#and that doesn't help my storage space issue

[multch]

Caught.

Art the clown x Reader [18+]

CW: Smut\ afab Reader

Pt.1 (Thoughts)

Art just caught you red-handed pleasuring yourself but he doesn't seem to react… at first.

There stood Art the clown, leaning up against the wall with a shit eating grin- Oh God no.

Oh God no.

It was in this moment, you felt as small as a starved mouse. Has he always towered over you?

Holding your breath, your gaze hesitantly lifted to meet with his eyes.

Surely he couldn’t hear you in there… And obviously he couldn’t have been waiting outside the whole time.. right?

But what if he had. Would he be disgusted? His face contorted into a disturbed grimace. Could it change your relationship? Would he be so enraged as to consider you his next victim- ready to skin you with his bare hands. Gosh why did you ever think that was a good idea! 

Your lust was your hamartia- the trigger that would spiral into your gruesome demise; a death without an ounce of dignity.

It was as if that doorway was a picture frame holding- you- a moment frozen in time. Your face was flushed bright red and your chest heaved up and down as if you had just ran a marathon. 

Your eyes were wide in shock and pure terror.

As your gaze met his, you couldn’t help but sigh as he walked right past you. How could he be so calm? His smirk dropped as he practically shrugged you off as if you were translucent- as if you weren’t there…

What the hell?!

*

There it layed unfinished. It would only take you a few minutes to stitch back up the final rip.

Across your desk were numerous tools you used throughout the night; The jacket you worked on mere hours ago, several pairs of sharp fabric scissors and an array of pins and needles strung with thread.

Despite the busy crowd of your work-station, you remained alone. 

Where could he be?

*

You looked up at the cheap clock sitting on the wall; 2:15am.

Clutched carefully in your hand, you carried his newly repaired costume with you. When you would return it to him, you would finally be able to go home- that is if you could find him…

It was your 4th time circling around the store and only one thought remained in your mind; 

Where on earth was that damn clown!?

Walking into storage, you were met with the familiar dark and dusty sight you dreaded seeing so often. Luckily, since meeting Art, you were able to evade stock retrieval long enough during your shifts to delegate it to him at night. Unfortunately, every once in a while you would still have to venture out back during the day when issues were too urgent. 

It wasn't rare for liminal spaces to creep you out so the avoidance was understood with a few simple honks of a horn. 

“Hey Art… you in here?” You shivered.

The room was cramped and lined with unstable wire shelving overflowing with cardboard boxes of various sizes. As there were no windows, who knew what could be hiding in the shadows. 

As your eyes adjusted to make out shapes within the darkness, your hand crept around the wall beside you for a light switch.

Aha! There it was.

As you went to flick the switch your heart suddenly dropped.

That’s not the switch… 

Two cold hands grabbed your arm in an instant, pulling you towards a firm chest.

Shit!

“Art! Oh my goodness I am so sorry,” you blurted, “I was just looking for the lightswitch, I didn’t mean to-” 

While what you could see was limited, what you knew was abundant. Your cheeks burned up as you realized what you just did. You didn’t flick the lightswitch, you just hit Art’s nipple- god that’s so embarrassing! You practically screamed at yourself.

What did you drag yourself into! First you think he caught you finger fucking yourself to the thought of him. Now you're in a dark storage cupboard and he's completely naked! 

It's not even his fault, you sighed. You're the one carrying his repaired clothes- Damn it! You should've given him something to wear- you work in a costume shop for christ’s sake!

There, you continued to ramble on and on. Uttering something about an extra Santa costume. Suddenly, you gasped as Art pulled you closer towards himself.

Oh.

Seems like Art noticed your distraction and gave you something else to think about. Yes, he was naked but that didn't interest you when you knew you could lean into the tenderness of his sharp touch.

It ran through you- that burning, stinging sensation everywhere his skin touched yours. He was frozen. He kept pulling you closer into his chest like he needed you to survive. Like your warmth was addictive.

His arms wrapped around you like a snake while he tucked your legs between his thighs.

You looked up at him only to be met with the same shit-eating grin as last time.

What a pervert.

He was infectious. Once you had laid eyes on those disgusting tar black teeth and dark doe eyes, it was as if a command came over your soul. The corners of your lips unconsciously lifted into a smile. Maybe you would take advantage of this proximity for once…

Laying a quick peck on his bottom lip, you chuckled as you knew his facepaint had transferred to your own.

Art always knew how to make you laugh as he reared back to make an exaggerated shocked face. Quickly, he returned the offer by giving you a toothy grin before smashing his lips into yours.

Driving your bodies forward and away from the initial wall, Art bites your bottom lip as a plea for entry. Your back arches against the shelving as he pushes into the kiss. You let him- loving each and every second of pure bliss. 

His tongue explored every inch, every tooth, every surface. It felt like you two stayed like that for eternity. It was as if once you would open your eyes, the night would be long gone.

You winced when you were forced to pull yourself away- heaving large gasps for air. 

You couldn’t believe it. First thing you’re working a simple 9-5 and next thing you know you’re making out with the most infamous murderer in all of New York. The thought was enough to send a surge of energy rising through you.

But is this all? It’s been 3 whole years where you’ve spent countless nights fantasizing about and being subject to his mindless antics. 3 whole years. 

You swallow the lump in your throat as you turn back to Art, placing your palm against his hollow cheek. 

Whatever, you were happy to finally show your devotion to him at last…

As your lips hover over his, you gaze into his eyes. Pitch black with not a soul in sight, yet a carefulness he held while looking back at you. Back at you until… 

You felt a strange sensation graze against your thigh.

It was in the moment you learnt it was possible for the white clown to turn a subtle shade of pink. 

His eyes dodged down as he seemed to shuffle slightly further away. Choosing to hide in the shadows again, Art took a couple hefty steps backwards until all you could make out was the outline of his prominent features within the shadows.

“Oh shit..” you uttered under your breath. Art was hard. Oh my goodness, Art was hard and embarrassed. 

Weighing up the pros and cons, you quickly bit the bullet and made up your mind. You were going to take that risk even if it could cost you your life. Art was everything you wanted and more. He had been so helpful over the past few years, you thought he deserved a small favor in return.

Stepping across the small storage room, you land in front of him- placing your hands on his chest. His skin was frigid and without a pulse.

“I can help you with that,” you whisper into his ear.

Despite the quick shocked expression Art played with, it was as if you caught his sincerity for a second before he snaped back into miming an over-emphasized swooning motion; fanning himself with his hand before pretending to faint.

His eyes stare far into yours as if seeking reassurance before acting on his own accord.

You nodded. Falling to your knees, you steadied yourself with both hands holding onto his legs. 

There it was. 

While you had seen it plenty of times, you had never imagined it from this angle. It was ample in length and wide in thickness. The sight was enough to make your mouth water.

You carefully grip the base and work your hands up and down his shaft before placing it in your mouth.

Paying attention to every ridge and bump, you slide your tongue across his length. As you begin bobbing your head back and forth, you look up to find Art’s embarrassment is long gone.

His eyes are shut tight and his mouth gapes open like he's lost for words. (if he had any, that is)

While you pulled closer and closer towards the base of his cock with every thrust, Art put his hands on the crown of your head, pulling you further into him.

Sliding down your throat, you gagged as Art thrusted his shaft into the roof of your mouth. 

For someone so shy before, he’s taking control of this alot more than you expected..

Drool pools at the corners of your mouth, dribbling slowly down your chin. Art takes notice and drags his hand down to wipe it with his shaky thumb.

Fuck- he was so far down the back of your throat, you swore it was a miracle you were till breathing by now.

Thick white ropes coated the walls of your mouth. The action sent you bucking back as it forced you into a coughing fit. God was he bitter tasting.

He flung back before patting your head. It felt degrading- almost as if you were his pet in need of praise after completing a trick.

Lifting your gaze to look up at him, he sends back a dramatic shocked face before shifting to his usual wide grin.

As you stuck your tongue out, you chuckled before swallowing his seed.

*

Zipp! And that was the last of it. All that was left was to lock up the store and you were done. Your desk was cleaned, your repairs were finished and your clown friend was very happy. 

While you loved your job, you were terribly excited to finally go home and have a long rest (maybe even a sweet treat too)

You let out a chuckle as you watched the live footage displayed on the security cameras. Despite being colorless and grainy, the expression on Art’s face was clear as day. There, he waved into the camera- his face imitating the pure joy of a small child* in a candy store; with a large smile and immense energy radiating from him.

(*As pure as he can get considering he’s a murderous hell spawn, but we won’t talk about that…)

He tipped his tiny top hat towards the camera, then swiftly turned on his heels to face the exit.

Ding! Ding! Ding! The bell rang out as Art made his exit, and it was as if he had suddenly vanished.

You couldn’t wait for tomorrow… 

Maybe work could be a bit more exciting from now on, you thought.

[midnight-mourning]

DCA Promptober Day 9: Off-Limits

Had an idea in mind for this one, then @soupdweller pretty much solidified it for me with this piece of art. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1868

Content warning: non graphic depicitions of death, obsessive behavior if you squint really really hard, reader discresion is advised

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You wish you were taller. Maybe not super tall, and certainly not eight or nine feet tall, but a couple inches you think would be nice. A couple inches could potentially make you feel a bit less, small, in this situation. 

The Daycare Attendant looms over you, that cartoonish grin and dead eyes certainly not helping your nerve. You swallow. You were not going to let him intimidate you, you were not going to let him intimidate you-

"Friend."

"Sun," Your voice is more squeaky than you'd ever like it to be, you clear your throat, "Can I get past you, please?"

His rays click sharply to one side, "I'm afraid not. This area is off-limits."

"I, understand that, but it's also my job as a guard to check that everything is in order-"

He moves suddenly, bending down so that your faces are now inches apart, he tilts his head, "Off. Limits."

You have it in you to get a little annoyed then. You don't really know the Attendant all that well, and from what you've heard from other staff he's usually pretty friendly and even a bit, oblivious. 

This was not that. 

From the moment you'd met he'd been off-putting, a little creepy, and in a way, hostile to you and everything you did. You almost wondered if it was a work hours vs after hours thing, but whenever anyone else was around he had that chipper persona. It was just with you that there was a problem. 

"What's in there that's such an issue?" You ask, trying to peer around him, ignoring the way his 'pupils' seem to shift and watch you, "Last I checked the Plex doesn't have any big secrets. Not any that I as a guard wouldn't know about at least."

It's hard to tell what's back there, mainly because of the near blinding light coming from the doorway to contrast with the darkened space you're currently standing in. And from what you remember, it was all just storage space. One of the bigger ones to your understanding. Actually, how'd the Attendant even get over here? You don't remember there being another entrance to this location. And furthermore, why is he-

"That," He puts a hand on your shoulder, "Is not," You're shoved backward, "Your concern."

Okay, now you're irritated, "For the last time, this is my job. Last I checked, you're the Daycare Attendant, and I'm the security guard. So, you can either move out of my way, or I make you move."

Sun stands upright again, clasping his hands in front of him, "You can try."

"Why do you even care? Why are you even over here?" You point your finger at him now, "You know, you've been honestly kind of a jerk to me since I started, and I'm kind of sick of it. I've never done anything to you!"

A click. You continue. 

"I have tried to be nothing but kind and considerate, I don't stay in your space too long, I wave when I see you, I compliment your art and yet you've been nothing but cold, impassive, and downright rude."

The Attendant is stock still and frankly, you don't care.

"What did I do to deserve this, huh? What made you decide I was going to be the target of your just, straight vitriol toward me?" You throw your hands up, then slap them against your legs. 

Your breathing is heavy now. But at least you've said your peace. 

It's then that the bot laughs, not the reaction you were expecting. For some reason, it sends a chill down your spine.

He takes a step closer, then another. It gives you an idea as he once more bends down to your level. 

"What you've done?" Several rapid clicks of his rays turning to the right, "You want to know what you've done-"

You quickly sidestep him, darting inside, "Maybe some other time! Let's say after my patrol, how's that?"

He makes a loud sound then, which you take as merely mild frustration. Something that in hindsight, was a mistake on your part. You snickered, served him right. You were just trying to do your job.

The storage room was a lot bigger than you were expecting. Grander. Many aisles of boxes piled to the high ceiling on either side of you, along the backwall, and is that a connecting room behind? Geez, why is this area not patrolled more often? Seems like there's a lot of stuff to grab, regardless of there seeming to just be the one entrance. 

You think you've lost Sun, for now anyway. If he catches up to you again it's not like he can do anything except complain. The thought instantly peeves you. 

