#I don't even know if I want to make money with my current major

[theevilcactus]

What's the origin of your blog title?

I was an angsty teenager who liked cacti and I needed a blog title. There was really no deeper meaning behind it, but I'm attached now.

OTP(s) Shipname:

I don't really have one specific OTP right now, but a couple of my top ships historically have been Whouffle (when I was in high school) and Hannigram (in the first couple years of college). I'm currently very much enjoying James/Alyssa (the end of the fucking world) and Polypalooza (from PIBE), but I wouldn't call either of those my OTP.

Favourite colour:

Green! I like all shades, but I'm especially fond of overly bright lime green. Eyesore levels of green.

Favourite game:

If we're talking video games, it's easily The Sims 4. If we're talking physical games, like board or card games, probably Fluxx. (Star Fluxx if you want to be specific.)

Song stuck in your head:

Dead Girl Walking (Reprise)

Weirdest habit/trait?

I can't stand having the volume on an odd number. It needs to be even. No matter what. Even is 10 is too quiet and 12 is too loud, I will not put the sound on 11. I will put up with any level of inconvenience from the even numbers if it means avoiding having to put it on an odd one.

I don't know if that's actually that weird, but my mom seems to think i is.

Hobbies:

Reading & writing fanfiction, making a bunch of characters in the sims that I'm never actually gonna play, occasionally hiking.

If you work, what's your profession?

Unemployed, unfortunately. In the process of looking for a new job.

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be?

Writing novels. It's a damn hard field to break into, though, if you want to actually make enough money to live on. Even harder if you're like me and seemingly unable to actually finish writing a novel.

Something you're good at:

Writing. I'd better be good at it, I've been writing fics since I was 8 and I literally majored in creative writing in school.

Something you're bad at:

Being social, responding to texts within a timely manner

Something you love:

My silly little shows. Also, my cat.

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff:

Pretty much any of the shows/books/movies I've ever been super into (I tend to get very obsessive about them and rewatch the same episodes constantly). Or Greek mythology.

Something you hate:

The texture of the inside of a tomato.

Something you collect:

I guess you could say I collect books, but that's less of a deliberate collection and more of an accident. Earrings maybe?

Something you forget:

Pretty much everything, I'm very forgetful.

What's your love language?

Does parallel play count? Just existing in the same space as each other but each doing our own thing

Favourite movie/show:

My #1 favorite movie is Fear Street: 1978, closely followed by the Harley Quinn Birds of Prey movie. My favorite show is probably either Gotham or Survivor.

Favorite food:

Bread. I could eat a good loaf of bread all damn day, especially if there's herbed oil or butter or something to dip it in. Also, the specific combination of brie & blackberries & honeycrisp apple slices.

Favorite Animal:

Cats, maybe? I'm also currently very fond of toucans and orchid bees.

What were you like as a child?

Shy and anxious and very annoying about Warriors cats. And smart.

Favourite subject at school?

English/literature.

Least favourite subject:

Chemistry specifically, but other science classes were ok. Math if we want to be more general.

What's your best character trait?

My creativity

What's your worst character trait?

I'm a bit of a coward

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be?

I'd have enough moneyyyyyyy to never need to work again

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet?

I'd be more interested in various places/eras than specific famous historical people. I'd want to see ancient Greece or maybe some dinosaurs.

tagging @alpacasandravens @poolboyvmprmansion @cherrych4 @panic-wizard-sex-walrus @empir2 @cosmicoceanfic and @ anybody else who wants to do it

Get to know your mutuals!!!

cheers @stevie-marigold for tagging me!

What's the origin of your blog title?

doccy who! plus me mum always used to say i have telescopic arms. personally i think they're a normal length

OTP(s) Shipname:

johnlock, i will forever be a johnlocker no matter which version of those freaks we're talking about

Favourite colour:

orange <3

Favourite game:

factorio! i greatly enjoy the spagetti of it

Song stuck in your head:

antmusic by adam and the ants

Weirdest habit/trait?

darling everything i do is deeply weird, couldn't do something normal if i tried

Hobbies:

writing, reading, nuisance making, music enjoying, getting in the way, and various wool-related crafts

If you work, what's your profession?

im the imp who sits in your camera and paints the pictures for you (im out of blue btw)

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be?

id invent hexopostcards, which are hexagonal postcards and only have pictures of six sided things on. if a thing has more than six sides than you've got to have the seventh+ side(s) off the edge of the postcard. if it has less than six you have to draw where the rest of the sides could feasibly be. then id retire

Something you're good at:

answering questions truthfully

Something you're bad at:

eating dog food

Something you love:

doing jigsaws

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff:

doccy who. i just do that anyway

Something you hate:

jigsaws that have too much sky so its all just blue (doesn't include my starry night puzzle)

Something you collect:

vinyls, posters, things ill use someday, names, ideas of things to write

Something you forget:

my best friends birthday. i have it written down and i still forget consistently

What's your love language?

circular gallifreyan

Favourite movie/show:

oh theres so many. doccy who and torchwood, sherlock, merlin (im really from a specific time going by those answers) loads of films too but, to say an obscure one to make me sound cool, mcfarland usa

Favourite food:

the souls of the damned. failing that pasta

Favourite animal:

@zelda-wheelz

What were you like as a child?

weird nervous about everything and a nerd

Favourite subject at school?

maths! don't ask me to remember a single thing from my alevels though

Least favourite subject:

drama. hated acting in front of all those eyes

What's your best character trait?

i like to think im quite nice

What's your worst character trait?

asking @zelda-wheelz the answers for half these questions

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be?

id move

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet?

george michael, so long as i can bring my mum

tagging: @captainfairygodmother @b1uetrees @by-gray

[whileyoureinschoolidothisallday]

hey buddy if you're gonna turn the country into a reality show could you get less predictable writers

[zorthania]

A piece about survivors guilt.

This comic isn't perfect. I started it back in October 2023, and every time I picked up my pen, I wept.

I bring this to you today, on 9/11, in hopes that you reflect on this day a little differently than how most Americans would. Let it move you to continue to boycott, protest and challenge your family, friends and colleagues. You have a bigger impact than you would believe.

Thank you for reading this with an open heart.

From the river to the sea...

I'd like to bring to attention the fact that the figures depicted above are a gross undercount of the actual number of deaths. I scoured the internet high and low to source my findings and not a single one could break down the devastation that befell an individual ethnicity. Instead, they lumped a bunch of ethnicities together, provided a general timeline, and called it a day, reinforcing the sheer scale of dehumanization propagated in the west. The only consistency between all the articles I looked up was the 4.5 to 4.7 million figure I've included above, and even then, they were all published by western media news outlets... the very same that have been so unreliable and complicit in the genocide of Palestinians today. So I have to take everything they say with a grain of salt.

We are not just numbers.

All of us have ambitions and desires and lives worth living.

With that said, this is your friendly reminder to:

Donate an e-sim

Donate to PCRF to provide Palestinian children aid

Donate to Pious Projects to provide woman with feminine hygiene kits

Donate to CareForGaza to provide food to displaced families in Gaza either through their Gofundme or their paypal

Donate to any of the vetted gofundme campaigns on GazaFunds to help Palestinians trying to flee Gaza.

And if you or someone you know sees or experiences a hate crime and can afford it, SUE. This is a more effective use of your money than most realise. The reason zionists act with impunity is because of the normalization of white supremacy and oppression of ethnic minorities. Challenging that in any capacity tells them that there are consequences to their actions and makes them think twice before engaging in hate crimes and helps raise all of us up against the systems currently in place that let them get away with it.

If you can't donate or spend any money, you can:

Do your daily clicks.

Boycott targeted companies on the BDS list (if you're like me and you don't want a single dollar to go towards anything supporting Israel right now, you can use Bdnaash to double check what products are okay to buy, but the BDS list is sufficient as it is a strategic attack and proven very effective thus far)

Flood your representatives emails and voicemails with how you won't be voting for them unless their politics align with an immediate ceasefire in Gaza.

Attend a protest, be LOUD.

Challenge your circle of friends, family and colleagues with conversations about Palestine. (THIS IS THE MOST UNDERRATED AND MOST EFFECTIVE THING YOU CAN DO)

and if you're really up to, be disruptive in any capacity that you can think of towards major corporations benefiting from this onslaught. (i.e. halting military manufacturers from production + shipments, sticking boycott stickers on products at your market etc)

And finally, if your country wasn't mentioned in the above excerpt, it was no deliberate omission on my part and I encourage you to come forward and tell your story about the suffering of your people so that this may be a learning opportunity for everyone.

You are seen.

You are not alone.

Thank you again if you've read this far.

From the river to the sea...

[ecemf]

And the Award Goes To... // A Carmen Berzatto Fanfic

18+!! MDNI!!

A/N: When this year started I definitely did not foresee myself writing not only one but two depraved fanfics both about hooking up in award ceremony bathrooms... but here we are.

This one actually took so long and I don't even really know if I like it but I hope y'all enjoy it. Big cheating vibes so if you're not into that don't read. Ok thanks bye!

Summary: As a writer for Vogue, you've been assigned to cover The James Beard Awards this year. This would be great, as your boyfriend is a nominee, if it weren't for the fact that your toxic ex was also nominated for the same goddamn award...

Warnings: cheating, smut, unprotected piv (wrap it before you tap it guys), choking, dom/sub dynamics, bit of degradation, porn with lots of plot, asshole boyfriend, asshole carmy, no usage of y/n

WC: ~5.8k

Enjoy!!

Nerves. That’s all you’ve been feeling this entire week.

When your boss had told you in October that you were assigned to cover the James Beard Awards you were elated. Partially because, you know, it was the goddamn James Beard Awards, but mostly because it would be your first major story at Vogue. You had been a writer for their Food column for a few months at that point, and while it wasn’t exactly as you had imagined it while writing it over and over in your manifestation journal, it wasn’t bad, and you were sure you could work your way up. This story was a chance for you to do so, so why would you pass it up?

What you didn’t know when you accepted the assignment weeks before the nominations came out, was that your new boyfriend, Alex Moore, would be nominated for Best Chef in the Midwest. This wouldn’t have been a problem- in fact quite the opposite -if it weren’t for the fact that your toxic ex who you hadn’t seen in ages was nominated for The Same. Damn. Award.

Now it’s May, and the dreaded day has arrived. You finish applying your vampy lipstick with a shaky hand as you hear Alex yell for you from downstairs. You two have been together for about 10 months now, and it’s been great. Alex is good; he’s stable. Sure he’s a bit egotistical and barely has any free time, but he’s a chef, aren’t they all that way? Alex talks about the future with you, he always calls when he’s tied up at the restaurant, he tells you he loves you.

He’s nothing like your ex, which is a good thing. You think. You love him. You think.

You rush down the stairs with your red Louboutins click-clacking on each wooden step. The shoes had been a six-month anniversary gift from Alex, who apparently didn’t know that anniversary means year. Your boyfriend came from old money which he loved to throw around, especially when it came to spoiling you. He had also purchased the dress you were wearing that night. It wasn’t something you would pick out, but it was nice. Simple and sexy without showing much skin.

“Finally,” he sighs, seeing you make it to the bottom of the stairs, “You look great in that dress. Shoes are a nice touch.”

“Thanks baby,” you say, approaching him where he stands by the counter, “You look hot,”

You go to give him a kiss but he puts his hand up before your lips can reach him, “Hey! Watch it!” He scolds, “I don’t want red lipstick marks all over me when I accept my award tonight, so you’re gonna have to keep it in your pants, nympho,”

You roll your eyes at the nickname, one that he gave you a few weeks into living together. Alex thinks it’s crazy that you want to have sex once (if not maybe two or three times) a day. He’s nothing like your ex.

—

When you arrive at the awards ceremony, your heart is racing. You had been squeezing Alex’s hand like a lifeline the entire ride there; he chalked it up to you being nervous about the work aspect of tonight.

You weave through people hand-in-hand with your boyfriend, saying hello to those you recognized, being introduced to those you didn’t. Currently, you were becoming acquainted with the sommelier from some new fusion place. Alex knew him from college. Or from when he did his training in Belgium? You aren't sure, you weren’t really listening. The only thing you’re focused on tonight is avoiding a very specific nominee. You hope you don’t seem too distracted in this (very boring) conversation.

“I’m gonna go find our seats,” you say to Alex, excusing yourself from the hellish small-talk, “It was great to meet you,” you say to- actually, you never caught her name.

As you saunter through the rows of tables, scanning each place card for you and your lover’s names, you try to calm yourself down. “No sign of him yet,” you think, “Maybe he won’t even come. That would be just like him, not showing up.”

