brought snacks along while you stalk your babysitter?" he asked anyway.

"I get hungry," Red said. After a moment, she rolled her eyes and pulled out another snack pack, throwing it at him. It smacked him in the face, but he managed to catch it before it hit the ground. "You're welcome."

"Thanks?" he replied automatically.

This may as well happen.

She distributed two more snack packs to her friend and her boyfriend, and the three returned to peering at Harrington through the ferns. Eddie just stared at them, once again feeling like he must have fallen into a different universe.

This whole thing was getting to be too much for him. His knees and thighs were starting to ache, and not for any particularly pleasant reason. He didn't want to know how long he had been crouched back here.

He needed to get out of here before he reached his limit. His boss may give him a lot of leeway, but he didn't want to keep pushing his luck hanging out in the food court for the rest of the day, babysitting Steve fucking Harrington's children.

Even if the view was pretty good.

"Well, this has been fun, but I need a smoke," he said finally. The three barely spared him a glance. Figuring that they were done with him, and because he didn't know how to leave well enough alone. "I'll leave you to your... stalking."

"Same time tomorrow?" Bowl Cut asked, turning that shy but cheeky grin onto him, revealing that not only had they done this before, but that they had seen Eddie here before.

Fuck. His face was turning red.

"Don't plan on it," he scoffed. The trio spared him disbelieving glances, but let him rock to his feet and start walking away without another word.

They all knew he'd be taking the scenic route again tomorrow.

[bonezone44]

'Burdens' (21+) part one

eventual Frankie "Catfish" Morales x Fem!Reader x Dave York

Summary: You're arrival into the lives of Dave and Frankie is unexpected, to say the least. word count: 1k tags: murder-for-hire shenanigans, injured P-boys, no smut in this chapter. eventual threesome? bitch, u know it!

A/N: In an effort to boost my creative momentum, I'm posting shorter chapters for some random WIPs I've got happening. here's one of them that was very much inspired by @xdaddysprincessxx's story 'Princess Treatment.'

“This is not what I signed up for.”

“You keep saying that, Frankie, and yet you keep signing up for this shit,” Dave groused, one hand strong on the steering wheel while the other drained blood. Today was the day his bad arm became his worse arm.

“Well, I just think it's important to share my feelings on this shit-show of a situation.” Frankie reloaded his pistol quickly, slamming the cartridge back in his gun. 

Dave huffed through his nose. “Consider your feelings noted.” 

He liked Frankie, truly. 

After losing Ari and Reznik, Dave was ready to start going it alone. But Kovak had made an impassioned plea for him to stay. Said he had made a friend in his Narcotics Anonymous group. A friend that might be interested in picking up work. A friend that needed the structure and purpose that Dave offered. Kovak knew how to play to Dave’s ego and Dave let him. It gave Dave purpose and a reason to have structure. 

Damn. 

Dave was really gonna miss that guy.

Frankie hissed, adjusting in the passenger seat. If he couldn’t see it with his own two eyes, he would think his right foot wasn’t his foot anymore and had turned into a heavy, pulsing cement block tugging at the bottom of his leg. Blood pooled in his boot. Sweat dripped down his curls, soaking into an already sweat-soaked shirt-collar. His eyes flicked between the dimming, bumpy dirt road ahead of them and the vehicle’s mirrors. “Who called the fuckin’ cops is what I wanna know,” he griped, tapping the dashboard with an angry finger. “A-a-and why would the fuckin’ cops show up, anyway? That was a fuckin’ sovereign-ass milita. Who the hell protects their own goddamn enemy?”

Dave sighed. “They weren’t exactly enemies. The cops were the ones selling them all those military-grade weapons. They were protecting their source of income.” He shrugged with a wince. “That’s all.”

“What?” Frankie snorted. “Why would the fuckin’ cops in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere have access to all that shit? That’s war-shit, man.”

“Yeah, well, what do you think happens to all that war-shit when the military’s done with it? When our guys get better, upgraded war-shit?”

“I-I don’t know, man. Don’t they break that shit down for parts and sell it back to the guys makin’ it?”

“Some of it,” said Dave. “But when the upgrades are coming out faster than the old stuff can be broken down, all that extra war-shit’s gotta go somewhere. Some of it gets sold to our allies. Some of it gets spread out right here.”

Frankie shook his head. “That’s fucked up, man.” He huffed. “Cops don’t need to be havin’ access to that shit. They’re not fightin other militaries, man. They’re not s’posed to be fightin at all. They’re s’posed to be protecting people. Leave all that fightin-shit to us, man. What the hell’re they doin’ playin’ war with fuckin civilians?” He gritted his teeth and finally holstered his gun. “I mean, goddamn.”

“Yeah, well. It is how it is.” Dave wasn’t sure why Frankie didn't already know all this information. Maybe it was denial, maybe it was all the drugs he’d done. Maybe Frankie didn’t pay attention to the bigger picture. Didn’t want to or didn’t have to. The less Frankie knew, the better, Dave surmised. For someone so efficient and capable, the guy could really get caught up in his own despair. Dave understood why a guy like that would need someone like him.

“Fuck, man. I need to elevate this,” said Frankie tugging on his leg. “Think ‘m gonna try to get in the back seat.” He twisted around to judge the space and figure out exactly how to go about doing that when he looked down and saw something was already in the back seat. Something lumpy beneath a black felt blanket. He pulled out his gun–causing a concerning glance from Dave. He gripped the fabric in his hand and yanked it upward revealing ... you.

You winced at the sight of his gun.

“Holy shit,” muttered Frankie.

Dave turned around to see you, bleary-eyed with duct tape on your mouth. Your hands were tied behind your back and despite the cool weather, you were wearing a t-shirt and denim shorts. 

