#addicted to meth no less

[esoteric-altruism]

i fucking hate being an addict i fucking missed my shot last night instead of waiting for my bf to come home and do it for me. i’m so tired of this back and forth battle i keep having with myself. 5 fucking years of this shit i’m tired of breaking the promises i make to myself. why can’t i just get over it already? why couldn’t i just be normal

[knoxville-coroner]

Last night was the wildest night of my life tbh

[vaguelydefinedshapes]

hey uh maybe don't respond to someone mentioning their medications by talking about how they're basically just party drugs!

[meiieiri]

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐩 [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: toji will never forget the first night he spent away from the zenin clan and the day he met you.

pairing: toji fushiguro x f!reader | song inspo: saw you in a dream, timeless | hidden inventory: the lost tapes series masterlist

warnings: mentions of emotional abuse but generally pretty much a fluff fic where toji and y/n meet for the first time. | a/n: finally launching my little love project called “hidden inventory: the lost tapes”! 🍒

Now isn’t this just perfect?

Toji’s is just one inconvenience away from just going back to the Zenin clan with his tail between his legs. First, he underestimates just how expensive living in Tokyo is so, with what little pocket money his emotionally distant mother gave him before he left the estate, the first thing he does is spend it all on a girl — in broad daylight — he’s heard his brother, Jinichi, talk about those cute little call girls that crawl the streets of Kabukichō with flyers in their hand for thirty-minute “massages”. Naturally, as a young man who is only first experiencing the carnal joys the city has to offer, Toji was curious and he took the bait.

A bait that cost him ¥30,000 and the girl was unfortunately sloppy at best.

Now, he doesn’t have money to buy so much as a soggy red bean pancake for dinner. He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking around this dingy part of Shinjuku but as long as the red light district’s trashy ambience is distracting him from the growling of his stomach, then, he’ll stumble around this hellhole until morning.

“Ha! You won’t even last two minutes out there!” That’s what Naobito Zenin, the head of the clan said to him when he left. “Only two things await you when you get out of here, either you’ll die hungry or a cursed spirit will get to you first — either way, you’ll die with your eyes wide open with no one!”

Overrun by his thoughts, Toji doesn’t even notice that he accidentally intruded on a random cockroach and curse-infested alleyway that apparently belonged to some junkie who is now angrily telling him to get lost. “I was just looking for a place to sit down,” Toji scoffs. Weren’t they both bottom feeders in this city? Why was this rancid-smelling meth addict acting like he’s any better than him?

“Well, go sit somewhere else, this place is off-limits!”

It was almost funny how Toji thought that the world beyond the gates of the Zenin estate was any better than the shit show he was born into.

He should have known better than to be enticed by the glitz and glamour of living independently from his abusive family who at least had the decency to feed him maggoty rice from the estate’s second storehouse dedicated to prepare the animals’ food. They also gave him shelter, of course, he’s had to live in the Zenin estate’s shed for a while now since his father discovered he was born useless without an ounce of cursed energy. But at least he was warm, and the termites made him feel less lonely.

He continues on in his aimless quest. The night is still young. There’s plenty of time for self-depreciating introspection.

Hopefully, that grade three cursed spirit that’s been following him around the block for a while now gets to him first before the rain does.

“That guy over there,” your coworker whispers to you from the cash registers. “He’s been there for a while now and he hasn’t ordered anything.”

You look up from your pocketbook, your eyes curiously trained on the rugged looking man whose eyes were downcast, trained on the service water he requested from the counter when he came in. As if he could feel a pair of eyes on him, he looks up, and glances your way for a bit but you quickly hide your face behind your book.

“He kinda looks like trouble, no? Shady too, just look at the scar on his lip…”

“It’s not fair to judge someone like that, Rika-chan,” you whispered to your junior, turning to arrange the menus, painstakingly wiping each one clean with a cloth dampened with sanitizer. A small smirk appears on Toji’s lips at your passive defense of his character and as if to goad you on, he drums his fingertips against the table daring you to say another word. “Anyway, I’ll handle closing the shop tonight. You need to get home since you have class in a few hours.”

That seemed sudden. Rika looks at you funnily before shrugging off her apron in favor of her raincoat. “Well, alright, if you insist. Should I clean up the kitchen at least?”

“I’ll handle it,” you give her a thumbs up, waving her goodbye as she leaves through the backdoor. Now that you’re alone, you could hardly stop yourself from glancing at the mysterious man, and Toji himself wonders if his presence here is starting to turn into a nuisance. You were probably waiting for him to step out so you could close shop for the night but it’s raining hard right now and there are no other places open nearby to take shelter in.

The chair’s feet screeches against the wooden floorboards and you head to the restaurant’s kitchen. Toji stares at your retreating form, looks like he overstayed his welcome. He searches around for a few coins to give to you for your hospitality, of course, it probably doesn’t mean jack shit, but you must have known he didn’t have enough money for a meal when he came in here. You would have realized that immediately. But you allowed him to stay regardless.

You return a couple of minutes later with a bowl miso soup with ginger pork gyoza and shredded cabbages. You set the bowl down in front of him and Toji is thoroughly taken aback, he looks at you dumbfounded. “I don’t have any money,” his voice comes out a little gruffly but you barely flinch at the sharp edge of his tone.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Refilling his water, you explained that while you could have easily stuffed those leftovers back in the freezer, customers wouldn’t want to eat frozen food, so, you decide to heat these items up to give to him instead. “Oh,” Toji answers a little dumbly. “Or you could have thrown them out.” He stares at the sumptuous meal in front of him. Even in the Zenin estate, he never had such good food laid out in front of him before and it was surreal to see a stranger do the things his family should have done for him.

You return to the counter, leaning on your forearms as you engage in light banter with him. “You’re saying I should feed rats over people?” you chuckled, sitting back down, smiling softly when Toji gingerly bringing the bowl of miso soup to his lips, the rich earthy broth warming his throat that he lets out a content sigh.

He smirks at your little remark. “I’m saying you shouldn’t make a habit of feeding strays.” He polishes his soup bowl clean within minutes and you have to remind him to slow down every now and then as you watched him eat ravenously. “You never know when you could get that dainty hand of yours bitten off.”

You blushed pink at that. He was right, being too generous could cost you dearly one day but being the altruistic soul that you are, you’ll probably continue to be graciously selfless despite the risk of being taken advantage of. It’s just how you are as a person who believes that a little kindness can make the world better than it was yesterday. “I…don’t really know about that…whether I get bitten or not by the people I help isn’t really something I can control. The world would be better off if people just learned to be kind to one another.”

Toji hums at your naive countenance, folding his arms over the table. The room is silent for a few minutes save for the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance. “You’re kinda dumb, aren’t ya?”

“And you’re a pessimist,” you answered, quirking an amused eyebrow at him. “Who doesn’t even know how to say thank you.” You stand up to clear out the table, a teasing glint in your eyes as your curious orbs collide.

Toji scoffs, leaning against his seat, crossing his legs. At his reluctance, you shake your head, giggling softly. What an infuriating interesting guy. Toji hears the rushing of tap water from behind the counter and he smiles inwardly. The rain begins to slowly stop and he takes this window of opportunity to leave.

You don’t even try to hide your disappointment when you come back to the dining room only to find it empty, the stranger having left nothing in his wake — not a goodbye, not a thank you, and certainly not his name — except a single rusty five yen coin on the table.

Clang-dong!

“Hello, welcome—“ You stop mid-sentence. Your throat constricting with a mix of emotions, the most dominant one being joy at this happy chance, you’d recognize those sharp dark green eyes anywhere despite only first seeing them a week ago. After all, they looked so dangerously beautiful under the dim light of the dining room’s ceiling lampshade. “—back. Welcome back,” you smiled brightly at Toji.

Toji nods, his hand coming up to cover his lips as he coughs once. “Thanks…ah, right — shit, where is it?” After rummaging around his parachute jacket’s many pockets, he finally takes out his wallet and you look at him, bewildered, when he hands a few hundred yen bills to you. “For last week. Sorry I couldn’t pay you back then.”

“It’s fine.” You take his larger, calloused hand and return the money which Toji responds to by stubbornly placing it on the table.

Toji pinches the bridge of his nose when you playfully return the gesture by rolling it up and placing it in his jacket pocket, buttoning it. “Look, it was real nice of you to treat me back then, but I’m not a charity case, alright? I just wanna pay my dues.”

“Then, a simple ‘thank you’ is enough.” Toji just couldn’t understand you. You have absolutely no reason to be nice to him, but you are. For a moment, he begins to fall into the enticing thought that maybe life outside the Zenin estate won’t be too bad after all if there are people like you still around just waiting at random corners to be found in joyful happenstances such as waiting out a storm at a random family-style restaurant over a heartwarming serving of miso soup with tender pieces of gyoza and cabbage.

Relenting, he smirks at you, unable to figure you out. “Thank you.”

“Anyway, need a table for lunch?” you smiled warmly at him as you lead him to the table he sat in a week ago which you now affectionately refer to as ‘his’ table instead of table number four.

Toji nods following your lead and chuckling when you hand him the menu. “Where’s that thing I had last time?“ he oddly flips through the booklet.

“Oh uh…it’s not on the menu actually, but I could make that for you if you’d like.”

“Sounds good.” Toji hands you back the menu. You are just about to scurry away to the kitchen when he calls out to you. “So, do you have a name or should I just keep referring to you as gyoza girl or something?” Embarrassed at the way your knees seem to become weak at his boyish grin, you have to take a few deep breaths before turning around to face him again. “I’m Toji.”

He doesn’t say his last name. He doesn’t feel the need to anymore now that he’s finally closing the door to his past. You nod, noting how the name suited him. It’s brief but strong, muted but loud in its rhythm. Toji. At that moment, you find it impossible to name a prettier sound. After a few excruciating minutes in the kitchen, you come back out with two bowls of miso soup this time around and you sit down on the chair directly in front of him.

“Y/N.”

Toji repeats the melody of your name in his head. “And how much do I owe ya for this, Y/N?”

You shrugged as the two of you dig in, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as you chew the steamed gyoza, joining him as he laughs (well, he’s scoffing more than actually laughing, really), his eyes alight with wonder, when you simply say, “Five yen.”

[bogleech]

People who don't understand ADHD think we get a "prescription meth addiction," meanwhile the ADHD causes me to forget my daily Adderall frequently enough that I have a stockpile of five months worth at any given time. When I do consistently remember to take it I also feel like it's less effective anyway if I really do it daily. I feel like taking them only every three days helps me the most.

