#I don't even think I draw like this anymore

[gloomykeis]

Tsukishima Kei's 18+ Alphabet <3

a/n: hello this is my first time posting on tumblr!! so if you read this and enjoy it pls lmk (also give me tips!) but uhh i plan on doing this for most characters bc i like doing these lol. But i hope you enjoy this!!

Warnings: smut obvi, timeskip!Tsukishima kei. male/female reader bc i feel he swings both ways.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I feel that Tsukishima, no matter if he's topping or bottoming, will put your needs before his after sex. Get you a warm towel to clean yourself up or if he's not too tired he'll draw you both a bath, get water, again if he's not too tired he'll also change the bed sheets.

But after all that he'll fall asleep very quickly.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On him I feel he loves his hands not even just for volleyball purposes. But how his long fingers know how to pleasure you. He doesn't have to try hard to find your sweet-spot. But on a sweeter note he loves his hand because his hands get to hold you.

On you, your neck. He loves how you react when his long fingers wrap around it so easily. The way you tremble when he presses soft kisses on your neck or when he places hickeys to show that your his. Or how pretty your neck looks with the necklace he bought you with the letter 'K' on it.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I like to think that he's very safe especially if he's with a women. He doesn't want to get someone pregnant on accident if it's something he can control. So i feel he has a pretty good pull out game but also has condoms on him.

(fem reader): He loves to have you cum on his fingers, just the thought that he makes you feel soo good with just his fingers.

(male reader) He loves when you cum down his throat (secretly wants you to cum on his glasses but he'd never admit that).

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has jerked off to the thought of you, him, and yamaguchi having a threesome. Not even just because he thinks yamaguchi is adorable but he's the only person he really trusts THAT much y'know. He Loves you taking control even if he's being a brat the entire time.

Or like i said in the last letter if you're a male he gets off to the thought of you cumming on his face and glasses..

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I don't think he's experienced before he met you, most of his knowledge is from porn which isn't the best teacher. But you were definitely his first. The first time is a little awkward but after a couple times and you helping him he figures out how to make you feel so good.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary & reverse cowgirl (he can't choose) Missionary because he loves being able to see your face and being able to mark and wrap his fingers around your neck. But he does have days were you do most of the work due to how tired he is so thats were the reverse cowgirl comes in. He loves watching your ass bounce when you drop back down colliding with his hips.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He's definitely serious except when you react Just how he wants you to his teasing which will get a cocky giggle out of him.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they?)

He's groomed not even just for you but for him, he hates his pubes being long, it so uncomfortable for him.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Very intimate, he wants to make sure that you know he loves you even after all of his teasing. From leaving trails of kisses up your body to just him telling you how much he loves you and how much you mean to him while finishing, he makes sure you know you mean the world to him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't normally jack off by himself anymore but before you both had a sexual relationship it was pretty regular. But now most of his masturbation is done while he watches you and you watch him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Marking. He hates it when he catches someone looking too long so. if you have a couple hickies or bites on you neck/collar bone he'll feel more secure (not that he thinks you're a cheater)

overstimulation. He feels that if you aren't trembling he didn't do a good enough job

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

In your house it doesn't matter where in your shared home just as long as no one could see or hear you. He doesn't want anyone else’ eyes to witness how perfect you are for him and him alone.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you tease him he loses control or when you wear his clothes he fears he wont be able to hold back.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Weird role-plays things like ddlg or step sibling stuff freaks him out. He wouldn't do anything like that.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Likes to give more but definitely wont pass up the chance to get head. However he's dangerously good with his tongue it makes you wonder how he was a virgin before you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends on his mood or how sex started. If he's frustrated or feeling jealous it's fast and rough he needs to you to feel his emotion on each thrust. But if he or you need comfort its very sensual. Tsukishima is never really slow unless he's feeling like a tease.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Doesn't mind quickies but definitely prefers for you two to have longer rounds and so he can make sure that you feel as much euphoria as you can.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Depends what the risk is he doesn't want people to possibly catch you both but if it's trying a new toy or kink he's fine with taking the risk.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

last's a while even with foreplay. He can go 2-3 rounds depending on the day. If he's tired 2 rounds at most, but on the days he more energetic expect more rounds typically 3 though.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He has a toy collection for both you and him, Vibratiors, cock rings, dildos, straps even. he owns at least one of each. Mainly uses them on you but he does enjoy getting pegged from time to time so you guys own a strap.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He teases no matter if he's on top or bottom. Always has something to say even if he's moaning like a whore.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Again depends if he topping or bottoming

Bottoming: sooo many whines and moans coming from his mouth.

topping: Low grunts with a few moans mixed in.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Had a pretty bad porn addiction in highschool but not just videos but audios, stories as well.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Soft i'd say about 4.5in Hard i'd say 5.5in but definitely a little on the girthier side.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He doesn't need it all the time and there are days where he doesn't need it at all so i'd say 3-4 times a week will satisfy him.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Like I mentioned in aftercare he falls asleep after you both are cleaned up.