“You said you checked the jeep.” Dave gritted his teeth. His nostrils flaring. His eyes turned back to the road.

“I-I did check the jeep.” Frankie blinked.

“Then why is there a woman tied up in the back seat, Frankie?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Dave shook his head and groaned. “Then shoot her and toss her out.”

You shrieked beneath the duct tape. Fat tears poured from your eyes. Your whole body trembled uncontrollably.

“Shit, man.” Frankie lifted the blanket from over your legs. “You made her piss herself.”

Dave rolled his eyes. “There’s a ravine in two miles. We can dump her body there. Shoot her.”

Frankie chewed his lips as his eyes ran up and down your body.   “... What if we just… untie her and let her go?”

Dave grimaced. “We’re in the middle of the woods. Shooting her saves her the pain and suffering of dying from exposure.” Dave slapped the steering wheel. “Shoot her.”

You begged the man in the passenger seat with all your heart and soul–praying your eyes portrayed how pathetic and hopeless you truly felt. 

Frankie gulped. “But w-why would those men kidnap a woman like this?”

“I don’t know, Frankie,” Dave groaned. “That’s not our business. Just shoot her, alright?” 

“I’m gonna ask her.”

“Don’t!” Dave slapped the steering wheel again.

Frankie reached back, tugging the corner of the duct tape up and from over the top of your lips.  

“Please don’t kill me! Please! I didn’t do anything wrong! Please don’t kill me! I don’t wanna die!”

Dave did his best to shout over you–telling Frankie ‘No!’ again and again and again.

“I-I can’t. I can’t kill her, man,” Frankie choked out. “She… she–I mean, look at her, man.” 

“Fuck! Frankie!” Dave growled. He looked back at you with his lips in his teeth while you blubbered out your pleas. He turned to Frankie who stared back with big, sad eyes. He looked at the road ahead. “Fuck!” 

-----------------

a/n: the whole time i wrote this, i was like "wait, what movie am I getting this from?" and I'm not 100% sure, but I'm thinking I was inspired by the classic 'Excess Baggage' w/ alicia silverstone and benicio del toro. so expect some vibes from that, lol!

[astxrailzz]

BSD HIGHSCHOOL HEADCANONS

FEAT: osamu dazai, chuuya nakahara, nikolai gogol, fyodor dostoevsky, sigma, atsushi nakajima, akutagawa ryunosuke

CONTENT: written from a british school pov!! mentions of vaping/dazai n nikolai selling overpriced vapes, atsushi n akutagawa scrapping, fake asthma attack (giggling writing these down)

AUTHORS NOTE: FIRST POST ON THISS ACCOUNT AND LOTS MORE TO COME!! will defo be doing another ones of these it was so fun to write (nikolai was my fav)

DAZAI YR11

dazai would defo be one of those popular boys who does absolutely NOTHING in class. all he does is piss around and fucks with chuuya

somehow he’d be in top set in a few classes and everyone else is like what???? HOW????

brings nothing to school and end up with a bunch of pens

i feel like in yr7-8 he was more introverted and quiet (like he was in the pm) but did a complete 180 change in yr9

LOVES the pepperoni pizza slices in the canteen, forces chuuya to buy a slice for him and throws a fit if they’re not being sold that day

”Chuuyaaaaaa! D’ya have any money- please please pleaseeeeee- they’re not even that expensive! You’re just broke, you seriously gonna let a poor guy like me starve?“

if chuuya doesn’t buy him it he gets atsushi to buy it instead

blows up everyone’s phone. please you’d think he lived in his phone if you texted him he’d respond in less than 15 seconds

had braces in yr7-8

started a business with nikolai scamming the younger years bc he was bored. they planned it out n everything in a maths class and not even a day later had set it up in the toilets. once people acc started falling for it and they were getting money he locked tf in

"It’s 15 quid for a vape.. hey bruv I don't make the rules! (he does) If you're gonna complain and not buy owt' you can piss off."

HAD RUMOURS GOING ABT HIM AND CHUUYA IN YR10. THEY WERE IN THE SAM CUBICAL PUFFING ON A VAPE AND SOMEONE WALKED IN ON THEMMMM, LITCH EVERYONE WAS SAYING THEY WERE GAY N HAD SEX. people still bring it up sometimes and dazai doesn't deny it

lowkey wishes it was true

ALL THE YR8-10 GIRLS THINK HE'S FIT

always has dts so he walks home with chuuya

CHUUYA YR11

does gcse pe bc he's super athletic

once again the yr8-10 girls think he's fit (he is)

got called a leprechaun and he started FUMING, same with being called scottish

got so pissed off at dazai once that he lobbed a pen into his eye which prompted dazai to dramatically fall off his chair and hit his head againnst the floor (chuuya didn't gaf)

every time he sees a yellow car he immedietly thinks abt dazai and starts looking around for him

"why's that car so fuckin' yellow- where's dazai."

50/50 chance that people know he is gonna punch the shit outa him or js think he's into him

stuck up for akutagawa once bc the poor boy was being dragged and now aku follows him around though he’d never admit it

EVERY TIME SOMEONE MENTIONS THAT RUMOUR HE GOES BRIGHT RED AND STARTS YAPPING AND SHOUTING

he denies it like his life depends on it

kouyou even teases him abt it please everyone hangs up on him

NIKOLAI YR11

Nikolai is 100% the class clown you cannot change my mind

owns all the school beef accounts and has videos of all the scraps (makes people pay to see them)

gets fyodor to help him with his homework

He’s the one who stuffs toilet roll down the sinks and blocks the toilets. He drags sigma along with him and sigma js attempts to get him to stop (it never works)

IF HE GETS CAUGHT DOING ANYTHING REMOTELY WRONG HE PINS THE BLAME ON SIGMA AND BEGS FYODOR TO BACK HIM UP LMAOAOAIAO

“WHAT?? no miss I would never- wha- why would I do that?? it was litch sigma miss please you gotta believe me, fedya was watching- weren’t you? WEREN'T YOU??”