Finally, you find the place card reading “Alex Moore”, but when you look at the table setting next to it, it’s empty. You glance around the table- maybe it blew off the plate? As you scan the surrounding area, you grow a bit concerned. Did they forget to put your name out? Were you even supposed to be there? You had no trouble getting in at the door, but-

“Looking for this?”

You freeze. Of fucking course he found your seat before you could.

You turn on your stiletto to see no one other than your ex-boyfriend, Carmen Berzatto, Executive Chef of The Bear. He stares back at you with your place card between his two fingers like a cigarette. Fitting.

“Please give that back,” you say, doing your best to seem unfazed by his presence.

“Wow,” he responds in mock-offense, “That’s the hello I get after all this time? C’mon, Jig,”

You wince at the nickname. You and Carmen had met while you were bartending in college. He was a regular at your bar, and you were a bright-eyed bushy-tailed 21-year-old hoping to make it as a food writer in the big city. You two bonded over your love of food, and would trade recommendations back and forth for different spots around town. You were the only bartender out of the whole staff who used a jigger (was no one else worried about their ratios??), so before he knew your name he would just call you Jigger, which then got shortened to Jig. Even after he finally asked for your name (and number), and even throughout your 3-year relationship (if you could even call it that), he still called you Jig more than your actual name.

“Hello Carmen,” you reply with a tight smile, extending your hand, “May I please have my place card for my seat?” You ask again.

As he opens his mouth to respond, you hear Alex calling out for you, “Babe!” He quickly walks over to where you and Carmen stand, “Hey, you found our seats?” He turns to look at Carmen, “Hey man, good to see you!” He embraces the chef, and takes a step back, looking at the place card in his hand, “Why do you have my girlfriend’s name in your hand?”

You panic. “Ummm… Carmen here found it on the ground, and he was kind enough to pick it up and come find me with it,” You (not so kindly) snatch the white paper out from between his fingers, “thank you again,” You hope your tone makes it clear that you want him to walk away.

“Find you…” Alex looks between the two of you, obviously confused, “Sorry, do you two know each other?” Shit.

Carmen looks at you, amused. You didn’t tell your boyfriend about him.

“Yeah!” You say, a little too enthusiastically, “Um yeah! I erm, I interviewed Carmen about The Bear for that article a few months back, remember honey?”

Alex looks back at you and thinks for a second. “Oh right, I remember that article,”

You never wrote an article about The Bear.

“And how could I forget such a face,” Carmen chimes in. You try to give him a warning with your eyes, and he seems to receive it when he says, “Well, it’s good to see you both, I should go find my place card this time. Good luck out there tonight, Alex,” He pats your boyfriend on the bicep.

“Hey, you too, man,” Alex responds, grinning. As Carmen walks away, he leans down to you and whispers not-so-discreetly, “He’ll need it,”

You try to ignore the comment as the two of you sit down. Your boyfriend was a good chef, a great chef even, but Carmen was better. When you read through the nominations all those months ago, you knew he would win tonight. As someone who had watched the man in his element, there was no doubt in your mind: Carmen would take home the award.

As people continue to mingle and find their seats, you take a glance around the room. The reception hall was huge, there had to be at least a thousand people in the building. Which is why it’s so painfully ironic that Carmen’s seat is in direct eye-line with yours. As you continue to survey your surroundings, his icy blue eyes meet yours. He was staring at you with a familiar look in his eye, and you try to ignore the knots it was tying your stomach into. You quickly look away, turning your attention back to Alex. He turns to look at you, and you go to give him a quick peck, forgetting your conversation from earlier. He once again stops you, rearing his head back to avoid your lips (or your lipstick, rather, so he claims).

“Sorry, I forgot,” you say dejectedly to your boyfriend, who looks at you like you just tried to stab him, “I’m gonna run to the bathroom really quickly before they get started,” you tell him, touching his arm.

“Okay, my speech won’t be until later in the ceremony, so no rush babe,” your ever so confident man responds.

You grab your purse as you head out of the large room, searching for the bathroom. You wish you could find an usher…

“Looking for the restroom?” Asks a young man in a suit. You nod. “It’s-“

“I can show her,” you hear from behind you as someone takes your arm, and before you know it, Carmen is leading you down the hall.

You quickly pull back from him, “Would you leave me alone?” You say quietly, hoping no one is watching or hearing this, “I am trying to work and enjoy my night, okay? You should do the same,” you start down the hallway again, alone this time.

“Alright…” Carmen says behind you, “the bathroom isn’t that way, just so you know.”

You stop, and turn to face him again, “So then where the fuck were you taking me?” You ask, exasperated.

“Well, if you would let me show you…” Carmen looks at you expectantly.

You stare back at him silently, and finally allow yourself to actually look at him. He looks good. Like, really good. Carmen never dresses up, but when he does, good lord he’s a sight for sore eyes. You indulge, ogling at the way his black dress shirt sits taught against his strong chest. Even under the thick suit he has on, you can see his strong arms. Those arms that used to hold you, throw you around, flip you over, help you bounce up and down on-

“My eyes are up here, y’know,” Carmen says sarcastically, obviously noticing what you were doing.

You ignore his comment and his noticing, “if I follow you to this mystery place will you leave me alone tonight?”

“Is that really what you want?” Carmen responds with a certain edge to his voice. An edge you recognize. An edge you miss.

You gulp. “Yes,” you say quietly.

“You were always a bad liar,” Carmen mutters, walking past you down the hall, “c’mon, Jig,” he says for the second time tonight.

—

After a few more hallways and a flight of stairs, you and Carmen arrive on the roof of the building. As soon as you’re outside, the blonde pulls out a pack of cigarettes, silently offering you one as his hangs out of his mouth.

“No thanks, I quit,” you say, putting your hand up.

“Well look at you, changed woman,” He jokes as he lights his cigarette, “Old Money Moore wasn’t into it?”

You roll your eyes at the jab at your boyfriend, “For your information, I quit before me and Alex even met,” you look down at your shoes and shiver a bit in the evening air, “why are we up here, Carmen?”

“Will you stop calling me that?”

“Stop calling you your name?”

“Yeah, it’s weird. You never used to call me that,” he takes another drag of his cigarette, “I mean, unless we were fighting,”

“So most of the time, actually,” You respond, humorlessly.

“Did we spend most of our time fighting?” The man looks you up and down as he continues to smoke, “As I recall we spent most of our time fucking,” he exhales.

You bring your fingers to your temples, “Oh my God, get to the point,” you glance down at your phone, “the ceremony’s going to start soon, and I really don’t want to miss anything,” you say. And you mean it - you have a goddamn article to write!

“Is he gay?” Carmen smirks at you.

“W- what? Is who gay? What are you talking about?”

“Your ‘boyfriend’,” he makes air-quotes around the word, “Alex, is he gay?”

You have half a mind to just turn around and head back to the ceremony, but you don’t. You’re not sure why. Yes you are.

“Firstly, he is my boyfriend. No need for the air quotes, asshole,” You start, annoyed that you’re even having this stupid conversation, “secondly, no, he is not gay. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a woman, and we’re in a relationship, so,”

“Oh I’ve noticed,” Carmen says, raking his eyes up and down your body, “I was just asking because I watched him refuse to kiss you earlier,” he throws his cigarette on the concrete ground, stubbing it out with his foot, “and any man who refuses to kiss a woman who looks like you, well, I just have to assume he probably isn’t into women,”

Your face goes hot. Half from the embarrassment, half from arousal. Boy was he laying it on thick. You clear your throat and meet his eyes, which you had been avoiding doing since the two of you got alone.

“Not that it’s really any of your business,” you start, narrowing your eyes at Carmen, “but he asked me not to kiss him so that I wouldn’t get lipstick on him for when he-“ you cut yourself off, realizing how ridiculous it sounds out loud.

Carmen chuckles, staring into your soul. You avert your eyes.

“When he what, baby?” He asks, coyly.

“Don’t call me that,” you say sternly. Or at least try to.

Carmen starts walking towards you, slowly. He backs you up against the wall behind you until there’s only a few inches of space between the two of you. You still avoid meeting his eyes.

“Jig, look at me,” he says quietly, and you obey, finally locking eyes with him. He moves even closer to you and puts his hand on the wall above you, caging you in, “he doesn’t want your lipstick on him for when he does what?” Your faces are so close he’s almost whispering. God, you wish he would leave you alone. No you don’t.

“For when he wins the award tonight…” you say, barely loud enough for Carmen to hear. But he obviously does, as he hangs his head and laughs. The tops of his curls nearly touch your nose. You stare up at the sky again, half from embarrassment, half from arousal. He was so goddamn close. You could smell him.

He lifts his head, still chuckling a bit, “that dumbass thinks he’s going to win the award tonight?” He asks you in disbelief, “like seriously?”

You knew Carmen would win the award, there was no doubt about it, but he was being a major asshole. A sexy asshole, but it was a bit much.

“Carmy-” You go to tell him it wouldn’t be impossible for Alex to win, but you freeze when the nickname slips out of your mouth. He smiles devilishly at you.

“There it is,” he says with that shit-eating grin on his face, “say it again,” he whispers, getting his mouth dangerously close to yours.

“Stop it,” you whisper back. His nose nudges yours and you turn your head to the side.

“What’s my name baby?” Carmy murmurs as he ghosts his lips up and down your neck, “Say it again, sweet girl,” he pulls the neckline of your dress to the side and bites down.

“Carmy,” You whine. You grip his shirt, trying to find something to ground you as your ex-boyfriend sucks a mark into your collarbone, “please, I can’t,”

“But you want to,” he smirks as he continues kissing your neck, your insides becoming molten lava, “Alex doesn’t need to worry about your lipstick on his face, baby. You know why?” He pulls back and looks you in your eyes, already glazed-over and needy, “because I’m gonna win that goddamn award,” he grips your waist as he pulls you tightly to him and whispers in your ear, “and then I’m gonna fuck his girlfriend while I wear it.”

You try to catch your breath as he releases you and your back hits the wall. Carmen takes his thumb and runs it over your bottom lip. You think he’s going to put it in your mouth, but he just wipes a bit of the lipstick off of it. You watch in lustful amazement as he then takes the red pigment and rubs it on his neck underneath his collar. He pushes off the wall and without a word leaves you standing up on the roof, alone, soaking through your underwear.

—

“Jeez, did you fall in?” Alex says quietly as you shimmy into your seat. You had missed the beginning of the ceremony. “Are you feeling okay? You look a bit flushed,” he rests a hand on your thigh and you give him a small smile.

“Yeah, sorry, you know women’s bathroom lines…” you say through tight lips, hoping he doesn’t ask any more questions.

Your prayers are answered when your boyfriend simply nods and turns back to the presenters. You turn to see Carmy staring holes through you, with that stupid goddamn smirk on his face. You take a deep breath and try to return your attention to the stage.

—

You sit through a handful of awards and speeches, and finally it comes to the “Best Chef” section of the night. Up first: Midwest. AKA: Your Boyfriend vs. Your Ex. Your heart races as you watch the presenter give a speech about the award and the nominees. He reads off all of the names of the nominees, and your palms sweat as you rest a hand on Alex’s shoulder.

The room is quiet as the announcer says, “And the James Beard Award goes to…”

You inhale.

“…Carmen Berzatto of The Bear!”

You exhale.

Alex curses under his breath and clenches his fists. You try to rub his back but for the third time tonight, he pushes you away. You sit quietly with your hands in your lap as Carmen takes the stage. God, why does he look so good even in stage lighting?

Carmen walks up to the microphone after having the medal placed on him by the presenter.

“Wow. Um, I’d like to thank my team first and foremost, I wouldn’t be able to achieve anything without them. I’d erm, I’d like to specifically thank Sydney Adamu, my sous chef and partner. She really should be the one up here, but I guess I’ll take it,” The crowd laughs along with him, “I’m really grateful for this award and anyone who’s ever eaten at The Bear. Thank you.” He looks dead into your eyes and grabs the medal as he ends his speech, “I can’t wait to wear this thing!”

Everyone laughs except for you, whose face goes beet red. Luckily the lights are dim enough for it not to be an issue, but you can hear the blood pumping in your ears. You turn your attention back to Alex, whose ears had apparently had steam coming out of them for the past two minutes.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” he mutters, “that was supposed to be my award. After all the fucking money my parents donated to this foundation? What a joke.”

You pretend you don’t hear your boyfriend whining like a spoiled brat, “Are you okay?” You ask sweetly, “It’s just an award baby, it doesn’t really mean anything,” you try to replace your hand on his shoulder but he swats it away. Hard.