You're nearing one of the back corners of this front room now, deciding to radio back to the main office, "Hey, working on the last bit of my route, there a reason we don't check this storage room more routinely?"

"We don't.... manpower.... -eople have... -ssing. Wasn't supposed... -your route. -ou should probably-.... -here." Is the response you receive.

You frown, speaking into the device again, "Hey, you're cutting out super bad, could you repeat that?"

All you get is more garbled static as a response. You shrug it off. Must be a dead zone near this room. Annoying, but that's life.

There's a smell in here, you're realizing. And it's not dust, even though there's quite a lot of that. It's decay. 

And the closer you get to that back corner, the stronger is gets. 

Now, a normal person would say fuck it, and call a custodian to deal with whatever poor animal had gotten in here and died. And maybe on a different night, you would have done that. But for some reason, that wasn't the decision you were going to make for tonight.

You round the corner and find-nothing. Just some more boxes. But god that smell is strong now. You're getting ready to turn around and high tail it out of there, when you notice that there's something sticking out from the corner, between where the boxes on either wall collide. 

You don't need to get a closer look to confirm what it is, but you do. 

You can only stare on in complete and utter disbelief. 

Yup. That is indeed a shoe. Attached to a foot, attached to a dead body-a dead security guard's body-which you're 99% sure is what you were smelling. 

The surprising part of all this was exactly how many dead bodies were stuffed into that corner. All in various states of decay. 

"I warned you."

You jump, whipping around to find Sun staring at you. Somehow, the blank look in his eyes is more unreadable than ever before. You swear there's like, a shimmer to optics. Kind of, purplish. But your eyes are probably playing tricks on you.

Your instant reaction is to pray, but you think it's a little late for that. Your second reaction is to beg. 

Your voice wavers as you speak, hands up defensively, "Pl-please don't, don't, hurt me..."

"Hurt you? Oh no no no, sweet thing. I'd never want to hurt you," Sun tuts, his words have a softness you've never witnessed before, "I'll admit I haven't done the best job of showing it, but I do care."

In your shock of it all, you can just stand there, fear dissipating just slightly while blinking a few times, "Excuse me?"

He goes off on his own little tangent, starting to pace as he speaks more to himself than to you, "Believe me, coming to terms with the idea that you of all people would catch my interest wasn't, easy, but I think I've been dealing with it to the best of my ability," He turns to you, hands together, "And now, you've made this entire process that much simpler!"

"...Simpler how?" You're still processing the dead people thing; you aren't even comprehending the idea that Sun likes you. 

"Well, now we can so spend time catching you up to speed," Sun tilts his head, tone eerily cheering as his eyes lift into crescents, "You didn't think you could leave now, did you?"

You bolt.

You try to remember how you got back here, which ways to turn to get back to the front. Given you're kind of freaking out right now, it's not easy.

Sun's behind you, somewhere. Sure you can hear him; those bells were loud on top of the mechanical clinks and whirls his limbs emit as he follows after you. The problem is that he's eight feet tall and you can only run so damn fast. 

You find the entrance. The door's shut.

"Shit. Shit, come on," You fumble for your keycard, shaking hands swiping it through the card reader. 

"Access denied. Access denied. Access denied."

You hear Sun a few aisles over, "Ah, ah, ah. Leaving so soon? After you worked so hard to get in here?"

You curse under your breath as he continues.

"And really, to not bother to listen after I told you to stay is really, quite, rude," From the sounds of it, he's now where you just were, and seemed to be expecting you to still be trying to get out, having the gull to be annoyed about it, "Well there goes that dramatic reveal."

You don't know where you're running but you realize you're going to need to find a destination soon, because you're going to eventually run out of stamina. And Sun will not. 

A hiding place. You need a hiding place. 

"I put in a lot of effort to keep this from you, Starshine," Sun says to the empty space, "Spare you from this thing, that I've become."

There is nowhere to hide in here. It's just the same repeating rows over and over again. Could you maybe circle back? Start climbing? Just something-

"It's not a willing participation, you know. If you understood how this f̴͉̲̲̳̐̑̈́̍̀eė̴̘̽̋l̴͍̣͎̙͎̉̃ṣ̶̪̀, maybe you'd be a bit more sympathetic. Though I suppose that's a big ask."

You need to quiet your breathing, collect yourself a bit. Find another option.

You swallow, trying to calm down as you rest back against the cardboard. It sort of works. 

Until you become acutely aware of the fact that Sun is now silent. 

You strain your ears, eyes flicking back and forth to either end of the aisle. You're closer to the one on your left than the right, but you wonder if it'd be worth the risk to dash to the other side. 

Unfortunately, you don't get the chance.

You take a step away from the makeshift wall, only able to react after the fact as Sun comes from around the corner, the surprise of seeing him making your trip backwards as you spin to face him. 

He catches you, and you notice that the ribbons which usually wrap around his wrists are missing. He tricked you.

"Caught you friend~" He chuckles lightly at the joke. 

You can only look up at him with fear. His pupils are purple, you're sure of it now. He leans in, rays spinning. 

"Maybe next time you'll listen when I say something is off-limits."

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Since y'all liked reading the notes I write for Confused Spirit, here's the one I wrote for this lmao:

You can read the others here, sorry for being late with this! As you can see, she was a biggin'. Thanks for reading!

[2demondogs]

Hello, I'm the anon who asked if you write autism and now that i know you do, I'd love it if you could do an gender neutral autistic reader/Javier?

I love music, and I don't think I could live without it. it really helps prevent meltdowns and calms me down when things get too overwhelming. I often hear and love listening to Javier play his music in camp. it's so relaxing and serene sometimes. My favorite is Ángel De Amor :)

I don't really have a specific way for this request to go besides including Javier's music into it. So I'd say you have complete creative freedom! Thank you so much for answering my question, by the way. I love your writing :))

Of course! I am a simple man tbh Javier picks up the guitar in game and I sit Arthur's ass the fuck down. Also thank you <3

I kind of went from the comfort aspect. Sorry this took a second (I also have another like. week old request too) fatigue is kicking my ass this week.

Words: 1.9k Tags: fluff, Javier is madly in love with u, reader has sensory issues, established relationship

You wish you could know true silence.

Javier had looked at you perplexed when you asked if the wind ever bothered him, insisting you meant the sound and not that it messed with hair or clothes or bullets. Lucky him, only hear it during storms.

He had taken your mind off of the racing of your heart by clapping his hands over your ears and grinning. "Better?" He'd asked, and you'd felt his voice reverberating enough to offset the overwhelming roar of blood through his hot palms.

What a fool, you thought and still think, but laying on your bedroll has left you with no sleep and a deep desire for his hands on your face, or how he lays on you in the privacy of trips away from camp. The ground is hard, too hard; you feel cold in a way that's deeper than temperature, as if loneliness could be icelike and sting all over, especially through your empty arms; and it's so quiet that your ears are ringing, searching for noise and focusing only on your own heart thudding — the sound gives you anxiety, for some unknowable reason — and the snores of the camp.

Oh, the snores.

You start to get angry, but you blame it on those, usually. Although Javier snores, and that's never bothered you. Because it's you, you've told him for romance's sake but, really, it's hard to know what's irritating you when everything feels raw and cold and burning all at once.

Before your patience can snap, the pressure of it already building in your throat, you sit up and let your eyes re-adjust to the darkness of the night. You had hardly realized how the darkness behind your lids was growing on your bad side, too.

The campfire is still going nearby, and you see Javier sitting with his back against one of the logs, guitar laid over his lap and a knife in hand. He's doing something to it. Arthur's tent flaps are drawn and the light of a lantern fights against the fire for shadows, the dark outline of a large hand passing over the light now and then; as you walk past, you think maybe Hosea is sitting beside the tent post that covers him, Bill, and Lenny.

Besides the four of you, it's eerily dead. Not an unusual occurrence, really, because it seems these three's insomnias are all interlinked and your own tends to join in on their frequency, too— but eerie all the same.

The choice is clear enough of who to join. Only Javier is surrounded by empty space, though you've learned that doesn't necessarily mean he'll be as friendly with others as he is with you. Romantic privileges, or something like that. You believe he's just sour inside and trying to stuff you into the open sore like cotton.

With only the company of your feet shuffling over dirt, Javier's voice seems gunshot loud.

"What're you up for?" He asks, disinterested before he looks up from his guitar's neck. One string is missing out of six, a new gutstring pinched in his fingers as he twists it where travel had unraveled it in storage. Frayed ends stick from the tuning pegs, tied but not trimmed. His eyes soften when he sees it's you, but he leaves the greeting as it is.

"Can't sleep," you say, and take a seat at a polite distance on the same log.

Javier never complains of your proximity and you feel the urge for it now, that prickly sensation of emptiness along your arms and torso, but something stops you from taking indulgence into your own hands. You're happy that he scoots over some, shrugging and waving the small knife in his hand as he speaks. Glinting in the fire, the blade one of the newer silver ones he picked up during a disastorous Van Horn trip.

"I would'a never guessed," he says. Even though his hair is untied — it seems that he couldn't sleep either, because it is tangled in the back — you know he's smiling.

Past his head, as he leans away, you watch him cut the excess from the last string and tie a firm knot around the tuning peg. The easy way he works his skills always quiets your nerves, the same way it does to watch Javier handle his guitar in general.

When you feel unable to handle anything, it's comforting to know there's someone who knows how to handle something. Someone you've got a claim to, whose skills you take a secondary pride in — look at my man, doesn't he know his way around...? — but that's entirely affection speaking.

"What's on your mind, cielo?" He asks, leans his head back on the log beside your hip and looks up at you.

The shadows draw strangely over his features at this angle. His features have filled out nicely since Dutch dragged him in. Nevermind that they were fuller, still, before Blackwater, or that his undereyes look darker than they have in months. He's handsome, and his eyes flutter shut when you draw your nails gently over the hair sprouting from his temple.

Before, he's laughed when you've spoken honestly, but it has never been at your expense. Javier has some humor about him when you are alone — which is the only place you will confide in him, whether it's fear of your dignity or fear for the life of anyone who side-eyes Javier's sweetheart — and at times, you think maybe he's laughing the way men laugh when they see the sun for the first time in years. There is no judgement behind the way he smiles, showing his gums because the curl of his upper lip grows almost timid.

It is sickening, how in love Javier is.

He makes you feel like you are, for the first time in your life, entirely without flaw. You know that's impossible, that no one is, but feelings never do bow to inferior facts.

You realize you've gotten lost in your thoughts when Javier's lips brush your knuckles, having plucked your hand from his hair and taken it in his own, the fingers curled over the wall of his. He says your name. It sounds good in his rasp.

"S'rry," you say, blink once or twice to remember what he had even asked. What's on your mind? Why are you awake? "It's too quiet 'round here. It's botherin' me."

He nods. "Never sounds right when the woods are quiet," he agrees, and you realize he's misunderstood.

"No, it's very loud," you correct.

Javier squints at you, that familiar humor nudging his eyes. "What do you mean?"

You were going to divulge the depth of it, but now you find yourself focused on explaining this part to him. The entire world was beginning to piss you off, anyways, so finding comfort for one thing must be easier.

"The— well, the silence is too loud. It's buggin' me."

He raises a brow. "Silence is literally too loud?"

"Yes," you say, wondering why he's asking. It sounds odd put that way, sure, but it still makes perfect sense to you. Then he smiles faintly, those eyes soften— and it's apparent that this is another one of those things only you experience. "I could hear my blood running while I was layin' down. Hated it. D'you ever hear yours?"

"Only when it's really pumpin'," he says, and you stop trying to find something he'll relate to.

It doesn't leave you quite so empty-feeling as it has in the past that Javier doesn't have the same issues. None of it matters, because he does not care how foreign some of your complaints are: he will solve them, somehow.

No, Dutch's gramophone never makes his teeth itch, but he'll keep you company outside camp until the old man shuts it off or your mind is calm enough to stomach another opera. No, his clothes never feel abrasive, but he'll let you wear his instead, will look proud that they do not bother you as if he wove the fabric himself. The latter had been one of his first unspoken I love yous. It was his favorite vest.

And now, he's asking: "D'you wanna hear a song instead?"

Your brows knit. "Won't it wake everyone up?"

"No, cariño," Javier says, nods to the ground beside him. "You come closer 'n' I'll play quiet. Jus' for you."

You let yourself smile. "Alright," you say, swallow the warmth you feel at his offer and how relieved you are to have it spoken.

He's played his guitar for you before, many times. You've asked it for some of them, under the guise of not remembering words to his songs — he never questioned this reason, although he knows you can't speak Spanish and likely knew there was something much gentler behind it — or boredom.