[1427]

When the Levee Breaks (pt. 5)

Daryl Dixon x OFC

Story Summary: The one in which a stripper that used to know Merle and Daryl shows up at the Atlanta camp. Daryl’s feelings are complicated but mostly he hates her, right?

Chapt Setting: The Farm/Woods

Chapt Warnings: pretty explicit drug use (meth), season 2 Daryl, degrading/sexist language (he’s starting to get better lol), SOPHIA CHAPTER (I think that deserves a warning)

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Daryl’s POV story. Daryl’s starting to be less of a dick, trying really hard to make it feel organic/make it make sense in the story. Idk. This chapter was really rough to write because… it made me sad. Also have no idea if it even makes sense (the hallucination bit, really hope it does) lol ALSO; I looked up some timeline stuff and i just?? Really thought Daryl was out there for days on his own? But apparently he wasn’t? We’re just gonna say that he is in this story. 🤷🏼‍♀️ I can only do so much when the timeline of TWD is fucking stupid sometimes. (I mean it. Come for me. Idc. Rick was in a coma for 59 days without food or water???!?!!!? Bye)

masterlist

17+ mdni (no smut in this one tho sorry)

Like fiberglass in my veins, it tears through me. Mellow, at first, almost think I should rail more before I can feel myself sweatin’. Different kinda sweat, comin’ from my fuckin’ soul. 

Haven’t felt like I was doin’ something ‘wrong’ since I was little. That feeling that ch’ya get when you’re doin’ somethin’ ya know you’re not s’possed to. This ain’t the first time I done spazz, but maybe it’ll be the last. The anxiety about doin’ it goes away the second I feel the devil kick me through my nose to the back of my brain. Even though I know it’s comin’, it always feels like gettin’ skullfucked by satan. 

Been out here for a day. I brought Merle’s shit with me because I decided to finally get rid of it somewhere. But I got somethin’ that needs doin’. And anyway, I got years of experience with ice. Not doin’ it. Sometimes doin’ it. Never let Merle know, he’d’ve made some big whoop ‘bout it. And everytime he’d gone and done more than he remembered, he woulda blamed me. Shit though, sometimes it was. 

M’not like Merle and Beatle. Ain’t an addict. Can do shit and put it down. Always been able to put it down. Figured other people could too, that they just didn’t wanna. ‘m not sure, but still kinda think that. 

Never felt fuckin’ guilty about it before, though. Fuckin’ Beatle. I’unno if it’s cuz I’d be done with her if she did the same shit, or if it’s cuz I know if she knew that I was - she’d be mad at me. Mad I didn’t invite ‘er. 

But this shit ain’t for fuckin’ playtime. Only reason ‘m even doin’ it i’so I can find Sophia. So I can stay awake, focus, and get ‘er back. They use ta use this shit in war. War’s the reason methamphetamines even exist. Nazi’s? Hell, every single one of ‘em in WWII. Kamikazi’s loaded up, totally fuckin’ wasted outta their minds on crystal while they bolted ‘em in. Kept ‘em awake, kept ‘em happy, kept ‘em focused on the mission. Tha’s what I gotta do. 

I can’t stop lookin’ til I find ‘er. Sophia. ‘m the only one that can, only one that knows how. And anymore, ‘m the only one that seems to give a shit. ‘Sides Carol. And Beatle. She wanted ta come. Told her she’d only slow me down. Distract me. Drawn more geeks. She woulda. Told her I didn’t need food either but she packed me some anyway. Knew I wasn’t gonna be hungry. Knew I was gonna use this dumb shit to help. But whatever. 

Doesn’t matter what happens to me, right? My life’s not worth nothin’, not compared to that little girl. Now that her old man’s outta the picture she actually got a chance. Maybe not mucha one, not the way shit is these days. But she got ‘er mom. And ‘er mom can actually be ‘er mom now. Not scared of some piece’a shit prick that finally got what was comin’ to ‘im. 

Man fuck that guy.

The trail I’m followin’ disappears so I backtrack to the mangroves where I found her doll and try to find another one. 

I start to wonder what kinda old man Beatle had. What kinda mom? Startin’ ta realize I don’t know a damn thing about Beatle. I know she likes drinkin’, she likes laughin’, she likes fuckin’ with me. But… 

Beatle keeps surprisin’ me. Not just because she let me hump her face a few days ago, the fact that she liked it, shit I haven’t even had a second to process that. Nah, more cuz she hasn’t brought it up. Hasn’t tried to hold my hand again. Hasn’t been annoyin’ me nearly as much. Not even at all, if ‘m honest. 

My brain’s goin’ a million miles a fuckin’ second over Beatle and what happened between us. Not just the other night, but back then. Got questions that need answerin’ but she ain’t here. Try to keep myself occupied with trackin’ but it ain’t like trackin’ takes much thinkin’. Follow every trail I pick up, but none of ‘em lead me to Sophia. 

I’d prob’ly start gettin’ really frustrated about this, but that’s what crystals good for. All the dopamine I need, and nothin’s annoyin’. Focus.

✨🏹 

Bent branches, wilted leaves, mud impressions, walker guts. Trees and rocks and blood and mud and dirt and greens and browns and reds and blacks. And it’s dark and it’s light and it’s dark. And it smells fuckin’ rotten. Bent branches, wilted leaves, another trail, another dead end, another undead shithead. Bent branches, wilted leaves, mud impressions, Beatle. 

How many times did I go into Merle’s bag and take the devils dick up my nose? Cuz Beatle’s standin’ here right in front of me. ‘Cept she’s all done up in makeup and glitter and her pupils are the size of dimes. Little pink crop top, tiniest pair’a daisy dukes I ever seen. ‘n she’s in my face sayin’ the shit I been thinkin’ about her sayin’ since that day she said it. 

“I like you, Dar.” 

“You like bein’ fucked up more.” I say it like I said it the last time. 

“That’s not true! I mean - I like you, Daryl.” She steps closer, tries to put her hand on my cheek before I brush her off. She slumps back a little, turning away. “You like me, too. You said it.” 

My hearts in my fuckin’ throat and I’m standin’ there, this can’t be fuckin’ happening. I know is’not but doesn’t make it feel any less real. “Tha’ was before I really knew ya, Beatle.” 

Hate that I said that to ‘er. Did I really say that? Cuz maybe that’s how I felt. Hell, maybe that’s how I felt last week. But it ain’t fair. I don’t know her. Still. Now. Don’t know ‘er at all. Thought I did. Thought I understood what kinda girl did those kindsa things. Is that really what I said? Fuck.

She’s still turned away from me, but I walk the half circle around to look at her face. And she’s sobbing. Silently, trying to stay as still as possible. I… I don’t remember this part. Maybe I didn’t see it? Nah, I saw it. Just didn’t care. Didn’t wanna look at ‘er. Didn’t want to hear her lame ass confession. Especially after she’d brought up that I told ‘er I liked ‘er. She sniffles and wipes her face before she pulls a bubble pipe out of the waistband of her shorts and lights the bottom, starts smokin’ it. She asks if I want a hit, like last time. 

I go to say no, but the words don’t come out. Instead my hand reaches for it. I look back up and Beatle’s dressed all different. Baggy jeans and a bikini top. That night. Fuck. Shit. I don’t want to relive that night. 

“I promise, I won’t tell Merle.” She says, handing me her lighter. And I smoke it. Inhaling the vapor slowly like she had. “You gotta sip at it, like it’s a coffee and you’re drinking the air to see if it’s still too hot. Roll the bowl or it will burn.” I do it the way she says. She’s like ten years younger than me, but she looks at me - talks to me like it don’t matter. Like she don’t see it that way. Guess I don’t either, never really did. 

I’d never wanted to smoke it before. But that night I wanted to. With her. Woulda done anything she’d asked that night ‘fore she ruined it. I ruined it. Til it got all fucked up an’ it was never the same again. Not the way I saw her, not the way she looked at me. 

I’m goin’ through memories like they’re happening all over again. Feelin’ fuckin’ sick. I don’t wanna remember this. 

I hand the pipe back to her and she asks, “How do you feel?” 

“Fine.” 

“Just fine?” She smiles. 

“Good.” I clarify. 

“Good.” 

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. “I think I like you, Beatle.” 

She laughs too hard, “you think?” I feel myself getting sicker and angry again all at once. 

I split in half. One half feelin’ those same feelings I felt. That this conceited fuckin’ bitch really acts like everyone likes her. I hear her words and it sounds like she’s sayin’ ‘well obviously’ - but the other halfa me hears it like a real question. Like she wanted ta know what I meant. I don’t remember how I responded then, but I can hear myself say it, “Self-obsessed cunt.” 

Beatle laughs, “Is that what you like about me?” 

My misunderstanding continues; Thought she was pickin’ on me. Makin’ funna me. All these years. All this time. Thought she was fuckin’ laughin’ at me. Never told a girl I liked her. Not that I never did like one, just never told ‘em. Not like some teenage fuckin’ confessional. And I do and what?  she just laughs.  

Shit. 

Cuz inside ‘m screaming. Screamin’ at myself ta say somethin’ different. To jus’ tell her. She’s special, she’s exciting, and when she smiles at the shit I say it makes me feel like I’m the only one in the fuckin’ world to her. Tha’s what she wants ta here. Tha’s why she’s askin’. 

“Nah. Forget it.” She nods, and I thought she did forget it.  She forgot until she brings it up again in the memory I already re-lived. 

Tha’s how I was so damn sure she didn’t give a single shit about if I liked her or not. Didn’t bring it up again for months. Didn’t give a single shit about me at all. Felt stupid for ever thinkin’ she might. Just a dumb crush on a dumb girl, and I forgot everything about it. An’ every little thing she did that made me like ‘er ended up as somethin’ else I hated.  And every time I saw her after that she was fucked up on somethin’. Meth or booze or weed. Usually all three. 

It comes at me like a fuckin’ freight train, her lips crashing into mine, but this time I want it. Don’t wanna stop kissin’ ‘er. Instead my arms move and I push her down to the ground. She’s wearing the crop top again, can tell she’d been cryin’. She’s layin’ there in the rocks lookin’ up at me and I flash back to the living room where this happened, where she’d told me she liked me back. I wanna beat the shit outta myself for makin’ her look like that. 