“Jesus can you not touch me for like five fucking seconds?” He says, pretty loudly, considering they’re in the middle of presenting the Best Chef Northeast award. You look up to see if anyone heard and see Carmy coming down the steps of the stage, clenching his jaw as he watches the interaction. You hold your stinging hand and excuse yourself to the restroom before your tears of anger can spill over.

As you stand in the mirror, dabbing your eyes before any more tears can fall, you hear the bathroom door creak open and the deadbolt turn. Behind you in the mirror appears who else but Carmen fucking Berzatto, wearing that stupid fucking James Beard Award. You stare at him through the mirror, silently.

“Well, aren’t you gonna congratulate me?” He says, walking towards you. You turn around to face him, “C’mon, Jig, nothing?”

You stare at Carmen. You watch the way he stares back. All of today’s events race through your head. All the times your boyfriend rejected you, dismissed you, ignored you. Those moments on the roof, the adrenaline you felt, Carmy’s words ringing through your mind.

“and then I’m gonna fuck his girlfriend while I wear it.”

You reach out and grab the medal on his chest and use it to pull him into you. It’s intense off the bat, a mix of teeth tongue and lips, hands frantically grasping at each other. Carmy grips your neck and your waist as you lace your fingers through his curls and give a tug that earns you a soft moan. You begin kissing down his neck, leaving dark red lipstick marks all over. You push his sport coat off his shoulders and begin undoing the buttons at the top of his shirt.

“Eager, are we?” Carmen teases, helping you in removing his shirt.

“Just shut up and fuck me, Bear,” you respond, bringing his mouth back to yours.

“Mmm,” Carmen pulls away, “what happened to my good girl who used to beg so politely?”

“She only gets fucked once every two weeks so she’s kind of impatient right now,” you say as you continue to place kisses all over Carmy’s upper body and palm at his erection.

“Hold the fuck-“ Carmy pushes you off of him and looks at you with shock on his face, “that asshole only fucks you twice a month??”

You look back at him in all of his glory. His curls messy from your hands, his sculpted form covered in your lipstick marks, his pupils blown, his dick, well, huge. Why did you ever give this up?

“He just doesn’t have a high sex drive he says,” you shrug, putting your hands back onto him, “I don’t really wanna talk right now, Carmy,”

“Does he at least eat you out first?” He looks genuinely perplexed and frightened by this information. How could someone have this masterpiece of a woman under their roof and not be ravaging her at least once a day?

“I asked you to fuck me, not make me laugh, Berzatto,” you deadpan back at the man, “seriously, now you know how much I need this, so please,”

“Oh you need it bad, baby,” Carmen says as he turns you around to face the mirror. He begins unzipping your dress ever so slowly, leaving kisses across every inch of your back. You step out of your dress, left only in your matching bra and underwear along with your red Louboutins. “Turn around,” Carmy orders.

You do so. You look at Carmy through your lashes, feeling equally exposed and terrifyingly aroused. The man growls underneath his breath, just staring at you.

“What a fucking idiot,” he says, before picking you up and placing you on the countertop, “doesn’t fucking realize what he has, rich fucking asshole,” Carmy mutters more nasty things about your boyfriend as he pulls your panties down your legs. He smells the soaked fabric before putting them in the pocket of his trousers. He pulls your legs open and groans loudly. “Jesus, baby, is all this for me?” He runs a finger through your soaked folds, collecting some of your arousal which had been building since you first saw him hours ago.

You squirm atop the counter as Carmy just toys with you. He stares at your vagina with amazement, like it’s a piece of art. Finally, he dives in, licking a flat stripe from your entrance to your clit. You gasp loudly. One of your hands flies to grip onto the counter top while the other finds purchase in the golden curls currently perched between your thighs.

It’s just as good as you remember it. That’s the problem, always has been. The sex is so goddamn good. It’s what kept you crawling back every time Carmen would hurt you for 3 long years. You hated your past self for always giving in, but right now, you understood her completely.

Carmy swirled his tongue around your clit as he inserted two thick fingers into your entrance, curling them just right. The stretch was like nothing else. You let out a beautiful noise, causing him to groan into your pussy, the vibrations adding to the delicious stimulation. You clenched around his fingers as he continued his ministrations, feeling that familiar knot tightening in your lower stomach.

“You gonna give me one?” Carmy says, looking up at you with a soaked face and hungry eyes, “You gonna come all over my fingers, baby?”

“Yes, Carmy, yes, oh my god,” you babble, feeling so close, “please don’t stop baby,”

Carmen raises to his feet while continuing to finger you. He pulls you closer to him, leaning into your ear. “Does that feel good, princess?”

As you moan uncontrollably as you muster a “yes feels good,” but you know the questioning won’t end there.

“Yeah baby?” Carmen adds a third finger and you squeal, “how good does it feel?”

“God it feels so good please don’t stop,”

“Who’s making you feel this good, sweet girl?” He continues to whisper into your ear.

“You Carmy, it’s always you,” you respond breathily, the coil in your stomach moments from snapping.

“Say it again,” Carmen growls.

“Carmy oh my god-“ and with that your vision blanks. Your legs shake as you come harder than you have since… well since the last time you fucked Carmy. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he continues his movements, prolonging your orgasm.

You grip onto his strong shoulders as you come down, resting your forehead against his as he removes his fingers from you.

“Jesus Christ,” you say, as you watch him stick all three fingers into his mouth and suck off your residue. You watch familiarly as he gathers spit in his mouth and grabs your jaw. Knowing the routine, you gladly open your mouth, as he spits in the mixture of the two of you. You moan as you taste yourself mixed with Carmen.

“Swallow,” he demands, holding your throat. And you do. “There’s my good girl,” he says, undoing his belt with one hand, “thought I lost you there, baby,”

You hum contentedly as he continues to hold you by your throat while he pulls his cock out of his pants and boxers. You moan at the sight of the state of it. Veins bulging, tip bright red and leaking, and, well, huge.

Carmen pumps himself a few times before saying, “take your bra off,” letting go of your throat to opt for one of your newly free breasts, “love these fucking tits, god.”

You squeeze your legs together as he strokes himself while playing with your nipples. It’s hot, but you need more. Now.

“Carmy, please,” you said, making your sweetest eyes at him, “I need you so bad,”

“You gonna beg me baby?” He responds with that stupid grin on his face.

“I’ll do anything,” you say, disregarding your pride (and your boyfriend).

“Is that right, angel?” He asks, caressing your face as you nod, lowering his voice, “you’ll do anything for this dick?” He continues stroking it as he looks into your eyes, “you need to get fucked so badly that you’re in here begging me for my cock while your boyfriend’s in the other room. Didn’t realize you were such a slut, baby,”

Your pussy throbs as Carmen continues to taunt you, “yes, I’ll do anything please,” you’re truly so desperate at this point, “please just give me your cock Carmy,”

“Say it,”

“Say what?” You ask, genuinely confused.

“Say you’re my slut,”

You gulp. “I- I’m your slut,”

“And why are you a slut?”

“B-because I’m in here begging for your cock when my boyfriend’s right outside…”

“And why are you begging me for my cock when you have a boyfriend?”

Okay this interrogation was getting old.

“Because it’s so much better, Carmy, please just give me your dick haven’t I been good?”

“You’ve been so good, baby,” Carmy says as he pries open your thighs and buries himself inside of you.

You yelp at the intrusion, not expecting himself to push himself in to the hilt on the first stroke.

Carmen lifts up your right leg and puts it over his shoulder. Then the left. He watches as your tits bounce while you half-lay on the countertop. You watch as his medal bounces on his chest with each thrust. He notices.

“You like that baby?” He asks, snaking a hand down to rub circles on your clit, “you like getting fucked by the best chef in the midwest?”

“Yes Carmy, fuck, just like that,” you moan out, “best dick in the midwest,” you say, somewhat jokingly.

Carmen half-laughs half-growls at the comment, “that’s fucking right, baby, best dick you’ll ever have. That’s why you keep coming back, right? That’s why you’re in here cheating on your stupid fucking boyfriend? Yeah?” With that last comment, he delivers a slap to your clit, causing you to scream and your pussy to clamp down around him.

“Fuck always so tight, princess, always so good for me,” Carmy babbles, getting lost inside of you, “this is my pussy. No one else’s. Say it.”

“It’s- fuck!” You yell as Carmen adjusts his angle, now hitting your G-spot over and over, “It’s your pussy Carmy, fuck! It belongs to you, I belong to you, oh my God don’t stop, please!”

It seems like Carmy misheard you as he stops fucking you and pulls you down off the counter top and kisses you ferociously. He grabs at your ass and you whine at the loss of him inside of you.

“Hold on baby, I’ve got you,” he says against your lips, “just need to do something,” he says, as he lifts off his medal and places it around your neck. You look up at him, confused. “Turn around,” he says, darkly.

You turn around to look at yourself in the mirror. There’s a red mark around your neck from where Carmen was gripping you, your updo from earlier is now mostly down, your chest is littered with small hickies, and between your tits lies a motherfucking James Beard Award.

Carmen pushes on your upper back so that you’re leaning over the counter and re-enters you at a punishing pace. The bathroom is filled with lewd noises of skin slapping skin and moaning. You look up to see Carmen staring at you through the mirror. Except, he’s not looking at your face, he’s staring at your tits. Wait. No. He’s staring at the medal bouncing with your tits.

Carmen looks into your eyes through the mirror, “yeah look at you,” he growls, somehow pushing into you even faster now, “my girl wearing my fucking award. Jesus Christ look at that,” he watches intently as the piece of silver bounces off of your chest with each thrust he delivers, “fuck, who’s the best baby?”

“It’s you, Carmy, you’re the best,” you moan out in response, “you’re the best,”

Carmen reaches around you and grabs the medal, but keeps the ribbon around your neck. He pulls on it just enough that your back arches and your head falls onto his shoulder. The new angle this creates is mind-blowing, and you once again moan all too loudly. Carmen litters kisses and bites along the shell of your ear.

“I’m so close baby,” he strains into your ear, “want you to come with me,”

With that he takes his free hand and resumes his work on your clit. The combination of the dragging of his thick cock over your G-spot over and over again with the tight circles he’s rubbing into you has you barreling towards your second orgasm. Knowing your body the way he does, Carmy can tell, and he tries his best to time his release with yours.

With one final stroke, you’re coming undone on Carmy’s dick, throat still held tight by the ribbon of his award. Carmen stutters as he comes inside of you with a groan, holding your hips in a way that will bruise as he paints your insides, the warmth adding to your intense pleasure. You both come down from your highs with a collection of sighs and moans, and finally, Carmy pulls out of you. You whimper at the loss of contact and the feeling of him leaking out of you.

Wordlessly, you begin to dress yourself again. You don’t even bother asking Carmen for your panties back, that’s an argument you’ve lost to him enough times already. You zip your dress back up, Carmen silently helping you get it to the top as he too works on making himself decent again. You attempt to fix your hair looking in the mirror, getting it back to a somewhat similar state to when you arrived earlier this evening. You smooth out your dress, and go to walk out of the bathroom when Carmen clears his throat.

“You, um,” he looks at the floor before making that piercing eye contact he’s so good at, “you deserve better, you know, than that asshole,”

You stare back at the man you loved for so many years. The man you still love today. He was right, you did deserve better. Better than Alex, but better than him, too. You nod back at him with tears in your eyes.

“Congratulations on your award, Carmen,” you say quietly. You walk out of the bathroom, back to the ceremony.

[eddis-not-eeddis]

I haven't really talked about this a lot on here, though most of my long time mutuals have probably noticed that I've started studying Japanese.

My reason for learning Japanese is that I'm planning to spend next summer in Japan, and possibly even live there long term if things play out right.

Japan is a country with a little over 122 million people. Of those, less than 2% are Christian. In fact, according to the missionaries in the prayer group I belong to, a significant portion of the Christians in Japan are foreigners.

When I first learned of this in February this year, it bowled me over, and I wanted to somehow become involved in Japanese missions, even though at that time I had no plans to become a "missionary."

But as I continued to get involved (joining prayer groups, donating to various missions and missionaries, attending conventions, and making contacts who are active in the mission work in Japan), the more I realized I can't just sit back and do things from the comfort of my own home. Japan is a developed nation, but one missionary working there told me that many Japanese people won't meet a Christian at any point in their life, and if they do, the Christians they meet will likely not share their faith.

To me that's heartbreaking.