Only once has it been for the same reason he plays now: to comfort you. The woods had been too quiet, and you'd been bleeding.

Javier asks for a song, and wrinkles his nose playfully when you say Ángel de Amor. "That's a sad one," he says. "Don't you want something happy?"

"They're all sad," you say. You'd be surprised if Javier knew a love song that was not about heartbreak or being eaten alive by it. "Aren't the best ones always sad?"

He huffs a laugh. "So, are they all the best?"

"Yessir."

He grins, and it malforms the usual sorrow he sings the first verse with, until he gets a handle on his face.

That his songs are all sad is true enough. There's not much joy to be sung about in the outlaw life, just as there's always that one-two, disjointed beginning to it when the guitar is picked up and played. Finding the rhythm, you suppose, or just remembering the feeling of the strings before going into a song that is as second-nature as pouring coffee or lighting a cigarette.

Simple, a three chord progression and those familiar, short lyrics— at least, they sound short, because he rolls the words off his tongue fast and smooth enough to be one, long breath. You don't realize until you are relaxing against the log, your side pressed to his, just how lonely and exhausted you have been all day.

Not lonely any longer, at least, with his warmth bleeding into your skin and the vibration of the guitar wondering across your own leg as he strums. It soothes the buzzing feeling in your veins, the one that lingers when your nerves start to tighten and bunch under the face of whatever sourness found you this evening.

Javier smells good, too, and you realize how distasteful the air had seemed without something thicker, more potent in it. He'd been wearing one of your favorite colognes today, and its afterimage is on his neck when your weary head falls onto his shoulder. Javier does not tell you to move back, although it must make strumming difficult. He adjusts so that he isn't jostling you and shortens the motion of his wrist, which he will complain tomorrow is sore with a smile.

Another habit, which makes you feel somewhat guilty, is that you will never smell him wear a scent again if you get a chance to smell it and do not tell him you like it. Although, through the guilt, there's something in you that feels very special.

After a lifetime of feeling other, here is a man who will do anything to be accepted by you.

Sickening, so very.

You turn your nose to smell the remnants of the cologne on his shirt. You think you recognize El Borrachito before he starts singing, but consciousness leaves you thereafter. In the morning, you'll wake up to find yourself slumped over his shoulder blades and Javier, over his guitar.

[spark-hearts2]

Little AI to Human headcannons

I've seen a lot of fanfictions or art about Caine as a human. Specifically an AI turned human (not human, then ringmaster, then human again). So, here are some of my own headcannons that I haven't seen anyone mention. I don't plan on doing anything with them, so if anyone wants to use them, please do!

Over stimulation. Before, in the circus, he could disable visual and audio processing. He could even go as far as to unload his virtual avatar and exist purely as a bundle of code. Now, he is essentially stuck in his body and can not manually turn his senses off.

Staring into space. He already does this in cannon, but I would imagine it would get even worse as a human. He would get too in his own head thinking about things and completely forget that his body exists at all times. He would either be impossible to drag out of this, or get annoyed that his train of thought was interrupted as he no longer has perfect memory.

Memory issues. Well, he wouldn't gain memory issues. It's more like he would be used to the perfectly memory of a machine. Suddenly storing information organically would be a massive downgrade for him, but he no longer has to worry about running out of storage so there's that.

Very good at math. This is another thing that he would consider got worse when becoming human, but compared to the average person, he's a physicist. He's familiar with all the light, force, and gravity based calculations and can even solve them reliably quickly. Again, he used to be able to do this in fractions of a second, so he considered it a downgrade.

Fascinated with the little details. He's familiar with physics because that's how computers render things, but moving to the real world, everything has insane detail to him. Something as simple as tearing paper has his eyes sparkling and lead him to talking about destruction physics. The fact that everything breaks differently every time fascinates him.

Insane knowledge about game design. I agree that Caine definitely would be almost completely ignorant about how the real world works and would essentially need a babysitter to make sure he doesn't die. But what I've seen very little about is how good he would be considered at design and programing. Man was literally built for this stuff.

Anxiety. As a computer, he could think 24/7 without consequences. As a computer, he could know the digital world on an extreme level. Quite literally know where everything is at all times. Obviously he isn't always monitoring this, as he didn't realize that Pomni had clipped out of bounds, but I imagine that he is capable of this. As a human, not only is he lacking this level of knowledge about the world, but he also can no longer think all the time without consequences. I imagine that he would still try to do this, thus manifesting as Anxiety.

impulse control. Now as a human with way less control over himself, I'd imagine what little impulse control he has just goes down the drain. Something interesting happens? He's walking over to look at it no questions asked.

Anger at his situation. To him, turning human is a downgrade. Yes, he is insanely happy to still be with everyone and see the real world, he's just unhappy about being a human in it. He would prefer to still be an AI system, just with a camera, microphone, and speaker on it so he can see, hear, and still talk to everyone. Of course, he would not voice this anger towards any ex circus member, as he views it as not their fault and therefor not their problem.

Now this one has to do with my own cannon adjacent AU, specifically the fanfiction I am currently writing a chapter 2 for. All you need to know is that Caine has been sending error reports, specifically about the inability to leave the circus, since the issue first started. These reports have gone unread.

10. abandonment issues. No one has helped him fix errors in so long that is has genuinely warped his view of reviving help. In the circus, no one (except maybe Kinger) knows how to read code and debug, but even as he moves to the real world and is surrounded by people who do know how his system works, he is still reluctant to ask for help. He's become used to asking and receiving nothing, and then being the one to fix everything. He's open to asking questions about the world and learning things, but when it comes to his own issues, nothing. Like, the kind of person to not ask for a blanket and then curl up under the rug. Also, he would hate sending text messages or emails because he hates having to wait for a reply. At least when talking to someone he can see that they are actually there and listening.

[the-moon-will-mourn]

now i haven't finished the dream thieves yet (i'm like,,, 7 chapters away from finishing) and i think this may contain spoilers???? but i'm not too sure yet. i'm basically gonna word vomit. i'm sorry for not using any quotes, i wish i could but i only have the ebook version and a very limited storage space on my phone where i can only have ~two books downloaded

like a normal person, i enjoy listening to video essays, see what creators want to explain to their audience and leave with a certain view, try to come to my own arguments about certain points in the videos, see if i can apply some points to other aspects of my life etc etc. (this was the type of shi that helped me with my eng lit essays rip i miss alevels) and like a normal british citizen i looked up stuff about classism in the uk. in the end, i found a video essay about classism in general and how the ultra rich try to mimic being poor to get away from their hard issues that comes with being rich (which, frankly, is probably a lot less compared to someone who is working class).

recently, i was talking to my friend about specifics in the book about certain characters and i remember we went onto the convo of making music playlists for the characters. they said "it's gonna be hard for adam [...] cuz his whole thing is about being unknowable" and it always struck me with how unknowable he truly is when reading his character because his character is intrinsically linked to his working class background. (context: i'm a middle class child of immigrants who built themselves in the uk)

it's very clear the kind of social commentary stiefvater wanted to make using adam's character with how isolating and alienating it can be coming from a working class background trying to assimilate yourself into a society of those protected and privileged enough to not have any problems with accessing opportunities. how class is a huge obstacle between interpersonal relationships and feeling safe enough to be vulnerable with your issues with being working class. how difference in class can cause one-sided shame because of the meritocratic society we're living in. how, no matter how much money you earn or how many connections you can make, your attachment to your working class identity can be enough reason to aim for something supernaturally larger than yourself.

it's evident that other characters overlook adam's social class because he's a "self-made man" (or smth) and mainly because he's their friend: adam. however, when we get a chapter in his pov, class is a driving factor in how he interacts and views everyone. we can see the privilege gansey and ronan have for being able to not even consider class as an intimidating aspect about themselves to a normal person, but it's everything to adam in the sense that he feels like his earned money doesn't give him access to a similar respect.

now that i truly think about it, it was a good idea for adam not to join them in monmouth manufacturing because it just feels like they're... mocking him in an indirect way? they have the ability to choose to live in a nice place and instead chose to live in a random, run-down building because it seemed aesthetic. adam was forced to live in a rundown trailer because that's all they could have afforded. i know gansey had good intentions for wanting adam to join them, but everything that he likes as an aesthetic (monmouth manufacturing, the run-down camaro, eating mint leaves instead of gum) can seem like he's flaunting the fact he can choose that lifestyle without any consequences.

back to the point of the meritocratic society (which we usually assume in books that take place in a similar world as our own) creating shame because of their class: the assumption that because someone has worked hard to earn what they have gives them a right to be proud. but this is the opposite for adam as he fights with the fact that he could have maybe be seen as even more equal to gansey if he had just been born with wealth.

we can frame it as, maybe, despite gansey's desire to appear working class, it only broadens the distance between him and adam. it only worsens adam's difficult relationship with his class shame despite probably wanting to be more relatable or even laid-back.

when reading the second book after his sacrifice, i was confused as to why adam was so un-adam-like. i mean, in the first book i didn't really understand him because of his huge insistance that his class makes him inherently inferior to everyone he surrounds himself with and i don't see class as an issue myself.

however, his sacrifice basically was watering the seed of ambition that was planted when he decided to aim for aglionby. it becamse clearer to me how much this opportunity to be superior, even if it's supernatural and terrifying, is important for him understanding in what he thinks he lacks. by those thoughts of what he lacks, he thought that this chance to be cabeswater's channel could be a way to compensate for his inferior social class. or something.

anyways, thank you for coming to my ted talk. this is not proofread, and my sister keeps nagging at me to shower. also i simp for gansey do not think this is me trying mischaracterising him i'm just trying to understand the theme of class in this series and having gansey as a figure to compare to is literally integral.

[lithepanda]

Benefits of the Owlbear Rodeo VTT

Went to bat for the Owlbear Rodeo VTT in response to somebody talking about the storage/room limits being too constricting today, and I thought I'd share what I said here:

"I've primarily used Owlbear as my VTT of choice for about five years now - occasionally dipping to others like Roll20, Foundry, etc. but always coming back. After running hundreds of games on the lowest paid tier, the room limit (which, at my tier, is 10, but can be upped to 25) has never been an issue - I just delete a room when I've finished the game, and I've personally never needed more than five at a time. Deleting a room doesn't delete any of the scenes therein, and the asset manager is very easy to maintain and organize so that you're not drowning in old maps and tokens. And to my shock, I've realized that I've only used a quarter of the allotted storage after all these years, which can be doubled by upgrading to the next tier - PNGs don't really take up that much space, all in all, and I even have some animated maps in there that are more sizable. Additionally, in response to everyone saying it's very simple/lacking in crunch - yes, and. They're constantly coming out with new, easy-to-use extensions that can add crunch in places if you find yourselves missing the complexity of other VTTs. My personal favorites include a stylish initiative tracker, a customizable in-game calendar that also helps you track time, a fully functional Fabula Ultima character sheet with GIF support (which can be hilarious to use), a weather overlay that makes my maps look incredible, and a chatbox that can also function as a dice roller and a X,N, O card-like safety tool. Tl;dr - room/storage limits aren't as limiting as you might imagine, and Owlbear has much more to offer than you might initially realize. It's cheap af, too!"

[insipid-drivel]

Getting a new wheelchair! The XTSO M4

If you're wondering what model of power chair this is, it's this in the readmore:

Here's the website.

Here's my family friend's website with even more variety and options.

I'm brand new to wheelchairs and power chairs, but have recently invested in this one as my mobility has been an increasing issue as I'm getting older. A family friend of mine has MS and owns a wheelchair and powerchair company, and just recently went to a floor-show of new models in Miami, FL, and emailed me back with the XSTO M4 as a recommendation for my first chair.

These chairs are expensive. They may not be affordable for you. I'm only getting one because I know a guy who sells them and he's willing to help me out when it comes to the financials. However, if you're curious, shopping, or interested to know what kind of new tech is starting to be incorporated into electric wheelchairs, here are some product deets about the M4:

Comes with an automatic balance system, which balances out the seat even when I'm going uphill. This prevents the "I'm going to fall and hit my head" sensation if a slope is steep.

Can clear vertical obstacles of up to 2" vertically or 6" horizontally (such as rolling over grass between paving stones) , so if a city's infrastructure sucks for chair-bound people, I can at least brute-force to a sidewalk or park when necessary.

Can handle slopes of up to 15°

Breathable back and memory foam seat for no more Ass Sweat Prints on warm days.

Designed not to slip or skid on slippery surfaces or going up or downhill

Self-adjusts the seat to stay level even when on a slope so I don't tip over or fall off the chair. Also has a safety-wheel in the back so it can't be tipped backwards, either.

Travels up to 11 miles on a single charge

Has both "casual" (indoor) and "off-road" settings.