(fyodor rats him out 9 times out of 10)

In class if he has a sub and gets told off he whines about it saying ‘oh it’s because I’m russian innit’

draws when he’s bored. doesn’t matter what on, he just vandalises everything

DRAMA/THEATRE KID FRFR (me), DRAMA IS ONE OF HIS FAV SUBJECTS ALONG WITH ART (HE TAKES THEM FOR GCSE)

drama teachers are the only ones that like him

sits with sigma and fyodor at lunch, some year sevens sit behind them so he spins around and taps them then spins back and acts like nothing happened (they think he’s weird and moves)

tried selling a yr7 a empty vape once and a teacher caught him, also hides behind toilet doors so when you open them he jumps out and puts you into cardiac arrest

for the business with dazai, he js pissed around the whole time. their business only lasted a week then they got found out bc some kid was pissy abt how it was extremely overpriced, they ended up getting suspended over it but pleaseeeee they went after that kid HELP

he sometimes put random stuff in the vapes like soap AHAHAHSHSHAH

FYODOR YR11

gets out of pe bc he's anemic. had to fight a war with the pe teachers to get out of it bc they claimed it wasn't a valid excuse, only let him out of it when he passed out playing badminton (nikolai took a video of it and constantly uses it as blackmail)

reads at lunch

got reported once bc somebody bumped into him and he threatened them saying smth corny like 'you better watch your back buddy' or ‘I will stab you at lunch’ and they got scared (tbh i would as well man is intimidating)

slt was called and a bag check had to be done, all they found were books (nerd 🤓)

sometimes quotes authors of the books he reads and completely denies everything if you mention it or question it

"hm? what? why would i quote that- i didnt even say that, what're you on about?" (starts sweating)

i think this is ooc buttt its funny so idgaf, watched deathnote in yr7 or 8 and acted like light as well as bought his own rip off book on temu, he'd wip it out if anyone got on his nerves and everybody took the piss out of him

THIS MADE ME GIGGLE SM I CAN IMAGINE TTHIS IS HOW NIKOLAI MEETS HIM AND HE JS BULLIES HIM

SIGMA YR10

so so soooo awkward

doesn't have ANY friends in his year, lingers around older years so his classmates stay AWAY.

only friends r nikolai and fyodor (nikolai dragged him to his table after seeing him being emo and fyodor tolerates him)

i think he'd be in middle set for most things, the exception being top in english.

common sigma phrase when anyone talks to him

"uh.. well- I uh- I mean-.. yes..?"

was walking behind atsushi one day and a pin off his backpack fell off (read atsushi's section for context). he picked it up for him and gave it back to him leading to atsushi buying him a radnor fizz as a thanks

lowkey wants to be friends with atsushi bc of how nice he was but IS TOO PUSSY TO TALK TO HIMMM

ATSUSHI YR9

has a bunch of cute keychains on his bag and people RIP THEM OFF ALL THE TIME he gen gets so upset over it

gets all his teachers small gifts like chocolates for holidays

most people in the school like him and the yr11s stick up for him bc he's mates with dazai

SCRAPPED AKUTAGAWA IN YR8 BC HE TOOK THE PISS OUT OF HIS HAIRCUT- DAZAI HAD TO DRAG THEM APART BC ALL THEY WERE DOING WAS WACKING EACHOTHER HELPPPP

waves and smiles at sigma every time he sees him

him and akutagawa eventually made up and they're semi friends purely bc aku doesn't want people to start saying shit like 'ooo the emo can make friends'

AKUTAGAWA YR9

he is so judgy he will fucking side eye you in the hallways and shit

EVERYTIME HE GOES TO THE TOILETS DAZAI IS THERE VAPING AND HE SWEARS HE GETS A ASTHMA ATTACK WITH THE AMOUNT OF SMOKE OR EHATEVA

follows gin and Chuuya around and gets them to batter people if they say anything to him

CONSTANTLY picked on for being edgy

"OI EMO! WRIST CHECK?????" or "barcode"

heard abt how fyodor got out of pe and faked having a asthma attack whilst running track, ATSUSHI THOUGHT HE WAS BEING FR AND STARTED SOBBING AHAHAHAHAH

watches horror movies with gin and buys her stuff occasionally (HEADCANNON THAT THEY SHOW THEIR LOVE THROUGH ACTS OF SERVICE)

semi friends with kaiji and higuchi (by this i mean he lets him yap and doesn't complain)

shaves his eyebrows off to seem edgy

[literaticat]

I'm considering trying to get my publisher to pay me in fifths instead of quarters for my next contract, for tax reasons. Do they ever do fifths? And if so when is the fifth payment usually scheduled?

Ahahah this question gave me hives -- it's the struggle of my LIFE to get publishers to divide payments *less*!