So my plan is to go to Japan. I don't know if going as a traditional missionary is something I can do, or even want to do. I have a lot of missionaries in my family, and I've seen a lot of the ways the modern mission model has failed. That said, I'm not opposed to it, if I can find a mission board that will accept me.

I have a lot to do, and a lot of things will have to fall into place before I can make it to Japan, and it will be a very labor intensive and expensive process. I know if this is the work the Lord requires of me, that a way will be provided, but I am still a little daunted.

If I could get prayers towards this area specifically, I would very much appreciate it.

I need the money to get there, I need to be able to find work--either as a missionary, or I must find a job that will let me work overseas--I need to figure out what I'm going to do with my education (do I continue in my current major which doesn't really transfer very well to the Japanese job market), I need to make more connections, I need to do SOOOOOOOOOOO much paperwork, and I need to become fluent in the language.

If you would pray for these things, and that the right doors will be opened for me, and for wisdom throughout this whole process, I would be immensely grateful.

This was never something I had planned on. I'm pretty lost. But God knows the way, and I trust that if he wants me to do this, he will enable me.

[marscantread7]

Don't feel like doing that fancy shit w/ the pictures and borders and colors, so js headcanons I have for Sy and Xav and YOU! The reader, not mc. So basically Xavier and Sylus x regular, avg citizen reader. Ig for info. Ur a college student working some normal job js to pay off ur tuition. Like a barista or sumn. Not doing fast food, bc I'm currently a drive-thru worker at a fast food place and I cannot put my self insert character through that😭💔

Sorry abt the other LIs😭💔 I'm tryna get rid of my drafts so I'm js gonna do my two favorites for rn💀💀💀 I'll come back to this concept w/ the other three at a later date

Xavier

- he's suupppeeerrr overprotective of u. Bc like, ur not an evolver at all, and u have no sense of urgency, so like anytime there's fluctuations in the area, or even a wanderer appearance, he's teleporting u far, far away

- He loves helping u study for exams >_< and like, for ur online classes, esp if it's a gen ed class that isn't important to ur major, he will do ur assignments for u and even take tests and quizzes

- "Brings me back to the good ol days🙂‍↕️"

- He will have u bring home recipes for the new coffee ur shop has for a limited time so he can practice making it. He really loves (to try) cooking for u ans even if his croissants come out a little burnt, u enjoy it either way.

- u actually live in a dorm bc unfortunately u can't afford an apartment😓💔 Xavier always gets nervous when he's there bc "what if ur roommate says smth?" And ur js like, "She's always bringing smb new over. I promise u, she will not gaf abt me bringing the same boy over everyday."

- he will always make sure to visit the coffee shop everyday to get breakfast or lunch, and even drop off a treat for u.

- "Saw this fresh banana bread and brought u a few slices"

- keeps u in the dark abt everything involving protocores and wanderers bc bless ur soul! Ur too curious for ur own good and would definitely try to do ur own exploring

- he's caught u one too many times looking up the N109 Zone and has scolded u for it.

- oh yeah! And nothing against u, but he refuses to tell u that he's Lumiere bc of how curious u r. And crazy. U would definitely try to hunt him down to get exclusive pictures for ur Lumiere blog💀💀💀

- "Omg Xav!!! Look at this new Lumiere post? He's so cool!"

- *Xavier trying to keep his cool* Yeah. I bet he is😅😅😅

Sylus

- ur more chronically online than he originally thought when he first met u

- "What would u do if when he okay, so u said yes would go?" "Darling, what the FUCK r u talking abt rn?"

- he's trying so hard to convince u that u don't need to work and he can js pay off school for u

- "Crow man. Listen. I get ur super, mega rich, but u might not always be here to support me. I also feel like less of a burden on u. At least w/ my own money I have that security and assurance that I can still support myself if things don't work out between us, or if smth happens to u." "Kitten, I get that, but for the time being, I'm truly not going anywhere. Why don't u js let me pay for everything and u js put all ur money in a savings. I truly don't mind letting u use all my money, I have more than enough to spare."

- gave u one of his apartments to live in so ur not in those janky ass dorms.

- He refuses to let u step foot inside the N109 zone

- "Ur lucky ur even alive rn. If I hadn't caught u snooping around all those months ago-" "Ugh! Live a little? Aren't u all abt living life ln edge?"

- has to hide his motorcycle from u bc for some reason u know how to hotwire different vehicles????

- Mephisto always snitches on u when ur up to no good

- Srsly, bless ur heart. Ur such a curious soul, and Sylus HATES it. He's genuinely surprised on how u have made it this far in life bc the amount of dangerous situations he finds u in

- "So u knew the energy fluctuations in this area were high and u still decided to go???" "I've always wanted to see a Wanderer in person" "😐"

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

Haha😭😭 js Starcrow w/ a regular ass reader who has no sense of danger LMFAOOO. Kinda half assed the end of them bc I'm js trying to clear out my drafts rn while I have a burst of writing energy rn

[gremlin-girly]

Valentine's Night

Pairing: Bucky x f!Reader

Tags/Warnings: FLUFF, established relationship, petnames (dolll)

I don't want to spoil the story with the last tag but it's all Fluff I promise.

Not beta'd and I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI Machine.

Summary: Your boyfriend is determined to ensure you have a good Valentine's day.

Word count: 752

Dividers by: @/enchanthings-a

Navigation | Valentine's Masterlist | Bucky Masterlist

Bucky used to be a romantic. Emphasis on used to be.

It's not that he wouldn't buy flowers or do romantic things but more the mindset of life being lovey-dovey, sunshine and rainbows after living 70 years as a ghost was seemingly pointless.

Until he met you.

Re-learning to be a romantic was probably one of the hardest things Bucky had re-learned to do. Turns out, what used to be normal in the 30s was now one of many things; misogynistic, toxic, too fast, desperate, archaic, or bordering on stalker behaviour.

He hadn't wanted to come on too strong but your patience with him and slowly fanned the embers deep within his soul and now flames soared in their place. You'd only been dating a short while, although Bucky had been pining after you for some time, and when he'd mentioned Valentine's Day (hoping to gauge your thoughts on a romantic dinner) he was surprised to find that you despised the holiday and all that it (currently) stood for.

"It used to be a celebration of love," you said, scrunching your nose in disgust as you stab at your food. "Now it's commercialised by companies to make a major profit."

Bucky smiled half at your cute expression and half relieved that it wasn't something he had to plan for in too much detail.

"So, what would you want to do doll?" He'd asked, testing the waters.

You blinked in surprise, faint splash of pink gracing your cheeks. "Oh. Well. Erm... I'd like a quiet night in with some wine."

Bucky nods, taking a forkful of food and chewing thoughtfully. If a quiet night in was what you wanted, it was what you'd get. However, Bucky was determined it was going to be a night to remember.

Bucky had set up everything perfectly. A dozen red roses (because he couldn't help himself), wine, ice cream, blanket fort and a good movie.

Nothing over the top, no glitter, no hearts.

But Bucky was still nervous when you came over after work. He wrung his hands and raked his hair every two minutes, completely restless. Moreso when you handed him a card and a bar of his favourite chocolate.

He hadn't gotten you a card, he felt awful. But every card had "I love you"'s plastered all over them and Bucky didn't want to scare you off, even if he really wanted to give you one.

You, on the other hand, were also a nervous wreck. You'd tried to downplay your expectations for Valentine's Day, not wanting Bucky to feel pressured to do anything extravagant given how early you were in your relationship, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't want anything at all. Despite being concrete in your stance that Valentine's Day was now a horrid money-making scheme, Bucky had exceeded your expectations by miles and you were struggling not to blurt out something that could potentially tank your relationship, and ruin your card, in mere seconds.

Bucky gently opened the red envelope, muttering an apology for not getting you a card, pulling out a card covered in red hearts and two cartoon bears hugging eachother.

The front of the card read "To the one I love on Valentine's Day" and the inside of the card had a message scrawled in your handwriting, and a printed Happy Valentine's Day in red slap bang in the centre. It read as follows;

"To Bucky,

Happy Valentine's Day!

I know I said I didn't like Valentine's but I couldn't not get you something. These last few months have been amazing and I look forward to many more together.

Love you lots,

Y/N xxx"

Bucky's breathing all but halted, his blue eyes scanning your message over and over again. You shifted uncomfortably, wondering if you'd been too forward, if he was scared by your very roundabout declaration of love for him.

"Listen if it's too much too soon I-"

"I love you." Bucky blurts, flushing red. Your face follows suit as heat rolls up your neck and your heart thuds happily. "I mean, too. I love you too."

"I love you too, Buck." You reply, a giant beaming smile appearing over your face. "And happy Commercialised Heart Day."

Making your first declarations of love on Valentine's Day took the sourness out of the day itself, and replaced it instead with a tradition of wine and ice cream every year from then on - with plenty of kisses and "I love you"'s to make any Valentine's card jealous

End

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@awkwardgiraffe726 | @irishhappiness | @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers

[cats-artbag]

SwapOut/Webcomic/Twitch PSA!

Hi everyone 👋🏻 Zk here >< or Cats, for older followers

So I've been getting back into doing SwapOut again, but I would like to appeal to everyone who reads and loves the comic. Much love to all of you who's still sticking around 🙏🏻💙 But something has also always been bothering me throughout this journey.

As many of us know, we artists do these comics for free (especially fan comics), starting them out of love and taking a LOT of time and energy out of our lives to continue making them.

And it's amazing how many of you come from translations or comic dubs on Youtube, which are also very well-done and take a lot of effort to make, much love to them too. There is a difference, however.

Monetization.

And I'm not asking for pity! I'm appealing for understanding.

Because some comic dubbers on Youtube are able to earn ad revenue from the videos they upload. From the beginning, we artists have given them the permission to dub our works. But we don't receive anything from it, nor do we usually charge them for using our art (against our better judgement).

We let them use our comic pages in their monetized videos for free. And occasionally these videos receive thousands and millions of views, which I imagine gives a decent amount of ad revenue, while the artists themselves don't usually earn anything from their own artwork, nor do we ever want to put it behind a paywall of any kind. (we like reading free comics too so don't worry x|)

... But doing full-colored comic pages for free eventually gets hard to sustain without any income from it, even more so when we need to give our time and energy to other jobs to earn money for a living instead. We legitimately keep going on our comics purely out of love. Truly, we would LOVE to do our own art for a living. There's things like Patreon but it's only feasible if we're also able to produce bonus content or show BTS, and only people willing to spend money for them can help us, and not readers who aren't able to.

And we understand that not everyone can afford to support us monetarily. And that's okay!

But if you love these comics and want to really help us to keep going, there ARE ways you can easily support us for free!

For example, affiliates on Twitch (like myself) are able to earn ad revenue very early on (they must have at least 50 followers, quite a requirement, but still easier to obtain than Youtube's 1000 subscribers).

(my Youtube, btw. not much rn but drop a subscribe?)

But simply put, if the vast majority of readers from the yt numbers visit and stay for ads on the artists' Twitch streams (remember to have adblocker disabled for the site, if any), they'll be making an actual, physical contribution to the artist themselves, at no cost whatsoever. We earn up to 55% from any ads that run on our stream, so the more viewers, the better!

(this is my twitch on average 8 viewers, with a 3 hour stream. again, the more the better!)

(ofc you can also buy subs to watch ad-free and supports me directly, but i'm typing all this to share the free ways people can support their fave creators ✨)

And even if that doesn't work out, I'd be happy enough to see most of you there 🙏🏻💙 I've been treating my streams as work, so I'm striving not to break the streak.

So drop a follow on my Twitch, and catch the streams when you can! They're great if you need company or background noise, and also great for co-working~

Currently streaming WEEKLY, Mondays, Wednesdays (SwapOut) and Saturdays, 10.30AM EST

(art by @cupcakepaints)

>> twitch.tv/zkcats <<

Anyway thanks for listening to my Ted talk, please share this around for others as well >< 🙏🏻 Artists, make this a reblog chain or something! Promo your stuff!

And apologies for the essay, I wasn't expecting to type this much sdghsgh this itself is not an ad for Twitch or whatev, I'm just a little frustrated with needing to juggle all this.

I was also considering hosting SwapOut somewhere that could get ad revenue, but I wasn't sure where until I realized I can probably earn that from my Tapas now (i think?? sdfhgh up to 70% ad revenue there but i haven't seen any yet) So maybe I'll post there a day earlier than here or something? We'll see. Go subscribe there! Check it out! Reread it! Help ME help YOU!