How didn’t I see it? 

I did see it. I just didn’t care. Thought I knew what kinda girl did those kinds’a things. 

Wonderin’ what kind of old man she had. What kinda boyfriends before she met me. How maybe she’s just as fuckin’ scared’a feelin’ stuff as I am. How maybe it took her months to even get up the courage to tell me after I’d told ‘er never mind and slowly started to hate her. How many’a those drinks were for courage? How many’a those hits were cuz she was nervous?

Shit. 

And she’s runnin’ away like she did then. Away from me an’ outta my life until a few weeks ago. I know it ain’t real but I run after her anyway. Screamin’ her name into the open air like maybe somehow I can change it if I can get her to come back. But she’s gone and ‘m still running tryin’ to find her. Screaming for her ‘til my throats hoarse. 

‘Til the walkers hear me. 

✨🏹

Andrea fuckin’ shot me. What is wrong with this fuckin’ group?

✨🏹

Beatle’s in the bedroom with me but I can’t look at ‘er. Don’t wanna. Feels like she knows what I was doin’ out in them woods without ‘er. Like she can see the dirty shit in my soul and for some reason it makes me ill. Can’t look at ‘er. Knowin’ I hurt ‘er like that all that time ago. Knowin’ it now like I ain’t ever known anything else. 

It’s just me ‘n her and she doesn’t try to talk to me. Just lets me lay there hatin’ myself for all of it. Didn’t even find Sophia. 

Spent a lot of my days in my life hatin’ myself. Thinkin’ I was good for nothin’. Now ‘m sure of it. 

I feel the bed move under the weight of her. She hugs herself around me, and like some pathetic kid I fuckin’ cry. Don’t know if she can tell or not but she tries comforting me anyway. “It’s okay, Dar. You did your best.” Her voice… how could I have ever thought it was annoying? Her bein’ so nice just makes me hate myself more. 

“Lea‘me alone, Beatle.” Shakin’ her arm out from around me. She gets off the bed and sits back in the chair she’d been in. God, I fuckin’ hate myself. Wanna scream No, come back. I didn’t mean it. 

Still got question’s that need answerin’. This time Beatles right here, and I ain’t got nothin’ to lose. “Why were you naked in Merle’s room?” Grateful that she’s sittin’ behind me. Don’t think I could talk to ‘er ‘bout this stuff if she was lookin’ at me. Right now? If I saw her face? Don’t think I could talk at all. 

She laughs. Fuck her stupid fuckin’ laugh. “I still can’t believe you think I fucked around with Merle.” 

“Why not? Y’all hung out every other day.” My voice is sharp, feels like she’s laughin’ at me again. Always feels like everyone’s laughin’ at me. 

“We all hung out every other day, Dar.” 

“Stop callin’ me tha’.” 

“I was carpet surfing. Your dumbass brother spilled all the schkag all over the damn place.” 

Oh…. But, “Ya didn’t have any clothes on.” 

“I never had any clothes on, Daryl. You sure I wasn’t just wearing something ‘slutty’? You know, like you always said I was? Cuz I don’t remember, but I’ve never been naked with Merle. Ever. Sounds fuckin’ gross.”

Oh. 

It made sense. Makes so much sense, ‘specially now. She keeps talkin’ an’ ‘m grateful cuz if I tried to say anything else I’d start fuckin’ cryin’ again. “I liked you, man. I…” she stops herself. Wanna beg her to keep goin’ but I can’t. 

Instead I ask ‘er the only question I got left, “Why’d ya leave, then? Ya left ‘n ya never came back.” 

She’s silent for a long time. “When you and Merle moved, where’d you go?” 

She did come back. 

“Why’d ya leave, Beatle?” Doesn’t matter where Merle and I went. She’s avoidin’ the question. 

“Got sober. After that night… with you. Wanted to get sober. Wanted to…” she don’t say the rest but she don’t need to. I got it. Fuck, my heart can’t take it. 

“Cuz I said ya liked gettin’ fucked up more than ya liked me.” It ain’t a question. I know. 

“Think it was more the other thing you said.” 

Tha’ was before I really knew ya, Beatle. I can still taste the words. “Shouldn’t’a said that to ya.” My voice is barely a whisper. 

She gets back up on the bed and puts her arm around me again, this time I don’t shake her away. Her voice, so close to my ear, “I didn’t want to tell you that I came back. I didn’t want you to know that I got sober for you.” 

What? “Why not?” 

“Wasn’t sure you’d care. And if you did… I didn’t want you to have all the what-ifs in your head that I have in mine.” 

She hugs herself into me so tight it’s hard to breathe, and she tells me, “It doesn’t matter anymore.” 

I feel guilty, can’t take any of that back. Can’t make any of it better. I don’t deserve this. Her. After all the nasty shit I ever thought about her. After what I did to her the other night. I can’t bring myself to tell her to leave cuz I know she wants to be here. Don’t wanna make her cry again. 

So I let her hold me. Even though I don’t fuckin’ deserve it. 

[generic-whumperz]

Wyatt (Character Sheet)

Picrew

Playlist | Masterlist | Character Info |

⚠️Proceed with caution, Wyatt is a Grade-A asshole⚠️

Here's a lengthy list of his TWs in lieu of a character overview. This is everything you need to know; when I use #cw Wyatt, it encases the following:

Murderer and mock executioner

Slaver (although, in his defense, he did not buy one, his mom willed him one)

Torturer

Rapist and sexual sadist with a blood kink (hematolagnia)

Gaslighter™️

Misogynist and egotistical predator who objectifies, demonizes, and degrades those he views as lesser (which is damn-near everyone)

Has anger issues and can’t chooses not to control his temper. Exploiter and raging narcissist (has anti-social personality tendencies + probably some other shit but I’m not a psychologist) who victimizes himself in every scenario despite him being the canonical villain in every sense of the word—he would win a gold medal in mental gymnastics.

Mentally, physically, verbally, and emotionally abusive. Bully and mean-spirited, humiliates people for fun (especially The Aid).

Drug addict and alcoholic, smokes weed (the only chill thing he does) and cigarettes, chews tobacco, consumes copious amounts of cocaine cut with meth and/or who knows what, and has picked up the habit of consuming Mystic blood (no, he's not a vampire, just a hematolagniac) to get out-of-this-world high he now can’t function without. Uppers > Downers.

Dabbles in cannibalism (a few times, but it does happen, so on the TWs it goes because wtf)

Porn addict

Gambling addict

Absent father

Mommy issues, Daddy issues, was abused and neglected as a child but never processed it healthily and sought help, so now he's just a menace to society and repeating fucked up trauma/abuse cycles (hello generational trauma). Has major beef with his older brother, Waylon, and was horrible to his younger sister, Winny, when they were kids.

Drunk driver (shouldn’t be driving because DUIs)

Owns firearms and weapons but definitely shouldn’t (although everyone does in Apocamerica)

Spoiled rich guy with a complex, doesn't accept "no" as an answer

Pretty much the worst person you'd ever have the misfortune of meeting

All-in-all: bastard-ass, creepy, intimate, sadistic Whumper

Full name: Wyatt Wilder Sullivan (Wy)

Role: main antagonist, Whumper

Date of Birth & sign: April 16, 1975 (56-57), Aries (story takes place in the year 2032)

Gender: cis-male

Sexuality: thinks of himself as just hetero, but falls under general sadism and dominance.

Height: 6'10"

Weight/body type/build: approx. 350lbs (I'm bad at guessing weight, take this with a grain of salt). Giant, solid build. Broad-shouldered, burly, and more heavy-set with a semi-prominent beer gut. In his youth was more brawny and muscular, now is a bit more flabby cause the only work out he’s doing is running to the liquor store, but still maintains a bulky physique.

Hometown: San Diego, CA

Family Members: Sullivan family tree. Has a daughter, Haylee, with ex-wife (how the fuck was this man even ever married is beyond me). Lost visitation rights to see his daughter and blames the Aid for it, but has made no effort to be a better person and reach out. Lives with The Aid in Eleanor's old house.

Left/right handed: right

Fav genre of music & anthem: classic rock, Ramblin' Gamblin' Man by Bob Seger

Occupation: trust-fund nepo baby. Used to be head of logistics security for family business. Now claims to be in finance and an investor (really sir, during the apocalypse?), and self-proclaims himself as a professional gambler and "independent media producer" (makes torture porn for fellow pervs on the internet—again, during the apocalypse no less). Barely graduated high school.

Ethnicity (+ American): Italian, French, Greek, North and West European, English

Hair color & length: ashy brown, silver-striped, cut short, combed to the right to hide his cow lick. Uses pomade. Facial hair: grown-out chevron mustache; rest of face clean shaven but gets 4 o'clock shadow soon after. Usually has stubble since he shaves about once a week. Body hair: moderately hairy with chest hair.

Hygiene: leaves much to be desired. Showers when sober enough to do so—or more so is sober enough to care that he reeks of BO, cigs, and beer, or after he's woken up in a pile of his vomit. Poor oral hygiene from chewing tobacco, drug use, smoking, and alcohol; thinks whiskey counts as mouthwash. Teeth yellowed and crooked with irritated, swollen-looking gums (from drugs and lack of daily care). He’s just a hot mess. The Aid has tried to clean this man up, but Wyatt ain’t having it.

Eye color: wide-set icy blue, downturned, deep sunken eyes under protruding brow.

Skin tone: light, apricot-colored skin with warm, reddish undertones. Face usually red and puffy (substance abuse)

Facial features: wide, triangle-shaped head. Thin-lipped downturned mouth. Prominent, hawkish, and rubescent nose. Arched, bushy eyebrows. Bigger ears with droopy lobes. Broad and heavy chin, slight underbite. From age, substance abuse, and lack of skin care (+ living in a dry climate): frown lines, forehead lines, crow's feet, blush-burned and puffy cheeks from constant flushing

Mannerisms: always scowling and glaring. Sniffling and wiping nose. Clearing throat. Hocking loogies and spitting chew in an old beer can. Scrunches nose with curling upper lip. Pinches bridge of nose. Loud, overly dramatic sighing. Tsks a lot. Grinds teeth. Rubs chin with index finger, rubs forehead with back of hand. Loud, heavy steps when walking. Crosses arms. Sucks teeth. Uses height to initiate others and takes up a lot of space. Constantly smokes cigs and probably has a beer in hand. When loaded and buzzing: jittery manic energy, crazy eyes, random face twitches. Bursts of movement in sporadic jolts, such as slapping or pounding fists on a table/nearest object.