Most of my contracts are paid out halves or thirds -- like so:

1/2 on-signing / 1/2 on delivery & acceptance of final (this is the ideal, but for bigger deals it's getting harder to achieve)

1/3 on-signing / 1/3 on d&a of draft or sketches / 1/3 on d&a of final (this is the ideal for illustrators or for books sold on proposal)

OR 1/3 on-sign / 1/3 d&a final / 1/3 on publication (not great)

OR 3 parts, weighted -- so big part big part small part -- like 20k on sign, 20k on final, 5k on pub for example (better than the previous at least)

.... I've seen them do 4ths -- like part on signing, d&a, publication, and on publication of the paperback (or one year after pub, whichever comes first). This makes me feel ill, and <rant> I personally would die before I'd be OK with a more spread out payment than that, my god, enough is enough, it's already NOT AN ADVANCE if the book is already published, I literally feel like setting something on fire just thinking about it, how dare anyone want to pay for something A YEAR after the shit is published ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? And what if the book tanks and they cancel the paperback or try some other shenanigans? Part of the point of an advance is that they are taking a risk, actually, and the risk is negated if they can just cut bait. If I hired a roofer and then told him "thanx for the roof, looks great, here's part of the money, I'll pay you the rest next year when I see how it does during hurricane season" he'd SUE ME. As well he fuckin should!!! OMG I AM FIRED UP!!!! </endrant>

So anyways. My point is. I guess you could do 1/5 on sign, 1/5 on draft, 1/5 on final, 1/5 on pub, 1/5 on pb pub or one year later?

The payment on PB pub is already somewhat normalized for adult books with very large advances (though it's still quite uncommon in kids books). But please please please PLEASE for the sake of your author and agent brethren don't ask for a payment further out than that -- I don't want them to get any bright ideas.

(Also, Important to note if there are tax issues: You can ask the publisher to hold your payment if need be. Your agency is legally required to pay you within a certain time of getting your money in (14 days I think?), and even if money comes in during early 2024 but was paid by the publisher in 2023, it has to count as 2023 money. Agencies CANNOT hold your money for you, but the publisher can. So sometimes if, say, the end of the year is coming up, and my client has a tax thing where they don't want any more income but I know that they have a D&A coming, we just ask the publisher to hold it until January. It's never been a problem, they are more than happy to wait to pay you!)

[howlingday]

Weiss: Poor, foolish Whitley. So young, and so naïve.

Whitley: Excuse me?

Weiss: The world harsh and cruel, my baby brother, and no one will listen to you unless you can entertain the masses as well.

Whitley: Don't call me a "baby". Not only is it inaccurate, it is also rude.

Weiss: And yet my words are no less true. One day, you will understand what it means to be ignored because you're boring. If you want the people to learn, you must entertain them. Until we meet again, baby brother. (Leaves)

Whitley: Hm... Perhaps she's right. Perhaps my education could be a bit more... jovial.

---------------------------------------------------

Ruby: ...

Jaune: ...

Whitley: (Rapper get-up) Welcome back to business economics. ...Yo.

Whitley: It has come to my understanding that some of you are having trouble understanding my class. ...Yo.

Jaune: We're the only ones here.

Ruby: Ssh!

Whitley: As such, I have prepared a simple rap to follow along and understand the needed facts to survive in a capitalist-driven economy in which you provide goods and services for your peers and lessers.

Ruby: ...

Jaune: ...

Whitley: ...Yo.

Whitley: (Turns on track, Raps)

She sells sea shells on a sea shore,

But the value of these shells will fall

Due to the laws of supply and demand

No one wants to buy shells,

'Cause there's loads on the sand

Whitley: (Draws seashell on the board, Scratches red X over it)

Step One:

You create a sense of scarcity

Shells will sell much better

If they're rare, you see,

Bear with me,

Take as many shells as you can find

And hide them on an island

Stockpile them high until they're rarer than a diamond

Whitley: (Draws hand, Draws more hands)

Step Two:

Gotta make the people think that they want 'em

Really want 'em

Really fuckin' want 'em

Fuckin' Ironwood wants 'em!

Influencers! Product placement!

Prime time entertainment!

If you haven't got a shell,

Then you're just a fuckin' waste, man

Whitley: (Draws building with seashell, Lancaster draw up logos)

Step Three:

It's a monopoly

Invest inside some property

Start a corporation,

Build a logo,

Do it properly,

"Shells Must Sell"

This will be your new philosophy

Swallow all your morals,

They're a poor man's quality

Whitley: (Lancaster nervously swallow lumps, Whitley draws bigger and bigger circles)

Step Four:

Expand! Expand! Expand!

Clear forest! Make Land!

Fresh blood! On hands!

Whitley: (Draws circles with different things, Lancaster call Weiss)

Five!

Why just shells?

Why limit yourself?!

She sells seashells!

SELL DUST AS WELL!

Whitley: (Wildly draws different randomness, Lancaster joins War of the Roses)

Six!

Sell guns! Sell stocks!

Sell diamonds! Sell rocks!

Sell water to a fish!

Sell the time to a clock!

Whitley: (Excitedly puts up campaign poster, WotR wheel in a projector)

SEVEN!

Step hard on the gas,

Like a bat out of hell,

And run to be the councilman of Mantle!

Whitley: (Puts up more and more posters, WotR gather slides for the projector)

EIGHT!

BIG SMILE! BIG WAVE!

YEAH, THAT'S GREAT!

Know the truth is overrated,

Tell lies out the gate!

Whitley: (Angrily rips down half the posters, WotR turn off the lights)

NINE!

POLARIZE THE PEOPLE!

CONTROVERSY IS THE GAME!

IT DOESN'T MATTER IF THEY HATE YOU IF THEY ALL SAY YOUR NAME!

Whitley: (Projector turns on to blind Whitley, Sees his father staring from the board)

Ten...

The world was yours...

Stepped off the stage as the world applause...

You're a liar. A cheat. A scoundrel. A whore...

Whitley: (Falls to his knees, Sobs)

And you sold seashells on the seashore...

Whitley: (Sniffs, Stands up) Erm, ahem! I, uh, hope you all learned something from this.

Ruby: Er, y-yeah, like, uh, how supply and demand needs to maintain an equilibrium, or else an inflation or deflation will disrupt the economic flow to both consumers and providers detriment.