... Much appreciated ><

[crowleysgirl56]

The vast majority of people who work on a show are paid upfront for their labour

They don't get paid dependent on how successful a show is

They also don't do work that doesn't get paid- if they are working on a show that gets cancelled, they get paid for the work they did

All this 'stream GO for the hard workers behind the scenes' is bullshit

They work for companies are will be put on different projects

Just be honest that you want more GO (despite the message that it sends to studios- that audiences are ok with abusers! Just turn a blind eye to them! Yes that gives them more power but who cares because people will watch and make them money!)

Don't pretend your doing this for moral reasons

(And acting like you're doing this for Terry- for all we know he might want his work with an abuser completely destroyed- it's stupid to assume he'd want the series to be continued)

Like say this shit with your chest, you know?

Oh boy, ok. Gonna take a minute to answer this.

Firstly, I and a lot of the fandom, are heartbroken over what NG has done. Because we were duped into thinking he was a decent person. From the things that he wrote to the things that he said we thought that he was good person. And it is horrible that there are people out there suffering because yet another rich powerful white man decided he had the right to take advantage of them.

You seem rather angry and if that anger stems because you have experienced something similar yourself then I hope you have love and support around you so that you can heel.

If you want to talk about money, let me remind you that NG has already been paid for season 3. He will continue to get royalties, and thanks to the writers strike last year, he will now get more money for those royalties than before. If S3 doesn’t go ahead then hundreds of people will lose their jobs. Will they get other jobs? Sure, maybe. But any loss of job in this current economic climate is terrible and stressful (and I’m not talking about DT or MS here. They’ll get more work).

I don’t know if you understand how hyper fixation in neurodiversity works, but this is extremely painful for some people and takes a lot of time and energy and therapy to get over when a hyper fixation is threatened or taken away. Some people, like myself, need closure for things otherwise we can find it extremely difficult to move on emotionally. This obviously does not compare to someone trying to survive after SA, but emotional diversity can be extremely debilitating as well. They are apples and oranges to compare, but you can’t invalidate one person’s pain because you think another person’s pain is worth more.

As for the show itself, there is so little queer representation in media. There is a lot more nowadays compared to a decade ago, or even 5 years ago, but the little representation we have is so extremely important. Do you know how many people have found a truth to themselves thanks to GO? How many people discovered something about themselves that finally gives them answer to how they feel? How at the age of 40 I finally realised that I’m asexual and NOT BROKEN. That’s fucking important.

And this. ALL of this is why everyone, including me, are so fucking angry with NG. Because he has left us emotionally devastated. He has not just physically hurt these women. He has emotionally hurt hundreds of thousands of people. He is a stain.

I have spoken before when this all first happened about how I was angry that my one teeny tiny corner of the internet that made me happy was on fire. I left for a bit. I came back. I want to continue to interact with like minded people who love this fandom. I won’t stop that.

And frankly, and here’s the last I’ll say on this, the world is on fire. It is filled with a lot of fucking awful shit right now. I have suffered a very deep depression of late where some nights after I put the kids to bed I just stare and cry. You don’t know that about me because I don’t say those kinds of things on the internet, because our internet personas are facades. They’re not real. They’re not true life. I’m a real person and I’m aching inside about so many things. And these kinds of messages are just breaking me further. Seriously, when you send stuff like this do you even consider that?! So when I decide to hold onto one of the last bastions of entertainment that brings me joy, I’m not going to be guilted into dropping it because someone involved happens to be a monster. Because let me tell you if we did that every time someone turned out to be horrible, then we would never watch or enjoy anything ever again. EVERYTHING you watch or listen to or enjoy or like or cared about is connected to someone who is horrible or produced by a gigantic evil corporation (Nestle, Disney, Microsoft, Facebook, Google just to name a few). Every. Single. Thing. It’s the clothing you wear, the electronics you buy, the food you eat, the furniture in your house, and ALL the entertainment you consume. So if you gave up everything for some moral stance, then you would literally have nothing left.

Dropping Good Omens does nothing. It sends no message to anyone because the next really fucking awful person is about to produce the next big thing you might happen to love and care about. So what’s the point?

Let me have Good Omens. You don’t like that, then you can block me. That’s what the button is there for. You don’t need to send anonymous hateful messages. And if you want me to “say this shit with my chest” maybe you can send me an ask with the Anonymous off. So I can see your chest too.

I’m turning off anonymous asks now. Considering the only asks I’ve ever received is abusive shit telling me to kill myself or saying David Tennant is a paedophile or just telling me I’m a horrible person for supporting NG (when I’ve already stated before that I don’t anymore).

Sorry for those who’ve managed to get to the end here. Thanks for reading if you have, sorry it was so long. I hope you aren’t receiving the same type of messages. If Anonymous has read this far, I don’t know, maybe think twice before being horrible to random people on the internet?

[auroralwriting]

the master heist

con artist!bucky barnes x reader

bucky wants you to help him get his money back from an old friend.

warnings: violence, light manipulation, kind of dark bucky, based off of seb's movie sharper!

word count: 2.5k!

"What the hell do you want with me?"

You hadn't even learned the man's name yet. He picked you up off the side of the street after a very public and very loud fight and breakup with your now ex-boyfriend. He pulled up in a Mercedes, walking out, grabbing your duffel bag of personal items. He tossed it in the backset, waving you, telling you to come on in. So, you did. It wasn't like you had anywhere else to go.

"What's your favorite movie?" He asked, ignoring your previous question. He was making himself a drink, holding an empty cup to offer you some. You shook your head.

"Uh," You hesitated, "I guess maybe Jurassic Park?"

The man raised a brow, coming to sit next to you. You tensed at his presence. "Yeah, good plot. Stupid people,"

"Very," You mused softly. "Why would you even want to go to a theme park with real dinosaurs?"

"And that man who died at the beginning?" The man nodded.

You turned your body closer to him, "Yeah, it was so stupid."

"I wouldn't know, I've never seen it." The man suddenly said. Well, wasn't he just full of surprises?

The drink in the man's cup swirled as he set it down. "You've never seen it." Your words came out less of a question, and more in disbelief.

"I'm not really a movie guy," He hummed. "And that's what I'm going to teach you."

Your eyebrow dipped up in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

The man gave an annoyed sigh, "I make people believe I'm someone else to get whatever the hell I want."

"So," You paused, shaking your head in disbelief at the current situation you'd gotten yourself in. "You're a con-artist?"

"No," The man replied, "I'm like, an actor, you could say. I'm not hurting people or anything."

Well that was weird. "I never said you did," You argued back. The man rubbed his chin with a chuckle at your reply. "What? Did I say something funny?"

"You've got fire, I like that." He acknowledged. "What's your name?" You told him your name, he nodded, mouthing it like he was getting used to saying it. "I'm Bucky. Look, I need some help. I can't always get the.. customers I need. That's where you come in."

That made you wonder what kind of gig this was. "What's in it for me?"

"Free place to stay, share of money, someone to cook for you," Bucky listed. "Want me to carry on, or do you get it?" Bucky's tone wasn't condescending, nor was it full of malice.

"Why me?" You questioned. "You don't even know me. Also, how do I even know you're a safe individual? You could be, like, some murderer who wants to sell my parts on the black market."

Bucky chuckled at your words. "One, I don't murder or even consider the black market as a viable option for my work. Two, I'll give you every proof of identity I have, hell, I'll even let you run a background check." Bucky paused, giving you a smile. "But, let's be honest, where else do you have to go?"

He was right. You didn't have anywhere else to go. Bucky was your only option as of right now. Plus, you'd be making an income. "Alright," You sighed. "I'll help you."

"My name is Avalon DeClain, I was born in Mississippi, moved to Pennsylvania when I was six for my dads work." You recited. "I majored in chemistry in college, Penn State, graduated top of my class. I have a dog, Sydney, a german shepard. I'm single and my parents died when I was in high school."

Bucky smirked, "What year did you graduate?"

"Class of '16," You replied. "Graduated college early by a year in '19."

"You're doing better than I thought," Bucky smiled honestly. "Really, good job."

You smiled at his words, a small rush of heat going to your cheeks. "Thank you," It had been a month and a half since you started living with Bucky. As promised, he took care of you. He was teaching you all he knew.

"What do you say we celebrate tonight?" Bucky offered.

"Celebrate what?" You asked, your knees pulled up to your chest as Bucky stood up to grab some drinks for the two of you. "Is it your birthday or something?"

Bucky laughed, "No, not my birthday. Just," Bucky sucked in a breath, "A celebration of your wild achievements. I'd say you're graduating top of my class."

"Well, I'd sure hope so." You teased as Bucky walked back over. He handed you a glass of champagne, his own filled with a dark wine. "I am your only student, after all."

"And still my best work," Bucky clinked his glass with your own as you both took sips.

For a while, the both of you talked and drank. Somewhere in the last month, you had gotten Bucky to actually open up. He told you about how he grew up doing this life with some friends. However, he refused to speak about one in particular; Steve. Tonight, things seemed different though.

"Look, we've been doing small stuff," Bucky started, his tone becoming more serious. "You're perfect at the small stuff. But, I haven't been honest with you, doll."

"What happened with him?" You cautiously asked, ignoring the burning of your cheeks at the nickname

Bucky's eyes widened for a moment, his face then relaxing as he released a breath. "I knew you were intuitive." Bucky sighed, rubbing his face with his hand. "Steve was my best bud. We did, well, everything together. Until, well, one big job we found." You nodded, urging Bucky to go on. "It was some old guy, Richard. We both decided to become his assistants until he passed; he was old as rocks, if not older. After he passed, Steve and I said we'd split the money. It was around ten grand each. I guess the old man also had grandkids."

The look on Bucky's face almost broke your heart. "He took it all,"

"Not just that," Bucky continued. "He tried to get me fucking arrested. Damn good thing I was friends with one of the cops."

"So," You began. "How are we getting him back?"

Bucky's face was a mixture of relief, joy, and passion. "I love that fire in you," He sighed contently. "Tomorrow night, Steve's going out on his annual celebration. Something to do with his work successes?" Bucky wasn't sure. "His actual job, conning is a side for him."

"All right," You reassured. "I'm ready for this. What's our plan?"

"You're gonna flirt with him," Bucky explained. "He doesn't have a type, just pretty girls with short dresses. You're gonna explain how you need money for grad school, and of course he's gonna give it to you. He prides himself on being some social saint or whatever."

This plan felt way too easy. "That's all?" You remarked. "That feels.. too easy."

"Steve's girlfriend, Natasha," Bucky sighed, "She's gonna be up his ass all night. You gotta find a way to get her out of there."

You internally cringed. Great, that was significantly harder than before. "What's she like?"

"I really don't have a single clue," Bucky huffed out. "That's the one flaw of this, which is why I need to be sure you can do this."

Bucky looked nearly defeated. It was obvious he needed your help, he couldn't do it without you. "I promise you," You grabbed Bucky's hands. "I can get you that money."

No, you thought. I can get you even more.

Bucky had no way of checking in on you to see how things were going. He left his full trust in you to not fuck this up. You could see it in him all day; he was stressed. His hand kept running through his hair, he couldn't stop tapping his feet against the wood floor.

You walked into the bar, a smooth, tight, black dress on, red heels to match. You looked around for a moment, seeing if you could spot Steve.

It really wasn't hard to find him, bright blonde hair, a boisterous laugh that was actually really cute. That was definitely the man you were looking for.

Bucky gave you a script to follow. Steve once knew a guy, Howard, back from high school. The two had zero connection now, but good old Howard was your way in.

"Excuse me," You asked, walking up behind Steve. He and Natasha both turned around. "Are you Steve Rogers?

Steve gave a smile, "Yeah, that's me. You are?"

"Oh, I'm Avalon." You reached out your hand to Steve which he shook. You followed the same action with Natasha. "I'm good friends with Howard."

Steve slapped the counter with joy, "Howard! I remember that son of a bitch. How is he?"

"Great," You smiled. Natasha scooted over a seat, letting you sit between the two. "He's got a wife, good job."

"That's great. I always liked that guy, such a good man. He deserves a great life." Steve gushed as you awkwardly smiled in return. You ordered a drink as Steve rambled.

You shyly began to comb your fingers through your hair as Steve subtly checked you out. "He was actually the one to tell me about you. He thought, well, maybe you could give me a hand."

The bartender slid you the drink, one you failed to catch as it spilled all over the front of you. Both Steve and Natasha gasped. "Oh my god! Oh, that'll never come out." Natasha gasped.

Steve quickly grabbed napkins to help you try and sop some of it up. "Are you okay?"

"Perfectly fine, just a ruined dress. I just bought it, too." You whined. In reality, this was all a part of your perfectly made plan to get Natasha out of there.