Nervous ticks: nervousness presents more as nervous anger or agitation. Throws things. Grunts. Yells. Curses. Kicks, hits, punches whatever is closest to him (or uses his human punching bag, The Aid). Long car rides with blaring music, reckless driving. Tries to self-soothe by doing lines or watching porn.

Posture: carefree but domineering. He acts like he owns the place wherever he's at.

Style: basic T-shirt, collared cotton shirt with jeans and boots, casual leather oxford shoes (Dr. Martens), plain jackets. Very basic, solid-colored clothing, no fancy patterns or fun colors. Will wear a suit on occasion, but isn’t happy about it.

Health: amazingly, he hasn't had a heart attack (yet). Has had a fair share of overdoses. How is his liver still working? He doesn't take care of himself physically or mentally and should be dead, but he has the durability of a cockroach. Please drop dead

Piercings/tattoos: none

Birthmarks/scars: refer to the scar chart below that totally isn't an autopsy template (shout out to my boy for fucking Wyatt up as much as he has, I'm proud of you bby!)

Language(s): English

Personality: domineering, addictive, disagreeable, aggressive & argumentative, selfish, short-tempered, reckless, greedy, narcissistic, possessive, cruel, dishonest, grouchy, moody, violent, vulgar, prideful, dismissive, unpredictable, cold, impulsive, over-indulgent, jealous

Vices: addicted to everything he can get his hands on. Hardcore addict, and latest fixation is Mystic Blood cut with coke. Drinks more alcohol than water. Will fight and fuck his way to get what he wants. Will thrash and destroy everything when pissed off, then makes The Aid clean it up and beat him up if he doesn't do it fast enough; likes to wind down with a foot rub and/or full body massage from The Aid (*gag*).

Voice: gravelly with a tinge of teasing sarcasm, it ranges from monotone to raucous and taut. After a night of bruising and boozing, it can sound more strained and raspy/horse. (In my head he sounds something like Thomas Church?)

Smells like: as described from this scrapped excerpt left on the cutting room floor: "On a good day, Wyatt smelt of generically fragranced clean linen laundry detergent, slightly masked by an ever-present light odor of dewy sweat, salted sunflower seeds, and worn-off Old Spice. On a bad day, he reeked of one part odious stress sweat, three parts foul breath—a coalesced stench of alcohol, cigarettes, and beef jerky."

Face claim(s): John Goodman (I'M SORRY JOHN), but specifically these pictures below. Honorary mention, Douglas M. Griffin.

Character inspiration: Jonathan "Black Jack" Randall (Outlander), Ramsey Bolton (GOT), diabolical combination of Homelander and Billy Butcher (The Boys). Biggest YIKES.

Other: irredeemable POS; please openly hate this man; he's made to be shit on. That being said, as I mentioned many times above, Wyatt struggles with substance abuse, and there are references to drug use in text. But just to be crystal clear, he is not a bad person because he uses substances, and I do not intend to vilify individuals dealing with substance abuse. His purpose aims to illustrate the destructive nature of addiction—the monster it can create—the compounding impact of unaddressed trauma, and the correlation between the two. (I come from a long line of addicts and have lost family members due to overdoses; this is how I’m dealing with it; you don’t need to like how I’m going about it, but I don’t need anyone getting on my ass about it either. I’m working through some shit. To me, Wyatt is the personification of the disease of addiction and how it will drown anyone it comes in contact with.)

While the drugs exacerbate his behavior, it's important to note that he was already struggling with personal issues and has fully embraced his negative traits, and is incredibly self-destructive. Wyatt is a complex character, albeit a deeply flawed one who consistently makes poor choices and is a massive piece of shit. But deep down, he’s a sad, unfulfilled man who got the shit end of the stick and is the byproduct of bad parenting and abuse himself. He is not for the faint of heart; I think his character inspos say all you need to know about the kind of person he is. But still, fuck him.

Cursed mood board

Honorary tag request: @whumped-by-glitter

[nightlyrequiem]

Be Still My Heart

Chapter 1- Fifty Shades of Amber

Masterlist AO3

New Chapter Every Saturday

You're the best in the meth industry but a new product suddenly pops up. You and your boss, Valeria, must figure out who is making it so you can take back the market. All the while tension is building between the two of you.

A/N: So excited to finally upload chapter one. I've been working on chapter outlines since the end of July. 27 chapters is quite a bit and takes up a lot of space on a post. My masterlist will have all the chapters there. Enjoy :3

Tags/Warnings: Illegal Substances, Boss Employee Relationship, Angst, Some Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Manipulation, Suggestive Themes, Smut (But Only in CH20.)

The warm glow from the lamp on Valeria's desk reflects in your eyes. Making them twinkle mischievously as you kneel between her legs. Your hands slowly ride up her cargo-clad legs and your lips curl up into a Chesire-cat grin. She can feel a heat building between her thighs as you continue to tease her. She longs to tell you to knock it off, but the words refuse to leave her mouth. Your hands finally find their way to the zipper of her pants. Fingers nimbly grabbing ahold and beginning to painstakingly unzip.

"Valeria." You coo. 

"Hm?" She responds. Wondering what you want to say.

"Valeria." You repeat, sounding less sultry than before. Valeria furrows her brows. "Valeria."

Valeria's eyes fly open, and she groggily lifts her head from the shiny wood of her desk. Sunlight shines through the large, ornate window behind her. Illuminating the sparsely decorated office. You peer at her from in front of the desk. Simply watching her. Valeria straightens her spine and stares back. Mildly embarrassed that she had fallen asleep. It just had to be you that came in and caught her.

"I finished that new batch of crystal." 

Right, the little tester batch of meth she wanted you to make. You've been yammering on about it for weeks, chirping about ratios and recipes. Something, something, Red- "-Phosphorus to make it more addictive." You continue, interrupting her thoughts.

In your hands is a little clear baggie filled with small clear crystal shards. You are quite the commodity, and Valeria was more than happy to snatch you off the market before anyone else got their filthy hands on you. You had the odd ability to make the highest quality meth Valeria had ever seen. What made it weirder was you weren't even a chemist of any kind. Just naturally gifted with chemicals the right way.

"It's better than your other stuff?" Valeria inquires. The sunlight hits your face and makes your eyes shine. Reminding her of how they looked in her dream. She's so unfocused that she misses whatever it was you said. You stare at her, waiting for a response. "Repeat that."

"... I said I don't know." You reply. "I don't exactly know what it is in meth that makes it so addictive, but I think it's the Red Phosphorus, so I added five percent more."

"Oh." Valeria nods. Were you anyone else Valeria would've chewed you a new one for wasting her time and money on a product you aren't even sure will be worth it.

But you're you. 

"I'm glad to have someone with so much innovation working for me." She hums. "Intelligence is such a crucial trait to have." 

"Thank you." Valeria's compliment pays off as you flash her that cute little smile of yours. It's been so long since a woman smiled at Valeria like that. Valeria nods and speaks again.

"Give me the sample and I'll split it up amongst the dealers." 

You set down the baggie and Valeria dismisses you.

Valeria tried her best to woo you, just short of directly asking you out. Compliments, pay raises, jokes, she was even extra touchy with you, but you somehow never caught on. Valeria doesn't know if you're purposefully being obtuse or if you're really that bad with social ques. You're smart, Valeria knows you'll pick up on what she's putting down eventually. She rubs the sleep away from her eyes and grabs her phone to set up a meeting with her runners. That will happen later, right now she has some pressing issues to attend to.

Valeria hasn't told you yet, but sometime within the last few weeks a new product magically appeared. It's good enough to rival your own. In fact, it's doing better, and it's circulating in her territory. Valeria is starting to lose out on local money, and she can't have that. She didn't work her way to the top just to fall because some crackhead figured out how to make high quality meth. She's still making international racks though. This situation is far from critical, but Valeria wants to snip it in the bud before it progresses to that level.

Deigo is waiting for her in one of the storage rooms. One of her dealers loiters behind him.

"Did you get it?" She asks. Narrowing her eyes at him. Deigo gives his goatee a little scratch before gesturing at the drug mule behind him.

"Yes, we also interrogated the guy about where he got it from, but he just said his buddy gave it to him." 

The man behind him holds out a baggie with some familiar looking substance inside.  clear but with a yellow tinge, something Valeria hasn't seen before. It reminds her of amber.

 She takes the bag and turns it over in her hands.

"We went to find the guy, but he was dead in his apartment." Diego Says.

 Valeria looks up. "Murdered?" She asks.

"No, looked like an overdose." Diego shakes his head, Valeria sighs. There goes their only lead. "Can she figure out what it's made of?" He asks, referring to you. Valeria isn't sure, cooking meth has never been her thing, but she assumes since you're so good at it you'll be able to pick out what it's made of.

"It's worth a shot." 

Valeria finds you down in the lab. Big, heavy, metal machinery glints in the headache inducingly bright lights. You're hunched over your desk scribbling away in your notebook. She caught a glance inside one time and all the numbers and barely legible writing only served to confuse her. She doesn't know how you're able to understand any of it. Valeria says your name as she approaches, preparing to finally tell you the news. Her eyes rove over your backside before you turn to face her.

"Yes?" You ask. looking at her.

"There was actually a reason I asked you to come up with a more addictive product." She starts. You lean against the table, listening politely. She'd enjoy bending you over that table. "Recently, something new has been going around the streets, it's out competing your original stuff."

You frown at the news.

"What?" You sound disappointed. "Where did it come from? And how come I'm only hearing about this now?" You ask. "Do you know who's cooking it?" 

Valeria raises a hand against your bombard of rapid-fire questions.

"I don't know who's making it or where it came from, and I didn't tell you because I didn't see any reason to before now." She answers cooly.

"How long has it been selling for?" You inquire, frown deepening.

"It's been a few weeks since we noticed." Your eyes widen.

"Weeks? And you're only now just telling me?" You reply disapprovingly.

Valeria frowns at you.

"Yes, I'm telling you now." She places a hand on your shoulder. "I had someone get you a bag of it, could you find out what it's made of?" 

You shrug her hand off.

 "Yeah, I can." You sigh, rubbing a hand over your eyes. "It's going to take a day or two though."

"That's fine." Valeria nods, satisfied with your answer. She reaches into her pocket and deposits the meth onto the table. You look at it curiously.