[beneathsilverstars]

okay the loop pronoun thing its like its like the splinter in my mind that sticks out just enough to get caught on stuff and irriatate the stuff further in.

because they start off with the royal we before going oh wait thats a personal thing not how other people refer to you. so that with the masking literally everything i am genuinely completely undecided on if the pronouns are like they actually just dont associate any with themselves anymore, their lying and covering it up so siffrin wont suspect anything or if its like they just need some time to be around people again and then itll be like ohhhhhh thats why i like these right.

and from there it goes into we literally have no idea how they act around people. okay they were siffrin but now have been so completely transformed by the looping that they are different enough to qualify as someone else.

they get called shy by the party but is that because they realize talking to them will have permanet consequences? is it because they remind them of who theyve lost? is it because they just havent talked to anyone aside from siffrin?

if they got comfortable around others would they be sassy like they are around siffrin?

loops everything is so wrapped up in the timeloops that its like there is almost nothing that can be said for sure about how they would act outside them at this point its like yeah they were siffrin but theyve forgotten all that and are different at least somewhat from everything.

the looping time really has utterly crushed them and then remolded them into something new and it is shown so so well through what is and isnt there about them and its so irritating they are literally a puzzle begging to be solved and the pieces are all blackened from fire and some are a bit out of shape and its like this used to be a solvable puzzle but at this point who knows!

yesss i do think the they/them was just the quickest default that they at least knew they didn't hate, and they're no longer Siffrin Enough to share siffrin's preference for he/him or they/them, though they may now (or one day) have their own preference for they/them. sometimes i give loop more pronouns later because there's no way they won't change a lot post-loops! (or in aus where they've otherwise had more time to think about it and try things out.) i'm fond of she/they/it loop but i may be biased lol

WE JUST KNOW SO LITTLE ABOUT THEM!!!

we know they were siffrin, a long long time ago.

we know how they act with siffrin, who doesn't yet know who they are, during the timeloops -- which are all three very big and specific criteria.

and then we know how they acted in acts 5 and 6, which are also super unique and unreplicable situations! obviously in act 6 they were just faced with the fact that a happy ending was possible all along but it can now never be theirs, on top of this being the first interaction in which siffrin knew loop's identity and loop knew siffrin knew. and then in act 5, this was their first interaction with the party as loop, which only happened because of desperate circumstances, and started off on the very wrong foot of utter devastation at not being recognized, which meant they abandoned their plans and improvised, all while everyone is super worried about siffrin and then trying to navigate the fucked up house. very weird and overwhelming situations!!

you can draw clues about how loop might act post-canon from all of these things we know, but you can't just straight up extrapolate, yknow? their in-game feelings and motivations just will never again apply in the same way, post-canon. and on top of the new contexts in which they'll be living, their trajectory will surely be strongly affected by their immediate post-canon circumstances, to the point that even putting them back into more-familiar contexts somehow would now provoke new responses. they could go in so many directions!! we just don't know!!!

sometimes people are talking about how loop would act post-canon and they say things so definitively and im like. man i think it depends 😭 we know so little about them and they know so little about themself.

[gingerteawrites]

Babysitter - Geto Suguru

A/N: One of my lovely friends mentioned this idea in passing and I have NOT been able to stop thinking about it. So enjoy reading my brainrot lol. Definitely the start of a series hehe.

Content: geto suguru x female reader, dad!Geto, college student reader, non jujutsu au, angst, fluff.

Divider by: @k1ssyoursister

School be damned, the economy be damned. In fact, the entire world be damned. Making ends meet these days was becoming an achievement. And your little college student pockets hurt (more accurately, they were utterly and desperately empty).

You had applied for every open position you came across; on-campus, barista at your local cafes, server at that one sketchy bar and even dog walker but nothing seemed to last. Interviews went awry, creepy bosses drove you to the end of your wit and bad pay was routine. You sighed, beyond exasperated as you flopped onto your tiny twin bed.

Selling feet pics was starting to look a little too enticing of an option.

You unlocked your phone, scrolling through your email inbox, hoping to see something positive from any of the positions you had recently applied for.

**ding**

The pop-up of a notification draws your attention away from the endless emails --mostly unanswered-- and you open the text.