"Sweets, I'm gonna run home and grab her a new dress. We only live fifteen away and there is no way I'm letting her spend the rest of the night in a ruined dress." Natasha fell for the bait. This was perfect.

You quickly feigned guilt, "Oh, no. Please, it's really okay."

"No, I insist." Natasha said as she stood up, grabbing her belongings. "I'll be back as soon as I can, Stevie." Natasha left a small kiss on his cheek and rushed out of the building.

"I'm so sorry about your dress," Steve said, eyeing places it did not spill.

"It's fine, really." You said.

Steve was not subtle with checking you out anymore. "So, what was that favor Howard said I could help with?"

"Well," You bit your lip in a fake shame. Steve was quick to use his thumb to remove it from your teeth. "I have a pretty lousy job. I have this shitty apartment and a dog to take care of. I'm still paying off student loans, and I need to get my masters to get a decent paying job," You falsely admitted to Steve, batting your eyes at him as you sighed deeply. "I just.. can't afford to live. I'm eating a meal a day to afford dog food and groceries. Howard said that maybe you could help me out?"

You'd never seen a man nod quicker than Steve in that moment. "I'll do you one better. I'll help you pay off those student loans and get yo you paid off for grad school."

A gasp left your lips. To Steve, it was shock of his kindness. In reality, it was shock your plan worked. "Oh, God no. I couldn't ask for all of that. I was just gonna see if you wanted my dog-"

"Anything for a friend of Howard." Steve shook his head. "How do you want the money? Actually, no. Let me give it to you cash. You don't need to pay more taxes from that." You didn't even notice Steve had a briefcase with him. He opened it, leaving you in shock. You'd never seen so many hundred dollar bills stacked together before.

Steve counted out some stacks, making a pile. "I'm just gonna spit this half with you. Should be, ah, about maybe twenty grand?"

Your eyes almost popped out of your head. "Steve, I really couldn't-"

"Please," Steve scoffed. "I could make this money back in a day. I insist, you deserve a beautiful life for a beautiful woman." Steve's hand rested on your cheek as he thumbed it over softly. For some reason, his touch made you uncomfortable. All you really wanted was Bucky.

"I appreciate this more than you know." You sighed, leaning into his touch. "Thank you, Steve."

"It's no problem, sweetheart. Here, use this to carry all that in. We don't need you getting robbed." Steve handed over a large pouch from the case, shoving the money in it. "Get home safe, and give me a call sometime."

You nodded with a smile, but deep down you felt disgusted. You couldn't wait to show Bucky what you got.

"Bucky?" You called as you walked in. You walked in the living room to see Bucky jumping up from his seat.

"You look scared shitless, doll. What happened?" Bucky immediately rushed to your side. You hadn't even noticed how anxious you were, but it was a good anxious. "Did he touch you? I swear I will fuck him up if-"

Cutting off Bucky, you opened the bag to reveal the money. "He did some light touching, but I made it work to get you a little something extra."

"Ho-ly shit," Bucky breathed out, his eyes gleaming with disbelief. "Doll, how much is this?:

"Steve said twenty grand," You answered. "I thought I would play it up to get some more out of this."

Bucky looked to you, alarmed. "Did you let him-"

"No!" You cut him off again. "God, no. I just let him eye-fuck me and touch my cheek. That was enough for him. You're right, he is some social saint."

Bucky quickly scooped you up, hugging you tightly in his arms. "Fuck, doll! You're a fucking genius. You're actually fucking insane!" Bucky yelled as you laughed. "Why'd you do that? Put yourself through that for this?"

"It was for you, Bucky." You shyly admitted. "You gave me a second chance, so I wanted to give you what you deserved."

Bucky's hands came to rest at your hips as he drew you in closer. "Did you like the way he looked at you?"

"I only like the way you look at me," You breathed out, his face getting much closer to yours. "I just wanted you to be the one to touch me."

"Doll," Bucky muttered, his lips so close to your own you could almost feel them. "You're a fucking dream." Bucky pushed his lips against your own as you wrapped your arms around his neck. You sighed contently into the kiss. "Your dress is also fucking sopping the floors."

You gave a smirk to Bucky, "So take it off, then." He smirked wildly at you as he grabbed your hand, leading you to his room.

"Maybe I will,"

[kawaiipony-productions]

IMPORTANT: My Situation and GoFundMe

Hola y hello, to those who don't know who I am. I'm Itzel aka Kawaiipony Productions. I'm a 17 y/o (mostly Mlp) YouTuber. I'm non-binary asexual biromantic (he/she/they) and I'm also an AuDHDer. And well, I need help. I live in an emotionally abusive household and my own “father” is my abuser. And while my mom isn’t as bad and my relationship with her has gotten better in recent years, she has still caused harm even by letting a lot of this slide.

Around February 18th, 2022, my parents snooped on my phone and found out I was trans. They had taken my phone, tablet, and Nintendo Switch. Which I wouldn’t mind too much if I didn’t purchase majority of these. I bought my tablet myself sometime around 2018 to 2019 with my own money. And I split half and half with one of my sisters to buy our Switch. That is hundreds not only stolen, but also destroyed as they’ve broken my tablet (which was around $300-350 when I bought it) previous instances it’s been taken from me. And I have not received any of these devices since.

Not only that, but my abuser in the past few years of me dealing with this abusive relationship has threatened multiple things on me such as kicking me out of the house, sending me to the military without my consent, and sending me to my family in México to “straighten me out.” Not to mention his constant ableism towards me. From being anti-vax (a very ableist rhetoric towards autistics), forcing me to mask (in the neurodivergent way, not literally, he’s ironically anti-max (which is also horrible btw)), etc.

This has led to me secretly doing my job as a part-time YouTuber for the past 2 years now, especially since I was forced to delete the previous Kawaiipony Productions channel cause of him. I have a GFM to help fund me for being able to get proper equipment again for doing my work. Not only that, but also possibly for things I plan to get once I turn 18 such as starting to get therapy, medication for my ADHD, etc. And now that I started dating my girlfriend, Vikki, I want to start saving some of this money to possibly meet her irl sometime next year.

I am taking a few small paid jobs for work right now, but it’s still not enough for my situation. So, you may ask, how can I help? Well, if you have the money, donate to my GFM. My GFM goal is $2,000 and I still need around $1,200 for reaching my goal. I also have adoptables for sale right now for $25 each. If you can’t financially help, then you can share not only my GFM, but my work. From my artwork, my videos on YouTube, and projects I’ve been a part of as a voice actor, animator, and/or artist. Any of this helps support me through everything going on in my life. I could really use it right now. So any and all support helps me out. Thank you all for reading this thread, I appreciate any and all support I need!!!

-Itzel C.D. aka Kawaiipony Productions

Ways to support me!!!

My YouTube channel:

My GoFundMe:

Current Adoptables for Sale:

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

// You know, I'm worried about Eloise's personality, from her FTEs, I feel like there's something hidden inside her...

// Basically I'm scared Eloise will be the next Kanade Otonokoji.

//I do know what you’re talking about by this point, because I did Eloise’s FTE’s, and yeah. The thing is, I think Eden’s Garden are being managed by a team who is kind of tired of all the classical DR tropes, and doesn’t really want to employ them. At least I hope.

//Eloise is definitely my favourite character in Eden’s Garden right now because of how much POTENTIAL she has as a character to develop, either positively, or negatively.

//Just for the sake of protecting the innocent, since this is still early days, and I talked way longer about this than I thought I would, I’m going to hide the rest of this post under a cut in case I spoil something major. But this is my take on Eloise as a character so far:

//It’s true that Eloise is giving me the vibes of early-game Kanade, since she’s ordinarily pretty meek, but when things get serious, she gets strangely��methodical, and driven.

//However, I think we’re leaning more towards how Mikan acted when she underwent her personality shift instead of Kanade. As things currently stand, I can definitely see Eloise going the route that Mikan SHOULD have gone, and that she eventually snaps when being pushed to her limit by some bully.

//The only issue is I don’t really see who could be her victim in this case. The most likely candidate is Grace, but I do actually think she’s going to get some development after this chapter.

//Because yes, I have made it to the body discovery by now. We haven’t done the trial yet, but we will soon.

//And also, Grace is not NEARLY as bad as Hiyoko was to Mikan. She’s just rough around the edges more than anything, and considering she talks about how the golfing industry is far more cutthroat than it seems, especially for a young woman, then it’s less of her being rude, and more treating everyone like a potential enemy and doubting everyone’s intentions. It’s largely why she punched Damon on sight, stoped everyone from investigating Wolfgang’s room, and demanded her blackmail from Eloise in such a vicious way.

//Speaking of Grace’s issues, based on what I saw in Eloise’s FTE’s, my current line of thinking is that she has something similar. And with the way that Eloise and Grace seem to so subtly parallel each other, I feel it makes a lot more sense.

//Unlike Grace, who clearly has to fight for her life to get to where she is, Eloise got to where she was by LITERALLY not having to lift a finger.

//The other members of Eloise’s fencing club were too scared to face off against her. She explains in FTE 3 that in fencing, forfeiting a match counts as a win for your opponent, so basically, the main reason she became the Ultimate Fencer is because people refused to fight her, and she climbed up the ranks that way. Damon even mentions that he would call her skills into question had it not been for the fact that she'd trained with her teacher.

//And then, in the fourth and final FTE, for now at least, she talks about how her family aren’t especially well off, and that’s kind of where we see the not-so innocent and meek side of her.

//Damon tells Eloise that he makes enough money through winning debate competitions that his parents don't really have to work anymore. Eloise is in a similar position with her fencing, but says her sisters are bratty and come off as ungrateful for the life she's giving them, and she's worried about her mother, having to take care of them.

//Damon immediately asks if her mother has a boyfriend or a girlfriend that can help her out, and phrases it that way because Eloise never mentions anything about having a father before. And as Damon pries, this PISSES HER OFF.

//As far as Eloise’s family situation goes, I have no real comments. At least not yet; because it could be almost anything at this point in time. However, based on Eloise’s nature as it’s been shown so far, I do have two lines of thinking:

//The first is that I think she has some sort of anger problems that she's clearly trying to get help for, but Damon has brought them out. That anger caused her to badly hurt someone in a match before, and because of that, everyone else in her club is scared of her. This why she climbed so high in the ranks, because no one wanted to fight her.

//With that said, as unfortunate as it is, there is also a very real possibility of there being a degree of sadism to her character through her actions. In the investigation segment of this chapter, when Grace blocks the door to Wolfgang’s room and prevents anyone from investigating, Eloise very subtly threatens her, and says that she’ll call Tozu to move her if she doesn’t move herself.

//Knowing full well that Grace especially has just been repeatedly abused by Tozu, and is probably terrified of him, even if she doesn’t show it.

//This method works, and you could always say Eloise was angling for the most effective method, but there’s just something so sinister about the way that her dialogue completely changes tone, and how she speaks very directly about it, instead of beating around the bush, or hesitations like she always does.

//Again, I REALLY don’t want that to be the case, but in the instance that it IS like that, then please Eden’s Garden, at least PORTAY it well!

-Mod

[reds-skull]

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[NEXT PART]

Okay I'm trying to be brave and post this before I chicken out, first time writing a fic, and I'm not sure if this is any good.

So, since I don't have time to draw out all of the revenant au story, but I still want to share it, I'm writing it instead.

Will continue this if people are interested!

[this isn't requiered but reading the comic might help you understand this better]

[also there's a Soap pov version of this by Badolmen, it doesn't line up 100% because we didn't work together but it's very very good and you should read it regardless]

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking, Ghost.”

He shifted in his place. Can never get used to Price’s voice in his head.

“You know I work best alone. All he’s gonna do is get in the way.” 

Price’s mustache twitched, as if he’s fighting a smile. Bastard is about to drop something to win the entire argument, Ghost already knows.

“He’s a revenant. Strong one too.” 

Fucking figures. Still, he could argue he doesn’t need any support-

“Intel is rigged with explosives. And the Sergeant just so happens to be explosion-proof.”

…Fuck.

Ghost sighs heavily like he was presented with an unreasonable amount of shit to deal with. He watches as Price sits there, shit eating grin spitting at him. He looks back to the folder, at the details of this already annoying mission, “you said there are 2 buildings?”

Price snaps from his self boasting to confirm “one suspected barracks and the other an abandoned warehouse. Warehouse contains the majority of explosives.” 

Finally finding something to work with, Ghost straightens his back to his usual self-assured posture, “the Sergeant can deal with the warehouse, I’ll clear the barracks. No need to work together.”