"It's orange." You remark.

"Yellow." Valeria corrects you. 

"That's too dark to be yellow, it's orange." You insist. Valeria can hear a slight buzzing coming from the harsh lights above.

"Dark yellow exists, you know that don't you?"

 You roll your eyes as you pick it up to study it.

"Yes," You agree. Walking towards a table with some kind of machine and microscope. "but this is clearly orange."

Valeria sighs but decides to give up on this argument. The colour of the meth is the least of her concerns.

"Do you know what's causing it to be that colour?" Valeria asks. Watching as you put on latex gloves and open the baggie. You dump some of the small yellow crystals into a petri dish.

"I'm not sure, maybe food colouring?" You murmur. "I know meth turns out blue if you use methylamine." 

"What's the point of dyeing it?" She scoffs at the idea. You carefully crush up the crystals into a fine powder.

"I don't know, but cocaine is a party drug so maybe they're trying to make it seem more appealing by dyeing it a fun colour." You slide the petri dish under the microscope and lean down to inspect it through a zoomed in lens. Valeria watches for a few moments before turning and walking back out of the lab, hoping you have an answer by tomorrow.

The next day, you walk into her office uninvited. Valeria looks up at you and frowns.

"It's fine, just come right in. It's not like I've told you to knock." She says irately. You ignore her ill temper and walk up to her desk. 

"I found out what's in that meth." You speak. Leaning over the desk. "It's got all the usual ingredients, Sulfuric Acid, Acetone, Red Phosphorus, whatever."

"But...?" 

"But it's not made with Pseudoephedrine or Methylamine like normal, whoever made this used Morphine." You tap the wood twice with a knuckle. "I don't know how much was used but I'm pretty sure it's the Morphine reacting to the Sulfuric Acid that makes it orange."

Valeria hums. Thinking.

"Wouldn't that make it like heroin? The Morphine?" Valeria asks.

"Kind of, it's like a mix." You explain, sounding excited about all this. "It's brilliant, you get the energetic side effects of meth but the addictive, euphoric feeling of heroine. That's probably why it's selling so well."

"I see." Valeria nods. Her dark eyes lock with yours. This is going to be an issue.

[bombusbombus]

It is vitally, vitally important that Clark Kent is boring.

I don't mean 'boring' in an inherently bad way. A desk job is boring. Data analysis is boring. Due process is boring. All of these things are imperative for a functioning society but almost nobody will ever be praised for them.

When my car got stolen a year ago, the guy who took it stole a bunch of other stuff too. I was sitting with a cop in a backroom of the campus police station for almost an hour while he was doing paperwork (to make sure everyone would get their stuff back), and at one point he looked up at me and he said, "sorry about this. It's not all shootouts and car chases like on TV."

And I almost said, "well, due process is sexy" (I didn't, for obvious reasons). But he looked surprised when I told him I thought due process was pretty cool. Like nobody is supposed to think due process is cool. Things are only cool if they're glamorous or flashy.

The guy who stole my car was horribly addicted to meth. The sheriff told me, "you should press charges so we can put him away for as long as possible."

The sheriff was lost in a world of heroes and villains. He was the "hero." The addict was the "villain." But the person who helped people was the guy at a desk, who went back over the mile long paper trail and returned every stolen item to its owner. The important stuff is when some guy in an office writes an algorithm to save endangered whales, or when the third double blind test finally shows sufficient evidence for the efficacy of a new cancer treatment. The goose that actually lays the golden egg almost never cackles.

This is why the 'Glasses' comic is so important, to me. We live in a world which glorifies exciting acts of heroism but not "boring" ones. We live in a world that thinks people like Clark Kent aren't important, when they're often doing the most important work, solving the systemic issues, saving people who aren't lost yet. Sometimes we need firefighters, but in a perfect world, we'd only need safety inspectors.

And sure, Superman is necessary within the story. There are disasters and villainy he can prevent. There are lives he can save. But being Superman is ultimately a terrible sacrifice, and if the heroism wasn't necessary he'd be Clark Kent all day. That's what makes him not a cop: he's not enjoying the car chases and shootouts. He avoids letting things get 'interesting' at all costs. He avoids glory.

The comic Strong Female Protagonist (by Brennan Lee Mulligan and Molly Ostertag, BRING IT BACK) has several fascinating pieces of philosophy on superheroes and society, but my favourite is this:

Kal-el, living solar battery, isn't just someone who contributes to society from the outside or the top. He plugs away at boring, everyday kindnesses just like other humans. (This can make for great contrasts with Lex Luthor, who is the epitome of a light bulb person and could never understand why Superman would want to be a battery.)

Clark Kent is boring. Clark Kent plays things by the book. Clark Kent is sexy in the same way that due process is sexy, and any character who thinks the Clark Kent side is 'less than' the Superman side, is textually a goddamn idiot. "No glory save honour" and he will always have both.

[mezmer]

Here I will explain why my blog banner describes me as an anti sugar activist. I try to be as "scientific" as my brain and heart allow, but I value my experience over scientific studies even if they support my view, huge ridiculous autist sugar post incoming

Sugar is highly addictive for most people. The problem is way more dire than we act like it is. Added to foods you wouldn't even think to include sugar. The link between sugar and obesity, endocrine disruption, general inflammation and malaise, disease, diabetes, your teeth rotting out, and even cancer, is undeniable no matter what articles or studies you try to dig up. not many people want to admit how bad it is. People who enjoy sugar, who might say "you only live once! It's not like I'm shooting heroin" suffer weird problems and assume it's something else. Children set up for a lifetime of failure because their parents don't pay attention to their sugar intake at all. I have a very drastic example of this I won't go into much detail about, but a set of parents close to me are feeding their daughter extreme amounts of sugar. She has a learning disability and is a very intense child. I've hinted at the sugar link and everyone is in denial.

I have baby sat this child and gotten her to eat organic wheat bread PB and J with a no sugar added, all fruit jam.. happily told her parents who did not care at all. It was such a feat to me. Everyone knows a picky child. It's worse than you think. This is a gateway drug and I'm totally serious. I said I would not go into great detail... I too was raised on welch's fruit snacks, "pancake syrup", sprite, Kool aid, and worst of all I was allowed to put as much sugar that I wanted into my tea. My parents were wonderful, they just didn't think or know how bad it was to do this

I've struggled with a sugar addiction before and since getting clean from drugs and seen the effects of it firsthand. The most obvious to be seen from the outside that I can make people believe is my struggle with acne. We know bacteria feeds off of sugar. This is why people who drink sugary drinks are at risk for UTIs. If bacteria enters their bladder, sugar makes it grow. Well no amount of washing my face, bentonite clay masks, washing my pillow cases, wearing a bonnet, would make the acne go away. Recently I tried to only eat a certain pint of ice cream thinking less sugar would help. It didn't and I'm over two weeks off of all sugar that isn't naturally occuring in honey and fruit. Crazy how natural sugar does not feed the bacteria and hormonal disruption. I've been in this cycle more than once. Not only does the acne go away, my face appears radiant every time. Breakouts as soon as I relapse. Maybe you are thinking, this is a bunch of hogwash and I eat little cakes often without a problem. That's fine. I know addicts who have used meth for 30 years and you wouldnt wonder much about them. Smokers who lived to 80. Sugar doesn't do me any good at all.

Neither my mom, who was just put on a medication with awful side effects because she is developing diabetes. Her doctor (doctor she's had for decades who is a total piece of garbage and prescribes dangerous cocktails of conflicting medications !! That's a whole other post!!!! Put my grandma on pills which nearly killed her! Plus other people HAHAHA) saw her coming up with high blood pressure, blood sugar, and cholesterol without thinking to suggest a diet change first. My mom is overweight and likes to eat sweets. My mom told me, I can still eat sweets, I just have to eat less. I did tell her that didn't work for me. I quit because I don't want to end up sick this way. Diabetes runs in our family. The prescription is making my mom nauseous and dizzy. Insane to me right?

Why aren't the dangers of sugar recognized? Why am I the only advocate I know? I would shut the fuck up if the dangers were believed by more people. Is it Because Sugar Taste good? Not seen as a vice. We accept that corn syrup is not so good. Canola oil pretty bad. Dyes in food causing children to develop ADHD and autism, or whatever. Is there no risk in consuming sugar? Many health professionals don't want to admit it? I feel strongly. I feel sick when I eat sugar but I can't find myself able to stop unless I truly try. We are all convinced that it's just a danger to your teeth if you don't brush enough. MIL is a sugar addict who buys birthday cakes on clearance and clears the whole cake in a few days, a twice daily flosser and brusher, who has lost over half of her teeth to extractions, sees the link, and has no intention to quit.

Finally, I bake yummy dessert recipes excluding half the sugar while using honey, maple syrup, brown sugar for what is left (which is slightly better than white sugar from my understanding) and I have never made a baked good that is ruined by doing this. You can't even tell that I've excluded sugar and the foods have more flavor because sugar doesn't overpower the dish. They don't make your teeth hurt. You can eat more cookies because there is less sugar and they taste better. The texture is the same. Bakers will tell you this isn't true and you need to use the whole amount of sugar so the cookies and cakes arent ruined. Yes, you need torched sugar on creme brulee. Fine.

Do you ever find yourself scraping icing off of a cake? I have baked more than one birthday cake for loved ones excluding sugar and adding natural alternatives (NOT stevia or monkfruit which taste like shit and suck) and ive gotten nothing but compliments. My brown sugar maple cake with cream cheese icing using very little sugar was a hit for my partners birthday that everyone probably ate too much of. This isn't a brag, it's an idea for anyone who bakes to try and change your recipes. It hasn't failed for me. Ok SOrry

[arachnixe]

What Passes For Wholesome

(Part 4 of Night’s Longing - Previous: Dinner’s On Me)

Four people dead in one night. One person missing, along with her clothes and valuables, making her the obvious suspect.

That would be the national news story if this were most other cities, but if there’s anyone that even the cops here fear, it’s Clan Sarthe. They’ll be reminded to look the other way again. The cleaners will do their work, some families will file their missing person reports, and nobody will have any answers.

Liz speculates that they’ll go with drugs as the official explanation this time. Bunch of meth-addicted girls who disappeared after a particularly indulgent binge, it happens all the time, right? The only thing to do is to increase government funding for the war on drugs once again. The cops get more funds, and the clan takes its cut from the cops. Everyone’s happy.