Can adjust the seat up or down up to 8" to Reach Things Better or Be More Visible To Traffic.

Has no rear handles for assholes to grab and try to move me around without permission.

Comes with an app (ugh I know) that makes my phone make an alert noise when the battery is low or a part or component is malfunctioning, gives me the ability to remotely control it to wheel it closer to me if it's out of reach and I can't walk to it (honestly a selling point for me; I never know when I'll have Bad Issues and need extra help), switch its modes from casual to sport mode, and make it fold/unfold for space.

Breaks into 3 separate parts for easier storage in the back of a car.

Goes up to ~4mph, which isn't bad for me, since my normal mph at home without a chair is 0.

Has a tight 32" turning radius courtesy of the front tires, making it good for moving around indoors too.

Seat reclines and has a small leg-rest for if I want to lean back.

The manufacturer recycles parts, so if something like the battery needs replacing, I can send the old part in and receive a new, replacement part for free.

Almost every feature covered by the app is also available on the LCD readout beside the joystick, so I don't need to use the app if I don't want to.

It doesn't look like I stole it from a retirement home or a WalMart.

[vicky82gargoylesfan]

My Thoughts on Gargoyles Quest issue 5 Queen of All She Surveys

Great final issue of Quest but the ending was heart breaking.

I loved that Angela had a lot to do here, she was brilliant.

Spoilers

Demona's plan is in full swing.

Angela hears the music and Broadway has to leave the turkey. I assume deep frying a turkey is pretty normal for Thanksgiving.

Turns out Robbins is effected by the spell, I assume it's because this spell focuses more on hearing than sight, so a deaf person would probably be immune to Demona's spell.

We see that Shari and Sevarius are also under Demona's spell

Goliath tries to get Elisa out of Demona's spell trick that was used in Temptation but it doesn't work.

I absolutely love Demona's reaction when Angela confronts her.

Demona leaves and orders Xanatos to cover her by bringing out the steel clan robots. But then Angela uses her quick thinking and orders Xanatos to dismiss the robots.

It was pretty weird that Angela called him David and not Xanatos, maybe she was being polite.

Then Coldstone tells Goliath that maybe leaving the humans under Demona's spell is a good thing for the clan, and that's when Coldfire suspects her mate has betrayed the clan by siding with Demona. I just love Coldfire's reaction.

Coldfire uses her spiritualism again to track Demona to the airport. So Demona wants to use a airplane to spread her evil.

The clan arrive and Demona tells the humans to protect her, So Brooklyn tells Katana, Gnash, Lex, Broadway and Angela to hold back the humans.

Coldstone, Coldfire, Turquesa and Jade help Goliath stop Demona but due to there human influence, they end up under Demona's spell too.

Love the dialogue between Goliath and Demona, Demona said some pretty dark things like wanting to torture Elisa.

Angela has to leave Brooklyn's team to go help her Father. She tells Broadway that she needs but doesn't finish her sentence as he knew what she's going to do but Brooklyn didn't and Broadway tells him, 'family time'. and i'm like YES!!!!

Angela has to take out Coldfire and uses Demona's magic to obey to her instead.

Demona tells her Daughter not to interfere but Angela says she will always stand against her evil plans but will embrace her if she decides to change her path to good and she helps take down Demona.

Coldfire uses her gifts to change the humans back to normal and the 3 keys are destroyed but there will be 3 new keys.

Brentwood said "nice while it lasted" when Shari and Sevarius changed back to normal. Hmmm interesting!!!!!

Demona escapes, sadly there is a mistake, the speech bubble should be on Angela not Turquesa.

Jade and Turquesa finally back home, Zafiro and Obsidiana are there too and not very happy, but they will understand once they tell them their journey.

Sadly, Broadways turkey didn't make it but then we see him hugging Angela who is upset which is understandable, she wanted her Mother to know or even attend her commitment ceremony but it looks certainly she's off the guest list now and :-

Coldstone too now, as Coldfire knows he's a traitor and he should be banished, he accepts it, he could only return when he's deemed worthy, yeah no chance

I expect Coldsteel will be happy once he hears they've split up. LOL

Owen gets his broken flute back but he's smirking, so he knows something.

Then the heart breaking moment, Goliath, Elisa and Coldfire hear Katana scream and she, Brooklyn and Gnash are sitting there staring at an empty space where Egwardo should be. It turns out that Elisa under Demona spell stole the egg and gave it to Demona.

Egwardo won't be having the perfect hatching.

Then the last page we see Demona with the Egg (she wants to raise it herself) with Antoinette and Coldstone!!!! who's still sticking by Demona, so he's not interested in redeeming himself right now. Should of switched him off and put him in storage somewhere.

So Demona has won this round.

The Winter Special is next so I expect there won't be any spoilers as it only focuses on Bronx, so we won't know that if they get egg back or not.

[wardensantoineandevka]

sorry to bother you but i wanted to ask how you're enjoying using Obsidian? I've been eyeing it for a while but would love to know your thoughts, highlights, lowlights, etc :) if you don't mind sharing, ofc!

No worries! The short version is that I've been enjoying Obsidian quite a lot, and I find that it serves all of my needs nicely without any fuss. Using it is rather frictionless, I think, and getting used to it was pretty easy though it did take some willingness to very much learn to navigate its menus and features and how it lays everything out. It's not at all difficult, but I do think you have to sit with it for a bit. It's currently my main writing program with the exception of screenplays, for which I use Highland 2.

For context on myself, my writing needs are rather straightforward. I use these sorts of apps and programs to write and organize my fanfic, original prose writing, professional correspondence, and journalistic article drafts. I previously used Notion, which I left because of the big NotionAI push. Before Notion, I used Bear, though I can't remember why I stopped using it; I haven't checked out Bear 2, so I don't know if it suits my needs.

When I was shopping around for a new program to use, the following points were important to me, in no particular order:

no native / built-in generative AI assistants

interface is simple and clean or had customization or community themes that would make it so

offline access

mobile app with document sync

ability to organize and group notes through a folder, tag, or similar system

not too many Things going on with it or I could very easily ignore stuff I didn't use without them cluttering up the UI or my space

Obsidian organizes files within "vaults", of which you can have multiple, each of which are connected to folders that are stored locally on my laptop (or my phone). I love this. I have local versions of all of my notes. I can literally find all my stuff as markdown files within a folder on my desktop and open them up in another program with EASE. If you are someone who doesn't have a lot of storage space, this might be an issue, but for me, this is a very bright highlight.

The biggest lowlight for me is that mobile sync is reliant on a subscription fee, but considering that the rest of the program is free and the fee is small, I found this ultimately a very small concern. I very critically need mobile sync because I spend a significant amount of time writing from my phone. The mobile sync is incredibly good; it keeps all documents synchronized very well, and I have yet to run into version conflicts that cause me to accidentally overwrite and lose significant progress. I don't even have to close files on my laptop first; they'll just update in real-time on my screen like Google Docs. Sometimes I'll name documents something that my phone's file path system cannot handle; Obsidian warns me that it cannot fetch and sync these files with illegal names, and I like that it keeps me informed about that.

It has both a folder system and a tag system, which allows you to organize your files. I only use the folder system because my needs are simple, but the tag system is also solid. It also has a robust search system. It also has a bookmarking system to further organize your stuff. I don't have enough files to use that, but it is available, and I think that's neat.

More precise customization can be difficult if you're not used to writing CSS. I am familiar with CSS, so I found this a small hurdle, but this will be a bigger issue for others. That said, this does mean that Obsidian is DEEPLY customizable, and there is a large gallery of community themes that offer a lot of styles that serve a wide variety of needs. There is also a deep bench of community plugins to help get Obsidian to do what you want — I have plugins that make the word count in the status bar show the count of highlighted text and allow me to copy text as HTML instead of formatted text or markdown. There is also an active Obsidian community and forum, so you will not be necessarily troubleshooting customization alone.

Other small things that occur to me to mention right now: It supports opening files in multiple windows, and it has a tab system, which is really neat. The ability to open multiple files at a time is very good. You can also open files side-by-side for easy comparison, which is useful for more technical work. I don't use Obsidian for coding or wiki work, but I can imagine this being really useful for that. It has a reading mode. Offers a version history with a "show changes" mode and restoration capability. File merge capability. You can open images into it and organize them like any other file.

All in all, I'm very happy with it, and it serves all of my personal needs very well. I generally give it a blanket recommendation, again noting that I think it does take sitting with to get used to some of its features and UI and customizing it to your needs and preferences, but I don't think that's super difficult with some patience and time.

[stormandforge]

Raw reactions to X-Force #7

Such a rich issue, centred around Rachel and Betsy. Which doesn't mean I won't be talking about Forge a bunch, hehe.

Spoilers!

If you love Rachel and Betsy, separately or together, pick up this issue right now. It explores Rachel's history and recent past in a fresh way, and brings about interesting developments for her. The same can be said of Betsy.

Fuck Prince Charming, I want Betsy Braddock as my knight in shining armour. We should all have a partner this devoted and protective. Green flags, Rachel, green flags!

"You have a throne in my heart." Everyone make note of this for future tattoos and wedding vows.

Oh I did not like the look of that kiss. What, Storm is out riding Wolverine in the open air and we don't even get tongue? Not fair.

The interplay of magic and science as a narrative theme is giving me life.

I'm not usually too fond of retcons, but I like what Thorne did with Rachel's resurrection. He didn't erase or change facts, he elaborated on them. He used what was visible on panel and expanded on it. It's very well done.

Thorne has a gift for making existing characters and narrative strands fit together to create something fresh. I see you, GT, bringing back the Keewazi and slotting them into Forge's existing story without breaking anything. Nice.

Even though this is a Rachel and Betsy issue, Thorne still uses it to explore Forge's story. There's expansion of his backstory, mention of his shamanic past and the return of his magic. This is the Forge-centric book of my dreams and I want to live in it.

So: Forge ran away from his tribe at some point (we knew this, although not on these terms) and was eventually taken in by the Keewazi (new information). When did this happen? Before or after the war? How does it all fit with what we know of his past? I NEED A TIMELINE.

I'm dying for more info in general. Does he still have blood relatives? Does he still have ties with the Keewazi? Are we going to get embarrassing flashbacks of 16-year-old Danny Boy being a little shit when an elder is trying to teach him something? I can't wait.

I turn into a ridiculous cheerleader every time Forge builds something in real time. His mutant process is challenging to make interesting on panel, so I appreciate efforts to show him in action. Seeing the finished tech is cool, but it's when he builds that he gets to be a superhero.

There's a very special place in my heart for Forge's leg as storage space. Also for his utility belt. I love the mystery of what and how much he could be carrying in those. I imagine you can hear him coming from a mile off, clang-clang-clang, here comes Forge.

EXCUSE ME, that bodysuit he wears in the mindscape? What, you thought that because it only appears in the background I wouldn't notice Forge in a suit that leaves nothing to the imagination? Paired up with the techno rattle it makes him look like A GOD. Pray Marcus To never draws this or I will be unbearable.

Are Betsy and Forge engaged in some sort of longest hair competition? Bit much.

This iteration of X-Force is getting closer as a team. I'm not just talking about Piotr Tank grabbing the girls for a hug, but also Forge calling them idiots for not asking for help. It's not quite a group-hug-in-Lousiana situation, but the mistrust between them is slowly melting. They're starting to feel more like a team and less like...3 women eyeing Forge suspiciously while Tank flies the jet.

I already loved La Diabla, but her low-key Forge obsession in this issue makes me very happy, because it means the story will continue to focus on him. (Also I support all kinds of Forge obsession.)

OK. The Spanish. It's not the worst I've ever seen, but how do such mistakes get through in an American comic in 2024? If writers use a foreign language, Marvel should hire someone to check grammar for them. It sounds like it's all the writers' responsibility and it's not cool - they can't be fluent in every language under the sun. Come on Marvel, you can afford it.

I miss Sage, but I guess not even her can be a fucking legend every month. Temporary headcanon: she's still at the Aerie, recuperating on the couch with her feet up on the coffee table. She might even have pilfered Forge's secret stash of salty snacks by now. Also upgraded his security system. Found a way to defeat La Diabla. Cracked the Analog. You know, Sage things.

Colossus is wearing a weird headband (and not just because it's what the cool kids are doing, I'm pretty sure). Mind control? Clone? Weirdo alt reality thingy? I'm not too invested in the Tank mystery, but it'd be fun if it'd turned out to be him. He's familiar to me, so he'd make the team feel extra homey.

Hasta la próxima, queridos mios.

[sideroachblog]

Hey y'all here's that AleRoach WIP I promised!!