Price seems less happy about that. Serves him right. He sighs and drags a hand over his face, and Ghost almost feels bad for ruining his plan to get him to play with a team. Almost.

“Will it kill you to try and work with the lad?” Price asks offhandedly, while organising the folder back to the never-ending pile of documents on his desk.

“You mean again?” Ghost would wear his own shit eating grin if his face wasn’t permanently covered.

Price still seems equally pissed. Probably saw it in his literal mind’s eye. “Get out of my office Lieutenant, wheels up at 0500.” He gets up and walks around his desk to face Ghost, “don’t scare the kid off alright? I have a feeling you two could mash well together.”

Ghost tilts his head and projects the most doubt he could muster at Price. “Yes sir.”

This is going to be a bloody long day.

It’s not that Ghost hates people per se, it’s just that most of them seem hell-bent on being annoying, disruptive, or boring. Useless on the field for someone of his caliber, and even more useless off-field.

He knows he’s not exactly easy to relate to, but he couldn’t care less about trying to be. He’s here for one purpose. And it’s not “making friends” or whatever Price and Gaz has been trying to push him towards.

He wonders which category the Sergeant currently standing in front of him will fall into. By his fidgeting nature and easy smile, Ghost would put his money on “annoying”.

The Sergeant, “Soap” apparently (Ghost wonders if that callsign was given to him before or after he died a probably painful death), now directs that smile at him, seemingly undeterred by the giant man wearing a skull like a stereotypical grim reaper. He has to give it to the lad, at least he hides his discomfort well.

“You must be Ghost, eh? Let’s get ourselves a win LT” The Sergeant says with an obvious Scottish accent, fist-bumps his shoulder and walks off towards transport.

Oh, annoying is definitely winning.

Despite that, Ghost can’t feel like Soap really fits it. He’s unlike the other muppets in the category, He’s not poking him like the rookies do, trying to make him reveal his powers.

No, the Sergeant is annoying like an overly friendly dog is to someone that doesn’t want to be licked. He’s acting like they’re just two normal soldiers on their way to a normal mission, not the unnatural, unexplainable phenomena they actually are.

Ghost will have to keep watching. Certainly on field he will be able to find out his true colors.

On the helo, Ghost picks his usual spot near the ramp, where the lights don’t reach as much and most prefer not to sit, and observes Soap. His fidgety nature stayed the same, but the carefree expression he wore on ground morphed into a determined one, face stern and serious. He seemed lost in thought, eyebrows twitching here and there. He sees how his fingertips flicker, watching flames dance between them before the rapid movements put them out.

Well, at the very least Soap doesn’t fall into “boring”.

Clearing the barracks is a laughably easy job, even without using his powers. Although, it would’ve been so much faster with them… too bad he doesn’t hate the Sergeant enough to send him to Limbo.

They practically run through both buildings, untouchable storms. Ghost has to admit, Soap is clearly competent, disarming bombs and taking down hostiles at an impressive rate.

God, he hates when Price is right.

“Ground floor clear, heading to the basement” Soap relays on comms. 

“Copy, clearing third floor, keep an eye out for Intel.” 

“I have to say LT, you’re not quite like I expected.”

Feeling’s mutual, Ghost thinks to himself. “That so?”

“Aye, you’re not a major cunt for starters.”

That startled a small huff out of him. What the hell do the rumors say about him? He would have to ask Gaz about that, “Could still change that Sergeant.” he mock-lectures him.

A small laugh is what he gets in return, “I doubt that. I’ve worked with some bastards before, you barely make top 50.”

“Only 50? I hoped for at least 20”

“Got work cut out for you then, sir”

“That I do.”

Ghost continues clearing the floor methodically before faltering for a moment. Why was he entertaining the Sergeant like that? Since when does he joke with people? 

Though, he would’ve done it more if he had someone so ready to joke back…

Useless thoughts. 

Cursing Price, Soap, and all other stupid distracting things swirling in his head, Ghost takes down another hostile.

The mission is going without a hitch. Which is usually when something “hitches”.

A couple of minutes after Soap’s last words, Ghost sees a bright light flash from the warehouse, before a soundwave shakes the windows of the now barren barracks.

One of the explosives went off… “Soap, what the hell happened there?”

No answer.

Ghost knows he’s fine. Price wouldn’t brag about how “explosion-proof” he is otherwise. But he’s not answering…

“Sergeant, give me sitrep, now.”

Ghost stands still for another minute, listening to static. He checked the last room right before the explosion went off, so he just has to go to exfil and wait for the Sergeant at this point. His part of the work is done.

He should just go to exfil.

Ghost climbs down the stairs and heads for the warehouse, a foreboding plume of dark smoke billowing from its roof.

If asked why he didn’t ignore his gut feeling and use his brain like always, he wouldn’t have an answer.

Maybe he just wanted to exchange one more joke with the Sergeant before they finish the mission and never see each other again.

Arriving at the doors, he sees how the ground floor caved in, creating a ramp down to the basement. He starts making his way down, when he sees bodies littering the debris. Was Soap ambushed?

“Soap? Where the fuck are you Sergeant!” Ghost shouts. He has half a mind to be quiet, not wanting to attract enemies to their location, before realizing no one would’ve survived this. No one but-

“LT…?”

“Soap, why weren’t you answering comms- what…”

He stumbles upon Soap. Soap, who's laying on the grey concrete floor, wheezing and shaking, a metal rebar in his hands. Ghost walks closer and realizes the rebar is going through his stomach and pinning him to the floor. 

The Sergeant’s eyes blearily look at the metal “I need, I n-need to get this out…”

He lifts himself half an inch and Ghost sees how the blood rushes out of the wound, how Soap pales. 

Ghost rushes to his side. “Stop fucking moving”, he slides his hands under his torso, feels his gloves getting soaked in blood, “let me help you”.

Soap’s breathing becomes less harsh, and he looks up at him, “you… you don’t have to-”

He slowly lifts Soap before he can say another useless remark. The muscles under his fingertips clench and the Sergeant chokes out a scream.

“Fuck” Soap mutters between pants. 

“We’re halfway there, you’re doing good.” Ghost lets him rest before continuing to lift his body up. The blood keeps rushing out of the wound, enough that he doesn’t understand how Soap is still conscious. The sergeant let go of the rebar, and is now gripping Ghost’s forearms like he’s about to fall to his death.

After a few seconds, which Ghost is sure felt like hours for Soap, he eases him off the metal and onto the ground. Soap immediately collapses, shuddering and holding his hands around the wound.

Ghost then realizes he’s not sure how the Sergeant’s powers work. Is this supposed to even happen? Is he actually dying?

Soap looks up at that moment, giving him a small smile that looks more like a grimace, “I just… give me a minute to heal, I’ll be ready to go soon.” he uncurls and drags himself to sit against a piece of wall.

Ghost frowns and slowly steps towards Soap and slides to sit next to him, “take however long you need.”

He doesn’t look, but from his peripheral, he sees Soap’s head whipping around and staring at Ghost like he told him he’s giving him a million pounds.

He seemed to find something in his expression (however much he could even see of it), and looked down at his bloodied hands, “thank ye…”

Ghost blinks down, “I hope this doesn’t lower my cunt rank.”

Soap lets out a small laugh that turns into a fit of coughs. More blood rushes out of his wounds, and Ghost internally winces.

“Ha… I think it takes ye off the list, mate.”

Ghost heaves an over-the-top sigh, “shame”.

Soap smiles at him, and Ghost notices it’s different from the one he gave him before the helo. This one is… warmer. Or at least it makes him feel so.

Soap lifts his shirt to inspect the wound, and Ghost can’t help by take a look. The wound stopped bleeding, and when Soap wipes some of it away, he can see how it’s already closing.

So he does get hurt… it just heals. Ghost still wonders how it all works, but he knows their powers work with bizarre rules, weird exceptions and what not. He can almost hear his Reaper laughing. Or whatever you would call that chilling noise it lets out when it finds something funny.

It doesn’t matter either way. Not like he’ll get to work with Soap again. 

The Sergeant exhales and lets his shirt drop, “a’right, let’s fuckin’ finish this.” he slowly starts lifting himself up before Ghost wordlessly grabs his arms and helps him.

Soap mumbles a thanks, “did you find any intel?” 

Ghost looks ahead. The climb out of the basement won’t be easy on his wound… “Negative. We’ll keep looking.”

Eventually they reach a door labelled “storage”, that is blocked by several tonnes of concrete and metal. Ghost internally curses.

Soap, who’s been trailing behind Ghost, reaches the door and looks around. Ghost is about to ask him if he’s got a few C4’s hidden somewhere when the Sergeant asks him, “permission to use my powers, sir?”

Ghost raises an eyebrow, “what are you planning?”

“Gonna blow it up sir” Soap says like it was obvious.

“...go ahead.” Ghost replies, half baffled Price forgot to mention the Sergeant, besides being unkillable by explosions, can also create them. 

Was probably in the folder he didn’t bother reading.

He takes a step back to let Soap Have a go. The Sergeant rests his palms on the debris, inhales, and…

A loud boom makes Ghost’s ears ring. He’s momentarily blinded by the bright explosion before he regains his vision, and sees Soap stepping around the remains of the door into the small room.

Ghost shakes away his slight shock and joins him. Soap’s powers intrigue him… he wonders what else he could do.

Somehow, the intel survived the explosions. Ghost could barely care. At least they won’t have Price on their case later on. 

As they walk towards the exfil point, a heavy feeling sinks within Ghost. He’s not sure what to call it, but if he had to it would be “regret”.

Regretting what, he’s not sure. Maybe he should’ve prolonged their walk.

And from a glance at his face, Soap might understand this feeling as well.

“You did well Sergeant.” He has the sudden urge to say. Maybe it will make him regret less.

Soap casts a smile at him. It doesn’t warm him in the slightest.

The chopper blades slashing through air never made him feel worse.

“I guess this is it then.” Soap says when they land.

Ghost turned to face him. That heavy feeling in him just kept getting heavier throughout the flight. Why?

“So it seems.”

Soap stares for a moment longer before sighing. Ghost wants to do something about the annoyingly heavy air of despair around them.

“Soap” the Sergeant hums, “Why did the Scotsman’s prank fail?”.

Confusion takes over his features, “what?”

Ghost inhales, “because no one let him get away scot-free.”

Soap stares at him like he brought shame to his entire bloodline. Ghost grins like he did.

“Steamin’ Jesus LT, that was horrendous.”

“Ah Sergeant, just admit my jokes are better, no need to be a sore loser.” 

“My gran got better jokes than this, fuckin’ hell” Soap laughs.

“I’d like to meet her.”

“So you two could battle? I rather not see you die of embarrassment sir.”

Soap’s transport decides to arrive at this moment, chasing away the small joy they both found.

Soap looks back at it and turns to Ghost.

“It’s been great working with you sir.” if Ghost was feeling bold, he would say Soap almost looks sad, “I hope we’ll get to go another round later.”

Ghost hates the hopeful tone in his voice. Hope is uncertain, leaves everything up to chance.

Useless.

“Likewise, Sergeant.”

He stays standing there for a few minutes, staring at the truck vanishing towards the horizon. As if it will lighten the boulder in his chest.

“So, Simon, what’s your verdict?” Price finishes after debrief.

Ghost thinks about the entire endeavour. Not annoying, not disruptive, or boring.

Soap is…

“He’s something else…”

Critiques are welcome! Nobody beta'd this so I'm sure there are mistakes lol (that and this isn't my first language...)

[finnlongman]

Do you have to get a master’s degree or a PhD to publish research? Or work at a university? I don’t currently plan to go into academia but I really enjoy doing research, is it possible to do that as a hobby/side job? (Specifically asking in relation to literature, obviously research in things like the natural sciences requires the extra training and lab access by default)

An important note to start with: basically nobody is getting paid for academic publishing. Especially not for articles. They write them for free, they're peer-reviewed for free, they're edited for free. The only people making money are usually the big corporate owners of journals, if it is a big corporate journal and not one of the small independent ones. It's all a huge scam, obviously, but the idea is that people who have an academic job will be publishing the research produced in the course of that job, and thus they are already being paid for doing the research. In an age of precarious employment, it doesn't really work like that, but that's the idea.

That means you can't really do it as a side job, because there isn't any money in it. Doing it as a hobby, on the other hand, is theoretically possible, although I'd have some major caveats to offer:

On the publishing side, I can only speak for my particular field of medieval Celtic Studies, which is weird and old-fashioned and works on arcane and unknowable systems that deeply confuse anyone in a field advanced enough to have heard of "digital submissions" and "online journals". One of our major journals is literally run by one guy who requires you to do all the page proofs by hand and post them back to him and you can buy the (physical-only) journal for £5 per volume. This is not typical for academia these days, so all of my answers are going to be shaped by that.