There won’t even be a warrant for my arrest.

Still, this is an indulgence we can’t repeat, as she reminds me. Three vampires going on a reckless binge like this? It’s too much work to be dealing with on a regular basis. Time to lay low for a bit.

The way she says three vampires makes my heart flutter. The way she praises how skillfully I killed my roommate, the way she showers me with kisses and compliments, and the way she holds me close and strokes my hair and calls me “sister” ease my doubts. Of course she’ll take care of me just like she takes care of Vicky, and even if I’m left without an income or home of my own, I can live with the two of them.

Their home is a cozy apartment through the tunnels under the warehouse district, exactly where that cell of vampire hunters planned to strike. The older, wealthier, more powerful vampires live much deeper underground, while those of similar social standing as my sisters live up here, closer to the surface. If my blood family’s plan had been allowed to proceed, my found family would be dead. I shudder at the thought.

Fortunately, I am welcomed here, since it’s not unusual to have a live-in human bloodbag, apparently. Liz’s property: that’s what I’ll have to be as far as the others in the clan are concerned. After all, I can’t quite pass as undead the way attention from hot vampires can make me blush so easily. Still, Liz promises me, to her and Vicky I’m absolutely one of them.

They haven’t shown anyone the proof of how I’ve killed for Clan Sarthe. It remains safest, Liz says, to avoid suspicion at all rather than try to broadcast proof of my loyalty and invite the possibility that it won’t be enough for influential naysayers. We’ll show off the evidence of my heroism only when we must.

Of course, while we’re laying low, I am also their bloodbag. It’s so much easier for my family to deal with their cravings as long as I’m there, happy to get passed back and forth between my sisters, a shared resource to be drained of blood until I black out multiple times daily.

I don’t know how many days I pass in this interminable, delirious haze, often waking up only long enough to have something shoved in my mouth—either for the sake of calories or for someone else’s orgasm—to then feel the sting of my sisters’ fangs and drift out of consciousness again, sometimes waking up sandwiched between two naked bodies fast asleep during the day. I know that I’m being used, but isn’t it so much less degrading than working food service for minimum wage and sending every penny I earn to my landlord? I feel happier than I can remember since that very first time I loved someone and felt loved in return.

Once Liz decides it’s safe to go hunting again, our first night out together as sisters is like a dream come true. They teach me the rules of the hunt: how to identify when you’re stepping on another vampire’s toes, how often we can feed and stay within the quota—Vicky’s hot tip is that tourists are basically freebies—and the best neighborhoods to stalk.

“And don’t forget to have some pride, Hanna,” she tells me during one coaching session. “Yeah, you can pick off as many homeless people as you like without the city giving a shit, but that’s beneath us. You’ve gotta find someone who’s well fed and lives a leisurely lifestyle. That’s the good stuff.”

The cannibalism thing gets easier every time, but even Liz agrees we should indulge in it far less frequently than ordinary feeding. Partially draining some lonely drunk after midnight and leaving them to wake up dazed in an alleyway? Basically harmless. Slicing someone to pieces and leaving a partially dismembered body? That does draw significantly more attention, and eventually the clan will come down on us. Still, even without getting my own dinner out of it, just going out with my sisters and sharing a night of hunting humans with them is more than I ever thought I’d get to experience. It’s beautiful.

I almost feel ashamed about how I rob some of these people when Vicks and Lizzy aren’t looking. Best to do so with the rare few I’m allowed to kill and eat, rather than the ones we expect to wake up with a nasty hangover the next day. The dead ones won’t miss their wallet, cash, jewelry, cards, and ID, so I can use them to make a few purchases just for myself.

By now I’ve got a modest amount of money stashed away that Liz doesn’t know about and over a year prepaid on the storage unit where I keep my vampire hunting gear. Yes, Liz told me to pawn it all since it’d be bad to get caught with any of it in my possession, but my personal collection includes powerful amulets and even such treasures as the family sword—swiped from my father’s corpse—which is itself a weapon as much of steel and silver as ancient theurgy. It seems like a poor decision to let tools like those drift around the open market where they might pose a risk to innocent vampires.

I feel a little bad about keeping these secrets. It’s not that I don’t trust Liz… or Vicky for that matter. It’s just that my sisters have made it clear that they’d prefer me not having too much independence.

When I talk about getting a job, Liz finds countless reasons why I shouldn’t. It’s true that I’d hate it, that the bus routes are terrible around here, and that I no longer have to worry about bills. Also she’s willing to spoil me with clothes and nice food and other gifts just like she does my other sister. Worse, if I made friends outside the clan, I might start developing sympathies for humans, and it’s far better to avoid that sort of complication, isn’t it?

She’s doing a fine job isolating me from having any support network or resources outside our family. I remember a conversation with my old roommate Madison who told me behavior like this is a huge red flag that someone intentionally doing these things is an abuser, which makes me uncertain enough to inspire a conversation with Liz.

“Of course I’m isolating you, babe.” She pulls me into her cool embrace. “I don’t want you to get any second thoughts about joining our family, wondering if you should try to rejoin the world of the living. You know that’s a temptation that most newly turned vampires get, right? It’s important to learn that for all the pleasures that being a creature of the night entails, you are trapped in this world now as permanently as the rest of us.”

She knows how to put it in terms that make this feel right, doesn’t she? She’s really treating me like a newly turned vampire. “But…” there’s still that nagging uncertainty. “What if I got a clan job like you so I could have a little more money of my own?”

“Ah, but then you’d be less dependent on me, and you must know how good it feels to keep you in the position you're in now. Like this…”

Liz pushes me to my knees, and without a word I know what she wants from me. I lift her skirt and put my well-trained mouth to work.

“See, babe? I don’t even have to worry that you might say no. You and I both know you only have a place to live because you won me over by being such a good girl who knows how to make me very happy.” She exhales with a satisfied shudder as my tongue effectively demonstrates her point. “You’re all taken care of thanks to my good graces, and it’s so, so smart of you to continue listening to everything I tell you to do.”

Maybe I shouldn’t find that as cozy an arrangement as I do. Maybe it shouldn’t make me desperately happy to let her indulge her lust for control. Liz is just so obscenely attractive when she’s possessive and even a little bit cruel. Besides, is it even really abuse if my sister is totally up front about her intentions like this? Well then, maybe a woman as hot as her deserves a pass on being an abuser. Maybe I don’t have a way to escape. That’s okay. I don’t want to. And if I’m in danger from her, well, maybe I’m at my most comfortable when that’s the case.

Vicks doesn’t get off on the whole control thing so much. I think she just likes having a pretty, free-use girl in arm’s reach who also happens to laugh at her goofy sense of humor. She’s incredibly casual about treating me as her personal plaything, grabbing at me without warning and demanding sex or blood or someone to talk to or whatever strikes her fancy in the moment.

One night I wake up and discover she tossed all my old clothes away, replacing them with an array of exclusively slutty outfits for her own amusement. Heated voices from the other room make it clear that I was not the only one who was not consulted about this decision. I pick out a loose crop-top that hangs off one shoulder and a pair of mini shorts that emphasize the goods far more than they conceal. Honestly, I’m kind of impressed by how well they fit. Vicky’s been putting her thorough study of my body to good use, I’d say.

“How the hell are we supposed to take her out of the apartment when she doesn’t own anything that hides her obvious hunter tattoos, Victoria?” The sharp sound of a slap carries into the bedroom.

“C’mon, Lizzy. I know you can hit harder than that. Please? It might knock some ideas loose if you do.”

An even louder crack reverberates through the apartment as I enter the room and find Vicks on the ground, straddled by a furious Liz with a hand on her neck.

The thing is, I’m a simple girl. You can’t force me to dress in an incredibly revealing outfit and then put on a show like this without my gay ass getting turned on by it.

“Aw, you two getting started without me?” I can’t resist teasing, leaning against the doorway in a deliberately seductive pose that shows off my top’s plunging neckline and my bare legs. I know I look great in this fit.

The distraction works wonders, and I enjoy watching Liz’s eyebrows shoot upward in a way that flatters me very much as she stares in my direction. “Oh,” is all she manages to say at first. Then, “Can I change my mind on this being entirely a bad idea?”

“Damn. I knew those shorts would nicely show off how thick her thighs are.” Vicks bites her lips in a way that flashes one of her very sexy fangs, her signature move. “It’s good to be a genius.”

“Almost as good as defusing an argument by being hot and slutty in front of my sisters,” I reply, opening the bedroom doorway in a wordless invitation.

That’s the start to a particularly fun evening for sure, and although we do eventually have to get me some less revealing outfits, I promise Vicky I won’t wear them more than necessary as long as she reciprocates the favor. It takes no pushing at all to get her to agree—one fun thing about Vicks is that she enjoys being objectified at least as much as she enjoys objectifying me.

---

Now that I’m actually conscious most of the time, I’m excited to learn more about the day-to-day reality of vampire life. It’s not all stalking the night, drinking blood and having erotically charged encounters with sexy women who don’t (usually) know what they’re getting into. Vicky is as unemployed as I am, but Liz has career ambitions, working her way up the clan hierarchy from the bottom. There’s a lot of political maneuvering involved, it seems, with vampires no stranger to cutthroat tactics, and Clan Intelligence seems to reward underhanded tactics more than most divisions.

“Good evening, Elizabeth. Taking your dog on a walk?”

“Ylio. What do you want?” Liz’s voice is chilly as she addresses the tall, vulpine creature accosting us on our way to meet up with Vicks at the Carmine. I recognize the name from the many times she cursed it within earshot. This is her main rival, a vicious thing gunning for the same promotion that would grant Liz access to much more of the secrets our externally embedded clan members feed to us.

“I heard you and that vapid waste you call a sister acquired a bloodbag for yourselves.” They look me up and down as though appraising me for defects. “How on earth did a pair of low-class children like yourselves manage that, I wonder? What did you buy it with?”

Liz strokes my head in a way that uncomfortably reinforces the impression that I am nothing more than her pet. “Have you considered that I’m simply that charming? Developing a personality might do wonders for you as well, if you could manage it.”

The other vampire snorts derisively. “As though a poor, fat cow like you has anything to offer besides a pair of oversized tits.”

“And where’s yours then, since you have so much more than I for luring a human into your service?” My sister bares her fangs. “Ah, right. I remember. Your last was over a decade ago, and you lost it almost immediately afterward.”