Jaune: And how product placement can influence people to buy more, and that consumerism helps the provider gain more reach in their influence on others.

Weiss: (Smiles) You did good, Whitley.

Whitley: (Smiles) Thank you.

[grimsneverendingfuneral]

questions for grim questions for grim, grim loves questions questions for grim

what clothing item is a key part of your character design? what’s your ideal night out like? what are you like at a party? mountains, beach, forest, desert, or jungle? WORST fruit? who is your best friend, what are they like, why do you love them? what makes you laugh?

ooooh questions!!!!! yay!!!!!!!!! you know how much i love these. i will say i am quite flattered by your interest in my being. i'll do my best to give you some good, thorough answers

clothing item that is a key part of my character design is my lock necklace. if i dont wear it i feel ill. i will not feel like myself. i will feel significantly less swag and thats not good for me. its basically a small lock on a chain i wear around my neck. my dad gave it to me when i was a teenager, said only rockstars can wear shit like that. and i was like oh in that case

ideal night out is literally texting everyone "whats the moves tonight" then meeting up on a street corner and letting montreal unfold for us the way it does so beautifully every time. just walking around with my friends drinking a beer and laughing. talking. meeting characters on the street, letting them take you to your next adventure. but if im planning a night out, its usually going to be going to a show at some dingy venue and drinking at someones house beforehand, afterwards finishing the night off at a bar dancing or playing pool, then hit the diner or a pizza place. typical city slicker shit

im assuming by party you mean like....house party? so i'll answer that way. at a party theres two grim modes: either im aloof as fuck and finding ways to entertain myself that dont require human interaction (like going around and looking at whats in the bathroom cabinet, playing your instruments or chilling with the cat if there is one). usually in that mode if im not going off by myself im sitting on the couch watching everyone with a distant look in my eyes. off to neverland somewhere fr. the other mode is im standing in the middle of the room and actively working the crowd like a fuckin court jester. i really really like doing that and im really good at it. but i only do it if i think the people at the party are going to be receptive to it. nothing worse than a loud fuckin clown who cant read the room

mountains. mountains. i mean god i love the ocean. but mountains do it for me. i could cry

WORST FRUIT is......hm. i think there's nothing worse than a berry sold in a single plastic container at the grocery store in the middle of winter. like i tried eating some raspberries the other day and they were so fuckin sour and tasteless. i love fruits i dont think theres a worst fruit i think theres a worst time to eat certain fruits

oh my god noooo im gonna go on a tangent. my best friend's name is Chloë. We've known each other since we were twelve. she's the reason i'm changing for the better. she's the reason i'm making active changes in my relationships, ones that have me feeling a sense of belonging for the first time in my whole fuckin life. the love she's shown me is a key factor in why i don't isolate anymore. we've been friends and drifted and been friends again a couple of times and now our friendship has hit a new high. its like a breath of relief, to have her in my life. she taught me that love isn't supposed to be anxiety inducing, that receiving a text from your friend isnt supposed to make your heart jump to your throat. she taught me that friendship doesnt have to be this chaotic, symbiotic rollercoaster where you're always looking to get fucked up together or have secret animosity and resentment towards one another. it can be kind. it can be fun, at all times. it can be this natural pull between two people that just feels pleasant. she taught me that other people can love me for all that i am and that i dont have to hide the ugly mangled parts of myself to be loved. she encourages my very being every day. she embraces all of me and has a brilliant mind. she's so caring and attentive and so fuckin smart. emotionally intelligent. when we're together, we talk and talk and talk and philosophize ourselves into fuckin oblivion. our minds meld and elevate each other. she teaches my know-it-all ass things every time we talk. with Chloë, i can truly just be. we can be quiet together. i just feel the love emanating off her and its like.....oh i get it. friendship is the ultimate act of devotion.

and lastly well. everything makes me laugh. its all so funny

[avengersassemble-fics]

hello there

wow.

so.. its been awhile, hasn't it? like a long.. long time. sure, a couple posts but my last actual post was december 21, 2021.. crazy!

have I written anything since then? no, not really. re-read some of my work, thought "man this shit is so fuckin good" ..but I just honestly wasn't well enough to sit here and write. as much as I missed it.

what's new?.. a mess and depressed! but working through it. if you read my person posts in the pass, I worked at an optical store for a big big brand (not naming names) that felt like my soul was getting sucked out of me.. retail, amiright?

but seriously. I was there for 4 years by July of this year. in October, the manager I had been with since getting hired was moved to a store closer to her (congrats bestie) which opened up the management role for the one I was in.

I interviewed!! ...I didn't get it!!

devastated. like everything I had ever done was for fucking nothing. all the times I covered, where I took charge when the manager was out, the shitty position of just being under the threshold of FT so I never got the FT benefits (pto.. I was a feign for wanting time off). I interviewed, never got a definitive answer from the dm, until the news was laid on us that someone was hired.

someone who had less than a years experience, from a sister brand that sold non-rx sunglasses. A MAN. nothing wrong with me, I love men, but it was a gut punch. I had to continue being in charge for 2-3 months while this guy got trained for the position I felt I was deserving of.

and when he started it was absolute shit. I have never met someone so fuckin lazy. he refused to close, refused to work most weekends, never helped clean or help keep things organized, left me to handle signage changes and other things, stating stupid shit like "I didn't sign up for that" when like.. yes you did? that's literally the whole point of being a manager? the last week of the year is extremely busy in the optical space, because people want to use their benefits before the end of the year (use it or lose it). december 31, 2022.. what did he do? he left me and my coworker alone so he could go home early. we did ten thousand dollars in sales that day. that is what the store would average a week. we did it in a day.

my depression got worse.. but I did get my associates in psychology (cute). it wasn't until February of this year that I finally got a break. ya girl got a new job, in an office, not having to sell anything! perfection.