[girly I think I found you a job]

You immediately sit up, the words from Kugisaki leading fresh hope to bloom in your heart. Your fingers tap quickly across your keyboard.

[wait fr?? istg if you're playing with me]

[if you think i'm lying then i won't tell you what it is anymore]

[no, no come back] you send a string of crying emojis, imagining the smirk on her face before the typing bubbles reappear on your screen.

[since you asked so nicely! Babysitting job. A guest lecturer for one of my classes. Really chill dude]

You sighed, shoulders drooping as soon as your brain registered the message. You were about to turn your screen off when the bubble appeared again.

[I know you don't like babysitting jobs, but give this one a try okay? Plus the guy pays really well] attached was an email address, certainly that of the one looking to hire.

[Thank u, I really appreciate it <3] you typed back, flopping back onto your bed.

Your sighed again, and closed your eyes. It was so cold. Your town had been victim to a series of winter storms. Even nature seemed done with the world's shit. But the prospect of having to deal with another high electricity bill if you turned the heat any higher led you to your closet, grabbing one of your thicker hoodies instead.

You should be grateful. You muttered to yourself, heading to the bathroom and splashing water on your tired face. Financial aid covers tuition, and you are not homeless. You turned the faucet off, watching the heavy bags in your reflection. The person in the mirror looked so tired, life slowly drawn out of her. You should be grateful. The mantra had long lost its desired revitalizing effects but you kept at it regardless. Repeating it to yourself incessantly.

Somehow you managed to find leftover takeout in your tiny fridge, eating your dinner to the sound of your old radiator using the last of its life to barely warm the place. You sighed again, eyeing the email address your friend had sent you. She wouldn't recommend someone untrustworthy. She would never put you in harm's way.

Resigned, you drafted an email. The usual pleasantries, introduction and intent for the position. As soon as you clicked the send button, you pushed your phone away. It didn't matter. The person would probably ghost you anyway.

And then, you really would have to look into feet pic selling forums.

He had replied. In record time actually, only a few hours after you sent your email. Your eyes scanned over the words of the email again, in partial disbelief.

[Thank you for your interest. An interview with me and my girls is all I need to see if we would be a good fit. Please let me know your earliest availability]

Straight to the point and maybe a bit dry, but it was much better than most of what you had been getting. You chewed on your bottom lip, deep in thought.

Being in a strange man's house for extended periods of time was still unsettling.

You should be grateful for the opportunity. Are you really going to let your trauma get in the way. Stop acting so weak.

A reply was typed in before you could psych yourself out, sighing as you put your phone down. He better pay as well as Kugisaki promised. Well, you would find out soon anyway.

What kind of people were Geto Suguru and his daughters... If this job would finally allow you some respite. A hint of stability in these tumultuous times.

Trying to get myself out of a writing rut ughhh. I hope you enjoyed this one though, I'm really excited about starting another series. Let me know if you would like to be tagged!

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated(❁´◡`❁)

[inkyrainstorms]

Inky, I have Some Thoughts.

Recently we got an ask about the Martian Stan AU, the idea that Ford would start making up a room for Stan in the cabin (Lab? Shack but not quite? Ford's house)

I LOVE this idea, and imagining all the things Ford would put up in that room brings me great joy. I feel like Ford is a very Love-through-actions-and-gifts type person rather than an emotional talk or tactile kinda guy

Which means Ford would probably LOVE thinking through a bunch of items to put in Stan's room for if when he comes back

The problem is that Stan and Ford have been so distant (both literally and figuratively) that Ford sort of. Doesn't know what Stan likes anymore.

He can list Stan's interests as a kid no problem, Boxing and building the Stan o war, but what else? Ford hasn't seen his twin in so long, he's forgotten (or maybe he's never really known) want kind of things would bring Stan comfort.

New clothes are a necessity obviously, but what styles? What specific types of clothing? Ford doesn't know.

Pencils and paper Stan to draw on, he liked to draw as a kid does he still?

Anything remotely nautical would get added in, but Ford doesn't know what else.

Everything Ford has to go off of is hazy, warm childhood memories and the gritty crackling of a radio speaker far out of range.

Its hard to shop for someone when you realize you don't really know them all that well.