On the publishing side, you definitely don't have to have a PhD or an academic job to publish an article, which I know because I have published several articles and am only now doing a PhD, so by definition I did that without a PhD or an academic job. This is unusual, for the record; I know very few people who've published before doing a PhD, but that's partly because a lot of my friends went straight through from undergrad to postgrad with no time out, and thus wouldn't have had time to be publishing in between, whereas I took a more leisurely approach.

However, two of these articles were significantly based on my MA work, and one of them -- the only one so far published in an actual journal rather than a conference proceedings -- would have been completely impossible without skills and knowledge gained during my MA. That isn't to say there is no way to gain those skills without doing postgraduate study. But it does mean that there are specific skills required that require training and experience, whether you get that in a university context or find a way to learn it outside of that. (For example, palaeographical or linguistic training, or a firm grounding in theoretical approaches, specific methodologies, etc.)

The purpose of doing an MA or a PhD a lot of the time is to pursue research and gain those skills. If you really enjoy doing research to the point where you would want to publish it (note above: zero financial reward for doing so), I would question why you don't want to pursue higher education. There are lots of reasons not to, for sure, so this isn't me saying the only valid research comes out of that environment or that it's the only path to academic fulfillment. Again: I published articles before I started my PhD. One of my articles is even based on undergraduate work, though substantially revised and redeveloped.

But... that is a point. It was substantially revised and redeveloped. Because for the most part, work produced without the higher-level study and skills (whether gained formally or informally) is not going to be of the same calibre as work produced with them, which seems kind of obvious when you spell it out. There is more to literary research than just close-reading a text and having a lot of thoughts about it, because if there wasn't, nobody would need to do postgrad study about it.

Literature may have different, less obvious skills required than natural sciences, but that doesn't mean it has none. It does mean they may be easier to acquire outside of formal academic courses, but that doesn't mean they don't need acquiring, however you do it.

There are also practical barriers to publishing as an independent scholar. Sometimes these are financial barriers, where not having institutional support will mean you can't publish open-access because you don't have the funding to support it. Sometimes they're things like library access -- when my article in Cambrian Medieval Celtic Studies came out in 2022, I was not currently in academia, nor was I living within easy reach of an academic library, which made it incredibly hard to check references or follow up on suggestions from peer reviewers. The editor of the journal was kind enough to send me scans of articles that had been recommended by reviewers, but not all editors would do that, and so without access to past scholarship, it would be very hard to write something academically solid.

Again, there are other ways to gain that access. I have spent a fair bit of my adult life working in universities in a non-academic capacity, which entitled me to use their libraries even though I wasn't a student or officially "in academia". Many fields have a larger proportion of their scholarship digitally available, which can make it easier to access without physically going to a library. Etc. But it is a barrier, and the financial hurdles are less easily overcome. (Fortunately, very little in my field is pay-to-publish, but Open Access costs can be troublesome!)

I guess what I'm trying to say is that all of my currently-available articles were published before I started my PhD, and I was not "in academia" at the time that I wrote them, but all but one of them was based on work I had done as a student, and they relied heavily on skills and knowledge I developed as an MA student. I am now as a PhD student seeing elements I could have done better, having built on those skills and that knowledge further. Subsequent work was submitted while working for a university in a non-academic capacity, because this gave me access to their libraries. (Which really shows you how long I've been procrastinating on finishing the edits for this article, because I've been a PhD student for over a year now... I originally submitted it in January last year, whoops.) Again, I have ended up subsequently revising this as I improve as a scholar.

So, technically I have done research as a "hobby" alongside a non-academic day job. Technically it is possible. It is hard, but you can do it, if you really want to. But I think I would have struggled to produce anything of a sufficient standard for publication if not for my MA and the skills I learned during it, and there is zero financial reward for academic publishing, so it's definitely not a viable "side job".

Having said all that: If you want to keep researching things alongside your other work, there is absolutely no reason not to do that. Formal academic publishing isn't the only way of doing research, you know? It's probably not even the best way, even if it's the current institutional standard for sharing that research with other people. But you can just... learn things, and enjoy them, and post about them on your blog, and so on. Lots of people do this. Sometimes the most useful website collecting resources or variants of a text or commentaries or whatever is run by a complete randomer with a job in a totally unrelated field who is just super into this in their free time.

And I will also note: my MA and PhD thesis proposals both came out of research that I was doing independently alongside my day job when I realised that I needed more support and skills to do it properly, so I would benefit from doing it as part of a formal programme. I did not originally plan to do postgrad study. By the time I finished undergrad I was fairly sure I was done with academia forever, because I'd mostly been miserable at uni. But it hit a point where I kept chasing up details by myself and going "damn, I wish I knew how to read these manuscripts", or "if only my Old Irish skills were better", or "I wish I could access this obscure text that's only found in special collections of that university library", and that's the point at which I decided to do an MA. So sometimes it happens like that too.

(I have been adamant all along that I wasn't aiming to stay in academia as a career. Given that my previous claims that I was not going to do a PhD and then, before that, that I was not going to do a Masters, turned out to be categorically false, well... I'm not necessarily right about that. I would certainly love to keep doing research, but the short-term contracts and precarious employment of early career academia don't appeal to me, and there's absolutely no way I want to start moving cities/countries every year or two again when I've just managed to get semi-consistent healthcare after moving back to the UK and having to start on all the waiting lists from scratch. I am too chronically ill for that kind of lifestyle and, I suspect, for the demands of academia in general. We will see how long I can stretch out "getting people to pay me to research things" without those aspects, but it may be that I end up as an independent researcher alongside my other jobs again. At least now I live in Cambridge, and can access the University Library as an alumnus wherever I end up working... that's something!)

I published 'early' both because I felt I had something to say and if I didn't say it, nobody would say it (nobody else cares about Láeg), and also because I didn't think I was sticking around in academia, so if I didn't say it then, I would never say it. I was definitely right about the first part, but if I end up sticking around, I'll disprove the second part and I'll probably start regretting publishing at such an early stage as I continue to disprove my own points with further research. I do think that's normal no matter when you start, lol, but there's a degree of "and why do I expect any more senior academics to listen to what an MA student had to say, anyway" at times. (Because I don't believe in hierarchies and I'm convinced I had something meaningful to offer, that's why, but hey.) The only tangible benefit to having published that research for me was being able to point at it when applying for PhD funding and say "look, I'm already published and everything!". The main benefit to other people wasn't much beyond what it would have been if I just... put that research on my blog for them to read anyway.

Where am I going with this? I don't know. I apologise, this is rambly as hell and I'm going in circles, I'm not very awake. Maybe I'll just stop there. I could start talking about popular history books that you'll find in bookshops and how most of them are written by people without postgraduate degrees, but I don't really know that much about those, and I feel this would be getting us off-topic.

tl;dr you technically don't need postgraduate qualifications to publish academically, but you do generally need postgraduate-level skills to produce work that's good enough, however you acquire them; there are a fair number of practical barriers to publishing without institutional support; and there's no money in any of it anyway

[numberonetacostan]

Tacomic is a bit of a double edged sword, atleast for me personally.

On one hand they're my favourite ship in basically all of II but at the same time they are very angsty and I get very emotional (they have made me feel physically sick genuinely) even in the most fics about them there's angst I don't know how I keep getting into angsty ships.

Some episodes of II are honestly kind of hard to rewatch even though it's currently my hyperfixation just because of emotions.

With that I want to put more focus on fluff for Tacomic (in this ask) since as much as the angst is well written I want to be able to actually call something a comfort without being sadder from it then I was before.

I want to add fluff of my own and not just ask if you have them but at the same time most of mine are in either the little post canon I made in my head where Suitcase spent the majority of the million on therapy or an au with significantly different events to canon.

I could say that they probably got better at communicating post canon (not perfect because it's Tacomic they need some time) but better mainly with how badly it got messed up in hatching the plan (with Taco still being stuck on the idea Mic wanted recognition and not really anything else and such)

(I hope this makes sense but I made this after a fankid au made me sad and decided to ask about fluff after that)

-🦭

Hi Seal!!!^^ Welcome back, and thank you for your submission!! :]

They are very angsty, and I'm sorry to hear that makes it difficult for you to indulge in tacomic content. I hear you with some episodes being tough!! I struggle with second hand embarrassment from media, yeah? So the first part of the season 3 finale can be tough for me lol. I always have to skip Balloon's first finalist speech despite how much I love him.

Honestly? I think Suitcase would dedicate at least some of her victory money to therapy. They all need it and Suitcase would probably be willing to provide the funds for anyone who wants it to get that help.

But anyways!! Ask and you shall receive, tacomic fluff headcanons!

Speaking of fluff, I think Taco's lettuce end up all floofy, messy, and puffed up after she sleeps in a bed. The fabric of the pillowcase and blanket just make her lettuce all messy!! She'd, of course, make sure to fix it up before she leaves their room. This does not stop Mic from taking pictures of a very fluffy Taco while she's still asleep. She has an entire album on her phone dedicated to sleepy Taco pictures.

Taco will hold things for Mic in her shell!! The space inside her shell is fully off limits to everyone else, but if Mic needs something stored for her, Taco will pretend to do it reluctantly. She'd be rather happy to do it, really, and Mic can tell. Although, Mic would not be allowed to reach inside Taco's shell, because that would be rather uncomfortable for her I think, but Mic would respect that boundary and thus Taco would be happy to carry things for her.

I think Taco and Mic sometimes still have conversations from a distance!! If Mic is at the mansion and Taco is out in the woods, Mic will turn her volume and gain up and just... yell out to Taco. Who will yell back so Mic can pick up her voice. And they can chat for a bit until someone requests that Mic stop shouting, since it's so loud.

I believe it would be quite funny if Mic got distracted while she and Taco were holding hands, and quickly raised both her arms. Taco is quite short of course, so this would entire lift Taco up into the air, or just. Remove her arm. I have my little headcanon about Taco's arms being detachable like her toppings, and I do think it would be quite funny if that was the first time anyone saw one of Taco's arms detach. There would be quite a panic until Taco puts her arm back in like nothing happened.

Mic is very gentle with Taco! Her shell is fragile, yeah? So feather-light kisses, the smallest slightest squeezes when they hug!! In exchange, eventually, Taco squeezes Mic as hard as she can when they hug. I think Mic would enjoy it!!^^

Hopefully these will suffice!!! :)

[misskattylashes]

A few ruminations on Miles and America.

Currently on a very long cab journey to a boring work conference so I thought I would ruminate a bit, as the there are currently two hot topics of conversation about Miles at the moment. One of which I am not going to entertain because it is the usual PR crap, but it does sort of feed into my thoughts about Miles never being promoted in America.

On the surface it makes no sense. Go back to Colour of the Trap, which was never released there. CTT era Miles was cute, personable, BRITISH, had Noel Gallagher singing on the album and most of all some of the tracks had been co written with Alex and AM were becoming huge in the US at the time so surely releasing CTT would have been a sure fire money maker. He even had a super gorgeous girlfriend at the time in Suki, so I don't know what the reason behind this was at all.

Since then, apart from TLSP his career has been non existent in the US. Note how all the interviews around the world around at time of EYCTE were about how silly and close Alex and Miles were. Where was the toxic one? The ill-judged comment in a world where many stars must make ill-judged comments but their PRs pay the journalists or publications off to stop them mentioning it... America. So straight away at the height of Me Too, Miles has this horrid image of a sexual predator in the US. Unfortunately an image that still lives with him today on certain social media platforms.

Another thing I was thinking was if he had made such a comment to a male journalist would it have even been mentioned, or was it the fact she was female it still helped keep the hetero image at the time him and Alex were behaving outrageously on stage.

Miles has been signed to some major labels in the time Alex has just been with Domino, and I wonder if the reason the contracts have ended is because they have wanted to promote him in the US and the powers that be have said no.

I'll maintain he has been kept away from the states to protect Alex's image and stop drawing attention to their close relationship. I will never change my mind that it was not a coincidence that Mr Private Alex got a girlfriend who he appeared to have a passionate relationship with, and was happy to be seen standing in the street snogging like a teenage boy, at the same time as his most homoerotic image.

In the words of the man himself....and even though the majority of the fandom realised darn well most of CDG was about Alex, Miles still had to play the game and in interviews pretend it was about Hannah Ware. (thank goodness for those people who recorded him calling Alex Shavambacu!)