I moved out of my parents (it's def a struggle but.. my cat and I are happy), I officially was diagnosed with a chronic disease this year, working on my mental health everyday, did my first semester of uni..

and I miss this. writing, posting, daydreaming. I want to come back but I'm not sure if it is possible on this blog or if I'll have to start fresh elsewhere. but this place is my writing home (and AO3).

if you read all the way through, thank you. I hope to be back soon with new content (branching out of my comfort zone! finish old stories!)

until next time not two years from now..

xoxo caitlyn

[sonic-spirit]

Capitalism is ruining the internet. In lots of ways, but today’s grievance:

I just wanted to know if I’m the only trans boy who wants to wear a vaginal plug just around, and enjoy the fullness while just doing things in life. And I’m not, but I had to put up with legions of non-relevant search results and install the Reddit app (I hate Reddit), to end up on a sex toy seller’s page with a review sharing my interest and experience. And that sucks.

The internet, in its essence, is a communication tool connecting people. But that communication is getting more and more degraded as companies chop it up, turn it into a place where we are speculators rather than participants, marks to be sold to, chaff to be processed. “The internet is for porn,” was a silly mantra, but it was also kinda true. The internet had many, many places people had set up to share and talk about the things they found sexy. But more and more, puritanism and Finance are invading and restricting sharing and access. And it’s not even that things are behind paywalls, though that’s also a palpable presence. Credit card processors crack down on NSFW content, and start squeezing sites to restrict what they host to those processors’ stipulations.

And the arguments for why don’t hold water. None of it actually protects anyone, and vulnerable communities are put in more danger, as our very existence is up for “political debate”. Like, sorry, no, we as trans people deserve to be alive, and your restrictions on us receiving healthcare or even being acknowledged as existing around minors are fucking goulish. Disabilities make work/finding a job/keeping a job/financial stability in general difficult to even impossible, and are fucking expensive in the first place, and many disabled individuals turn to sex work. And there’s nothing about sex work that actually makes it more exploitative or demeaning than “regular” work. But demonizing it, making it harder for sex workers to find clients and communicate with one another to help keep each other safe puts them in so much more danger. The fear mongering and pearl clutching around trafficked individuals being coerced into sex work doesn’t help those trafficked victims, in fact it boxes them in and makes them less safe, grants them fewer paths to escape or protection from abuse, AND it presses those who weren’t coerced into tighter corners and worse situations. It gives more strength to pimps, and keeps the money, power, and freedom out of the hands of the people who need it.

And oh, “If I were in a bad Situation, I would simply Not Be a Sex Worker,” except, brainiac, there’s no fuckin social safety net. This garbage capitalist system is working exactly as designed, work or be homeless, work or don’t eat, work or don’t get the medicine you can’t live without, work or just fucking die. Sick? TOO BAD. Injured? TOO BAD. Chronic pain? TOO BAD. “Stop being weak, clearly you deserve to die, if you just can’t cut it.” That’s the message we all hear, loud and clear, every fucking day.

And none if it has to be this way! There is no reason for any of it. We have enough. We have plenty. Literal tons of food tossed into the ocean to keep prices up, while people literally starve. Homes kept absolutely fucking empty at an appalling scale while people live homeless. It’s disgusting, and it’s totally avoidable. All this scarcity is entirely manufactured. We have enough. We have more than enough. And it can be so much better. But we need to tear down the structures keeping us apart, keeping us weak, keeping us tired, and starving, and in fear. Because those structures of power are our enemy. Because whether we fight or are compliant , they’ll kill us either way.

[mymainwastoocluttered]

NO FR BB HAS SOME VERY CRINGE OLDER EPISODES

It’s gets way better later but like yhctg

The ‘training’ scene (completely inaccurate and even for the tone outdated)

The disgusting overly sexulized scene of Sebastian putting a girdle on Ciel

The count. I don’t need to say shying wise he’s selling children/woman into trafficking and gets released on bail in a day

Pluto outright being in a intimate relationship with ‘Angela’ (he’s just a fucking dog with a human body who the fuck thought this was ok??)

Sebastian fucks some lady 20 feet away from Ciel where he can hear it TWICE

I was thinking a bit more along the lines of: while Kuroshitsuji does not shy from ridiculousness and exaggeration (as it's common in anime, specially 2000's anime), some parts of the original anime are excessively cartoonish to the point it feels like I'm watching something else entirely

It's particularly jarring when outside those moments of fun shenanigans, the story takes itself very seriously, and keeps the overall tone of suspense/mystery. And then, suddenly, there's Pluto hugging Sebastian, or Grell appearing for no apparent reason.

Grell doesn't even get a theatrical entrance worthy of the Queen she is, the absolute disrespect.