(I literally wrote up a whole response for this and then my device died and it disappeared. So. Ahem)

This freaking au is just. Yes! It’s about the inherent tragedy of loving someone so much but not knowing them anymore. It’s Ford realizing he doesn’t know who Stan is, and then relearning through listening to his brother talk. Songs his brother likes and sings a lot, things and activities he mentions he’s tried and like or tried and hated. Ford learns that Stan likes to talk to himself while he’s working, making up little songs. He learns about what food Stan wished he could eat, what he misses about Earth. And he takes so,so many notes.

there’s probably a whole mini journal he’s started just dedicated to the person his brother has become. Things he wants to show him around gravity falls. Things he wants to tell him about himself.

he’s not going to learn everything about his brother this way of course. And the things he does learn are going to make that gap in knowledge even more apparent. But it’s about the healing, you know?

[haloslips]

haven't wanted to kill myself in the 3 hours i've been awake today so i'm having little a internet. as a treat.

being suicidal is so fucking boring and embarrassing like what do you mean i'm in my 30s and my brain can just decide to whisper die die die at me with increasing volume until it's all-consuming. like hello we haven't been 17 in almost 15 years!!! my therapist yesterday was like, well actually you're a cup of water and the world is trying to carve a hole in you right now and you need to find more taps to fill yourself faster than you're letting water go. does anyone know where i can find an infinite water source. they then suggested i get air-dry clay and make a bunch of little beads because it's work with both my hands and also i get to stab something which was compelling but i don't know where to find air-dry clay that fast. then they said "write the poem equivalent of drawing a butt" which made me smile but i don't know what that means. what is a butt poem? yesterday i spent my whole lunch hour crying in my car and my work best friend was like, is this job killing you? and i didn't know how to say no the job is whatever, my brain is trying to kill itself. the job isn't really helping but that's just because i have almost nothing to do ever so i do not ever feel a sense of accomplishment or importance. i wish i could start grad school now just to have something to focus on but the soonest i can do that is in 18 months and i still have to play the application game between now and then. i'm supposed to do something fun with my friends next weekend in philly but i'm afraid of flying on an airplane anymore and also what if i still feel this bad then? i don't want to ruin their good time especially because i only really know like five of the people who will be there and i loathe for anyone's first impression of me to be miserable guy pretending to have fun. but i'm trying not to catastrophize that far in advance. feelings, even the really big bad miserable ones, are fleeting. this will pass but i wish it would do it sooner. today i called out of work to lay on my best friend's floor and cry here instead. sometimes i think i'd be happier outside of seattle but this is where my people are and moving is the worst experience on earth.

is this a butt poem i wish i knew

[nightlyrequiem]

The Canary Cage

Chapter 3. Butterfly Caught

Masterlist AO3 Next Previous

w/c- 3,934

One meeting in a dingy bar on the cheap side of town. One sighting of you. The raw sadness in your eyes drew Valeria in. A parasite attracted to the taste of your tears. She'll chew you up and spit you out, but what she doesn't realise is you bite back.

A/N: sorry for the wait! I had the chapter ready to go but I hated it so much. So, I rewrote the entire thing. Quality over quantity, or something. Also, future chapters should have more Valeria in them. She is after all, the star of the show.

Tags/Warnings: Tags Will Be Updated as Story Progresses, WLW, Mental Illness, Unhealthy Relationships, Angst, Violence, Referenced Self-Harm, A Healthy Amount of Self-Hatred

༺☆༻༺☆༻༺☆༻༺☆༻

Your boss's mouth moves but all you hear is a dull ringing in your ears. You watch his high hairline glisten with sweat under the warm lighting of a dying light bulb above.

"... Not the right fit..." His voice drones in and out like a radio struggling to catch a signal. "... Nothing personal... Were a good..."

He's firing you. Your entire nervous system is set on edge. You've been working at the Fireflower for years. It was your first and only job and even getting it in the first place was a hard task. Your mind runs from you, bombarding you with everything that comes with being fired.

You'll have to look for another job. Which means you'll have to go down to the library, update your resume and print it, then walk around town handing it off. You recall the last time you did that. The humiliation of uncertainly wandering into an establishment and waiting to be noticed. Asking if they're hiring. Most of them say no but a few took your resume. Only to never call you back. It took months just to get this job. 

Your boss waves a hand in front of you. And now he's taking it from you.

"Hey." He says, having the audacity to sound concerned. The ringing ceases and your mind snaps back to the present.

"What?" You snap. Hot anger pulses in your heart. Your body seems to be unable to tell the difference between being fired and being attacked.

"... Did you hear what I said?" He asks cautiously. Picking up on your sour mood. Seeing the rigidness of your body.

"You're firing me." You grit out. You want to lash out. Strike him. Claw at his face.

He sighs and sets his hands down on the desk. He leans back in his chair, the creaking of it loud and irritating.

"It's not that I want to, you understand." He tells you. 