“It wasn’t my first and won’t be my last. Unlike yours, a fluke, I’m sure, and I will be surprised if little Victoria doesn’t impulsively ruin it sooner than later.”

Despite myself, I grin. Ylio has no idea.

They catch me and quirk an eyebrow. “Ah, I see. You’ve found the type of pathetic, lust-fueled meat that would be perfectly happy to die from a vampire’s kiss. All too many of those in this era, aren’t there? Our propaganda works wonders.” They lean down to eye level with me and flash a smile of their own that they must imagine to be charismatic. “But easy come, easy go with this type, hmm? All it needs is an invitation from someone older, richer, and more powerful. Perhaps with a little… extra… push…“

That look in their eyes, a flash of red… Oh, they’re using vampiric hypnosis on me.

I lower my eyelids and part my lips. “Wow, it’s true…” I say as though entranced. Hypnosis is not a gift all vampires have, but it is a gift all vampire hunters are trained to resist. “You really have no personality to speak of.”

With a surprised guffaw, Liz pats my head in praise. “Damn, I guess us low-class children have you beat, Ylio.”

The other vampire glares, straightening to their full height. “Watch yourself, child. There are many ways to lose a pet.” With a prim turn on their heel, they depart.

“It’s a status thing to have a personal bloodbag, isn’t it?” I don’t wait for Liz’s confirmation. “That one is definitely going to try to kill me.”

“Then I’ll have to keep you close, my dear.” My sister’s words are meant to be comforting, but I hear a certain amount of worry in her voice.

Ylio’s threatened by my presence. Just by having me around, my keeper’s reputation is improved. She’s elevated herself a notch in the hierarchy, and that’s the sort of respect that might clinch the promotion she’s after. Still, it’s clear that one is underestimating me. They don’t know that I’m much more than just a bloodbag to my sisters.

Liz pulls me along. “Let’s head on up to the Carmine, babe. I need to dance some of this anger out.”

---

I’m not much of a dancer, so I leave Vicks and Lizzy to enjoy each other’s company on the dance floor while I grab a drink at the bar. “Hey, Jax. Rum and coke?”

The bartender gives me a quick wave of acknowledgment as she slaps a spout into a new bottle of well whiskey. With quick, confident motions, it takes her no time at all to work her way through all the drinks in the queue and get to mine. Not for the first time, I wonder just how long she’s been tending bar. Jax definitely mentioned Al Capone at some point, but that also might have been a joke.

Before long, she sets my glass down with a wink. “Here you go, Hanna. Victim-coded, just how you like it.”

I take a sip, and sure enough it’s double strong. “Appreciate it! On Vicky’s tab, yeah?”

“I know the score. You have fun, kid.”

It’s nice to have a night where I’m not on the hook for either hunting dinner or being dinner for my sisters. Tonight, we’re just here to chill, and even Ylio wouldn’t dare try something here.

I scan the club. We’re well-stocked with humans tonight, but they don’t have anything I want right now. They barely register at all as people to me these days. I palm a silver coin—a small trinket, easy to conceal, easy to explain away—while I meander through the crowd. With a little bit of silver, close enough proximity, and the right skills, it’s simple enough to pick the vampires out even when I don’t know them all yet.

A tingle, a subtle warmth… no, this one is putting the moves on her own prey. That one looks too intoxicated to be interested in me. Another one just isn’t my type. Oh, here we go.

The tall dapper woman wearing an expensive looking suit and looking woefully out of place here in the club makes my breath quicken. One hand runs through her short-cropped strawberry blonde hair while the other holds a seemingly untouched glass of liquor. She carries herself with an untouchable confidence that borders on swagger, and the crowd practically parts for her wherever she moves.

Yeah, Vicks and Lizzy will absolutely understand why I need to flirt with this woman.

“Hey there,” I smile up at the hot butch. “I just wanted to say that you’re super hot. If I thought I had a chance with you, would you call me vein?” I tilt my head to expose my neck and waggle my eyebrows.

The woman blinks several times in rapid succession. “Was that meant to be one of those ‘pick-up lines?’ Does this usually work for you?”

“I, uh… yeah. Kinda?” I laugh self-consciously, feeling my face turn red. “Most vampires I meet seem to like the puns.”

“You know what I am, and you choose to pursue me?” She tilts her head in a gesture of curiosity. “Odd.”

Wow, she has that Old Vampire accent that’s so hard to place, the one that feels like a blend of every country and every age the speaker has ever lived in. It’s light, just gilding the edges of her words, but if you’ve heard older vampires speak, it’s easy to listen for.

“That’s me. I’m a bit odd, but I’d really like to get to know you.”

“Hmm. No thank you.” The look of pity she gives me breaks my heart. “If it helps, I am sorry. I am just not here in pursuit of carnal pleasures. Good night.” With that final word, the hot vampire turns away and leaves me alone.

I’m crushed.

Vicks and Lizzy, done with their dancing for the moment, have grabbed a table, and I rejoin them. Someone’s hand on my back attempts to soothe me, but I am inconsolable. “I fumbled the hot butch,” I moan into my hands.

“You fumbled the hot butch,” Liz agrees.

“Shit, is that her?” Vicky whistles softly under her breath. “I can’t blame you. I think I’d devolve into wolf whistles and howling if I tried to chat her up.”

“You said she’s probably really old?”

“Yeah.” I don’t try to hide the longing from my voice. “She’s got the same kind of accent as old Eberhard.”

“No kidding?” Vicky makes the soft whistle sound again. “That’d put her at 300 years old or something.”

“Closer to 400.” Liz shakes her head. “Assuming Hanna’s right, but she is pretty good at this sort of thing.”

“Why do the old ones have to be so stodgy about casual fucking?” Vicky’s lamentations start to sound as mournful as mine. “The four of us could have a hell of a night together.”

“Maybe I could try again.” I’m in denial. I know it. “Someone that old probably lost friends to vampire hunters over the years. I could impress her by showing her some of the photos we took of my—ah, those dead Boltmans.”

Vicky perks up at that. “It was pretty badass. They would have wrecked our shit.”

“Thinking they needed to save the world from a secret plot to bring about Dracula’s return,” I add. “Ha. I almost wish they were right.”

Liz grabs me by the chin and forces me to face her, wearing a serious expression. “You be careful about saying something like that.”

“Wh—“

“That is a highly political topic. Believe it or not, vampires do not broadly agree on whether we would be better off if we were united under him again.”

I give a tiny, earnest nod. My sister fixes my gaze with her own until she looks satisfied that I understand the gravity of what she’s told me.

A familiar voice interrupts us. “Do you ladies mind if I join you?”

It’s her, and she doesn’t wait for a response before smoothly gliding into a seat at our table.

“I could not help but overhear some fascinating snippets of conversation.” The handsome butch I fumbled earlier leans toward us. “You are all quite awful at secrecy while intoxicated, it would seem.”

“H-hi…” I sound pathetic. My crush is obvious.

“Hey, what’s up?” Despite what Vicky said earlier, she’s doing a much better job than I at keeping her composure, even if she’s not at her most eloquent right now, offering no better than that line and a flirty nod at our new companion.

Liz, as usual, is the best of us. “Please forgive the two of them. My name is Elizabeth. This is Hanna and Victoria.”

“Carmen. It’s a pleasure.” The elder vampire’s speech is formal, but her demeanor is so much less stiff than earlier. She’s putting on the charm, I realize, and that’s making it much harder to keep myself from blushing harder than ever. “And I would love to hear more about the woman who killed multiple members of the Boltman Clan.” She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “As well as anything she has heard about the Cult of Dracula.”

[royboyfanpage]

Hello I really like your page. It's nice to see so much great Roy content and thoughts!

I was wondering your thoughts and opinions on Roy's relationship with Mia.

!! You're too sweet, tysm!

As for the ask:

Short answer? That's his little sister.

Long answer?

I'll be honest, I haven't seen all that many interactions between them in canon. I do have my own thoughts and feelings about them but, upon looking through some comics I've read, I haven't found many where they're actually talking. I have managed to find panels which show they *have* talked and have a good relationship in canon, but I've only seen them actually interact a few times and have definitely read more content with her and Connor, so if you have any reading recs I'd appreciate that :)

Because of this, my point is gonna be a lot more based on symbols and my own interpretation than actual sources, so some of my opinions may be disputed by canon content.

To start with, Roy's fiercely protective of Mia. Even from the beginning, he expressed his dislike of the thought of Mia becoming Speedy-

-because he knows first-hand just how detrimental that role can be to a child's mental health. Speedy, to him, meant a lot of bad things. I have a whole lotta thoughts on how the original sidekicks, particularly Roy and Dick, view becoming sidekicks, but I'll try and summarise. To Roy, Speedy meant losing any chance of a normal life. Keep in mind Roy was 13 when he became Speedy- he absolutely was not old enough to decide what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, and yet once you're *in* the hero business it's extremely difficult to leave.

And when Ollie first tells Roy that he's gonna make Mia Speedy, Roy's reaction is essentially that.

He's angry at Ollie for making Mia become Speedy, not because of "It's my name", it's not, Roy hasn't been Speedy in years at this point. He's angry because that is a seventeen year old who Ollie wants to throw in there, a seventeen year old who'll be making the choice to, in his eyes, throw away the rest of her life before she can even vote. And Roy's absolutely right about the world being different- Roy's teen years were spent in the gold and silver ages which were definitely a lot less dangerous than the 00s. And I think there's definitely an element in that fear of "look what being Speedy did to me" in Roy's fears. While it's likely Roy was an adult by the time Snowbirds happened, considering the amount of drugs he had experience with and the different connections he'd built it's safe to say that Roy was already an addict by the time he was Mia's age. But what I don't think Roy understands is that Speedy isn't that for her. She's already gone through the shit Roy's scared of her going through and more, having been a child prostitute and meth user by the time she was fifteen. To Mia, Roy isn't a cautionary tale but rather an inspiration- someone who'd gone through a similar situation to her and come out the other end.

After this, their relationship definitely progressed. Roy comes to trust Mia and her identity as Speedy, as well as letting her have things (that he kinda shouldn't have had in the first place, but all vigilantes are criminals it came free with the independent delivery of justice) that could help her as Speedy-

-and trusting her with Lian who he's always been fiercly protective over

And their relationship in the few times I have seen them together is incredibly sweet, with Mia reassuring Roy that he's a good dad and that it's not his fault that life gets in the way of his time with Lian.