I believe in the Viscount Druitt being out of jail practically the next day because ✨noble and rich✨. Not once is Kuroshitsuji interested in saying nobles are good, so... I think it's interesting that he sold people and organs and stuff, wish they did more with that (particularly, I wish the whole "the Phantomhive family is not one for justice and honor, they just keep the balance between the overworld and underworld as the Queen wishes" was better explored. I mean, why were none of the other nobles present at the auction punished? How did a Viscount (one position lower than Earl) manage to do all of that for so long under Her Majesty's nose? Why is Ciel not hunting down other human traffickers? Lot's of strings to pull here)

Honestly, the whole Pluto–Angela plot to me is terrible and I'd gladly have it completely erased. In fact, let's just delete most of the latter part of the original anime. I hate how that ends, I hate the plot, I hate hate hate it. I don't mind Pluto as a concept, but I wish he wasn't just "giant dog that keeps being a dog when he turns human". Can't he just be a guy with dog traits? Like how Snake is a guy with snake traits? Also, why a giant dog??? That fits literally nothing of the story so far. I thought the point was to make non-human characters to be "human but off", not "fantasy rpg party"

The sexual undertones within Sebastian and Ciel's interactions are 2000's anime trope that I have trained myself not to pay attention to. It was a bit funny with the corset joke, and only then. Then again, can't blame them for trying to please the shippers, Western cartoons also do that a lot, except with less "sexy sparkle kyaa" and more "and they got together despite making no sense". Still hate it, please stop. Get some help

(though, ugh, that "sex scene" is also so stupidly cartoonish and ridiculous, I want to hit something. This is the beginning of the last big arc, why are we still flip flopping between the mystery and the shenanigans? Get serious, damnit. I'd rather just have a quick scene where they show Sebastian leaving the place while buttoning up his pants while Grell bites her handkerchief in jealousy. There, it's implied what happened, no need for an entire uncomfortable scene that ends in an unfunny joke)

I think it's kinda funny how Ciel is supposedly innocent but he doesn't react to Sebastian fuckin that nun. And Sebastian absolutely gives no shits about who's hearing, he's a demon, remember? Can't be angry at him for being immoral, that's the sole reason behind his existence. Also, Ciel himself stayed there, it's not like his legs don't work, he could've left and waited for Sebastian to give him the information after. I'm just thinking, did they forget Ciel is heavily traumatized? Is he ok with hearing sex noises so near, considering what he has gone through?

[imnothingimnobody]

M-B-M (3 Angles to a Pyramid)

We were having a good time in the breakroom. The three of us were seated and talking, and laughing. It had been hot outside that day. For 8 hours I traded, sold, stole, ran bets and ran tabs for the various flea market people. We brought back $2100 that day, after we each got paid $120 plus the money I assume the other two stole (200-300) and the money I stole every time (50). Being back, being in air conditioning, had restored our spirits...which had become quite low as we realized the inventory vs. money count wasn't making sense.

The job entailed unloading unsold merchandise and storing it. We usually took this break before that just to cool off. From March to November every weekend we'd sell this stupid shit for love or money. Our boss was a cocaine addict and a truly destructive gambler. I'd hand him thousands of dollars, he'd pass out at Greektown. His wife wanted some of the money though now, and he was feeling pressure. I gave him the envelope of money that day, and he leafed through it and said nothing. I also did books, their primitive accounting which was pointless because the inventory was never valuated properly. There was no consistent spread of anything. Hundreds of the items were one offs anyway. The other two were basically legitimized thugs he'd known from always. If they wanted to talk seriously about money they talked to me. Then out of nowhere we're laughing and he walks in. "You guys doing good? Feeling comfortable?" "Yeah. We're about to put all that shit away." "So we were talking," and by we he meant he and his wife, and he said calmly, "we're wondering why there's zero to negative growth in our receipts." Collectively we looked around and down and everywhere. He took that moment to slam the door he'd walked in from. "Where's the fucking money?!" he yelled, "What, now no one knows what I'm fucking talking about?" "Look, you are supposed to be top fucking earners. That's why I don't look over your shoulders. So stop fucking around, go out there, talk to your people, break some fucking heads and get some fucking earnings out there."

I went to talk, "The..." "And don't say a word about the fucking economy, not a word! I don't want to hear it. And you," he said, pointing to his most trusted and loyal employee, my coworker. "And you, what happened with the guy? The Arab guy? The thing we were supposed to do." "I don't know," he said. "It kind of petered out." "It petered out" boss said mockingly. "I don't know, the guy fuckin moved or something. I ain't seen him." He pointed at me, "You, you're the brains of this, Microsoft Excel. Where's the money? I'm sending you with top shelf shit. It's not on the pallets you brought back. So again, I ask you, what the fuck?" "I don't know," I said. He exhaled and looked at us and spoke in a low, quiet tone now. "Look. The shit has worked the same way, since time immemorial, it's a pyramid. Shit runs downhill, money runs up. That's the fuckin way it works. And I shouldn't have to come to you, hat in hand like this, because what you're kicking up to me is a FUCKIN DISGRACE." "Do you know what it takes to run this place? Do you know how much that costs?" he said. I wanted to say I did know but instead I said "I hear you" for some reason. "And it's on the fucking verge of closing, and I have to come and beg you to kick up, and frankly I'm just embarrassed and ashamed. That's it," he said sorrowfully, opened the door and left. It came to pass the next day. The other two went and collected. I kicked everything up and they kicked more up than normal. $3400 I handed him selling the garbage that hadn't sold before. I told the other two, "doesn't this make us look worse....if you think about it?" "What do you mean?" "I mean he knows what we brought back, what we're taking today, and how we should be kicking up less on a Sunday than a Saturday. So when we hand him the money, he'll again see it doesn't make sense. He smiled, "No. I gave half that shit away to collect. We'll just keep going week to week that way until he shuts the fuck up again. It's like a, a, what do you call it scheme."

"Pyramid scheme. You're using todays money to pay yesterday's creditors." "Yeah, whatever you say."

[notmuchtoconceal]

To reflect upon the brutal and fascinating realities of human sacrifice in many cultures of antiquity -- usually rendered as stylish and alluring spectacles of mass-terror to cement the divine right of conquerors -- may make one squeamish when collaborating with extant energetic intelligences for whom constant human folly is nothing new, but who nevertheless seem to demand forms of biblical flattery.