~4k words. Dry humping at the end (mostly build up), Alejandro being OOC because this was a bit of a daddy issues fic, Size Difference, Unfinished.

There will be TWs under the cut. They're pretty heavy because this is an offshoot from my fic Outside Looking In, where Roach was rescued after being a POW and experienced *severe* trauma. This WIP doesn't go into detail, but it doesn't mince words and it investigates how Roach's experiences are fucking with his current relationships. Additionally, there are heavy spoilers in here for OLI and it reveals more of Roach's perspective of his relationships with the team, particularly Ghost and Soap.

@youredyingthatsallthereis bc I was asked to tag <3

~~

TWs:

1. References to SA Roach endured while captive

2. Roach still being underweight from torture

3. Referenced Cheating

4. Internalized homophobia

5. My awful attempts at Spanish and writing realistic dialogue for someone who speaks English as a second language. In other words: Alejandro sounds corny as fuck. This man on the damn cob.

~~

TRANSLATIONS

Flaquito = An endearing petname. Flaco means skinny and the suffix -ito makes it smaller/cuter/etc

¡Está bien! = It's alright!

Cuate = Buddy/friend/etc

Mierda = Shit

Cariño = Honey/sweetie

No puedo dejar de pensar en ti. = I can't stop thinking about you.

Tesoro = Treasure

--

“Awfully thin for a member of the 141. How do you run drills? I dunno why they brought you here; you don’t even have a call sign yet.”

Roach looked up from the table where his nose was buried in gun parts, one of the team's assault rifles completely disassembled for cleaning. Colonel Vargas filled the doorway.

Before he could stand to salute his superior waved a dismissive hand and said, “Don't bother. Keep the energy, heaven knows you need it. At ease, flaquito.”

The nickname was a surprise when Roach expected to be addressed by rank. No clue what it meant, though. Halfway up from his chair he hesitated, then plopped back down with straining thighs and a groan. He quipped, “Maybe I'm just too good to leave behind, Sir.”

It was impossible to relax again, on edge and unfamiliar with the man’s temper, bracing for an inevitable smoking. He sat stiffly, spine straight as a board.

The Colonel double checked the safety on his own rifle before resting it in the corner then meandered across what was one of the safe house's bedrooms, now stripped of furniture save for folding tables and gun cases. The space was designated for weapons storage and maintenance. A lone yellow bulb hung from the plain room’s ceiling and offered sufficient lighting—enough to complete duties, not enough to help locate dropped screws or runaway pens.

“You’re in danger,” Vargas said matter-of-factly.

Roach squirmed. “Aren’t we all?”

“You especially. The stairs up here winded you. You have thin bird wrists and negative muscle mass like a frail old lady. What if we’re raided?”

He frowned and said, “I either prove my gun skills or perish, I guess.”

“That isn’t a price I’d expect your Captain to chance paying. Sacrificing fresh meat who needs more time to train, especially when you could put others in danger, too. I’m well-acquainted with John and well-experienced weighing risk versus reward.” The man pulled up a chair and settled in on Roach’s right. “Point is, I’d never send someone so underweight on an operation like this one, even if they stay cooped up in here. Not a newbie. Not in a million years. For Price to make that call, he knows more than he’s letting on.”

“What are you getting at, Sir?”

“You don’t have the eyes of a new recruit.”

He monitored the Colonel in his peripheral for any threatening behavior and swallowed hard. “Just joined the Special Air Service, Sir. If you think he’s hiding something, I think he’s the bloke to ask.”

Alejandro Vargas sat there like a brick wall: an athletic, imposing man of great importance to the Mexican Special Forces, more so than Captain Price was to the taskforce. Only now, with broken ribs where a bullet slammed his plate carrier, was he confined to the safe house in brief recovery. Roach felt like chump change in comparison to his weight lifting build, about six inches shorter and only half the kilos, stuck doing upkeep rather than assisting in the field. Even at his peak, before everything, before Makarov’s Ultranationalist animals held him captive, Roach wasn’t nearly as strong. He reminded himself that he was still healing, still gaining muscle, still making progress on top of how far he’d already come.

…So far, he’d only managed to gain about ten kilos. Ten more and he’d reach a ‘normal weight,’ again, still so unbearably skinny, still far from the size and strength his job required.

Their power imbalance seeded discomfort in his abdomen. Their differences in strength only amplified what stemmed from the subservience a sergeant owed a colonel. It was too similar to Russian prison, Roach beaten and abused by guards double his size who commanded him around like a mule. He tensed without meaning to, leaning away when Vargas’ thick forearms rested on the table, muscles rolling beneath their skin as the man fiddled with a hand guard from the disassembled gun.

The sight left him conflicted. Vargas struck fear in his heart, but struck it in other ways, too. He was attractive, certainly Roach’s ‘type,’ especially considering his confident, benevolent demeanor and how he cared personally for each of his men (at least from an outsider’s perspective). Tough love, but love nonetheless. However, the timing of Roach’s trauma was tragic—happening before he had the opportunity to explore his true sexuality. His thoughts were a muddled mess.

“I just cleaned that, Sir,” he stated. “You’re smearing finger grease all over it again.”

Vargas grabbed a damp cloth and wiped his hands down before using it to tidy the mess. “We’re not on an op. I’m not even your colonel. No need for the formalities right now, Smith.”

Smith. Garrett Smith. The new name was still foreign to his ear, so accustomed to ‘Gary Sanderson’ that he nearly corrected people on occasion. He went to say ‘yes, Sir,’ then truncated the title, hissing, “Yess-s—”

The slight lisp from Roach’s missing teeth made it all the more embarrassing. His cheeks turned pink.

“I’m dead serious about those eyes. Have you seen yourself? Permanent dark circles, thousand yard stare. Even now, you look passed me rather than at me.”

“Mm. I hadn’t noticed,” he lied, sounding as unbelieving as possible. “Interesting observation.”

Vargas angled his wide body to watch the Sergeant work. “Yes, very.”

Roach shrunk into his shoulders when the Colonel leaned forward, into the small uniform shirt that hung baggy enough to have him dress-coded anyway. He prayed the man didn’t notice.

No such luck.

“Not everyone in the world is out to get you. I don’t know who taught you we are. Price wouldn’t put you in harm’s way.”

He shuddered at the memory of Shepherd and replied, “I’m well aware there’s people on my side, Sir.”

“I’m one of them. No need to act like a scared dog.”

What if Price was wrong again? What if Alejandro were schmoozing him, attempting to—Roach gritted his teeth, trying to allow his respect for the Colonel to overpower his panic. “I know.”

“Then relax; I won’t bite.”

His legs screamed to bolt before something terrible happened, old pain from Ultranationalist hands resurfacing. Cuts, punches, yanked hair. Having his head shoved underwater until the bubbles nearly stopped.

When he was first captured, their medics begrudgingly treated his burn wounds with as little care as possible (and he had no idea why they didn’t leave him to die). They ripped off the dressings as if peeling stubborn wallpaper, debrided his skin without anesthesia, re-mummified his writhing form as agony lingered. The worst came later, towards the end of his imprisonment. It happened once. Fingernails digging into his thighs, forcing his legs open. Wrists bound so tightly with fraying rope they sustained nerve damage. Bodily intrusions he longed to forget. Thankfully, his attacker was not gifted in certain areas; however, the bastard compensated with violent thrusts that tore through Roach anyway, mentally and physically, leaving a cloud of disgust surrounding his body even months later. Worse still, the fact that Roach had dreamed of those same activities, gentler, involving trusted individuals. These fantasies were tainted, of course. Everything about him felt rotten after his assault was said and done.

He knew that wasn’t true. The thoughts surfaced regardless.

With a deep sigh, he did his best to loosen up.

“Good,” Vargas praised when Roach visibly shoved down the tension. He plucked a rifle scope off the table and worked the cleaning cloth up and down its length in long strokes, wrist twisting as he did.

Roach watched momentarily, then gazed up and found the man already looking back. He said, “You don’t need to help, if you’re busy. I’m sure you’ve more important duties to tend.”

“More important…? It’s break time. I’m striking up conversation. You intrigue me.” A gleam in Vargas’ eye betrayed the true extent of his interest: Roach was a mystery to solve. A broken man still piecing himself together in the line of action, ‘freshly recruited,’ although it was clear the Colonel knew better.

Roach offered a weak smile. “There’s not much to know.”

“Ah. I see. Hate small talk?”

“Always have, S-sir.”

Vargas replaced the scope and began polishing the other hand guard. “There’s beauty in the little things, you know. Much to be learned from interactions you wouldn’t think twice over. Puzzles made from smaller pieces are more intricate by design.”

“They take longer to assemble. Not much time to spare in our line of work, is there?”

“I’ll spare my time for you.”

As sure as he was the Colonel meant nothing of it, Roach’s face flushed anyway. Even though the thought of Vargas picking out the truth made him queasy, his eyes opened wide, dry lips parting delicately.

“Oh,” he chuckled nervously, “thanks.”

The corner of Vargas’ mouth raised in amusement. However slight, the expression managed to reach his eyes with sincerity.

“Of course. We kinda… left you here toiling alone. I wasn’t expecting to be stuck here as well. I can only assume you feel swept under the rug, maybe a little useless,” he said, wiggling one hand like a balance. “I know I do. But you’ve been lightening the load on our shoulders when we return from missions, though. So don’t feel bad. We appreciate having maintained weapons and an organized living quarters after. Your work at the base is invaluable.”

The words struck a cord in Roach’s heart, feeling more understood than he had in ages. With the 141, he was merely doing his best. His accomplishments were stepping stones in recovery. He wasn’t capable of anything more until healthy, and even afterwards his achievements would be overshadowed by the unspoken thought that he managed them despite everything.

Roach became inseparable from his suffering.

He nodded. “No problem.”

The Colonel clapped a massive hand on his bony shoulder. “Don’t be so shy. I appreciate your hard work, lugging around heavy gear and checking ammo supplies. It hasn’t gone unnoticed, and I’ll be sure to mention it to Price.”

Again, he nodded, unsure of whether to give thanks once more.

“You’re doing great, Garrett. You deserve recognition.”

Tears pricked at the corners of Roach’s eyes. He blinked them back but ultimately failed, and two tiny droplets escaped down his cheeks in white-hot rivulets.

Vargas was taken aback. His brain caught up to speed as he exclaimed, “¡Ay, está bien, cuate! Don’t cry. What’s wrong?”

Roach let him rub circles into his upper back, resting his eyelids as the movement swayed his body. Vargas cupped Roach’s jaw in a warm, calloused palm, encouraging him to turn without force, fingers long enough to hit his sideburns. It felt great to be appreciated, even better to be touched without being handled like glass. In their efforts to help him feel safe, the 141 did the exact opposite of his captors. Instead of treating him like rubbish—like a fleshlight—he became a priceless heirloom that would shatter under a funny look. Intentions aside, he still felt like an object.

Alejandro touched him like a person.

“What’s wrong?” He repeated.

“You—you’re so nice,” the Sergeant whimpered, laying a hand over Vargas’ own on his face. “I dunno what to make of it.”

“Are your teammates not nice to you?”

“They are! They are. Just… Not like that. They don’t say things like that. I f-feel like a dead weight.”

“You’re not. And I mean it.”

Roach cried harder. Vargas stood and opened for a hug, which he lunged into wholeheartedly, draping himself onto the man’s chest as those strong, angelic arms wrapped around him. Breaths heaved Vargas’ sturdy pectorals and Roach along with them. It felt secure. His thoughts calmed to a trickle for once.

Suddenly, a warm kiss pressed into his temple, short circuiting his brain. He sighed as safety eased through him. Roach had never been kissed for himself. Hannah kissed him selflessly, mistakenly. She loved him; she wanted to kiss him for their sake, not knowing he'd never feel it as intended but unconsciously aware something was wrong as she floundered to fix things. It was through no fault of her own, having a coward of a husband who feigned heterosexuality to avoid family drama, and she eventually stopped trying. It hurt, seeing her sneak around with Mike. Gary ignored it, figuring she deserved someone able to cherish her entirely.

Gary did love her though, and Roach believed he always would no matter his identity. There was a reason he chose her to marry. Playing the part was easy with her kind heart and dark, witty jokes. She’d been his best friend, high school sweetheart, and first kiss—supposedly his last and only, if not for Simon coming along.

Simon.

Simon kissed him greedily when he needed reassurance.

‘Are you still here with me?’ He asked wordlessly when they were alone, boxing Roach against the wall in one final measure of security. He was aware of Hannah, his kisses selfish, self-aware, and sorry. ‘I need to mean something to you. I don’t care what, lieutenant or lover, just care for me.