"Then don't." You say harshly. "Do you know how hard it is to get a job? You're seriously fucking me over. Why are you firing me?" You wonder if Harlow has something to do with it. She's had it out for you since you started working here. Taking your girlfriend wasn't enough for her, she wants to take your job from you too.

"I have to." He replies with discomfort. He doesn't want a fight. Wants you to roll over and take it.

"Why?" You snap, stepping closer. Unintentionally being threatening. Someone behind you shifts their weight and disturbs a loose floorboard. You look behind you. Bones, the only bouncer at the Fireflower is there. When did he get here? 

You'd be able to hear someone so large moving around, but you suppose you didn't because of how thrown off being fired is making you feel. You turn back to your boss, indignant. It's cowardly, you think. To have Bones here as his little reinforcement. He opens his mouth to speak but seems to change his mind about what he wants to say. Instead he shakes his head. The action draws your attention to a new chain glinting around thick neck.

"Because I've decided that I don't want you here anymore." He says. Reaching below his desk and pulling up a small wicker basket crowded with generic self-care items and cheap chocolate. "I had the girls whip this up for you." He says softly.

You stare at the basket. At the cheap woven design that's beginning to fray at the ends. The girls whipped this up for you. They knew he was firing you and not one of them thought to warn you. Hurt cuts deeply in your chest. The unfairness of it all threatens to overwhelm you. Not that it takes very much. You fight back the urge to throw a fit. Every atom that makes up your body wants a fight but that wouldn't be appropriate. Your entire body is tensed, and you have to dig your nails into your palm to keep yourself grounded. Adding insult to injury, your boss slowly pushes the basket towards you. Like a shitty generic gift basket will make up for the loss of income.

You snatch it from the desk and storm out of the room. Shouldering Bones out of the way. He takes it upon himself to follow you out, making sure you're really leaving. As if you'd actually want to stay here after this egregious insult. A few of the girls stand by and watch. Some curious, some amused. You glower at them. You wish you could lash out at them, too. 

Bones practically chases you from The Fireflower. Closing the door behind you. You feel betrayed by everyone. Nobody here was your friend, but you spent so much time around them that you felt a sense of loyalty to everyone (Not Harlow.), and you mistakenly assumed the feeling was mutual. Bones would watch over you at the bus stop sometimes if you felt particularly uncomfortable standing around at night. It only serves to reinforce the notion that you can't rely on or trust anyone else.

The walk home feels hellish. You decided that you didn't have the patience or desire to linger outside the Fireflower and wait for the bus. You periodically tear up on your walk. Letting the tears flow for a few minutes before you stop and repeat. You try to regulate your breathing before walking inside your building. You slam the glass door behind you and wince at the noise it makes. You hurry up the stairs, just wanting to go to bed and end this day.

Your stomach turns and your heart beats painfully hard. Killing your appetite completely. You stumble into your bedroom and angrily tear off your clothes. Throwing them about with hatred. You fling your jewelry at the walls and throw yourself into bed. Hoping to calm down but you can't calm down and you can't relax. You continue to lash out. Sporadically grabbing things near you and throwing them. You swipe everything off your nightstand. The objects clattering to the floor. You limply lay in bed, your room now a disorganized mess. You're not angry anymore. Just tired. You pull the comforter over your shoulders and hide yourself under your blankets and pillows like a protective shield.

Time creeps by you quickly. After losing your job the only thing you can bring yourself to do, is lay in bed and stare at the wall. Any setback, no matter how big, feels crushing and irreversible. That cruel voice is back whispering sweetly in your ear. It sounds like your mother, and father, and you. What's the point? If this is the kind of life you're going to live. Paycheque to paycheque, stressing yourself to death over money until you die because Lord knows you'll never save enough to retire. Your mother never got to retire and neither did your father. They did nothing with themselves and you're following suit in going nowhere fast.

The days tick by. When you're not sleeping, you're laying frozen, thinking of everything you should be doing. There's another, quieter voice trying to usher you out of bed but it's not as encouraging or as loud as the other one. It's like no matter how badly you want to, you just can't get out of bed. Like you've lost control of your limbs and now they have no way of operating on their own. You need to clean yourself up, head down to the library, update and print your resume, then walk around handing it out to businesses. First, you need to get yourself to the bathroom. Your bladder throbs uncomfortably.

it takes an hour and twenty-three minutes to finally shift yourself into a sitting position. Moving yourself along like a baby still learning how to control it's body. You get to your feet and drag yourself to the bathroom. Narrowly avoiding pissing yourself. It's easier to do things now that you're up. The idea of showering still feels daunting, but you force yourself into the tub anyway. Only half-heartedly washing yourself and scrubbing off days old makeup, grime, and sweat. You're exhausted and bone-weary when you get out. You've done enough and skip moisturizing. Choosing to go back to bed. Tomorrow you'll start being productive. Tomorrow.