Chimpanzees and other primates will sometimes eat their babies, or eat their competitor's babies. You give these fuckers a spark of divine light and let them wall themselves off in tremendous gilded cityscapes where they're constantly hallucinating God-visions and bloodlust, they're liable to go a little fuckin crazy. They've been -- in a non-insignificant sense -- divorced from their natural context of small tribal bands and blown up to hive scale, rendering their awareness functionally more cellular.

You watch the news every day, don't you? I don't gotta tell you constant exposure to murder and carnage numbs your capacity to feel, especially when your loving and compassionate political leaders are telling you this is all necessary and according to plan. You saw the Dark Knight. You know what the Joker said to Harvey Dent. I'm not tellin you anything you don't already know. What, you think a bunch of weird edgelords on the internet over-meming made that any less true or beautiful? What the fuck is going on in the human mind that facts stop being persuasive when they're told to you by someone you find personally disagreeable?

It's becomes human beings aren't concerned with facts, they're concerned with survival. This is because humans remain animals despite their spark of divinity. Yet, if one is living in a mass urban industrial center, what is more dangerous to one's survival are the words they're told and act out, as the only wild animals in cities are bosses and muggers, who think in pretty similar ways, the main one being they ain't sheep. They're not corralled. They're not led by the nose into slaughter, cause they can act on their own volition, though with no respect for the realities of the soul, they'll just fuckin eat you like Upton Sinclair's concrete Jungle.

Yeah, buddy. Eat the working class. Grind em up and put em in your burgers. Remember, kids. Regulation and unionization are your enemies. It's your bosses who have your best interests in mind. Your bosses who want to farm your time, underpay you, rule your life, and brainwash you into learned helplessness towards the systems designed to fail you.

The product is you. You're being sold.

You're acting like a dumb whore cause in an age where privacy is being eroded, you can weaponize your lack of privacy. Look all a fucking round you. Most people are way too complicit in their own suffering to just say what they mean. Usually, when you're making excuses for other people, it's cause you want to make those same excuses for yourself. It's enabling and junky behavior is what it is, bro. Sometimes the only way you can show a fucker you love em is by smackin their whore mouth and letting them bleed cum and drool all over themselves til they wake up.

Right, so.

Now that I've said a bunch of needfully cruel things to drive away the fuckers who can't handle it, I'm gonna tell you -- brave, strong brothers who still remain -- about three practical and non-murderous points about embracing a sacrifice-oriented mindset which can help you de-clutter your life, strip-out the bullshit and attract what you want -- with no cost to me, because I already have everything I could ever want from you.

First off, to offer a sacrifice (think of it as a gift, you already do this) to a non-material entity does a couple things. First off, it shows seriousness and commitment via a willingness to expend material means, showing me and you that you already value something higher than mere resources. You could say it acts as a crystallization of intention. A symbol of exchange. To offer a gift is to make the first move, make yourself a priority, and redirects consciousness towards consideration of your goal. In essence, a concrete object given is the initial means by which intention moves from an abstract idea to the beginnings of a practice.

Second, the nature of the sacrifice. There is where your imagination comes in, sweetie. Think about the object you are offering, and the context of how it appears not only to you, but the goal itself. If you've been over-standardized by institutions, you may struggle here. Not only to think in terms of symbols and associations, but to trust your own fantasy life, for fear that it is incorrect or illogical. You gotta trust me here, kid. Follow what turns you on. Don't say no. Part of doing a ritual and entering into a sacred space is to suspend ordinary modes of rational discourse to commune with your unconscious. This is why commitment and making the first step is important. You need to know you're going there to give yourself the permission to be there. If you're scared, you may need to follow steps to sorta dip-your-toes in.

Reading most grimoires or demonic codices, you may get a sense that a lot of the steps are arbitrary, largely because they are. Some ritual functions have a definitive psychological anchoring effects which play off unspoken realities of the human body, but most are there to trick you into having some confidence in yourself by giving you a checklist to complete. As with any field of study, the more you know, the more you know what can be safely skipped. Ultimately, you need to trust yourself here. What's most effective for you. What's going to make you get off your ass and do this evocation, get the life you want? As with any collaboration, you will know yourself as you come to know the other.

Think of what you already do with friends or superiors. A libation can be a toast, a way to loosen up, a way to entertain. In some sense, a ritual isn't any different from throwing a party or planning a wedding, for these two are ritual events meant to crystallize certain moods or occasions.

Think about what objects truly mean to you. What they represent. What they're in the image of, or what they're used for. Let the thoughts come to you. Sit with them. Experience the real you. Your real wants.

From there on, put it together. Make a collage, tell a story.

Subdividing from the nature of sacrifice, there are two main distinctions in an object you're willing to surrender, and that comes down to the why.

If there is something you have which is precious to you, but which you know someone else would make better use -- you may give that as a gift. You are freeing yourself from a responsibility you cannot fully entertain, and bravely empowering someone else, not only raising the net total of human divinity, but also carrying on your dream through them.

Secondly secondly, if you have something which is precious to you, but which you no longer need, or is holding you back, well -- smash it, or gift it someone more deserving. There is catharsis in controlled destruction.

If your love has been tainted by bitterness, you may strengthen your resolve and your will by quick and semi-painless amputation. Alternately, if you feel the object is cursed -- you may consider a curse, at its simplest level, as simply a prolonged and aggressive negative association -- then surrendering that to an enemy will help you kill two birds with one stone, perhaps even painlessly unburdening your enemy of some of this more persistent and irritating delusions if the curse can drive him to light.

If I replaced the word "sacrifice" with downsizing, it would go down a lot more smoothly, for in fact -- coining new phrases is itself a form of magic, association being primary on the emotional level, and words and concepts being constantly sullied by misuse and distortion, necessitating they be purified and restored by regeneration into a new form.