Be there for me.’

Gary wasn’t. He couldn’t be. He orbited Simon because of their difference in rank, never falling in love because they were battle buddies and he was a married man. However, he couldn’t let his Lieutenant in as a brother-in-arms—not when he dreamt of holding him each night. Of fucking him stupid in the supply closets. No, Gary acted selfishly, too, devouring the only male attention ever thrown his way and giving Simon false hope, accepting kiss after undeserved kiss. Simon was kind while Gary was awful, returning the gentle reassurance of his lips despite never fully opening up, caught in Cupid’s purgatory where he lied to his commanding officer and wife simultaneously. Garrett could be better, if Simon would have him. If he could bear putting his damaged self on display for someone who loved him when he was whole.

A thumb wiped the moisture from Roach’s cheek.

This was different. Vargas put comfort in the gesture. It was Roach’s turn to be reassured, promised he was welcome in their embrace. Vargas didn’t need anything, didn’t want anything more than to learn who Garrett was now, and it was similar to Soap’s appeal—except Vargas was less skittish and unsure of what he himself had to offer, unbiased by the team’s grief-stricken reminiscing or the knowledge of Roach’s assault. Most importantly, despite all this mushy emotional crap, Vargas’ touch remained impersonal. Impermanent. Roach could safely make mistakes because he'd either die recapturing Los Vaqueros’ headquarters or return to the UK after the operation concluded.

“Colonel,” Roach whispered, pulling back to scan his face.

“Please. No one’s here. Call me Alejandro.”

“I couldn’t—”

“Really, do it. You’re not one of my men. We could be friends at the end of all this. You need more of those.”

“I’ll be too far.”

“I’ll make time to call.”

He hesitated. His arms snaked away from Vargas’ neck until his hands fell to the man’s chest, stabilizing himself on the broad ribcage waiting there, further examining the man’s expression for hints of annoyance. He found none.

Roach’s eyebrows furrowed and more happy tears begged to flow freely as he asked, “Do you mean it?”

“Absolutely, I do,” Alejandro replied. His grip slid to Roach’s hips to accommodate how the Sergeant repositioned. “Christ, Garrett, you’re even skinnier than you look. I can’t believe Price would… Never mind.”

He was right. He engulfed Roach. Only now, rather than make Roach feel lesser, freakish, and scared, it had him weak in the knees. Roach shivered and flicked his eyes to Alejandro’s lips, starving to feel them tenderly elsewhere, ashamed to desire such attention from the first man to give him understanding and selfless touch.

A Russian accent floated through his mind, dark with arousal and aggression. Maybe he was ‘just a worthless whore.’

“Please,” Roach asked, knowing exactly what he wanted yet not how to phrase it.

“Please, what?” It was an honest question, not a flirty tease.

Roach wanted more than friendship at the moment. A relationship wasn’t the goal; physical intimacy was. To get fucked out of his mind by someone harmless.

One of his hands drifted to the back of Alejandro’s neck who, thankfully, took the hint and leaned forward until their foreheads clunked.

“Please. I’m Roach. When we’re alone, I mean.”

He tilted his head and asked, “Roach? Why that?” sounding pleasantly confused yet excited at the prospect of an answer.

“It’s my old call sign. Don’t tell anyone. Not a soul.”

An answer and a secret, and a clue about Garrett’s past. Alejandro’s face lit up like he’d won a hundred quid. “Okay,” he grinned. Then, the serious tone in Roach’s voice transferred to his. “Okay. Sure. Anything you need.”

“Anything?”

“Anything I’m able to do, I will. I’m a man of my word.”

Alejandro was a stranger he’d known less than a month, but his kindness and sincerity were unending thus far.

Roach chewed his lip and said, “Kiss me again. Kiss me more. You did it right.”

He pulled back, gazing at Roach while one of his hands returned to the Sergeant’s jaw. His smile grew until his cheeks squished his eyes into crescents. “Mierda… How could I say no?”

Turning Roach’s head to the side, Alejandro’s lips reconnected with his temple, then stippled across his cheekbone and down the crooked bridge of his nose. Request granted, the Sergeant closed his eyes in contentment and hummed, reaching up into Alejandro’s hair. Heat rushed to his face and coiled in his belly as the Colonel traced kisses along one of his smile lines, planting a final one at the corner of his mouth before pausing.

“Am I still doing this right, cariño?”

His knees were quaking and his hands gripped Alejandro’s shirt for dear life. Even if he let go, he knew he’d be safe. “Yes,” he said, voice wavering.

“Want me to keep going?”

“God, yes. I’ve never had someone do this before.”

Alejandro frowned. “Not ever?”

“No. I’ve only ever been…” he struggled to think of an appropriate term, “…touched by people who wanted it from me. I’ve never had someone do it because I needed the attention.”

“You have mine now. You caught it the second we met.”

“…Why?” Roach asked.

“None of the files about you line up with who I’m holding in my fucking arms. I’ve met a different man than the recruit I approved on paper—I need to have a chat with Price about that. No puedo dejar de pensar en ti.”

“What does that mean?”

Alejandro grinned and whispered, “You’re peculiar. Mysterious.”

“There’s no mystery,” he insisted.

“Whatever you say, Roach. Even if I don’t figure you out, I'll enjoy learning what I can.”

“You’re too much. Shut up and keep kissing.”

He caught Roach’s chin and guided the Sergeant’s lips into his own, making no attempts to part them or shove his tongue in between, maintaining comfortable pressure that broke briefly between smooches. His exhales blew hot. His stubble tickled when he trailed up Roach’s jaw and planted one below his ear.

Roach shivered and moaned behind his puckered mouth, savoring the way Alejandro curled over his body in response, now looking up so their lips remained connected while the man cradled his head and the small of his back. When Alejandro relented Roach groaned in protest, attempting to pull him back by the collar.

He chuckled. “I was going to ask if you’re still enjoying this. I think I got my answer, th—”

Roach cut him off with an open-mouthed kiss, hoisting himself up on tip-toes instead since Alejandro was immovable and took too long closing the gap of his own accord. It elicited a surprised gasp that Roach swallowed whole, using it as an opportunity to press his tongue against the Colonel’s teeth. Fingers tangled in his hair, offering comfortable encouragement rather than balling into a fist and yanking.

Then, Alejandro moaned.

And the sound rolled as deep and powerful as an ocean current,

And it flowed up the arc of Roach’s spine slow and sweet like molasses,

And Roach couldn’t take it anymore.

“My legs are tired,” he complained, limbs shaking, “and my ass hurts from the chair.”

“My lap is pretty comfortable.”

Just what he wanted to hear. He grinned, winded, huffing desperately through closed teeth, “I dunno if can I just take your word for it.”

“Aw, don’t trust me?”

“What can I say? I’m a skeptic,” Roach laughed nervously. Having little experience, flirting wasn’t his forte. “Can we move to that couch in the sleeping quarters so I can find out for myself?”

Alejandro blessed him with a look of surprise that bloomed into a beaming smile. “Lead the way.”

Roach took his wrist (and was allowed) to drag him. They burst through the door, Alejandro flopping onto the aforementioned futon with creaking springs. Roach straddled him immediately and the Colonel’s hands returned to his hips, untucking the baggy shirt from his loose pants, slipping under its hem. It felt electric. It had him shaking like a dog.

“You alright?”

“Just nerves,” he assured.

“Relax. I’ve got you.”

Unbuttoning his own fly, Roach cursed at the pre-cum already forming a wet patch on his boxers.

“Already excited, cariño?”

“Sorry. Y-you’re very attractive.”

Their half-hard cocks throbbed together.

“You’re one to talk,” Alejandro said and lifted Roach’s shirt, mouth gaping at the exposed fuzzy skin beneath.

The shame of having a body surged in Roach’s mind. “I used to have more definition. I was hotter before…”

Those hot, rough hands roamed further under Roach’s uniform, ghosting over his ribs. Alejandro said, “I want you however you are.”

“I’m doing much better than in September.”

“Good,” He replied and leaned in for another slow kiss.

Roach moaned into it as fingers tweaked his nipples. No matter the pleasure, he put his own hands over Alejandro’s and pulled them off. The man detached at the first hint of resistance.

“Hm? Don’t like your chest played with?”

“No, I do! I just… was curious if you’d stop when I wanted.”

Alejandro’s eyes widened. He was intelligent; he read between the lines before Roach finished writing them.

The Sergeant continued. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

Pulling him in tight, Alejandro buried himself in Roach’s neck and whispered, “Tesoro. If you want me to stop, tell me! It would kill me to know I hurt you.”

“I will,” he smiled, leading the man's focus back to his nipples, who immediately resumed toying with them. “You know, for a bloody colonel, you sure do love to follow my directions.”

“A good one knows when to stop commanding and listen. Competent sergeants know what they need. Besides, it’s still break time. I’m just Alejandro. You’re just Roach.”

Before Roach could reply, Alejandro leaned forward and sucked a nipple into his warm, wet mouth while flicking the other, earning a gasp at the tongue teasing it and wriggling hips searching for friction. Their cocks pressed together as Roach ground his pelvis down, then again, driving the rhythm of their dry humping as fast as he could. Unfortunately, in his affected state, this wasn’t that fast.

He growled in frustration, the pleasure simultaneously too much in his inexperience, yet too little.

“What’s wrong, hm?”

“I want it harder!”

Alejandro tested the waters, applying gentle pressure as he bit Roach’s pectoral.

His reply was somewhere between a whimper and yelp. “Nn!~ Not what I meant!”

The man simply soothed it with his tongue, reaching up to caress Roach’s head.

“The grinding, that’s what I mean.”

With a slow grip on Roach’s waist, giving him time to realize and protest if desired, Alejandro used those massive muscles to rock him back and forth.

[cubezart]

Hi!! You totally don't know me at all, I'm a complete stranger >:) And I'd love to hear about Jim's mental world!!

HI ok so erm this is mostly just gonna be a mess of rambles and vague ideas smushed together barely in order but

(old/outdated concept sketch, but it's a good start)

for starters, the prime issue(s) to help resolve in his mental world (or this version at least) is jim's fear of burdening his friends and family, and his resistance to reaching out for help, as much as he really needs it. it doesn't get too deep into his trauma, it's just giving jim the push he needs to seek out help again

after jim's recent divorce with bettie, he's been trying to give his family "some space to process" ...which didn't take long to sink back into old self isolation habits. he's been putting his all into his job to repress and distract from everything else going on with him, and it doesn't seem like it'll work for very much longer

first area in his mind is a boring + extremely tiny office room, the other cubicles are all empty and open except for jim's, which has a big metal door attached to the entrance. you can try and talk to him or ask him things, but it won't get you much . he insists he's happier in there really !! its so nice and safe hes fine :) its ok :)

when asked why he's locked in, he'll insist it's for his own safety, saying some vague stuff while the clairvoyance hints become even more obvious. when you use clairvoyance on him, his POV shows the cubicle door and everywhere around it surrounded by nightmares clawing and staring at him from the other side. (something something these are all just his own perception of things and he's really not in danger)

afterwards, his dialogue tree gets pretty short and limited, leaving raz to explore !! there's a few doors you can interact with, one being just a simple archetype-required door with a little collectible or somethin. the other is an old n dusty storage closet filled with memory vaults piling up to the ceiling. you can't really interact with any of those individually, (maybe some raz line along the lines of "i can't punch through all those :( ") but there's one or two real ones that just seem to have completely mundane and normal memories inside. weird! cuz with cpstd n trauma memory loss/repression, it can repress a lot more than what's necessary

there's one last door to try, leading out into the next phase ! raz says goodbye to jim, and jim happily waves back as the door shuts n locks behind raz, and the hallway distorts and extends, distancing raz away too :( sorta like the effect in the pn2 office construct !! im taking a lot of inspo from that world tbh heehe except for the obvious yknow. dental stuff

the next phase is kind of a messy stub for now, still sorting n planning out everything in my head lol but it's called Jim's Judgement

it centers more around jim's trauma and Issues TM and a lot of it is more vague concepts than any real gameplay ideas for the more dark story elements bc i don't want raz to have to see that and like to think after raz gets him a head start, he gets into actual professional Psychonauts therapy (and for my own silly oc/canon interaction fun, its sasha and milla assigned to help him. perhaps. maybe. they almost assigned oleander but he yelled too much and scared him away /hj) ANYWAY!!

all that being said i honestly have 0 ideas how to tone shit down for raz and im still trying to plan out the smaller in-game per se variation on it so i will simply. wait to talk about it. there's a lot of cool symbolism and motifs i prommy i swear </3 but the main "boss fight" final moment thing surrounds his whole paranoia of being a horrible person who others only tolerate + he constantly has to "make up for it" by putting everything and everyone Before him. i really wanna end it back in the small office space with jim having the key on his desk this whole time, making it literally In His Hands to get himself out. he just needed the support! he's definitely scared and slow, but he opens the door and steps out of his cubicle. the room grows a little bit. its a start

i was gonna ramble more about the darker version of the second phase but this post is already gettin Long and kinda incoherent i think so ermm. ill split it off into a second post probably if anyones interested in hearing more . i hope this all made sense lol i have too many thoughts about him to keep together honestly

[calciumcryptid]

CalciumCryptid's Thanksgiving Soap Opera

This is going to be long. [ deep breath ] Okay, so-

This Thanksgiving break, my mother and I went down to visit Oma (my grandmother). Recently, Oma moved from where my mother and I live to a retirement home, that goes from independent living straight through memory care, states away. My mother helped move her in at the end of August (I was in school or else I would have helped), but we needed to deliver more boxes (mainly Christmas decorations) due to the contents' fragility.