So yeah. I really hope that they get to interact in the ongoing series because the Speedys should absolutely talk more. I think that Roy naturally has a great instinct with younger heroes, and he's absolutely someone Mia respects and looks up to.

Anyway I think Roy should take Mia and Connor to a theme park for sibling bonding time <3

[idontlikejazzsonowitsmyname]

DIGITAL CIRCUS ANALYSIS

pomni: praying for her wellbeing rn, hope she gets some digital therapy. 🙏

Cain: Less powerful than people assume, definitely not omnipotent and I don't think he's really the one in charge. In the teaser there's a scene where a black tendrils starts darkening the hallway and Cain can't immediately snap away from it, tou can see he slightly panics to get rid of it, he also doesn't have alot of security when it comes eith the humans, the void incident with Pomni, Kaufmo going abstract without being noticed, the fact he's obviously uncomfortable about the void. The description implies he's an AI but I'm not fully buying it yet.

Kinger: There was a room assigned to a Queen chess piece character, he's over fourty and "glitches" alot, I feel like the queen character might be related to why he's so skittish or unstable.

Gangle: Has a mask that I originally assumed was a comfort item but am now starting tk think actually has some kind of affect on them when they out it on, like making them happy. And I mean in the addicted to drugs way not the this item brings me comfort, I 100% believe that mask is made put of digital meth or something.

Jax: He's the only "human" character without an asymmetrical design, even Cain looks a bit wonky. He's always leaning from side to side like he's trying hide it, idk maybe I'm paranoid, it's shown he has sharp teeth when Zooble strangles him, does he talk through his teeth on purpose to make people less uncomfortable?

Ragatha: gets attacked alot, in her introduction she gets stabbed, and when she gets injured in the polite episode she acts like it's normal.

Zooble: Can't fully comprehend how awful it must be to be her, imagine waking up in a body that can be yanked apart like that. Nothing else to say really.

Bubble: Too wacky and I'm paranoid, fully suspecting this is gonna be a wooly the sheep situation where the lamb pulls the wool over our eyes while we're too focused on the "antagonist" Cain.

Kaufmo: not much to say right now other than I think he was purposely distracting Cain? It feels like his wacko watch should of gone off earlier, maybe Kaufmo did something to it and went through the void and that became his breaking point?

Thats it for now

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What do you think of Gus and Gale's relationship?

Personally, I like to think that Gus did have some degree of fondness for Gale, and that was one of the reasons why he was so angry when Walt had Jesse kill Gale.

Oh anon, I don't think they have much of one and we see that more or less in the show. Gale has very little idea what he's getting into and who exactly he's working with and Gus really only speaks to him when necessary.

I don't think any fondness was involved, Gus had other very good reasons to be very upset.

Gus's Perspective on Gale

Gus had hit the jackpot.

He found a PHD level chemist who is familiar with all the equipment he needs, who has a relatively clean record (beyond smoking weed in college and the like I'm sure), who is just an eccentric fellow who wants to do cool chemistry, get paid for it, and dabble in exciting things he shouldn't be doing without feeling any real risk.

Gale lives a quiet life, has no significant other who can talk sense into him/turn him in/turn him in a direction Gus doesn't like, he does his job earnestly and is a rule-abider when it comes to Gus's rules, and Gus will never ever have a problem with Gale.

Gale is exactly the sort of person Gus likes to do business with: clean in every other respect, unnoticed, and completely off the radar.

Gus doesn't care that he's not as good at Walt as making miracle meth, he just needs Gale to be good enough and better than everyone else (and if something unfortunate happened to Walt then that competitor is off the market anyway).

And then there's fucking Walter White.

On the very very very surface level, Walter White also looks like someone Gus would love to do business with. Walt certainly thinks so. Walt previously had a clean record, he's a middle aged white dude no one looks twice at, he is (in Walt's humble opinion) so smart and so much smarter than everyone else, and he makes the best meth around.

Trouble is it takes Gus 0.02 seconds to see that Walter is emotionally unstable, a huge risk taker when it comes to personnel (as at the time Gus takes one look at Jesse and goes "his second in command is an active meth addict???", he has a complex where he absolutely has to be the big man, and if Gus deals with him in any capacity then whatever Gus gains monetarily he'll lose out on by taking on huge amounts of risk.

Not to mention this guy was clearly involved in beef with the Salamancas and Gus wants to take care of those fuckers personally.

Gus decides to give Walt a trial run, but he never wants to deal with him in the long term, this is just to get Gale more cooperative and maybe get Gale up to speed on making meth that's as good as Walt's.

And then Walt fucking kills Gale.

Kills the golden goose that Gus has spent ages finding, that he was lucky to find, and now Gus is stuck with fucking Walt who just proved he'll kill key personnel of Gus's if he's in a panic. Which is why as soon as possible Gus starts looking into Jesse as a replacement for Walt.

The Gale thing was so upsetting for Gus not because it was Gale as a person, but because of what Gale represented to him as far as his business went and the fact that Walter just fucking kills him.

[theworldoffostering]

The director of special education did not show up to our IEP this week. It made the meeting a whole lot less contentious. It didn’t hurt that they assigned a much more experienced teacher to DS and our advocate showed up and kept everyone in line. Should it take that much work/effort/stress? Absolutely not! I will never understand how anyone is getting services if we cannot with all of the privileges we have personally been afforded.

DH and I talked to Ms. 6 this week. It could be worse, but it’s not great. She bought herself a car or someone else did, but it seems no one cares if she has insurance (legally required). I told her to call and get some quotes. She has not.

She has a boyfriend she met online that no one has vetted. He’s older (no idea how much older) as he has his own place. He lives three hours away in a neighboring state, but Ms. 6 couldn’t remember which city he lives in. She goes to see him on the weekends despite the fact that no one has met him or vetted him. It’s killing me! She was very vague on the details regarding what he does for a living.

Her car seems some basic repairs. Her grandpa has been a semi truck driver for decades. Hasn’t helped her with the repairs. Boyfriend is maybe some kind of mechanic but is unable to help with repairs. Mom is driving Ms. 6’s uninsured car and teaching Ms. 6 how to do donuts in it.

Ms. 6 said she applied to a PA program. When I pointed out that the PA program she applied for is a masters program (aren’t they all?) that cost $109k for the 28 month program, she seemed shocked and unimpressed. I did do a conference call with her and the high school this week to try to sort out her graduation.

Ms. 6 had knee surgery last week. I offered to be available and make the three hour drive to take her. She said her mom was taking her. The night before surgery her mom said she had to work and couldn’t take her. Grandma said she couldn’t take her because she had already take a sick day that week. Mom’s BF drove her, but apparently doesn’t like hospitals so he didn’t sit in the room and wait for Ms. 6 to be taken back to surgery. Surgery was pushed back several hours. Now mom doesn’t want to take her to the post-op appointment because the dogs have a vet appointment.

Post surgery, Ms. 6 was prescribed narcotics. Mom is an addict. Is she currently using? I have no idea but she used for at least a decade and has a conviction for cooking meth with the intent to sell. Kids were removed for many reasons including heroin use. Ms. 6 said the “oxy” isn’t managing her pain so she asked the nurse for something else AND an oxy refill. The pharmacist wouldn’t give both to mom. Mom told Ms. 6 it’s because they don’t have the same last name. I pointed out that I also don’t share the same last name as anyone in our family, and we were also recently denied a narcotic at the pharmacy. It is clear that no one that she has contact with lives in their thinking brains—they are all convinced that they are victims of one system or another.

Ms. 6 also quit her job. She said it was because they were making her do too much work.

Ms. 6 really wants contact with the other kids, particularly NB at this point. We have withheld that so far but can’t really articulate why. I think because it doesn’t feel healthy or good, and things don’t necessarily feel stable with her between DH and myself and her. I’ve talked to her a handful of times in the past month which are the first times I’ve spoken to her since she left in August. Anyone have experience in this area? Is it wrong for us to feel it out as parents before we open that relationship back up to siblings? It’s not my intention to use them as pawns, but it probably feels that way to Ms. 6. The kids here have not asked to see her, and DS and DD are actively continuing to say that they don’t want to have contact.

I’m trying to be something for her but that all feels very temporary and complicated right now. I sent her a small care package today via mail and am going to offer up some services for her like connecting her with colleges, but am trying to hold tight to a lot of boundaries at this point.

[mantequillamcwhoremick]

For your list ask - Tweek 🫶

Hell yeah another blonde pookie let's go🫶🫶🫶

Favorite thing about them:

There's lots of things I like about him mainly bc I find him so relatable but I wanna name something positive and not painful to him so I'm gonna say his musical inclinations🫶🫶🫶 @ashartstuff has made me a fan of the idea that he'll be a piano teacher and I fw that a shit ton. Silly booger

Least Favorite thing about them:

Ehh idk I like everything about him I also love character flaws so there isn't really a least favorite thing other than that I think his dynamics with characters other than Craig are criminally unexplored

Favorite Line:

"Except for Cartman. You can keep him." (S6, "Free Hat")

BrOTP:

Tweek & Kenny 🫶🫶🫶 Idk the untapped potential of them is just downright criminal. The fact that Tweek picks up meth from Kenny's house is very much indicative of a possible thing they could bond over. Also their dynamic is so SO fun to write, there's Kenny, calm and unjudgmental as fuck and Tweek who freaks out over everything. Kenny would give Tweek 10 heart attacks a day with all the dangerous shit he gets into. Both of them are unhinged and insane but Kenny is so on purpose and Tweek involuntarily. That's a comedic fucking duo.

OTP:

Basic but obviously Craig & Tweek. Fantastic dynamic; so glad they went with it in canon.

Less basic; Tweek and Kenny as well. Not as an endgame type of relationship but I think they would definitely have a romance and remain friends afterwards. Love them

nOTP:

Can't think of any popular Tweek ships I don't like so I'm just gonna go with poorly written Creek where Craig is weirdly abusive & toxic hdkdvwjsv

Random Headcanon:

Piggybacking off of @ashartstuff again but the idea that he has a dinosaur special interest

Unpopular opinion:

Idk what the popular Tweek opinions are lol so I'm just gonna say I think he'd go no contact with his parents as soon as he can because he fucking hates them lol they literally got him addicted to meth

Song I associate with them:

I literally cannot think of any. Please send me Tweek songs I gotta make a playlist

Favorite Picture of them:

Ash made me a fan of this picture and I haven't even watched this special yet