Going back to bed proved to be a poor decision. Tomorrow arrives and you're struck with the impossible task of getting out of bed yet again. You really don't want to have to leave your apartment. You'd really benefit from talking to a therapist about the lingering agoraphobia you never managed to fully shake from your adolescent years. unfortunately, you can't afford a therapist. You can't afford to be agoraphobic either. So, you move your ass along. Pulling on clean clothes and slathering makeup on. One day you'll feel secure enough to walk out with a bare face but today is not that day.

You trudge your way to the library. Cursing yourself for never investing in a computer and printer. At the time you justified it by telling yourself that you wouldn't use either thing often enough to justify the purchase, but now you're heavily regretting it. It's hot out. The heat oppressively curls around you like an oversized jacket. Making the hair on the back of your neck dampen with sweat. Your underarms too. Even after swathing on deodorant and a few sprits of cheap body spray, you still feel self-conscious of how you may smell. The library is nice and cool. The AC clearing up your mind a bit. It's relatively empty. A few children loitering in the graphic novel section and the elderly woman who runs the library at the counter with a book.

You take a seat in front of one of the public computers and begin editing your resume. Changing it up a bit and adding the Fireflower to your experience. You stare at the screen, not feeling very hopeful. The Fireflower is the only place you've ever worked. It almost feels worse having only one job down for experience then none. You look over the whole thing critically. Sure that you did it the wrong way because no one ever taught you how to make a proper resume. Maybe the reason no one wants to hire you is because of how unprofessional it must look.

Though, without much reference, there's nothing else you can do. You print yourself fifteen copies and wait ten minutes for the ancient printer to print them. You watch and think. Conjuring up places you should go to first. You've already applied to most of the places in town but that was years ago. You imagine they must have gone down an employee at some point. Then you remember Valeria's offer. To work for her. You don't have a very high opinion on Valeria but if you worked for her, you could pretty much go back to your old routine. And that desire for familiarity overrides your desires to stick to your morals.

You never learned the name of her lounge though, you realize. It dampens your mood a bit. There are a few lounges and bars across Las Almas, but you don't feel like traipsing all over the city looking for a specific one. Distress threatens yet again to overwhelm you and beat you into submission, but you swiftly catch yourself. You ponder for a moment if you could wait for collection day to inquire after the position, but you're not sure if you have the funds for that. You remind yourself grimly that you may not have a choice if no one hires you anyway.

The last resume prints, and you grab it. Shoving them into your bag and walking back out into the unforgiving heat. Immediately you begin to sweat again. You forgot what day life looked like in Las Almas. Having turned semi-nocturnal due to your job. It feels almost disconcerting how many people are out and about. How normal and healthy they all look. You've grown used to weathered and sunken faces. You feel self-conscious. Perhaps you look that way to them. Ragged and ill.

You stop at the first business you see. A quaint little bakery. At the counter is a young girl. While she serves another customer you look over the selection of baked treats. Churros, Flan, Tres Leches Pastel, Conchas. Your stomach twists but not in hunger. You're still too upset to even think about eating. Though you really should soon. You're feeling faint and groggy. When the girl at the counter becomes free you walk up to her and smile. Pretending you don't see a mouse run by in the back.

"Hi, are you guys hiring?" You ask politely. Heart pounding violently at the simple social interaction. The girl hesitates. Some kind of expression crosses her face but it's too fast for you to decipher.

"... Um, no. Sorry." She says. Blinking a few times, looking very uncomfortable. 

"You have a help wanted sign in the front window." You reply. Discouragement quickly makes itself known but you beat it back. The girl scratches her chin.

"Yeah, that's old." She says finally. "We've been a little lazy about taking it down."

"Elaine!" Someone shouts from the back. She grimaces then looks relieved by the interruption. She bids you goodbye without asking if you were ordering anything. Wholly tempted to give up and go home, you exit the bakery. Cursing it and Elaine. You walk into a restaurant, seeing it alive with activity. Tables full of families being waited on by waitresses. You slip by and walk right to the counter. You open your mouth to ask if they're hiring, but the man behind the counter sees your resumes peeking out from your bag and shakes his head.

"Not hiring." He says, quickly moving away to attend to a different, clearly more important manner.