Now, anyone familiar with my blog is familiar with my mother to an extent. The basics is that she is cooler than me, I am her little clone, and we do a lot of fun things together like watch Thai dramas and attend KPop concerts.

You probably don't know this, but my mother has a sister who I refer to as my biological aunt (I have a non-biological aunt that is ten times cooler, hence the distinction, who is my mother's childhood best friend). Due to a complex childhood (for reference, my aunt is the older sister, while my mother is the younger sister), my mother and my aunt don't get along. My aunt thinks they do, but she is wrong.

My mother got married, slept through my birth, got divorced (but amicable exes with my father), got therapy, apologized for the childhood neglect I went through, got an ADHD diagnosis, got ADHD medication, and has been doing great ever since.

On the flipside, my aunt married a Welsh man, and has two children of her own my cousin Apple (female, roughly thirteen to fourteen years old) and my cousin Orange (male, roughly ten to eleven years old). I didn't get along with my cousins at first (to be fair, I was dealing with a lot and we have a decent age gap) but we get along now that they are old enough to string proper sentences together.

Now here is where the lore gets soap opera.

Apple isn't my cousin... at least biologically.

Essentially, my aunt had fertility issues so she and my uncle contacted a company and had an egg from another woman get impregnated with my uncle's sperm on a petri dish. The egg was then placed inside of my aunt's womb, and she went through all the stages of pregnancy and gave birth.

Apple doesn't know this. In fact, Oma has bought us all ancestry dna kits and while my family has taken the tests, my aunt's side of the family have not for this particular reason.

(In case you are wondering, I didn't learn about this until a few months ago. I'm hoping her parents are waiting until she is eighteen to tell her; however, if they don't tell her when she is eighteen then I'll light that particular fuse and tell her myself because she deserves to know at minimum for medical reasons).

On the other hand, Orange was conceived without the assistance of an outside egg roughly three years later. As you may have predicted, this led Orange to take on a golden child status in my aunt's eyes.

I tried to figure out how to list the disparities between how my cousins are treated, so I'll simply note the difference in their bedrooms and let that speak for itself.

Orange:

He has a desk computer.

He has a laptop.

He has a switch, often referred to as his switch.

He has an opulent looking desk with multiple drawers and plenty of space.

He has wall-high shelves.

He has too many to count expensive Lego sets.

He has plenty of board games.

He has a private bean bag chair.

He has no food hoarded.

Apple:

She has no computer.

She has no laptop. She simply shares a MacBook with my aunt, despite wishing for her own so she doesn't have to share.

She has no switch or other gaming device.

She has one tiny three shelf thing despite communicating a lack of storage.

She has a tiny corner desk with minimal drawers with barely any space.

She has a communal bean bag chair (it was actually my old one that I gave explicitly to her, but has since become the dogs bed).

She has a small smattering of make-up products she doesn't even have room for because she doesn't have adequate storage.

She has books, that I know are from book series, where it is only one from that series (not even the first book in some cases).

She hoards food (more on that later).

Now, when we went over to Thanksgiving dinner, my mother didn't want to increase the likelihood she would kill her sister and disappeared into Apple's bedroom. There were clothes on the floor, so my mother figured she'd help pick those up but it transformed into cleaning out Apple's dresser.

The following is a list of things we noticed:

There were several pairs of underwear that were too tight for her or had holes in them.

There were several pairs of socks that were too small for her, mismatched, or had holes in them.

There were several bras she did not like, but her mother bought for her anyways.

There were several crop tops and tube tops she had hidden away from her parents.

There were several other things she's outgrown, but never got rid of.

There were several things in her room that belonged to Orange and her mother.

She was extremely happy that someone was bothering to help her clean and organize a section of her room.

She jumped at the opportunity to have my mother purchase her some organizational things such as dividers and cabinet shelves.

She threw away pictures of her with her immediate family without hesitation, but kept pictures of her friends or extended family.

Afterwards, we went to help Apple finish cleaning and I brought the bags outside her door. There were about three bags. The first was straight trash. The second was things her mother gave her that she did not ask for and therefore was returning. The third was clothes she did not want anymore.

My aunt saw the bag of clothes Apple didn't want anymore and started to get huffy about it. She started to interrogate my mother about what clothes Apple was putting into the bags and whether or not those clothes had tags on them because she was not letting her waste clothes. My mother, not so politely, said that it was mostly worn out clothes with holes or sizes too small and my aunt shut up.

[ THANKSGIVING DINNER ]

Now to Thanksgiving dinner, the most awkward affair, where I had to clutch my mother's leg to prevent her from leaping over and strangling my aunt. When my aunt asked Apple if she wanted more mashed potatoes, Apple politely declined. My aunt put more mashed potatoes on her plate anyways.

Remember when I mentioned Apple hoards food in her room? Yeah, so my aunt body shamed Apple constantly throughout her childhood for... *checks notes* having baby fat that made her look slightly chubbier than her rail-thin young brother. This body shaming consisted of comments, taking away bags of Halloween candy (to give to Orange instead), shaming her for seconds (telling her she didn't need them and she shouldn't want them), forcing her to participate in more athletic things (while she was about seven and eight), telling her she looks awful in clothes and clothes were too tight (to the point Apple has started to take photographs of her in formal dresses and sending it to my mother instead because if my mother approves only then will my aunt buy it, that has gone on for years). All of this, just, relentlessly throughout her youth.

So, we're very curious why my aunt is suddenly putting more mashed potatoes on her plate if my aunt has been body shaming Apple for years. As my mother says, this is how anorexia starts.

Throughout the rest of the time at my aunt's, we played games Orange really wanted to play but my aunt never asked what Apple wanted to do. Us cousins had a good time playing a vaguely volleyball inspired game (Apple schooled us, as she is an actual volleyball player) regardless of the cold air.

While we were outside, my aunt asked my mother to look at the bathroom Apple and Orange shared for organizational consultation (as this is my mother's side hustle). Then, she got very upset when my mother sent her a list of organizational things to potentially buy due to their price, despite being in packages of two.

After dessert, Orange dragged out a Clue themed escape room in a box. This would be fine, except Oma needed to be back to her retirement home before nine and it was past seven. Plus, they live in a city where traveling takes a while due to traffic. The escape room was predicted to take about ninety minutes or an hour and a half.

Apple, quick to do the math, said we shouldn't play the game due to the time constraints. My aunt insisted we play because Orange wanted to play. I, an adult and someone who has done many escape rooms of both the box and in-person variety, repeated the concern citing our time limit. Once again, my aunt ignored me and insisted we play because Orange wanted to play it. It wasn't until my mother repeated it for the third time that my aunt finally backed down. Thanks to my aunt backing down, Orange backed down and we settled for a round of regular Clue. Apple won.

(Side Note: I suck at Clue.)

Then, we left.

[ BLACK FRIDAY ]

The next day I joined my aunt and Apple for Black Friday shopping, mainly to be a thorn in my aunt's side because I could and I needed belts.

On this shopping trip, I followed Apple around to multiple stores, carried her bags, talked her through clothing items, generally being a good cousin. She was excited to show me things, and ask for my opinion on jeans (as the resident denim enthusiast). She even took me to a store that had a lot more of my fashion (animal print and black clothes). Every time we were on our own, we had a good time and I could see Apple visibly brighten.

Naturally, every appearance of my aunt ruined the vibes. She didn't know what sort of fashion Apple liked, told her to try on things Apple had no interest in or were simply too young for her age (not in an aesthetic way mind you), and didn't listen to her when Apple expressed different opinions.

Multiple times when her mother was around, Apple would discreetly show me the clothes she would wear or would decide herself in the room before walking out and telling her mother why she didn't want certain clothes.

There is a certain style of clothing Apple really likes and wanted more than anything which is a tube top. Tube tops are the one thing banned from their household, but my aunt does not know the difference between a tube top and crop top so basically anything that isn't a shirt is banned.

Naturally, I find this bullshit. Especially since not getting her a singular tube top doesn't allow her to see if she likes one beyond aesthetic reasons. The only response is to undermine my aunt's parental authority and conspire with Apple to buy one behind her mother's back (a singular inexpensive tube top).

I wanted to check out a game store. My aunt wanted to check out the same game store. Apple leaves to go get a pair of jeans and the tube top. Apple takes longer in the check out line than expected, and texts me to keep my aunt distracted. Now distracting my aunt wasn't a difficult task, all I had to do was mention Orange. Apple comes back and no one is any wiser that a tube top is in the shopping bag.

(Side Note: It might seem like I have something against Orange, but I don't. He is a nice kid, quiet with a passion for math and all sorts of gaming. It is easy to sympathize with the scapegoat child, but that doesn't mean the scapegoat/golden child dynamic benefits the golden child.)

There is a reason I undermined parental authority with the tube top, but I'll save that story for later because we need to talk about shoes.

Admittedly, I'm not a fashionista. Since I don't have much time to DIY, I don't have the classic alternative aesthetic. I have more alternative flavored casual street wear with an unhealthy dose of animal print. This is a long winded way of saying I don't understand the point of shoes if they aren't a good and hardy pair of boots; however, Apple has several pairs of shoes for different occasions.

Now, Apple has been eyeing this pair of shoes for a while and even waited for them to go on sale. They don't have any in the color she wants at the store, but that is fine as she can just try on a different color and see a different shoe in the color she wants. It turns out the color she wanted was too grey and she likes the color she tried on better. All of the sudden, her mother starts to get very stingy about the price (about 110 to 130 dollars).

Earlier, I went with Apple to a Nike store. This makes sense as Apple is an athlete. While there, my aunt goes over to the latest(?) Nike Pegasus shoes (about 150 to 180 dollars, not on sale). After asking about it, my aunt tells me Orange wanted them. Earlier, Apple told me she was sent to buy a shirt with Orange and he never wears it.

Now my aunt wants to be stingy with her dollars over shoes her daughter waited to go on sale to buy.

In case you think I am over exaggerating the Orange favoritism: The shopping trip took about six to seven hours. My aunt mentioned Orange no less than eighteen times, plus an extra time in the car leaving. Half of the time she kept mentioning buying something for Orange, and when we left she was all "But I didn't get anything for Orange :(" as if he was there in the store, in the mall, in the car, with us.

[ APPLE HAS ADHD ]

I has been officially diagnosed with ADHD.

My mother has been officially diagnosed with ADHD.

Apple has been officially diagnosed with ADHD.

Despite this, despite the official diagnosis Apple has gotten, despite my mother and I emphasizing to my aunt how much medication helps, my aunt refuses to get Apple medication. My aunt cites Apple's in therapy learning how to deal with ADHD, but that only works if the brain chemicals cooperate.

My mother has beaten this hammer over and over again, trying to get Apple medication, but my aunt refuses to listen and then complains when Apple struggles with things caused by her ADHD (and anxiety but that is a whole other topic).

[ MONEY™ ]

Now, you might have noted there are some contradictions throughout this in terms of my aunt's finances, but you need to understand the reason it is contradictory is because I don't know what her finances look like because she confuses me!

During this past summer, my aunt mentioned a fifty dollar check would overdraft her. Since then, she has bought a new car and thanks to my uncle selling his business has enough money to expand her family's house. Despite this thousand dollar expansion, she won't buy Apple shelves, spend money to repaint her room, or even get her medication but she'll get whatever Orange wants.

In the end, that isn't enough.

My mother handles basically everything for Oma. This includes finances, and recently my mother placed my aunt on Oma's checking account but refused to put her on the savings. My aunt was annoyed by this, and has spent every waking moment trying to access more of Oma's checking account than what is allowed including trying to pressure Oma into getting a debit card.

Now, Oma has set up an account that consists of money she is currently using. This money is meant to pay for her retirement home and necessities. The point of this account is when Oma passes, any remaining money is split evenly between my mother and my aunt. My aunt wants to withdraw her half of that money, despite it still being Oma's money, and place it somewhere else for a better interest yield. After she left, my mother told Oma my aunt's plan and Oma basically went ballistic. She told my mother that if my aunt did that, she would be written out of the will in total.

Also, Oma gives my mother and aunt a certain amount each year, but my mother has cut that off on both sides due to the amount of money going out being more than the money coming in. My aunt was bitchy about that, as she seems to rely on it in comparison to my mother who doesn't.

Finally, my aunt has been a bitch to my mother about selling Oma's old house, but doesn't want to do anything to help. This is a reoccurring theme, as my mother was the one who organized, packed, and moved Oma into her retirement home. The only time my aunt "helped" was to take what she wanted, even taking things that were going to go to my mother.

[ THE CROP TOP THING ]

The side note on the crop top/tube top is for Apple's last birthday, my aunt sent an email of links to items. In the email, my aunt said she does not allow crop tops in their household so certain items were prematurely cut off the list. She sent this line with a laughing face emoji, which rubbed my mother the wrong way. My mother, petty as hell, sent Apple a hundred dollar gift card Apple could use to buy whatever she wanted with. The reason this is petty, is for my birthday my aunt sent me fifty dollars (also known as the check that would have over drafted her), so my mother doubled it.

My mother has since flexed her money security through other means, such as buying Apple additional items such as organizational ones. This, she can afford, without it bouncing anything.

Once again, I need to remind you my aunt recently bought a new car after spending three years with her old one and is looking at a home expansion with the money my uncle earned from selling his company. My aunt, also, makes at least three times what my mother makes and is in a dual income household. While my mother is a single mother with a side hustle (no longer receiving child support) who has made cross-country trips with the same seventeen year old car.

That concludes the Thanksgiving Soap Opera.

@insomniac-jay

[thejokig23]

Thoughts on some of the quality of life improvements in Monster Hunter:

Control improvements: I cannot believe the controls were like that. It sucks, and I can say it sucks after playing 40 hours of Dos using the right stick to attack and using all of my brain power to translate my characters orientation relative to the camera. You get used to it, but it doesn't add to the experience in any meaningful way, and especially not in any positive way.

Less limited storage: I'm weird and like inventory management, especially in Monster Hunter. I miss having to think before buying thousands of any given item. Having just the one page in the original was definitely too limited, but in Dos you get more pretty early on - enough to not feel suffocated, but not too much that you never think about it until you're in G Rank and collect a Kushala Daora Lash and realize you have like, ten thousand large monster bones or some shit. However, limits on equipment storage are NOT as fun to work around. I also think item stacks only going as high as they do in the field while in the box makes item management more interesting, and that all items stacking to 99 should have been a later upgrade.

Sending items directly to the item box: Honestly not an issue either way. It's pretty easy to reserve inventory space to account for it, but it's also such a small thing that not needing to reserve space isn't the end of the world. Although with how many items you get in current games, it's probably best this was changed early on.

Farm: In Freedom Unite it was an alright bonus you'd need to interact with after each quest, which got pretty tedious, as well as not helping much for mushrooms. In Tri, you needed to spend points (which were harder to come by than they are in current games) and optionally an item related to the item you're multiplying. However, in every game since, points are effectively free, so it's rare you won't constantly have an abundance of whatever you need.

Gathering spot changes: In Tri, it started off fine enough, being more distinct from their environment, removing the "nothing found" message, having the gathering point fade out after they're emoty instead of showing "there's nothing else here", and allowing you to use gathering tools with the A button instead of through the item menu. I'm completely fine with all of these. Generations allowed you to hold the gathering button to gather repeatedly, which is much easier on the hands. My issues come with the changes brought by World and Rise: a bright green glow highlighting gathering spots, the removal of gathering tools, and gathering spots always being one-and-done (or usable three times with ore and bones in World). Being able to quickly gather one item is a great addition the encourages you to gather at least a little while out on quests, but everything being so fast in 5th generation games just makes it less relaxing, along with sound design changes.

Item use: The overall good changes were allowing the use of some items while crouching, items not getting used if you don't need to use them, and you can aim throwable items. I think every other change takes away from the experience - moving while using items, no flex, and dodging out of item use are all antithetical to the deliberate feel of the games. I also think the slinger is lame as fuck and needing to put flash and dung bombs in it is SUPER lame.

Whetstones: Showing sharpness on screen is fantastic, although we don't really need to see every level of sharpness at once. How it looks in World is just about perfect. I also like whetfish being faster, given how they're harder to get. What I'm NOT a fan of is regular whetstones being infinite.

Camps: With open maps and travel taking longer, being able to start closer to a monster's preferred area is welcome. Fast travel is a bit too strong imo, but it coule be worse. What I DO take issue with is resuplying. I could see it being fine, but it's just wayyy too strong.

Meat: Who has cooked more than one steak in any game after 4? Alternatives to getting well-done steak or rations in subsequent games are just so much more convenient, and the Motley Mix in Rise gives dango tickets. Like, a LOT of tickets - 9 tickets for every 20 meat. Add on that you can buy meat for Kamura points, which are not hard to get by any means, and you have a situation where there's no point in cooking meat yourself.

Dodging backwards (forwards for lances): I like it. I especially like that it sucks lmao. Rolling backwards has twice as much recovery as sideways or forwards, and hopping forward goes half as far, encouraging a different course of action.

[imtwoburdsbitch]

This is my setup so far!

Things might change in the future but so far, I’m pretty happy with it!

Before anyone says anything I know a lot of the items I got were a bit extra and that cheaper alternatives are available but, this is one “big” tax splurge/birthday present!

I'm going to do my best to keep this up to date as things develop!

Cage/Perches

C&C Outdoor Large Cat Cage Enclosure - 4/5

So far I love this cage! With the set up pictured above, I actually ended up with extra panels to expand further in the future.

This cage offers a lot of versatility and would be great for odd shaped spaces or tight spaces that might require a little bit more creativity!

As far as durability goes, I would say that is pretty average for a C&C cage. With that being said... USE THE ZIP TIES! Or invest in additional wire cage supports or else the first time you move it... it will fall apart!

Pros

Weight - Light weight, easy to move and and tare down!

Price Point - Affordable and way cheaper than traditional bird cages of the same size!

Versatility/Customization - This is a build your own cage set! You can go wild and pretty much do whatever you want!

Add-ons - Because this is a C&C cage there are a lot of options for expansions and a lot of add-ons (ramps, doors, patios, etc) that can be bough!

Cons

Durability - So long as your using extra supports the durability isn't an issues. Without the supports... this is going to fall apart the first time you move it!

Bar Spacing - The bar spacing on this is large! 1.65" (4.1 cm). Because of the bar spacing your going to need to get a 2" Fender Washer in order to attach most standard bird accessories. An easy fix but something to be aware of!

Cleaning - Because this cages relies on joints there are plastic pieces that jut into the cage and run the risk of being pooped on. If they are pooped on... You will have to take apart a large chunk of the cage and remove the joint to clean it... It's a pain in the ass.

Corrugated Plastic Cage Liner Base 3/5

This works just as intended! It keeps what it needs to in and what it needs to out! It can be laid flat, and folded for storage if need be.

Pros

It works! Keeps poop and seed inside!

Cleaning - Easy to wipe down and poop doesn't seem to stick to the surface! Water and weatherproof is also a plus!

Cons

Price Point - I, admittedly, did not do my research before purchasing this base! This could have easily been made for about half the price from a local hardware or craft store with a sheet of Corrugated Plastic and either some hot glue or, if I wanted to get fancy, some Plastic Chicago Screws.

Cleaning - While the outside is easy enough to clean, corrugated plastic is hallow-ish on the insides and is IMPOSSIBLE to clean! To avoid dust build up you can use a length Rubber Edge Trim along the top! Make sure you check the with of your Corrugated Plastic before buying any trim.

Perch 4/5

It's a perch, it do what it do. Nothing super exciting.

Pros

It works as intended!

Cons

The shorter perch was NOT pink, lol. Not important to most people but it is important to notes that its defiantly more orange.

Lining/Hammock - 5/5 (I'm bias because I made them, lol!

The lining is simply two pieces of Anti-Pill Plush Fleece sewn to size! Anit-pill fleece is stain resistant, easy to clean and soft to the touch!

Pros

Price Point - Much cheaper then pre-made linings!

Reusable - Simply wash and reuse! No reoccurring monthly expense for something like puppy pads!

Customizable - Make them any color or all the colors!

Easy to Make - For real! Sewing a full bottom lining takes me about 30 mins from start to finish! If sewing isn't your think you could do it tie blanket style or simply cut a piece of fabric to size and call it good!

Food/Water

3 in 1 Cat Bowl - 5/5

I love this this feeder! Not only is it super cute but, it allows you to lock the bowls in place, preventing them form moving. The angled sides of the bowl also really help to keep seed where it should be! This is super easy to clean and the fact that it has two bowls and a gravity feed water dispenser makes it perfect for pigeons!

Pros

One stop shop - because of the two bowls and the separate water dish this works great for offering see, grit and water all separate!

Bowl Position - This feeder has a star shaped grid in the bottom that allows you to change the position of the bowls. This allows you to turn the bowl so the raised edge is facing the water dish preventing water from getting into your grit and feed!

Cons

Seeds under bowl - Because the bottom of the bowl holder is open if there are seeds under it the bowl becomes difficult to lock into place. Not a big deal but it can be annoying to deal with!

Water riser - The water dish has a white, circle riser that is open in the center. It's not a huge deal, Mango got use to it after his second attempt, and it's totally removable!

Toys/Enrichment

I'll make this part short and sweet, lol!

Mango doesn't care at all about anything but his Brick. Bitches love bricks.

10 PC Cat Toy set

Mirror

Doughnut Dog Toy

Cake Foraging Toy

Snuffle Mat

Brick

Nesting Pink Bed

Crinkle Paper

Paper Straws

Hay Feeder

[morning-jellyfish-in-a-teacup]

Finished my first week schedule. My job doesn't seem too bad, it's really the talking to people that I keep getting tripped up on. The photo part is just taking souvenier photos with an already set-up camera, so all I do is push the button basically. The sales part is selling the physical photo print. I managed to make 1 sale today, so that's a start. I also was able to take some photos of people. Had a hard time convincing them to let me at first so I texted the photo lead for help and she gave some phrasing examples. After that, I was able to start getting yes's which was exciting. The photo lead even told me I did a good job and that she could see some improvement being made after she helped me. When I was helping to clean the main center desk at closing, one of the families who let me photograph them came by to look at their photos and they not only bought them, but they even gave me a thumbs up and said good job. So that made me really happy. It will definitely take me a lot of practice to fully get comfortable with everything, but I think I'm on a good track.

Yesterday, my first day, was also very dramatic. There was some tech issues with the connection between the camera and printer, so none of the photos I was taking was getting printed. The photo lead wasn't there yesterday, so I was shadowing a different team member. They left me to try taking photos by myself and then 30 minutes after they left me ... they came back and asked what I was doing because no photos were getting printed. When I tell you my heart dropped and I broke out in a cold sweat .... it was my first day and I thought I broke the camera immeadietly after being left alone. We were able to fix it right before closing and thankfully it wasn't my fault. The other trainee (it was my first day and there was another girl who was finishing her first week) had accidently double clicked something on the computer which made it try to create a new folder for the photos to be sent to. Since she didn't mean to do that and the folder never got created, the photos were never being sent to the computer and printer. So it wasn't my fault! But omg ... why did that have to happen on my first day? And IMMEADIETLY after I was left by myself omggg 😭

For cleaning my room, I'm just about done. There's still a few bags that need to be unpacked in my room, but it's not a mound anymore. I can actually walk around now. Also cleaned the dresser I moved and put some shirts and pants in it which helped make some space in my closet. I got the printer stand assembled and only broke down crying twice lol. Unpackaged the printer and it seems to be in good working order. Haven't been able to make any test prints yet, though, still need to unpack the rest of my photo paper. I still have maybe ... 6 (?) bags that still need to be unpacked, but they're in the storage room for now. So ... I'll try to get to them eventually lol.

Have also started counting my cals again but haven't weighed myself yet. I think I've lost a little bit of weight, though, because the plaid pants I wore to my interview feel just the tad bit looser on me (wore them to work today).

Still not feeling great mentally ... but I'll get through it. I'll figure something out.

Hope everyone is doing alright 🩷