'We're not hiring, sorry.' 'No, sorry.' 'Not at this moment.' 'We can't hire you, I'm sorry.' Every. Single. Place you've gone to has told you they aren't hiring. You smile and nod. Walking out of the little clothing store. Veering into the alley, you drop down next to the dumpster and lower your head into your hands. Gripping your hair tightly and tugging. Pain blossoms on your scalp but you don't stop. Chest heaving with silent laughs. Or sobs. Perhaps both. Fifteen resumes are what you left the library with and an hour later, fifteen resumes you still have. You clench your jaw. Anger coating a sourness in your stomach. Constricting the sensitive muscles.

It feels like you're on a no hire list. That, or it just truly is impossible to get a job in Las Almas these days. You're not sure which one is worse. Valeria might be your only hope and the thought of crawling back to her with your tail between your legs only makes you angrier. You go home. Sweaty, tired, upset, and with nothing to show for it. You throw your bag to the ground, the papers spilling out. Throwing yourself into bed, you decide to wait for collection day to see if Valeria's offer still stands. You sure hope it does. If it doesn't, well, you'll just kill yourself.

The first of the month rolls around again. Your apartment has been somewhat tidied since your fit after being fired, though you haven't gotten back the motivation or energy to truly fix it. Getting tired after picking up only a few things and retreating back to the easy embrace of your bed. You had the foresight to create an emergency savings when you still worked. Saving up just enough to support you for two months. 

Displeasure twists your features as you retrieve the needed amount to pay the protection fee. Protection from what, no one seems to know. The Cartel is the only dangerous thing here. Them and the local tweakers that sometimes break into the building. Not that the Cartel actually protects anyone from them. You count down the seconds, waiting for that knock on your door. You pace around, lay down, bounce your leg. Finally, that knock comes and you open the door right away.

Darkening your doorstep is not Valeria, but some tattooed man.

"Money." He says gruffly, holding out a hand. He's missing a pinky finger.

"Where's Valeria?" You ask, handing him the money. He fans it out and counts the bills carefully. Taking his job as collector very seriously.

"She has better things to do then collect money." He replies disinterestedly. Of course. Just your luck. You want to laugh. You also want to scream. One bubbles up in your throat and threatens to release itself, but you swallow it.

"She owns a lounge, right?" You ask.

The man looks up at you, a mean expression on his face. That or maybe he just looks like that.

"Who's asking?" He grunts.

"Uh, me?" You reply impatiently. His lips quirk down, and you continue. "She offered me a job last month."

The man considers your words carefully. Uncertain of your trustworthiness. He gives you a once over and deems you harmless.

"St. Anya Avenue. The Canary Cage." He tells you. "She's not there very often though." You relax a little. See? Not so hard, not so bad. One step at a time, think about now not later.

"Could you take back a resume for me? For when she is in, please?" You ask hopefully.

He chortles.

"No." The man turns and leaves. Shambling down the hall to harass your neighbors for their hard-earned money as well. Scowling at his departing form you duck back inside and slam the door a little too hard. Fine. You'll go yourself. You learn from your mistakes and don't lay down in bed, or even sit down. You grab a resume and set out for The Canary Cage. Your last hope. It's dusk out. A chilly evening breeze blowing through the colorful streets of Las Almas. St. Anya Avenue is on the other side of town. A fact that dissuades you a little. If you do get the job you'll have a longer bus ride. This wouldn't be an issue if you had a car, but you gave up on getting your license after failing the road test for the fourteenth time. Honestly, you're amazed you even tried fourteen times. No, driving just isn't for everyone.

You get on a bus that will take you there. Graffiti gets less and less common and so does the armored loitering trucks of Cartel soldiers. The sidewalks get smoother, the buildings cleaner. St. Anya Avenue is one of the prettier parts of Las Almas. With coloured brick buildings, string lights, and cheerful bunting strung up between buildings. You get off the bus, and search around for the lounge. You find it after not long. Spotting the building with 'The Canary Cage' written on the front in flowery script. You pull open the door and walk past a large man acting as the bouncer. You take it in. There are different stages around the large lounge. Women curl their bodies to the songs of another on a larger, main stage off to the side. There's a headache inducing floral smell to the air. The patrons inside are more varied and just... more in general. Perturbed at the sight of one of the waitresses cozied up on the lap of some guy, you hurry over to the bar. Wanting to get this done as fast as possible so you can leave this overstimulating environment.

There's a young guy, one who looks barely legal. You frown at the sight of his pimply face while he cleans a shot glass. He looks up, noticing you.

"Hey, what can I get you, miss?" He calls over the music. You reach into your bag and slap down a resume. 

"Valeria offered me a job here." You tell him.

"Who?" He furrows his brows. 

"... Valeria?" You reply uncertainly. The collector didn't give you the wrong address, did he? 

"I'm not sure who that is, I can ask my manager though." He offers. To which you nod gratefully.

"Please." 

The boy sets down the glass and disappears behind a swinging door.

You're feeling a little more hopeful. You weren't outright rejected this time and that's a positive sign. This place is nicer, Valeria wasn't lying about that. Harlow can go suck it, you think venomously. The boy returns after a few minutes and takes your resume.

"She's the owner." He tells you. "She's not here though so I'll hold onto this for you. Thanks for applying." He nods. 

"Thanks." You reply, feeling yourself slack with an almost painful relief. That rotten little pit in your stomach finally leaves you and the feeling is blissful.

You go home. Feeling energized and new. You keep your hopes lowered though. Knowing that whenever you get excited about anything before it happens, it finds a way of not happening. This one simple thing going your way is enough to boost your mood. You fully clean your apartment. Meticulously putting things away. You decide the floors could use some cleaning too. You notice how filthy the walls look and since you're already in a cleaning mood, decide to wipe them down. Time slips past you and suddenly the sun is rising. You watch it through your front window. 

The morning sunlight flows over the buildings like golden water. You step aside to admire the strong beams of light on your walls. On the paintings. Despite it being a new morning, you still don't feel tired. There's a nervous energy buzzing through you. The sun feels like a good omen. A new day, a new beginning. Maybe it will be better. You picture yourself singing on the main stage in The Canary Cage. Not choking on cigarette smoke. 

You cook yourself a full breakfast with whatever food you have left. Not really tasting it but devouring it all the same. You put your plate in the sink after scraping off all the scraps. Your phone that's lying on the counter beside you begins buzzing with an incoming phone call. You don't recognize the number but answer it. Because it's rare that people call you and you're socially deprived.

"Hello?" You say. Leaning over the counter, picking at a chip in the stone absentmindedly.

A woman says your name, asking if it's you she's speaking to. 

"Yes." You reply. Straightening.

"It's Valeria." She says. 

You feel surprised at how quickly she got back to you. But at least it means you're getting the job. Or an interview at the very least.

"Oh." You say. 

"Changed your mind, I see." Valeria hums. Her voice a little distorted by the phone. You frown. Of course she can't help herself by being smug and irritating.

"Yeah. You're calling, so I'm assuming I got the job?" You say, steering the conversation back on course.

"Mighty presumptuous of you." Valeria replies. "Maybe I'm calling because I want to break the news to you myself that the position is filled." For a second you're silent, worried that it's true. Until common sense and reason kicks the thought away.

"You're not." You say.

Valeria takes a breath.

"I'm not." She agrees. "Come in Monday at eight and I'll fill you in." Valeria tells you. Hanging up before you can reply. You have a new job. Working for someone associated with the Cartel, but it's a job. Sighing, you set down your phone and get to washing your plate. Though something tickles the back of your mind uncomfortably. Valeria sounded awfully pleased with herself.

[tutumydear]

Found this deeeep in my WIPs. I forgot about it!

This is totally how Duck would greet Fakir when he comes home from school. Just jumping out of the window lol <3

[licorishh]

no way she's alive ?? yea those mental health breaks because social media makes people suck are wild huh

[ryuucae]

Entry for a Lucina zine from last year; I'm still quite fond of the composition!

If interested in leftover sales, please take a look at the project account here ^^

[greyedian]

I'm still chasing the high of these bg3 sketches I drew like... summer/fall last year. They're pretty much the only drawings from last year I legitimately like and had fun doing.

[captainhysunstuff]

22 more images (with some saucy shenanigans and immature "seduction" tactics towards the end) below the cut:

Ryuk makes his grand return and is brought up to speed with Light and L's immoral union. The date seems pretty successful~.

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Transcript

[magician-under-the-m00nlight]

aptx!kaito au in which Shinichi doesn't know aptx exists and feels insane that his leading theory is "a six year old is the mastermind behind Kaitou Kid"

[lieutenantselnia]

F/o list meme because I miss posting about them but don't have all to much energy for other stuff currently, so memes it is😂 I lowkey wanna do more of these alignment chart memes now (both self ship and others), they're just fun :D

Template by @strawberry-selfships!

[averlym]

Aragon and Cathy being silly in honor of the dressing room duo of all time Sydney and Gerianne

this post has a target audience of -1

[ssssssstarnnnights]

||WARNING FOR HALF NAKED PEOPLE AND IMPLIED SAY GEX 💀|| That one meme or something idk

[vargaslovinghours]

And never let you go ♥

Bonus without the overspill lighting: